Wax Play. The two words had never crossed your mind until Toji mentioned them. He assured you it’d be fun, that you’d feel good. Toji would make sure of it. He also promised to be careful, gentle.
You are hesitant at first, even as he explains everything to you. He tells you it’s okay, that he’s done it before. He’s no amateur. That eases you a little, and you end up agreeing to it. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you. So he gets everything ready—takes the candles out and places them on the nightstand beside the bed, along with a lighter. You scrutinize everything as he sets them down on the glass surface; he has so many different kinds of candles, different colors and sizes. There’s also some rope and a red sleep mask, and even a small bucket with ice cubes in it.
“Lie down, doll,” he instructs in an undertone. You lie down your body on the mattress, gulping as you throw a furtive glance at the candles. You’re nervous, yes—but part of you is also excited. There’s just something exhilarating at the prospect of danger, as little as it might be. Toji seems to perceive your hesitation, because he smoothes his hands over your legs in an attempt to make you relax. He smirks at the goosebumps that his touch arises all over your skin. “Don’t worry. I said I’d be careful, didn’t I?”
You shimmy out of your jeans with his help and discard your shirt and bra, tossing them to the side. Toji grabs the rope and gestures for you to stretch your arms over your head. Once you do so, he wraps it around your wrists and the headboard until you’re tied securely to it. He asks if the restraints are too tight.
“Not really,” you reply, voice quivering lightly.
He peers at you with his head slightly tilted. “Should I help you relax a little?”
You nod with another gulp, and he gives a reassuring squeeze on your thigh, massaging your skin a little. Toji licks his lips slowly as his gaze trails down your body ravenously, his pants growing tighter by the second. He’s hard in record time, his mind running wild with images of you covered in wax. He can’t wait to make a mess on your body.
But first things first.
Toji pries your legs open with calloused fingers and has to hold back a groan at the sight alone. He moves his hand between your legs, the tips of his fingers brushing your clothed cunt lightly. He applies a little more pressure the second time, running his fingers along your slit. Your lips fall open with a soft gasp, and Toji ducks his head to pepper featherlight kisses on your legs. His lips trail upward until his hot breath fans over your crotch, and you squirm with eagerness.
“Toji, please,” you whisper, lifting your hips slightly.
He chuckles, placing a warm, teasing kiss on your panties.
“You want my mouth on you, doll?” he purrs, voice velvety, and he blows against you teasingly. Toji’s lips press softly over your panties, nipping on the fabric and tugging on it with his teeth to snap it against you. A desperate whimper escapes you. “Now, now, thought I taught you to be patient, didn’t I?”
“I need you, please,” you breath out, biting on your lip. “Quit teasing.”
“So eager…” he mutters with amusement.
Suddenly, you hear the distinct sound of fabric ripping, and you look down to see Toji throwing the now useless piece of underwear over his shoulder with a smug smile.
“What the—” You’re unable to finish your sentence when he flicks his tongue against you, and he uses the pad of his thumb to rub your clit.
His tongue swirls around the area with expertise, and he suckles on your bundle of nerves, his actions making you moan and arch your back. His free hand moves up to fondle your breasts while he busies the other by inserting two fingers inside your sopping cunt, pumping them slowly. He relishes in the noises you’re making, which go straights to his cock. It twitches in his pants, and he ruts his hips against the mattress in search for some friction.
“So damn sweet…” he mumbles against you, collecting your arousal on his tongue. He lets out a pleased sigh, tongue never stopping its ministrations. “Such a pretty pussy… so wet for me— fuck.”
He curls his fingers inside you to rub the pads on that sweet little spot that makes your toes curl. At the same time, he suckles on your clit harshly and rolls your pebbled nipple between his fingers. Everything at once is too much, and your back arches as you let out a lewd moan, eyes squeezed shut.
“Daddy!” you cry out. And everything goes quiet. Your eyes widen with horror and Toji freezes on the spot.
You try to clap your hands over your mouth as to not let anything else out, but end up struggling pathetically against your bindings. Toji just stares at you. You had never said anything like that, and neither of you really knows where it came from.
“What?” he exhales softly, a perplex expression on his face.
“T-toji,” you stammer weakly. Your throat tightens with anxiety, and you open and close your mouth, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry— s-sorry, I just— I don’t—”
“Say it again,” he demands, voice laced with heavy lust, eyes impossibly dark.
You blink, baffled at his request. It’s humiliating enough that you let it slip out—screamed it out, more like, and he wants you to say it again?
“What?”
“Say it again,” he repeats, more firmly this time, and looking more closely you notice that his cheeks are tinged a very light pink.
You blink again as realization dawns on you. He liked it. By the looks of it, he loved it. And now he wants you to scream it out again, especially when he impales you with his cock. But if you don’t feel like just saying it, he’ll have to make you. He curls his fingers inside you with emphasis, and your mouth falls open with a silent scream as he attaches his mouth to your clit with renewed energy.
“Say it again,” he demands harshly, lowering his hand from your breast to pinch on your clit roughly. “Or I won’t let you cum.”
And despite yourself, you end up obliging submissively, his ministrations being too good — too much for you to actually focus on anything else.
“Daddy!” you cry out, whimpering loudly.
“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” Toji hisses, and his cock throbs in his pants painfully. He feels like he might pathetically bust just from hearing the sweet noises falling off your lips, but he just can’t help it—not when it comes to you. And you calling him daddy? Fucking hell, he wishes you had done it ages ago. “You taste so good, doll — so fucking heavenly. I could eat this gorgeous cunt for hours.”
He buries his face against you, addicted to your taste and your soft mewls, and he swears nothing could ever beat that. He just wants to spend the rest of his days between your legs.
“Please, more, more— ah!” you babble incoherently.
He scissors his fingers deep inside you, groaning when your walls clench around his fingers, and he murmurs soft praises against your skin, smirking when your legs tremble due to your incoming orgasm. All he has to do is suck a little more and you’re coming undone against his face with a loud moan.
“Now, onto the fun part,” he murmurs, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and standing up to retrieve the lighter and a red candle from the nightstand, you can’t help but notice the dark spot on the front of his sweats, damp with pre-cum. He lights the candle with a low hum, running the tip of his index finger around your breasts while he allows the wick to burn a little. You pant softly, still trying to catch your breath after your orgasm. Toji sets the candle on the table for a moment, grabbing the sleep mask and slipping it on you, making sure your eyes are completely covered. “Ready, baby girl?”
You barely manage to nod, and he caresses your body with tender fingers when he notices how tense you still are. You instantly relax under his touch, chewing on your lip as your expectation builds up. You can’t see a single thing, and Toji’s careful to keep quiet. You’re aware of his heavy breathing, but nothing else.
Suddenly, you feel a sharp sting on the upper part of your abdomen, and you let out a surprised gasp.
“Is it too hot?” Toji asks, stroking your cheek with his knuckles.
You shake your head, gulping lightly. “No, it just… took me a little off guard. It kinda tickles.”
He chuckles softly, letting another drop of hot wax plunge onto your stomach and earning another soft exhalation from you.
“I think you’re gonna like it.”
You feel your stomach churn with what you can only guess is excitement. The thrill of engaging in something a little dangerous and the anticipation of waiting for the next drop of hot wax to hit your skin gives you a certain rush that you like. It’s exhilarating when it hits you, and Toji decides to go a little further when he sees you’re actually enjoying it. Your physical reaction to heat increases your senses, and you feel every single brush of his his lips, every single caress with much more intensity.
Your brow creases in confusion when seconds pass and you don’t feel anything else. And then your jaw drops as you let out a sharp sound when Toji drizzles the hot wax over your stomach, hissing a little at the light burning sensation. It feels good—better than you had expected when he suggested it.
He plays with the wax, tracing different patterns and drawing shapes on your skin. Toji bites his lip at the sight before him—you’ve always looked so good in red… but it’s time to switch it up a little.
Toji takes the pink candle—which he had lit earlier and therefore had a generous amount of melted wax he could spill on you—and drizzles it all over your front, covering the top of your breasts and stomach in a soft pink.
“Oh,” you breathe out, struggling against the restraints as he drips more wax on you, the hot liquid making you squirm. “That feels good.”
“Yeah, doll? You like it?”
“Mhm,” you whimper meekly.
He chortles, happy that he gets to experience this with you.
You hear the clanking of the ice cubes against the metal bucket, and then he spills more wax on you, this time allowing it to pool a little. And you squeal when he drags the melting ice cube along your skin, the mixture of both temperatures making you whimper and arch your back. He licks his lips when he sees your pussy clenching around nothing, repeating the action just so he can witness your reaction to it once again.
“Shit,” you pant, flexing your fingers.
Toji has his fun, painting you in different colors and drawing fun patterns like your skin is an actual canvas. Guess you just bring out the artist in him.
Soon, your breasts, thighs and stomach are covered in various colors, and Toji removes the sleep mask gently, admiring his work with awe.
“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” he mutters under his breath, tracing the mess on your skin with his digits. His pants are gone and he’s already shirtless, and you admire the way his muscles flex when he bends forward to untie your wrists. Toji loves it when you tug on his hair.
He ducks his head to to plant a series of kisses along your neck, sucking on the soft flesh to leave a couple marks here and there. “Now, how about I reward you for being such a good girl? Tell me what you want.” He digs his fingers in your cheeks, turning your head roughly so you’re looking at him. “And you better ask for it nicely.”
Gaining a little more confidence after everything that just went down, you hold his wrist and move your face to wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it like you would his cock.
“I want your cock… daddy,” you whisper, nibbling on the tip of his digit. “Please. Want you inside me… want you to fill me up.”
His pupils dilate with desire, his underwear unbearably constricting. He needs to be inside you, and he needs it now.
He doesn’t waste a second before attacking your lips hungrily, grabbing a bunch of your hair into his fist and pulling on it to make you look up. You fumble with the waist of his underwear, and he helps you remove the garment hastily, desperate to have his hands back on you. Toji explores your body with them, feeling the hardened wax under his fingers. His movements are slow and sensual, almost seems like each of them has been carefully calculated. He’s precise with his touches, applying pressure on all the right spots.
“I’ll give you everything you ask for, doll.” He presses open mouthed kisses on your cleavage, sucking on your nipples and swirling his tongue around them, making sure to give both of them the same attention. Toji digs his fingers in the fat of your ass, groaning against your neck when you snake your arm between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his shaft and start pumping slowly. “Fuck, just like that, baby.”
He moans in your ear, bucking his hips to match the movements of your hand. You run your thumb along his slit, smearing his pre-cum all over his cock, and the amount surprises you. You make sure to twist your wrist with each stroke, loving his deep moans and grunts.
Toji lowers one of his hands to run two of his fingers between your soaking folds, and he teases your entrance with the tips of his digits, moving them upward after a moment to rub tight circles over your clit.
He helps you align his cock with your entrance, rubbing the tip against you teasingly. He very much likes the whimper you let out at that, though he doesn’t tease you for long, because he’s just desperate to be inside you.
And without a warning, he thrusts his hips forward, spreading your walls apart with his thick cock. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with a loud mewl, and Toji whimpers when he feels your pussy clamp down on him.
“So fucking tight,” he pants, struggling to keep it together.
He pauses for a second, pressing his lips against your chest. You gasp when he finally bottoms out, arching your back and running your fingers through his hair to tug on it lightly. Toji growls in your ear, rocking his hips against yours. He is addicted to the feeling of being deep inside you, of making you scream out in pleasure. He’s so deep you can feel the head of his cock kissing your cervix effortlessly, and you shiver and scratch his back, leaving red, thin lines along it. He’s relentless, picking up the pace with each thrust until he’s ramming into you with full force.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he demands.
You struggle to process what he just said, too cock drunk to understand his demand. Part of your brain seems to register it though, because you moan, “You, daddy— fuck! ’s all yours, all yours.”
Toji pushes your legs up against your chest and buries his fingers in the flesh of your thighs. It’s so lewd, the squelching sound of your pussy suctioning his cock, skin slapping against skin, mewls and moans and groans. Toji’s obsessed — he never wants it to end.
“Such a good girl for daddy,” he praises you, lowering his hand to rub it on your clit. You pant heavily, digging your nails into his arms. “Cum for me, doll. Fuck, you’re gripping me so hard.”
And just as instructed, you scream out a loud 'Daddy!' as you reach your climax, and Toji is transfixed by the white ring at the base of his cock. It drives him mad with lust—it’s enough to make him cum. His abdomen spasms and contorts as you feel hot spurts of his seed shooting deep inside you, and your pussy clenches hard around him. You feel so full of him, and somehow you just want more.
Toji seems to think the very same thing, because he doesn’t stop.
His lips are everywhere, and so are his hands. He licks, bites, and sucks on every single inch of your skin, and he makes you cum twice more before he’s ready to go again. Soon enough he’s pounding into you, letting out a series of curses and grunts.
He interlocks his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand as he uses the other to place your calves on his shoulders. He’s so deep you swear you can almost feel him in your throat, and you don’t care because it simply feels too good. He always manages to make you see stars when he fucks you.
“Fuck, fuck, daddy—!” you cry out, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “’s too much, please…”
“I know you can take it, doll, can’t you?” he murmurs, licking a stripe up your neck. You shudder and nod dumbly, a babbling mess under him. You’re willing to take anything he gives you. He chuckles at your fucked out expression. “Atta girl.”
Soon, you’ve cum for a fifth time, and his breathing is so heavy that you know he’s close to his release. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he reaches his high for the second time. Toji pulls out, the thick, white ropes of cum landing messily on your stomach and tits.
“Oops,” he chuckles, smearing his own relase all over your front with his hand.
He’s practically hypnotized, eyes following the trail his fingers are drawing. It’s just one big, hot mess of dried wax and his own seed. He simply ogles you for a moment, wishing he could imprint the image on the back of his eyelids.
“That was…” you leave the rest of the sentence in the air, rendered speechless.
He smiles at you and his gaze softens, a side of him only you’ve gotten to see. Toji brushes his knuckles on your cheek.
“You took it so well,” he hums, tracing the wax with his fingers for a final time. “Let’s get you cleaned up, doll.”
It’s stupid how a single swipe of his tongue makes you crumble and has you arching your back and begging for more. This is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing: telling him you two are done. But you can't really think about that.
The reason? Gojo’s head right between your thighs.
You hate yourself for giving in to temptation, you really do, and you'd readily berate yourself for doing so if Gojo gave you enough time to dwell on the thought. He’s been at it for hours, swallowing and savoring orgasm after orgasm with delight. He’s about to give you your fourth one, working you like an expert—like he's memorized every single little thing that makes you moan and gasp and break under his touch. Being honest, you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Gojo swirls his tongue around your clit and suckles on it, digging his deft fingers in the plush of your thighs.
“Fuck, Satoru,” you gasp as give a rough tug to a fistful of his hair. He moans against you, moving his mouth with more enthusiasm, making sure you feel every lick, every nip, every suck. He wants his tongue to be the only thing you’re able to think about. “We should stop— shit… This isn’t right.”
He replaces his tongue with his fingers, pushing them past your entrance and rubbing them against that sweet, blissful spot, making you squirm on the bed. Gojo runs the tip of his nose along your inner thigh, practically purring as he places soft, open-mouthed kisses on your skin. He chuckles, because you’ve been saying the exact same thing for hours. And yet...
“I think you’ve said that about three times already,” he murmurs with a cheeky laugh. He doesn’t mean just tonight; you’ve tried to end things for good before, only to come back to him every single time. He knows you don’t mean it—you never do. Never will. “You really should stop saying such silly things, darling… unless you can back them up.” As the words leave his lips, he curls his fingers inside you. It amazes you how he’s able to reach impossibly deep, how good he can make you feel with a single touch. You cry out his name, biting on the back of your hand. Gojo smiles. “But I don’t think you can.”
He gets back to it, latching his mouth onto you and making you feel like you’ve just reached the gates to heaven… or perhaps hell. The room is filled with the squelching sound of his fingers pleasuring you, his small hums of appreciation and quiet praises against your skin. It sounds lewd, sinful. You know neither of you should be doing this, you’re supposed to be broken up, for God’s sake.
“I’m going to drain every last ounce of cum out of you,” he says, and it seems like he means literally, because he doesn’t stop until you’re crying out his name, head digging into the pillow. “That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he groans, lapping at your soaking folds to get everything on his tongue.
“'Toru, please,” you breathe out. It honestly starts as a pleading for him to stop (partly because this is wrong; mostly because it's too much), but another curl of his fingers, another suck on your clit, and instead you end up saying, “I want you.”
Gojo pulls back with a smug smile spread across his lips, taking his fingers into his mouth and sucking on them to lick them clean, savoring the remnants of your orgasm on his digits. He’s addicted to your taste; if you hadn’t said anything, nothing could’ve ever taken him away from between your legs.
“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he hums, rubbing your thighs with unruly fingers. Despite your pleas, despite knowing he’s sinning with you, he can never seem to feel perturbed. He’s usually too busy fucking you stupid to dwell on the thought—because if Gojo is a sinner, he’s willing to venture into the depths of hell just to spend another second with you.
“Satoru,” you gasp.
The alarms in your head go off blaringly, telling you it’s wrong, wrong, wrong—but fuck, when his hands trail up your body, cupping your breasts and massaging them gently as he rolls your hardened nipples between his fingers? It feels so right.
“My name will be the only word in your vocabulary by the time I'm done fucking you tonight,” he promises against your lips. By the gleam in his eyes, you know he means every single word he just uttered.
His hands are agile as they roam your body, lips warm and reverent as he leaves a trail of velvety kisses along your neck, pausing only to give you a hickey or two. He wants everyone to know who you actually belong to, who has you screaming his name almost every night. Gojo Satoru.
He goes slow, he wants you to remember every second of this moment; every touch, every kiss, every caress. Because maybe, just maybe if he makes you forget about your break up, you’ll finally realize you're better off together than apart. He’s sure he’ll convince you eventually; he's charming like that.
Gojo’s lips are soft against your skin, his tongue leaves wet patches on whichever part of you it visits. He ruts his hips against yours, moaning against the crook of your neck as he makes sure to coat his cock with your slick. You’ve come so much, everything is so wet that it’s no difficult task to accomplish. He’s so hard it’s almost painful, but he can’t help it—you just drive him insane.
Gojo takes himself in his hand, guiding his cock to align the tip with your entrance. He braces himself, clenching his jaw tightly when he pushes himself in, spreading your plush walls, making you scratch his back with a loud gasp. He groans in a feral way and pauses for a second to regain his composure once he bottoms out, the only thought in his head being that fuck, your pussy always feels so good around him, like a glove fit a hand. Like it was made to be his.
“Please move,” you whimper. You feel so full, yet his stillness does nothing to evaporate the heat in the pit of your stomach. Quite the opposite, really. “Satoru.”
The way you whimper his name makes his cock twitch inside you, and he pulls out almost completely, only the tip of his cock remaining in. Your jaw drops open with a strangled moan when he rolls his hips against yours, pushing his cock back in inch by inch.
He starts slow, you feel the drag of his cock inside you like it’s heaven sent. Your eyes screw shut, and you arch your back as you claw at his skin. Gojo doesn’t seem to give a damn, focusing on leaving open mouthed kisses on your cleavage. His balls smack against your ass with each hard thrust, and his eyes darken with lust when he looks down at you. You look ethereal, skin glistening with sweat, swollen lips, and god, that fucked out look on your face. He wishes he could take a picture to keep it in his wallet just so he could appreciate the moment every day.
Gojo pushes your legs up until your knees are against your chest, pounding into you relentlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, meeting his lips in a sloppy kiss. You can still taste yourself on his lips, especially when he forces his tongue in. He only slows his thrusts down to more of a love-making kind of pace so he can kiss you more deeply, and tears prickle in the corners of your eyes.
He breaks the kiss after a moment, digging his fingers into your lower back to push your hips up.
“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. The snap of his hips against yours is so loud you’re sure the neighbors next door can hear it, but does it really matter when he’s already made you scream so much your voice is so hoarse you probably won’t be able to talk tomorrow? Gojo’s hips stutter when you clench around him, almost coming right then and there. “Fuck, you like it when I tell you what a good girl you’re being, don’t you? You like hearing how good your pussy’s making me feel?”
He lowers one of his hand to rub on your clit, drawing tight circles over the bundle of nerves.
“Satoru I can’t— s’too— I can’t—” the feeling of his cock and his fingers is overwhelming, you can’t form a single coherent sentence, can’t think straight as tears of overstimulation dampen your cheeks.
“Aw, don’t cry, darling,” he coos, kissing your tears away. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream when his digits speed up.
“I can’t,” you sob, pressing your forehead against his shoulder.
“Sure you can. I know you have one more in you,” he whispers against your cheeks, hissing when you give a chocked out cry of his name and come undone one more time, your walls spasming and clamping down on him as you reach your climax. “See? Told you you could give me one more,” he purrs, brushing his nose along your neck. “You always look so pretty when you come for me.”
Your body shakes with the aftershocks of your orgasm, growing weak as you sag back into bed; letting him use you as he pleases as he chases his own climax. It doesn’t take too long, what with the way your walls flutter around him and squeeze him so good, hot spurts of his thick cum shoot deep into you as he tenses up above you with a low groan of your name.
Gojo drops his entire weight on top of you, breathing heavily against your shoulder. He catches his breath for a moment, pulling out when he’s able to take a full breath and sighing when his softening cock slides out of you. His eyes are fixed on your pussy, hypnotized by the way his cum drips out of you, and he pushes it back inside you without a second thought. You whimper softly, shying away from him, sure that a single touch would break you.
“You always take me so well,” he whispers, running his thumb along your jawline in a tender caress. “So beautiful.”
You don’t say a word, already dozing off in his arms. It’s always too much with him, yet never enough. If it was, you wouldn’t be in his bed right now, sleeping soundly as he watches you for a couple minutes. He refuses to fall asleep, swearing you’ll disappear if he does.
And he’s right. You’re gone when he wakes up the next morning, your side of the bed already cold, like it’s been a while since you left. But it’s okay.
He’ll just wait patiently until the next time you come knocking on his door.
Oikawa groans uncomfortably, squirming in his sleep. When he wakes up, he isn’t surprised to see the tent in his boxers. He lets out a sigh as he rests his arm over his eyes for a moment before looking over to his right, biting his lip when his eyes find you sleeping peacefully beside him.
You’re only wearing a crop top and panties, and he can’t help himself. He’s glad you two had spoken about it a while ago—waking each other up with sex. It really wasn’t uncommon for Oikawa to wake up with erections, and he’s just come back from a long trip. It’s been a while since he last was inside you; he needs it. His fist wouldn’t be enough this time.
He tells himself he’ll just use your thighs a little; he’ll be gentle. Maybe if he’s careful enough you won’t wake up. Or perhaps he should wake you up, show you what dreaming about you had provoked and maybe beg a little for your help. He knows you like it when he begs.
He gets rid of his boxers, hand gliding up and down his cock to smear his pre-cum along the shaft, pumping slowly, eyes glued to your sleeping form. He almost feels guilty for what he’s about to do. Almost.
His grip tightens around his cock, pumping a little faster, a little tighter, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. But he wants more. He lets go of his cock, turning to his side and positioning himself behind you, pulling you closer until your back is resting against his chest. He freezes when you let out a soft sigh and breathes out in relief when you don’t wake up.
Tōru takes himself in his hand, pressing his tip between your thighs and pushing his hips forward with a light thrust, moaning softly when his cock easily slides between your legs. He goes slow, he’s gentle, but there’s only so much a person can sleep through.
He has barely given a couple thrusts when you mumble something in your sleep, although he doesn’t hear you what with how focused he is on pleasuring himself. His pace falters, struggling to go slow, to hold back his moans and grunts.
“Tōru…” you moan softly, squirming in your dazed state. The head of his cock brushes your clit with each thrust, and it makes your lips part open.
“Fuck,” he murmurs when you squeeze your thighs together, the pressure almost making him burst right then and there—he almost does when he has a mental image of your thighs covered in his seed.
Tōru halts his movements, his hand snaking around your front to brush a single finger over your underwear. Just as he had suspected, there’s a wet patch right there. You wouldn’t mind if he helped you with it, would you?
So he hugs you closer and uses his hand to rub you over your panties as his hips keep thrusting forward between your legs. He then pushes two fingers past the elastic of your underwear, cursing under his breath when he feels how wet you are against his digits, then teases your entrance with the tips of his fingers before pushing them inside you, feeling them being swallowed immediately.
And then your eyes flutter open.
“T-Tōru…? What are you—?” you ask, interrupting yourself with your own loud moan.
“Shit… sorry, baby. You just looked so fucking pretty, I couldn’t hold back.”
You squirm against him, sighing his name softly. Your voice is groggy with sleep, and it turns him on even more. Tōru uses his free hand to fondle your breasts, tweaking your nipples with his fingers. You moan, squeezing your thighs wet with his pre-cum.
Your hand moves behind you, taking Oikawa’s cock firmly and pumping his length, applying the right amount of pressure. He moans your name, whining against your shoulder as you stroke him, and you gasp when he scissors his fingers inside you, curling them afterwards. It’s safe to say you’re wide awake now.
“Baby... I need you,” he pleads with a whine.
Once you nod, there’s no going back.
Oikawa instantly tugs your panties down, unable to wait a moment longer. He spreads your legs open, holding one of them up to align himself with your entrance and push in, groaning loudly when his cock spreads your walls open. You cry out his name, clenching the sheets into your fist tightly. He curses softly, hips rutting against you at the perfect pace.
“God, you’re always so tight… feels so fucking good.”
“More,” you whine, your pussy clenching tightly enough to render him insane.
He hisses at the feeling, picking up the pace. The wet noises of your bodies colliding against each other fill the dimly lit room—the sun’s just coming out, and it makes everything seem so much more intimate. Oikawa feels like he’s in heaven, and how could he not, with his cock buried deep inside you?
So if you wanted more, he’d give it to you.
Oikawa holds onto your waist with firm hands, turning over so he’s lying on his back and pulling you along with him so you’re resting on his chest. You let out a surprised squeal, which turns into a dragged out moan when he thrusts his hips upwards, fucking up into you.
Your hand shoots down to clutch his arm, head resting against his shoulder. You’re a babbling mess, moaning his name; among other things. He fucking loves it.
Oikawa moans in your ear. One of his hands goes up to wrap around your throat while the other moves down to rub your neglected clit. You cry out, clenching your fingers around his arm, his hips never relenting. He growls loudly, cursing repeatedly as he feels your sweet cunt clenching tighter and tighter.
“Fuck. I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he breathes out, spreading your legs open with his knees. He applies more pressure with both hands, making your vision blurry and your clit throb with pleasure. Your mouth hangs open, unable to even make a noise with how good he’s making you feel. “I want to fill you up,” he grunts, the lewd noises becoming louder as he fastens the pace. “Wanna fuck a baby into you.“
“Cum inside me,” you practically implore him, moaning loudly on top of him. “I want you to fill me up with your cum— fuck, you’re so big— Tōru!”
His moans become louder, his fingers rub faster, and his cock is so hard and swollen inside you. You scream his name, squirting against his hand and making everything sound much more lewd, wetter. There really isn’t any other option when Tōru Oikawa is balls deep inside you.
He cums almost at the same time, whining against your damp skin as he shoots his load inside you, not wanting to pull out just yet. He keeps thrusting slowly until your pussy has milked his cock completely, panting heavily beneath you. You raise your hand behind you to brush his hair with your fingers, making him hum happily.
“Morning, Tōru,” you breathe out, making him chuckle against your skin.
He presses a soft skin on your shoulder, kissing your cheek afterwards as his arms wrap tighter around your waist.
“Mornin', sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Sorry, I just woke up with the biggest hard-on… and I missed you.”
“Don’t be sorry.” You smile, turning your head to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. You stay that way for a moment, a comfortable silence filling the room. When you speak again, your voice is soft. “Are you okay with just one round?” you ask.
Oikawa cocks an eyebrow, craning his neck to look at you.
“Are you?” he asks back, amused. His smile widens when you shake your head. You hate it when he leaves, and you always miss him just as much, if not more.
“Why don’t you show me just how much you missed me?” you murmur against his lips.
You turn to the side and your eyes meet with Bokuto's still sleeping form. With a content sigh; one of those one can only give when everything in the world seems and feels right, you stand up slowly, trying your best not to disturb him. He stirs in his slumber as you walk away, which manages to make you pause for a second, not moving util he stills again. You keep walking until you’re outside the room and decide to make yourself a cup of warm tea and sit on the sofa in front of the living room’s window.
Everything’s quiet for a moment, and you find yourself leaning back into the comfortable armchair and letting out yet another pleased sigh.
As you’re watching the street down below, it isn't too long before you hear the soft sound of muffled padding behind you.
Bokuto flops down right beside you, even though you two don’t quite fit together in the small seat. He nestles his head against the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you, careful not to hit the mug by accident. And then he sighs contentedly—exactly the way you did, humming softly against your skin.
“What are you doing? I thought you were tired?” you whisper with a chuckle, struggling to wrap an arm around his bulky figure.
He lifts his head a little to look at you with droopy eyes and smiles tiredly.
“I woke up and you were gone,” he murmurs and snuggles even closer.
His answer makes you laugh, a bit louder this time. He pouts, blowing a raspberry as he looks away.
“Bo, you know I’m not going anywhere. I just felt like having a cup of tea. It’s chilly today.”
“Yeah, but you left… and I’m pretty sure I’m plenty warm.” As to prove his point, Bokuto squeezes you in his arms, making you squeal with humor. You spill a little bit of your tea.
“Okay, okay, fine,” you say, placing your cup aside and turning to hug him back. Bokuto smiles as you stroke his hair softly, both of you speaking in hushed voices for the rest of the morning, simply enjoying each other’s company.
The first thing you hear when you walk into your shared apartment is the muffled voice of your boyfriend, and your first assumption is that he’s on the phone with someone. You take your time to take your shoes off and place them neatly by the door, shrugging off your jacket and hanging it before taking a couple steps forward to walk further in. You hope your slowness will give him enough time to wrap things up with whoever’s on the other side of the line, but if anything, he starts talking even more. Your brows pull together in a small, confused frown as you tilt your head slightly.
“Hello,” you hear him say. After giving a frustrated sigh, he clears his throat and tries again. “Hello. Love of my life, light of my eyes. I look at you and it feels like my heart is about to burst out of my chest, but, like, not in a bad way. I like it.”
Taking a couple steps, you pad silently toward the bedroom and stand just far enough so that you won’t interrupt anything, and almost smack yourself on the forehead when you realize what’s going on. He’s talking to himself in the mirror. Again.
You suppress a smile with pursed lips and swallow your laughter, extremely amused. Oikawa does give pretty entertaining speeches when he thinks no one’s around, and you feel like having a good laugh. After taking a single step closer, you come to the conclusion that he’s not actually in the bathroom, but in the bedroom.
“God, he’s such an idiot,” you whisper to yourself, pressing your forehead against the wall beside you. If you gave exactly three steps forward, you’d be standing right at the door. Right in front of him.
“You are literally the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid eyes on. And you absolutely own my heart,” he continues, and your eyebrows shoot up. You love how confident he usually is, but he’s never taken it this far. Is he... professing his love to himself? “Ah, no. Maybe that’s too much. Jesus, why is this so hard?”
You hear a loud smack and guess he’s just hit himself on the face. And your frown deepens, because he sounds pretty embarrassed and a little bit nervous, and that’s not usually him, even when he thinks he’s alone. However, curiosity gets the best of you, and you don’t dare move an inch, holding your breath as you hear him curse quietly, and then some rustling. He’s on the bed.
“I…” he pauses, groans, and there’s a soft thud on the mattress as though he’s just punched it. “I have no words. And I really can’t ruin this because it’s going to change the rest of my life, and you’re not making it any easier by giving me that stupidly cute look and I hate you, and I hate this, and—” There’s another much softer thud, this time against the wall, and after a couple seconds, you can hear him jumping to his feet and running to fetch whatever it was he threw, muttering a low ‘sorry.’ He heaves an even more frustrated sigh, and you can almost picture him tugging on his hair as you shift your weight onto your other leg. And there’s yet another thud, and you hear a loud albeit muffled scream as though his face is buried in a pillow, and your concern starts growing bigger than your curiosity. “Why is this so damn hard?!” After taking a hesitant step forward, his voice makes you freeze on the spot once again. You didn’t think he’d have more to say, since apparently he’s finding it ‘too hard.’ You wonder what’s making him so frustrated, so you keep listening instead of revealing yourself. “The stupid blog said to just ‘speak from the heart’, and how am I supposed to do that when I can’t even think straight when we’re in the same room? This is so stupid.”
There’s a longer pause, and you’re so confused that it’s frustrating. What on earth is he going on about? Whatever it is, it’s irritating him to the point of baldness. Which is a shame, because your boyfriend has the most perfect hair you’ve ever seen.
“Okay, fine. Look. You sit there and listen. Although I guess it’s not like you have much of a choice, but whatever.” A short pause, another sigh, and he’s talking again. “The day we met was the most special day of my entire life,” he begins. Oikawa hesitates before saying the next words, although his tone is much softer, like he’s reminiscing of something really fondly. “You make me feel like I’m the luckiest guy in the world, because I’m the only one that gets to experience all of your mornings, and all of your nights, and… just… being with you, I guess. And I want to keep experiencing you for the rest of my life. I can’t promise you to love you forever, because I’m a regular human being who will eventually die… and that sucks, because life’s good when I’m with you. It’s perfect, actually. So… what I can, promise is to love you for the rest of my life, however long that may be. Because I honestly can’t picture it without you in it.” After a beat of silence, he adds, although a little more quietly, “do you think it’d be too much if I say something about my cause of death probably being a heart attack because it beats so fast when we're together it might just overwork itself?”
Your heart does a summersault in your chest, and you cover your mouth with your hand to stop a scream from escaping. Is he doing what you think he’s doing?
“Nah, I think that might be too cheesy, don’t you? How about I just…?” There’s more rustling of fabric which allows you know he’s moving again, and you figure it’s probably just best to let him know you’re there. So you take the last two missing steps to reach the door, and stand right in front of him just as he says, “Y/N, will you marry me?” His eyes bug out comically when he sees you, and he drops the ring in his hand on the bed. It’s an odd sight, Tōru, looking as pale as a sheet of paper on one knee on the bed right in front of a plushie. “Shit!” he yells, hand darting to retrieve the ring and stammering wildly. “You weren’t supposed to find out,” he blurts out, tossing the plushie to the side. Oikawa blinks once, twice, then adds, “I mean, you were supposed to find out… eventually. I thought— you said you wouldn’t be back until ten.”
“It’s half past ten,” you whisper.
His gaze shoots to the clock on the bedside table, and he can see that it is, in fact, ten thirty. So you’re actually late. And there he was, ruining the most important moment of his life.
“I just… I was just—”
“Proposing to my plushie?” you offer with a feeble smile.
Oikawa gulps, glancing at the plushie and grabbing it to place it face down against the mattress. He doesn’t want such an innocent thing watching the train wreck happening in the room. After a moment, he places the ring right underneath it to keep it safe.
“Yeah.”
“And was the plushie supposed to be me?”
“Yeah,” he repeats, then shakes his head and says, “maybe…” he stammers for a second, halting suddenly when he notices the tears pooling in your eyes, and worry suddenly twists his features. “Are those sad tears or happy tears?”
“Did you really mean everything you said to the plushie?”
His mouth feels dry and his chest feels a little bit tight, so he only manages to nod. However, when he takes another look at you, he finds a little strength in himself, the kind only you seem to give him. There you are, with your messy hair, and the bags under your eyes, and wrinkly clothes, and his heart swells with so much love that he does feel like you might actually kill him one of these days because surely it can’t be healthy for his heart to beat so fast.
“Every single word. Actually, words honestly can’t explain what I feel and I just—” he gestures wildly, rubbing his face when he, once again, can’t express himself exactly. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed and walks toward you, holding your face with gentle hands. His thumb swipes across your cheek softly to collect the solitary tear that’s managed to escape your eye, and there’s so much tenderness and love in that single action that you find yourself a little breathless. “How many ways are there to say that I want to spend the rest of my life with you?”
You let out a watery chuckle, placing your hands on top of his and leaning into his touch. He smells fresh, and his skin is warm against yours—familiar and comforting. He smells, and feels like home. He is home.
“For the record, I didn’t think it was cheesy at all. I loved it,” you murmur, closing your eyes for a second to relish in the feeling of sharing this moment with him. He leans down to press his forehead against yours and takes a deep breath, wanting to fill himself of you. “And I also want to spend the rest of my life w—”
Your interrupted by his hand suddenly covering your mouth, and your eyes snap open to shoot him a bewildered look.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, holding one finger up to make sure you understand. When you don’t move a hair, he nods and withdraws his hand, holding both of them up to keep you in place. “Let me do it right.” He spins around and throws himself onto the bed, carefully placing the plushie aside to retrieve the ring. He has to be careful; it’s your favorite plushie, after all. Tōru takes a good look at the jewelry in his hand, which glints softly under the fluorescent lights. Giving a firm nod, he turns around and walks over to you once again, dropping on one knee right before you. You laugh, earning a cheeky smile from him as he takes your hand in his, holding the beautiful ring in the other. “Y/N. Love of my life, light of my eyes. Do you accept to spend the rest of your life listening to my awful karaoke and watching trashy t.v. with me so we can grow old and wrinkly together and have a small army of children with a couple dogs and maybe even a cat?”
You throw your head back with a hearty laugh and nod your head repeatedly, not even caring about the tears flowing down your face. They’re happy tears, after all.
“I do,” you say, never having felt surer of anything in your entire life.
“Perfect,” he whispers, sliding the ring onto your finger and pressing a soft kiss on top of your hand. It looks right at home, like it was always meant to be there. “I was actually planning to make dinner to go with this,” he says, tapping the ring lightly, “but I… lost track of time. Your plushie is an excellent listener, you know?” He smiles as he stands up.
“Oh, I know,” you say with a chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead against his chest. Oikawa smiles brightly, enthusiastically returning the embrace and placing a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. “How about we just order something?”
“M’kay,” he mumbles, nuzzling his face against you. “But I am making dinner tomorrow.”
“All right, fiancé,” you hum, and you think you actually feel him shudder against you.
“Oh my God, say it again,” he breathes out, pulling back to look at you as you repeat it.
“Fi-an-cé,” you say, enunciating every syllable clearly.
“You know what,” he says, and you let out a shriek when he picks you up and walks further into the bedroom with you over his shoulder. “I think dinner can wait a little longer.”
You’re surprised to find Suna awake when you enter the apartment. He doesn’t look up when you close the door behind you, doesn’t greet you or acknowledge you in any way. He doesn’t even ask where you’ve been, because it’s almost eleven, and you’re only just coming back. He already knows the answer—something went down at work and you had to stay to help fix whatever happened. It's always the same.
You take off your shoes and leave them by the door, walking toward the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. It’s always managed to relax you, and you certainly need it right now; work was extremely stressful, and all you wanted to do was go to bed with your boyfriend and sleep for a whole week. Want things to go back to what they used to be.
The ambiance in your apartment is a little odd. You wouldn’t call it uncomfortable nor upsetting, it’s just… quiet. Extremely so, regardless of the soft noise in the background of the t.v. playing some movie Suna was watching. He’s sitting on the couch, fiddling with the controller in his hands as he faces forward, although he isn’t really watching the screen before him. It’s almost as if he’s somewhere else entirely, at least in his mind. Which is why his voice, despite being quiet, startles you when he speaks suddenly.
“This isn’t working,” he mutters loud enough for you to hear.
You let out a soft hum, looking over your shoulder. His eyes are on the controller in his hands as he drums his fingers on it.
“Oh, I think I have some spare batteries around here somewhere,” you say, leaving your mug on the countertop to rummage through the drawers. You remember buying a package recently and tossing it in the first drawer you opened as soon as you walked in. You let out a soft, triumphant cheer when you find them, and turn around to face him as you hold them up to show him. “Here.”
Suna bites on the inside of his cheek, stretching his arm forward to point the controller at the t.v. and pressing the power button, which makes the screen go black in a second. You blink, watching him as he sets the device down next to him and lets out a sigh.
“I meant us.”
There’s a silence broken only by the clattering of the package of batteries plummeting to the floor, and you hear someone gasp. Suna’s mouth doesn’t open after what he said, so it’s only safe to assume that you were the one who did it.
“What?” you whisper, so softly that you fear he might’ve not heard you, but Suna glances at you, shifts in his seat, and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Just think about it,” he begins in a soft tone, rubbing the side of his face with his hand. It feels as though if he spoke any louder, he’d be screaming. “You’re always working. I’m always away. We almost never coincide,” he explains, lifting a finger after each statement to count. “And we’ve been fighting so much lately.”
You walk forward, coming to a halt at a short distance from him. Close enough to hear his soft breathing, but not too close—you’re afraid he might be able to hear your heart shattering into a million pieces if you take one more step.
“Rin,” you breathe out. “Why are you—?”
“Don’t call me that,” he murmurs, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he turns his face slightly away from you.
“Rintarō,” you say instead, and the three syllables make your heart sting and your throat burn. You don’t call him Rintarō, he’s always been Rin to you. From the moment you met, to the moment he told you he liked you, and when he asked you out, and every time you kissed him goodnight. Every time you told him you loved him. Calling him by his given name makes your heart clench in your chest, because it feels as though he’s already made up his mind, and you’re making it official, accepting it, by calling him that. “No,” you say, and after hearing how weak it sounds, you clear your throat and repeat, “no. Don’t do this. Please, don’t— We can… we can make it work.” The lump in your throat refuses to be swallowed, but you somehow manage to make the words sound much firmer than you had expected. “We can make it work,” you repeat, unsure whether you’re trying to convince him or yourself.
Suna finally looks at you, and when your eyes meet, you have to refrain yourself from taking a step back. The look in his eyes… it’s something you’ve never seen before. So cold, devoid of all the love they ever held—there’s so much determination in them: he's made up his mind. And you can’t help but wonder… when was it over for him? When was the moment he knew he’d walk out eventually? You refuse to believe there’s nothing left of what you two shared, because it’s still not over for you.
“I don’t think I want to make it work,” he says, lips forming a thin line afterwards. His words are as sharp as knives, and they slice your heart right open. You take a cautious hand to your chest, almost expecting to feel blood against your skin. Despite it being logical, you find yourself surprised to find your chest whole, because it certainly doesn’t feel like it is. You swear there’s a hole right where your heart used to be, and it hurts. It hurts so damn much. “It’s not worth it,” he continues twisting the knife, standing up and turning his back to you. “We’re just fighting a losing battle, and I’m done. I need more.”
You can’t see clearly through the tears spilling from your eyes, but you can make out the shape of his body as he begins walking away from you. You still hold onto him, even though you know he’s already gone. There’s no space for you in his heart.
“I’ve given you everything I have,” you say through gritted teeth, balling your hands into fists as you furiously wipe your tears. Your sight gets clear enough to see his face when he turns around once more.
“It’s not enough,” he says, shaking his head softly. The sight of you is heart-wrenching, but it’s something he has to do. “I’m sorry,” he adds, and heaves an even deeper sigh. “Look… you deserve better than this. I’m sure you’ll find someone else, and maybe—”
“I don’t want anyone else!” you yell, trying to control yourself a little. You’re finding it hard to breathe, and if the heartbreak doesn’t kill you, the lack of oxygen certainly will. “I want you! I want this— I want us!”
“But I don’t.”
The way he says it feels like a slap to the face, and you clasp a hand tightly over your mouth to stop the scream that’s fighting to escape your throat. You can’t stand the sight of him, but you also can’t stand the idea of it being over. You dedicated all of you to loving him, where the hell did it go so wrong? How is it possible to love someone and then, all of a sudden, decide that they’re simply not worth it anymore? How does one go from wanting to wake up to the same person every day to wanting to walk away?
“Please don’t do this,” you whisper, falling to your knees. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying desperately to hold yourself together, because the one person that could do it just gave up on you.
“I have to.”
A suffocating silence falls over you two, and you swear that, for a second, the world has stopped spinning. At least your world has. It only gets worse when you see him pick up a bag from the floor, slinging the strap over his shoulder. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that it’s everything of his that was in your apartment. You only now realize that, over the last couple of weeks, he had taken most of his belongings away. He was preparing for this moment.
“Please… please stay,” you beg, your entire body trembling with held back sobs.
And you wonder, and wonder, and wonder… maybe it is your fault, after all. Maybe, because despite noticing he was one mistake from running away, you ever really gave him a reason to stay. But you can’t help but question what was the detonator. Was it when he didn’t ask if you were okay after that one fight with your mom? Was it the first time that you pulled away from his embrace? Was it tonight, when he didn’t ask where you’d been? You always thought you’d be the person he’d run to, not from.
“I can’t.” He can’t. He won’t, because he doesn’t want to. Because he doesn’t love you anymore. Because it’s over. “What we had felt right. But it wasn’t. I’m sorry.”
You can’t believe how easily he walks out the door without a single look back. And just like that, you find yourself alone.
This has been Tōru’s most stressful week in his entire life. He’s been messing everything up—practice sucks, he hasn’t been able to spend as much time with you as he’d like, and he’s been having trouble sleeping. Not to be dramatic, but the stress is killing him, and he absolutely hates it. It really, truly sucks.
“Ah, shit,” he groans, rubbing his face with his hands. He’s sitting on the couch, alone, and wanting more than anything to go to bed, right next to you.
“Tōru?” you ask.
Despite your quiet tone, Oikawa jolts in his place when he hears your voice, and he’s quick to shoot you an apologetic smile. You can see the bags under his eyes and the tension in his entire body due to stress, but you don’t bring it up; you’ve learned that the best way to deal with stress is to take your mind off it, not bring attention to it. With that purpose in mind, you pad across the room until you’re standing in front of him.
“‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up,” he mumbles, holding your hips to pull you toward him. You place your knees on either side of him and sit on his lap, your hands immediately busying themselves by massaging his shoulders gently.
“I wasn’t asleep,” you say. After a short pause, you hold his cheeks and squish them with the palms of your hands. “I was waiting for you to come back.”
“Sorry,” he replies almost unintelligibly. He places his hands atop of yours and lowers them between your bodies. “It’s late though. You should be sleeping.”
You pout a little at his words, and Oikawa can’t really decide whether he wants to eat you up or eat you out. Probably both. Definitely both.
Instead of answering, you lean forward and place a soft kiss on his lips. He hums softly, and buries his hand in your hair when you try to pull back, making you chuckle against his lips. He only breaks the kiss when it’s absolutely necessary for him to breathe.
“It’s your day off tomorrow.” Oikawa knows you have more to say when you avert your gaze, and he has a suspicion of where this going. He thinks it’s the most adorable thing ever that you still get shy around him. He already knows what you’re thinking, and his gut twists a little with the thought of you alone. “I was hoping that we could… I don’t know, spend some time together.” You shrug lightly to downplay it, hoping that it’s not too noticeable how much you want him.
It’s been weeks since he’s even touched you, too tired to do anything. As soon as he gets home, he showers, throws himself into bed, and then it’s almost as though he’s dead. But tomorrow is his day off, and the simple thought of being inside you has him riled up in a flash. It’s astounding what the human brain can do, and, after a couple seconds of just remembering how tight and warm you always are around him, you feel him hardening underneath you.
“Yeah?” he says, a sudden, cheeky grin taking over his face. He allows his hands to roam your upper thighs freely, applying light pressure on certain spots. “You had plans for us?”
“You could say so… I thought, maybe—” you break off when he brushes his fingers between your legs. The touch is feather light, barely even there, but it's been so long that the small gesture makes your breath hitch.
You squirm on top of him, forgetting what you were about to say—because when Oikawa Tōru’s touching you; there’s no room for silly thoughts. Gauging your reaction, he runs his thumb along your clothed folds, and his dick throbs in his sweatpants when you let out the smallest of whimpers against his lips. He can already feel how wet you’re getting for him, even though he’s barely even touched you; and it’s almost as if that flips a switch in him.
“Why don’t you tell me what your plans are, cutie?” he says, voice tinged with amusement. His smile is teasing as he runs the pad of his thumb over you once again when you’re about to speak, and your breath catches for a second time. “Hmm… what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
You part your lips open to speak once more, and at the same time, Oikawa’s hands run all the way up your thighs and around your back to knead your the soft flesh of your ass and grind you against him, and a loud, shaky moan escapes you instead. Your hands shoot up to grip his shoulders, fingers clenching around the soft fabric of his shirt as you let him guide your hips, with the occasional light thrust up from him. His lips find yours once again, and he moans against your mouth, the kiss turning messier and hungrier by the second. Oikawa curses under his breath after an especially good roll of your hips, your arousal so abundant that it leaves a dark, wet patch on his sweatpants, and the sight of it turns him on even more.
“Someone’s happy to see me, huh?” He chuckles softly against your lips, tracing a path of sloppy kisses along your jawline until he reaches the point where your neck connects with it, and he sucks hard on your skin, ripping a harsh gasp out of you. “Look at this pretty little girl, drooling all over me,” he says, thumb still rubbing your clit over your shorts, eyes following the motion of his finger.
“Tōru,” you sigh, arms wrapping around his neck and one of your hands trailing up to grab a fist of his silky brown locks, tugging on them. “I’ve missed you,” you whine, and he can tell by the desperate way you’re moving on top of him that you really did. “I kept thinking about you all the time and— oh!”
He slips his thumb under the elastic of your shorts, and his grin broadens when his thumb makes contact with your bare skin. He lets out a happy hum.
“Is that so? What were you thinking about, exactly?” he asks, pushing all of his fingers past the elastic. He places a soft kiss on the dark mark on your neck, presses his tongue flat against the spot, and chuckles again your skin. “Did you think about me touching you? Right here?” Oikawa uses his fingers to rub on your bundle of nerves, delivering a light, teasing pinch on it that makes you jolt a little, which only makes you press yourself harder against him. He groans, eyes darkening. “Did you picture my fingers inside you?” He lifts you up and shifts your hips a little to put two of his long digits inside you in one single push, his fingers sliding in with so much ease that he has to bite his lip to refrain from moaning. “Just like this?” Your mouth falls open when he curls his fingers deep inside you, brows scrunching up as you let out a wanton whine that makes his cock twitch a little. “Did you cum?” His voice is low and husky, completely tinged by lust as he pumps his fingers in and out at a pace that has you curling your toes. You barely manage to give a feeble nod, clawing at his shoulders as you buck your hips against his hand. “How many times?”
“S-so… so many, fuck!” you cry out, lolling your head back. “But it’s not enough.”
“No? You want my cock?” You nod again. “Use your words, pretty.”
“Yes— please. I need you Tōru.”
“Now, that’s a good girl.” He grabs a bunch of your hair and pulls you closer to his face. Right before kissing you, he murmurs, “I’m going to fuck every last ounce of cum out of you, sweetheart.” And then his lips are on your once again. It’s a little bit of a struggle to get your shorts out of the way because he really doesn’t want to stop kissing you, but he manages eventually. There you are, and you swear his eyes twinkle when he sees his fingers being swallowed by your pussy, your arousal making his digits glisten as it slides down them, effectively coating them in your juices. “Look at you, making all this mess for me.”
“You’ve been away for so long, what did you expect?” you hiss, groaning desperately when he pulls his fingers out just when you were about to have your first orgasm of the night. “Tōru! I thought you said you’d…”
“I will,” he assures you with a naughty grin. “That desperate for me, huh?”
“Just shut up and fuck me already,” you reply, fumbling to lower his pants. He snorts when you let out a frustrated huff, glaring at him afterwards and clenching your fingers around his erect cock.
“F-fuck…” he whines, throwing his head back. “Don’t—”
“Help me get you out of these,” you say, your brow furrowed. “Tōru I swear if you don’t stop teasing I’ll just leave you here, see what you do about this little problem right here.” You give a couple pats to his crotch, and he hisses through gritted teeth, hips bucking up on instinct.
Oikawa cocks one of his perfect eyebrows as he looks at you. “Little, you say?” He hooks his thumbs on the elastic of his sweatpants, slides them down his legs (with a little help from you, which you take as your chance to get a little handsy with him), and grins at you. “Want me to prove you wrong?”
“I’d love that actually,” you say, suddenly not so snarky anymore.
There he is in his full erect glory, and the sight alone has drool pooling on your tongue. You gulp audibly, at which he chortles lightly, and you take a deep, shaky breath, reaching out to run the pad of your fingers along his shaft. Oikawa bites on his lip, watching you silently and barely able to keep it together when you press your thumb against his slit, running it along it to collect the pre-cum sliding down his cockhead. You draw a slow circle with your finger, taking your thumb to your mouth afterwards and making a show of sucking it clean. His eyes are glued to your every move, and his lips part open to let out a soft breath as he watches you, gulping loudly. He traces your mouth with the tips of his fingers, pushing them past your lips. His breath quickens when you swirl your tongue around them to lick them clean. “I couldn’t stop thinking about those pretty lips of yours wrapped around me…”
Oikawa cups your chin with his finger and brings your face close to his, nipping on your lower lip and shoving his tongue in, savoring the light taste of you on your own tongue. You hold his gaze, a devilish twinkle in your eyes, and he licks his lips slowly, helping you get down on your knees.
“Wanna help me out, pretty girl?” Instead of saying anything, you lean down to take the tip of his cock into your mouth, pressing your tongue against his slit, then swirling it around the whole head. “O-oh God,” he sighs, hand moving up to bury his fingers in your hair. He bunches it up to have a firm grip on you, holding you in place and slightly guiding the movements of your head. Oikawa bucks his hips against you and you gag a little when you feel him touching the back of your throat, the tip of your nose brushing his pelvic bone. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean—” Tears sting at the corners of your eyes when you force yourself to take as much of him as you can, swallowing to tighten your throat around him. “What the f-fuck…” he stammers. He’s missed you so much and it feels so good that he can’t hold still, no matter how hard he tries.
You don’t mind, enjoying the sweet, soft noises he lets out. Because yes, Oikawa Tōru has the prettiest moans you’ve ever heard—a little bit breathy and whiney at times, they make you squeeze your thighs together in search for the tiniest bit of relief.
You end up using your own fingers instead, using your free hand to fondle his balls, and a shiver runs up his body and he squirms beneath you. He’s babbling incoherently, completely lost in the feeling of your wet, warm mouth around him, and looking at you is what finally drives him over the edge. His jaw drops, and one final buck of his hips and you feel his load shooting to the back of your throat. You pull back, doing your best to swallow it all as you look up at him through your lashes. His chest heaves with each heavy breath he lets out, and it takes him a moment to come back down from his high. Oikawa looks at you, swipes the corner of your lips to catch the little bit of cum dribbling down and pushes it past your lips.
“You shouldn’t waste it,” he says with a cheeky grin.
After you lick your lips, he leans down to catch your lips in a slow kiss, his hand traveling down your body until it reaches between your legs. You moan softly against his mouth as he starts circling your clit once more, the kiss growing heated as his fingers speed up, and soon you’re crying out his name as he smiles against your lips. He’s really missed the sounds of your pretty cries when he makes you cum.
“God…” you sigh with a breathy laugh.
“Come on, beautiful. Let me taste you,” he says. You barely manage to register his words, head still sort of in the clouds after your orgasm. Oikawa picks you up, makes you lie down on the couch, and trails a path of wet, messy kisses down your body until his face is between your legs. He blows softly on your messy folds, sliding his fingers between them and watching you squirm under his touch, your pussy clenching around nothing. “Hm, so pretty,” he says, delivering a gentle nip to your hip.
And Oikawa gets to work. He has you arching your back and screaming out in pleasure in a matter of seconds, nails scratching his scalp as you tug on his hair, his fingers pumping in and out of you, curling, scissoring. He laps at your puffy folds and suckles on your clit, groaning when you squeeze his head between your trembling legs as your second orgasm hits you—but he doesn’t stop there.
He gathers every drop of you on his tongue, savoring it with a blissful look on his face and letting out happy hums every now and then. He ruts his hips against the couch in search for some friction, whining against you when you give an especially hard tug on his brown locks, and he unwillingly pulls away from you to look up. There you are, panting heavily with a fucked out expression on your face, and his cock throbs at the sight.
“Tōru… s’too much,” you mumble, struggling a little to speak after cumming so hard.
He shoots you a grin, wiping his glistening chin and sucking on his fingers, crawling up until his lips are right against yours.
“If you’re going to hit it…” he begins in a low voice, taking his cock in his hand and aligning himself with your entrance. You instantly spread your legs apart with a soft gasp. “Hit it til in breaks.” And he fully sheathes himself inside you.
You both moan loudly in unison, your back arching once more, chest colliding against his as he buries his face in the crook of your neck with his fingers digging in the soft flesh of your thigh, his hips moving rhythmically against yours, each thrust pulling a wanton whine from him that he tries to hide by muffling it against your skin.
“I missed you,” you repeat with a loud cry, drawing a set of thin, red lines on his back when your nails scratch their way down. “Faster… please…”
And who is he to tell you no? A series of soft curses escape his lips as he picks up the pace, leaving you breathless with each thrust.
“Ah, fuck… missed you too, baby,” he mumbles against your shoulder, pulling you so close to him it’s almost as though he wants to fuse himself with you. “Missed my pretty girl. So tight and warm for me. God, you feel so fucking good.”
Your name is on his breath like a prayer; he goes fast, hard and deep, the resounding wet slapping of skin against skin echoes in the silence of the room, and he is in awe when he looks at you—you always look so pretty when he’s ball’s deep inside you. He showers your chest with featherlight kisses, obsessed with the way your breasts jiggle each time he plunges into you, and Oikawa whines against your glistening skin when you clamp down around him so hard that his hips stutter for a second. Your scent invades all of his senses, and his mind grows cloudy because all he can see, hear, taste, and feel is you.
“Tōru, I’m so close… so close.”
“Cum for me, baby,” he breathes out, pulling back a little to watch the moment it happens as to not miss a single second. After a couple more thrusts your jaw drops with a loud cry of his name, your legs tightening around him and keeping him still as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, struggling to draw in a full breath. “So, so pretty,” he says, resuming his movements. You give the occasional buck of your hips to ride out your orgasm.
He can’t take much more after that. Oikawa dissolves into pleasure, a scalding sensation pooling low in his abdomen as mouth falls open, and he presses it against your shoulder to stifle his obscene whines, thick ropes of warm cum shooting deep inside you as he lazily rolls his hips until your pussy milks him dry.
After, Oikawa plops on top of you with a breathy laugh, peppering your neck with small kisses until you’re laughing as you shy away from him. He hugs you against his chest with a smile, caressing your face with gentle fingers, the look in his eyes one of pure adoration.
“I love you, Tōru,” you say, nuzzling your face against his chest.
His grin broadens as he delivers a soft kiss on your shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting out a happy sigh.
“I love you.” After a second in which he looks at the ceiling, pondering, he looks down at you and purses his lips. “‘M telling coach I need a couple more days off.” You snort against his damp skin, shaking your head a little. “And we’re going shopping tomorrow. Because I’m taking you,” he boops your nose, “to dinner.”
Mystery has a favorite hair tie. There is nothing particularly special about it; it's black, thin, stretchy, as one supposes any hair tie would be. But it's always on his wrist—sometimes even worn over the soft fabric of his arm warmers, to the point it has sparked multiple debates and theories among the fandom; most of them harmless—all of them definitely wrong. He doesn't use it to tie his hair back during dance practice or while exercising; his hair doesn't really bother him that much. Getting it out of the way for sound check is also useless. No, mystery has only one purpose for it. To tie his hair; that much is obvious—but only when his cock is buried so deep inside you that he doesn't know where he ends and where you start. Mystery is obsessed with the way your face scrunches up when he hits a particular spot that makes you see stars; or the way you bite your bottom lip to prevent those pretty little sounds from escaping you. He will dig his colored nails into the plush flesh of your thighs to push your legs up, up, up until your knees touch your chest, and put all of his weight into burying himself deep inside you, to feel the way your walls clamp down on him with a grip so vice-like he has to focus all of his attention on not cumming on the spot, as much as he'd love to fill you up. No, when Mystery fucks you—it's about you. Your pleasure, your satisfaction; that you're satiated and blissfully fucked-out. And when you finally cum? He does not want a single strand of hair blocking his sight from watching you crumble.
It’s always amazing to see him on the court—Oikawa Tōru has always had a strong presence, but nothing compares to when he’s playing. Right there, with the way his face breaks out into a grin when his team scores thanks to one of his perfect tosses, he simply… shines. But the best part is when, after each score, he looks at you, almost like he wants to make sure he spends every single accomplishment of his—however small or big it may be—with you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
You’ve never missed one of his games, no matter the situation. Whether there was a thunderstorm outside, or you were sick, or had an appointment you definitely should not miss; you were always there, screaming at the top of your lungs to show your support. It makes him smile so much that his cheeks always hurt afterwards, but he absolutely adores it.
This time is no different. Here you are, on the bleachers, hollering and clapping and jumping the way you always do. Tōru sets the ball, his teammate spikes, and they score, and your screams increase in volume until you feel an itch at the back of your throat that signifies you'll most definitely have trouble speaking tomorrow.
He celebrates with his team for a second, but it doesn’t take too long for his eyes to roam over the crowd until they find and meet yours, and he gives you one of those smiles he saves specifically for you. He takes his right hand to the left side of his chest and gives three soft, small pats on it. ‘I love you,’ it means.
You grin, probably looking like the lovestruck idiot you are, and tap your lips with the tips of your fingers exactly three times. ‘I love you, too,’ is what it says.
His smile widens, and one of his teammates has to shove him lightly for Oikawa to focus on the game once more. It’s exciting, the whole match has you holding your breath and on the edge of your seat, but you have the utmost trust that he’s going to lead them to victory.
And, just like you expected, he does. It felt like a battle for their lives, but eventually the last point is theirs, and the roaring crowd makes you shrink in your seat with a laugh. This time, Tōru doesn’t even pay attention to his team. The second the whistle is blown, his eyes search for you. When he finds you once more, he makes his way toward you, and he doesn’t break the contact for a single second. You shove everyone aside as you also make your way to him, and you start running at the same time he does. It doesn’t take you too long to reach him and jump into his arms.
“Oh my God!” you squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck. He picks you up with ease, his cheery laugh ringing in your ear while he spins you around with so much joy he feels he might actually burst.
He sets you down after a moment, looks into your eyes, and, for a second, he’s completely lost. But also… he’s completely found. Because he realizes right then and there, that he’s been wasting precious time.
“Marry me,” he breathes out, just like that.
It just makes sense. Once you walked into his life, there was no going back. Oikawa Tōru found his place in the world when he found you, and he’d be an idiot if he didn’t make sure to keep you by his side until the day he died, as dramatic as that might sound.
“What?” you whisper, sure that you heard wrong.
“Marry me,” he repeats, this time a little louder so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “Please. It’s you. It’s always been you, and it’ll always be you. So… Marry me.”
He’s panting, but he’s not so sure the game’s the reason. That’s just what you do to him. He feels a little dizzy when you smile at him with tears welling up in your eyes, and you throw yourself into his open arms.
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” you scream. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if you had said no, but he knows one thing; he would’ve waited for you. Always. “I’m so—” you’re interrupted by your own watery laugh, and he chuckles softly, cupping your cheeks with gentle hands and wiping the couple tears that have managed to escape your eyes. “I’m so proud of you. You made it.”
Proud is actually an understatement. After everything that happened, all those times he doubted himself and felt like giving up, all the hard work he put into it even after people underestimated him… he made it.
“We made it,” he corrects you. “I’d be nowhere without you. I owe everything to you.”
Your cheeks sting from smiling so much, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most memorable night of your entire life, and you just can’t wait for the many more to come.
Oikawa Tōru thinks he’s pretty great, but he’s one hundred percent sure that’s only because he has you by his side.
“Would you still love me if I were a worm?” you ask with evident curiosity, tilting your head slightly as you look at your boyfriend.
Bokuto hesitates for a second with the rim of the glass he's holding against his lips and blinks at you a couple times, then mimics you.
“I’m gonna need a little bit of context,” he finally replies after a moment, eyes just as curious as yours as he sets his glass down on the counter. He pops his lips and presses his index finger against his chin, deep in thought. After a second, he asks, “In this scenario, were you always a worm or did you just suddenly become one?”
You snort, shaking your head softly as you watch him with humor.
“Why would I suddenly become a worm?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, a soft smile on his lips. He honestly has no idea why you’re asking such a random question, but it’s so ridiculous that he loves it.
“Let’s say I became one suddenly,” you finally say, leaning forward with expectation.
He hums, nodding a couple times as he stares off into the distance. After a moment, his eyes fall back on you.
“And did I meet you before or after becoming a worm?”
“Before,” you say.
He breaks off into a big smile, straightening up and making his way toward you. Bokuto places his hands on your shoulders, looks you in the eye and, with all the certainty in the world, he says, “Then yeah, I’d still love you.”
“You sound so sure of it,” you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your forehead against his chest.
He presses his lips against the crown of your head in a gentle kiss, and you can feel him smiling against you.
“I am. I’m sure I’d love you in any possible scenario. And that includes if you suddenly became a worm.”
“Good.” After a quiet moment, he laughs heartedly. “What?”
“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”
αтѕυмυ
Atsumu looks at you with bewilderment while you purse your lips as you wait for his answer.
“What?” he asks, wondering if he heard you wrong.
“I asked if you’d still love me if I were a worm.”
He pulls a face, looking up as he thinks. After a second, he shakes his head.
“I’m honestly not a big fan of worms,” he says, letting out a deep breath.
“But what would you do then?”
Atsumu hesitates for a second, drumming his fingers on the table. You’re about to ask him a second time when he looks at you, slightly wide-eyed.
“Wait, do I know it’s you?”
“Yeah!” you chirp, bouncing on your seat.
His grimace deepens, and he averts his eyes. Then, in a low voice, he says, “I really don’t like worms.”
You blink at him, lips parted open as you think. Atsumu doesn’t know why you’re suddenly asking this, and he was honestly not prepared at all. Would you break up with him if he said no? He scoffs softly. That’d be ridiculous! You’d never be a worm.
“Let’s say we’re talking and all of a sudden you hear a pop and boom, you look down and I’m a worm. What would you do?” you insist; you’re not going until he gives you a concrete answer.
“I mean… I guess I’d… try not to step on you?”
You let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over your chest.
“Wow, Tsumu. Wow. So you’d just break up with me?”
Atsumu can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him, and he claps a hand over his mouth a second too late. You glare at him.
“Can you really break up with a worm? Would you even understand me? I don’t know about you but I’ve never had a conversation with a worm.” When your expression doesn’t soften, he laughs again, leaning a little bit closer. “Well, would you love me if I were a worm?”
You roll your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “This isn't about you.”
“Rude,” he mutters, brow furrowed.
“You really wouldn't?” you ask after a moment’s silence, pursing your lips.
He blinks once more. Surely you can’t be serious.
“Well, I’m sorry, I’ve never had a pet worm before. Shouldn’t I just, like, leave you outside or something? You know, so you can go live your best worm life or whatever.”
You huff.
“That’s as good as killing me. I’ve never been a worm before, I wouldn’t know what to do!”
“Well, what, you really want me to date you as a worm?” he asks, disbelief evident on his face. “Wouldn’t that make me some weird kind of furry or something?”
You hesitate, stifling a laugh behind your hand.
“Well, I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t think worms count, tho.” Atsumu gives you an extremely unimpressed look, and it looks like it’s taking everything in him not to snap. You throw your head back with laughter, and Atsumu mutters something under his breath, shoulders slumped. “Fine, you wouldn’t. That’s all I wanted to hear.”
Once he’s done grumbling, he shoots you a sideways glance and squints at you.
“I do love you as a human, though. Very much.”
You smile, cupping his chin and turning his head so he’d look at you. He complies, struggling to suppress the smile threatening to make an appearance.
“And I love you.” You pause, grinning at him. “And honestly… I wouldn’t want to date a worm either.”
кυяσσ
Kuroo is used to your weird, random questions, but he thinks this one is one of the weirdest you’ve come up with in the span of your relationship. However, he seems to be always ready for whatever you throw at him, the smartass. It’s a little infuriating how he seems to have an answer for everything.
“Question, do I know it’s you?” he asks, leaning his weight against the doorframe.
You think for a second, wondering if you should mess with him a little. You end up deciding against it, too curious to wait for an answer.
“Yeah.”
“Then yes,” he says with no hesitation. He gives your head a soft pat, and smiles. “I bet you’d be the cutest worm ever. I’d feed you, and walk you. I could even build you a small terrarium and everything; there are so many cool plants I could put in it for you to chill on.”
You open your mouth, pausing for a second before speaking. Then, you frown as you look up at him.
“How’d you walk a worm?”
“I’d put you on my shoulder,” he says with a bright grin, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Gotta get you that vitamin D.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” You deadpan.
“You know what’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve everheard?” He leans down slightly until his face is right in front of yours, and talks in a slow, slightly mocking kind of voice. “If I’d still love you if you were a worm.”
“…but would you though?”
He snorts, pulling you in for a hug. Kuroo looks down at you, a fond smile on his lips. No matter how ridiculous your questions are, he wouldn’t change them for anything in the world. After all, they’re part of what makes you you.
“I would, yeah. I’ve always wanted a pet worm.”
υѕнιנιмα
“Would you still love me if you were a worm?” you ask suddenly, peering at Ushijima closely to gauge his reaction.
He looks up from his book, eyebrows drawn as he studies your face. He probably thinks you’re trying to be funny, but you honestly want to know what his answer would be. Is it a stupid question? Yes. Do you care? Not at all.
Ushijima sighs, closes his book, and turns to face you.
“Why would you become a worm?” he asks, seeming genuinely confused.
“I don’t know,” you say with a light shrug. “I just want to know.”
“It’s not possible for you to become a worm, is it?” he murmurs, frown deepening. He looks at you as though he’s expecting you to shrink into a worm at any second.
“…no?”
“Then why would I pretend that you can?”
“It’s hypothetical,” you say with a smile. “I’m just asking what you’d do.”
“We won't know unless you became a worm.”
His answer appears to be final, and you stare at him for a couple seconds before pulling out your phone.
“Never mind,” you say with humor, hoping he never changes.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ραιяιηg⟢ ushijima wakatoshi x afab!reader (no
pronouns used).
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ωαяηιηgѕ⟢ ηѕƒω (𝟏𝟖+) м∂ηι⟢size kink,
unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, porn
without a plot.
╰─ ..𐔌՞. .՞𐦯. ─────────╯
⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Wakatoshi’s appearance is deceiving in a lot of ways. He’s this huge man with always a pretty serious face that makes a lot of people think he might have a bad temper, but he’s actually pretty gentle—especially with you. He always helps you move heavy things around, helps you reach things you struggle to, helps you in any way you might need it. But he’s especially kind during sex.
As stated before, Ushijima’s big, in every sense of the word. He’s tall, bulky, and firm; so he knows he has to be extremely gentle with you, always scared that he might accidentally hurt you if he’s not careful enough, which is why he never fucks you until you’ve cum at least three times, until you’re so wet and pliant that there’s almost no struggle when he pushes himself in.
He always spreads your legs open, his calloused fingertips caressing the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushes them apart, your glistening folds always make him swallow thickly before he asks, one more time, if you’re okay with what he’s doing. He’s always a little desperate to be inside you; feel how nice, and tight and warm you feel around him, but he knows he has to be patient if he wants you both to enjoy everything to the fullest.
His touch arises goosebumps along your skin, his hot breath fanning over your exposed cunt, your walls clenching around thin air as you wait for his first move with bated breath. The first swipe of his tongue is torturously slow; he likes to gauge your reaction, never gets tired of seeing it—the way your brows scrunch up, eyes squeezed shut as your pretty lips part open to let the sweetest moan of his name out. Ushijima takes his time to savor you, the vibration of his delighted hums rumbling from deep within his chest onto your bare skin, making you gasp and buck your hips up. He always has to pin you down to hold you in place; he likes to have full control when his mouth is on you. After he's had his fun, your taste imprinted on his tongue, he teases your entrance with his fingertip, pushing past it one of his thick, long digits while he suckles on your throbbing clit, letting out a series of soft moans and low groans that make your legs tremble around his head.
And you always whine “Toshi” in a way that drives him mad; raking your fingers through his silky hair, your voice soft and alluring as you beg him for more, to go faster. Of course, he always complies, because his only purpose is to please his sweetheart.
He adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of you, curling and scissoring them inside you to stretch you, doing everything and anything that will help you feel more comfortable when he’s finally inside you. And you do that thing he adores where you bite the back of your hand to refrain from being too loud, and he’ll always reach out to interlock your fingers with his, working you the way only he can, tongue toying with your bundle of nerves, knuckles deep inside you.
His favorite part is seeing you cum—he’d spend the rest of his days eating you out just to see your pretty face when you reach your high; how your back arches and you whimper, his name on your breath like a prayer. But he won’t stop then; he’ll keep his mouth on any part of you his lips land on—the inside of your thigh first, trailing up to your hip bone, your lower abdomen, the valley of your breasts, all the way up until his lips reach yours. He always takes his time kissing you, making sure to shove his tongue in so he can make you taste yourself on it, feel you moan against him, pulling his fingers out of you and circling your cute little clit with his slick-coated digits until you have to break the kiss to hide your face against his chest, a couple tears prickling the corners of your eyes.
“S’too much, Toshi,” you cry, muffling your sinful moans against his glistening skin.
“You can take it, baby. It’s for your own good,” is his reply. “Come on, give me one more, pretty.”
And take it you do, clawing at his back, and whimpering his name in a way that makes his cock throb with need.
He makes you cum once more, drags his fingertips from your pebbled nipples all the way down to your fluttering pussy, biting his lips when he sees your swollen lips and picturing how pretty they’d look wrapped around him.
Ushijima allows you to catch your breath, comforting, warm hands smoothing over your body to help you relax. When he feels you go lax under his fingertips, he sits up and pulls you along to sit you on his lap, and you swallow thickly when you feel how big he is against your thigh; your hand looks small when you wrap it around him to stroke his cock slowly, using the pad of your thumb to circle the tip and collect the pre-cum on it. You take your finger to your mouth and savor him, making a show of licking it clean. Wakatoshi’s eyes darken as we watches you silently, a soothing hand rubbing your thigh. He grabs the bottle of lube and spurts a generous amount on his hand, curling his fingers around his shaft and pumping a couple times to get everything nice and wetter than it already is. He helps you align his cock with your entrance, and your jaw drops when you start sinking down on him, your nails digging in the skin of his shoulders.
He holds your face with one hand to press his lips against the crown of your head, whispering sweet nothings and praise, along with a couple encouraging words for you to keep going.
“We can stop if it’s too much,” he mumbles against your neck, pressing a light kiss on it.
“I can take it,” you assure him, trying to convince yourself in the process. His thick girth spreads your walls apart as you slide down further and further until he bottoms out, both of you letting out moans and whimpers. “Fuck, you’re so big.”
Ushijima groans when he feels your warm, tight walls around him, and he watches in awe as you pull up and slide down onto him once more; there’s something hypnotizing about the way your pussy swallows him back in, almost like it doesn’t want to let go—like it refuses to even though it struggles to take all of him in.
It’s lewd and messy, and the room is filled with his deep groans, your soft mewls and the sloppy, squelching sound of you bouncing on his cock. Sex with Wakatoshi is always so messy; there’s so much lube that it splatters a little every time you slam down on him—but he has to admit that he’s sort of obsessed with it. No matter how hard he tries to stop himself, he can’t refrain from giving the occasional thrust up to meet you halfway, and it always manages to make you let out the sweetest whimper. Every kiss you share is messy, sloppy, and the hottest shit he’s ever experienced, with your fucked out expression and messy hair.
It usually gets to the point where he can’t hold back anymore, his cock throbbing with need deep inside you, wanting, craving—needing more. He’s addicted to the way you feel, the way you sound; Ushijima Wakatoshi is addicted to you. So he holds you close against him, gently places you on the bed and hooks his hands under your knees to push your legs up until they touch your chest and slides his big hands down your legs to rest them on your thighs.
The scenery is pretty stereotypical; a college party—loud music that drums in your ears and forces you to yell over it if you want to hold a conversation with anyone (which always seems futile anyway), a sweaty crowd of dancing people bumping into everyone else because they're too drunk to help themselves, plastic cups on almost everyone’s hands —and, for some reason, mostly littering the entire floor—. Everything seems right; keyword being seems.
The only problem is that, instead of being with you, Tsukishima Kei is by himself, standing on the other side of the room.
He looks annoyed, which must be because he was probably dragged to the party, just like you were. It’s been like that for a couple long hours, although you’d never admit you’ve been staring at him, just like he’d never admit he’s been doing the exact same thing when you weren’t looking—something silly since you both have actually noticed.
So, after deciding you’ve had enough of the endless glances across the room, you leave your cup —on a table, like a normal person, not the floor— and march up to him with a confidence only someone who's a little bit intoxicated can seem to muster. Tsukishima doesn’t look away this time; his eyes remain fixed on you all the while it takes you to walk from your spot to his.
And then you’re right in front of him, looking up at him with determination gleaming in your eyes.
“Let’s go outside,” you say.
“What?” he shouts, leaning down a little and tilting his head.
“I said, let’s go outside!”
“What?” he repeats.
“I said LET’S GO OUTSIDE!” you bellow, and Tsukishima starts laughing. “What?” it’s your turn to ask.
“I heard you the first time, I’m just messing with you,” he says, walking past you and heading towards the door. With a scowl, you follow. It’s better outside—less crowded and quieter, not too mention less suffocating due to the lack of people. A light, cold breeze hits your skin and you shiver lightly, earning a sideways glance from your companion. “You should’ve brought a jacket with you.”
You glower at him, rubbing your arms and shifting your feet in hopes to warm up a little.
“I did.”
“And where is it?”
You’re quiet for a second, averting your gaze with pursed lips. Your bashfulness earns a smirk from Tsukishima which he attempts to hide by busying himself with wiping his glasses on his shirt, seemingly guessing the answer before you utter a word.
“I lost it.”
“How the hell did you lose your jacket? What are you, five?”
“Listen, it’s hot inside, okay?” you grumble. “I took it off for a second and then it was gone.”
Your vision is suddenly obscured by something being draped over your head, and you stumble a little in your place, taking your hands to up. It’s soft, warm, and it smells like Tsukishima. It’s his jacket.
You blink in the darkness, holding the fabric with hesitant hands and shooting him a dubious look.
“What about you?”
He rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.
“Just put it on. I don’t want to have to deal with you getting sick.”
Despite his annoyed tone, you sense an undertone of something else lacing his words. He genuinely worries about you, and no snarky comments nor irritated grimaces are able to hide that—he's tried.
“So,” you begin, slipping your arms inside the sleeves. The jacket is too big and too long for you, bit it’s comforting in a way. You start rolling up the sleeves to uncover your hands. When he sees you struggling with the fabric, he heaves a sigh and takes the end of the sleeve in his hands, rolling it until it’s the perfect length for you. “What brought you here? Or who?” You notice the way his nose scrunches up, and smile. “I’m assuming your friends.”
“Tsk. Yeah, some friends they are. I’ve been wanting to go home for the past three hours and I can’t find any of them.”
“Well, why don’t you just leave?”
He deadpans at you like you’ve just asked the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.
“I’m supposed to drive their drunk asses back.”
You chuckle softly, thanking him quietly when both your hands are revealed. It takes him a second longer to let you go, though. He realizes it; you notice it. Neither of you mind.
Tsukishima leans against the wall, facing straight forward. You both are quiet for awhile, simply enjoying each other’s company, and even though you don’t notice this time, Kei can’t stop himself from throwing sideway glances your way. More than once, his eyes fall on your lips before he realizes what he’s doing and looks away.
You’ve been thinking a lot lately, and you’re sure he has, too. But you can’t help wondering why he hasn’t said anything. It’s pretty obvious, and not just to you—everyone around you has already mentioned it as well.
His snide remarks, mocking, annoyed huffs and rolls of his eyes seem much less frequent when he’s with you, and are replaced by small, almost imperceptible smiles and longing looks across the room—and it can only mean one thing.
Tsukishima Kei has a big, fat crush on you.
Which is good, because you happen to also have a big, fat crush on him.
“Hey, Tsukki?” you whisper, avoiding his eyes, just in case. He gives a small hum to signal he’s listening. “Why didn’t you ask me to come outside?”
He screws up his face, turning his head to look at you.
“Because why would I want to do that?” he asks after a short pause, taking out his phone to text someone. Because he actually needs to or as an excuse, you're not sure—you doubt any of his friends are sober enough to read them anyway.
You suppress a smile, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
And, summoning the courage you’ve been mustering up all day, you say, “Because you like me.”
He fumbles with his phone, the device dropping to the floor when he fails to catch it. He hurries to pick it up and crouches to check that the screen isn’t cracked before his gaze snaps up to you with a frown already settling on his brows.
“You’re tolerable, I suppose,” he says, gulping. Then, he looks down. “And besides, aren’t friends supposed to like each other?”
“Friends don’t like each other the way you like me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you like-like me.”
He lets out an irritated huff, straightening up. You have to look up to face him, and notice, for the first time, how awkward he actually looks.
“Cut it out, will you?” he mutters, taking a cautious step back when he notices how close you are. “I don’t know why you’re saying all this stuff.” He turns around to walk away.
“You know, for how smart you claim to be, you’re actually pretty stupid.”
“Ha?!” he rounds on you, looking over his shoulder. Kei's eyes stay fixed on you as you walk around him to stand before him once more. “Honestly, where is all this crap coming from?” His tone is harsh, but he stuff his hands in his jeans’ pockets so you won’t see how much they’re shaking.
You purse your lips as you look up at him, a knowing smile growing on your face. He’s honestly so dense, how hasn’t he noticed?
If the way your heart races when he touches you, or how you feel warm and fuzzy inside when he smiles at you, or how you can’t ever get him out of your head tell you something; it’s that he’s the one. At least, you really, really hope so.
“Why are you saying all this?” he asks with a light quiver to his voice he tries but fails to mask, demanding an answer.
“Because I like you too, idiot,” you mumble, snorting. “Like-like you."
He freezes in his place, blinking at you, a soft breath escaping his parted lips. He mentally thanks his friends for dragging him to the party, because maybe it doesn’t suck as much as he had initially thought. Not when you’re there with him, admitting that you reciprocate his feelings.
“Right,” he breathes out, swallowing hard. Then, he looks straight into your eyes, a small smile curling his lips. “Well. Okay.”
“Is that all you’re going to say?” you ask with humor.
“It’s honestly the first time I have no words,” he says, shaking his head.
You laugh softly, jabbing your thumb over your shoulder.
“Maybe we should just head back inside,” you say, taking a couple steps back.
“No, wait,” he blurts out, reaching out clutch your wrist. “Wait. I… I want to stay out here with you.”
“We can just go somewhere tomorrow,” you say.
“I want to be with you today and tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that too, stupid.”
“Oh. You mean like that.”
“Yeah, I mean like that,” he says, brows knit together.
“Is that a promise?”
He rolls his eyes, although an unwilling smile makes its way onto his face.
“Yeah, I promise. Today, tomorrow, and all my of days after that.”
You knew spending so much time with him was a mistake from the moment your heart started fluttering a bit too much whenever he was around, but you simply couldn't help yourself. Every second spent with Ushijima Wakatoshi only made you fall harder for him; which is the reason you decided to listen to you heart, even knowing it wasn't the smartest—nor safest— choice.
You often wonder if he remembers that night; if he thinks about it as often as you find yourself unwillingly doing it.
You were at a reunion, swaying tipsily from side to side when he walked up to you, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, and simply stood next to you. His presence was steadfast; quiet, but a comforting shadow by your side. You gave him an evaluating sideways glance, taking in his rosy cheeks and cheery demeanor, reaching the conclusion that he was equally as drunk. It surprised you to find out he was a lot more giggly when intoxicated, and more expressive—you’d never heard him talk so much. Really, it was quite comical seeing a man of his size and demeanor acting a bit of a fool.
But it was nice, and without noticing, people started leaving until you were almost alone, and then you were both looking at each other. Ushijima said something that you can’t recall, and then you said something, and the next thing you remember —which is actually the only thing you remember clearly— is that his lips were on yours, and you just went along with it.
His lips were soft. Sweet, like the cherry soda he had been drinking prior, and just as intoxicating as the liquor running in his system—even more so.
After that you grew closer, but neither of you ever brought the kiss up. So you had to settle for spending as much time with him as possible, hoping that at least part of him had even the slightest memory of what happened between you. and deeply craved it as much as you.
The problem is that, despite how many times you told yourself not to get attached—that it was one meaningless kiss derived from drunkenness; you still did. You fell, and fell hard.
And now you’re standing in front of him at exactly four in the morning as you help him check he’s packed everything. Your heart aches with each new object he places carefully inside his suitcase and your throat itches with the urge to tell him to stay.
“Do you have everything you need?” you ask instead, praying that he doesn’t notice the reluctance in your voice.
Ushijima looks around his room, brow lightly creased as he scrutinizes the place as if he didn't know by memory what he owned. Then, he turns to face his suitcase on the bed and hums. The sound is low, indifferent. Like he's not even paying attention to the task at hand as his eyes automatically drift to you before snapping back forward.
“I think so. I don’t think I’m forgetting anything.”
“Ah,” you breathe out, because you know that only means the time to let him go approaches even faster than you were hoping. You stop yourself from saying he’s forgetting you. “Well. We should probably get going then... I don’t want you to miss your flight.”
“Wait, let me make sure,” he mutters, eyes darting to you once more before proceeding to go over his belongings slowly. He checks everything’s in order (twice) and seems to finally accept that he’s packed everything he needs. “Uh, yeah. I think I got everything.”
“Well…” you whisper, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat and plaster a small smile on your face. “Let’s get you to the airport.”
Wakatoshi blinks at you, examining your face for a second, and, with slightly slumped shoulders, he grabs his things and follows you through the door.
The car is mostly silent, the small space only filled by some ballad playing softly on the radio. Both of you are so deep in your thoughts that neither of you speaks, and you don’t think you could do it even if you tried. What are you even supposed to say? ‘Hey, Wakatoshi, have a safe flight! Don’t forget about the piece of my heart you’re taking with you, haha’.
“You can park there.”
His voice snaps you back to reality, and your heart drops when you realize you’ve arrived. You park the car, sigh, and turn your face to look at him only to find him already staring intensively at you.
“Here we are,” you mumble with a strained, awkward chuckle that almost makes you grimace. What a fool you are. “You should probably… you got a flight to catch.”
“Right.” He clears his throat, placing his hand on the handle. You watch him as he hesitates, his fingers flexing, but not tugging. Ushijima looks at you once more. “Do you really think I should go?” he asks, his eyes searching yours as if he could find in them the words you don't dare speak.
You exhale through your parted lips, giving a feeble nod. Somehow, you manage to smile again. Forced and fake, but it's there.
“You’re kidding, right? Do you even have to ask?” you say, shifting in your seat to look at him. You give a light, nonchalant shrug that you hope hides how much it actually pains you to say the words. “It's a once in a lifetime opportunity. Why would you want to stay?”
A strand of hair falls on his forehead when his head bows slightly, tempting—inviting your fingers to brush it back. Instead, you dig your nails into your own palm.
“Because…” he begins, then seems to think it better. Ushijima shakes his head and gives a soft laugh. “You’re right. I should go.” His gaze meets yours, and you think you see a flicker of disappointment in it, but it’s gone in as fast as it came with a smile taking over. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Good luck,” you whisper.
All you can do is watch as he grabs his suitcase and walks away without so much as a second glance. It’s almost impossible to refrain from sticking your head out the window and yell at him to come back. So you sit there in silence, alone as you watch him disappear from view.
You don’t know how long you stay just parked there, but it takes you a while to realize that you probably should be heading back home. With a heavy heart, you start the car and start driving. You tell yourself that it’s for the best—that you don’t need him, that you haven’t fallen for him; but the tears welling up in your eyes are making it very hard to delude yourself.
Once back at your apartment, you plop down on your couch and close your eyes, heaving a sigh. All you can do is think about him, and wonder if maybe, just maybe he’s thinking about you too—yearning for you.
Your gaze keeps fleeting to your phone as though that’ll make a difference; like your gaze alone has the power to manifest a call from him. You fight the urge to text him, because you don’t even know what you’d say. That, and you don’t want to be too obvious about your feelings for him. That’s how you spend the next hour.
A sudden, urgent knock on the door startles you, and you jump to your feet and hurry to open it. There, a breathless Ushijima Wakatoshi with disheveled hair looks back at you, and you don’t believe your eyes.
“What the hell?” you blurt out, because there’s no way he’s actually here. Maybe you fell asleep on your couch and this is merely a dream. Maybe you simply miss him so much that you’ve started hallucinating. “Wakatoshi.”
“There was a lot of traffic,” he says, as if that explains anything. He seems to realize that is not the case when you give him a puzzled look. “I had to come see you.”
Your heart skips a beat when he says those words, and you actually hold your breath for second; but you don't want to get your hopes up.
“What about your flight?”
He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing and grimacing a little as he does so. Ushijima is quiet for a second.
“I missed it,” he says.
“But you were on time! We can call them and tell them that—”
You break off when he raises a hand to stop you from saying anything else, and he gulps before he speaks again.
“I did it on purpose,” he explains.
You blink up at him. You really don’t understand what’s going on, and he’s not making it any easier for you; you wish he’d go straight to the point. Did he forget something? Did he change his mind? What the hell made him turn back? Part of you, deep down, wishes you’re the reason why.
“But why?”
“I... realized it’s not where I’m supposed to be.”
You shake your head softly with a light frown upon your face. What does that even mean? He was supposed to go, he had been planning it for weeks since he got the call. Everyone knew it was what he was meant to do.
“And where are you supposed to be? Here?” you ask with a light, incredulous huff.
The corners of his lips quirk up as he looks at you, and there’s so much warmth in his eyes that you feel all fuzzy inside, almost like you’ve just drank a cup of the best hot chocolate you’ve ever had.
Akaashi promised himself never to fall in love again. After having his heart broken one too many times, he definitely wasn’t in a rush to go through heartbreak again; and he thought the best way to avoid it would be to simply stay away from people he might develop feelings for. Which turns out to be a huge a problem, considering he can’t seem to keep himself away from you.
Usually he tells himself—or rather, tries to convince his stubborn brain and fails astronomically—he loves you as a friend, because Keiji simply refuses to admit that there might be an entirely different reason why he can’t get your smile out of his mind, or why he hears echoes of your laugh when you’re not even in the same room as him and, more often than not; finds himself daydreaming about your eyes—those he gets completely lost in when he’s with you. But no, he’s definitely not in love with you. At least he forbids himself to be.
And it’s not that he doesn’t want to—you’re probably the most perfect person he’s ever met. Kind, loyal, nice, attentive. Anyone would be lucky to have you, he always says (although the thought of anyone being with you makes his stomach churn with something he doesn’t like, which he assures himself to be protectiveness stemming from brotherly love). In reality, it’s just a measure he has to take to protect himself; his heart.
Despite what he tells himself, his hands still tremble slightly when he calls you to confirm your plans for the evening—a night in with some take-out and a movie, something casual; something any best friends would do. Something that definitely shouldn't make his heart thunder inside his chest like ancient drums.
On his way to your place he stops by the convenience store to get your favorite snacks (which he, of course, knows by heart) and favorite drink, and he even takes a small, cute keychain that reminded him of you when he saw it. He can already picture the smile on your face when you see it, and he feels warm inside with the mental image of your lit up face. Akaashi's always really liked your smile.
When he finally arrives, he knocks on the door in a fun beat that lets you know it’s him on the other side, and you almost skip toward it to open it. His face breaks out into a grin when he sees you—messy hair, tired eyes and old, baggy clothes you usually wear as pajamas because they’re comfortable.
“Keiji, finally!” you chirp, hurrying to help him with the bags.
You’ve already set a couple bowls and plates to put your dinner and snacks, and he helps you get everything else ready. Both of your bodies move in sync, so used to each other’s company that it’s almost a choreographed dance. He can’t stop his silly little heart from whispering to his brain that it’d be exactly like this if you were married.
“Got you something, by the way,” he says suddenly, shoving his hand in his pocket to retrieve the keychain. He holds it tightly for a second; he really hopes you like it. “I saw it and thought of you.”
He thinks saying that might have been a mistake, but the way your eyes light up at his words —almost exactly as he pictured, but much better since it's the real thing—more than makes up for it. Your hand; soft, and warm, and familiar, brushes softly against his when he hands it to you, and you cradle it in your cupped hands with so much gentleness, and then—oh. There’s your smile. It lights up your entire face, makes the corners of your eyes crinkle and your nose scrunch up a little, and suddenly his stomach feels like an ocean raging during a thunderstorm and he has to clear his throat when he realizes he’s grinning like an idiot, schooling his expression into something he hopes is a bit more nonchalant.
“Did you pick the movie already?”
It takes you a second to tear your eyes off the keychain, holding it against your chest with a soft smile, and you look at him.
“Yeah. It has really good reviews, let’s just hope they’re true.”
Akaashi lets out a soft chuckle as he follows you into the living room. He sits down on the couch, and his lips form a thin, tight line when you plop down right next to him—you’re practically on top of him. Your leg is pressed right against his and you’re so close that he can smell your shampoo. It drives him crazy.
“Could you, um… move away a little?” he mumbles, averting his eyes while he mentally prays you don’t see the soft blush on his cheeks.
“Hm? Oh, right. Sorry,” you say with a sheepish laugh, putting a respectful distance between you two. You find his request odd, because he’s never really minded physical contact.
He registers the note of awkwardness in your voice as you shift away from him, and feels a little guilty when he looks at you, but he had to do it. He feared that if you sat too close to him you’d be able to hear his heart thumping loudly against his ribcage, which he certainly can’t allow. What the hell is he supposed to say if you notice?
Akaashi’s glad that it doesn’t take you too long to feel comfortable again, the movie bringing out a loud laugh out of you that rings in his ears long after it’s ceased. He wishes he could put it on repeat, like a song; he finds it to be as equally melodic, and it brings him peace of mind and a sense of comfort his heart desperately wants to cling to. But then again, it might just be you.
“What’d you think?”
He blinks at your expectant face, glancing at the screen, and feeling surprised when he sees the credits rolling. His lips part open and he feels incredibly dumb. Keiji had stopped watching at some point without even realizing it, and he couldn’t possibly tell you his thoughts on a movie he didn’t even pay attention to because he was too busy admiring you.
“It was okay,” he simply states, deciding it was probably the safest option.
“Well, I was expecting a bit more if I’m being honest,” you reply with a light shrug, slurping the remainder of your drink. “It got too much hype, I think.”
“Yeah, I think so too,” he murmurs, engrossed in the way your lips move when you talk, not really listening to what you’re saying.
“And the soundtrack sucked,” you add, gauging his reaction. It’s a lie, because the soundtrack was actually absolutely amazing, and Akaashi’s always been a sucker for those.
“Yeah, it was bad.”
You peer curiously at him, saying something completely random that he simply agrees with, and you let out a soft chuckle.
“I also think we should kiss.”
“Yea— wait, what?” he asks, his eyes finally snapping up from your lips to your eyes, a dumbfounded expression on his face. His mouth falls open, and he closes it and opens them again in a failed attempt to say something coherent. All he manages is to repeat, “What?”
“You know, to break the tension.”
Despite the darkness of the room, the bright TV screen allows you to see his face, and you notice him blushing furiously as he finally tears his eyes off you.
“Why would you say that?” he grumbles, feeling like smacking himself in the face, because he’s sure that you have already noticed just how smitten he is with you—something he begrudgingly finally admitted to himself tonight.
“Because, Keiji, I’m not stupid,” you reply, placing your empty cup down on. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Only you haven't noticed it’s the same way I look at you.”
He gives you a sideways glance, clearing his throat and crossing his arms across his chest. It makes him feel like he’s shielding himself, and he feels al little more protected this way.
“I wasn’t aware that I looked at you in any particular way,” he states, shifting his body away.
You inch closer, clutching the collar of his woolen sweater and tugging on it so he’ll face you. It takes him by surprise, and he feels butterflies in his stomach when he looks up and notices just how close your eyes—and lips—are to his. He can’t refrain from stealing a glimpse of them.
“You do.”
“And what should I do about it?” His voice has grown soft, the tenderness in his eyes making one of those smiles he loves so much spread across your face.
⌯⌲ reiterating what i said in my rules—you must be 18+ to interact with this blog/me.
⌯⌲ any anonymous requests will be assumed to be sent by adults.
⌯⌲ specify as much or as little as you'd like! the more information you give the better since i can cater it to your likes a bit more easily :3
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⌯⌲ english isn't my first language so please keep that in mind if you spot any mistakes!
⌯⌲ needless to say, you must have an age indicator on your blog if you request any nsfw stuff
⌯⌲ i will basically write for any character that is in any of the shows in my masterlists. however, feel free to ask if i can write for a specific character/show not listed! (for example—wuthering waves (game) which i do play, demon slayer, which i watch but don't particularly write for) and i'll let you know if i'm down to writing it or not.
⌯⌲ i might or might not reply to your ask. if i don't, please don't spam my inbox asking whether i've seen it or not. i'm not obligated to write every single thing i get sent
⌯⌲ if i don't like the request, i will simply delete the ask and move on. i'm not trying to be rude in any way, it's simply that it might've not inspired me enough and i'm doing it for free—i feel more comfortable choosing what to write.
⌯⌲ i'm down to write most stuff except certain dc stuff (such as pedophilia, incest, water sports/scat, non-con +. if you're unsure, feel free to send an ask to see if i'll write whatever you're interested in!
⌯⌲ all characters in smut will be either aged up/adults. i do not write for minors.
