#honee.asks

[sunee-syrup]

Friendly Friday thought

dinner with Sakusa weekly as a lil gossip time/catch up at his place

"and-and she didnt even have the authorization to do it...! thats what-ngh-that's-fuck-what kills me."

"mhm"

"she's s-so condescending."

"mhm. and then?"

you shiver, head dropping back on his shoulder as you struggle to find your breath.

your weekly get-togethers with omi have taken a turn recently. they used to be wine and takeout, old shitty movies and complaining about work. you used to sit at opposite ends of the couch, sometimes leaning on each other once enough alcohol was flowing between you.

you used to go home at the end of the night.

youre not sure when it started. yes you do, it was two weeks ago.

youre not sure if it was you or him that initiated. it was him.

all you know is that one day, you started sitting in between his legs on the couch instead of across from him. one day, you started leaning your back against his chest and letting him pull you by the hips until you were flush against him like that, too. one day, he slipped his hands under your shirt and started kneading at your breasts, fingers tweaking at your nipples as he laid his chin on your shoulder, your unsteady breaths and rolling hips more than enough to get him riled up. enough for him to want to slip a hand under the band of your skirt.

one day, kiyoomi just decided that this is your place now, locked in place by his arms and kept there by his strength any time you wriggle too hard. he just decided that friday nights were to be spent with one hand kneading your tits and two fingers buried tight in your cunt.

he likes this much better. listening to your stories about work and getting to use his hands for something better than just fucking his fist when you leave at the end of the night, your name trapped in his throat?

yeah. he likes this much better.

[sunee-syrup]

does running to ur bsf after breaking up ur shitty bf and crying to him about how much it hurts and asking him to fix it and totally platonically riding his thigh while u still have tears running down ur face. does that count. is that anything. and who would u see this with (i am a #1 akaashi enjoyer but im curious who u think fits)

“what else did he say?”

“he-“ you hiccup. keiji swipes his knuckle over your cheeks, unable to help himself. you plant your hands in his lap, and he has to pretend he cant feel the heat between your legs starting to warm his thigh. “he said such mean things, ‘kaashi. he called me mean things.”

“well, thats not very nice.” no, whats not very nice is the fact that hes tracing circles into your hips with his thumbs, knowing it’ll make you squirm. you rut your hips back and forth on his thigh, ticklish, and he has to tell himself that hes not very nice.

he doesnt listen to the little voice in his head, not when your breath catches like that after he flexes his thigh. not when your hips rock back and forth involuntarily, your eyelashes fluttering at the feeling.

“did he say anything else?”

keiji knows his name came up in your fight with your ex. he knows that his presence always made the guy unhappy. in keiji’s defense, he never touched you. not once. you were always just his best friend.

that doesnt totally explain why you seem so comfortable here in his lap, why hes oh so accommodating about it.

it doesnt explain why his cock twitches in his jeans when your lip wobbles on your exhale. “yeah,” you admit, and keiji can see the shame clouding your gaze. “he said i was a whore.” keiji tightens his grip, anger flaring through him, but he keeps quiet. “said i’d probably come crying to you and let you comfort me with your-“ you clam up, your cheeks burning.

he flexes his thigh again, careful not to react when you shiver and roll your hips. careful about how much pressure he puts on your hips so you dont notice that hes moving you back and forth, too.

“with my what?”

you puff your cheeks, splotchy and warm, and scrub your hand across your teary eyes. “with your cock,” you mumble half-heartedly.

keiji doesnt let you see his emotions, keeps them in check even with the strain in his jeans.

“well,” he starts, tugging you toward him suddenly. you bite down on a moan. he feels your heartbeat against his thigh.

“youre here, arent you?”

[sunee-syrup]

platonic thigh riding with suna. his deep voice praising you while you glide your cunt over his muscular pro volleyball player thigh, your juices making your panties stick to your lips as they cover his thigh while he flexes it off and on - 📔🌬️

"rin-"

"i know," he grunts. "'s okay. take your time."

you bury your face in the crook of his neck, feel his pulse race against your skin. he's sweaty, but not as sweaty as you. even in the dark of this room, in the loud bass of the music pounding around you, he's got you steady. one hand holding your body to his, the other guiding your hips back and forth along the thigh he has wedged between your legs. your back digs into the wall behind you, and your breath stutters when you feel his teeth graze along your shoulder.

you didnt intend to end up here tonight. you came to this party with him, both of you intending to drink the week away and have a good time and go home to your respective beds. just like you do every weekend.

but there was something about him tonight -- his cologne, his outfit, the way his fucking hair fell into his face as he held you close on the dance floor. you know that these parties are the best way for him to relax, the dark of the room keeping him from being recognized by ejp fans. but you hadnt expected it to be good for something else. you hadnt expected to look up into his eyes, both of you halfway to trashed, and feel like you wouldnt mind the night ending here.

you hadnt expected him to have the same thought. maybe you should have. twin flames and all that.

you'd let him pull you into a corner, let him use his massive frame to block out everyone else, let your body talk for you in a way that only he can hear.

and now here you are, letting him drag your cunt along his thigh, your panties soaked and the denim of his jeans wet underneath you.

"rin," you whimper again, clinging to him as he flexes and unflexes his thigh. "need more."

he laughs against your skin, already reaching between your legs and choking on his breath when you start to mess with the button on his jeans.

"lemme take you home," he tries, his voice thick.

you just shake your head, tears pricking behind your eyes. "cant wait."

his breath is hot against your skin, and he doesnt stop you when you catch the zipper and start to tug. "okay," he mumbles, moving his thigh from between your legs and yanking your panties to the side. "here, then."

[sunee-syrup]

honee......friendly friday.........how do we feel about very totally platonic massages with best friend yuuji. you just work really hard, and you have bad posture. he's really concerned about your back.

MY FIRST TIME WRITING JJK AND YOU HIT ME WITH PLATONIC MASSAGES WITH BEST FRIEND YUUJI?!?!??! dee. dee i cant. dee.

--

"you really gotta stop slouching like that."

"i know, it's just-nngh-work is just..." you bury your face in your pillow, trying to focus on how nice your back feels and not on how he's caging you into the mattress with his thighs, or how his hands are warm and calloused and rough even as he's oh so gentle with you, or how he keeps pushing his hips into your ass. how you can feel him start to roll his hips even when he shouldnt.

he scoots back and digs his thumbs into the small of your back. clicks his tongue when you whine and slides his fingers under the band of your pajama shorts, mutters the word "lift" with a thick edge in his voice.

you always listen when he talks to you like that. maybe that's how you keep ending up in situations that best friends never should. a rough 'cmere' when youre too drunk and he's helping undress you for bed, his intentions innocent. the word 'move' mumbled when youre reaching for something high up, his chest pressing into your back and your ass pressing into the front of his sweats, your mind blanking when you feel him.

and now this. "lift". no room left for argument, all of your self-control focused on not moaning when he drags your shorts down so he can give you the attention you need in your lower back. no words spared for the logic that's sitting right there, untouched: that he doesnt need to do that at all.

if logic's not on the table, then theres a part of you -- loud, too loud -- that's willing to say illogical things.

"hurts," you mumble, face burning and skin tingling wherever he lays his fingers.

"where?" his voice is tight, but he's keeping it light like he knows you need to hear him -- the him that you know well, the yuuji that's sweet and innocent and not at all starting to knead your ass cheeks like that's something you need.

"down," you whisper. his fingers slip down to your thighs. "up." he pauses, and you feel him shift over you.

"here?" he breathes.

two fingers press between your thighs, right up against your clit. you whimper. he exhales, the sound sharp.

"yeah," he says to himself. "you need it here."

[sunee-syrup]

platonic dry humping with hinata. because of course it’s platonic, you’re not really having sex! you’ve got an entire pair of boxers and jeans and leggings and panties between your pussy and his cock, that’s 4 whole layers! and yknow, if he just so happens to tear those leggings right at the seam and shove your panties to the side and maybe unzip his pants and tug his cock out of his boxers, and maybe ends up inside you, it’s still platonic right???

"s-shou, wait-ah!" you gasp, lifting your head and staring down at the spot where hinata's just ripped your leggings open. "oh my god-"

he laughs, shaking his head and rolling his hips down on yours. "sorry," he grunts. "i'll pay you back for those"

your head falls back again, breath stuttering in your chest at the new feeling of his jeans pressing against your clit. "they weren't expensive," you pant. "but the panties were."

"good to know," he bites, pausing to hook two fingers around the gusset and yank them to the side. you shudder, feeling the pads of his fingers drag through your folders, circling your clit lovingly. "wont tear those."

"you can do whatever the fuck you want," you breathe without thinking, too entranced by how good his fingers feel.

he laughs again, one of those giddy ones that reminds you that hes as nervous as you are. "god, you feel so fucking good." he pushes the blunt tip of his middle finger against your entrance, smiling hopelessly when you moan and spread your legs further for him. "fuck, yn. youre gonna kill me."

"just put it in, shou," you whine, reaching down for the belt loops of his jeans. "please." when he pushes his fingers into you, curling sweetly, you bite down and shake your head. "not that."

his eyebrows fly up, and he watches you undo his jeans impatiently. "yeah?" he breathes. "you sure?"

you whine his name, and thats all he needs.

you dont say anything but his name for the next two hours.

[sunee-syrup]

You’ve been so stressed lately. It really doesn’t help that Bokuto, roommate and friend, isn’t the most organized person. So you find yourself sighing heavy when you do the dishes after he forgets for the third time in the past 2 weeks (honestly an improvement).

When he sees you doing the forgotten dishes with that dejected look, he just feels so guilty about it, insisting that he needs to make it up to you and help you relieve stress.

"'m sorry," he whispers again, panting slightly.

you groan into your pillow, feeling your drool seep into the fabric. "you should be," you mumble, muffled. "'s not fair."

"you're right," he pants. he curls his fingers, making you shudder, and holds them there tight. his other hand is pressing down on your lower back, keeping you steady. you dont need to see him to know that hes hard, because you find yourself in this situation every two weeks. it's annoying, but you cant deny that the outcome is pleasant.

you on your stomach, face buried in one pillow with another jammed under your navel. panties hanging out of bokuto's back pocket, two of his thick fingers dragging heavy against your walls as he fingers you.

an apology, he calls it. a massage, because you take care of the house and the chores and he's so forgetful that he cant help but want to show his gratitude. thats what he says.

thats what you say, too.

when he separates his fingers, stretching you out, you whine and arch your back. he groans, the noise caught in the back of his throat, and gets a little too excited. his next thrust is harsher, harder, and his pace is faster. he wants to get you off. you want that, too.

"i think-" he lets out a sound that feels like a whine. "i think maybe i can-or-maybe you could-" he whines again.

"kou," you call, both because youre loving this and because you want him to just say it already.

"sit on my face?"

oh.

yeah.

that works.

[sunee-syrup]

OMG I loooooove your writing.

Pretty pls I need you to elaborate even further on jealous angry Hinata Shouyou. Some possessive brat taming on the horizon..mayhaps ?

"o-oh, my god-" you moan, half a laugh coming with it. unable to believe that youve actually ended up here, after trying for so long to get hinata this riled up. your sweet best friend, the boy who walks under the sun.

"shut up," he bites, dragging you down on his cock. he's got your hips in a death grip, and you can feel the thumbprint bruises forming in your skin already. "you did that shit on purpose."

"yeah," you admit, one hand over your head to keep from getting a concussion on the roof of his car. every time you try to take over, your hips trying to find a new pace, he squeezes, biceps flexing as he keeps you in check.

the idea that he's not using even a fraction of his real strength has you clenching around him, heat swirling under your navel.

"god," you breathe, gasping when he rips your shirt up over your tits and wraps his lips around your left nipple, one of his palms burning its place into your spine. you bounce on his cock, glancing quickly around to make sure no one can see you in the back of this parking lot.

you never made it out of the fucking bar parking lot. his friends are still inside.

"oh god," you whisper to yourself. "youre fucking perfect, shou."

he groans into your skin, teeth grazing your nipple. "you coulda just said something."

"wheres the fun in that?"

you'll never forget the moment he looks up at you through his lashes, his gaze hard and mean.

he lifts his head, hands clamping down on your hips and keeping you from moving. you whine against his mouth, trying to whisper your apologies against his tongue, but he keeps just enough distance that you cant get closer than the brush of your lips over his.

"i told you how i can get," he whispers.

jealous. possessive.

"you better be careful."

you just grin, breathless and in love. so deeply in love that even he can see it, eyes softening when your walls flutter around him.

"dont wanna."

[sunee-syrup]

You keep contact with Shoyo while he’s abroad and call often. He says you’re a comforting reminder of home in a foreign land. A true friend really.

Following that logic, he convinces you to have phone sex with him, escalating to video call and then him sending you a remote vibrator.

"didja get it?" he asks, his voice excited on the other line.

you dump the pile of mail on your kitchen table. your regular penpal letter from kiyoko, another from iwa in california, and-

"aha!" you laugh, uncovering the small package with your name on it, written carefully. "your handwriting is shockingly neat."

"oh shut up," he jokes. "just open it. and let me see."

you put him on a video call and lean the phone against your fruit bowl while you tear it open. hes beaming on his end, watching you carefully from his laptop.

inside the package sits a sweet little silicon dildo, tied to a pretty little pillow by a pretty little ribbon. your face burns as you reach for it. "wow," you whisper. "it's so cute." you untie it, turning it in your hands and showing it to him.

"is it okay?" he asks, leaning forward to look at you. you can see the fond gleam in his eye. "not too big or small?"

you grin back, shaking your head. "it's perfect. how'd you know what i like?" you joke, the same way you two always do. "are you just that good of a friend, shou?"

he lifts his eyebrows, smiling knowingly. "the best."

you let him watch as you wrap your fingers around it, watch his eyes darken slightly. and then you tilt your head, searching the package again.

"but... wheres the box it's supposed to come in?"

he laughs under his breath. "needed to open it before i sent it."

"why?"

it starts to buzz in your hands. you jump, wide-eyed. "wha-"

he lifts his phone, showing you the screen. you stare, dumbstruck, as he drags his finger in different patterns on the app he's got open. the pattern and intensity of the vibration in your hand changes at the same time. you realize what he's done.

he just stares at you, gaze dark. "take your clothes off."