"I would kill for you. I would die for you" would you take a break for me? Would you sit down and rest? For a day, a week, a year? Would you let others take care of your needs for me? Would you let yourself be held for me? By me?
Idk i think some people miss the point of someone who's around my age lamenting that they've never dated or done anything or been in love, but really want to be. I saw someone who was 24 ask whether there was still hope for them (which I know is kinda dramatic), and the person who responded was like "do you have friends and family who love you and whom you love? Have you ever read a good book or eaten fruit or sat in the sunlight. Love is everyhwere 🥺❤️🥺❤️" and like yeah yeah I get that little love and platonic love is just as important as romantic and sexual love but really none of that changes the fact that that person and many others like them are desiring a specific kind of love under very specific circumstances and conditions. Loving your parents isn't the same as loving a significant other lol. And idk it feels patronizing or infantilizing I think, to see someone who's never been in a relationship and would like to experience that kind of bond with someone only to tell them "no actually you should love your friends and family and eat some good food ❤️" idk idk I understand the intentions but. People desire to be desired in specific ways. People want to feel desired sexually and Romantically and to know that they're wanted in those capacities. Yes it's not the only metric by which to measure one's value, but we're not being unrealistic or naive by desiring this. Yes all the other stuff is important but you would not tell someone who doesn't have friends not to worry about platonic love bc maybe they have an SO already and also the sun is shining and their parents love them and people are being kind for no reason. it's starting to get annoying
afab for all links ! disclaimer im poc, but only could find these videos and i hope thats not much of a problem :(. no non-con, rough sex in megumis and tojis, vanilla in choso, itadori and kento!
Insecure men who don’t realise how long, fat, and perfect their cocks really are until they push into you and you are gasping at the way they are splitting you open, and clawing at their back as they fill up every inch of you.
"He's never late," you say brushing off Iwaizumi's concern.
"Well then today he breaks that streak because he's not here."
Juggling your bag, coffee, and keys, you press your shoulder to your ear holding the phone so you can keep talking.
"This is Kageyama Tobio and volleyball we're talking about here, Iwaizumi. I'm sure he's already there and you just haven't noticed him."
"Do you think that little of me?" he asks with a touch of insult. "I've checked everywhere. Practice started half-an-hour ago and he's not here."
You exhale in an angry, silent growl.
You just wanted one morning--one morning--where you could go to a doctor's appointment and the men's national team could function like the adults they are
but no.
Thinking you could go to the stadium late, sneak in an hour of alone time and uninterrupted work after the appointment was destroyed by another problem.
Another day.
Another struggle.
"No one's heard anything from him and he's not answering his phone... I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't an emergency," Iwaizumi assures you and you believe it.
It's not like Kageyama to be late for anything related to volleyball. As your key slides into the lock your irritation at being interrupted shifts to worry.
What of something did happen to Tobio?
"It's okay Iwa," you reassure him. "We'll find him and I'm sure he's going to be fine...just a silly mix-up is all."
He huffs, his form of a worried sigh. "Just let me know as soon as you do."
"I will."
Your door swings open as you hang up and the empty quiet of your apartment echoes the growing fear in your chest as your mind stays focused shifting into overdrive to make a plan to find him, to think of all the places he could be, could have gone, could have done, could have--
"Tobio?"
You stop abruptly, bag slumping off your shoulder as the door slams shut.
"Shhh!" He flinches, finger over his lips, and gestures his blue eyes down to his lap.
His lap.
You frown, heart pounding in surprise and relief, then confusion as you notice the fluffy black loaf curled up on his thighs.
Kageyama gulps. "She's asleep," he whispers.
And the situation hits you.
You slowly, silently, set your things down and slip out of your shoes before tiptoeing over to the couch, a smile pulling at your mouth. "How long have you been sitting here?"
He glances at the clock. "An hour and twenty-five minutes," he answers still whispering. He shifts uncomfortably; your cat opens her eyes and makes a small sound of protest.
Kageyama freezes.
You muffle a laugh.
When your cat slowly closes her eyes again he desperately whispers "she jumped up when I was filing my nails this morning and I didn't know what to do. So I pet her a little bit and she seemed happy but then she fell asleep and I needed to pee but I didn't want to get up right away and then after a while I realized I had to get ready for practice but every time I've tried to move she does that and I don't want to upset her but practice started a half hour ago and I have to pee soo badly."
Full of love and appreciation for the adorable setter you gently lift the warm, limp feline off his lap to a grumpy meow.
"Oh thank you," he whispers in urgent relief and dashes away the moment his lap is clear.
Your cat meows again in displeasure as you cradle her in your arms. "I know, I know, Mikasa...I would spend all day there, too, if I could but we have to let him get to practice."
She meows, disgruntled, and nips at your hand as you scratch her stomach.
"He'll be back again soon. I promise," you tell her. She twitches and flips down out of your arms in a sign of disbelief.
You grin as she struts away and Tobio comes out of the bathroom.
"Thank god you came home when you did," he says giving you a quick kiss.
"I only came back because Iwaizumi called when you didn't show up for practice." You level him with a flat look and he blushes.
"Yeah...I didn't have my phone on me when it all happened ," he admits sheepishly, pulling it off the counter. "47 missed calls?!"
You sigh. "They were worried..." Your phone lights up with another call from Iwaizumi and you glance at Tobio who's looking at you with the same focus he has on the court, the same focus with which he looks at you, his manager.
"What are we going to tell them?"
"I guess..." You slowly exhale in acceptance. "It's time we tell them we're dating."
cw/ tw. college au. nerd!reader, volleyball player Atsumu, mild angst (like you can blink and you'd miss it), reader wears glasses, praise kink, oral sex, unprotected sex, pet names (ex. sweetheart, baby)
ও featuring. Atsumu x Fem!Reader
ও an. we have reached the end! (my sleeping schedule is all over the place due to work, so I’m a little later than I said this would be up) hopefully, you like how it came together, enjoy:) | series m. list
You wouldn’t consider this—hurriedly slipping through a crowd of drunk college students to the front door—you running away from your problems. No. It’s just a reprieve, a moment to devise a reasonable solution in the time it takes to leave the frat house and reach the bus stop.
But once you’re out on the sidewalk, you admit that you’re not exactly not running away either. Because while trying to avoid tripping over your feet in the ridiculous heels Kay convinced you to wear, you wonder if switching classes or moving to a different school would be too irrational.
And in context, yes, that’s precisely the definition of what you said you're not doing.
You know—tangled up in the agonized frustration with how well everything was going and hopeless resignation with how it was bound to come to a head at some point—that you wouldn’t have stayed to confront Atsumu anyway. Not with so many people there to witness the look on your face when the rejection comes.
Avoidance is easier, and acceptance of harsh facts is doable over time. So that’s that.
Only it’s not. There’s more to it.
It’s just you’d rather not go over the mental gymnastics of it while trying to get as far as possible from the heat of bodies and loud music. Not when all you can think about is fleeing, particularly to the safety of your apartment, where you can be a coward in peace.
Unfortunately, parties and gossip go hand in hand. And with so many eyes and ears (and Kay) in such a small space, it’s no wonder it doesn’t take long for news to travel.
So it seems.
Or maybe you’re walking slower than you think.
Maybe…maybe Atsumu actually started to wonder what took you so long and asked around for himself. Either way, it doesn’t matter because you hear him come barrelling out of the party after you, and he’s fast.
You walk faster, a small part of you hoping he’ll give up if only to give yourself more time to think. You haven’t even examined everything or thought of what you should do yet—
Yet, your internal spiraling gutters out when he calls your name.
“H-hey, just wait a minute—!”
And then. Then, Atsumu’s in front of you, bringing you to a stop, his chest heaving and almost tripping over his feet—you’re almost not sure you’re ready to face him yet. You stand there anyhow, legs stiff and swallowed up by anxiety as you peek up at him from under your lashes.
“You’re leaving?” he breathes. “I thought you were having fun. You were having fun, right? Was it…was it me? We can—”
“You know,” you interrupt, voice trembling.
A slow blink is all you get—almost like he hadn’t expected you to broach the subject outright.
But an impossibly long moment of silence follows, a brief hesitation that says a lot and equally not enough. Strained. Painful.
Then Atsumu clears his throat, yet his voice still wavers.
“I know. I—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve actually known for a while now.”
Your mouth feels dry, and the reasonable thing to do next is to ask how. But all you can think about are the number of times he’s shown up to class and known. That you’d said and done things, and he—he—
"Sweetheart,” Atsumu murmurs. “Don’t cry."
At first, you hadn’t noticed, but now you feel the hot trail of tears on your cheeks. And you’re not sure what’s worse: that you’re crying or that Atsumu’s here to witness it.
You cover your face with your hands. "I'm so embarrassed."
"Of me?"
"Not funny." You sniffle behind your hands, lip trembling. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wasn’t sure at first, not until last week. I'm kinda attuned to your laugh now," he explains. "But I was worried you’d avoid me if I asked you about it, so I thought I’d wait for you to tell me.”
“You’d probably end up waiting a long time, you know. I’m not—” your sigh is shaky. “I’m not good at this stuff.”
“I would have waited anyway. I’d…” Atsumu laughs nervously, “I’d do it again in a heartbeat. All of it. Because I don’t regret what we did.”
You’re too scared to see if he’s telling the truth.
“But—we—I-I’m me, and you’re…you. We’re just so different,” you try to explain.
“Why does that matter?” he asks softly.
“Because…because…”
For some inexplicable reason, you don’t have an answer. Does it really matter?
It shouldn’t.
And yet.
“Because nobody likes the nerd. I’m quiet and sometimes difficult, and I look like—this—and—”
“Sweetheart, look at me.” His fingers wrap around yours, thumbs smoothing circles over the inside of your wrists, and when you finally drop your hands, he smiles. “There she is. Listen to me, okay?”
You shake your head, biting your lip.
“I think you’re so pretty,” he says, reaching up to brush away the remaining tears on your cheeks. “And I could care less about how different we are. Do you understand?”
Out of all of the scenarios you thought up, Atsumu telling you how pretty you are in the middle of a dimly lit sidewalk as it starts to snow hadn’t been one of them. Part of you doesn’t want to believe him, but the way his eyes track over your face like he’s taking it in for the first time has your breath catching in your chest.
“Let me take you out on a date.”
“Right now?” you giggle softly in disbelief, feeling slightly breathless—a tell-tale flush trickles up your neck and sends prickles of heat onto your face. “It’s one in the morning.”
“Then we can stay in at my place.” Atsumu rushes to add when you arch an eyebrow, “we don’t have to do anything other than watch movies.”
He keeps going when you just stare at him, all dumbstruck.
“And I know a good takeout place that’s still open. Just…say yes,” he pleads.
You swallow thickly. Even though you’re still waiting for this to be the setup of some big joke, there’s not a single trace of dishonesty or mockery on Atsumu’s face.
“Okay,” you whisper, staring up at him. “Movies sound nice.”
The smile he gives you is almost shy, and you can’t help but return it.
It’s nice, not over the top like some dates you’d been on in the past, but it doesn’t need to be.
He sticks to his word, and you can tell he intends to make the most out of cheap takeout and sci-fi b-movies you’ve insisted you never watched. But it’s not until you’re both tucked under the blanket from the back of the couch that any residual nerves from earilier slowly melt away.
Maybe it’s because it’s Atsumu, or perhaps you’re just overly distracted by his hand tracing indelible patterns into the spot of your stomach where your shirt rode up after he curled you into his side.
You bite down on the corner of your lip, heart fluttering wildly, and look over at him out of the corner of your eye. However, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you. Instead, he’s entirely immersed in the movie on the screen.
It’s then that you realize you have no idea what to do next.
He said neither of you is obligated to do more than talk and laugh and cuddle. But it also implies that you can.
And the longer you sit there, wondering if he does or doesn’t want more, your nerves creep back.
Clearly, you’re overthinking this. You’ve technically done worse things with Atsumu over the phone. Several times. And for some reason, you can’t stop freaking out about how his fingers keep tracing lower and lower until you’re sighing into his neck.
"Sorry," he says insincerely.
"No, you're not." You tilt your head, blinking when you find him staring at you.
Slowly, he starts to smile. "No, I'm not."
The end credits come up on the TV at the same time that Atsumu dips his head down to kiss you. His tongue is already sliding across yours, and you bury your fingers into his soft hair.
He reacts exactly how you hoped he would: he groans softly as his hands palm your hips and slide up the back of your shirt, equally pulling you against him and pressing you further into the couch.
And when you fall back against the cushions, he follows like a lead, chasing your mouth until your thighs are bracketing his hips.
“I know I said we don’t have to do anything, but fuck,” he mumbles, palming your ass through your jeans in greedy handfuls. “Just this, okay?”
You don’t even know what it is that you agree to. Just that one moment, you’re nodding yes, and the next, Atsumu has both of you down to your underwear.
The noises he forces from you should be embarrassing when he lifts your hips and grinds his covered cock into you, mortified to acknowledge the wanton, needy side of you he so easily coaxes to the surface. But you can’t find it in yourself to care—not now, anyway.
Perhaps later, you think, after Kay begs you to recount every detail.
You won’t.
But. Still.
You’ll think about the muscles in his shoulders and how they roll as he moves you against him. Or how his mouth makes you dizzy until you’re thinking of nothing but the cock you want inside you. Just how much you want him in that very moment, it’s all-consuming.
"Atsumu—ah—I want you.”
He doesn’t even look up. Instead, he hums against your chest, lips latching onto a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “You have me, baby.”
This time, you tug on his hair lightly to get his attention.
“No, I want you.” The words come out so soft that you swear he didn’t hear you, but then Atsumu stops to stare at you with wide eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” You swallow thickly and then say, “are you going to fuck me right here?”
"Yes?" He sees the look on your face before changing his answer. "No."
Atsumu scoops you off the couch by the back of your thighs, all but dragging you up his body to crash his mouth onto yours. Then he’s stumbling through the living room and kicking closed a door seconds later before he falls onto his bed with you.
He leans back, his eyes dark as they track over you, settling a warm, heady feeling that spreads in your abdomen.
“I’ve never gotten…to really look before,” he says, a wide hand trailing between your breasts down to the top of your underwear, where his fingers wrap into the waistband. “To see all of you instead of just parts.”
Then he tugs, and delicate lace falls apart around your hips, effectively ruining your favorite pair.
"H-hey," you try to protest, but it comes out shaky and hitched on the back of your tongue. "I liked those."
"I'll buy you more. As many as you fucking want," he groans as he shifts down your body, his hands pressing your thighs further apart. "Look how swollen your clit is. I just…"
“Oh.” Your hands scramble to his head, squealing when he presses several messy kisses into your cunt.
“Okay?” he asks as he slips one then two fingers inside you—your hips buck, rocking against his mouth. "I just need to taste you."
“Yes,” you hiss—barely audible over how loud your pulse thumps in your ears. Every other word is yes, or oh, only capable of little thought unless it consisted of Atsumu.
He doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking around his ears, and from the tip of his nose to the bottom of his chin is absolutely covered in you—his face sticky-wet and shiny. Soaked. He presses one more lingering kiss against your clit, and makes a soft noise in the back of his throat when you eagerly arch against his mouth.
"Do I need a condom?" he asks while tugging down his boxers, breathless. Desperate.
You think about the ones Kay shoved into your purse, untouched and waiting—how she will likely call you an idiot later.
But that’s a future problem.
Right now, you’re too focused on how his cock slides heavily against your slit—looking bigger and more intimidating than it ever did through the tiny screen on your phone.
“Sweetheart, do I—”
“No, no, please just—”
You’ve barely finished speaking before Atsumu lunges forward and knocks you back against the mattress. His mushroom tip catches on your entrance, and then he thrusts in, slowly, right to the hilt, until you can feel the downy hairs that cover the base of his cock.
You gasp at the stretch, the sheer feeling of fullness, barely conscious of how your walls flutter around him.
“Shit,” he whines, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face between your breasts as he begins to fuck you deep.
He murmurs little praises into your throat, letting you know how tight and wet you are, asking, “there?” when he feels your toes curl. “Like that?” When you shiver and clench down hard.
“Y-yes,” you sob, head falling back against the sheets.
"I want you to moan my name. Loud enough for me to hear this time.” A little smile spreads across his lips when your breath hitches.
“I—”
"I know, sweetheart,” he says, his breath hot and damp against your neck. “I've heard you moan my name before when you thought you were being quiet.”
You squirm beneath him as he fucks you into the mattress.
“Go on,” he hisses. “Nice and loud for me."
Your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders, stomach clenching, doing exactly what he told you to do as you shatter around him. You cum with his name on your tongue and hiccupping around quick breaths.
“F-feels so fucking good.” He lets out a long, low groan as he grasps you tight, his fingers digging into your ass and back. His hips stutter, jerking deeper inside you, and you feel him, tacky-wet and dripping between your thighs.
He drops down on top of you, panting and tucking his face into your neck. You card your fingers through his damp hair and lightly scratch his scalp.
After a moment, he opens his eyes, lazily chasing your mouth for a kiss.
“We should do that again,” he mumbles. “With my phone this time. For later.”
The knife barely misses the tip of Osamu’s finger as your voice, one of his regulars, slips through the crowd.
Onigiri Miya is packed with people watching tonight’s MSBY match and Osamu spares a quick glance your way.
You’re staring heatedly at the game with a few of your friends and tracing the rim of your glass.
“As if he’d let you,” one of your friends says with a smirk.
You snort. “Of course not. But god if he did, I’d lick him clean.”
Your friends laugh.
Osamu wants to know who you’re talking about but the crowd swallows the rest of what you’re saying.
Damn.
Obviously it’s a Jackal because you’re always in their merch but there’s never a name. No number. And you’re one of the few regulars-and-MSBY-fans who hasn’t tried to weasel their way into meeting the team through Osamu.
He enjoys having you in the shop because you get along with everyone and you’re one of the few people he considers a friend outside of the business owner-patron relationship so he can’t help it.
He’s curious.
He waits for clues as to who you were talking about but you don’t give anything away; you shout and cheer for everyone.
He fills more orders, deftly manages his staff, and takes an opportunity to walk the floor.
“How’re the boys doin’?” he asks when he stops by your table.
Your group shifts to include him, a few of your friends hungrily eyeing his fitted black t-shirt. “Not as good as you, handsome.”
He smirks appreciatively. “Obviously.” Then he juts his chin at the screen. “But they’re in the lead, at least. ‘Tsumu givin’ them any trouble?”
You snicker. “Nothing more than usual.”
Osamu nods, trying to hold back another smirk as he asks the group “did I hear somethin’ about one of them sweatin’?”
Your friends crow salaciously and turn to you as you suck your lips in, eyes bulging.
“OOOH, He heard y-” One of them breaks off with a lurch like you’ve kicked them under the table as another jeers.
“Why? You jealous, Miya?” They wiggle their eyebrows. “You miss being oogled?”
He chuckles lowly and puts a hand on the back of your chair, noticing the way you’re avoiding his eye. “And who exactly are y’all ooglin’? Better not be ma dumb brother.”
“Never!” One of them leans forward as if they’re going to gush but you flick their forehead.
“No one.” You insist with a threatening smile to your friends. “You didn’t hear anything.”
Osamu snorts. “Sure I didn’t.” Feeling high from the thrill of your friends’ flirting he can’t help himself. “I must’a just imagined that comment about someone’s thighs.”
Your friends let out a synchronized cheer and you drop your forehead into your hands.
Osamu laughs but one of his workers calls him away before he can give you any more trouble.
The Jackals win and–to Osamu’s relief–you and your friends stay after the game. A lot of people do, too, caught up in the high of victory as interviews with the athletes play.
Osamu sneaks a text to his twin.
The restaurant’s still full when the team comes in to a raucous cheer and more rounds are ordered. Energy picking up like a second wind.
Atsumu greets his twin with a hug and whispers "which one?”
When they part Osamu directs him to you and your group of friends; Atsumu flicks his brow with a grin and Osamu feels like he’s back in high school.
“Heard we have some fans here,” he says sauntering over as your group shifts to welcome him like you did for Osamu. “Did y’all watch?”
“Of course we did!” one of your friends replies with a starry expression. “You were amazing!”
“Thank you, thank you.” He beams. “It was a very ex-thigh-ting game, if I say so myself.”
Osamu guffaws and chokes on a laugh as your blazing eyes immediately flick to him; your friends’ laughter encourages the setter.
“Did ya see my startl-lick-ing row of service aces in the second set?”
Their laughter roars and your eye twitches, expression scrunching at Osamu who looks away pointedly, torn between guilt and enjoyment.
“Sweat-sational, I’d say. Wouldn’t all of you?”
Osamu cringes internally; that one was a stretch but it was the final straw for you. As your friends break down to tears laughing you shove your chair back and storm away from the table making a straight line toward Osamu.
“Really?” you demand hotly and Osamu feels a fleeting moment of doubt. “You had to tell him?”
“Dunno what yer talkin’ about.” He shrugs innocently. “I didn’t hear anythin’.”
“Obviously you did,” you say tersely, dropping your voice leaning in. “Did you tell him just to make fun of me?!”
“No,” he says trying to sound lighthearted, “I was just try'na get them here so ya could meet whichever athlete it was ya wanted to be licking.”
For a moment he savors the way you gulp under his heavy, hooded gaze until a smirk slowly spreads across your own face.
“I wasn’t talking about an athlete.”
Heart pounding he looks down at the onigiri in his hands. “Oh no? Well who, then?”
You lean over the counter a little further, lowering your voice for only him to hear. “You, obviously.”
cw/tw : sleaze!kiri, college!kiri, dubcon, drugs (weed), coercion/manipulation, unprotected, size kink, possessiveness, cheating (?), what is a pov.
kirishima … loses it a little bit when you mention you suddenly have a boyfriend. well, ‘loses it’ isn’t the best way to describe it— because he doesn’t make it obvious in his body language, in fact he carries on the conversation as if he’s happy for you.
but, fuck, is he irritated and down to his marrow.
the two of you have been friends for longer than he usually takes to seal the deal, but you’re different. that’s what he likes so much about you. it didn’t only take his large stature, pretty smile and smooth words to make you melt for him.
it’s not like you’re all innocent, can’t be with the kinks and fantasies you’ve mentioned to him while drunk, you’re just so… nice. nice and a little oblivious. you wholeheartedly think that the two of you are ‘besties’, and that all of his friends see you that way too. you genuinely believe that none of them want to fuck you, what faith you have in the group.
this whole time, he’d been under the impression that you weren’t even talking to anyone else. because you would’ve told him if you were.. why didn’t you tell him? when he’s gone through all the trouble of befriending you, listening to all of your problems, the torture of sleeping in the same bed fully clothed. you’ve wrung him dry while he’s been putting on this front of having innocent intentions instead of just fucking you the first night that he’d got you back to his place— and in the moments that he’s asking you how big the guy is, because of your size kink and all, he’s thinking that doesn’t even seem like a half bad plan to him anymore.
all restraint in him has crumbled. you turn into prey the moment you walk into his place, not that you know it. you still give him that same usual hug, and smile up at him with those pretty eyes that make his dick half hard just by the way you bat your lashes at him.
he takes it slow, wanting to wind you in too deep to free yourself if you start to panic. the two of you sit in his room, the same as always. you in the middle of his bed, leaning against the headboard and him laying at your feet, a controller in his hands. like usual, before you even have a chance to speak you’re interrupted by a knock at door.
“it’s open.” kirishima calls without looking at who enters, but the black mess of hair tells you it’s sero, one of his many roommates, who for some reason doesn’t even look at you. the usual jokes and playful flirts thrown your way nowhere to be heard. your heart sinks a little when he doesn’t even greet you.
“hey, you rolled this and left it on the counter.” he extends his hand showing the redhead the blunt between his fingers. “you know those gars crisp up.”
“shit,” kiri turns, grabbing it and thanking his friend—who quickly disappears into the unusually quiet house—before putting it on the bed between the two of you.
“you care if i smoke?” he asks over his shoulder, fishing what’s likely to be a lighter out of one of his pockets. his hips are raised slightly and at this angle you can definitely make out the outline of his cock which you truly can’t tell is hard or not. when you don’t respond, he dips his head down into your line of sight, a small smile on his face. ones that you can’t tell reeks of success. “i don’t want the ‘gar to go stale.”
“uh, okay.” you nod, and that slick smile of his lingers. you don’t like to be around the smoke, it sticks to your clothes and your tolerance is so low if you’re even in the same room you can feel the buzz on your skin.
he’s just finished turning on his music he turns to you, laughing at the way you’re breathing through your shirt. “you’re so ridiculous.” he tugs at the fabric, making it fall off your face which earns him a scowl from you.
“eiji—“
“what? just hit it one time.” he offers it to you, between his middle and index finger, it’s all you can do to blink back. “c’mon, it’s me, you’re safest with me, right?” he shrugs, motioning again for you to take the blunt. “what would big bad eiji’ ever do to you?”
“i guess, red.” you roll your eyes and give in, had the thought ever crossed your mind to actually smoke and not just get secondhand high, you think kirishima definitely is the safest place to be.
he’s always watched out for you, especially times you almost did really dumb things. like meeting up with an ex, leaving the bar with some random, or some hooking up with a guy off tinder. his words of reason were the only thing that’ve saved you from disappointment.
it burns. your throat, your lungs, you can feel it in your ears. why does it burn so bad?
“it—“ you can’t breathe, it feels like the world is resting on your chest keeping you from even speaks.
“that was way too big of an inhale.” he rushes off the bed to retrieve his gym water bottle for you. “you gotta slow down, baby.” one of his large hands rub your back as you continue to cough and gasp between drinks until you can eventually breathe again. “there you go, deep breaths.”
he laughs when you force the blunt back between his fingers, but he takes it, putting it between his lips before scooting up next to you. his heavy body makes the bed dip and you feel yourself start to slide towards him without thought.
“sorry, i dunno’ why i got so close.” you admit, though you’re not sure if you’re the one moving your mouth to talk. he laughs lightly, pulling out his phone when it vibrates and placing his free hand on your thigh. you listen to the clicks of him typing for what feels like ever, the sound of the music playing becoming so distant it’s almost not there. “eijiro, i feel funny.”
“it’s okay, pretty.” he finally stops and throws his phone somewhere to be found later. “you’re with me, it’s okay.” he turns to you and his laying hand turns into a gripping one—it’s light, and soothing almost the way he massages your skin, you let yourself fall opposite of him, laying sideways on the bed, throwing your kegs over his. “you know,” he starts, pressing the blunt back between your fingers. “no one knows you like i do…”
yeah, that’s true.
“and who can you stand next to and feel as sage as you do with me?” you bring it to your lips, inhaling deep but short, closing your eyes as the burn hits and you blow the smoke back out. “i mean, who do you even know that’s stronger than me?”
that’s also true.
“there’s definitely no one that can fuck you with the same strength that i can.”
that’s definitely true, it’s not like you haven’t thought about it before. friendship or not, kirishima would hit your size kink check list so— what?
“who’s ‘gonna make your snack for you in the middle of the movie? or drive you to the gas station for food in the middle of the night? i can’t name a single other guy that would do it without complaint.”
well, yeah.. but, why is he—
“and,” he’s on top of you before you know it, his towering body leaned over yours, his knee sliding yours to the side, allowing him to rest between them. “i treat you so,” he leans down, lips ghosting your neck, “so good.” he starts with a few pecks along the side of your throat sending heat up your spine.
you feel so overwhelmed with heat, and fogginess that you have to fight against it with what little sense you have left to bring a hand up to his chest. “kiri?” you push at him lightly with your free hand, the high under your skin making it hard to push him at all, but he lets you move his body back to look at him. “you.. what’s happening?”
“i… ‘wanna be with you.” his hand starts to rub at your side, what could be meant to be soothing is only working your heart rate up further. “you’re supposed to be my girl…” he mutters, red gaze leaving yours to drift down your body. “it hurts me that you’re with him.” your eyebrows draw together as you feel a pain in your chest, has he always been so obvious? “you’ve always talked about your perfect guy, isn’t it me?”
you feel even worse when you can’t deny that, kirishima holds every single quality that you’ve ever mentioned looking more in a guy. kindness, humor, sense of safety, humbleness, not to mention physique. all the things that he’s made ridiculously obvious to you again and again.
“i mean..”
“it’s me, isn’t it?” he leans down on his forearm, using his other hand to pluck the half of the blunt out of your fingers and drops it into the water bottle. “i’m perfect for you, aren’t i?”
“i don’t know if we should—“ you’re cut off by the feeling of warmth between your legs when he pressed his hips into yours, the shape of what rubs against you making you gasp.
he says your name in a serious tone, making you look back into his eyes that hold the softest shade of red you’ve ever seen. “it’s me.” he assures and those two words make so much sense. “i’d never do anything you didn’t like.” his hand not holding his weight returns to your side, sending heat spreading beneath his touch. “tell me to stop,” he leans in when you’re quiet, lips making contact with your sensitive skin yet again, this time making you whine and shiver. “and i’ll stop.”
“don’t—“ your head pushes back against the softness of the pillow, you can’t help the growing sound of your voice. it feels like you’re going to explode from every move kirishima makes, it’s all too much, too good. “don’t stop.”
he moves past the green light the second you give it to him. his lips go from ghosts of kisses to sucking at your skin, bringing your flesh between his teeth before letting it go and lapping his tongue over the spot. his fingers finger this way under your shirt, under your bra and his thumb swipes over your nipple, his hips start grinding down against your cunt in a way that makes you feel the damp patch on your panties the second it starts to grow.
you’re so lost in it all you don’t realize that he’s stripped you and himself down— and that you aided him in doing both. or that you’ve wound your hand up in his hair, loosening it from his bun to pull him in to kiss you. that you’ve been sucking on his tongue and pressing your bare cunt down on his fingers that were already working to stretch you out. that you’ve been moaning and whining loud enough to bounce off the walls despite the music playing somewhere in the background.
you’re not pulled from the trance until he adds another finger to the thick two he already has fucking into you.
“eiji-“ you whine at the stretch, at how deep they reach and press up against your g-spot with an accuracy that makes you want to vomit at the thought of where he’s gotten the practice. “too much.”
“i know.” he slowly pushes his chest onto yours, his weight sinking you into the mattress and making your mind go completely blank. “but, you can take it, baby.” only able to focus on the direct sensations of his body and his lips as they come to speak against your own in a whisper that makes you pant. “i know you can.” his hand draws back from your cunt, making you start to ache at the loss, your heavy hands coming up in search of something to pull him back by. “because you want to, don’t you?” your unspoken pleading is answered by the weight that comes to rest on your mound. “you want it?”
“y-yeah.. i want it.” you nod slightly before taking a deep breath and shifting your hips to rub his length along your slit. he bites back a chuckle when you shudder at the feeling of his size, as if the weight of it and his body size alone weren’t big enough hints of how big his couch would be. “will it fit?”
aren’t you as sweet as ever.. it’ll fit—he’ll force it if he has to—but he doesn’t think you need to know that part.
“that’s my girl.”
i have a part 2 and 3 for this in my drafts btw ! x
summary — kenma takes you to his company event, but neither of you really want to be there.
pairing — kenma x f!reader
warnings — nsfw content minors dni! smut with lots of fluff, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, established relationship
word count — 5.7k
author’s note — this is just kenma and reader being disgustingly in love like its so gross and cheesy pls don’t perceive me
There aren’t many things that Kenma likes to put effort into.
He likes his job. He doesn’t have to do much except sit in his room and play video games while thousands of people watch. There’s volleyball–sometimes he wonders how he played it for so long without quitting. He loved the sport, but god, it made him tired. His appearance is… lacklustre. He probably could do something more with his style, but what’s the point if he’s not comfy?
You’re the single thing he often finds himself putting effort into. Not that you’re high-maintenance, or needy (although he would argue otherwise). It’s that he’s never cared so much about anything in his life as he cares about loving you.
It was scary at first. Kenma couldn’t fathom that he was capable of having feelings like that. You consumed him long before he had even asked you to be his. It’s still scary. Sometimes he feels so much for you that he has no idea how to express it–he’s never had the chance. He tries though, and hopes you understand. Sometimes you don’t. Most times you do.
ও summary. the truth always finds a way of coming out. | wc. 2k+
cw/ tw. college au. nerd!reader, volleyball player Atsumu, frat parties, drinking, obliviousness abounds, mild angst, reader wears glasses
ও featuring. Atsumu x Fem!Reader
ও an. guys, we’re almost finished T^T also there’s no smut in this one because i’m saving it for the last chapter. i’m also happy i waited to post this because i almost included part of chapter five in here, but the length suffered a little bit. i spent the last two nights seeing what i could add that could possibly benefit the story in some way without dragging it out. either way, i hope you enjoy:) | series m. list
“So tell me again, why Miya invited you to this party?“
You’ve mulled over the same question all day, yet all you can say is, “I don’t know. He just did.”
“Hmm,” Kay hums, unconvinced, watching you tear apart your closet for something to wear. “I’m surprised you’re going. You don’t even like parties.”
“Yeah,” you mutter, listening, but not really.
It’s hard to feel guilty when she hasn’t stopped probing you for answers since she walked through your front door with a duffel bag full of makeup and clothes. One would think she’s going on a week-long trip with how bulky and heavy it is—not the trashy frat party she insisted on helping you get ready for.
Although, you wouldn’t consider interrogating helping.
All it accomplishes is adding to your anxiety and frustration with how you seemingly have so many clothes but nothing that looks good, and it doesn’t help how your wardrobe—just isn’t—cooperating—
You huff a grunt of annoyance, throwing another dress into the growing pile on your bedroom floor, something you’ll regret cleaning up later. Currently, though, you can’t be bothered.
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