oh god this was supposed to be for a collab but anyway
He said he could handle a little smoking. Maybe he lied. Maybe he's also hard. Either way, help him out.
Contains: recreational drug use (weed), mildly dubious consent (due to the drug use), dry humping, coming in pants
Sounds – smoke – voices –-
It’s overwhelming until it cuts off.
Tanaka's raucous laughter muffles abruptly as you pull the bathroom door shut behind you. Compared to the makeshift hotbox you’ve been spending the last half an hour in, the cool air of the hallway almost hurts to breathe, suddenly much too sharp and dry. The shock makes your eyes water. You screw them shut but vertigo warps you side-side-sideways until you’re certain the floor must be rising to meet you. It nearly lays you out, but the wall thankfully catches you. Your eyes open blearily after the impact, now less dry but just as bloodshot.
There was no need to worry that Kei had left you behind. He also hasn’t made it very far. He's walking, or trying to, forearm braced on the wall as he steps very deliberately down the hall. You open your mouth to call for him, but you cough, buckling slightly.
eugh. It's impossible to try to multitask until your body finishes adjusting. You force your thoughts to collect around what feels like a plank of wood lodged squarely in your forehead. Focus: Tsukki is going back downstairs. The rest of the party is down there. Walk. You've done this before.
You wrangle your senses and focus on your boyfriend's back. Vertigo doesn’t strike as hard with a visual anchor, you remember, temples pulling lightly as you try to mentally bully your body into submission. You catch up to him fast. He's barely made it farther than you. He either smoked more, which is unlikely – he was coughing so much he was probably getting most of his secondhand- or he was much more affected than you were.
“I can handle myself,” he had said. The memory of Kei’s self-assured monologue on the front step bounces around your skull as you watch him finally make it to the stairwell. He looks down and pauses, blinking slowly. He raises a shaky foot, but stops again, frozen in what looks like a sloppy beginner’s yoga pose.
Several seconds pass.
He doesn’t move.
“Tsukki?”
If he was startled by your silent approach, it doesn’t show. There’s a slight tremor in his raised leg.
“Are you... okay?”
He doesn’t respond. Music drifts up from the stairwell. Muffled sounds of conversation leak from the door behind you.
There’s no tension in his bloodshot eyes when he turns to face you. His mouth is hidden by his outstretched arm, but you still just barely catch his reply:
“.... I don’t think I can make it down the stairs.”
He stays frozen by the banister, staring slightly past you.
You’re starting to think he may have overstated how experienced he actually was.
The couch in the spare room took Tsukishima’s weight easily, but the force of his graceless collapse sent the purse resting on it to the floor. You follow him down with a little more thought, perched on his splayed thighs and nestling into his neck. The fabric of the jacket underneath both of you is plush under your knees. Kei’s pulse beats sluggishly against your cheek.
“'s’this better?” you slur into the hollow of his neck.
He huffs out a breath before replying, voice still thick and hoarse from the smoke.
“Easier. Than the stairs.”
His tone is much lighter than usual, and this somehow makes him twice as funny. You giggle belatedly, cheeks tingling with the cicada buzz of nicotine. He’s spread out on the couch like a scarecrow, not even trying to move, just laying where he fell. The steady rise and fall of his chest against yours is the only movement he’s making at all. You nose at the pulse point in his neck and try to burrow deeper, chasing the warmth. He smells bad, but also not? His cologne and smoke and more sweat than usual. Eventually, your previous train of thought works its way out of your mouth.
“Pfft- too fucked up to move. I thought, I remember you, uh- said you’ve done this before?” Your tongue feels so heavy in your mouth. Thickly, you push it through your lips to swipe at the sweat on his neck.
Tsukki hums. He lifts up his arm, wrist limp. You track it lazily from the corner of your eye without moving your head. The edges of it seem to blur like long exposure film.
“I-- it wasn’t this much. Before, I mean.”
You hum a thoughtful noise back at him as he jerkily twists the arm, hand flapping at the sudden movement. The palinopsia trails behind it like a comet. It’s so odd, you think hazily, seeing him like this. He’s always so in control. The thought drifts off as fast as it arrived while you watch his hand flop gracelessly. You rock in his lap idly, captivated by the display.
“I can think. I can move, it’s just... It feels like my body is… brand new.”
His voice has a rasp to it still from the smoke. His arm suddenly drops like a stone, pressing you deeper into him. It’s a clumsy attempt at a hug.
“No–o muscle memory.” The word drags on longer than he’d normally ever allow it to.
Despite knocking the breath from you momentarily it is comforting. You squirm, vying for a more comfortable position. Tsukki huffs, squeezing his arm tighter.
“Stop moving.”
You do not stop moving. The slick fabric of whatever jacket is trapped beneath the two of you is making you lose your position every time you get situated.
“Slipp’ry,” you explain as articulately as you can.
He grunts, twisting under you. His thighs press into yours, bucking your legs open wider slowly.
hh -
The breath is lost in the slick hiss of his jeans running over the jacket below. You match his movements and press down harder, unthinkingly chasing the feeling. There are too many layers, it’s rough and the zipper of your pants is digging uncomfortably, but you’re too gone to care. You clamp your thighs and buck, trying to press in close enough to-
ah, he breathes.
To get that reaction. Fuck. You sluggishly calculate the worth of removing your pants. Buttons and a zipper. Times two. Plus belt, not including getting the waistband down...
There’s a pressure unrelated to the booze or the weed on your head suddenly, holding you still. Tsukki’s free hand rests there, his foolproof method to keep you in place. It usually is. He's usually not 4 drinks deep and crossfaded on whatever blend of dirt was in that sandwich bag you had rolled up. It's easy enough to slouch out of his grip and capture his arm yourself.
Tsukishima's eyes are glazed but the look he gives you is sharp.
"Hey."
You stop. He blinks. He blinks again.
"... I'm not taking my pants off."
"Oh, good," you huff, "We're on the same page."
The weed may have temporarily burned away most of your finer motor skills, but all you need right now is instinct. Your hands grab his shoulders and fall onto him, sending the both of you slipping sideways. He chuffs, sliding against the coat and your thighs to get more friction. The jacket below you protests every movement with a zwip .
"This okay?" You mumble into unscented cotton. Your abs squeeze and your hips drop, dragging you closer to his crotch where you can feel his erection straining the front of his pants. From this angle you can't quite see his face, half-buried in his Henley. But you can hear his breath is beginning to go ragged.
"Yeah," he croaks. His breath hitches as he grinds the heat of his erection into your thigh.
"Yeah, fuck, I’m okay, it’s good..."
Both of you fall back on baser impulses and rut, palms catching the fabrics of each other's shirts, thighs squeezing around each other's legs. Vertigo makes your head swim just as much as pleasure does. The two of you pant, pressing against each other uncoordinated in the drunken haze. The slick fabric of the coat under you makes keeping any position hard. Every movement is a struggle against your heavy limbs and the impossibly slippery coat, but getting up to move it seems like much more trouble than it’s worth. zwip. zwip. It seems to mock you when you move. It’s easy enough to ignore as your mind tunnels in on coming.
In the constant struggle to stay on the couch you’ve somehow wound up firmly beneath him. Your fists grab his shirt, rucking it up and letting your other hand roam the hot skin underneath. On your back, dizzy now with no anchor, he thrusts against you shallowly, breath catching in his throat.
'fuck, fuck -" Tsukki whines, too gone to be embarrassed about how it sounds. You could hardly make it out through the staccato zwip-zip of the jacket below you. He's close? Probably. So are you? maybe? Your legs think so, clamping down hard against his sturdy thigh, dragging deliciously into the friction.
It urges him to chase your heat, thrusting harder into your thigh. His hips stutter, pressing and dragging his thigh against you deliciously. It breaks the rhythm of your cresting orgasm, sharp and sudden and peaking the pleasure in a way that makes you gasp.
"uhh- fuck," you choke, climaxing unevenly, room spinning in time with your heavy breaths. Kei isn’t far behind, lips trembling as he loosely mouths your shoulder. He shudders against you, pulsing with every shot of cum into his jeans.
Ugh, you think. He's gonna hate that tomorrow. You giggle, thrusting against his solid thigh, chasing aftershocks instinctively. His movements are slowing, the time between thrusts increasing as his orgasm fades. The jacket hisses when he does.
You press your hands into the warm skin of his back, feeling his chest move as he breathes loudly above you. He hums, making your palms vibrate as he nests clumsily halfway above-halfway beside you on the cushion.
Neither of you move much for a moment. The room is strangely silent until the ac kicks in and begins to cool your flushed skin. You groan, trying to squirm further under Tsukishima to get away from the bite of it. He breathes an annoyed hnn- when you accidentally press against his softening cock through his pants. Through his wet pants. Oh yeah.
“Oooh, Kei,” you lilt, woozy. He grunts.
“You made a messsss,” you continue, singsong, pressing gently into the wet stain with your leg.
He chuffs half a laugh, burrowing his nose into your shoulder and tucking you in against his free arm. “‘sgusting,” you hear him whisper back.
Neither of your eyes are open. The pair of you stay there, quiet and unmoving, until your phone buzzes with a text from Noya.
whered u go, you read on the overly bright screen.
You move to untangle yourself from your boyfriend and mentally prepare yourself to finally, finally, make it down the stairs.
---
The crowd downstairs swallows the pair of you readily.
The party is less rowdy for the final few hours. The remaining time is mostly spent sobering up and talking, queuing up music requests and stupid youtube videos, calling rides and digging sports drinks out of the back of Tanaka’s fridge. As the night truly winds down, individuals break away, heading upstairs for their jackets or belongings before leaving. When Suga comes back downstairs to leave with Daichi, the all too familiar zip-zwip sound follows him.
Oh, shit. You catch Tsukki’s eye. He nods at your grim expression and it’s instantly, silently, decided.
He can never know what you did on top of his new winter jacket.
daishou x reader x kuroo threesome where daishou is so sweet and appreciative and attentive to you, tender touches and soft voice, doing anything you ask,
but gets visibly mad whenever kuroo talks and is genuinely arguing with him over your shoulder. like he's about to headbutt him.
This is mostly to provide context for fics I write with him and how I interpret his character. I might add to this at random! NSFW below cut.
He's not an asshole for fun- he's brusque with people because he respects their time and wants them to respect his.
Similar to above- he's not an OCD germaphobe, he's just tidy and dislikes unnecessary mess where it's avoidable. He's got standards. And he doesn't like being sick! Is basic hygiene such a high bar???
It's really just high anxiety but he'd never admit to it
Not a 'dry' texter but he's not writing more than he needs to.
Was told once as a teenager that he was a shitty boyfriend and he took that personally. He spent a month reading magazines and internet articles on how to be a better partner & now has a brain lobe dedicated to Cosmo and Buzzfeed advice that comes in varying degrees of handy at random times
He has hypermobile wrists; I think he does get the associated body and joint pain associated with them. He's not in agony, but he's dealing with low to midgrade pain almost constantly.
Part of why he's got a reputation for being short with people is that he's often kind of tired or in pain and is band at recognizing or expressing it. He wants to go HOME.
He's a goofball but in Strange and Offputting ways, not fun and endearing ways. Has his own sense of humor.
If he's being silly with you, he trusts you. If he's putting your stuff in his bag 'on accident' or pulling 'too slow' high five shit with you, you've fucking made it into his heart.
I don't think he's very experienced in sexual relations! He takes dating seriously & doesn't rush. Not many have stayed with him long enough for him to feel like sex is on the table.
Does not have a very high sex drive and is not super curious about exploring much about himself on his own- but he's more than happy to indulge your sexual fantasies if you ask.
Not huge on PDA but not shy at all about telling people you are together. Arm holder, not hand holder.
He runs warm and is always in shorts and short sleeves if he can help it.
Moles all over. Got a mole next to his dick. Self conscious about it even though it's irrational bc he's very pale and they stick out :(
Addicted to tiger balm and camphor spray. Huffs it like glue when putting them on.
Secretly thinks laundry soap and dishwashing powder smell good. Sniffs them every time he uses them.
While not a fan of PDA, he's on more than one occasion shown up to a date with a gift unprompted. He'd buy you one of those embarrassing and Huge stuffed animals and carry it for you.
He has very strong opinions on the use of sesame oil as a condiment. "It's overused. And it smells so strong. And they always put so much in."
He's not a hard top only dom. He's actually very happy to be the sub- he CAN switch, but he enjoys following the lead and reacting to your wants.
Bro is ALWAYS OUT ON A RUN. Morning? Running before breakfast. Lunch? Has a circuit by the river. At night? On a jog before dinner. He WILL ask you to join him once a week.
He knows how to cook but only the blandest meals known to man. He cannot handle spice at all and gets bright fucking red, it's lame as hell and he hates it
Average sensitivity in general, except for his sides and waist. He gets jumpy if you touch them. it's cute :)
He's also very tenderheaded. poor thang :(
There is nothing in the WORLD more erotic to him than a massage. Work the knots out of his shoulder and he'll fuck you till you pass tf OUT
Does not like used condom smell. at all. He's genuinely considered a vasectomy so he can hit it raw without consequence
nishinoya likes being scratched up. He’s a masochist, and if you rake your nails on his thighs he loses his mind
He's always wondered if he's weird, for not minding the pain. It helped him, in the past, to push himself farther than his peers. To let him work himself to the brink and past to improve. For Yū, the adrenaline high after he's pushed his body until his muscles refused to respond was something he lived for. Every time he lay on the cool waxed floor with his pulse racing and lungs burning- it felt good. He felt right.
The puzzle pieces click into place when he's caught in your bedspread, mind short-circuting as your nails rake thin red lines down his thigh. It's too harsh to be anything but painful - it wouldn't be suprising if they did more than welt- but the shock it sends up his spine has him biting down a hoarse sound as he thrusts into your mouth. Fuck. He's fine. He's more than fine, actually, muscles under the abused skin quivering as he rasps out:
He would, around friends, be so annoying. Leaning his forearms on your head or shoulders. Asking if anyone had seen you while he looked straight over where you stood with a dumbass smirk on his face like he didn't know exactly where you were. Calling you shorty, shrimp, tiny, whatever made you angriest in the moment. Sticking his hands under your arms and forcing you up to move you if you were in his way. Just annoying the hell out of you.
In public, thought, he's nicer. He does genuinely worry a little bit about you getting out of his sight in crowds and always make sure you have an arm to hold onto. He'll grab high items off shelves while you're grocery shopping.
In private?
He towers over you. His hands cover you so completely when he places them on you, dwarfing you in comparison. It's very easy to feel small under his gaze, but you are tiny to him, and he'll make sure you know it.
It's so easy for him to manhandle you- he'll pick you up and carry you off to the bedroom if he's feeling like it. Getting tired of a position? Tsukishima can move you easily because of your size, switching effortlessly. And you'll never get tired of how easily he can pick you up and press you down onto his dick, fucking you standing and held up against his chest by only his thick arms.
akiteru is built like a man who takes a deep whiff of your underwear before he puts it in the washer.
CONGRATULATIONS!!! 🎉 you have guessed one of my secret fetishes! this is xGN! reader and is literally about someone stealing and smelling your underwear, so be warned.
All you wanted to do was put a forgotten pair of socks in the washer before you left to get groceries. What you got when you entered the laundry room was an eyeful of your roommate Akiteru with his fly open, dick in hand and a pair of underwear fisted against his face.
The shock from the unexpected sight has you frozen in the doorway, unable to do much more than stare at the scene unfolding in front of you. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to be coming this way by how gone he looked - what you could see of his face (that wasn’t covered in fabric) was flushed and contorted in pleasure, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows furrowed. The pair he had against his nose was yours, you realized belatedly, as your mind finally caught up to your eyes.
Your roommate was beating off. With your underwear on his face.
“What the fuck?”
Akiteru yelped, arching off the wall and turning to face the door frame. He at least had the shame to look mortified at being caught, flushing red and quickly bringing your stolen laundry down to cover his erection.
Your brain is still not fully back online. What the fuck? How often has he been doing this? Would he keep going if I ask him?
Wait, what?
The silence holds as Akiteru stands in place, sweat beading down his neck, too afraid to try and defend himself after being caught red-handed. He’s looking everywhere but you, shifting slightly on his feet and counting lines in the wall with interest.
This is a breach of privacy, you try to rationalize. Just because your hot roommate you’ve been lusting after for months is doing it shouldn’t erase what a fucking creep he’s being right now.
And yet…
“Is this why you always offer to do laundry instead of cleaning the kitchen?” you ask, stalking forwards towards Akiteru, who was just as quickly backing up into the wall. He stutters out something unintelligible, eyeing you fearfully as you approach. “You sneak something out and jerk off with my dirty laundry?” He flinches at that. It definitely sounds worse when said aloud. When you stop not even a foot away from him, he tenses further.
“Why?”
Akiteru blinks at you like he didn’t understand the question. He’s still holding color in his cheeks, staring at you wide-eyed like he’s expecting you to start throwing punches any second. Beyond all reasoning, you’re still feeling kind, so you give him a second chance to answer. “Why did you do it?”
Silence. You know he heard you, though, because he’s chewing his bottom lip, trying to think up something that will get him out of the hole he’s dug himself into. It’s fairly obvious to you why he did it, but you want to hear him say it out loud.
Akiteru squirms, still unable to answer you directly. Well. If he won’t say anything, you’ll just make him talk a different way. Faster than he can react, you snatch your stolen underwear he’s trying to cover himself with. Akiteru squeaks, covering himself with his hands instead.
“Answer. Me.” you grind out, patience wearing thin.
“... They smell like you.”
He looks like he’d rather be dead than admitting that out loud. It’s what you expected, though, and what you wanted to hear. When you take another step towards Akiteru, he flinches, wrapping his arms around his head like he’s expecting blows to start falling.
It takes him by complete surprise when you wrap your cloth-covered hand around his length and squeeze lightly, a shocked groan ripping from the back of his throat. If he hadn’t been cringing in fear he might have noticed how blown your pupils were, or the way you kept stealing glances down at his half-concealed member. He looks up at you as he drops his arms, more confused than ever.
“You wanted to be where these had been, huh?” Akiteru blinked at you owlishly. His mouth opened, as if to ask a question, but no words came out. All he could do was pump into your hand as you jerked him off slowly through the soft fabric, trying to wrap his mind around the sudden turn of events.
“You’re not mad at me?”
He hisses as you drag your thumb against the underside of his cockhead roughly. “Of course I’m mad. You should have just asked, stupid.”
Akiteru opened his mouth, but you were faster again. You pulled the freshly-dampened underwear away from his leaking cock and thwapped them against his cheek. He wasted no time in pulling them closer, inhaling deeply before groaning out a broken “oh, fuck”, his cock throbbing thickly in your hands.
He is so unbelievably lucky you find this just as hot as he does. You’re going to ruin him.
If you don't think this man isn't out there attached like a LAMPREY to the titty, grinding on your thigh with your hands gripping his wiry hair and pulling him closer against you, sucking and teasing bruises and only stopping when he breaks free to pant out a husky little "Thank you, mommy," you are WRONG because HE DOES THAT!!!!
