getting snatched up by shiratorizawa boys since you bolted like an athlete after confessing.
shiratorizawa vbc x f!reader
yes ladies, inarizaki is incoming; please wait.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
soekawa jin
you corner jin by the vending machines, thrusting a letter at him before blurting out, “i like you!” and immediately bolting. jin, normally the chill one, panics—he forgets his water bottle entirely and sprints after you like it’s nationals. he’s yelling your name so loud people think someone’s being mugged. when he finally catches up, he doesn’t let go, clutching your wrist with trembling hands, cheeks red, heart hammering. “don’t run from me like that,” he says, hugging you so tightly you squeak. he hides his nose against your hair, breathing shakily like he might actually faint.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
ushijima wakatoshi
you slip him the letter right before practice and dash. ushijima blinks once, then immediately starts power-jogging after you—zero hesitation. his heavy footsteps pound the ground like a warning drum. when he catches you, he doesn’t even ask, just grabs your face and presses his mouth to yours with brutal sincerity, like he’s staking a claim. he pulls back, staring into your wide eyes with deadly seriousness. “don’t ever run from me. i want you here.” it’s less a confession, more a command. ushijima holds your hand the entire walk back, his thumb brushing your knuckles like he’s trying to brand the moment into his memory forever.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
tendō satori
tendō reads your letter once and screams so loud it echoes through the gym. by the time you’re halfway down the hallway, he’s already bouncing after you, arms flailing. “don’t leave meee pretty cutieeeee!!” he practically tackles you from behind, spinning you around in his arms, laughing like a madman. your face is burning when he suddenly dips you like a scene from a soap opera and plants the sloppiest, most overdramatic kiss on your lips. he pulls back, staring like he’s been shot through the heart. “you… you’re serious, right? because if you’re not, i’ll actually die.” his voice cracks, but his smile is huge and terrifyingly giddy.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
goshiki tsutomu
your letter sends goshiki into system failure. he reads it aloud, stutters halfway, then runs after you with tears streaming down his face. “y/n, please wait!!” when he finally corners you against the wall, he’s crying so hard his words are incomprehensible. you’re about to apologize when he blurts, “I LOVE YOU TOO!” and slams his lips against yours in a messy, desperate kiss. then he promptly collapses to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably into your stomach, begging, “don’t regret it, don’t take it back, please…” he clings to you like you’re oxygen.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
shirabu kenjirō
you shove the letter into shirabu’s hands and sprint, but he doesn’t chase right away—he reads it five times, blood rushing to his head so fast he nearly passes out. then he snaps, throws the papers, and sprints after you like his life depends on it. when he catches you, his hands slam against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you. “don’t you dare run after dropping something like that on me,” he hisses, face flushed, pupils dilated. then, almost violently, he kisses you—sharp, desperate, biting at your bottom lip like he’s punishing you for making him lose composure. when he pulls back, his breathing is ragged. “you’re mine now. don’t think you can take that back.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
semi eita
you slip the letter into semi’s bag and bolt, but he finds it mid-practice. once he realizes what it is, he drops everything—including his setter toss—and barrels out the gym screaming your name. when he finally finds you hiding behind the bleachers, he grabs you by the shoulders and just stares at you, panting like he ran a marathon. “you can’t just… you can’t just confess and then LEAVE!” he kisses you, hard, half-sobbing against your lips. then he pulls back and actually laughs shakily, wiping at his eyes. “god, you’re going to kill me one day. but don’t you dare run again.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
ōhira reon
you give reon your letter in the courtyard and take off. he doesn’t even pretend to be calm—he shouts your name like a war cry and chases you down in record time. when he catches you, he grabs you and swings you up into his arms like you weigh nothing. “don’t ever run from me again, please,” he says softly, though his arms are shaking with adrenaline. before you can reply, he leans down and kisses you deeply, slow and overwhelming, like he’s savoring every second. he rests his forehead against yours afterward, smiling faintly but with eyes that burn. “you’ve ruined me forever, y/n.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
kawanishi taichi
you tuck the letter into kawanishi’s hands and immediately take off, but he doesn’t chase. instead, he just starts walking in the exact direction you ran, so calm it’s unsettling. you keep looking back nervously—he’s always a few steps behind, quiet, relentless. eventually you corner yourself in the library, and he’s just there, standing in the doorway, staring at you. then he walks up, grabs your hand, kisses your forehead, and pulls you down into his lap as he sits. “don’t run,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “you belong here.” it’s soft, but the iron grip on your waist says otherwise.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
hayato yamagata
yamagata sees the letter, screams, and immediately sprints after you so fast he nearly bowls over three first-years. when he finally catches you, he crashes into you so hard you both fall to the ground. he’s grinning like an idiot, face bloody from a nosebleed, babbling, “you like me?! you really like me?! this isn’t a prank, right?!” when you confirm, he actually bursts into tears of joy and hugs you so tightly you wheeze. he doesn’t let you go for hours, clinging to you like a limpet, repeating, “mine, mine, mine” under his breath.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
yunohama
your letter was still warm in your hands when yunohama practically tackled you to the ground. he didn’t even finish reading before blurting, “this means you’re mine, right? RIGHT?!” his arms locked around you so tight it felt like a crime scene hug. his nose started bleeding when you squirmed, but he didn’t care—he kissed you like he was staking a claim. afterwards, still breathing hard, he whispered against your lips, “you don’t get it… i’d erase the whole world if it ever touched you wrong.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
shibata yu
shibata was laughing. laughing like he’d just lost his mind, clutching the letter with shaking hands. “you picked me? ME? oh, you’re so cruel.” he wiped at his face only to smear tears everywhere, then grabbed your cheeks so suddenly it startled you. his kiss was messy, desperate, like he’d been starving for years. when he finally pulled back, eyes bloodshot, he whispered, “i’ll never stop proving i deserve this. even if i break myself in half.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
akakura kai
akakura didn’t say anything at first. he just stared at the paper until his ears turned cherry red. “don’t—don’t look at me right now,” he muttered, voice cracking, before shoving his face into your neck. he hugged you like he was trying to fuse himself to your skin. the kiss that followed was unexpectedly soft, trembling, almost reverent. when he finally dared to meet your eyes again, he said, “no backing out now. i won’t let you.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
yamagata hayato
yamagata straight-up screamed when he finished reading. then he dropped to his knees like he’d just been struck by divine lightning. “holy crap. this is real. THIS IS REAL?!” before you could answer, he latched onto your waist like you were a lifeline, babbling incoherently between tears and nosebleeds. then, in one wild surge, he stood up and crushed his mouth to yours, sloppy but burning with devotion. “if anyone tries to steal you,” he panted against your lips, “i’ll fight them all. i don’t care if it’s the entire world.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a/n: GIVE ME MOTIVATION TO STUDY OMFG. also i feel like it’s repetitive or maybe it’s just because i’m the one writing lol.
(timeskip era, angst)
Includes Ushijima, Semi, Tendou, Reon, Goshiki, Shirabu
│ they said it like it meant nothing. but it changed everything.
Follow Up Series The Weight of Words
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
Ushijima Wakatoshi
you were sitting at the kitchen table when you said it.
the light was low, the room silent except for the quiet scrape of his fork against his plate.
“you didn’t seem upset about the loss,” you said.
he looked up. “there’s no reason to be.”
“you worked hard,” you said softly. “you wanted it.”
“we’ll do better next time.”
you studied his face, searching for something — disappointment, frustration, anything. but there was nothing. just calm, steady focus, like the game had been a meeting that ran long instead of something he’d bled for.
“doesn’t it bother you?” you asked quietly.
“no,” he said.
the word was simple, final.
you hesitated. “i just… i don’t know how you do that. how you shut it off like that.”
“there’s nothing to shut off,” he said, setting his fork down neatly.
“but you don’t ever get angry, or sad, or—”
“those things aren’t productive.”
you blinked. “they’re human, Wakatoshi.”
he looked at you, expression calm, voice low. “humans also waste time.”
the words hit hard, low in your chest.
“so you think feelings are a waste of time?”
“they don’t win games. they don’t make people stronger.”
“they make people real,” you said, your voice cracking.
“they make people distracted.”
you stared at him, your heart pounding in your throat. “so that’s what i am? a distraction?”
he didn’t hesitate. “sometimes.”
you froze.
his tone hadn’t changed. no heat, no cruelty — just truth, clean and unshaken.
“you asked,” he said quietly.
“yeah,” you said, breath trembling. “i guess i did.”
he went back to eating, the clink of metal against porcelain loud in the quiet.
you sat there for a long time, hands folded in your lap, your chest burning as his words replayed — calm, logical, merciless.
feelings aren’t productive.
humans waste time.
sometimes, you’re a distraction.
you stood eventually, gathering your plate even though you hadn’t eaten.
he didn’t look up.
and as you walked away, you realized that indifference — his calm, perfect indifference — hurt worse than anger ever could.
Semi Eita
it started as a joke.
you’d been scrolling through your phone while he tuned his guitar, the room filled with that soft hum of half-formed melody.
“you know,” you said, smiling, “it’s been a while since your last gig. when’s the next one?”
he didn’t look up. “working on it.”
“you should post something online,” you said. “your last video blew up, remember? people love your stuff.”
he exhaled through his nose, adjusting a string. “yeah.”
you grinned, teasing now. “what, you scared of a little audience?”
he froze, fingers stilling on the strings.
“what?” you asked, still smiling.
he laughed — but it wasn’t the good kind. “yeah, well, some of us don’t get paid to sit around pretending we’re supportive.”
your breath caught. “what?”
he finally looked at you, eyes flat, jaw set. “you heard me.”
“Eita,” you said, your voice small. “i was just—”
“yeah, i know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “you were joking. that’s what you do. joke about things you don’t understand.”
you blinked, stunned. “i wasn’t—”
“you have no idea what it’s like,” he said, leaning back, voice low but rough. “to have something you’re good at and still have to fight for people to give a damn. but sure, keep making fun of it. must be easy when you don’t actually do anything.”
the room went dead quiet.
you stared at him, words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. “i didn’t mean—”
“yeah,” he said, cold and final, “but you said it anyway.”
he looked away first, back down at the guitar, plucking a single string like nothing had happened.
the sound rang out — soft, bitter, beautiful — and it made your eyes sting.
you nodded slowly, standing before your voice could crack. “you’re right,” you said. “i don’t understand.”
he didn’t stop you when you walked out.
and when the door clicked shut behind you, the note he’d played was still hanging in the air, sweet and sharp — just like every word he’d left in your chest.
Tendou Satori
he’d been standing at the counter for hours — sleeves rolled up, melted chocolate streaked across his wrist, the faint smell of sugar thick in the air.
you leaned against the doorway, smiling. “you know, if you worked any more, they’d have to build you a statue in that kitchen.”
he glanced over his shoulder, grin easy. “a statue, huh? maybe one holding a whisk?”
“definitely,” you said, walking over to steal a taste off the spoon. “they could even name the shop after you — ‘The Saint of Overworking.’”
he laughed, but it sounded thin. “yeah, well, at least I’m good at something.”
you blinked. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he shrugged, turning back to his work. “nothing. just saying — not everyone can afford to be average and still get by.”
your stomach dropped. “wow.”
he smirked, not looking up. “oh, come on. you know I’m joking.”
“right,” you said quietly. “you’re hilarious.”
he sighed, rolling his eyes. “don’t get sensitive. you tease me all the time.”
“yeah, but I don’t call you average.”
“you could,” he said easily, still moving, still refusing to stop. “you wouldn’t be wrong.”
the words hit twice — first because of what he said, and second because of how unbothered he sounded saying it.
you stood there, arms crossed, trying to swallow around the ache in your throat. “you really don’t hear yourself sometimes, do you?”
“what? I’m just being honest,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “if you can’t handle honesty, that’s not my problem.”
you stared at him — the way he moved so easily through the moment, how his words had left bruises while he stood there smiling like nothing had happened.
you nodded once. “okay. got it.”
he finally looked up, confusion flickering across his face for a split second before you turned toward the door.
“where are you going?”
“home,” you said, not looking back.
his voice followed you out — light, careless, cruel without meaning to be. “don’t pout, I was just kidding.”
but you weren’t laughing anymore.
Reon Ōhara
you’d been staring at the clock for an hour.
the food on the table was cold, the candles had burned halfway down.
by the time the door finally opened, you weren’t even angry — just exhausted.
he dropped his briefcase by the wall, unbuttoning his cuffs like nothing was wrong. “sorry. work ran late.”
“again,” you said quietly.
he glanced at you. “yeah. again.”
“you could’ve called.”
“i didn’t have time.”
you forced a smile. “you never do anymore.”
that got his attention. his shoulders tensed slightly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“it means,” you said, voice trembling before you caught it, “that i miss you. that i’d like to eat with you once without wondering if you’re going to show up.”
he exhaled through his nose, slow and tired. “you know what my schedule is like.”
“i know,” you said, frustration cracking through your tone. “but you don’t even try—”
he cut you off, voice cool and precise. “someone has to actually do something around here.”
you blinked. “excuse me?”
he loosened his tie, not looking at you. “you act like i’m choosing work over you. i’m trying to keep us comfortable. maybe you’d get that if you’d ever had real pressure on you.”
the words hit before he even realized how they sounded.
you stared at him, your chest tight. “real pressure?”
he sighed, finally meeting your eyes. “i didn’t mean it like that.”
“yeah,” you said softly. “you did.”
the silence after felt like static — low, buzzing, endless.
you looked down at the untouched plates on the table, then at him. “you know,” you said, your voice steady but breaking at the edges, “it’s funny. you make it sound like you’re doing this for me. but i don’t remember asking for any of it.”
you blew out the candles before the wax could spill.
he didn’t stop you.
and when the flame went out, so did whatever part of you still believed he was kind.
Goshiki Tsutomu
you were teasing him — nothing serious, nothing new.
he’d been talking about volleyball for almost twenty straight minutes, animated and bright, hands moving as he explained some new training drill. you were smiling the whole time, half listening, half admiring the way he came alive when he talked about the game.
“you really don’t turn it off, huh?” you said, laughing softly. “volleyball, volleyball, volleyball.”
he grinned, bouncing on his heels. “it’s important.”
“i know,” you said, still smiling. “but you take it so seriously, it’s kinda cute.”
the smile fell.
“cute,” he repeated, like it was poison.
you blinked, still half laughing. “i didn’t mean—”
“yeah, well,” he said quickly, voice rising, “at least i’m not wasting my time doing nothing with my life.”
the air left your lungs. “what?”
he exhaled sharply, pacing a half step away, like he’d just been waiting to say it. “you think it’s funny that i care about this, but at least i care about something. you sit around all day scrolling on your phone and call it relaxing. you don’t get to make fun of me for working hard.”
your throat closed up, words catching somewhere between shock and humiliation. “i wasn’t making fun of you,” you said quietly.
“sure,” he said, still tense, still defensive. “you always say that. but it’s always the same — you act like it’s a joke, but i can hear it.”
“hear what?”
“that you think i take it too seriously. that i care too much.”
you swallowed hard. “i don't—.”
he turned then, eyes sharp, voice flat. “and maybe that’s why i’m going somewhere and you’re not.”
you didn’t move. you didn’t even breathe.
he seemed to realize what he’d said a second too late, but he didn’t take it back. he just stood there, chest rising and falling fast, eyes darting away.
you nodded once, slow, careful, your voice trembling. “right.”
the word felt heavy, final.
you turned away before the tears could reach your throat, before the silence could stretch any longer.
behind you, he muttered your name — quiet, almost guilty — but you didn’t stop.
you walked out of the room, his words looping in your head with each step.
at least i’m not wasting my time doing nothing with my life.
you didn’t even notice your hands were shaking until you tried to open the door.
Shirabu Kenjirō
it started quietly — most things with him did.
you were sitting on the couch, the TV low, waiting for him to finish typing something on his laptop. the clock had already ticked past midnight, the screen casting sharp light across his face.
you’d been watching him for a while before you said it.
“you’ve been… different lately.”
his fingers paused over the keys, but he didn’t look up. “different how.”
“colder,” you said softly. “like you’re always somewhere else.”
he sighed — long, deliberate — before closing the laptop. “i’m not colder. i’m just busy.”
“i know,” you said quickly. “i’m not trying to make you feel bad. i just— i miss you.”
he rubbed his temple, eyes closing for a second. “you always say that when i’m working.”
“because it’s always true.”
“right,” he said flatly. “because i’m the one doing something wrong again.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“you don’t have to.”
his tone didn’t change — no anger, no bite — but it still landed hard.
you took a slow breath. “Kenjirō, i’m just saying it feels like—”
he cut you off before you could finish. “i’m not cold,” he said, voice steady. “i’m just not interested in pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t.”
your stomach twisted. “what isn’t fine?”
he looked at you then — really looked — and it felt like being dissected. “this,” he said simply. “you keep waiting for me to act like i have time for things that don’t matter right now. i don’t.”
you blinked. “things that don’t—”
“we’ll talk when i’m less busy,” he said, already reopening his laptop. “if this is that important, it can wait.”
your throat closed. “right,” you said, your voice barely audible.
he didn’t answer. the keys started clicking again, fast, clinical, final.
you watched him for a few seconds longer — the glow of the screen painting him in sterile light — before standing.
“i’ll stop pretending, then,” you whispered.
he didn’t even look up.
you walked to the bedroom in silence, each step heavier than the last.
and when you closed the door, the sound of him typing kept echoing in your chest — steady, mechanical, and colder than anything you’d ever heard.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
i hurt my own feelings writing this, idk if angst is the life for me
SHIRATORIZAWA BOYS BOYFRIEND SCENARIOS
— if you were in a band edition!
main m.list
synopsis: you’re a second-year student at shiratorizawa academy. in your first year, you joined the light music club, where you became the bassist and vocalist of a band. over time, your band has grown quite popular, performing small gigs at cafés and appearing at school events. you’ve even gained a following, especially since you began writing and performing your own original music.
status: ongoing (・–・;)
a/n: hey sry if this is bad 🤕 this is just for fun!
likes and rebloggs are vv appreciated!!!
parts —
01: how you met
02: second meeting
03: becoming friends
04: getting closer
05: he comes to one of your gigs
06: he consoles his friends about you
07: first hangout
08: you come to his game
09: catching feelings (finally)
10: confession
11: first date activities
12: first month of dating
13: nicknames for each other
more to be added!
Regarded as one of Japan’s top three high school aces, Ushijima is the formidable pillar of his team. His signature left-handed spikes carry immense speed, weight, and precision, making them nearly impossible to stop. With a straightforward mindset and unmatched dedication, he leads through strength and consistency, viewing volleyball as a pure competition of skill and ability and pushing his team to always aim for absolute victory.
Famous as the “Guess Monster", Tendō brings an unpredictable and creative edge to the defence. Unlike conventional blockers who rely on observation, he uses sharp intuition and psychological reading to predict opponents’ moves, closing down attacks before they even fully develop. Playful and expressive off the court, he uses his unique style to disrupt enemy rhythm, turning his natural insight into one of the most feared blocking techniques in the prefecture.
As a promising first-year and the team’s rising ace candidate, Goshiki is brimming with passion, ambition, and energy. He admires Ushijima deeply and works tirelessly to grow into a player worthy of that title, though he sometimes lets his eagerness or self-doubt get the better of him. With strong physical ability and a fierce will to improve, he steadily refines his skills, determined to become a force to be reckoned with on the court.
Often described as the steady foundation of the team, Ōhira is a versatile player who excels in both offence and defence. He may not stand out with flashy plays, but his reliable receiving, smart positioning, and consistent attacks provide essential balance to the team’s gameplay. Mature and composed, he reads the flow of matches well, supporting his teammates and ensuring the team remains stable and coordinated even during high-pressure moments.
Calm, analytical, and highly strategic, Shirabu took over the starting setter role with a clear and practical approach to the game. He prioritises efficiency above all else, designing plays that make the best use of his teammates’ strengths—especially building attacks around Ushijima’s unmatched power. Though he can come across as strict or blunt, he is deeply committed to winning, constantly studying opponents and refining his sets to maximise the team’s scoring potential.
Kawanishi brings both defensive strength and offensive creativity to the middle position. He is best known for his effective blocking and his signature time-lag attacks, which confuse defenders by changing the timing of his jump and hit. Quiet and diligent, he works hard to complement his teammates’ abilities, using his good sense of timing and court awareness to create openings in the opposing defense, playing a vital role in keeping the team’s attack varied and unpredictable.
The former starting setter, Semi, possesses excellent technique, strong game awareness, and one of the most powerful serves in the league. Though he stepped down from his main role, he remains a key asset, especially as a pinch server who can turn the tide of a set with a single well-placed, high-speed serve. He takes pride in his skills and is determined to prove his worth, constantly training to refine his abilities and contribute whenever he steps onto the court.
As the team’s primary defensive specialist, Yamagata is quick, focused, and highly skilled in receiving and digging. His sharp reflexes and solid technique allow him to turn difficult attacks into stable passes, forming the reliable last line of defence for Shiratorizawa. He works closely with blockers and spikers to coordinate defensive formations, maintaining a steady and calm presence that helps the team stay organised and confident, ensuring their offensive plays always have a strong foundation.
warnings: cyclist!reader x shiratorizawa (platonic), angst, reader is basically an aomine kinnie but with a little twist.
You thought you swore the day you started hating cycling would be the day the world ended, but look at where you stand now.
You closed the gap of opposing cyclists and widened it by 60 meters. Victory was at the pedal of your feet and everyone in the venue expected that you would stand on the 1st podium. When you only needed a few more pedals to the finish line and attain another medal and trophy to litter your house and room with, you stopped.
You slowed down, making spectators wonder why, it could have been fatigue and leg cramps, to which they let out disappointed sighs. You purposely slowed down, took a deep breath before letting out a long sigh.
"What are you doing?! The finish line's right here!"
"You can do it!!!"
People were yelling left to right, it started getting annoying. It no longer felt exciting to hear praises or "go for it" and "you can do it" cheers, nor did the look of the finish line getting nearer give you an adrenaline rush.
This was just pitiful. In the middle of a race, too!
The cyclist you sprinted your heart out with just a few minutes ago, whom you'd surpassed, passed by you instead. They didn't have their head up with a wide grin etched on their face, no, they had it turned to you as they finished first with a frown, out of seeming frustration but also worry.
As other cyclists pass by you, it no longer seemed exciting for them to stand before the stage to hear the awards ceremony. They felt insulted by your little show, like what, were you that great that you decided you didn't need another few medals and trophies because your house is basically filled with them?
Fortunately, they didn't hate you too much. Okay, maybe one did.
The three new faces who stand at the stage don't have a smile. They wanted to win fair and square, not be spared by you stopping just at two meters or three away from the finish line. It wouldn't have too much of a negative effect if you won either way, a huge grin etched on your face as you show off to the public, but no, neither happened. You didn't even look sad about losing, but I mean, you lost on purpose. So there's no point in acting sad about that.
"There are a few clubs and sports teams which still accept second and third years," Wakatoshi, your brother, said. Hoping that you would ask about Shiratorizawa's cycling team and announce that you would join.
"That's great but I know what you're thinking. I'm going to quit cycling anyway. Or, well, I have already quit. I'm going to spend my third year studying and getting into a good college." Stretching your long limbs, ultimately hitting his, and stood from the dining area.
"Is that really what you want?" He asked, a little worried about your statement. With the way you nodded so surely, he thought something bad was going to follow that his head started aching and his gut started twisting. Something was definitely going to happen.
Is it a storm? What if the house burns down? Even worse, what if he ends up quitting volleyball because he stopped loving it too? That thought scared him badly and he shook his head, making the ache worsen.
You soon disappeared from the ground floor of the house, now possibly in your room. Wakatoshi continued arranging a few papers before cooking dinner, as it is his turn this week.
"The gym is near the baseball field. You can barge inside, just try not to make a scene with any of the girls, especially, in the court." Wakatoshi reminded you again before you two separated ways. With him heading to his class and with you heading to yours, which was a few classrooms after his.
Your first day at Shiratorizawa went by rather quick. With absolutely nothing relating to cycling coming up, it didn't feel so long. For the first time, you weren't reeking of sweat and your peers weren't complaining about you and your love for your bike. Nobody was trying to assume weird shit like, "You're definitely in love, like romantically, with your bike. I bet you–" Yeah, things like that. But that just shows how much you loved your sport. Probably.
For the first time, you didn't come back from lunch with any tire marks. You weren't dirty and you still smelled fresh, like you had just gotten out of the shower.
Now that you think about it, it did hurt a little not to have any friends who would talk as passionately as you with cycling. You made a few friends in your class, but none of them made comments about how much you grew over the course of two weeks all because of your intense workout and how long you cycle a day, but of course, there's no way for them to make such comments.
They did ask about your height, how you reached 6' and if you were related to Wakatoshi.
"I used to cycle back then, had this crazy intense workout routine that I follow every single day, I also cycled every day. I swam a bit, as well, which helped me increase my height. And yes, Wakatoshi is my brother."
They errupted in ohh's and ahh's but nobody asked further.
Soon, it was the end of the day at school. You helped clean up the classroom and the halls before wandering around the school, making it your mission to memorize everything before walking to the volleyball gym Wakatoshi allowed you to loiter at.
But before you could enter, you caught a glimpse of the baseball field and after the baseball field was a track course for cyclists. Of course, you still loved cycling, you just stopped for a little while, and of course, you had to check it out.
@midoriima this was written about a year and a half ago maybe? i regret not putting the dates 😭 i started getting back into yowamushi pedal and became obsessed so i integrated that new passion with my all time faves: haikyuu.
also, go check out more on my masterlists cos these partial works are open for any continuation or derivatives, etc. but on one condition: ask permission 🤗 that's allll
There you are, Ohira thought as you approached him at the door of your shared apartment with open arms. He was certain he’d pass out before even removing his shoes, but your smile, albeit a tired one, had some of his energy returning. You reheated his dinner for him and asked him about his day while he ate. The two of you tried to keep the conversation going while you both readied yourselves for bed. As you snuggled together under your sheets, your replies became shorter and took longer to say. Eventually, one of you didn’t answer—who first, neither of you recalled, having already drifted into slumber. With what limited time long hours of work are willing to offer in return, your boyfriend cherishes whatever moments he can get with you.
What Ohira didn’t expect was to be woken up by you fidgeting in your sleep. His head is still laying on your chest with your arms securely wrapped around his neck, but your soft whimpers don’t go unnoticed. Assuming you’re having a nightmare, he escapes your hold and lightly shakes you awake.
“Angel?” he whispers. You stir before your eyes flutter open, your gaze finding your worried boyfriend. Darkness surrounds your bedroom, save for the moonlight peeking through the crack between your curtains. The baby blue glow bleeds onto the young man next to you like a spotlight, accentuating his bone structure and soft facial features. You relax at the sight of him: you could get used to waking up like this.
“Hey,” you croak, causing you to clear your throat. “Everything okay?”
Ohira shifts in his spot next to you before gently caressing your face. “You were moving around in your sleep. You seemed distressed. Nightmare?”
You squint, taking a moment to process his words.
Crimson silk sheets lay in ripples beneath two nude bodies. The lights, while dim, cast a spotlight on the loving dance below. The man paints the woman’s figure with kisses, every landing of his lips well thought-out and intentional. Her mouth opens, only for a silent cry to follow. Words of desire are stuck in her throat as he recites love poems between her legs. Warm, large hands massage her breasts, and the melody orchestrated by his tongue bounces off the walls. A river of honey cascades from her entrance, the knot in her core threatening for a waterfall.
Your eyes widen at the memory, and you try to dodge the question. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
The wing spiker shakes his head before leaning down to kiss your forehead. You sit up with him, letting him wrap his arm around you and pull you close.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ohira asks as you mindlessly trace shapes on his forearm.
“Nah,” you trail off, trying to fix your posture. “I hardly remember what happened anyway. Pretty weird how dreams work like that, huh?”
It’s barely there, but your boyfriend can hear the hesitation in your voice. He also takes note of how you avoid his gaze and clench your thighs together. If he looks hard enough, he can see your flushed face with what little light the moon has to offer. He connects the dots fairly quickly, though you never were that good of a liar.
Ohira has a kind heart. He knows your boundaries and when to give you your space and privacy. Even with his practice ending late, he makes an effort to help you with preparing dinner. If he can’t, he’ll clean the dishes instead. He’s always able to find a way to encourage you whenever you’re unsure of your latest project. If you’re overworking yourself, he’ll remind you to take a break and make the two of you some tea. When you find yourself in bed after pulling an all-nighter, you know it’s him who carried you there to sleep comfortably. You consider yourself blessed every day to have him as your boyfriend.
That said, there were times where he’d like to push your buttons. Tonight is one of those times.
Lifting your chin to meet his amused expression, Ohira can’t help but chuckle at your embarrassment.
“It wasn’t a nightmare, was it?” he asks, round eyes studying your face. The wing spiker doesn’t miss the way you gulp under his stare, and he knows he got his answer. When you don’t respond, he takes his hand from your chin and places it on your thigh. “Why not tell me what happened?”
All you’d have to do is pull away or continue to stay quiet, and Ohira would back off with an apology, you know that. Still, even with your panties growing uncomfortably wet, you can’t help but feel selfish.
“You’ve got work tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up,” you mumble. Your boyfriend’s playfulness disappears, gentleness taking its place.
“You make it sound like taking care of my girlfriend is some kind of chore,” he says in a hushed voice. “I know work’s been a lot for both of us, but we’re trying. You’ve been nothing but supportive and patient with me. You always are.” His hand glides up your thigh ever-so-slightly. “Let me return the favour.”
His voice dropped an octave at that last part, though the tenderness in his tone and his eyes never left. You watch as his thumb traces the apex of your thigh, your cunt clenching. “Okay.”
Ohira holds you closer to him. “Okay, or yes?”
You try to meet his gaze again on your own. Adoration saturates your boyfriend’s dark eyes, the moonlight’s glow highlighting his sincerity. His lips ease into a comforting smile, the one that made you approach him when you first saw him back in high school. The one he always has when he’d listen intently to your rants, regardless of whether or not he understood them. The one he had when he’d find you cheering him on at his games. The one he had when you confessed to him during practice. (He thought you wanted to see Ushijima instead, and being proven wrong made that smile grow wider.) A smile he gives to everyone but changes when it’s just you two. It spreads to his entire face, and you are reminded that you are safe.
“Yes,” you finally reply. This time, Ohira knows you’re sure. “I want you.”
His hand is resting on your hip now, the arm around your shoulders sliding down to wrap your waist. His smile grows, if possible; you’d kiss him if the anticipation didn’t further fuel your want for him.
“So,” he drawls. “What happened in this dream of yours, if I may ask?”
The change in tone of his voice doesn’t go unnoticed. It makes you rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. You can’t seem to maintain eye contact with him, not when he now looks like he wants to devour you on the spot. You choose to caress his cheek, gliding your thumb across his bottom lip in hopes it’ll help you compose yourself even just a little bit. (It doesn’t.)
“We’re on a bed,” you begin, voice almost wavering.
“What a coincidence,” he chuckles, and you can’t help but copy his action.
“You pull me onto your lap.”
Ohira does exactly that. “Mhmm.”
“You’re caressing my body.”
His large hands slowly glide up and down your waist, barely grazing your breasts and ass. “Go on.”
“And…” you trail off as your eyes flicker to find his. He’s still looking at you. “You pull me in for a kiss.”
Ohira brings one of his hands to the nape of your neck. “Like this?”
He presses his lips onto yours before you can even think about answering. You grab onto his broad shoulders for balance as you moan into his mouth. The softness of his lips is something you never get tired of, the sensation almost dizzying. Heat spreads throughout your body as his tongue enters your mouth, and you want nothing more than to rip your (and his) clothes off. The effect he has on you several seconds into kissing almost frightens you. This is way better than your dream already.
A thin string of saliva connects the two of you as you pull away for air momentarily.
“Just like that,” you gasp before pulling your boyfriend back for another kiss. He’s almost caught off-guard by you grinding onto his crotch, and you take this opportunity to lightly pull at his bottom lip with your teeth. Groaning, he matches your speed, gripping onto your waist to guide your hips for more friction. His hard-on poking your clothed entrance almost makes you forget this is a reenactment. When was the last time the two of you got to do this?
You’re pulling at the hem of his shirt, and Ohira immediately gets the message. Separating from you to remove the article of clothing, you do the same with your top before connecting your lips once more. Your boyfriend sucking on your tongue encourages you to grind harder against him, guttural moans escaping you both.
While his hands rest on your hips, yours can’t seem to settle themselves anywhere: from feeling up his biceps to dragging your nails down his chest to tracing the outline of his abs. You can feel your slick seeping through the cotton of your panties; you’d be embarrassed if your boyfriend’s touch wasn’t so intoxicating, your brain fuzzy from the lack of oxygen.
It isn’t until he’s fully hard do you pull away from him, lifting your hips to remove your pyjama bottoms. Wetness stains your panties, and the volleyball player can’t help but groan at the sight.
“You, too,” you pant. Ohira is in his briefs in a matter of seconds. Like you, a prominent damp patch is on the front. He sighs as you start to palm his bulge.
“Then what happens?” he asks breathlessly, mindlessly grinding against your hand.
“You take off my bra,” you reply, equally stertorous. The young man is already reaching for the clasps behind you as you continue to rub his bulge. Watching as you slide the straps off your shoulders, Ohira has to refrain from proceeding any further. He swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, his eyes hooded. You add your bra to the pile of forgotten clothing. “Get on top and play with my tits.”
Your back is resting on the mattress before you realize it. Your boyfriend hovers over you, leaning closer to wrap his lips around your left nipple. Back arching, you let out a whine at the feeling of his warm mouth. His hand goes to toy with the neglected breast as he holds himself up with his other arm, his hand covering the entire mound. The throbbing of his erection begs for attention, and he rubs himself against the mattress to give himself some relief. He continues with his ministrations, sighing into your chest.
The tweaking, the light grazing with his teeth, the soft slurping; it’s intoxicating. Whimpers of his name and “Just like that’s” leave your lips like a mantra. After a while, Ohira switches breasts to give the same attention, suckling hickeys and groping and licking and pinching the soft flesh. You’re almost positive he’s enjoying this more than you if it weren’t for the borderline painful pulsing of your neglected clit. As much as you love his current treatment, you need his attention elsewhere.
“Take off my panties,” you whisper. “Use your teeth.”
Ohira hums against your chest at your desperation before slipping your bud out of his mouth with a pop. Lowering down to your crotch, he can’t help but notice how the embarrassingly damp stain on your panties has grown since minutes ago.
“Did I do that?” the wing spiker asks, looking up at you knowingly.
“Shut up,” you pout, lifting your hips off the mattress. “I thought you wanted to reenact my dream. You didn’t tease me this much.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
“You wanna help me or not?”
Ohira chuckles at your frustration before biting onto the waistband of your panties and pulling down. The cool air has you sighing as it hits your cunt, and your boyfriend watches as the thick string of slick that connects you to the cotton undergarment follows him down your legs. When the panties are off, he sits up.
“Now what?” The article of clothing between his teeth muffles his words, but you heard his question. Your favourite part of the dream, you remember it so vividly. The anticipation is what makes his teasing hot, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still leaving you so fucking needy. You spread your legs apart, giving him a view of your drooling cunt.
“Please,” you whine, and Ohira feels his cock twitch in his briefs. Still, he wants to drag things on just a bit more.
“Please, what?” your panties are discarded somewhere in your room, and the man before you can now properly grin down at you with a raised brow. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”
Always the sweetheart in high school, your boyfriend’s kind nature is what drew you to him. The more you spent time with him, his maturity stood out more as well. His presence is refreshing, but you couldn’t help but worry that he was always like this. You knew with the tough training he had to endure paired with a challenging coach, he had to have a strong head on his shoulders. You wanted to help him relax, act like a boy his age. And with time, he was able to let his guard down more often. You’re glad he got out of his shell, but it’d be just superb if he didn’t do this in your moment of desperation.
Then your eyes land on his. Love and excitement replace the exhaustion that consumed them for the past several weeks, and he reminds you of the boy that you fell for in high school. Your gaze then wanders to his lips. Moments ago, you were wriggling under their touch. Their taste still lingers on your own from when his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. Now, they’re stretched into his usual innocent smile, juxtaposing his lustful stare. Your cunt clenches around nothing, something he doesn’t miss.
Damn it, you think. He’s got me.
“Your tongue,” you say, proud for not stuttering. “I want you to fuck me with your tongue.”
Ohira’s hands slide up from your knees to where your thighs and hips meet as he lowers himself to face your entrance. He kisses your clit, eyes never leaving yours. “As you wish.”
Before the wing spiker gets a chance to start, you take his hands and move them up to your chest. He pauses, looking back up at you.
“You were holding them while you ate me out,” you mumble your explanation, causing the man between your legs to chuckle. He gives your breasts a light squeeze before going back down.
With work consuming most of your time, the two of you couldn’t have this kind of alone time together as much as you’d like. So when the opportunity would show itself, you’d make sure to make the most of every second. Especially when it came to giving you oral, Ohira did exactly that. He took pride in making you squirm, mewl his name like it was the only thing you could remember, and gush on his tongue when he did everything just right.
The wing spiker wastes no time, giving your pussy long and slow licks to lap up as much of your essence as he can. Kneading your breasts, he then gives your clit some attention. The flicking and swirling of the tip of his tongue have your toes curling, and you have to refrain from bucking your hips.
“More,” you whine, hands finding his on top of your chest. Your boyfriend hums at your impatience, the vibrations going straight to the sensitive nub. Your back arches as you moan. “Please, no more teasing.”
You can feel the smug grin on his face. “But you’re so cute when you get all needy.”
He’s hovering over your cunt, and you don’t bother to stop the frustrated groan that escapes you. The expression he offers you feigns innocence; the corners of his lips curled upwards and round eyes widened ever-so-slightly as if listening to you go on about how your day went. He even leans onto one of your thighs for good measure, the tilt of his head inviting you to speak whatever is on your mind.
“What did I say about teasing?” you grumble. He nods in mock-understanding, his cheek rubbing against your inner thigh. Your eyebrow twitched when he starts peppering feather-light kisses against that area, his gaze never leaving yours. “I swear to God, Reon. Don’t look at me like that.”
He pauses his affectionate assault, a look of fake concern on his features. “Like what?”
“Like you’re my therapist.”
“Oh? And how does that make you feel?”
You hold back a snort as you try to maintain an unimpressed expression. “You offered to help, didn’t you? I already told you, no teasing. Don’t call it a reenactment if you’re off doing your own thing.”
It’s silent between you two. Your body feels heavy like it’s sinking into the softness of the mattress. You’re in desperate need of sleep, but the coil in your stomach is persistent; your brain wouldn’t be able to shut off even if you wanted it to. That said, even you could acknowledge at that moment that your tone came out somewhat harsher than you’d like. Maybe you should apologize.
“I was hoping to drag things on since we’re so busy all the time,” Ohira simpers, almost appearing remorseful. The silence returns, and you bite the inside of your cheek as guilt washes over you. “But if you’re that sexually frustrated,” he continues, lowering himself to face your core, “then who am I to keep you waiting?”
Before you can say anything, the man between your legs latches onto your clit and begins to suck. You wail silently at the sensation, your grip on his hands tightening.
“Is this how things went in your dream?” Ohira asks, his words muffled. The waves hit your core, and you can’t help but lightly grind against his face. He gives your clit a particularly harsh suck at your actions, causing you to moan. “Did I make you feel this good?”
His questions fall on deaf ears, you being too occupied by how he made you feel. Separating your lower lips with his tongue, he plunges into your pulsing hole. His nose nudges at your clit while he explores your walls, pushing against the familiar spot that has you seeing stars. You cry out as he applies more pressure.
“Careful now,” Ohira tuts. “Wouldn’t want to wake up the neighbours, would you? Or did that also happen in your dream?”
Your brain can barely acknowledge that he’s more teasing than usual. The first time he went down on you, your boyfriend made sure it was all about you. Your insecurities had convinced you he wouldn’t like what he saw, what he tasted if he proceeded. With kind words and a soothing voice to match, he managed to calm you down before giving you a mind-numbing orgasm with his mouth. As you came down from your high, he told you how well you did, each word separated by a kiss he’d sprinkle all over your body. The two of you have gotten plenty comfortable since then, even with work getting in the way.
You bite your lip to keep the lewd noises at bay, but you could only do so much to silence the ones between your thighs. From smacking to slurping to squelching, the lustful melody orchestrated by the athlete made you flush. You don’t notice how you’re grinding harder against his face until he groans against you, adding to the pleasure. This cycle continues as you take one of your hands to cover your mouth. It barely helps, and if you could form a coherent thought at that moment, you’d apologize to your neighbours for possibly disrupting their sleep.
Ohira, on the other hand, is loving every second of this moment. His chest swells with pride as you try to keep quiet, his grip on your breasts tightening ever-so-slightly. The throbbing between his legs is almost unnoticeable as he continues to have you moaning his name. Your pleas for more overpower every pornographic sound his lips and tongue create against your cunt, and who was he to deny you of your release?
The knot in your stomach comes closer to snapping as you feel the wing spiker go pick up speed. Tilting your head to look down at him, you find him already staring up at you. His pace doesn’t falter as he watches you come undone, your slick staining his lips and chin. He’s lapping it all up as he helps you ride your orgasm, cherishing every drop. Watching you arch your back while squeezing your eyes shut, Ohira swears to himself that he could die happy.
Your legs don’t stop shaking until you’ve calmed down. Your breathing is more or less back to normal, yet your boyfriend almost doesn’t understand you when you tell him to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue, wrapping your arms around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. He’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear when you separate, making sure you aren’t hurt and if you want to keep going.
“Why don’t you tell me what happens next?” Ohira asks lowly after you told him you wanted to continue. He’s hovering over you again, caressing your cheek with that same lustful expression. You squirm under his gaze, suddenly feeling shy.
“That was it,” you mumble. “I woke up afterwards.”
You hear the athlete exhale deeply, and for a moment, you worry you’ve made him think you’re blaming him for being awake. When you look back up at him, though, he didn’t falter. If anything, there’s a glint in his eye that has your thighs tensing once more. He sits on his knees, never looking away from you.
“Let’s say your dream continued,” Ohira drawls, eyes half-lidded. You watch as his thumbs hook to the waistband of his briefs, and he pulls down. His cock is out, already oozing precum. He takes it in his hand, pumping it a few times. “How would you have wanted it to go?”
You can’t answer him, your eyes locked onto the prominent vein on the underside. You would complain to your friends about the stress attached to your workload, and they’d keep suggesting fucking the tension away. An appealing idea, you’d admit –God knows how much you need it–, though the constant reminder that you have little-to-no time is disheartening. Your fingers can only reach so far inside you, and you and your boyfriend are already too tired to try anything by the time he comes home. You refuse to let this opportunity go to waste. Where do you even start–
Ohira has to say your name to remind you to answer him. You blink, and only then do you realize you’ve been staring off. You inhale deeply before spreading your legs for him. God be damned if you let your exhaustion cockblock you again.
“I’d want you to fuck me raw,” you reply.
The demand catches him off-guard. The part of him that wants to follow along with your request grows the more the wing spiker stares down at your exposed figure. His act drops, gulping at the sight of your arousal seeping out of your cunt. He imagines being able to feel your plush walls squeeze his cock without the latex barrier. It was his turn to space out, picturing his cum leaking out of you.
“Please,” you whine. “I just want you inside me.”
The desperation in your voice has Ohira tossing his briefs into the pile of clothes hastily as he settles between your legs. You’d laugh at his change in behaviour if you weren’t as eager as him.
Guiding his cock to your cunt, your boyfriend spreads your slick along his tip before slowly sliding in. You hiss at the sensation, taking in every inch. He’s about halfway in when you pull him back down to kiss you, hoping he’d be able to silence your cries.
“So tight,” Ohira grunts against your lips. “Always feel so good, pretty girl.”
You gasp when his hips touch yours, fully sheathed inside you. The man above you whispers praise in your ear, trying to soothe you as you squeeze your eyes shut. The stretch stings less thanks to your orgasm, though you’re still sensitive from the previous experience. With your boyfriend holding still for you to adjust, you can feel him pulsing inside you. Your legs wrap around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the small of his back.
“Ready,” you say in a hushed voice, opening your eyes. “You can move now.”
Ohira hums in acknowledgement before gradually pulling his hips back until only the tip is inside. You groan as he reenters at the same speed, feeling every vein drag along your plush walls. He sighs shakily as he maintains his pace, relishing the way you help him slide in so smoothly and hug his shaft deliciously.
“Reon,” you gasp, gripping onto his shoulders. “Faster, please. Want you to go faster. I can take it.”
“Sorry, angel,” your boyfriend groans with a breathy chuckle. “You’re so tight, couldn’t help myself. So–hah–warm. Just a little longer, okay?”
Still going too slow for your liking, Ohira only adds some extra force into his thrusts. A compromise, you’d used to think, but you know he’s teasing you again. You buck your hips in desperation, and he lets out a silent laugh at your poor attempt.
“C’mon,” you huff, though it almost sounds like a sob. “I’m sorry for my attitude from earlier, okay? I’ll do whatever you want, I just need this so fucking bad. Please, don’t do this to me.”
Ohira pauses, half-sheathed in you. He lowers himself to face you, his usual golden boy expression dancing across his features. His tone, however, is sultry, and he feels you clamp down on him at his following words. “You make it sound like I didn’t want any of this. Like I didn’t need you.”
Before you can reply, the volleyball player pulls back a bit more before slamming into you. You yelp at the force, digging your nails into his shoulders. He hisses in delight and throws his head back as he picks up the pace. His thighs slap yours with every stroke, the sound of the impact harmonizing with your gasps and moans.
“Reon,” you keen. “Just like that! Fuck, just like that!”
Your pleas only further fuel your boyfriend, him detangling your legs and pushing them forward. The new position, while painful on your hamstrings, has him hitting deeper. Choking on oxygen, you rake your nails down his back. He grunts at the sting, his grip on your legs tightening ever so slightly as he adds more force to his thrusts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head; you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
“Atta girl,” Ohira hisses through gritted teeth. “Always taking me so well, aren’t you? It’s like you’re sucking me in. I–hah!–miss this so much. I miss you so much.”
You mewl from his praise, squeezing him tighter. Another groan leaves his throat, and the wing spiker buries his face in the crook of your neck. His lips pepper open-mouthed kisses on your skin, tingling the area. He feels your cunt suck his dick back in, making the sensitive shaft twitch. Pushing your legs closer to your chest–if possible–, Ohira manages to hit your g-spot with the new angle. He smashes his lips onto yours before you can react, muffling your squeals of pleasure. Your lungs burn as he slides his tongue into your mouth, begging for air. You pull away hastily.
“‘M close,” you gasp, slipping one of your hands from his shoulder to between your thighs. You rub your puffy clit in slow and small circles, and you wail at the increase in pleasure. “Gonna cum.”
Ohira moans at your grip tightening around his cock, making sure to hit the same spot as much as he can. The image of his cum dribbling out of your abused cunt returns to his brain, fuelling him to pick up his pace and force. You almost lose your balance if it isn’t for him tightening his hold on you.
“I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he sighs shakily, resting his forehead against yours. “Always so good for me, aren’t you? Such a good girl. Go ahead and cum for me; I’ll let you cum as many times as you want. Anything for you.”
You choke on a sob as waves of love and pleasure hit you all at once. Your jaw slackens as you clamp around your boyfriend, squirting onto his pelvis as your nails return underneath the skin of his shoulder blades. Ohira hisses at the vice grip you have on his cock and back, soon stilling inside you as spurts of cum shoot out of him. The warm feeling of him painting your insides white makes you shudder. He slides one of his hands down and rubs your clit, helping you ride your high. Your back arches off the bed, bucking your hips erratically.
You only realize you’ve calmed down from the euphoric sensation when you feel the mattress beneath you, hot and uncomfortable. The blanket leeching onto your back from your sweat has you groaning tiredly. Ohira is now lying next to you; he’s still trying to catch his breath, his body rising and falling with every gulp of air he takes. With the moonlight complimenting his frame, you can’t help but ogle.
I hit the jackpot, you think, blowing air out of your nose. Ohira turns his head to face you, his usual gentle smile gracing his features.
“What’s so funny?” He asks quietly like you’re about to share a secret.
“My boyfriend’s a gentleman with the body of a Greek god,” you reply, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. “Lucky me.”
The wing spiker chuckles lightly before raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“You’re stuck with me regardless.”
“Whatever you say.” The wing spiker moves between your legs, spreading them slowly. He sucks in a large breath at the sight before him: blobs of his cum oozing out of your cunt. He mindlessly swipes the sticky substance with his finger, causing you to shiver. “I’ll go get you cleaned up, okay?”
You hum with a nod, and Ohira climbs off the bed. Even when you’ve calmed down from the high, your legs continue to shake. Thighs sore from the unfamiliar position, you cringe at the way they stick to each other with your slick and sweat. The brisk air swimming in does little to help, and you once again curse yourself for not being able to open the window wider. Your boyfriend’s cum seeping out of you makes you quiver once more. You try to keep it in while he’s still absent, but the attempt has you aching more. You can barely move.
Ohira’s footsteps increase in volume as he approaches you with a wet cloth. Sitting down next to your frame (with a “There we go,” might you add), he leans down to give your forehead a light kiss.
“Could you spread your legs for me, love?” He asks, his voice holding its usual softness.
“Already?” You can’t help but coo jokingly. “At least let me feel my legs first, babe.”
Ohira chuckles. “You know what I mean. C’mon, I’ll help.”
Groaning, you try separating your legs, your boyfriend taking the one closest to him and placing it on his lap. The lewd sight of his cum dripping from your hole appears before him once again, and you feel his cock twitch against your leg.
“I was serious about needing that break, ya know,” you deadpan, though there’s still a bit of humour in your tone.
“Of course, don’t worry,” Ohira assures. He swipes the cloth across your cunt, the coolness making you hiss. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Not in any way that I don’t like, no.”
“As long as you enjoyed yourself.”
A smirk makes its way to your face. “I very much did, I don’t know if the moaning and begging were any sorts of indication.”
“Weren’t you all shy and embarrassed not that long ago? What’s with the sudden change, huh?”
Ohira finishes cleaning you up, smiling down at you in adoration. You return the expression.
“I love you,” you whisper.
“I love you, too,” he says back, kissing you sweetly. You can’t help but sigh, wrapping your arm around his neck to pull him closer. Your head follows his when he pulls away, not wanting the blissful action to end. The wing spiker removes your hand from his neck, playing with your fingers. “I’m going to go and get you some water, okay?”
You pout as he stands to leave once again, making grabbing hand motions his way. “Noooo, come back. Lemme hold you.”
“I’m just going to the kitchen, honey,” he states, amused by your sudden clinginess. “It won’t even take a minute.”
“Could you at least open the window a bit more?”
Ohira nods before getting back up and heading to the window. He cranks it two-thirds open before looking at you for confirmation. You let out an almost silent “Thank you,” savouring the breeze as it coats your body with goosebumps. He smiles at you, walking back to the bathroom to put the cloth away.
You don’t fully realize that he’s still naked until he returns with a glass of water. Your eyes follow the curve of the small of his back to the soft yet firm flesh. If you squint, you can make out the stretch marks on his hips in the darkness of your room. They contrast beautifully against his darker skin, and the urge to kiss every single streak increases by the second. You aren’t sure whether to be in awe or jealous.
“What are you staring at?” your boyfriend asks, quirking a brow as he makes his way back to your bed. His cock, now soft, is directly in your line of vision. The idea of sucking him off as a thank you merges in your head, and you almost forget to answer him.
“Oh, you know,” you reply (not so) coolly, scooching over with what little energy you have left. He settles down in the now-vacant spot, another “There we go,” slipping past his lips. This time, you can’t help but giggle.
“I really need to stop saying that,” Ohira mumbles. “I sound like an old man.”
“It’s cute,” you beam, looking up at him fondly. He returns the look, helping you sit up before bringing the rim of the glass to your lips. You take small sips, relishing the coolness sliding down your throat. You catch your boyfriend’s fixed gaze on your marked chest, your nipples now hard from the chilly air. You lightly push the glass away, amused. “Admiring your handiwork?”
“You were staring first,” he counters playfully, putting the cup on the nightstand.
“Touché.”
You chuckle tiredly, leaning against the athlete’s side as you wrap your arms around him. The two of you enjoy each other’s presence, the rustling of dead leaves from outside the only, albeit barely, audible sound. He leans down to press his lips on your temple, and you exhale deeply at the sensation.
“So,” Ohira trails off, his voice dropping slightly. “I’m guessing that means I lived up to your dream, huh?”
You nod, beaming. “So much better. Could’ve gone without the excessive teasing, but I’ll let it slide since you, once again, exceeded my expectations.”
“Glad I could be of assistance,” The wing spiker quips, rubbing the nape of his neck. His gaze then trails down to his lap. “To be honest, I think I needed that, too.”
Neither of you speaks afterwards. The outdoor air has removed the smell of sex from your room and cooled down your body temperature. Still somewhat worn out from your previous activities, you do your best to drape the blanket over your naked body. Sweat, along with other bodily fluids, stain the sheets. You can clean them tomorrow, you figure. Ohira notices and takes your shirt from the clothing pile to have you put on.
“Are you okay?” You ask, your volume lowered. He’s pulling your shirt down onto your body before grabbing his shirt to change into as well.
“I can feel my legs just fine, thank you,” your boyfriend jokes, though you hardly feel like laughing. He walks over to the drawers, grabbing fresh clothing for the two of you. “I think it’s safe to say we hardly get to actually see each other lately.” He smiles down at you, almost sheepishly. “Guess I should thank you for having that dream, huh?”
The wing spiker takes his time helping you put your clothes on, and all you can do is watch him as you think of what to say. You tug at the duvet when he’s done dressing, signalling him to get under it with you. He does so, mumbling his catchphrase once more.
Resting his hand on your cheek, Ohira leans in and kisses you deeply. You return the love, eyes fluttering closed. Your body instinctively moves to sit on his lap, though you stop when the aching worsens. You groan, shifting back into place. When he pulls away, his lips linger above yours.
“Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you?” he queries.
“That’s my line,” you counter with a grin before yawning. The man next to you pats the pillow behind you, motioning for you to lay down. You do so, him shifting his body to do the same. He invites you into his arms, and you shuffle closer to him, the warmth from his body embracing you as well. You sigh as your fingers skate along his bicep. “We should do this more often, I think. It’s not much, but we get to do more together.”
Your boyfriend hums at your idea. “As long as you aren’t too tired, I don’t mind.”
“I can try to wake up with you, too. When was the last time we had breakfast together, really?”
“Hey, don’t force yourself, okay? You still need rest, too.”
When you don’t respond for several seconds, Ohira exhales from his nose.
“I can always try to get a day off,” he says. “Sometime next week, and we could try to align our schedules. We’ll do whatever you want for the day. How does that sound?”
Silence follows once again, and the wing spiker only then notices that you’ve stopped tracing patterns on his arm. Tilting his head down, he finds your body rising and falling with every rhythmic breath you take. Smiling tiredly at your form, he pulls the duvet over the two of you before pulling you closer. He blinks in long intervals until the intervals disappear. Then, he joins you.
