the concept of suguru mocking your whimpers and whines as he absolutely destroys you on your couch.
you two know that your roommate could come back anytime soon, how easily you could get caught — and yet somehow, suguru manages to hypnotize you with each slow and delicious snap of his hips.
“ah,” you gasp, its a high pitched sound and your hands reach for his shoulders for support. your nails dig into his skin, eyes focused on when your bodies connect. “f-fuck.”
“ah,” suguru mimics your noise, pulling his cock all the way back before slamming into your pussy again. his teeth sink into his bottom lip to suppress the wicked grin that’s spreading across his face, he’s too proud of the fact that you look like a mess.
your eyes shoot upwards, and suguru hates how his heart lurches in his chest.
pretty eyes are glossy all over, your lips bruised and plump from being kissed so passionately by him, then your mouth quivers and a hand rests on his chest.
“you’re mocking me,” you say it with so much sadness, but your pussy flutters around his cock and suguru groans as he buries his face in your neck.
“sweet girl,”
“o-oh!” he spreads your legs, pushing your thigh open with one hand as he grips the skin. this gives him a better angle, allows him to go deeper than before and it’s evident in the way your body tenses up at the feeling.
“oh yeah?” he questions, voice bordering on breaking too because fuck does it feel good to be destroying you.
“y-yes!”
“yeah?” he asks again, his cock dragging deeper and harder against your walls, his hand wrapping around your neck. “let me fucking hear you. come on. come on baby—“
a high pitched “suguru!” echoes through the living room of your apartment, the couch moves away from its original spot with how hard he’s fucking you.
even after you cum, even after he sees your soul escaping your body, not once does he slow down nor does he show mercy. he continues to fuck into you, mean strokes near sending you to the after-life with how desperately you’re gripping his shoulders.
begging, pleading with him to take it easy on you.
“p-please, no more—“
“nah, you’ll take it.” and he means it, his hand pushes you down on the couch and he pins you there.
because suguru doesn’t just fuck to fuck, he likes to play with you and leave you a babbling mess even after you cum.
actor! sukuna who doesn't know batshit about social media or how to use it, accidentally posting a picture of his feet onto his story on his instagram account that has more than 53 million followers.
his replies are flooded with
'in my mouth'
and 'sukuna in his feet pic selling era'
and 'is rent due?'
so his next story is just a picture of him posing with his middle finger up and a caption that says. 'suck my dick. that pic was an accident.'
and yet the replies are still something along the lines of:
this whole situation—being sprawled out on suguru’s bed, with the party still going downstairs and satoru banging on his door. it makes you feel dirty.
not only because your hand is muffling your own noises, but because suguru’s hand squeezes your neck just a bit tighter.
then his fingers move again.
shlick. shlick.
you gasp against your hand, a single tear sliding down your cheek and you refuse to lock eyes with him. the overwhelming feeling of getting stuffed by his fingers is making you feel dizzy and you try to move away from him, arching your body off of the mattress—only for his hand to leave your neck and push your hips down.
“uh-uh. where are you going?”
you throw your head back, moaning at how condescending he sounds. it shouldn’t turn you on so much, the way he’s treating you. it shouldn’t make slick drip down his fingers, or have your thighs trembling the way that they do.
you inhale sharply when his thumb grazes over your clit, and your hand goes from gripping the bed sheets to holding onto his forearm for dear life.
“n-no, no—“
he flicks your clit again, his hand squeezing your neck tighter and your thighs try to close around his hand.
“no?” he asks mockingly, his lips pressed against your ear. “you don’t wanna cum?”
he drags the question playfully, his thumb grazing over the sensitive nub again whilst his fingers push just a bit deeper into your pussy.
“not like t-this—“
BANG BANG BANG
“suguru? come on man! it’s your turn now!”
satoru’s voice doesn’t even snap you out of it like it did the first time, it doesn’t make you panic and reach for the covers to save what’s left of your dignity. suguru can tell that you’re so far gone from the fucked out look in your eyes, the stuttered inhales and the way your hand guides him to finger just a bit deeper.
“should I add another?” his teeth nibble at your earlobe, chuckling when you back up your hips as the palm of his hand grazes your clit.
i just know satoru’s the type to lean down when you two are making out while standing up, and he literally pushes himself into your personal space because he cannot physically get enough of you. like his hands are gripping your flesh, your thighs, your ass, and then his hand wraps around your neck and when you try to pull away to breathe, he chases after your lips and pecks them repeatedly.
synopsis: a kid calls Jean your "husband" and that's all he can think of for the rest of the night.
pairing: jean kirschtein x fem! reader
word count: 3.6k
c.w: modern au!, trost is a modern city, fem! reader, making out outside, smut, shower s-x, p in v, lots of sweet talk, a little bit of dirty talk, disgusting fluff mixed with some smut.
Your heart was going was to burst out of your chest.
You’re not sure how to put it into words, the way he crouched down when you told him that your heels were hurting your feet, his big and warm hands working their way around your ankles to massage them. Or the way he looks up when you put your hand on top of his head, heat crawling up your neck when your eyes meet his.
Jean Kirtstein, the man who asked you to be his girlfriend a year and a half ago, was the text-book definition of the perfect man. An attentive lover, someone who pays attention to what you do or say — husband material. You would be lying if you said you didn’t think of marrying him six months into your relationship, but you knew it would be too soon to bring it up and you would hate to freak out the man.
Even then, what would you say? You treat me better than half of the men I have been with, and so now I need to marry you.
Yeah, that would sound absolutely insane.
Tonight was no different, you could feel the love pouring out of him with every move he made. The arm wrapped around your shoulders, the hand squeezing your arm to make sure that you were warm. Trost was known to be a rather cold city, especially at night, but it never stopped you from having your date nights.
“What are we watching next?” Jean leans down to stare at your phone with you. You were scrolling through the long movie list you had made together, reading carefully through the movie titles.
“We can do… Beautiful Boy? We haven’t watched it yet, surprisingly.” You look up at your boyfriend and he nods.
“Okay, Beautiful Boy.”
“Oh, I’m gonna ugly-cry though…”
Jean lets out a laugh before pressing his lips to the side of your head, pulling you closer to him. “Not the first time I’ve seen you cry.”
You roll your eyes before shoving your phone back in the pocket of your long coat. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Oh you do?” Jean smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I would’ve never guessed.”
But before you could come up with your own smart retort, a rather loud bang interrupts your moment. It pulls you back to reality for a moment, and you find yourself holding onto your boyfriend’s arm.
“What was that?” You whisper, too nervous to step closer to the sound.
Jean immediately goes into protective mode, gently pushes you to hide behind him.
“Who is there?!” He yells out, all protective and serious as his eyes scan for potential danger. You would’ve run away, had it not been the alleyway that leads directly towards your apartment building.
Another soft, wet sound comes from the alleyway, but this time Jean squints as he takes a closer look at what was happening.
Orange, white, a little bit of black….white, and then orange again. Fur. There is fur everywhere, and multiple pairs of bright eyes stare directly into yours and Jean’s souls.
Cats were gathered around the dumpster, only distracted for a moment by your presence before diving back into their food. You step from around Jean and towards the animals, your voice careful and concerned.
“I hope they’re not eating something spoiled.”
And as if they could understand what you were saying, their gaze immediately shifts towards something in the sky.
Or more like someone.
“Miss! Watch out!” A child’s voice can be heard from above, and you look up at the third floor window.
Two kids — a boy and a girl, had their heads sticking out of the window. The light was very bright from where they were looking, and you assumed that they were probably in the kitchen.
“Oh,” you place a hand on your chest as you realize what was happening, and you turn to Jean with what he can only describe as the biggest smile on your face. “Look, I think they’re feeding them.”
Jean approaches you with a warm smile, reaching his hand towards your face where he gently holds your jaw before leaning down to kiss your forehead. His carefulness makes butterflies dance in your stomach, and you move closer to him as the two of you watch the cats eat.
“Mommy says we can’t go out and feed them at night.” It’s the boy who speaks up this time, his words laced with disappointment. Jean is quick to respond to him.
“Your mommy is right, it’s dangerous at night.”
“But you’re outside at night.” The pout is so evident in his voice that it makes you chuckle.
His sister hisses at him, quickly correcting him. “They’re grown ups, dummy! Grown ups can walk outside at night!”
“Then I wanna be a grown up some day!” The boy exclaims loudly, before tossing another piece of meat down to the cats.
It seems that this was a regular occurrence, as the cats look fairly healthy and are full after a couple of bites. The kids bid them goodbye very loudly, and then you hear a loud shush coming from inside their apartment.
“It’s way past your bedtime!”
“But mommy! It’s the weekend!”
“And I let you feed the cats, now it’s time to sleep.”
“I wanna say byebye to the nice lady and her husband!”
That elicits a chuckle from you and a surprised sound from Jean who looks down at you. “Am I just an accessory now?”
You wrap your arms around his middle. “A nice accessory.”
“Byebye!” Both kids wave at you, and you and Jean wave back as you watch them retreat inside.
“Goodnight!” You exclaim loud enough for both of them to hear, and their giggles echo through the night before the window closes and the rest of the conversation is muffled.
You stand there, your arms still wrapped around Jean before you feel his eyes on you, warm and adoring.
“What?” You can feel your cheeks warming up under his gaze, his firm body feeling extra nice against yours.
“Husband, huh?” He tucks a hair strand behind your ear, taking in your flustered look. “I like that. Do you?”
The question comes out soft, careful — this was Jean’s way of testing the waters, the relationship in itself. He wanted to make sure that you two were on the same page, that the past year and a half of you two being together has been just as amazing to you, as it has been fulfilling to him. He cradles your face with his hand, his thumb brushing against your warm cheek as you gaze at him lovingly.
“I love it.”
Your words hang in the air for a few moments, surrounded by the silence of the night and your mixed breaths. Your chest feels tight, eyes brimming with tears because this was so incredibly overwhelming yet steadying. Because this was Jean, this wasn’t the man who had stood you up or the one who made you pay despite being the one to invite you on a date, or the one who expected sex after one date.
This was Jean, and not your ex-boyfriend who had told you that he wasn’t ready for commitment after being in a relationship for a year, nor was he the man who ghosted you after three dates.
You tilt your head, melting against his touch and allowing him to take the lead from here.
And soon enough, he leans down and captures your lips with his in what starts out as a gentle kiss. A couple of pecks turned into deeper kisses, and in no time you were burying your hands in his hair, fingers pulling at his mullet. The action elicits a soft sound from the taller man who pushes you up against the nearest wall, not before stumbling a bit and giggling against each other’s lips.
“Would’ve been bad if you fell.” He whispers in between kisses, his hand resting on the back of your head whilst the other grips your hip. You can feel the self-restraint slipping with each kiss, and it makes your body feel warm as you smile against his lips.
“You would’ve fallen with me so I don’t get embarrassed.” You tease him, your finger poking at his cheek and he chuckles, his hand falling from your head. He was now fully gripping your hips, caging you between the wall and his body.
“Mmm, my girl knows me so well.” He nudges your nose with his, smiling at your euphoric giggles. His lips attach against your cheek, then your jaw and down to your neck as you gasp in between giggles.
“Jean!”
“My girl, my wife,” he says the petname with so much pride, so much possessiveness that you could’ve sworn you felt your heart was about to explode.
“I have a feeling you like the sound of that,” you tease the man, brushing his hair away from his face before holding it in your hands. “Your face feels warm.”
“I love it,” he kisses the palm of your hand, before melting against your touch. “You have no idea.”
“Oh I think I do.” You whisper with a shy smile, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “My husband.”
Jean’s eyes widen for a moment, a strong feeling washes over him before he squeezes his eyes shut. He takes the hand that is holding his face before kissing it — its palm, its knuckles, repeatedly and so lovesick that you could feel your heart in your throat.
And then he opens his eyes, and his stomach flips at the way you’re looking at him. All flushed, almost drunk off his love for you. You were breathing hard, chest heaving as you stared at him as if he held the key to all of your secrets. Like he was the answer to all of your problems, as if existing without him was the worst and most unforgivable sin.
He pauses. Because telling you what he was thinking would ruin it, saying out loud that he was thinking of a million ways to have a conversation with your family about proposing to you would ruin the surprise. Because revealing that he had been saving up for a ring for the past six months would make you worry about him, about whether or not he was using his own salary for himself.
Jean knows you like the back of his hand. And he knows that if he were to propose tomorrow, with a paper ring and a shoebox for a house, you would accept.
But he would never do that — you were his princess, his sweetheart, his love. He was going to make you live out the fairytale of your dreams.
—
It should be illegal to be this attracted to your partner.
Jean’s eyes have been devouring your body ever since you got home, watching you walk around your shared bedroom then head for the bathroom. He leans against the doorframe as you remove your make-up, getting ready for the night as you grab a towel and your skincare products. Sensing his presence, you look at your boyfriend and smile.
“What?” you step closer to the shower before turning on the faucet. Jean quietly moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle.
“I can scrub your back?” He whispers against your cheek, groaning loudly when the smell of your perfume hits his nostrils. You giggle, a bit taken aback by his boldness.
“You never just scrub my back.” You point out, and the taller man playfully bites down on your earlobe.
“Did I say just scrub your back?” His hands sneakily find their way on your bare thighs, traveling their way up and under the fabric of your dress. “Scrub your back, wash your hair—”
Your hands rest on his toned forearms, smiling to yourself when you feel him squeeze your thighs.
“Soap my body too?”
This elicits another groan from Jean, and he swiftly reaches for the zipper of your dress. “Alright, let’s take it off.”
You can’t help but laugh at the urgency in his voice, but you’re also deeply flustered by how easy it is to make his self control crumble.
“Don’t forget yourself,” you mutter as he finishes unzipping your dress, taking a step back so you can step out of it and stand in front of him wearing only panties. With deliberate slowness, you undo the clasp of his belt and let it slide free. You thread it carefully through your fingers before gently yanking Jean towards you.
You continue to lift the leather belt through its loops, your other hand undoing the buttons of his white blouse. You let the belt drop to the floor, the sound of metal clanking against the tiles echoing through the bathroom, then you move closer to the man until your boobs are pressed against his bare chest.
The air is charged as you wrap your arms around his neck, a bashful smile dancing on your lips. “I wanna see all of you as well.”
Whatever self-restraint Jean had is long gone the moment he feels your skin against his. His lips crash against yours, messy and hurried as he swallows your sounds with his mouth. His big, warm hands grope your ass cheeks as you press your groin against his, gasping against his lips when you feel the growing bulge against your stomach.
You open your eyes, half-lidded and glossed over as you pull away from the kiss to catch your breath. But Jean captures your lips again, and you gasp when he pushes you up against the cold shower glass.
“I know baby,” your stomach twists at his tone — teasing yet mocking, and you pout at the man when you notice his playful smile. “Look at your nipples, they’re hard.”
He wastes no time in touching you, his thumb roughly grazing over the sensitive bud. Your back arches at the touch, your hand resting on his chest to make a small distance between the two of you.
“The water’s running.”
With a soft push, you put a little distance between the two of you before easing the glass door aside, Jean’s gaze following you. You step under the running water, making sure that your back was facing Jean as your fingers slide under the edge of your underwear. Looking over your shoulder, you send Jean a smile as you gradually work your underwear down and over your hips.
Once fully naked, you hear rustling coming from outside of the shower and smile to yourself as you see Jean yanking his blouse off his body then practically jumping out of his pants and boxers.
“You’re fucking gorgeous, d’you know that?”
You gasp as you feel his hands on your boobs, shamelessly groping and fondling them as you reach for the body wash. You hum in response, pushing your ass back so that it grazes his now fully erect cock. Immediately, Jean folds against you as he rests his forehead against your shoulder.
“Are you okay baby?” you ask and Jean can tell you’re finding this way too amusing.
“Mmmm,” is all he can say as he pushes his cock against your ass, his hand sliding down from your boob down to your stomach. It rests on your pubic bone, and the tall man can tell that you’re slowly losing patience as well just from the way your body was reacting to him.
You shudder at the feeling, hips bucking up. You wish he could just fuck you stupid, but a part of you was enjoying the build up a little too much.
“Was just thinking,” his chin is now propped on your shoulder, eyes staring down at your boobs and the rest of your body. “About how bad I want to fuck you.”
You sigh, cheeks flaring up at his dirty confession. Your hand reaches behind you to cradle his face, and you turn your head to look at him. “How bad do you want to fuck me, Jean?”
Pressing his forehead against yours, Jean carefully nudges the tip of his cock against your wet folds. It’s a euphoric feeling despite the lack of penetration, and he basks in the way your face contorts and twists when he swipes the tip of his cock over your clit.
“Til you feel it in your stomach, baby.”
You bite down on your lip, sighing at his words. “Please.”
The first thrust feels like you have been sent to heaven and back. It feels good, comforting, your warm walls hugging his cock so tight that Jean curses under his breath and bites down on your shoulder to suppress his own noises.
“Fuuuck, you’re so tight. Don’t I fuck you enough, huh? How’s this pussy still so fucking tight?”
You can only moan in response as you start to fuck yourself back against him, a gutteral sound escaping Jean as he watches your ass recoil with each thrust. He only lets you do the work for a couple of moments before his hand hooks under your leg, lifting it up as he starts to fuck you hard.
You gasp, holding yourself up against the wall as your eyes roll back.
The obscene sound of his cock pumping in and out of you fills the bathroom, the large vein that wraps around his dick dragging against your folds with each thrust. And he reaches so deep inside you that it elicits an embarrassing moan out of you, one that has you covering your mouth.
“Don’t hide from me,” Jean quickly removes your hand from over your mouth, his pace quickening. The tip of his cock reaches spots inside you that your own fingers can’t, and you quickly figure out that holding up your leg allows him to reach even deeper if possible.
The light-brown-haired male can no longer hide his own sounds, as the lewd sound of his hips violently slamming against yours were the only thing to reach his ears. The feeling of your tight pussy is the one thing that he can feel in his entire body, and he makes it his mission to make you cum as hard as you can.
“Fuck, you’re taking me so well.”
He holds you up well, making sure that you were balancing yourself well as he continues to fuck you with your leg in the air. Your leg starts shaking when the tip of his cock grazes that spot, and so he frees your leg before wrapping his arms around your body. With embarrassing ease, Jean manhandles you so that you are pressed face first against the glass door of the shower.
“What I’d take to see what you look like right now,” he mumbles against your ear, his cock buried deep inside your pussy. He starts to fuck you again, this time going so deep that you could almost feel him in your stomach.
It makes your eyes roll back, your cheeks stinging from the heat as your body gives out and lets him take full control. You rest your forehead against the glass when the pleasure becomes mind-numbing, your hands reaching behind you to grip his forearms as he continues to fuck you so good.
“Oh my god Jean, oh my god—”
“Don’t stop?” His voice was strained, he was close too.
“Please!”
Saying the magic word always got you what you wanted. Jean’s hips are relentless as he continues to slam the tip of his cock exactly how you liked. Coupled with his hands gripping your hips so possessively, your orgasm hits you like a train.
Your body shakes, goosebumps forming all over your skin as your pussy gushes on his cock. And you can’t stop cumming, Jean’s cock keeps fucking into you as he chases his own release and mutters filthy words of praise against your hair.
“My perfect woman, my pretty wife taking my cock like a fucking champ.” His moan is long and drawn and you cry out even more when you feel his hand go around your body to rub at your poor and neglected clit. “You’re so fucking good for me, you’re gonna cum for me again. Right?” His teeth sink into your earlobe and you sigh, your body temperature rising as you nod.
“Yeah!”
“Good girl.”
Jean gives one final slam of his hips before he’s emptying himself inside your pussy, cock nestled between your tight and warm walls. You take a moment to catch your breath, your body still twitching and recovering from what just happened.
You tell your boyfriend that you two need to hurry and wash up before the warm water runs out, and he jumps in action as he scrubs both your body and his, rinsing with water before stepping out to grab towels for the two of you.
By the time he returns with a warm towel, you’re trembling from the cold.
“Sorry I took too long.” You shake your head, letting him wrap the towel around your body.
“It’s okay,” you smile as you kiss his cheek. “Cover yourself or you’ll get sick.”
Jean kisses your forehead before patting your butt. “Go get dressed, you look like a poodle.”
You feign being offended as you gasp. “Take it back!”
“Thought you liked me for my honesty!”
You shout from the bedroom. “No! I liked you because you were tall and handsome!”
You hear Jean make the same noise you made earlier. “My girlfriend is shallow?!”
“Better break up with me.” you say playfully and Jean pops his head from the bathroom, his face all serious.
Iwaizumi who hates being told that his baby girls crying is them being “manipulative”
He hates it—no, absolutely despises it, because how can a baby be manipulative? It doesn’t make sense to him. And he gets fed up with the same remarks happening over and over again, when he carries one of his twin girls when she starts crying, or when he carries her twin sister in his other arm because she was about to start crying as well.
And then he hears it—a random woman who was in the same aisle as him speaks up.
“Oh they both know what they’re doing,”
Her tone isn’t necessarily malicious, but it irks Iwaizumi nonetheless. He tries to dismiss her kindly, shaking his head with a hesitant smile.
“Ah, I don’t think so.”
“I know so, trust me.” She waves her hand at him, the other hand clutching her cart. “I’ve seen this happen so many times. They cry when they can’t get their way. It’s almost like they know how to be manipulative!”
This time, Iwaizumi can’t hold back his tongue.
“They don’t know what that is.”
“They do, they do! It’s wired in them—“
“It’s not wired in them. My daughters are 5 months old and recently recovered from a cold. If they wanna be held it’s because they are babies, not because they’re evil.”
That makes her go quiet, her lips parting and closing a couple of times before she’s nodding and walking away.
You walk back from the frozen food aisle, shooting him a puzzled look cause you noticed he was talking to an old woman.
“Is everything okay? I saw you talking with that woman.”
You grab one of your daughters from him, and he nods before leaning down to kiss your forehead.
“Peachy.”
“…you only say peachy when something is off.”
Iwaizumi chuckles at this and pats your back. Because he knows if he tells you the truth, tells you that the woman called your daughters “manipulative” that you would go after her and confront her about it.
Your mama bear instinct have turned you feral when it comes to your babies, and as much as your husband admired you for that, he didn’t want to cause you any distress while you were still breastfeeding.
athletic trainer! iwaizumi is a private man who barely talks about his personal life. yet somehow, that's all the internet seems to talk about lately...
"I don't understand." He grunts as he glares at his phone screen. This was the third time in the past month that he's been trending on twitter. Third. And he still doesn't understand why people are making such a big deal out of a short clip from an interview.
"'course ya don't, when have ya ever understood what the fans want?" Atsumu shoots a snarky remark that is met with a towel to his face. He barks out a laugh before adding. "N'yet somehow ya give them what they want!"
"What they want is my wife's name." Displeased, Iwaizumi doesn't seem to be a fan of whatever was unfolding on the internet.
"Isn't it out there anyway?" Hinata innocently asks, chugging his water down. "It wouldn't hurt if you just confirmed it!"
"And if they start threatening her, will you be the one suing them?"
The situation wasn't all that bad really, but the man didn't know how to handle such sudden attention from the public.
It all starts when he posts a story on his instagram account. It's a simple picture of his breakfast --- grilled fish, rice and miso soup. It looks delicious and is served so nicely that he couldn't help but share it with the internet.
What he doesn't realize, is that the spoon on the side reflects both your faces.
That day, he trends on twitter for the first time.
DO YALL SEE THAT???
I knew he was married.
to which someone replies,
well no shit he has a ring on his finger????
omg so iwaoi is not real :((((
??? that could be his maid for all we know. yall are dramatic.
That last comment makes his eye twitch. That was so much audacity for a person who didn't know anything about his personal life. And yet, he chooses to ignore it for the sake of his own sanity.
And because you told him it wasn't that big of a deal.
"Wha--are you serious?" He's wide eyed as he puts his phone down, glancing towards your side of the bed where you were applying lotion on your skin.
"Of course it doesn't bother me, Haji." you turn to face your husband, a soft smile dancing on your lips. "We're married. That's all what matters to me."
Iwaizumi sometimes admires your way of thinking.
The second time he trends on twitter, it is once again against his will.
People had been digging for your identity, dying to know who was the mysterious woman who had stolen Iwaizumi's heart and got him to marry her. And who dared to ruin their special Iwaoi ship.
The articles were few, but they were annoying nonetheless.
"Iwaizumi Hajime's wife--who is the mysterious woman who stole the athletic trainer's heart?"
"Is being famous not a requirement to steal Iwaizumi Hajime's heart? READ MORE"
"Iwaizumi Hajime, married to a normal woman, but somehow still thriving--"
The last one truly pisses him off. He never really thought this career far ahead, and for a good reason. Had he known that it would lead to this--to the public being so focused on his personal life, on you--he wouldn't have proceeded with this career.
"No comment." He says with a scowl on his face, shooting daggers at the person who had dared to ask him such absurd question. And plus, weren't they supposed to care more about sports than his personal life?
"Just answer this one question please!" the reporter tries to shove a microphone in his face as they ask again. "Are you truly happy to be with someone with no ambition? I mean we all know much sports matter to you and--"
"Excuse me?"
Oh shit, Atsumu thinks as he pauses his own interview with a reporter. It's about to get ugly.
If looks could kill, that reporter would be six feet below the surface of the ground. The glare, the flared nostrils, it took both Bokuto and Meian to hold back the athletic trainer as Atsumu steps in front of the reporter.
"Not nice man," he has a scowl on his face. "Ya should really go."
That was Atsumu's way of saying that if Iwaizumi saw them again, they'd be dead. It would be best if they left.
And because everything was captured on camera, the public is cheering. Yes, the sight of Iwaizumi being annoyed was both worrying and attractive, but watching him almost go feral because someone made a comment about the mysterious person who was his wife?
Hell yeah, their headcanons of Iwaizumi being a protective husband were being proved right.
"Iwaizumi... husband material?" He reads the hashtag with a deadpan, sighing as he wipes his face with his hand. "What is this..."
"You read it," you tease the man, pointing towards your phone. "You're being called husband material."
"But any man would defend his wife!"
You pat his shoulder before squeezing it, leaning closer to his ear before whispering. "Yeah, but you're husband material it's different--"
With a flushed face, Iwaizumi shoves lightly away from him and groans. "You're the devil."
"You love me." you tease, opening your arms for him to come lay on top of you. Your husband sighs before slowly climbing on top of you, burying his face in your neck.
"I do. I love you a lot."
This time, Iwaizumi definitely intended to make sure that his name--yours as well, your pcitures, would all end up trending on the internet. He wanted them to have a field day with it.
The sports excellence gala, an event that happens once a year and that gathers the most talented and hardworking athletes from all over the world. The MSBY JACKALS were no exception to that, and so everyone was invited. Including their famous athletic trainer, Iwaizumi Hajime.
So, the fans were waiting patiently--no, scratch that, impatiently, to see if he was going to bring you with him. If the man was finally going to show the face of the woman whom he had been in love with and protecting so fiercely.
The crowd cheers when he steps out of the black van, wearing an expensive blacksuit and looking all neat. He wipes his sweaty palms on the fabric of his pants, before turning around and reaching his hand inside the van again.
This time, the crowd roars as you step out of the van.
To say that you made jaws drop that night was an understatement. Not only did you look good, you also seemed so nice--with a beauty that felt a bit familiar to some fans, but no one really had enough time to dig around and find out who you looked like.
They were eating up every interaction you had with your husband. Intertwined fingers, shaky hands that grabbed onto his suit jacket and tugged at it when you needed something.
And Iwaizumi--God, he was so good the whole night. Holding the back of your dress so it doesn't drag behind you, fixing your hair out of your face, leaning down to press a kiss to your exposed shoulder.
He was everything.
As professional photographers capture thousands of pictures of you and your husband, some experts at lip reading catch a glimpse of a conversation exchanged between the two of you.
"You alright?" Iwaizumi says, and you nod, a beaming smile on your face.
"I'm good. I love you."
"I love you too."
One clip amongst many, immediately goes viral.
In the video, the reporter approaches you and Iwaizumi giddily, and fans manage to zoom in on when your husband wraps a protective arm around your waist.
"How are we feeling tonight?"
You immediately turn to your husband, expecting him to answer. But you feel a hand squeeze your side and you turn to the reporter again."
"Amazing, a little nervous, but I'm mostly excited for the awards!"
"Who do you think will win the big award?"
This time, Iwaizumi speaks up. "A person who deserves it."
"You don't have a single person on mind?"
"No--"
But before Iwaizumi can finish his sentence, a loud voice can be heard from behind and the camera captures as your face beams before you open your arms to hug the person.
Oikawa Tooru.
Why were you getting comfortable with three-times winner of the excellence award, Oikawa Tooru?
"Of course it's going to be me!" he grins at the reporter, wrapping an arm around Iwaizumi's shoulders. "Tell them, Iwa. Tell them you want me to win."
"Nah, drop to the floor."
Oikawa makes a dramatic gestures before leaning almost all of his weight on you. "Your husband is so mean to me!"
"It seems as though you're all very close!" The reporter quickly finds an opportunity to ask. "How do you know each other?"
"Oh you don't know?" Oikawa grins before grabbing the mic from the man before staring deeply at the camera. "Iwa-chan has always had the hots for my little sister."
Little sister? You were The Oikawa Tooru's sister?
Iwaizumi punches the man before he has the chance to run away, turning away from the camera with a red face. All you can do is console him, rubbing his arms with a laugh.
"Oh I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"He's... I'll kill him."
But Iwaizumi's not that mad about it, because now it means that if fans even dare to say anything about you, someone as unafraid of being cancelled as Oikawa will come out and tear them to shreds.
Not that Iwaizumi couldn't do it before, but now he had back up.
He reads the comments carefully.
...were so blind her and oikawa are literally twins omg
because he couldnt go for him, he went for his sister. i see you.
she's so BEAUTIFUL. Do you think she has social media?
Yall, lets not harass someone who chooses not to be famous.
can we just appreciate how beautiful they look together? this is so cute
