DEVILS GOT YOUR NUMBER TONIGHT
matsukawa likes an audience, you like being listened to, and iwaizumi really should have hung up. (or— matsukawa answers the phone mid-shift at the pussy eating factory. iwaizumi stays on the line.)
MATSUKAWA ISSEI X FEM!READER ft. IWAIZUMI HAJIME | timeskip, friends with benefits (mattsun and reader use each purely for their bodies), smut, exhibitionism/voyeurism, phone sex, dubious consent in the beginning, third party listening, oral sex f receiving, fingering, vaginal sex, dirty talk, size kink, multiple orgasms, creampie, implied masturbation
word count: 3.7k
hi from marcel: my demons. MY DEMONS. @swordsteel picked iwa so he is here...... title from an mcr lyric (can you guess which ill give you a kiss)
it starts stupidly, like most good things do.
because everything with matsukawa issei starts stupidly.
he is between your thighs, hair mussed from your hands, mouth warm and lazy against you like he’s got nowhere else to be for the rest of his life. which is a lie. he had somewhere to be. he had told the boys he might meet up later, maybe, if he “felt like being social.”
you had known exactly what that meant.
so did he.
so did makki, probably, given the string of texts sitting unread on his lock screen.
you’re already half-melted into the mattress, one knee hooked over his shoulder, fingers twisted in the sheets because issei is being unfair about it. not rushed. not even particularly mean yet. just focused in that loose, maddening way he has, like he’s barely trying and still knows exactly how to make your spine turn to warm water.
his phone starts buzzing on the bed.
you glance over.
iwaizumi.
your stomach flips before issei even lifts his head.
he feels it.
of course he feels it.
his eyes flick up to yours from between your thighs, dark and amused.
“no,” you whisper, already smiling because you are a liar and a freak.
his mouth curves.
the phone keeps buzzing.
issei wipes his thumb slowly over the inside of your thigh, watching your face like he’s waiting for the part where you tell him not to.
you don’t.
so he reaches for his phone.
“issei,” you hiss, but there’s no heat in it. no real warning.
he answers with his mouth still shiny.
“yo.”
you slap both hands over your face.
because unlike makki, iwaizumi doesn’t immediately start laughing.
there’s just... a pause.
then hajime’s voice, low and normal and totally unaware of the crime scene he has stepped into. “you busy?”
issei looks directly at you.
you shake your head at him in horror and delight.
he licks his lips.
“little bit.”
“then why’d you answer?”
“’cause you called. i’m polite, iwa.”
“you sound weird.”
issei hums, and his thumb slides back over you, slow enough to make your legs tense.
you bite down on your knuckle.
“do i?”
another pause.
oh, hajime knows now.
you can hear the exact second he knows. the silence changes shape. gets heavier. more aware.
“... matsukawa.”
“yeah?”
“are you fucking around right now?”
issei’s smile is lazy and lethal.
“technically, my mouth’s occupied.”
you make the worst sound into your hand.
hajime goes dead silent.
not scandalised loud like oikawa. not delighted loud like makki.
silent.
issei’s brows lift like he’s fascinated.
then, with the calm of a man setting down a drink, he taps speaker and lays the phone flat on your stomach.
the cool edge of it makes you twitch.
you choke on a laugh, which turns into a gasp when he slides two fingers back into you, slow and deliberate.
“oh my god,” you breathe.
the phone is right there. resting on your stomach, speaker up, close enough that every little broken sound you make has nowhere to hide.
issei looks too pleased with himself.
“iwa,” he says casually, as if he is not knuckle-deep and watching your hips start to lift. “you still there?”
no answer.
issei’s fingers curl.
your back arches.
“hajime,” issei sings, awful and soft. “don’t be rude.”
“i’m here,” iwaizumi says, voice tight.
there it is.
not hanging up. not telling him to stop. not even pretending hard enough to hate this.
issei’s grin goes slow.
“yeah?” he murmurs. “you wanna be?”
the silence after that is fucking insane.
you stare at issei, wide-eyed, breath catching in little pieces as he keeps touching you. he’s not even going down on you anymore. he’s just watching. sitting between your legs with his cheek against your thigh, fingers moving steadily, gaze flicking between your face and the phone on your stomach like this is some kind of casual group activity.
“i asked you something,” issei says.
hajime exhales through his nose.
“... if she’s okay with it.”
your whole body tenses.
issei’s fingers pause.
not stop, exactly. just slow.
his eyes come to yours, humour gone thin for half a second. the real question underneath it.
you nod.
he waits.
“yeah,” you whisper. “i’m okay with it.”
issei’s smile comes back, softer first.
then worse.
“you hear that?”
“i heard,” hajime says.
his voice sounds different now. lower. rougher around the edges.
god help you.
issei kisses the inside of your knee. “good. then stay quiet if you’re gonna be shy about it.”
“fuck off,” hajime says, but it has no bite.
“mm. that isn’t very nice, hajime.”
you laugh, breathless, and issei rewards it by dragging his fingers just right.
your laugh snaps into a moan.
hajime makes a sound.
tiny. barely there.
but it is a sound.
issei hears it.
of course he does.
“oh?” he says.
“don’t.”
“didn’t say anything.”
“you were about to.”
“i was just thinking.”
“do that privately.”
issei’s fingers slow, and you whine before you can stop yourself.
he looks down at you with mock pity.
“see what you did? distracted me.”
“issei,” you complain.
“yeah, baby?”
he says it so casually. so warm. like he isn’t turning you into a trembling mess with his best friend listening.
“don’t stop.”
iwaizumi’s breath catches audibly.
issei’s eyes darken.
“bossy.”
“you’re being annoying.”
“i’m being generous.” his gaze flicks to the phone. “aren’t i, iwa?”
hajime says nothing.
issei laughs quietly.
“still there?”
“yeah.”
“quiet.”
“yeah.”
“you jerking off, boy scout?”
the silence is immediate and catastrophic.
your eyes go huge.
“issei.”
“what?” he asks, innocent as a knife. “it’s a question.”
hajime’s voice comes back strangled. “you’re a fucking asshole.”
“that wasn’t a no.”
“jesus christ.”
“that wasn’t either.”
you are going to die.
you are actually going to die in this bed because matsukawa issei cannot behave for five consecutive minutes and iwaizumi hajime apparently has a closet pervert streak big enough to qualify as a second apartment.
issei leans down and kisses you, right above where his fingers are still moving.
soft. terrible.
then he speaks, not to you this time.
“she’s so wet,” he says, conversationally. “you should feel this.”
your face burns so hot you think you might pass out.
hajime swears under his breath.
issei watches your reaction like he loves it.
“she likes when i talk about her,” he continues, still lazy, still cruelly calm. “acts embarrassed, but she gets tighter every time.”
you shake your head.
his fingers curl again.
your hips jerk.
“liar,” he murmurs to you.
“i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.”
“i might.”
“you’d miss me.”
“i’d miss your dick.”
“same thing.”
hajime makes another sound then, partly a laugh, half a curse. like he can’t believe he is hearing this. like he cannot believe he is not hanging up.
issei’s smile sharpens.
“there you go,” he says. “knew you were alive.”
“shut up.”
“nah. iwa, she’s trying so hard not to make noise.”
“don’t drag me into it.”
“you’re on speaker on her stomach. you dragged yourself in.”
“that was you.”
“you could hang up.”
nothing.
issei hums.
“thought so.”
then he lowers his mouth back to you.
and if the fingering was bad, this is worse.
because now he is showing off.
not in a clumsy way. not obvious and exaggerated. issei is too smooth for that, too confident in the exact way that makes him irritating. he just settles back between your thighs and eats you out like he knows hajime is listening to every wet sound, every shaky breath, every broken little syllable of his name you fail to swallow.
your hand flies into his hair.
the phone shifts on your stomach as you arch.
“careful,” issei murmurs against you, and the vibration makes your legs tremble. “don’t drop him.”
“i’m going to kill you,” you gasp.
“after?”
“maybe.”
he laughs into you.
hajime says nothing.
but he is breathing.
that’s the thing that gets you. the quiet on the other end isn’t empty anymore. it’s full of him. tense and controlled and too present. you can imagine him sitting somewhere with his jaw clenched, phone in one hand, the other maybe—
you whimper.
issei’s eyes flick up.
“oh, what was that?”
“shut up.”
“you thinking about him?”
you try to close your thighs, which is a mistake because his shoulders are there and he just spreads you open again.
“don’t hide now.”
“issei.”
“answer.”
your pulse is in your throat. “maybe.”
hajime curses.
issei grins against you.
“cute.”
then he stops talking and gets serious.
which is how you know you’re fucked.
he knows exactly how to pull you apart when he wants to. knows when to tease and when to shut up, when to give you pressure, when to back off just enough that your body chases him. his hands lock around your thighs, his mouth gets precise, and everything narrows down to heat and breath and the weight of the phone rising and falling with your stomach.
you come with hajime listening.
it’s not graceful.
it never is with issei when he’s showing off.
your back arches, one hand in his hair, the other clutching at the sheets, and the sound that leaves you is loud enough that you hear hajime inhale sharply through the speaker. issei doesn’t let up until you’re squirming, thighs trembling against his cheeks, voice breaking around a too-much little sob.
then he lifts his head.
slowly.
mouth wet.
eyes dark.
“good?” he asks.
you nod weakly.
“words.”
“i’m good.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
he pats your thigh once.
“great.”
then he grabs your hips and yanks you down the bed.
you squeal.
actually squeal.
because you’re overstimulated and boneless and he moves you like you weigh nothing, dragging you to the edge so suddenly that the phone nearly slides off your stomach. you catch it with one clumsy hand, laughing breathlessly even while your whole body is still shaking.
on speaker, hajime makes the craziest fucking sound.
not a full moan.
not a word.
just this punched-out, involuntary thing that tells on him so badly the room goes still for half a second.
issei freezes.
then looks at the phone.
then at you.
his smile becomes a war crime.
“iwa.”
“don’t.”
“that was cute.”
“don’t.”
“you liked that?”
“fuck you.”
“i’ll pencil you in.”
you laugh again, helpless, and hajime sounds like he might be suffering psychic damage.
issei stands at the end of the bed.
and yeah.
yeah, you forget how to speak for a second.
because he is tall. tall in that loose, lanky way that hides the sheer size of him until he is standing over you with your hips in his hands and his hair falling into his eyes. he drags you to the very edge, lifts your ass like it’s nothing, adjusts you until your legs are hooked just right.
the angle alone makes your stomach flip.
then he lays his cock over your lower stomach.
just rests there.
heavy and hard and obscene against your skin.
you stare down.
he does too.
“issei,” you breathe.
“i know.”
he loves this.
loves seeing it. loves the visual of how deep he’ll reach, how far up your body he can mark the promise of it before he even gets inside. it makes him smug in the worst way, quiet and satisfied and absolutely aware of what it does to you.
his thumb strokes your hip.
“look at that,” he murmurs.
hajime is dead silent.
issei tilts his head toward the phone.
“wish you were looking, iwa?”
“don’t be mean,” you manage.
“shame. i’m so good at it.”
hajime’s voice is rough when he says, “you’re evil.”
“little bit.”
“more than a little.”
“you’re still here.”
another pause.
then hajime says, very low, “yeah.”
oh.
oh, that gets everyone.
even issei’s expression flickers for a second, amusement giving way to something hotter. he looks down at you, brows raised like, you hearing this?
you nod, dazed.
“yeah,” issei says softly. “he is.”
then he slides into you.
you lose your breath.
fully.
it’s so deep at that angle that your hands fly to his wrists, nails digging in as he holds you up to meet him. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. just a stunned little gasp that cracks at the edges when he bottoms out.
issei’s jaw tightens.
“fuck.”
hajime mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch.
issei catches it.
“what was that?”
“nothing.”
“liar.”
“keep going.”
the words are clipped. controlled. almost angry.
they make you clench so hard issei groans.
“oh, she liked that.”
“stop narrating everything,” hajime says.
“no.”
then he starts moving.
slow at first, because the angle is insane and because you are still sensitive from his mouth. deep, measured thrusts that push the air out of you every time, his hands firm under your ass, lifting you to meet him like he’s using your body exactly how he wants and making sure it ruins you properly.
the phone is still on you, slid down now to stick to the sweaty skin just below your tits.
you can feel the vibration of hajime’s breathing through the case.
it is obscene.
it is ridiculous.
it is so hot you almost can’t stand it.
issei talks through everything.
of course he does.
he tells you how good you feel, how tight, how pretty you look trying to take him like this. tells hajime how your face changes when he gets deep enough. how your thighs shake. how you get louder when you forget to be embarrassed.
and hajime just listens.
quiet.
too quiet.
until issei pushes.
“say something, iwa.”
“no.”
“why not?”
“because you’re already insufferable.”
“she wants to hear you.”
your eyes fly to his.
issei grins.
“you do.”
“i—”
he thrusts deep, and your words scatter.
“see?”
hajime’s voice is rough. “she okay?”
the question punches right through all the heat.
because it’s hajime, of course it is. repressed pervert or not, he still sounds like himself. grounded. careful. checking, even with his voice strained.
you swallow, breathless.
“yeah. i’m okay.”
“you sure?”
“yeah.”
issei’s expression softens for the smallest second.
then he ruins it by saying, “hear that? she’s okay. you can keep jerking off now, boy scout.”
“mattsun,” hajime snaps.
you make a sound that is half laugh, half moan.
issei’s grin comes back full force.
“there we go.”
“you’re going to hell.”
“probably. wanna come with?”
“not answering that.”
you are absolutely dissolving.
every thrust punches up into that deep, impossible place that makes your legs go useless. issei’s hands hold you steady, thumbs digging into the soft of your hips. your head tips back against the mattress, one hand fisted in the sheet, the other pressed weakly over the phone like you can somehow hide the sounds and keep hajime close at the same time.
issei notices.
“don’t cover him.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
“you’re annoying.”
“you love it.”
“you’re too deep.”
his hips slow immediately.
“too deep bad?”
you shake your head fast.
“no. good. just— fuck!”
“more words.”
“good,” you gasp. “it’s good.”
“yeah?” his voice goes warm and filthy. “you want more?”
you nod.
“say it.”
“more.”
hajime exhales sharply.
issei’s eyes glitter.
“oh, he liked that one.”
“i hate both of you,” you breathe.
“liar.”
then he gives you more.
not faster. deeper. meaner in that careful way that has your body going loose and desperate beneath him. the whole bed shifts with it, rhythm steady, your ass lifted in his hands, his cock hitting so deep that your vision goes blurry.
and then he says it.because he knows exactly when to.
“wanna come for iwa?”
you whine.
“yeah?” he asks, voice low. “wanna come while he jerks off to the sound of you getting fucked like this?”
hajime makes a strangled noise.
“issei.”
“what?”
“you’re— fuck.”
issei laughs, breathless and dark. you nod before you can think better of it.
issei’s gaze snaps back to you.
“please,” you whisper.
his hands tighten.
“please what?”
“make me come.”
“who for?”
you are gone. truly gone. no dignity. no shame. just heat and pressure and hajime’s breathing through the speaker.
“for haji.”
the silence after that is violent.
then hajime groans. low. wrecked. utterly ruined.
issei’s composure almost cracks.
almost.
“fuck,” he mutters. “good girl.”
he shifts one hand, keeping you lifted with the other, and gets his thumb on your clit.
that’s it. that’s the end of you.
the angle, the pressure, the phone, hajime’s barely contained sounds, issei’s voice talking you through it like he has all the time in the world. it all collapses at once.
you come hard enough that your voice breaks. hard enough that your whole body shakes in his hands, hips jerking uselessly as he keeps you exactly where he wants you. issei talks you through the entire thing, filthy and soft, telling you there you go, that’s it, let him hear you, while hajime swears on the other end like he’s trying not to fall apart too loudly.
issei follows not long after.
he holds you tight, thrusts going uneven, head tipping back with a groan that would be embarrassing if he were capable of shame. he comes deep, still standing at the edge of the bed, hands locked around you like he’s anchoring himself through it.
for a few seconds, no one says anything.
you are wrecked.
hajime is silent.
issei is breathing hard, staring down at where he’s still inside you with a lazy, satisfied look that makes you want to kick him if your legs worked.
then hajime says, flat and disbelieving, “are you fucking serious?”
issei doesn’t miss a beat. “nah. her name isn’t serious.”
hajime hangs up. immediately. the room goes dead quiet.
then you burst into exhausted laughter.
issei looks down at the phone, then at you, completely calm.
“rude.”
“you are the worst person alive.”
“he asked.”
“you are insane.”
“yeah.” he finally eases you back onto the bed with surprising gentleness, one hand sliding under your thigh so you don’t jolt too hard. “you good?”
you blink up at him, sweaty and ruined and still trying to recover from the fact that iwaizumi hajime just got dragged into this ecosystem and absolutely did not leave.
“yeah,” you mumble. “i’m good.”
“yeah?”
“mhm.”
“nice.”
he pulls out carefully, and you make a tiny miserable sound because everything is too much now. he kisses your knee like he’s apologising, which is offensive because he is not sorry.
then he grabs his phone.
you squint at him. “what are you doing?”
“checking if he blocked me.”
“did he?”
a pause. “no.”
“coward.”
“right?”
the phone buzzes once in his hand.
issei reads it and smiles.
“what?”
“iwa says he hates me.”
“you deserve it.”
“he also says to never call him again.”
“you answered his call.”
“i’ll remind him later.”
“don’t.”
“i won’t.”
“you absolutely will.”
“probably.”
you groan and cover your face.
issei tosses the phone aside and pats your thigh.
“okay. shower.”
“don’t boss me around after ruining my life.”
“you’re gross.”
your eyes snap open. “it’s your fault.”
“yeah.” he shrugs, shameless. “still gross.”
“i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.”
“i hate your friends.”
“no, you don’t.”
you stare at him and he grins.
“especially not haji.”
you grab a pillow and throw it at him. he catches it against his chest, laughing, then leans down to kiss your forehead like he has any right to be sweet after all of that.
“come on,” he says. “shower before makki finds out and the group chat becomes unlivable ’cause we left him out.”
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