makki is the kind of guy you don’t think is very observant until he casually puts what he’s quietly learned about you into practice…it’s a hand on your waist to guide you towards the chair that faces the door, a polite correction when the barista hands you a coffee made with the wrong type of milk, a casual step in front of you when an overenthusiastic stranger loudly compliments the shirt you’re wearing, lithe fingers digging into the tense muscle in your shoulder that you hadn’t even realized had been dragging your posture down
Thinking about how Iwaizumi and Oikawa are entering the gym only to find Mattsun and Makki huddled in a corner. Conspiring.
“What are you two up to now?”, Iwaizumi asks and casually kicks Makki’s foot.
His friend taps the end of his pencil against his lips in thought and replies, without looking up, “Making a list.”
Mattsun, ever so helpful, explains, “We’re weighing the pros and cons of him finally asking out y/n.”
Oikawa grinned and squatted down to see the paper. Clearing his throat he began to read: “Pro - thinks I’m funny, Con - also thinks Issei is funny. Pro - soft like a… like a walking body pillow - really?”
Makki nodded dreamily.
Oikawa sighed and continued, “Con - likes the same pudding flavor I do - how is that a con?”
“Because I’d feel obligated to give her my pudding.” Makki said it as if that should have been obvious.
Iwaizumi groaned in annoyance.
“Pro - actual physical manifestation of my dream girl.”
“You’d think that would be top of the list.”, Iwaizumi grumbled and kicked Makki’s foot again, harder this time.
“Con - too good for me. Hey, come on, Makki-chan. I mean, you’re right, but that shouldn’t discourage you.”, Oikawa said genuinely, which earned him a sad glare from the boys on the floor.
“Pro - small hands.”, he paused in confusion, “What?”
Makki leaned back against the wall of the gym and shrugged, “Her hands are much smaller than mine. Puts things into … perspective.”
Oikawa and Iwaizumi frowned, Mattsun nodded sagely.
➻❥ SPRING FEVER
➻❥ a 30 day writing event created by @sunee-syrup
DAY 2 ༘⋆✿⁀➷ panty fucking -> hanamaki takahiro
cw/tags: ➻❥ allusion to rough sex, just the tip, squirting
wc: ➻❥ 1.4k
ִֶָʚଓ་༘࿐ punk's event masterlist ࿐་༘ ʚଓ
ִֶָʚଓ་༘࿐ honee's event masterlist ࿐་༘ ʚଓ
"Please? I'll be so gentle I-"
You barely manage to keep yourself from laughing at the downright pathetic look on your boyfriend's face. "No, Makki, I told you I'm still sore from yesterday," you say as you try to wriggle out of his grip, pressing against the arms wrapped around your midsection.
"But baby," he pouts up at you, poking his bottom lip out for effect, "I'll be soooo gentle I promise." His hand travels up your thigh, squeezing as he goes until he reaches the hem of your t-shirt, fingers pulling at it teasingly without ever actually dipping underneath—and then before the next round of denial even leaves your lips he gasps like he's been struck, eyes sparkling with hope as he tells you, "I won't even put it in."
Your brows dip, and you still where he holds you, back pressed to the comforter, one foot on his hip in an attempt to push him away and the other trapped beneath the weight of him. "What do you mean?" you ask, cautious, even more so when you watch the smirk on his lips grow. He hums, nuzzling against your chest, pressing kisses against you over the fabric of your shirt, "Trust me, 'kay?"
And that's how you end up at the edge of the bed, legs spread so Hiro can stand between them. He'd stripped off your shorts, his touch suspiciously gentle, but left your cotton panties and t-shirt alone. You're the one pouting now as he pulls his sweats and compression shorts down just enough for him to take his already hardening length out, giving himself a few rough strokes as he steps closer so that his knees are pressed to the side of the mattress.
"Hiro," you scold him when he idly taps the head of his cock against your still clothed heat.
"Sorry," he tells you lightly, though you can tell he doesn't really mean it by the playful glint in his eye, despite that, he does use his grip on your ankle to lift your leg so he can press a quick kiss to your calf.
"Comfy?" he asks you, still stroking himself almost absentmindedly. "Mmhm," you hum back, wiggling until you're as close to him as possible, his thighs pressed flush to the back of yours.
"Thought you didn't want to have sex," he teases, pulling the already damp fabric of your panties aside to run his pointer finger over your cunt, scoffing when he finds you plenty wet.
"Well," you huff, crossing your arms over your chest and biting down on your bottom lip to hold back the giggle making its way up your throat. Makki grins, big and uninhibited, leaning over you press a kiss to your pouting lips.
Despite your playful reluctance, you open easily when he deepens the kiss, lips sliding familiarly against his, tongues brushing repeatedly, the sounds becoming increasingly wet and breathy until he finally rocks his hips forward, cock sliding easily beneath your panties when he holds them aside, letting them settle back in place to trap him between the fabric and your slick folds.
"Hiro," you breath his name, hands coming up to cup his cheeks, to keep his mouth pressed to yours when his hips roll and the head of his cock presses on your clit.
"S'good right?" you can feel the way he smiles when he says it, a confirmation not a question. You know this but answer anyway, "Yeah, ah- it's good."
He pulls away with a press of teeth to your bottom lip, using a hand on the back of your thigh to press your knees closer to the bed, the misty hazel of his eyes focused on the shape of his cock moving beneath fabric, audibly wet. On the next roll of his hips, he pulls back far enough to separate from you fully, shushing you softly when you whine at the loss of his heat.
Your head and shoulders are propped up on a pillow, so you can very clearly see the way his cock shines with a sheen of your arousal in the low bedroom light, but you don't have long to dwell on it before Hiro's thumb finds your clit, still separated from your skin by soaked fabric—you're surprised by how intensely you can feel it, pleasure pooling in your belly with each messy circle.
Hanamaki is looking down at you as if he's in a trance, eyes fixed on your cotton panties, the gray fabric damp as he presses himself against them, rolling his hips and letting the easy slide do most of the work, bringing his palm up to press lightly against himself. The added pressure has your spine bowing, breaths coming heavy, you try to stay still beneath him, reveling in the way he seems transfixed by you.
On the next particularly harsh thrust, the head of his cock catches on your entrance, pressing in a few centimeters before he's pulling back again, and you let out a ragged moan. He's still got a hand on the back of one of your thighs, close enough that you can grab hold of his wrist, anchoring yourself with a barely there press of fingertips into freckled skin.
You're not sure what compels him to do it, especially because you can very clearly hear how wet you are, but he leans forward, purses his lips, and lets a string of saliva drip down onto where you're pressed together—and it's fucking hot.
"Fuck, Hiro I-" you're close to begging, voice breaking over every babbled word. Your desperation tears a moan from his chest, and before you can react he's tugging your panties to the side again and slipping his cock beneath them before letting them settle back in place. Your nails dig harder into the skin of his wrist—it only eggs him on, the roll of his hips getting messy and uncoordinated with need.
Hiro's breathing hard, chest heaving, and every time you exhale it comes with a needy sound. "Oh my god," he manages to bite out, fingertips pressing into the skin at the back of your thigh, "m'gonna come."
What you are not expecting to happen next is for his fingers to find the soaked fabric between your legs and pull it aside, allowing him just enough room to pull his hips back and shallowly thrust the tip of his cock in.
The sensation is overwhelming, a hot press against nerve endings that already felt as if they'd been lit on fire, the heat turning liquid and beginning to wash over you. You feel like you can't take a full breath, you're wound so tight—Hiro doesn't last but a handful of quick strokes before he's pulling out to come, barely pausing before his fingers find your clit, thumb circling with surprising precision, slick with the mixture of your arousal and his cum, easily guiding you right to the edge before bodily throwing you off.
Your legs tremble and he's kissing you again, consuming the sounds that fall from your lips as you gush all over his fingers, soaking the sheets and the front of his sweatpants, still pushed down just to his mid-thigh. You revel in the way it lingers, swelling once more before it starts to subside, and then, when you're finally able to breath again, eyes squeezed shut though you don't remember ever closing them, his voice is what guides you gently back to the surface. Little bouts of praise fall from his lips as he kisses across your face and down your throat, pulling at the collar of your t-shirt to gain access to the tops of your shoulders too.
You can't help the way you giggle as you begin to swim back to the surface, wrapping your mostly limp arms across his shoulders to pull him close, kissing any bit of warm, freckled skin you can reach.
Hiro finally manages to separate you enough to get a good look at your face, cheeks flushed, smirk pulling at his lips, undeniably a little smug. You're helpless against the way you begin to laugh harder, rolling your eyes playfully, bringing your hands up to cover his mouth when he opens it to speak, muffling something along the lines of "I told you so" until the words eventually melt fully into laughter.
» It's always been him. Even when you think you don't have a chance, it's him. «
----------------------------------------
TAGS: chubby!reader, roommate best friend!makki, reader who's never finished and makki who doesnt think before he speaks, mattsun is both tired and tiring, reader and makki are deeply in love but have never said it out loud, best friends iwaoi oh how i love you dearly, mutual pining, makki the munch, cunnilingus to the max, penetrative sex, body insecurity, reassurance, slight hurt/comfort but makki never lets it even get to the "hurt" part, face sitting
a/n: NOW YOU KNOOOOOOOOOOWWW HOW I FEEL ABOUT A CHUBBY READER FICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC!!!!!! i had an insane amount of fun with this, thank you so much to @antique-remains for commissioning this!!!!
[commission honee here!]
------------------------------------
Hanamaki Takahiro has always been there.
It just usually took people a while to notice him.
It was well known in high school that Oikawa took the attention. The sparkle, the praise, the constant confessions — those were for Oikawa. In college, it was just the same.
Iwaizumi came next, always. As Oikawa's best friend, some of that praise — that sparkle, that attention — fell off of Oikawa and onto him. "He's so different than Tooru," they would say. "There's something mysterious about him." They liked how scary he could be, how hard it was to get to him. It made him that much more appealing.
Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro were a pair, but Matsukawa had the look. He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was the boy that the girls who didn't like Oikawa ended up crushing on.
Except for you.
You're still not sure what it was, a decade later. At the time, you were probably intimidated by Matsukawa's energy. Intimidated by Iwaizumi's scowl and Oikawa's popularity.
But Hanamaki Takahiro… he felt like an old friend, even when he didn't know your name. Even when you'd push through the crowd surrounding the four of them and accidentally make eye contact with him. Even when he was only a few feet away, all of the time, without ever interacting.
He felt like an old friend, and you remember exactly why. Even a decade later.
—
"Oink, oink, oink!"
You sigh, twirling your pencil around your fingers and staring down at your homework. Do your best to ignore the sounds. Ignore the laughter that always follows. Your lunch sits open next to you — a plate of fruit and some carrot sticks — but it's untouched. Any time you reach for your fork, the noises get louder. The laughter gets louder. So you just leave it.
You focus on your work as best as you can, and even when you can't, you force yourself to write something anyway. Just to show them that you're not listening, even though you are.
You don't have the attention span to notice the group of boys passing by the door, joking amongst each other loudly, completely unrelated to you. You don't have the space to hear the squeak of one pair shoes scraping against the linoleum, triggered by the pig noises behind you, or the gentle follow of three more pairs. You don't have the mental capacity to listen as those shoes grow closer, slow and analyzing at first, and then fast and angry all at once.
"Aw, don't you wanna eat, little piggy? Oink, oink, oi-mrrrph!"
You blink, turn, examine.
There's a head of pink hair hovering over the two boys behind you. Two hands, one on each collar, dragging up and away with a deceptive amount of strength, given how lanky he is.
Two bodies, up and away and shoved wordlessly toward his counterpart — the one with the look. Tall, dark, and handsome — scary. Rougher around the edges, hands quick to join this game of push and pull.
"What're these two little piggies doin' here?" Matsukawa drawls, low and lazy. Eyes cold and mean. "Piggies belong in the mud."
The pass-off to Iwaizumi is easy. "Can't have that," the boy says, voice gruff and harsh. His smile is terrifyingly evil. "Out you go," he bites, shoving them to the door, where Oikawa — popular, sparkly, golden — leans against the door, his expression easy, amused.
"I'd be honored," is all he says, sticking a foot out as the bullies stumble toward him. They go flying into the hall, legs kicked out from under them and faces scraping against the floor. "Oops!" Oikawa giggles. "Careful where you're going!"
The classroom is hauntingly silent, groans of pain echoing quietly outside.
You stare, eyes wide, unsure what to make of it. Of them. You meet each of their eyes, knowing they can see the confusion in yours.
Oikawa's the first to move, approaching your lunch at staring down at it.
"Hm," he says, tilting his head to the side and examining. Noticing that it's untouched. "Were you eating this?"
You don't know what to say. What to do. You just shake your head.
"Well, that's good," he laughs softly, picking up the little container. He walks away with it, heading for the pile of limbs outside. "Little piggies left their lunch!" he giggles again. It scares you.
And then he dumps fruit and carrot sticks on their heads.
"Wh-" Your jaw drops, and you start to move. You don't get far. There's a head of pink hair in your way.
"Eh, I wasn't feeling very hungry," he says. You've never heard his voice this close before. It's rough, low, and slides down your spine like the smooth back of a blade.
"What?" you breathe, staring up at him. Grey eyes stare back — calm, easy — and then he reaches toward the shelf behind him. You realize he'd put his lunch down before acting, and he's taking one of the now-empty seats and unwrapping his bento.
"My mom always makes me too much," he says. "Somethin' about needing more food for volleyball. But I'm not a bottomless pit," he chuckles. "I never finish." You watch, shocked, as the other three take the seats around you, each unwrapping their lunches and picking up their conversation from before like nothing ever happened.
You look around.
Your classmates stare back. There's a mixture of disbelief and suspicion, almost like they can't fathom that somehow you managed to become friends with the most popular boys in school.
You're not sure anyone would believe you if you say this is your first time ever speaking to them.
"See? I'm already full."
Your gaze flies back to him.
Hanamaki Takahiro.
He's making a show of pushing his lunch away from himself. "Can't finish on my own."
You know what he's doing. It's not subtle.
He makes it clearer, just in case. "Sit," he says, eyes on you. "Eat."
You sit — unable, for some reason, to resist that voice — but you don't touch his food.
"I'm not gonna eat your lunch," you say softly.
He tilts his head. "But you don't have your own."
You glance at the door. The boys are gone, but the mess is still there. "I did."
Matsukawa snorts quietly, shovelling food in his mouth and continuing to scroll on his phone. "That wasn't a lunch."
"That was for the piggies!" Oikawa adds, snickering and flipping through his magazine. "That's not a good lunch for anyone else. There's no substance."
"Yeah," you mutter. "That's the point." You start to turn around to return to your homework, but Hanamaki is leaning forward, eyes sharp on yours.
"Eat," he says, shoving his bento closer to you with his pinky finger. "Can't use that brain if it's not well-fed."
You stare, not sure why you feel so weird around him. Why the others feel intimidating and odd, but he feels different. He's still a little scary, and he's weirdly firm with you, but he feels… familiar. Like you want to lean into it, because he can't possibly want anything but the best for you.
It's disorienting.
"You don't even know me," you say weakly. "I'm not gonna eat your food when you don't even know my name."
"Y/n," he says simply. "Second year. Top ten in our class." You stare. He stares back. And then he smiles. "You wanna eat on your own, or you want me to do it for you?"
You can't win this, that much is clear.
You snatch his chopsticks out of his hand, quickly picking at a bit of rolled egg and sausage and shoving them in your mouth, careful not to let the chopsticks touch your lips. Even though he's staring at your mouth, even though he lifts a brow when you're careful.
You start to push the chopsticks back into his hand, but his smile is a little evil.
"You don't wanna do that."
You sigh, clearly annoyed, and keep picking at his lunch. His friends laugh, and for a horrible moment, you think they're laughing at you.
But then Oikawa is rolling up his magazine and smacking Hanamaki over the head lightly. "You're fucking awful, Makki."
"Torturing the poor girl," Iwaizumi says through a mouth full of food. "Sick in the head."
Matsukawa just shrugs, "She wasn't gonna eat without a little push. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do."
"You're only sayin' that 'cause you're also sick in the head," Iwaizumi grunts. He meets your eyes. "If you don't want it to happen again, start bringing your own lunch."
You start to tell them, again, that you did bring your own lunch, but Hanamaki's tilting his head, almost like he's daring you to say it. Daring you to try to convince them — convince yourself — that that pathetic excuse for a meal was ever going to be enough for you.
"What's all this about?" you question, your voice trembling. "What're you guys talking to me for? Is this gonna end up being a big joke to you?"
A noise leaves Hanamaki's mouth, one that starts low in his chest and sounds like a growl. "I don't like bullies," he bites. "And I don't like it when people don't take care of themselves."
You want to be offended, but that feeling is back. The familiar one that makes you feel safe with him. So you just stare, heart racing.
And then he digs in his pocket, slides his phone across the desk to you.
You give him your number without question. You get the feeling that he's going to keep having that power over you.
When lunch ends, the four of them stand and start to walk away.
"See you tomorrow!" Oikawa says, Iwaizumi waving back toward you as he goes and Matsukawa just following, head buried in his phone. Hanamaki stays for a moment, staring down at you.
You say nothing. He says nothing.
And then he lifts his brows, a little smile peeking out. "I'll text you."
You just stare. He stares back.
"You gonna text me back?"
Your breath cuts short. "Yeah," you whisper. "Sure."
His smile is wider as he turns and leaves, wrapped bento swinging from his fingers.
You can't tell what this feeling is.
—
It turns out to not be one huge joke to them.
Hanamaki — Makki, as he insists over text several times — texts and calls the same night, and he keeps you on the phone until well into the night, laughing and joking and getting to know you. He thanks you for letting him in, and it's only when you hang up, exhausted but grinning from ear to ear, that you realize that's exactly what happened.
The next day, you find yourself surrounded by them at lunch again, Oikawa in your space as he examines your lunch — it's the same as yesterday, because you hadn't actually expected them to show up.
"Try again tomorrow," he just says with a wink, swapping your carrots out for half of his sandwich. Iwaizumi just nods, and Matsukawa is too busy picking on Hanamaki — Makki — to notice.
You do better the next day, and the next, and the next, until your meals return to normal and you grow used to seeing them.
Oikawa Tooru — golden, popular, sparkly — glues himself to you with the fervor of a rabbid animal. He magically forgets about personal space and constantly invades yours, dragging you to coffee and lunch and dinner and to their practices, over and over and over again. You get to know them even better by seeing them on the court, watching how they interact and how they move. You learn about Makki, even though you pretend to look at him the least of all.
You wonder briefly why Oikawa clings to you when he's so good at skillfully avoiding his loyal fangirls. You wonder if it's because you're not a threat, that he can't imagine seeing you as an option. And then he says it one day, in the hush of the walk home, with you squashed between him and Iwaizumi.
"You like him, right?" he says innocently, staring up at the sunset like he hadn't ever said anything.
You blink and stare up at him. "What?"
Iwaizumi chuckles on your other side. When you turn your head to him, he just shoots you a side glance. "It's pretty obvious," he mutters.
"What is?"
Neither of them answers you, Oikawa returning to his sparkly sunset and Iwaizimi focusing on the pebble he's kicking down the road as you walk.
When you start to split up, Oikawa leans into your face, Iwaizumi already a few feet away.
"Can I tell you a secret?" His voice is hushed, conspiratorial. You nod, watching him carefully. He grins wide, eyes searching yours.
"He likes you, too. Never seen him act like this before."
You furrow your brows but don't get a chance to ask. He's already straightening and turning over his shoulder, waving back at you.
"Bye, Y/n," he calls sweetly, chasing Iwaizumi down and leaving you in silence.
You don't fully get what he's saying, not even later that night, when Makki calls and keeps you on the phone until one in the morning again. He's done it every night since the first, talking to you about school and the future and what you want to do with your life. And you let him.
Second year bleeds into third, and suddenly Oikawa and Iwa are constants in your life, calling you up and asking you to hang out over breaks and on weekends. Mattsun remains as he is, Makki's counterpart, and seems more attached to him than the others. But he's firm about his presence in your life, looming and particularly terrifying when people try to comment on your weight.
It continues past graduation. Oikawa leaves for Argentina, and Iwa leaves for California, and you stick around with Mattsun to attend the local college. You half-expect them to disappear, knowing that you would miss them dearly, but they never do. You just get used to 3am phone calls and having to silence your phone when you actually want to sleep. You get used to Mattsun appearing at your dorm at random hours, demanding study time.
You get used to seeing Makki with him, despite his decision that school isn't for him. He works multiple part-time jobs, and he does them well, hard-working and diligent in his own way.
You get used to the antics of the pair, finding that you fit well between them, that they make the perfect amount of space for you.
As graduation looms yet again, Mattsun mentions moving to Tokyo, that the rent is expensive. He mentions that Makki's considering it, too.
You fall into place again, in the perfect amount of space that they'd made for you.
The move to Tokyo should be hard because it's your first time in a big city, but they make it easy. Easy enough that you never think about moving again, years passing just like that.
Iwa returns, settling down not too far from you. Oikawa stays in Argentina, but the 3am calls keeping coming home to you, years and years gone by with your phone lighting up late at night, the three-person group calls long-established.
You turn 25, and then 26, 27, and finally 28.
You don't mention to any of them what you feel so strongly — that you're missing something. That you can feel the tension between Iwa and Oikawa on the phone, unspoken but so very obvious. That you see when Mattsun leaves for the night and doesn't return. That you hear when Makki leads random girls down the hall late at night, hushing them as he goes. That they never do, because you can always hear what goes on in his room. That you can always see the marks on his neck and chest the next day, forcing yourself to pretend you don't care.
You want to say the reason is just that you don't have anything like that. You want to say it has nothing to do with the fact that it's him, that the burn in your gut is mere jealousy about the amount of experience he has. That it's not jealousy over something else.
You try — you do try.
You date here and there, and you let guys take you home. You feel that you should be having fun, but you don't. You struggle.
Maybe it's that you're worried about your looks still. Maybe it's that you can tell none of these guys actually care about you, that they all seem to have an air about them that screams "you're not my first choice". Maybe it's that none of them are him, the thought fluttering by every few months, never long enough to take hold.
Maybe that's why you can never finish. Not even alone.
Twenty-eight years old, and you've never finished. Not a virgin, not inexperienced. But still missing something.
That must be where it comes from, then — that frustration that builds as the years go on, as you watch Makki do the things you wish you could. As you listen and watch and force yourself not to care.
But you do. You do care.
Maybe that's the problem.
—
"I don't understand."
"Yeah, I mean, clearly," you say, shaking your head.
Makki shoots you an admonishing glare from the armchair across the room. "Don't be mean."
You turn away, letting your breath fog the window where you sit. "I just think some rules would be nice."
He laughs under his breath, and you watch in the reflection as he looks to Mattsun for help. The man just sits on the couch between you, watching the argument like a tennis match.
He spoons ice cream into his mouth, shaking his head at Makki. "Don' look a'me," he mumbles around cookies and cream. "I'm th' ref. No opin'n."
Makki rolls his eyes, finding you again when you turn. "I don't think we need rules. Our system works!"
"For you, maybe," you bite, knowing the anger isn't real. Knowing this is coming from somewhere else. "It's hard to sleep with you always bringing girls home."
"You seem okay to me."
"I shouldn't have to sleep with two pillows over my head, Makki," you complain. You're exaggerating. You usually just put music on, because that's less pathetic. But he doesn't need to know that. "Can't you go to their place?"
"I do sometimes!"
Great, so he's actually hooking up with people even more than you'd realized.
He throws his arms out, giving you a look that clearly communicates that he wants this to be over. "What is it, Y/n? What's the problem?"
Your frustration mounts. "I just told you! I'm tired of having to listen to this shit!"
"Okay, I hear you! I get it!" he yells. "You know, you can bring guys home, too! It's not a one-way street."
You bite out a response without thinking. "That won't help!"
He shakes his head, brows furrowing. "Why the hell not? You're perfectly welcome to bring people home — I won't mind the noise, and Mattsun's gone half the time anyway-"
"I probably wouldn't even make any noise," you bark suddenly, a little feral. More than a little annoyed.
Makki blinks. Mattsun blinks. You blink.
"What?" Makki says.
"What?" you say.
"What?" Mattsun says, looking between you almost comically. "What does that even mean?" he laughs, eyes finding you.
"Nothing," you say. "'s just not very fun, that's all."
Makki blinks.
Mattsun blinks, gives an incredulous glance before looking to Makki, like he's trying to check that he heard you right. "What?"
"Nothing!" you say again, starting to get up. "Just forget it."
Makki stands with you, crowding the doorway and refusing to let you through. "No," he says firmly. "What does that mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything-"
"Bullshit," Mattsun comments from the couch.
You whirl around, glaring. "What happened to 'no opinion'?"
He shrugs, scarfing down more ice cream.
"Y/n," Makki says, tugging on your elbow. "What's this about? Why isn't sex fun for you?"
You laugh humorlessly. "Just forget it. Friends don't talk-"
"You don't finish, do you?"
You gasp, reeling back. "Makki!"
Mattsun turns over the back of the couch, gaping up at you. "No fucking way. What kind of life is that?"
You hit him over the head with a throw pillow. He doesn't complain, knowing he deserves it.
"This is private!" you yell, looking between them. "It's none of your business-"
"I think we're well past 'private'," Makki chuckles, shaking his head. "That's what this is about, then."
You point at him, angry and humiliated. "No, it's not."
"Yes, it is," Mattsun chimes in.
"You shut up."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Come on, Y/n," Makki says, starting to pace. "You're frustrated because you can't finish. I get it. I'd be frustrated, too."
"In more ways than one," Mattsun chimes.
You both cut glares at him. "Shut up, Mattsun."
He just digs a deeper hole in his ice cream.
Makki swallows, turns to you. "Let me help."
The silence in the room is painfully loud.
You hear a shift behind you, finding Mattsun on the other side, staring — deadpan and knowing something you don't — at Makki. His spoon is halfway to his mouth.
You look between them. "This is a joke."
Mattsun lifts his brows and glances at you before looking away, suspiciously interested in the bottom of the pint.
You say it again, directed right at Makki. "This is a joke."
You need it to be a joke.
He doesn't respond, just staring at you. Vulnerable, open. Eyes searching yours, trying to communicate something you don't want to hear.
You don't want to hear it.
You push past him, stomping down the hall and to your room.
The slam of your door drowns out the sound of Mattsun addressing Makki.
"You're an idiot."
—
There's a knock on your door a few hours later, long after the apartment's gone silent. You're slumped low in bed, swallowed up by blankets as you scroll mindlessly through your phone. Trying to forget the conversation that just happened. Trying not to let it overtake your every thought.
"C'm in," you mumble, chewing on the inside of your cheek anxiously, distracted.
The source of your anxiety appears before you, standing in the dark of your bedroom, moonlight gleaming off of pink hair.
"Hey," he breathes. "Can we talk?"
You groan, starting to turn your back to him. "Go away."
"Please," he tries again, closing the door behind him quickly and padding to your bed. He perches on the edge, staring at you with pleading eyes. "Please, Y/n. You know I wouldn't fuck with you. Please just hear me out-"
"No," you laugh. "I don't need you pitying me-"
"It's not that!" he whines, the sound sharp and full of frustration. It echoes off your walls, and you both turn to look at the door, silent. When there's no sign of Mattsun stirring on the other side of the wall, Makki turns to face you again.
"Y/n, you know me. You know me."
You let out a rough breath and toss your phone down on the bedside table. "I'm not even your type, Makki."
He stares for a long moment, eyes flitting between yours. And then he laughs, breathy and full of air.
"The fuck?" he says, disbelief coloring his gaze. "How would you know?"
You blink, stunned, and just raise your brows at him. "Because I see the girls you bring home?"
"So?"
"The fuck do you mean, 'so'?" you laugh. "So, I see the girls you bring home." Your voice takes on a jagged edge, dragging between the two of you painfully. "Stop fucking with me, Makki. I mean it."
He doesn't like the tone in your voice, it seems.
"I'm not," he bites. "I'm telling you straight to your face that I meant every word I said, and you're calling me a liar. Why would I lie to you?"
He wouldn't. You know that he wouldn't. But that scares you more than if he had, because it makes this thing hovering between you two real. Tangible.
He sees it in your eyes — you don't have an answer for him.
His gaze warms, settles. "Oh, I see," he breathes, tilting his head to examine you. His expression opens up, and you can see the fond twinkle in his eye. "You're just scared."
You shoot him a glare. It doesn't land the way you want it to, because he just cracks a soft smile. "Shut up. I'm not scared. I'm angry."
"No, you're not," he says softly, shifting toward you on the bed. "You're scared about what'll happen if you say yes."
You purse your lips, look away. Look back. Chew on your lip. "Well-" You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye. "Aren't you?"
He just shakes his head, that twinkle growing stronger. Fonder. "Nah, not really."
"You don't think things'll get weird?"
"I won't make 'em weird," he whispers, scooting closer, closer. Until he's right next to you, his fingers grazing yours on the mattress. "Will you?"
You might. If that gnawing ache in the pit of your stomach — the one that's always there when he's around — is telling you anything, it's that you might make this weird.
You want to tell him no. You want to assure him that it could be just sex.
But it doesn't feel right to lie to him. It never has.
"I can try," you choke out, your voice cracking. "I'll do my best."
He hears it — 'I'll do my best'.
You're willing to try this out with him.
He leans toward you, head dipping until his nose brushes yours and his hair tickles your forehead.
"This doesn't have to be perfect," he says, his breath warm on your lips. "I just wanna help. Even if it's messy."
He hears your breath hitch, hears it lodge tight in your throat.
He takes it for what it is. Permission.
He tastes like toothpaste. You hope you do, too.
He pulls back for a moment, just long enough to stare down at your mouth. "So," he breathes, eyes blown wide. "Is that a yes?"
You just fist the front of his shirt and drag him in.
It's a little awkward, kissing your best friend of over a decade. You're not bad at this, and neither is he, from what you've always heard through the wall, but there's something new and unfamiliar about being together like this.
His teeth hit yours more than once, and your nose bumps on his more than once. And there's a scramble of limbs, a knock of elbow on skin and knee on thigh and quiet stutters of pain and confusion.
You wonder why. Why is this not sexy and smooth and perfect, even though you know his reputation? Why is this not movie-perfect?
But then you catch the warmth in his cheeks, the shy glance of his gaze down your body. The tremble of his fingers on the mattress, mirroring the weak shake of yours in his shirt. The pant of breath that leaves him every time you break the kiss, desperate and nervous.
He's nervous.
Hanamaki Takahiro is nervous.
Your heart swells at the revelation, and you find yourself melting for him, malleable and easily molded.
When he pushes you down onto your back, you go without question.
When he dips his head down your jaw and neck, you turn your head and curl your fingers around his bicep and through his hair, tugging him toward you. Telling him this is okay.
When he nudges your thighs with his knees, you open up for him, willing and encouraging. He sighs against your skin, shivering slightly, and you wonder if he's noticing it, too. If he likes it, too.
That you're nervous.
"Can I ask you something?" he finally breathes, mouth warm on your throat and hands kneading the soft skin of your tummy almost absent-mindedly. You nod, and he smiles, his laugh betraying how out of breath he is. "What have you tried? What hasn't worked?"
Your nerves clamp up, threatening to shut down. He feels the way your muscles tense, and he moves fast to stop it from happening.
"It's okay," he whispers. "I just want to help." When you still don't relax, he settles down over you, hands running up and down your sides, your thighs. "Please let me help."
You groan quietly, trying to focus on the feeling of his hands sliding over your skin. "Uhm," you swallow. "I guess everything."
He hums against your throat. "Do you get stuck in your head?"
You purse your lips. "Maybe."
"Even alone?"
You sigh, nodding. "I can get closer, but it always takes too long. I start to feel a little stupid."
"You're not stupid," he breathes. His fingers slide along the band of your sleep shorts. "It takes as long as it takes."
"I know," you grumble. "Or… I don't know. I guess I know that."
"Have you only tried the simple stuff?"
You twitch, feeling your face warm considerably. "Meaning?"
His fingertips curl under the band, tugging lightly before letting go. He repeats the motion while he talks.
"Vanilla stuff. Fingering, oral, missionary."
You huff, starting to get shy. He doesn't let you curl up, his body keeping you right here with him. His knuckles brush comfort against your tummy, soft and warm.
"I mean," you swallow. "Sure. I've done things by myself. And I've done oral, but it doesn't really turn me on."
He pauses, and you feel his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "Wait, what?"
"I dunno," you say. "I get why guys like it, but it's always rough and not really romantic at all. It just kinda feels like I'm being used-"
"What?"
He's lifted his head by now, eyes searching yours urgently. When you just stare back, equally confused, he narrows his eyes.
"You've never been eaten out?"
Your face starts to burn. "What-"
"I-" He starts to laugh, but it doesn't feel humorous. "I have so much to say about the other stuff, but we can talk about that later." He sits up, settling back on his knees and staring down at you. "You've never been eaten out?"
You just shake your head.
He squints. "Why?"
"Never asked."
His smile looks dangerous. "You should never ask. He should be begging to do it."
You laugh, but it gets caught in your throat when he just stares. He means that.
And he proves that he means it, because his fingers are curling into the band of your shorts again, stronger than before. His eyes meet yours when you gasp, his gaze burning hot.
"Please?"
"Why?" you whimper. "What do you get out of it?"
"Everything," he breathes. "Can you please let me try? Let me show you."
You want to say no, but he's looking at you with such desperation, like it's paining him to know you've never experienced this.
You just nod, staring up at him anxiously.
His eyes glint with pleasure, and his smile is nervous but laced with excitement. He tugs on your clothes earnestly now, sliding your shorts and underwear over the curve of your ass and down your thighs.
"I-I haven't shaved," you stutter, shocked at how quickly he undresses you.
"Good," he mutters, entirely distracted. "Don't."
Your clothes hit the floor. It's the only warning you get before he's gripping your thighs and parting them, pushing your knees up to your chest.
You squeak, heart jumping at being so suddenly exposed. "Makki!" you whisper furiously, fingers scrambling to find purchase on anything around you.
He's not listening. He's just staring down at you, pupils blown wide. His mouth drops open, and you hear a quiet moan slip past his lips.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Would you look at that? She's perfect."
Your body betrays you.
Makki watches your hole clench around nothing.
The grin that splits across his face is feral, terrifying. You think you may have just woken something in him that you've never seen before.
"Oh," he coos, and you get the distinct feeling he's not talking to you anymore. "I'm gonna be so good to you."
You try to clamp your thighs shut, but his strength has always been deceptive. He just flicks his eyes to meet yours, hands keeping you in place, right where he wants you.
"You're so pretty, Y/n," he says, pushing his lips to the inside of your ankle once, twice. Slides them up your calf, takes his time and nibbles at the plush skin behind your knee.
Watches you carefully as he goes. Watches the way you squirm and pant and flush with warmth.
"Makki," you try.
He just grins. "You're gonna have to be quiet. Don't want Mattsun to wake up, do you?"
You push your lips together tight, shaking your head frantically.
"Good," he giggles, still kissing at the underside of your thigh. When he starts to move, teeth nipping at your skin, you squeeze your eyes shut, your nerves buzzing.
"Don't be scared," he whispers.
You're trying. But this is scary.
"I'm gonna take care of you."
"I know," you breathe, shaky.
"It's okay if you don't come, you know. This isn't a race. I got nowhere else to be."
You relax a little — just a little, but still, it's something. You wonder how he could tell. How he knew that you'd always worried about that, especially with someone else.
"Here," he says quietly. You watch through half-open eyes as he lays your leg down for a moment, just long enough for him to strip out of his t-shirt and hand it to you. "Put that over your eyes."
You do as you're told, because you've always been bad at saying no to him.
It blocks out the light, blocks out any chance you have of seeing him. You feel that it should make your nerves worse, but they're loosening slightly. You don't have to watch him, don't have to search his face and wonder how he feels or if he's enjoying himself.
You get to just lie here and inhale the scent of him, warm and spiced and completely familiar. Comforting.
You jolt when his lips touch your thigh again, kissing softly.
"I'm going to touch you now," he whispers. "I want to make you feel good, but tell me if you want to stop. No matter what, okay?"
"Okay," you breathe.
His hands slide under your shirt, and you tense. "Don't freak out," he says. "Don't think about anything but how it feels."
You chew on your bottom lip. "But what if you don't like it?"
He doesn't say anything, just shifting his weight. Shifting his hips until they press against you.
He's hard. Completely and totally.
You gasp, a molten feeling swirling under your navel.
"Better?" he laughs.
You just pant and throw your arms over your face, pressing his shirt to your nose and breathing hard.
His hands slide over your breasts, palms hot and fingers kneading eagerly. You whimper, and he shushes you quickly.
"Quieter," he says, thumbs rubbing circles over your nipples. You squirm, your hips shifting and a warmth spreading in your gut. "If you wake Mattsun up, he's gonna hear all your pretty sounds." His lips find your thigh again, and he mumbles against it. "I don't want to share this."
You clench around nothing again, rocking your hips forward and panting when you find no relief.
"I got'chu," he says in reponse, dropping down and pressing kisses to your hips, thighs, tummy. "I'll make it good, I promise. Don't think about anything."
You just nod, head cloudy from the smell of him, circling your brain like a toxin.
His lips find your clit, a gentle kiss pressed there, and you jolt, realizing just how effective this drug is.
He slides the flat of his tongue through your folds, searing hot.
Your back arches off the bed.
"Mak-mmrph-"
You thank him silently, because he'd had the foresight to slide one hand up the rest of your shirt and through the collar, palm clamped tight over your mouth.
He slides his tongue through again, circling your clit and then latching on. He suckles gently, testing your reaction and seeming pleased when you start to shake. He drags his tongue against it once, twice, starts to suck properly. You realize far too late — he's holding you down because you won't stop shaking — that the buzzing you feel radiating through your bones and up to your throat is the feeling of him moaning against you.
You groan, open-mouthed and drooling, against his hand, eyes wide open and completely unseeing.
You feel that wave start to form, and the thought that it might actually break and crash for the first time in your life fills you with a desperation you've never experienced before.
You start to rock against his face.
He stops and pulls away.
You're lucky he still has a hand on your mouth, because your cry is angry, frustrated.
"What the fuck-" you whine, muffle.
He just licks at your thighs, out of breath. "I know, baby, I know. I need you to turn over for me."
"What-"
"Please just do it," he begs. "Please. I need you on your knees."
It's a mess of shaky limbs and urgency, but he manages to get you right where he wants you: your face buried in his t-shirt while he drags you down onto his tongue like a man starved.
This position freaks you out a little. "Won't I crush you?" you try, muffled.
"That's the whole point," is all he says, hands tugging you down over and over again until you stop resisting. Until your thighs shake and slide apart, dropping you right down over him.
"Oh, thank god," he mumbles, lips latching onto your clit as his tongue laps desperately at it.
It's noisy and messy and there's a part of you that's worried you're not being quiet enough, but Makki's sliding two fingers into his mouth and then bringing them up to your entrance, and suddenly you don't care at all about the noise.
The sound of him spitting on your cunt is loud and echoes in your ears.
You preen, hips rocking frantically. The wave rises high again, searching for the break.
He pushes his fingers past your entrance and starts to fuck you like this, pushing you against his tongue in a rhythm that has both of you moaning.
He spits again. Curls his fingers. Laves his tongue over your folds and then latches tight to your clit, sucking gently and moaning when you slide your cunt againt his tongue.
"Fuck," he mumbles against you, the vibrations strong. "Please , Y/n. Please. For me, baby."
You know what he's asking for.
You just aren't prepared to actually give it to him.
When the wave breaks and crashes, it comes with the violent jerk of your body and cries of release that you've never felt before, let out into his shirt. He holds you steady, and you can tell by the way he's whispering "that's it, that's it, fuck you feel so good," that he's just watching this happen to you and helping you through it.
Your body trembles, shakes, stutters, and then your limbs go numb. You don't know what happens next, but you end up on your back, panting hard, and Makki exists in the space around you. His mouth finds your hips, your tummy, your thighs, kissing fervently and eagerly.
"So good," he whispers. "Perfect, so fucking perfect." He kisses his way up your body, fingers grabbing you and dragging you this way and that, giving him all the access he wants. "You did so good, baby, you're amazing."
You whimper, exhaustion crashing over you. "Thank you," you whisper weakly. "Thank you, Makki."
You start to fade away, sleep claiming you almost violently. You feel him settle in beside you — you register in the back of your mind that he plans to sleep next to you tonight — and then he presses a kiss to your temple.
"I'm gonna take care of you," he whispers. "I can't wait."
You don't respond, letting your body fall into slumber.
—
You expect him to be gone in the morning.
When you crack your eyes open, you fully expect to be alone. You know Makki's reputation, and you've heard the sneak of footsteps in the middle of the night, the door open and closed as he kicks girls out. You expect it to be the same.
You aren't expecting to feel his arm curl around your waist, your body dragged closer to his. You aren't expecting his face to press into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and his body warmer.
"Mornin'," he mumbles, kisses pressed to the side of your throat. You don't respond, just staring at the ceiling, unseeing. He doesn't notice, his hands and lips wandering. You think maybe he's trying to start something, that he wants one more hit before he leaves for good.
But it never comes. He never pushes past this, just enjoying the feeling of your body under his fingers. He just kisses along all the skin he can reach. And then he sighs, nuzzling close to you.
"You okay?" he finally asks, forehead pressed to your temple.
You can't help it. "You're still here," you whisper, voice weak.
He lifts his head right away, eyes full of shock. "What? Of course I am."
"I wasn't expecting-"
"What?" he laughs again, watching you carefully. "You thought I'd be gone?" When you don't answer, he gives you a meaningful look. "I wouldn't do that to you."
"I just wasn't sure…" You try to turn away, but he's quick to guide your face back to him. "I thought maybe it was a one-time thing. Especially since-" You flush, rolling your eyes when he grins knowingly. "Since it worked."
He just shakes his head, still smiling. "While I am very happy that it worked-" He laughs when you elbow him. "I'm not done with you."
"That's so threatening."
"Yeah, kinda." He dips his head, laying his lips on yours. "You're kind of stuck with me," he mumbles against your lips.
You're about to tell him that that's fine — okay, even.
But your bedroom door is flying open, crashing against the wall and bouncing off.
"Oh, hell no," Mattsun says, talking over your screams of shock. "If you guys are gonna keep fucking, you need to learn to shut the fuck up!"
"Get out, Mattsun-" Makki tries as you scramble to make sure the blankets are all in the right place, but your roommate's not done.
"I get that you're helping her discover what she likes and all that, but I don't need to also discover that!"
"Mattsun!" you yell, throwing your pillow at him. "Go away!"
"Yuck!" he shouts, dramatic and unserious and stomping out of your room like an idiot. "And don't fuck on the couch! I sit there!" he bellows, already halfway down the hall.
You huff, turning to bury your face in the mattress. Makki just laughs under his breath.
"I kinda wanna fuck on the couch now," he says, giggling when you kick him. "Don't tell me you're not tempted."
You are.
—
"Finally!"
"Oh, fuck, this is actually happening?"
"Finally, finally, finally! I told you!"
"Holy shit, he actually made a move."
You listen as Oikawa and Iwa go back and forth, their reactions to the news different but entirely the same.
"God, what am I doing?" you whine, pacing the living room. Makki and Mattsun are both at work, so you're free to freak out on the phone as much as you want. "What if this is a mistake-"
Oikawa butts in quickly, sensing your avoidant nature. "No! Shut up, shut up! Tell the voices to shut up!"
"Shut up, voices," Iwa offers, unhelpful. You can hear him typing, and you figure he must be trapped in his office writing player evals and referrals.
"What if this is a bad idea, guys?" you worry. "What if I fall for him and make it weird? What if I'm not even his type-"
"Hajime, she's not listening," Oikawa whines, high-pitched and obnoxious.
Iwa responds, addressing you. "Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Quiet, voices. Get back. Hiss. Boo." When you just laugh, mumbling 'what the fuck' under your breath, he starts over, his voice betraying his smile. "You're overthinking, Y/n. You like doing that."
"I know," you grumble. "I don't wanna lose him."
"You won't!" Oikawa says. "He wouldn't have offered to help if he thought it would get weird! He cares about you too much."
"If it makes you feel better," Iwa says, still typing. "If you told me you had trouble finishing, I would not have immediately offered to fuck you and fix it. So… Maybe that's a good sign?"
You stay silent, just listening as Oikawa howls on his end of the call, laughing so loud that you have to pull your phone away from your face. "Alright," you eventually say. "Fine. You made your point."
"Good," Iwa says. Oikawa is still laughing. "Also. Just so you know. You are his type. You're just too scared to see it."
When you hang up, it's with Iwa's quiet 'good luck' and Oikawa crying from laughing so hard.
—
[2:04 PM]
Mattsun: youre a fucking idiot
Mattsun: you know that right??
Takahiro stares down at his phone, reads the messages in between boxing cakes.
"Have a good day," he mumbles to the customer, listening to the bell over the bakery door and trying to figure out what to say.
Mattsun texts again a few minutes later.
[2:07 PM]
Mattsun: you better have a plan to tell her this is more than just sex
Mattsun: shes gonna run if you let it drag on too long
He knows. God, he knows. He did this all backwards. But what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say when you admitted that you had trouble? That the guys before him were all assholes and idiots and never treated you right?
[2:10 PM]
Mattsun: makki if u fuck this up i'll kick your teeth in
Mattsun: she likes you, you know
Mattsun: like. a LOT.
Mattsun: you think it's a coincidence that youre magically the only one that can make her come????
Mattsun's always been crude, but Takahiro doesn't even react to it this time. His vision blurs, and he can barely hear what the next customer asks for. His ears are ringing too much, and his heart is beating too loud in his chest.
You like him, too?
For how long?
As long as he has?
[2:11 PM]
Mattsun: im going out tonight. not coming home.
Mattsun: fix it, hiro.
—
There's something different about him right now.
You know that it's only been one night. That you've only experienced this Hanamaki Takahiro once.
But the difference between last night and right now is striking.
Last night, he'd been urgent, eager, nervous.
Right now, he's… something else. Something unfamiliar.
He's desperate.
There's something he's not telling you.
He's just grabbing you like it means something, like this is more than just trying to make you feel good.
"Makki-" you try, managing to pull back from his kiss just long enough to say it. He drags you back right away, lips latched onto yours, magnetic and real.
He's making noises he didn't make last night. Feral, whiny, needy.
He's got you in his lap on the couch, hands pulling and yanking on you until you'd given in and sat your full weight on him. The sound that had passed his lips when you'd done it had been high-pitched and needy.
He's moving like he can't get enough.
Last night had been about you. But something tells you that tonight is about him.
"Makki," you pant, pushing on his chest until he lets you back away. "What's going on? What is this?"
His face is flushed — more nervous than last night, more needy than you've ever seen him — and his pupils are blown wide, his eyes watery as he takes you in.
"Need you," he says, his voice shaky. "'m sorry. I just-" He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. "I need you, Y/n. Been needing you all day."
Your stomach flips, nervous and wild, and you feel yourself warm as you look down at him. "W-What? Me?"
You can't fathom that this isn't just about helping you. That he's not just doing you a favor.
"What'do you mean?" he laughs, the sound weak. "Of course you. Always you."
You back off even more, staring down at him properly. "Makki-"
"Hiro." When you just blink, he purses his lips. "Please."
You stutter through it. "H-Hiro," you try. Something twitches against your thigh, and you know exactly what it is. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"
"No," he groans, leaning up to try to kiss you again. You don't let him. "Yes. No. I don't know," he sighs. "I just need you. Really bad."
"But-" You frown, look down at yourself. "I mean. Are you sure?"
He stares up at you, gaze unfocusing and then re-focusing, eyebrows furrowing. "Yes," he bites. "I'm sure, Y/n."
He's starting to get mad. You can feel it. "I didn't mean it like that, Makk-"
"Hiro," he strains. And then he moves.
You're on your back. He's bracing himself over you.
You always forget how strong he is.
"You did mean it like that," he says. "You always mean it like that. You've been worrying about that this whole time."
You huff, turning your head away. "Of course I have. No one else really likes the way I-"
"I do," he cuts you off. "I do. I really do, Y/n." You blink rapidly, eyes finding his. He's glaring, still. "I like the way you look. I like the way you feel." He leans back on his heels, hands dancing over your body. Over your sides and thighs and tummy and chest. "I always have," he mutters, distracted by how you look lying under him.
Your heart stops, starts again. "What?"
He doesn't answer. He just tugs on your shirt, maneuvering you out of it and tossing it off to the side. Your bra goes next, a sharp glare cut in your direction when you try to hide yourself, and then your bottoms.
He's completely dressed, and you're completely naked.
You whine, curling up and struggling against him when he unfolds you again, hands and thighs in places that don't let you close in on yourself. "No fair, Hiro," you mumble, reaching for his shirt. "At least gimme this."
He grins, snickers a little. "Got you used to it already, baby?" You just roll your eyes and tug on the hem, and he yields to you easily. "Okay," he whispers. "You can have it for now, but not later."
"Later?" you breathe, holding his shirt to your nose. It calms you, which should probably be embarrassing, but it's not. You don't care enough. It helps. He helps.
He's running his gaze down your body appreciatively, clearly distracted. "Later," he mumbles. "When I fuck you, I want you looking at me."
It's getting humiliating, the amount of times he's caught you clenching around nothing.
His grin is as evil as it was last night. "There she is," he breathes.
His mouth is a flurry of movement, first on your lips and face and neck and then down your chest, one nipple tweaked gently between his teeth, and then the other. Down your torso, canines digging lovingly into your rolls and tongue writing his name on your skin. His fingers follow, pushing and pulling and kneading and pressing you open.
When his lips find your clit, it's with a desperation and urgency that screams — yet again, not for the first time tonight — that this is for him.
Your back arches, one hand digging into his hair, fingers tangled tight. He moans, tongue flat and searing hot against your folds.
"Taste so fucking good," he rumbles, sucking and spitting and moaning against you. "You're fucking perfect, Y/n."
You whine, thighs squeezing around his head. You feel him groan, feel the laugh that comes out, half-insane. "That's it," he whispers. "Just like that."
You let him open you up the way he wants, fingers and tongue and your name, moaned again and again and again. You let him do it, just breathing in his scent and crying out when he builds that wave for you, perfect as the first time.
"H-Hiro," you cry, writhing and twitching, your back arching and your thighs starting to hurt from straining around his head.
"That's it, beautiful," he moans, two fingers curling into you once, twice, his tongue merciless on your clit. "Sing for me."
The wave breaks, crashes, floods. Your head flies back, chest pressed to the sky, his name ripped from your throat just like he wanted.
He laughs through it, deranged and feral, his tongue never stopping. He shakes his head back and forth, moans echoing off the wall as he laps at your folds and nips at the insides of your thighs.
He only stops when you start to push at his head, your senses overwhelmed.
"Good girl," he whispers, marking your thighs over and over. "Such a good girl."
Your breath is lodged somewhere between your throat and your heart, locked tight. You're shivering, twitching, barely held to the cushions by his hands.
"Fuck, Hiro." You crack your eyes open, watching as he leans back on his heels again. "Thank you."
He huffs, reaching over just to yank his t-shirt from your hands. He tosses it behind him. "That was for me, Y/n, not you."
You were right, then.
"This is for you," he mumbles, hands hooking around your thighs and dragging you flush against him.
The slap of his cock on your skin, heavy and hard and wet, makes you jolt, a noise of shock leaving you.
You stare down between you, eyes wide. "Oh, fuck," you mutter, the sound more a moan than anything else.
His gaze is heated in a way you've never seen before. "Good?"
You just flush, your skin burning and radiating heat in humilating waves. "Shut up," you whisper, head falling back against the pillow.
"Always wondered that, you know," he says quietly, reaching behind himself and pulling the other throw pillow around. He lifts you with one hand — that damn strength — and shoves the pillow under your hips. "If you'd like it."
You blink, struggling to process. It calls back what he'd said earlier, about always liking how you look.
"Makki?"
He doesn't scold you for the name this time, because he knows you're saying it outside of everything. Outside of the way he's gripping your thighs, the way his tip, throbbing and leaking, is pressing against your entrance.
You're calling for him outside of everything, just between the two of you.
His gaze is shy, the same way his name sounds nervous on your tongue.
"Did you wonder, too?" he whispers, thumb pushing the head of his cock just past your entrance. "Did you ever wonder about me sometimes?"
You're trapped between the humiliation of the question and the mind-numbing feeling of your body being stretched open around him.
"Y/n?"
He sounds so nervous. He wants this from you.
You nod, biting your lip and barely managing to answer him. "Sometimes."
His exhale is full of relief, laced with nerves. "Did you ever-" He groans, head falling to the side when he feels your walls flutter around him. "Did you ever wish it was me?"
Those other guys. Those other times. Did you ever wish it was me?
You mewl, hands searching desperately for him. He laces your fingers together tight, and you find yourself nodding frantically, your breath ragged.
"Sometimes."
He moans, pants and groans as he bottoms out, his fingers digging into your thighs as he holds them open.
"Me, too," he whispers. "Wished it was you."
Your heart stops in your chest and then starts with a shock. "W-What?"
"E-Every time," he stutters. His words are falling out now, and you get the feeling he's rambling. "Wished it was you every fucking time. Don't remember anything else. Anyone else."
He's found a rhythm now, the couch scraping against the floor as he fucks into you.
"Hiro," you cry. Your mind is racing around his words. "What? Me? Why me-"
"You, always you," he babbles, mouth pressed against your calf and teeth digging into your skin. "It's always been you."
The wave starts to build again, higher than last time. "Hiro, please-"
"I got you, pretty," he pants. "I always got you."
That feeling that's always there when he is — that gnawing ache — swirls and tugs, and you're overcome wtih emotion. Your eyes prick with tears, and you stare up at him through bleary vision. "Hiro, I-" You gulp down as much air as you can, punched out of you with every thrust of his hips. "I love-"
He exhales sharply, a cutting "Ah, fuck-" leaving him when he realizes what you're doing. He moans low and drops down over you, bending you in half. "Fuck, Y/n. I love you, too-"
You whine in response, and he laughs, eyes wild as he searches you.
"I love you," he says, nodding when you start to cry. "I've loved you a long fucking time, pretty."
You repeat it back, low and rambling, every time his cock smacks up against your g-spot. "Love you, love you, love-" The wave peaks, you gasp. "-you, fuck, love you, Hiro-"
It breaks.
You do, too.
You don't notice the stutter of his hips, the way he calls for you when he comes. You don't notice the way he collapses over you, lips all over you as he whispers it again — 'love you' — or the drag of the wet cloth as he cleans you up.
You only come back to him when you're in his bed, his body wrapped tight around you.
"Love you, Hiro," you whisper, your forehead pressed to his chest.
He says it back, soft and sleepy. And then he laughs, delirious.
notes: reconnected with a moot the other day and she told me that this was one of her faves so I shamelessly pushed it to the front of the repost pile so enjoy the filth~ @antique-remains
wc: 6.3k
warnings: stepcest, drunk sex, dubcon if you think drunk sex is always beneath consent, reader does camshows, "just the tip", reader is down bad, filming without consent, no condom, poor makki holds on for dear life
It's not uncommon for the two of them to use each other to get off, nothing romantic; it's just something they do. So when Issei shows him a new video and offers to get him off, Hanamaki thinks nothing of it.
Even without her face on camera Hanamaki thinks she's cute. Her tits are the size he likes, his eyes glued to the pixelated screen as they jiggle with each movement. Her moans are a little exaggerated but he can't blame her, especially when he can see the donations rolling in on the left side of the screen with each breathy, pitched syllable.
"Fuck—I wish this dick was yours. Wanna be full of you!"
Hanamaki emits a stuttered groan as the words make his dick throb, Issei picking up on it and gripping him tighter.
"She has you all riled up," Issei chuckles, speeding up his hand. The extra friction makes Hanamaki pant, his gut tightening as he watches the bright pink dildo disappear into her pretty little cunt again and again, reappearing with more juices each time. Her audio is really good, picking up on every obscene squelch. He can almost pretend that's what his dick would sound like, pounding into her.
"I'm gonna cum!" She squeals and rubs her clit, and Hanamaki can't look away from how soaked and puffy her folds are. "Oh fuck, fuck—cumming!" Her teeth dig into her bottom lip and so do his, groaning as he creams all over Issei's fist, some of it spurting through and coating his stomach.
"God, your sister always sounds so hot when she cums," Matsukawa groans, palming his cock as it strains against his sweats. "I'd love it if she'd show her face more often though."
It takes several moments for Hanamaki to come down from the haze of his orgasm, heavy limbs sprawled uselessly as his friend shifts on the bed, pushing his sweats down his thighs and smearing Hanamaki's cum across his cock. Matsukawa pumps the impressive length a few times before reaching back and swiping more of it from where the rest had streaked across his abdomen.
And then it hits.
Hanamaki slaps his hand away.
"What're you—W-why the hell would you—What the fuck, dude?" Hanamaki swats his friend's hands away. "Th-thats not—there's no way... Oh my god. Why'd you show me that? And I—oh my god."
Matsukawa shrugs, following after him until he's between the other man's legs. "You didn’t know? I figured you'd recognize the bedroom at least. Thought you were into it, my bad."
A retort was buzzing on the tip of his tongue but at that, Hanamaki's mouth snaps shut. He hadn't even bothered to look at the surroundings on camera, too captivated by the alluring body on screen. The phone is still next to him on the bed, paused and he snatches it up, staring. Now that he's not blinded by lust it's painfully obvious. That's definitely your bedspread, the color of your walls is the same, and as he scrolls back to an earlier part of the video he even recognizes your dresser with the vanity mirror where you grab the dildo from.
A crushing wave of guilt crashes over him and the phone slips from Hanamaki’s grasp, bouncing harmlessly off of Matsukawa’d bed onto the floor. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning under his breath. I just came watching my step-sister’s camshow. What is this some kind of porno?
“I can’t believe I just did that,” Hanamaki mumbles, running a hand through his hair in agitation.
“I mean it’s not all that bad,” Matsukawa grunts, slowly working his cock. “It’s not like you’re related by blood.”
“It’s the principal, you asshole,” Hanamaki snaps, but there’s not enough heat in it. He’s too full of shock to be as mad as he should. “She’s not gonna see it that way if she ever finds out about this.”
“If she ever finds out. I mean, she kind of signed up for it, didn’t she? Anyone could click on her stuff, that’s just how the internet works.” Matsukawa shrugs.
Hanamaki hesitates. There’s logic to that, but he’s more hung up on the depravity of his own actions. But when did you even start putting videos like this online? And why? He’s seen you with boyfriends before. Is it an attention thing?
“Hey, do you wanna?” Matsukawa gestures between the two of them. “‘S been awhile since you let me fuck you, hasn’t it?”
“How are you not even phased?” Hanamaki grumbles, not answering the request but not turning it down either. It’s been awhile for a reason; with some prep and lots of lube he can take it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. He weirdly feels like he needs to be punished right now.
Matsukawa, sensing that his friend isn’t wholly opposed, shifts closer. He reaches for the side table drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Hanamaki doesn’t shove him away, listening quietly as he rumbles on. “She’s not my sister. Anyways, ‘s not like you knew it was her when you came, so what’s the big deal? You didn’t mean it, so just forget about it.”
As Matsukawa presses hot kisses up his throat, grazing him with his teeth, Hanamaki considers his words. Just forget about it.
Would it really be that easy?
When Hanamaki gets home, he didn’t expect you to corner him in the living room on his way to his bedroom rambling about watching some kind of horror film.
"I have to watch this for a class I'm taking, but I hate scary movies."
The way you pout at him sends the strangest assortment of feelings flooding through his gut. Lust, guilt, anticipation, apprehension. He hadn’t been ready to face you right away. It's not your fault he saw your video and got off to it, hell it's not even his fault. Hanamaki just can't stop staring at your lips and imagining them in that cute little 'o' right before you came. He inhales sharply through his nose and tries to banish all the lewd thoughts that are circling his mind. Just forget about it. Forget it.
"I don't know. It's kinda late and I'm pretty tired..." He finishes lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. He can already feel his cock stirring to life in his shorts and he doesn't want you to notice. He would die of shame if you found out.
"Please," you whine, drawing out the syllable. "I don't care if you fall asleep, I just don't wanna watch it alone. Since when do you not wanna watch TV with me?"
Since I've seen you naked and liked it.
"Alright, alright. Fine. Don't be such a crybaby about it." Normalcy. Hanamaki just needs some normalcy.
Almost as if answering his unspoken prayer, his muttered comment is rewarded with a throw pillow to the face as you huff and flounce up from the couch, bare feet padding on the floor as you stalk into the kitchen for some snacks.
Normalcy.
Except... jesus, have you always dressed like this at home? Or is he only just noticing now because of… Hanamaki shakes his head. Stop.
You're clad in the thinnest tank top Hanamaki has ever seen, thankfully mostly covered by an unzipped oversized hoodie that he's pretty sure you stole from his closet. He wants to believe you're wearing a pair of shorts, but he honestly can't tell from behind, and Hanamaki doesn't trust himself to look too closely.
He’s grateful when you settle back onto the couch, plopping down onto the cushions a safe distance away without making it too obvious that he’s avoiding you. However, you’re barely ten minutes into the movie when you scoot closer, throwing your legs over his lap and propping the rest of you onto a pillow, your eyes glued to the screen,
It’s not the first time you’ve done something like this, but it still makes Hanamaki stiffen, heat flooding his cheeks.
“What?” You’re looking at him as you throw a blanket over your legs. “This is more comfortable.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Hanamaki’s heart pounds so heavily in his chest that he’s surprised you can’t hear it. He can deal with this. This is barely anything, just a little contact. He can’t even feel your skin from this position. He hesitantly rests one of his hands down on your legs like he’s done so many times before. It’s not any different than normal.
Except it quickly gets sweltering hot under the blanket, but he’s too caught up in his guilt to remove it, and what’s mortifyingly worse is you keep moving your left leg in a way that his body is responding to. All you’re doing is absentmindedly bouncing your foot, but it’s making you rub on him. He can feel the hot weight of your thigh right on his crotch and all the blood starting to rush south.
"Will you sit still?" Hanamaki snaps, panicking internally.
Immediately your thighs stop shifting. "Sorry. God, you're moody today," you mutter quietly, a hurt expression crossing your face.
The look on your face makes him want to apologize but he wouldn't be able to explain himself, so Hanamaki just remains silent. At least you've stopped rubbing on him.
Just when he thinks everything is going to be fine, halfway through the movie one of the character's deaths gets this little gasp out of you that keeps looping through his mind and Hanamaki has to escape. He pushes at your legs until you move enough for him to stand up and heads down the hall to the bathroom.
He gets the bathroom door closed behind him and locks the door before fumbling with his jeans, staring down at his traitorous cock as it stands straight against his abdomen. For fuck’s sake. He’s already cum twice today, this is ridiculous.
Hanamaki wraps his fist around his cock. You’re just getting rid of it so you can finish the movie. That’s it.
That’s what he tells himself on repeat, but it loses its vehemence when the coil winding in his gut suddenly snaps as his mind is flooded with memory echoes of your moans. He grunts as he spills into his hand, biting his lip to muffle that moans threatening to slip through. His head thuds against the bathroom door as he stands there, his heart and hand coated in shame.
Just forget it, huh? Yeah, right.
The next few weeks are hell on earth. The first couple of days after his moment of shame in the bathroom Hanamaki actually sent out so many applications that he finally got a callback, leaping at the chance for a shitty grocer job as long as it got him out of the house and away from you.
Even being next to you had his mind going in the darkest, most delicious direction now. It's like he's lost control of his body. If you so much as even brushed against him as you scoot around him in the kitchen or hallway, he felt his cock swell to half chub. It's driving him to madness. He's even avoided texting Matsukawa back because it only reminds him of your video.
His only relief was in the bustle of the grocery aisles and stocking shelves, ringing up and bagging people's items. It wasn't exactly easy; the manager really seemed to have it out for him, yelling at him for pulling out his phone for even a moment, tasking him with extra work whenever she got the chance—she even referenced him to another newbie as an example of a "suboptimal employee", whatever that means. It's not like he cares about the job itself, all he cared about now was getting out of the house. And if he got really lucky, you would be asleep by the time he finally got home for the night.
His reprieve is short-lived. It’s his third week into the job when a frazzled customer bumps into him as he’s stocking the produce, sending him and the crates of vegetables beside him sprawling. Despite the numerous apologies from him and the customer, by the end of the day his manager had Hanamaki turning in his uniform. Something like this was just the opportunity they needed to get rid of him.
When it comes up at dinner, his dad claps a hand on his shoulder and gives the generic “there’s something better out there” that he’s heard enough times already, but your mother gives him those eyes that Hanamaki has seen before.
“Your father and I are planning on going on a small vacation next week, but unfortunately it lines up with the uni's winter break. She’s an adult now but I still don’t like leaving her alone for so long. Could you please keep an eye on her since you won’t be busy?”
She asks him so hopefully that he can’t find it in him to refuse, even as his heart sinks into his stomach. “Yeah, no problem.”
—
Two days. Two days after your parents took off and Hanamaki already regrets everything. You’re so much clingier with them gone. He barely escaped your clutches for another movie night on the first night, pretending that he’d planned to play online with his friendst. But he wasn’t so lucky on the second night.
He’s just coming down the stairs, inwardly musing to himself if he wants to order takeout tonight when he finds you in the living room with a bottle he recognizes from his dad’s booze stash. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m bored.” You’re already slurring. Hanamaki pads closer, sighing. He didn’t think he’d have to actually babysit you with mom and dad gone. “Come drink with me.”
“You shouldn’t touch dad’s stash.” He reaches for the bottle to take it from you but you pull it out of his reach. “Oi.”
“I’ll just replace it before he comes back,” you grumble, pouring yourself another shot and tipping it back. “Since when are you Mr. Responsible?”
Hanamaki sighs again. Honestly that’s a fair question. He throws himself into the armchair closest to your seat on the couch. He startles as you bump his arm with the glass, a little of it sloshing over the side. “Have some?”
“Nah, that’s not a good idea,” he mutters, looking away.
"You haven't hung out with me in ages. Please? We don’t have to talk if that’s it." Your pout does him in, sighing he accepts the shot. He’s not trying to make you feel like shit, it’s just better this way.
You beam at him, and he has to admit it makes him feel better to see you smiling. Lately all you’ve been doing is pouting. He lets shot after shot of the burning liquid slip down his throat, a deep-seated warmth filling his chest and stomach.
After a bit you stumble into the kitchen with the empty bottle to throw it away, and you’re swaying as you come back down the hall.
“You good?” Hanamaki chuckles as you flip him off and stick your tongue out. “You look like Tooru when you do that.”
“Oh my god, don’t say that shit,” you groan exaggeratedly, getting a full laugh out of him. You’re fiddling around by the entertainment center, but with the way his vision sways he can’t make out what you’re doing.
“What’re you doin’?”
“Just plugging my phone in.”
He doesn’t notice the slight lilt to your tone, chalking it up to the alcohol. The pleasant buzz is keeping his mood light and Hanamaki finally finds himself relaxing, sinking deeper into the armchair. He's just thinking to himself that maybe he's had a little too much when you clumsily climb into his lap.
His first warning should be that he doesn't flinch. His second should be that he doesn't pull away when you cuddle up to his chest. All Hanamaki can really think about is how good you smell. It's warm and … floral? Maybe fruity, like strawberries. Or is it watermelon? Curious, his head drops on your shoulder, burying his nose into your neck and inhaling deeply. God, it's making his head swim in the best way.
"'Hiro?"
"Mmm?"
"What're you doin'?"
"Trying to figure out what the smell is," he mumbles. "You smell really nice right now."
You giggle drunkenly. "That's my lotion, it's cherry blossom."
"Don't wear it out of the house," he mumbles suddenly.
"What? Why?"
Hanamaki groans low in his throat when you sit up, your hips pressing firmly into his. Shit, when did he get this hard? He can feel the warmth of your core through his shorts, your weight so comfortable and good on his dick. Every little shift you make gives him just a little friction that makes his already spinning head spin a little more.
Shakily, he places a hand on your hip, dragging you closer. I know this is wrong. I know this is wrong. But just a little bit won't hurt, right? Just a little and then maybe I can stop whatever this is.
"Takahiro," fuck, when did you lean so close— "a little bit of what? How drunk are you?"
"Uh..." He said that out loud? Hanamaki's heart is beating wildly in his chest. He can feel your breath hot on his cheeks and lips from how close you are, forcibly restraining himself from wetting his own in case he were to accidentally touch you.
You shift again and giggle, your own words slurring as you tease him for drinking too much. There's no way you can't feel how hard he is, so why aren't you saying anything? Why aren't you calling him a perv and storming off? Why are you still straddling him? Have you simply not noticed or are you just as drunk as he is? He pulls you down harder, expelling a shaky exhale as the friction makes his cock twitch. Fuck, there is something so fucked about this. He could stop, blame this on the alcohol and forget it ever happened, but this stupid, burning, aching want that he's been ignoring for weeks is just proof that he's not the best at forgetting anything. If he had never seen that video, none of this ever would have happened.
"Takahiro—" Stop it. Stop saying my name like that. "Hello? Are you—"
Your breath smells like strawberries and the even sweeter burn of alcohol and something in Hanamaki's brain just shuts off. He doesn't even have to lean forward, just barely tipping his head up and suddenly his lips are on yours. Your lips are so soft and warm and you don't immediately pull away, either from shock or slow reflexes he doesn't care, so he surges forward, his hand on the back of your neck as he desperately traces the seam of your lips with tongue.
Your gasp is all he needs to slip his tongue inside, tracing every corner of your mouth that he can until the inevitable moment that you shove him away. He can feel your hands fisted in his shirt, frozen and unmoving. He kisses you until his chest is burning and he has to break away for air.
You're staring at him, chest heaving like his own, but you don't look pissed like he expects. Your lips are just a bit swollen, slightly parted as you touch your fingers to them like you... like... Hanamaki shakes his head. Now he's just giving into fantasy. Your head swivels to look behind you before turning back to him.
You look like you're about to say something, but he doesn't want to give you the chance to yell at him. "Can I do that again?"
"You want to do that again?" You sound so breathless. You glance behind you again.
"I want to touch you too." His fingers dig into your hips, slipping higher as if to prove his point. "Just a little bit. I swear I'll stop if you say to just—please?"
"I—I don't know..." You chew your lip, looking uncertain, but there's a strange glow to your eyes. "Isn't this wrong? What if mom finds out?"
Yes. Yes, it's wrong, but Hanamaki is past the point of caring. He’s already crossed that line by kissing you. "I won't tell if you won't. I can make it feel good." No job meant plenty of time for other things. He may not have been with a lot of girls, but he played around enough in college to know what to do.
“Just—Just a little bit.”
Hanamaki doesn’t need any more encouragement. With a low moan he pushes up the hem of your shirt until he can pull it over your head until your bra clad chest comes into view. “You always wear stuff like this?”
Your breath hitches as he cups your tits through the thin fabric, thumbing your rapidly hardening peaks as he mouths at your neck. “Sh-shut up.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he draws his tongue up your neck, whispering in your ear. “Pink looks real cute on you.”
“Hiro—”
You gasp as his hand slips up your back, unclasping your bra. He tosses it aside, sighing as he finally has your bare skin in his palms. A loud moan is torn from your lips when he lowers his head to suck one of your tits into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the bud. Hearing it in person is a million times better than listening to it through a speaker and he’s determined to pull even more sounds from you. He has to know what other sounds you can make. Your body reacts instinctively under his touch, bowing into him as he grazes your nipple lightly with his teeth before switching to the other. Hanamaki’s head is swimming as he wraps an arm around your waist, pinning you to his chest as he grinds his hips into you. Your body feels like a furnace, lighting up the more he touches you. You’ve even started to rock into him, finding a rhythm that synchronizes with his own movements, tearing a groan from his lips. “S-shit, look at you. You’re so hot.”
“Can I—” your hands fumble with his shirt.
“You wanna touch? Hell yeah.” Hanamaki releases your for a moment to help you pull it off. He might not be ripped like Iwaizumi, but he’s kept his muscle definition over the years, not quite able to shake his somewhat active lifestyle after high school ended. The noise he makes when your burning palms press against his chest conveys only a fraction of the desire threatening to consume him whole. “Fuck, c’mere.”
He pulls you down, your lips crashing into his again. One of his hands remains on the back of your head to hold you close as he ravages your mouth, the other guides your hand to his chest, trying to urge you to touch him more before he curls it around your waist. He makes a low sound in his throat as your nails trail down his chest, sending a delicious shudder throughout his body, winding the coil in his stomach tighter.
You’re panting heavily when he pushes you back a little, undoing his jeans, just enough to pull his aching cock free. “Just a little bit more, okay? Just a little bit.” He hisses at the cool air, gripping it at the base to relieve the pressure. Beads of precum are already weeping from the crown of his cock, dribbling against his stomach when he teases the head. Hanamaki is watching you closely, blinking through a drunken haze of lust. You’re staring down at his cock, entranced. He’s short and thick, the hefty girth smooth except for the one thick vein lining the underside of his cock. His balls are heavy and swollen, and the base of his cock is surrounded by only slightly overgrown strawberry curls. Had he known this would be happening tonight, he would’ve trimmed up, but it doesn’t look like you care. In fact, you look hungry for it, the look in your eyes sending a dark thrill through him. His fingers trace up your thigh, toying with the hem of your shorts as he tries to get your attention. “Take these off for me?”
“Oh– okay.”
“Don’t get all shy on me now,” he murmurs, still playing with your shorts. “I can see the way you’re looking at me.”
You give a shuddering exhale before climbing out of his lap. His body follows you almost subconsciously as you find your footing, hooking your thumbs in the band of your shorts and letting them fall to the ground. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you closer, his fingers slipping between your thighs and pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. “...these too. Please? God, you’re soaked. I just wanna—” his sentence tapers off in a groan as he slips a finger past the thin barrier, stroking along your slick folds. “You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”
A small squeak reaches his ears as he does it again, your hands flying to his shoulders when he twists his finger deeper beneath the band to get a better angle so he can brush against your clit. “W-wait, wait. I’ll take them off. I wanna feel—”
“You do?” Hanamaki's words are breathed out, saturated in amazement. His movements freeze for just a moment. “You really want it?” When you nod, he backs off, giving you the room to shimmy your panties down your thighs before pulling you back to him. “Just gonna touch a little, then I’m gonna have you do something for me.”
“Please,” you whisper, walls fluttering as he reaches for you again, his fingers dancing through your folds before pressing on your entrance. A shaky moan spills from your lips as one long finger slides easily in to the last knuckle thanks to how wet you are. It’s followed quickly by a second, curling and prodding curiously as it searches for— “Oh, there! There.”
“Yeah? That feel good?” Hanamaki watches you closely as he curls his fingers again, making sure he has it. Your resulting gasp is the confirmation he needs. He groans as your walls clamp down on his fingers, his forehead resting against your stomach as his head drops forward. You're so warm and wet, dripping down his wrist as he continues to bully that spot, thrusting and curling his fingers inside you.
He does it until your thighs are shaking, holding you in place as he sucks and bites at the sensitive skin on your hips, alternating between finger-fucking you and playing with your throbbing clit. Each sound spilling from your lips has him delirious with want, and it's when your hands tangle in his hair that Hanamaki can't take in anymore.
"C'mere, gotta feel you," he pants, ripping his fingers from your heat and settling back into the armchair. He ignores your whine of protest, holding a hand out to you.
You take it and allow him to pull you back into his lap. Your eyes are bleary and unfocused, looking broken at your denied release.
“I don’t have a condom, so just grind on me, okay? I'll help you.” Hanamaki's head falls back with a groan as you wiggle close enough for him to feel your soaking cunt right up against his cock, grinding down on him experimentally. It's so hot, practically melting his cock, your juices making it so easy for him to slide between your folds. "Fuuck. You're that wet for me?"
In the beginning your movements are surprisingly jerky, a little awkward, so his hands fall to your hips to help guide you. In no time at all you find the rhythm that works best for both of you. Your hands are grabbing at his shoulders, continual mewls of his name spilling into the air as his lips envelop your nipples. They're pressed right against his face and he can't give up that opportunity.
His cock is completely coated in your juices, the warm slick soaked into his curls and jeans, and he can hear it, each click every time your hips slide back and forth. He could cum just like this, but he doesn't want it to end, making sure you move slow enough for him to savor it. There's no way he'll ever get away with this again and he needs to burn it into memory.
"Feel good? Tell me how you're feeling," Hanamaki breathes out. "Need to hear you say it."
"I'm gonna cum," you whisper, your voice breaking. The head of his cock keeps catching on your swollen clit, sending you higher with each grind. "It feels so good."
"Show me."
You whimper at his breathless command, your hips jerking as the crown of his cock catches on your entrance, threatening to push inside. "Mnh—f-fuck."
"Oh god, did you do that on purpose?" Hanamaki groans, unsure if he's jerking away or trying to get closer. It was just for a second, but it felt like you were about to suck him in.
“Wait—that felt good, do that again.” Your pleading reaches his ears and he nearly short circuits.
“Do you even have any idea what you’re asking me?” He demands, sitting up sharply. You squeak and clutch at his shoulders as the change in position threatens to have you tumbling from his lap. “A-are you serious?” He stares with wide eyes as you shift higher on your knees, spreading them wider and still moving your hips. The tip of his cock kisses your entrance again and you don’t shy away from it, chasing it. Hanamaki grabs your hips as you swivel them in search for the right angle, starting to sink down on him. A choked noise claws its way up his throat as he feels you. Barely his head has slipped into you and fuck it’s so soft. “O-Oi, what’re you doing—”
“Just the tip, Hiro.” Jesus christ. What the hell is happening? Why the hell is he complaining? “I just need a little more. Feels so good, I just wanna cum.”
“Just the tip,” Hanamaki echoes after a moment, trying to sound like he’s still in control, like he’s allowing you instead of begging you to. He sinks back into the armchair with a broken groan as you eagerly take advantage of his permission. You start slow, just the head of his cock popping in and out, just barely remaining inside you before you rise up again. You’re so wet that it moves so easily, and the vice grip of your pussy on that first inch is making Hanamaki much greedier than he was when this whole thing started out.
The little ah ah ah's you keep moaning right into his ear are what do him in. You sound so frustrated and desperate. Just the sound of it has him ready to blow his load but he needs you to finish first so he can pull out.
“Still haven’t cum? I can tell you’re right there, just let go baby girl.”
“I’m trying. It’s so close, ‘s just not—” you break off in a choked whimper. “I need more.”
“Fuck it,” Hanamaki groans, at his wit’s end. Every can't and shouldn't are notions of the past. He’s not in the right headspace to play this little denial game any longer—it’s clear you’re both after the same thing. He thinks he hears you stutter out something but it’s lost to the roar of the pulse in his ears as he leans forward and grabs your hips,swiftly seating you fully on his cock, burying himself in you to the hilt. You cry out at the sudden intrusion but then you’re melting into his chest and all Hanamaki can think about now is how warm and wet you are, silken walls clinging to his cock. He can feel how you’re clenching and spasming and it damn near ends it for him right there. “Oh shit—you feel so fucking good.” Gritting his teeth as his cock throbs inside you, he slips a hand between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his thumb as he starts to bounce you on his lap. “So so fucking good.”
“H-hiro!”
“C’mon, just let go. Lemme feel you cum, I’ve got you. This is what you wanted right? You wanted to be full, you wanted more,” Hanamaki pants, his thighs and abdomen quivering from the force of restraining his impending orgasm. “Christ, I’ll give you whatever you want—just cum for me.”
You unravel right before his eyes, emitting staccato moans and creaming on him as your back arches, pressing your body further into his and practically knocking his hand out of the way as you crowd closer. You clamp down on him so hard that it feels like the air is suspended in his lungs, and your hips jerk and shake as you ride out your orgasm.
“Shit shit shit—” Hanamaki grits out as his end slams into him, unable to hold on any longer. He doesn’t react fast enough, alcohol dulling his response time, so the first couple of spurts stake their claim inside your still fluttering cunt before he manages to grab you and pull you off of him. You sink back down immediately, grinding your soaking core on his still throbbing and kicking cock like before, the rest of his mess slicking up your folds and spilling out onto his lower stomach.
“Did you…” You sound so out of breath against his chest.
“Y-yeah. Damn it, I didn’t mean to do that.” Hanamaki panics a little as he helps you stand up. He stumbles down the hall to the bathroom and comes back with a couple of hand towels. “Please tell me you’re on some kind of birth control.”
“Yeah, I am. Don’t worry about that,” you murmur, legs shaking as he wipes you off as best as he can.
“Thank god.” He doesn’t see you grab your phone as he stops to clean himself as well before tucking himself away, but when he looks up you have a mildly guilty expression on your face as you lock it and toss it on the couch. Hanamaki is sure his expression mirrors that guilt tenfold. Post-nut clarity is a bitch and the full brunt of what he did hits him like a truck. “Listen, we can’t do that again. I shouldn’t have started it in the first place, alright?”
“Takahiro—”
“I’m gonna go shower. You should too,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. His feet carry him quickly in the direction of escape, but he pauses in the doorway, both fighting and berating himself. “Sorry if you felt forced or pressured or anything. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
He’s too ashamed to wait around for your response, and he disappears upstairs. Hanamaki showers in a daze, barely paying attention to what he’s doing as he gets out and brushes his teeth. He fumbles in the dark of his room for a pair of shorts and tosses the towel in a random corner before falling into bed and letting sleep take him.
—
You sneak downstairs. You heard Hanamaki talking to Matsukawa before the shower started across the hall a little bit ago.
Matsukawa is lounging on the couch when you walk into the living room, waiting for Hanamaki to get out of the shower, so you plop down beside him with a triumphant smile on your face.
He takes one look at you and gives a tiny, incredulous little huff. “So you did it then, that shit actually worked?”
“Mhm, and it was even better than I hoped.” It’s been a few days since that night, and you and Hanamaki have yet to actually talk about what happened. You’ve caught him staring at you more than once though, so you’re confident that things will go smoother next time. You’re determined to get a next time.
“You’re so nasty,” Matsukawa drawls. “You’re lucky I’m into that.”
“It’s all your fault anyways.” You grin. “I never would’ve thought about him that way if I didn’t have to constantly listen to you guys fucking in his room through my bedroom wall.”
“You could’ve used headphones. Or you know, fallen for me instead.”
“Headphones didn’t exactly cut it,” you retort drily, passing him the usb you fish out of your pocket. “And in your dreams.”
"What's this?" Matsukawa ignores your last comment.
"I said I'd let you watch if you helped me," you shrug. "Didn't say I'd let you watch in person."
“Damn, for real?” He murmurs mostly to himself, a crooked, disappointed grin spreading across his face. “I thought I'd convince you to let me join for sure.”
“You’re not bringing that horse dick anywhere near me, thanks,” you laugh. “Hiro can have it.”
Matsukawa is staring at the usb in his hand. It looks as if he didn’t even hear you. His grin gets just a little wider, and his dark eyes meet yours, filled with mischief.
“Hey, can I watch this one with him too?”
Your face remains thoughtful, but you don’t get the chance to say anything as Hanamaki pads into the living room, his hair still wet. You hadn't heard him finish in the bathroom. Matsukawa casually stuffs the usb in his pocket before heaving himself up from the couch. “You ready? I’m starving.”
Your step-brother keeps an even expression as he glances in your direction, but even from here you can see the tips of his ears turn red. “Yeah, let’s go,” he mutters.
He turns to go without making sure his friend is following. You use that moment to give Matsukawa a wicked smile and a single nod.
The smirk he gives you before walking out is full of promise.
so I’m searching for another Mattsun fic, but this was matsuhana. It was basically reader is in a relationship with Mattsun and he’s a serial killer, and makki is kinda into reader and they’re roommates? If anyone can link it I’ll give u my life 🙏🙏🙏
