this is my secondary blog. I just decided that I wanted to write whatever goes through my mind (haikyuu related). I don't think my writing is good but here I am. English isn't my first language, I apologise in advance if there are mistakes.
P.S. since it's a secondary blog I can't answer under my post, bc tumblr will answer with my main blog. You can send me asks though 🥰 (I still read the comments and the reblogs)
P.P.S. I know the difference between waist and waste, but I always make the mistake of swapping them 🤸🏻♀️🗑
You can send requests I guess, I'm just not very confident, there are characters that inspire me more than others, and I still don't know some of them (I've only watched the anime, even though I know who sakusa is, I only know he doesn't like germs). I'll try to do my best though🌸
Ah, and there are days in which I'm more inspired than others, so idk how much you'll have to wait if you ask for something. Sorry about that 🙇🏻♀️
He's obsessed with your voice. He loves the way you whimper and struggle to get the words out. He loves to ask you what you want and refuses to do anything until you beg for him.
He's buried deep inside of you, barely holding himself up over you, panting heavily. He looks down at the pretty faces you're making and he thinks the only thing that would make it better is the sound of your voice.
"Tell me what you want, baby" he breathes in your ear, dropping his head down to your neck. You can feel his chain, cold on your warm skin, and it makes you whine and arch up into him. "I asked you something, sweetheart" he hums leaning back down to press kiss over your chest.
"Please" is all you're able to stutter out at first and it makes him smile into your skin as he lifts his head to condescendingly shake it at you.
"How am I supposed to know what to do if you won't tell me?" there's a pout on his face, you know he's mocking you but you still lean up to kiss him. He indulges you for a few seconds before pulling away and raising his eyebrow at you and that's when you realise he's serious; he really won't move until you tell him exactly what you want.
"please fuck me" you whine, you know it won't be enough for him but you hope it is because if he doesn't move in the next thirty seconds you feel you might combust.
"That's a good start, sweetheart, but it's not quite enough" he chuckles at your responding whine and buries his head into you neck because he's struggling to hide the fact that not moving is affecting him too. "how do you want me to fuck you. tell me how you want it"
"please, just fuck me. fuck me hard. fuck me so hard you break the bed, bite me, spank me, I don't care just please fuck me" He lets out an elated laugh, this is exactly what he wants to hear. He leans in to kiss you and ends up muffling the sob you let out when he finally starts moving. it's intense and it makes you dizzy, you're beyond coherent words at this point. You can't even think straight. He feels so good inside you that you almost go delirious. You instinctively grab at his skin, raking your nails over his shoulder blades and he bites down on the closest patch of skin available to him in response. He loves being able to get you like this, he loves listen to you break like this. You and the pretty noises you make are all his to enjoy.
Ik I'm kinda dead and you follow me for haikyuu, but would you be okay if I'd occasionally write for other fandoms? Honestly I don't want to open another blog 🥲
You're not sure how you ended up here, laying down on the reclined seat of his car, your eyes closed but still awake, cheeks hot and a little bit intoxicated by alcohol.
You can feel atsumu's honey brown eyes on you, you know he's laying on one side, his arm under his head as a pillow.
"Your car is so comfortable, 'tsumu" you sigh contempt, "You say it everytime" he scoffs, taking one of your hands, starting playing with your fingers, something he's grown to do when he's nervous.
You lazily open your eyes to look at him, "What's wrong?", you try to smile at the volleyball player, laying on your side to look at him.
"Nothing", atsumu avoids your eyes but keeps fidgeting with your fingers. There's an expression you're not used to see on him, sadness. You feel like something inside your chest is suddenly sinking, you don't like it.
"If nothing's wrong, why didn't you drink?", "Are you really bashing me for not drinking, y/n?", he pretends to be annoyed, "Someone has to drive you home, you're drunk".
"I'm tipsy", you correct him, puffing your cheeks, "and I'm not used to you being the responsible one. I could have asked suna for a ride" you add.
You decide to gently squeeze his hand. You've missed his touch, lately atsumu has been acting different, something you can't deny freaks you out. He's always been touchy, that's the way he expresses his emotions with you, whether it's affection or distress. You've grown used to it, maybe too much. Now he seems to run away from your touch, leaving you feeling a painful cold sensation inside your chest.
"'tsumu" you murmur, not sure of what you want to say, the tone of your voice making him worry even more.
"Are you okay?", he looks at your face, searching for any sign of discomfort, "Do you feel sick? Do you need water? I can take a bottle-".
"I miss you".
The blonde meets your gaze, greeted by your watery eyes.
"I'm right here" he says while cupping your face, feeling tears treating to fall, "I'm going nowhere, I promise", his thumbs delicately grazing at your cheeks.
Your faces are inches apart and he wishes he could kiss you, swallow your sweet noises, tell you how much he wished for the last months to have you in his embrace. But not now, not on the seats of his car, not with you intoxicated by alcohol.
Tetsurou's head is heavy on your chest, his body completely limp on yours, if you'd paused the movie you were watching, you would hear a light snore.
You keep automatically stroking his dark locks, trying to stay still, in order to not bother him.
This is the second afternoon in a row in which your best friend begged you to let him nap in your room, saying it would help him rest better, since he's been having nightmares.
You're not sure how napping in your room turned into napping on you.
You don't mind it, at least that's what you're telling to yourself, balantly lying.
You wouldn't mind, but the way he rested his head on your chest, the way you stroked his hair, your legs tangled togheter under the duvet, your body gladly leaning into his warmth, everything felt so intimate.
You do mind, the way your heart keeps beating faster and faster is the proof, you can't help but wonder if tetsurou could hear it too.
This is not the first time you leaned into his touch longer than usual, making you painfully aware of your feelings, yet your only response is just trying to hide them.
samu does this thing where he discreetly checks you out while drinking something. his head tilts back a bit as he sips on the drink, and his eyes quickly make their way up and down your figure.
୨୧ ꒰ synopsis ꒱ Atsumu didn't think the night would end this way, but, really, he isn't complaining.
୨୧ ꒰ warnings ꒱ fem reader, smut, protected sex, riding, teasing, mutual pining, reader is Osamu's best friend, pet names (sweetheart), cursing, a dare is included, slight nipple play, mentions of being heard during sex, praising, making out, slight sneaking around
୨୧ ꒰ word count ꒱ 1.3k
for my milestone event, requested by @soumies <3
“Are you tryin’ to turn me on? Or are ya’ really just that oblivious?”
The phrase that started it all; it’s the phrase that led you to the situation you’re in now: your clothes haphazardly thrown off, crumbled in a messy pile on Atsumu’s floor as you sink down on his aching cock. Really, you can’t complain, especially as his hands shakily grasp your hips, guiding you to rock your hips over his cock with his mouth parted in awe.
“What was that about me being oblivious?” You’re teasing him, voice breathy as you grind down on his cock. Atsumu feels hot inside you, and you have to bite your lip at the pleasant way he throbs between your thighs when you circle your hips.
“S-shut-up,” Atsumu attempts to state, pressing his head further against his pillows as you begin hurriedly bouncing on his cock. The sight is almost too much for him to bear; his long-standing crush on you — starting off as a young, teenage crush in high school before turning into something a bit deeper as you both became adults — feels like it’s at an all-time high as you fuck yourself on his cock, years of pent-up tension finally being released. “Besides, you were the one who was all over me.”
His argument is feeble, and you throw your head back in a mocking laugh at his words. In response, you merely press your hands against him, smoothing your palms along his smooth, toned chest. Pressing your fingers against his collarbone, you shoot him a glare as a slight warning. “It was a dare, Atsumu,” is your explanation, but the knowing look that crosses your best friend’s brother is all you need to understand that he doesn’t believe you.
Nothing annoys you more.
“Oh, really now?” Atsumu’s voice is a bit rougher now, and you can see his muscles straining as his eyes rake over your figure. The darkened look overtaking his pupils, paired with how he harshly grips at your hips, guiding you to quickly bounce on his cock, is nearly enough to have a small whimper slipping past your lips. “Ya’ sure you weren’t just tryin’ to feel me up? It’s okay if ya’ were, sweetheart. Never said I was complainin’,” he smirks — a lopsided, charming thing, and you can’t tell if you want to smack it off his face or kiss him until he shuts up.
“Atsumu I — ah! — it was a dare!”
You let out a loud moan as Atsumu bullies his cock inside you, the fat head of it pressing against the one spot that has you nearly collapsing against him. Again, Atsumu smirks, and again, you feel the undeniable urge to kiss him.
“Shh, quiet sweetheart. My brother’s right down the hall. Wouldn’t want him to hear us, right?” Atsumu murmurs against you. His eyes distractedly roam across your body as you fuck him, the tight heat of your cunt so pleasurable around his throbbing cock that Atsumu feels his composure unravel. It’s hard to concentrate as you sink down on his cock, circling your hips when you take all of him inside you.
One of his hands slides up your waist, his fingertips rough as he begins kneading your breast. Atsumu grins as you let out another moan when he pinches your nipple — a moan that sounds suspiciously like his name.
Atsumu really didn’t think his night would end up this way. When your small group — consisting of you and his old high school’s volleyball club — met up earlier in the evening, Atsumu didn’t think it would lead to him fucking his cock into you.
However, life has a funny way of presenting itself sometimes; this time, it presented itself as Suna daring you to sit on Atsumu's lap, and after a few beats of shock, Atsumu quickly stated he was fine with it as long as you were. When you accepted, it had Suna cracking up, which was swiftly followed by a quick smack upside the head from Kita.
However, while Suna and Osamu were laughing, you and Atsumu were fully enamored with each other — shocked at the outcome of things, but pleasantly surprised all the same.
Then, a brush of lips grazed your ear as Atsumu leaned forward — tired of the constant back of forth, tired of how his feelings were always brimming just below the surface, and murmured that sentence against your ear.
“Are you tryin’ to turn me on? Or are ya’ really just that oblivious?”
And, no; you definitely weren’t oblivious. So, when the night came to a close, you decided to stay behind with Atsumu leading to you being pressed against the wall in the hallway, burning lips desperately kissing your own before you fumbled your way to Atsumu’s bed.
“My god, fuck. Ya’ feel so fuckin’ good on my cock,” Atsumu moans, a low and rough sound, as he bites his lip. He’s wholly infatuated watching your tight cunt bounce on his cock, watching with wide, lust-blown eyes as he stretches you apart. The coarse trail of hair leading from his navel to the base of his cock is soaked in your arousal, and Atsumu lets out a loud groan when you rise up and he sees it similarly coating his thick shaft.
“D’ya have any idea how long I’ve wanted this to happen? How pretty ya’ look right now? Fuck, sweetheart. Look fuckin’ gorgeous fuckin’ my cock like this,” Atsumu holds a confession between his words, silently hoping you’ll catch on, and silently hoping you’ll let it slide.
Unable to help himself any longer, Atsumu sits up, gathering you in his arms and pressing his chest against yours. The room smells of sweat and sex and something distinctly you as Atsumu nuzzles his nose against your neck, darting his tongue out to lick and mouth at your pulse point.
The new position feels so much more intimate than it did previously, and Atsumu has to bite back a grin as he feels you clutching to his broad shoulders. Like this, Atsumu is able to fuck up into you deeper, albeit a bit slower than previously, but the new angle allows him to feel so much more of you as you gush around his cock.
“Atsumu — fuck–” you moan against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bounce on his cock.
He grits his teeth as you clamp down around him, dragging a hand down to rest between your thighs as he begins circling your clit. “C’mon, sweetheart. Can’t you call me a sweet nickname like ya’ do my brother? Please?”
Atsumu’s words are slightly teasing, slightly truthful. The truth of his words is hidden behind the joking manner in which he delivered it, yet you understand it all the same: I want you to want me.
He feels the choked sound you let out near his neck, and Atsumu wants nothing more than hold you in his arms for hours. As his heart clenches in an almost painful affection, Atsumu feels his cock harden even more inside you, the tight coil of pleasure building the longer he fucks up into you.
However, it’s your words that tip him over the edge, paired with your orgasm abruptly coursing through your body as Atsumu buries his cock inside you, his fingers spreading apart your folds to press against your clit.
“‘Tsumu…” you moan quietly by his ear, before pulling away briefly to stare at him. Atsumu returns your gaze with a heady stare, eyes half-lidded as he feels your orgasm clamp down around his cock.
And then he kisses you. He kisses you deeply— messy and passionate, matching the deep thrusts into your tight cunt as he feels his orgasm hit him. Atsumu kisses you as you moan into his mouth, clutching his shoulders and rocking down on his cock as he cums into the condom. Atsumu kisses you as he moans your name against your lips, pulling away only briefly before leaning forward to kiss you again.
He kisses you like it’s the last time he ever will and, briefly, he wonders if it is.
Because, after all, you are his brother’s best friend.
contains: bestfriend!atsumu, suggestive content, implied pining, implied suppressed feelings, a picture of atsumu in grey sweatpants, MINORS DNI
a/n: back on my bsf!atsumu bs while I eat my midnight tomato soup and try to drag myself out of this writing block
“Why the hell is Atsumu trending on Twitter?”
Osamu gives pause at your question, shaking his head from where he sits on the other end of the couch. “What?”
Your features twist into mild confusion as you continue to scroll through your phone. “The hashtag ‘Atsumu’s Grey Sweatpants’ is trending right now.” On the screen, you rifle through tweets and comments pertaining to the hashtag, your face pinching with each post made in lieu of the trending topic.
The fabric of the couch scrapes along Osamu’s clothing as he turns to face you. “What did you just say?” he asks, sure that he had misheard you.
You mean to repeat yourself, parting your lips to speak when you suddenly find the original post from Atsumu’s account that set the aforementioned hashtag trending. Your first reaction is silence, followed by a few brief blinks.
Your second reaction is the urge to laugh. Not out of humor, but from the flustering heat that warms your face; you decidedly stifle that urge. Because how hilarious that the one time you checked Twitter, your best friend is trending for the sweatpants he posted himself in, and the consequent bulge that can be seen.
The picture itself is innocent enough: a smiling Atsumu in the mirror, sweating from his morning workout with only a pair of sweatpants and sneakers on. Until you look back up, below the waistband.
You’re staring, as if in shock, when Osamu calls your name. You lift your head, phone still in hand with the picture in the middle of the screen as you say, “Huh?”
Osamu raises his brows at you, tilts his head.
“I asked what’re you lookin’ at.”
The voice doesn’t belong to Osamu, but to Atsumu who had managed to sidle behind you in your stupor. You immediately turn the phone off, tossing it aside with a haste that only serves to be more conspicuous.
Atsumu leans down over the back of the couch to better see your face, a grin curving his lips, similar to the one in the picture. “Was that what I think it was?”
“I’m assuming you posted that knowing full well what kind of reaction it would garner from your fans,” you tell him, offering a smile that veers between being wry and being a grimace. You tuck your phone under your thigh, Atsumu looking down shortly when he catches the motion.
The comments you had seen come to the forefront of your thoughts as he watches you, almost aptly.
I would let him do unspeakable things to me, one person had said. Always the fucking sweatpants that highlight a good dick, another had posted.
“Why?” he asked, laughing. “Did it have an effect on you too?”
You know he’s joking. You know he’s joking, but there’s something in the way he brings himself closer and you think you see him swallow, though he maintains his pleased exterior enough so that you don’t question it further.
“No,” you say simply, easily, “but congrats on the trending tag.” At your final word, you push him away, scarcely catching Osamu’s dumbfounded expression as he regards the odd interaction between you and his brother.
Atsumu groans but relents, coming around the couch to settle himself gracelessly in the middle. And when he rests his arm behind you halfway through a movie, you don’t question that either.
❥ IN THIS ISSUE : ushijimawakatoshi, oikawa tooru, miya atsumu AND suna rintarō!
LEARN HOW TO GOSSIP IN JUST FIVE SIMPLE STEPS! — BONUS : do pro athletes like to gossip?
❥ ushijima wakatoshi isn’t a gossiper.
but you are! and you might think he’s not into it at all— well, he is. somehow. not really. he despised the idea of gossiping before you— he couldn’t understand the need to do it either. ‘he could not care less about strangers and useless rumors.’
however, wakatoshi’s first instinct was to curiously listen; for your sake. it took him quite the time to understand advice and telling you to stop caring (it made you sad) won’t get him anywhere and truthfully, he always finds himself intrigued by your stories, much to your enthusiasm. it’s been an hour or two, you don’t even know and you don’t care.
୨୧ ꒰ synopsis ꒱ In which Osamu is forever grateful he decided to steal your glass of water.
୨୧ ꒰ warnings ꒱ female anatomy but no pronouns used, spit kink, heavy making out, slight petting, mutual pining, sexual tension, explicit consent, friends to lovers, teasing, slight smut, osamu spits in your mouth, mentions of having sex later, semi-public making out
୨୧ ꒰ word count ꒱ 2k
yeah, you know those tiktoks where it's like: "I would never let a man spit in my mouth —" Osamu is the exception
for my milestone event, requested by @khinux <3
As the chatter of Onigiri Miya stirs around you, settling on your shoulders in a familiar way, all you can do is glare at the offending glass in front of you.
Its previous owner set it before you, and it’s been taunting you since. The slight imprint of lips is wrapped around its edge — likely due to the excess amount of chapstick Osamu insists on applying.
“That was mine, you know,” you state, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as shaky and nervous as you pictured it in your mind. All the while, your gaze does not move from the glass of water, watching as a crisp drop of water slides down the cool glass.
Osamu — your boss, your friend — throws a rag over his shoulder as he turns to look at you. With a sly quirk of his brow, followed by a slight grin, he leans a bit into your space. “What? The water?”
Leaning down, he rests his elbows on the counter, quickly tugging his black cap off to wipe at his brow. Your eyes follow his movements, trying to ignore the almost painful realization that his Onigiri Miya shirt clings to his chest and arms, to ignore how he seems to catch on to your sudden and strange change in behavior.
Again, your eyes are drawn to where the imprint of his lips stains the lip of the glass — right over the spot where your lips had previously been.
You know it’s childish to become so flustered over such a small thing; to suddenly feel like the room is too small and your clothes are a bit too tight simply because you shared a glass of water with your friend.
However, when you think back to the months of barely-there teasing gestures, lingering stares from across the room, and brief moments where Osamu would lean over your body with the excuse of, “...sorry, sweetheart; just gotta grab this real quick –” you think that maybe the arousal sinking in your stomach isn’t something strange, after all.
“Yeah,” you state, a bit dumbfounded. “The water.”
You mirror Osamu’s actions, leaning down to rest against the counter, completely tuning out the loud yet comforting atmosphere of the restaurant bustling around you.
As you hold eye contact with Osamu, you feel like the oxygen in the room has been quickly sucked away. Everything else falls away as his eyes hold you, seemingly pinning you to the spot, his knowing grin still tugging at his lips. It’s annoyingly charming, how his lips quirk lopsidedly in a boyish manner — similar to how his hair is a bit messy under his cap. His eyes take on a playful glint as he looks at you, and you find that you have a difficult time thinking about anything other than Osamu.
“What, ya’ afraid of a little spit?” Osamu asks, not daring to break eye contact.
You feel your breath catch in your throat — unsure as to where this reaction came from, nor why it seems to have such an effect on you. You’re uncertain as to why Osamu’s intense eye contact, still playful and mischievous, yet darkened a bit around the edges, has you suddenly pressing your thighs together, the throbbing between your legs becoming more and more prevalent with each passing second.
Osamu leans forward a bit more, crowding into your space yet still maintaining an appropriate distance. You don’t miss how his eyes quickly dart down to your lips, and then even further to your thighs, before catching yours again.
“Oh? Maybe you are?” he leans forward on the counter a bit more, looking up at you with slightly hooded eyes and a lopsided smirk.
And then, he says something that causes you to freeze. It causes heat to flush through your body, desire pooling hot in between your thighs. “It’s not like I spit in yer mouth, or somethin’.”
Osamu is teasing you. You know he is; he knows he is. He’s teasing you just as he’s done for months, reciprocating the numerous times you’ve held him in this precarious position, as well. However, this time, with the air feeling tensed around you, the people fading away on distracted ears, and the intensity wrapping you both in a heady embrace, you find the words tangled on your tongue.
Finally, through stuttered words, you’re able to utter a lame excuse of a response. “We-we’re in public, you know?” is all you can manage to get out, and you want to curse yourself. You’ve definitely had more eloquent moments, but as Osamu chuckles lowly under his breath, shaking his head as he pushes off from the counter, you find that you don’t care as much as you thought you did.
“C’mere. I’ll get you another drink?” It’s a question, an offer. Osamu is metaphorically holding out his hand, reaching his palm for you to take.
Without hesitation, you take it, following him away from the public counter to the private kitchen in the back.
Despite the increasingly rising popularity of Onigiri Miya, Osamu still retains a small number of employees — himself, you, and his brother, on occasion, who insists on being paid with food. It’s something you find yourself grateful for as the door to the kitchen swings shut, and you find yourself and Osamu distanced from the noisy front-of-shop.
You lean against the large industrial sink, pressing your palms to the cool metal of the edge as you face Osamu. Not missing a beat, he presses into your space a bit more than before — allowing himself to get closer than he dared earlier. His hands move to brace against the sink, cornering you with a slight quirk of his brow and a low question of, “Is this alright?”
With bated breaths, you consent, eyes wide and heart pounding in your chest. Osamu presses his weight against you ever so slightly; it’s pleasant, the feeling of his body against you, his arms around you, the musky smell of his cologne invading your senses. It’s hard to think about anything other than him as he dips his head down to brush his lips against the curve of your ear. You shiver as goosebumps spread across the sensitive skin of your neck, and you tighten your fingers on the edge of the sink as Osamu presses against you.
“Yer thirsty, ‘s that right, sweetheart?” Osamu murmurs against you, the softness of his lips dragging down your neck. A gasp escapes you, and a flood of heat fills you as Osamu gently kisses right below your ear, pressing his tongue against your skin every so slightly before pulling away. As he does so, he blows a bit of cool air against the patch of now-wet skin, smirking as you look up at him with hooded eyes.
Grasping your hand around his forearm, you lean forward, silently pressing your body further against his. You feel a burst of pride fill you as it seems to affect Osamu just as much as it does you; you watch as his eyes go a bit wider, his cheeks coated with a subtle shade of pink as you brush your lips against his.
“Yeah, I think I am,” you mumble against him, nudging your lips against his as your grip on his arm tightens with need.
Osamu’s eyes darken as they flit from your heavy gaze to your lips, and the moment of unbridled tension is finally broken when Osamu asks, “Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” you breathe out, and Osamu’s lips are on you a moment later.
You both melt into the kiss, moaning as the thick tension surrounding you finally snaps. You hold onto Osamu’s arm, your other hand sliding up his chest, running over the smooth fabric of his shirt to feel the heat of his skin. Pleased with the contact, Osamu dips your head back, parting your lips with his own as he presses his tongue against yours.
He takes in all your moans, and you feel the physical effect you have on him as Osamu stiffens by your thigh. You whimper as you feel him, hard and thick, just as his body is pressed against yours. It causes Osamu to let out a low sound in turn — one that has your thighs pressed together desperately, clutching to him as he continues kissing you passionately.
You find that Osamu’s love is deep as he presses his lips to yours over and over, growing continuously needy with each messy, open-mouthed kiss. At some point, his hat falls to the ground, and your fingers quickly find a place in his hair as Osamu presses his tongue into your mouth.
When you finally part for air, a small giggle escapes you as Osamu dips forward again — needy for more of your touch. His lips drag along your neck as he places heated kisses along the column of your throat, your laughter morphing into the small gasps and slight moans Osamu has quickly grown to love.
“W-we have to get back –” you attempt to say, still carding your fingers through Osamu’s hair as he drags his tongue along your skin.
“Hmm,” Osamu hums against you, and you feel the urge to roll your eyes as you feel his smirk pressing lazily to your skin. “I thought ya’ were thirsty.”
The heat in your chest and between your legs only builds at the sound of Osamu’s accent — seemingly thicker and more prominent than before. He pulls away from your neck to finally look at you, all lust-blown eyes and messy hair, swollen lips and a glinting smirk.
“Well, yeah,” you state, still finding difficulty finding your words after the intense makeout session. “But we have to get back to work, right?” It’s a question, as if you’re trying to convince yourself.
And then — “We can do more of this–” you tug pointedly at his shoulder, pressing his body against yours once again, “ –later.”
Feeling another rush of arousal spread throughout his body, Osamu presses his fingers to your jaw, kissing your parted lips one last time in a silent promise. “Can I try something?” he asks, and with the way his wet kisses were pressed to your neck earlier, paired with his teasing comment about spitting in your mouth, you have a feeling as to where this is going.
“Please,” you breathe against him, fumbling hands clinging to his shirt as you look at Osamu.
Slowly, carefully, Osamu parts your lips, leaning forward to let his own barely graze yours. It causes a tingling feeling to build wherever he touches — not enough, yet filling you with heat all the same. All you can do is wait patiently, twisting his shirt in your hand, fighting the urge to press your lips to his for another passionate kiss.
And then Osamu lets his spit drop into your mouth, collecting on your tongue with a low hum of approval. The well of desire nearly bursts from anticipation, and you have to fight the urge to let your eyes roll to the ceiling as Osamu kisses you again, pressing his tongue to yours as the kiss becomes messier and messier. Your moans get lost on his tongue as Osamu licks into your mouth, sucking on your tongue, barely able to pull away before you’re dragging him back for more.
Your actions have him chuckling against you, his lips soft and swollen as he kisses you again. You can’t help but smile as Osamu continues chuckling, his smile contagious as his kisses become more and more chaste, before they finally begin to linger in small, affectionate pecks.
“There ya’ go,” Osamu states when he finally pulls away, dragging the rough pad of his thumb against your bottom lip. His eyes follow the movement with a sort of headiness that causes your thighs to press together — another action Osamu doesn’t miss. “We’ll have time for more of that later.”
And with quick, practiced motions, Osamu reaches behind him to grab a clean glass, filling it up to the brim before handing it to you and walking away.
You're not sure how you ended up here, laying down on the reclined seat of his car, your eyes closed but still awake, cheeks hot and a little bit intoxicated by alcohol.
You can feel atsumu's honey brown eyes on you, you know he's laying on one side, his arm under his head as a pillow.
"Your car is so comfortable, 'tsumu" you sigh contempt, "You say it everytime" he scoffs, taking one of your hands, starting playing with your fingers, something he's grown to do when he's nervous.
You lazily open your eyes to look at him, "What's wrong?", you try to smile at the volleyball player, laying on your side to look at him.
"Nothing", atsumu avoids your eyes but keeps fidgeting with your fingers. There's an expression you're not used to see on him, sadness. You feel like something inside your chest is suddenly sinking, you don't like it.
"If nothing's wrong, why didn't you drink?", "Are you really bashing me for not drinking, y/n?", he pretends to be annoyed, "Someone has to drive you home, you're drunk".
"I'm tipsy", you correct him, puffing your cheeks, "and I'm not used to you being the responsible one. I could have asked suna for a ride" you add.
You decide to gently squeeze his hand. You've missed his touch, lately atsumu has been acting different, something you can't deny freaks you out. He's always been touchy, that's the way he expresses his emotions with you, whether it's affection or distress. You've grown used to it, maybe too much. Now he seems to run away from your touch, leaving you feeling a painful cold sensation inside your chest.
"'tsumu" you murmur, not sure of what you want to say, the tone of your voice making he worry even more.
"Are you okay?", he looks at your face, searching for any sign of discomfort, "Do you feel sick? Do you need water? I can take a bottle-".
"I miss you".
The blonde meets your gaze, greeted by your watery eyes.
"I'm right here" he says while cupping your face, feeling tears treating to fall, "I'm going nowhere, I promise", his thumbs delicately grazing at your cheeks.
Your faces are inches apart and he wishes he could kiss you, swallow your sweet noises, tell you how much he wished for the last months to have you in his embrace. But not now, not on the seats of his car, not with you intoxicated by alcohol.
