suna "we're just friends" rintaro who's actually in a secret relationship with you, but feels the need to keep it a secret until it gets more serious because he's scared. except the miya twins have caught on, and they have a running bet going for who's going to spill first. atsumu thinks suna would rather keel over than admit to them he's dating someone, but osamu is smugly convinced that his friend's resolve is weaker than yours. so they decide to put it to the test.
it starts off . . . weird. osamu is putting moves on you, and you have no idea what to make of it. he's asking to walk you home and tells you that you should come to watch them practice. he even shoves atsumu out of their usual seat in the cafeteria to invite you to sit next to him. he seems really interested in you, and you don't want to be mean, but you also can't lead him on.
you're too focused on osamu's strange behavior to notice that he only acts this way when suna is around. so you don't see the way your boyfriend clenches and unclenches his fists when he overhears osamu wanting to walk you home after school. you don't hear the huff he lets out or how he slams his locker door a little harder when osamu invites you to watch them play with a well practiced smile. and you certainly don't realize the sheet white paleness that grows on his face when osamu shoves atsumu off the bench to make space for you.
suna doesn't blame you. his friends are idiots and getting on his last nerve. but everything comes to a screeching halt when osamu puts his arm around your shoulder, and suna absolutely loses it.
"we're dating!" it's the closest he gets to yelling without actually, but it's loud.
"damn it!" atsumu shouts, but suna doesn't hear. he practically has tunnel vision, zeroed in on where osamu connects to you.
"we're dating," he repeats through gritted teeth. "so get your grimy slimy spiker little hands—" he stalks over to osamu with surprising speed to knock his hand off of you, "off of my—"
"rintaro," you scold softly, and the twins try not to react when their usually unbothered and finicky middle blocker . . . listens?
"he—you're my—i'm—" he erupts in an aggravated groan and quickly decides to pull you to his side, away from osamu.
suna starts mumbling things under his breath they can't hear. his words are clearly reserved only for you, but the twins watch quietly anyway as you smooth away the worry lines growing on his face from his furrowed eyebrows and press a soft kiss to his cheek that has leaves them dusted in the slightest pink. he's whipped, and suddenly the only thing the miyas could think of was—how the hell did they not notice sooner?
yes i'm a soft lovesick sunarin truther. that man is a simp and i take no arguments
suna is always there to adjust your skirt. his fingers are always curling over the edge of the fabric, lightly tugging down when you bend over or reach up. anytime it threatens to go up, his hands are there first.
it's the same with your shirts. you reach up, and he'll pull down to hide the silver of your skin, though his hand will linger. your hoodie falls back while lying on his shoulder; his fingertips are already pulling the hoodie into its place. the earphones you two share will be adjusted; he'll reach over, ensuring that they are comfortably on. he'll place a hand on the corner of the cabinet or the corner of the desk.
he does it with everything. your tank tops, shorts, dress with a revealing cleavage. probably comes unconsciously, a habit built over the years shared together. you, however, notice. it's a nice, subtle way of showing his love for you.
honestly this is just pure filth, pls enjoy. mdni - if I see a blank, ageless blog your ass is getting blocked
pervyroommate!suna who knows all about the videos you upload because he knows the contents of your panty drawer like the back of his hand and recognizes, instantly, the hug of teal lace around your nipples. you've got a small channel, and the videos could honestly be improved—he totally doesn't spend hours thinking about how much better they would be if he helped you film, if he directed your hands and told you what you could touch and how—but there's something in your inexperience that turns him hard as iron.
pervyroommate!suna who doesn't take long to sneak out of his room after you're done filming so he can start huffing up the smell of your wet panties.
pervyroommate!suna who messages you every time you post. he doesn't bother starting out tame or some shit; he wants you to know that your pretty little virgin cunt is keeping him up at night.
and he isn't subtle, either, about the fact that he knows it's you.
but you always respond all the same, all shy and cute in a way that makes his eyes bug out of his head.
pervyroommate!suna who starts dropping hints around the apartment that he knows all about your extracurricular activities just so he can see you flush and stammer. he wants to cut off your rambling with a hand to your throat—let it rest on the column of your neck while your heartbeat thrums wildly under it.
pervyroommate!suna who hears you whimpering through the too-thin walls of your shared walls one night and can't ignore how much he wants to pin you down and make you squeal and cum so hard you wet the bed.
when he opens your door and sees you, flushed and panting and gorgeous, he actively has to stop himself from jumping you. he settles into a chair and gestures.
"you usually make videos of this," he says.
you just bite your lip and nod.
"you make videos 'cause you like to be watched, right?" the smirk on his face turns feral when you nod again. "well, i'm here now, baby. i'll watch you."
pervyroommate!suna who, buried balls-deep in you an hour later, has no idea you've been playing the long game
wc: 0.9k
content warning: post-timeskip, smut, yearnerrrr bestfriend suna x reader, oral (receiving), mention of overstim, squirt, not proofread
◌ ○ . ﹡
you've never squirted before, just makeouts and lame sex from your old flings to which suna, your best friend, is always the one to hear you complain. at some point, he even started jokingly suggesting that he was going to be the first guy to probably ever make you squirt.
somehow, you didn't even realize why he began suggesting that he should be the one between your legs.
"bet you can't do it" you laughed under your breath, thinking that suna doesn’t even know where the clit is.
"tch, don't underestimate me."
your legs tingled with every warm stroke, imprint, touch, of your best friend suna's big hands. his hands, so masculine and calloused from countless years of volleyball training, yet they were so delicate as they felt your smooth skin.
"you say that when your legs are already trembling," his fingers rubbing soft circles into your skin which made your ears start to feel hot at the thought of your best friend going down on you.
his slender eyes dare to linger between your knees before forcing your legs apart, splitting them to the sides with one strong push leaving you with a parted mouth full of shock.
"why're you gasping when i haven't even touched you down there?" suna snickered, his breath on your skin.
upclose, he's eye level with your underwear that has a slightly already wet spot from all the kissing and slight grinding you've been doing to get into the mood. and yes, of course suna notices the damp spot first thing.
"aren’t you cute, already dripping wet," he murmurs before pressing his fingertip on the spot, making you tense your core that leaked.
"feels good, huh?"
his lips pepper the inside of your inner thighs, ticklish and hot until you felt a bit breezy down there. suna's fingers were pulling your undies to the side, leaving him face to face with your soaked cunt that glistened back.
right when you noticed your cunt was exposed to his beady little eyes, suna's tongue already beat you to even say a word. that boy was put to work licking and lapping up your essence that kept oozing out of your little hole. you tilt your head back at the stimulation of his tongue that worked wonders on you, fingers grasping onto the bedsheets while your eyes rolled back into your head.
suna left you no mercy when he started on your little bundle of nerves. finding it was a piece of cake, unlike what you thought. coming into contact with your clit, it was like he was having a full-blown makeout sesh with it and you couldn't complain.
his tongue swirled and made your mind drift off with ecstasy. suna circled your muscle with his hot tongue, flicked it with the tip of it, and sucked on it all while your hands traveled below to grasp onto his head full of thick brown hair. you can't help but moan and curse with every stroke of his tongue, babbling on how good it is and how you wanted more.
things got even better the moment you felt a finger slip in. using his long middle digit, he’s slowly moving and correlating his pace with his tongue, causing you to pull even a bit more on his head with his eyes peering up at you from below.
lord did suna used to pray for times like this. secretly pining on you for years and now suddenly in between your legs, about to dive into your sweet pussy like it was his. suna's crazy about you, pussy drunk while tasting your sweet juices. his pupils are so dilated, blown so wide you could probably see your own reflection in them.
his slender fingers are so much more different than when you do yourself. suna’s able to hit deeper parts of you, all while getting you to your release. at this point your cunt is sopping wet and suna’s lapping it up like a dog, ruthless and thirsty for more.
"r-rin..! fuck, i think i'm close already" you whimpered, watching him continue despite your vision starting to turn white.
"but i'm not" suna said while his hands appeared behind your knees to keep your shivering legs open for his stature.
his mouth was everywhere, following the slick you kept dripping: your swollen pussy, your inner thighs, and your throbbing clit that yearned for more of his touch. it was like your body was moving on its own, up and trying to avoid the overwhelming pleasure that was focused on only your clit.
"you think i'm done huh?" suna's fingers latched themselves onto your clit, starting to rub them in fast circles that made your mind go blank.
the pleasure at this point is sweet euphoria, it feels like all that built-up pressure was starting to rise and pop at any given moment. your body was arching like crazy from the fast pace of his fingers were going while you screamed out his name.
"shit.. rin!! i think i'm c-ccoming.. i can't take it!!" rolling your eyes back while pulling on his hair as his fingers continued to work endlessly to make you feel good.
the moment you squirted was the moment stars were sprawled all over the ceiling, followed by your heavy breathing which was the only thing you could focus on. after recollecting yourself and looking down, you could see your chest heaving with every breath you took as well as suna at the end with his face soaked with not just your slick but also your squirt.
It was not often when you two had arguments, but oh boy..when you did. You are angrily yelling at him. you didnt know what came over you...amd you just spit at him. He is shocked, amused even and can't belive what you did...but after all..he is sucker for unpredictable woman, since he is unpredictable man himself. He smirks as he grabs your chin while pinning you against the wall..he looks down at you and slips his thumb between your lips as he whispers huskily.
what began as a reckless experiment—letting suna film you once—soon became a ritual. a hard drive filled with your private tapes, a secret only you and him share. every video is its own memory, something you both return to when the distance or the desire gets too much. what was once playful is now intimate, addictive, yours.
author's note: this is a sponty fic and this actually like a longer version of my suna nsfw alphabet drabble in my previous blog hehe
You and Suna had a dirty little secret, one that only the two of you knew about—a hard drive tucked away, filled with your growing collection of sex videos.
It all started with a casual suggestion. One night, while he was lazily tracing circles on your thigh, Suna had asked if he could film you while he fucked you. His voice was unbothered, almost teasing, but the look in his eyes told you he was serious. The idea made your cheeks burn, yet the thought of being able to replay it later had a dangerous thrill curling low in your stomach. Of course, you said yes.
What was supposed to be a one-time experiment quickly became routine. Filming turned into a ritual, something intimate and addictive. Every clip you two recorded carried its own memory—his lazy smirk as he pushed the camera closer to your face, the way your moans echoed back from the speakers, how good it felt knowing the world would never see this side of you except him. The hard drive became your private vault, something you both returned to whenever distance or longing grew too heavy.
At first, you kept it simple—recording with his phone or yours, balancing it on nightstands, stacking books to get the right angle, or propping it against pillows while you tried not to laugh at the makeshift setup. The footage was shaky sometimes, the lighting grainy, but that was part of its charm. Those early videos captured everything raw—the heat of the moment, the way you two didn’t care if it looked perfect because it felt perfect.
But as the habit grew, Suna grew bolder. He always had that calm, unbothered look in his eyes, but you noticed the way they lit up when he watched you on screen, when he realized he could replay the way you fell apart for him again and again. So he decided to invest in something more permanent. A full setup—professional lighting, a high-quality camera, a sturdy tripod, even a wide-screen monitor he claimed was “for reviewing the angles.” He said it casually, like it was no big deal, but you could hear the undertone of excitement in his voice. Of course, he could easily afford it with the salary he earned as a professional volleyball player.
The difference was staggering. Suddenly, your secret nights looked polished, cinematic. Every arch of your back, every drop of sweat on his skin, every gasp, every moan—captured in crystal clarity. It almost felt like you were filming porn professionally. Technically, you were. But unlike the content flooding the internet, these videos weren’t for anyone else. They were yours and his alone.
And that made them all the more intoxicating. The secrecy. The ownership. The thrill of knowing this side of you existed only for Suna—only in the moments you two shared and the files stored away in that private drive.
It didn’t take long before watching the videos became just as much a part of the ritual as making them. Sometimes, when he was away on road games, you’d find yourself scrolling through the folders late at night, headphones in, moaning quietly into your pillow as his recorded voice urged you to cum. Sometimes, he’d call you after practice, his voice lazy and deep, asking which one you had pulled up this time—teasing you until your voice cracked from the sound of his name.
And sometimes, when you were together, he’d suggest putting one on the TV while he fucked you again. Layering the memory on top of the moment, letting you watch yourself fall apart while he made you do it all over again. Those nights always left you shaking harder, your body and mind overwhelmed with too much pleasure, too many versions of his voice telling you how good you were, how tight you felt, how much he loved watching you cum.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The TV in your shared bedroom was already on, playing one of your favorite clips—a recording from months ago where Suna had you folded in half, his voice rough and taunting as he fucked you deep. The camera blinked red from the corner, set up on its tripod, already recording. And on the bed, you were on your knees, cheek pressed into the sheets, Suna’s cock dragging inside you from behind.
It was everything at once—your body trembling under him, your moans echoing from the speakers, the wet sound of him fucking you now—and you knew this video would be another one you’d come back to, again and again.
“You look so pretty, baby,” Suna groaned in your ear, his voice dripping with that lazy drawl only he had. He leaned in, his cock buried to the hilt, and pressed his lips to your shoulder. Then, slow and deliberate, his mouth traveled down your spine, scattering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your slick skin.
“Rin—ahh, Rin,” you gasped, arms trembling as you clawed at the sheets. Each roll of his hips pushed you higher, dragging his cock deep against that spot inside that made your thighs shake. On the massive TV, the older video filled the room with another version of you—eyes teary, mouth open, begging for him as he fucked you senseless. The sounds from the speakers mixed with your real moans until you couldn’t tell which was louder.
Suna chuckled low against your back, the vibration making your body jolt. “Listen to yourself, baby. Even on video, you’re moaning my name like a little slut. Look at you now, just as needy as before.”
“Rin—please, more, I want more,” you cried, your head jerking back against his grip when he tugged at your hair. “It feels so good, please, please!”
His smirk curled against your skin, and he tilted your head toward the screen. “Eyes up. Watch it. Watch yourself fall apart while I fuck you the same way. You love it, don’t you? Seeing yourself like this?”
“Yes—yes, I love it!” you sobbed, your nails digging into the mattress. “I look so dirty, Rin, so fucking dirty—”
“You are dirty,” he cut in, snapping his hips harder, the bed creaking beneath you both. “My dirty girl who can’t stop moaning for cock. My pornstar, made just for me.”
“Rin!” your voice cracked, your body squeezing around him. “Fuck me harder, please—please, Rin, I need it, I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll cum for you—”
“That’s it,” he groaned, dragging you back onto his cock until you felt every inch splitting you open. “Beg for me. Let the camera hear how bad you want it.”
Your voice filled the room, desperate and raw: “I want you, Rin! I want your cock—harder, please, harder—fuck me like in the video, please, I need it—ahh!”
His pace turned brutal, thrusts syncing with the rhythm on screen, each movement jarring, the sound of skin slapping echoing over the old recording. Your tits bounced with every push, perfectly framed for the lens across the room.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Suna hissed, watching his cock disappear into your swollen pussy. “You’re going to love watching this one back. Seeing how messy you look. Seeing how wet you get just from me ruining you.”
“I will—I’ll watch it, Rin—I’ll touch myself to it when you’re gone—”
“Yeah? You’ll cum to the sound of me fucking you just like this? You’ll cry my name with a vibrator stuffed in your cunt, wishing it was me?”
“Yes—fuck, yes!” you wailed, your body trembling violently, your moans growing shriller as his cock dragged your orgasm closer.
“Cum for me then,” he growled, his voice low and rough. His hand slid between your thighs, his fingers pressing against your clit, rubbing tight circles as his thrusts turned sloppy. “Cum while you watch yourself cum. Show me, baby—show the camera how good you are.”
“Rin! Oh my god, Rin—I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” your cry was sharp, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm tore through you. Your pussy clenched tight, milking his cock as your juices dripped down your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Suna groaned, burying himself deep with a harsh snap of his hips. “Shit—fuck, baby, take it—take all my cum,” he rasped, spilling hot inside you, his cock twitching as he filled you to the brim. He kept moving through it, grinding into you until cum leaked out around him, the camera catching every messy detail.
You collapsed, boneless and shaking, your cheek pressed to the mattress. But Suna wasn’t done. He stayed pressed against you, his breath ragged against your ear. “Don’t think we’re finished yet,” he murmured, sliding out slowly, groaning at the sight of his cum spilling down your thighs. With one hand, he spread you open, giving the camera a perfect view.
“Look at this,” he said, his voice hoarse. Two fingers scooped his cum from your swollen folds and pushed it back in, making you jolt with a weak cry. “We’ll rewatch this part later, baby. You’ll finger yourself to me stuffing you full all over again.”
“R-Rin—ahh, it’s too much—”
“You can take it,” he smirked, pressing another wet kiss to your shoulder before shoving his cock back inside, still half-hard but already swelling again. The mess squelched loudly, filling the room along with your helpless moans.
On the TV, your past self was still crying his name. On the camera, the red light blinked steadily, capturing your present self breaking apart under him all over again.
With what little strength you had left, you slowly turned onto your back, your chest heaving as you faced your boyfriend. Suna was already watching you, hair messy, sweat glistening across his skin, but that familiar lazy smile curved on his lips. He leaned down without hesitation, catching your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss.
“My pretty baby did so good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and fond, each word brushing warmth into your chest. He kissed you again, softer this time, like the contrast to the way he’d just wrecked you moments ago. “Like always.”
You whimpered into the kiss, your hand sliding weakly up his arm, fingertips brushing his jaw as you whispered, “Rin… you feel so good. Always make me feel so good.”
His smirk softened into something fonder, and he pressed his forehead to yours, his thumb brushing across your swollen bottom lip. “That’s ‘cause you’re mine. Only mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this, nobody else gets to hear you scream my name like that.”
“Only you,” you echoed, voice hoarse but sure, your thighs trembling when he shifted closer, his cock still heavy against your cunt. “Just you, Rin.”
Suna leaned in again, pulling you toward a deeper kiss. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as his lips trailed lower, down the line of your jaw and neck. He sucked on the soft skin there, adding fresh bruises to the ones he’d already marked earlier, painting you in his colors.
“R-Rin…” you moaned, tilting your head back to give him more space.
“Yes, baby?” His lips were on your shoulder now, hot breath fanning over your flushed skin.
You swallowed hard, your voice breaking as you whispered, “Can you play another video… as you fuck me again?”
Suna chuckled, low and satisfied, before kissing you full on the mouth, stealing the air from your lungs. When he pulled back, his smirk was lazy, sharp, and devastating. “Of course,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your swollen lip. “What my pretty girl wants, she gets.”
With one hand, he reached for the remote, flipping through the folders on the hard drive until the next video filled the screen. It was you on top of him, riding him slow and messy, your head thrown back and your voice spilling out broken cries of his name. The sound echoed through the speakers, mixing with the faint buzz of the camera still recording now.
“Perfect,” Suna muttered, settling himself back against the headboard. He patted his thigh, his smirk widening. “C’mere, baby. Let’s recreate it.”
Obediently, you crawled into his lap, your body still trembling but eager, the sight on the screen only feeding the heat between your thighs. He guided you down, his cock sliding through your slick folds before sinking back inside you, making you both groan at the stretch.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he hissed, his hands gripping your hips tight as he bottomed out. “Just like the video. Ride me, baby—ride me like you did then.”
On the TV, your past self bounced on his lap, moaning his name. In real time, you mirrored it, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lifted your hips and dropped down again, the sound of your cunt taking him echoing against your recorded moans.
Suna tilted his head back, watching both you and the screen, his lazy eyes narrowing with lust. “Look at you,” he groaned, dragging a hand up your body to squeeze your tits, thumbing your hardened nipple. “Such a good girl—crying my name then, crying my name now. Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
You moaned brokenly, your body arching into his touch, and his smirk only widened. Both of his hands claimed your chest, kneading your tits like he owned every inch of you. He pinched both peaks at once, rolling them between his fingers until you cried out, your hips stuttering on his cock.
“R-Rin, fuck—”
“Sound so pretty when you beg,” he muttered, leaning forward to bite your breast before dragging one hand down. His long fingers traced over your stomach before finding your swollen clit. He rubbed slow, tight circles at first, making your thighs quake as you tried to keep bouncing on his lap.
Your cunt squeezed around him, dripping slick down his shaft. The camera caught the obscene squelch every time you sank down, and the TV doubled it, your past moans echoing in sync with your present ones.
Suna’s grin turned feral. “Listen to that. You’re fucking soaked. And this is just from me playing with your little pussy, huh?” He rubbed harder, faster, until your legs started to shake. “Look at the screen, baby. Look at how dumb you look riding my cock. Then look at yourself now—just as messy, just as fucked out.”
“R-Rin, I—I can’t,” you choked, nails digging into his shoulders, your head dropping onto his.
“Yes, you can.” His tone was sharp, commanding, even as his eyes stayed half-lidded and smug. He pressed his thumb down on your clit while his cock slammed deep inside you, angling up to batter your sweet spot with every thrust. “You’re gonna cum all over me again, and this camera’s gonna catch your pretty face when you do. Gonna watch this later and stroke my cock to how perfect you look falling apart for me.”
You screamed his name, your body convulsing, the tight flutter of your cunt milking him hard. He hissed, groaning low in his throat as he felt you clamp down on him, soaking his cock with your release.
“That’s it, baby,” he drawled, not stopping, fucking you through the high. “Cream all over me. Make a fucking mess. Give me that slutty little porn-star orgasm.”
Tears blurred your eyes, your voice hoarse from crying his name over and over. You were still twitching when he gripped your waist and fucked up into you harder, chasing his own release. His teeth sank into your collarbone, muffling a guttural moan.
“Gonna fill you up,” he growled against your skin. “Wanna see it leaking out of you while the camera’s rolling. Wanna watch you drip with me inside you.”
Your arms locked around his neck, clinging as he pounded up into you, the headboard knocking against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.
“Rin—please, cum inside me—fuck, give it to me—” you begged, words tumbling out in ragged gasps.
That tipped him over. His hips snapped into you one last time, deep and hard, and he groaned your name like a prayer as he spilled inside, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. You could feel it pooling deep, mixing with your own mess, and when he pulled you down flush against him, more of it spilled past your swollen folds.
Suna caught your lips in another filthy kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his cock twitched inside you, still leaking. When he finally pulled back, his lazy grin returned, his voice low and ruined.
He gently slipped out, his cock dragging through your overstimulated walls, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness. Slick and cum spilled out immediately, dripping down your thighs. “Sorry, baby,” he muttered, kissing the corner of your mouth, though the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away. “Didn’t mean to make you whine like that. You’re just too cute.”
He eased you back onto the pillows, lips never straying far from yours, kissing you like he wasn’t already wrecking you, like he couldn’t get enough. Your body trembled beneath him, muscles twitching, but every lazy drag of his lips had you melting.
Then he pulled away, brushing his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. “Wait here, baby, okay?”
You nodded weakly, chest rising and falling, but your stomach knotted when you saw him reach for the camera again. The red light blinked alive, aimed right at you. His low chuckle filled the room. “Fuck, look at you. My perfect little mess.”
The lens caught everything: your flushed cheeks, your tits rising and falling with every shaky breath. He adjusted the zoom, his free hand coming into frame as he grabbed your tits, kneading them until your nipples peaked. He pinched one hard, making you yelp, then rolled both between his fingers. “God, I love how sensitive you get after I fuck you stupid,” he groaned, tilting the camera so it caught your face contorting in pleasure. “Smile for me, baby. Let’s show the camera how good I fucked you.”
You whimpered instead, too far gone, and that only made him grin wider.
“Yeah, that’s my girl,” he murmured, lowering the camera slowly, tracing it down your body. When it landed between your thighs, the lens caught the obscene sight of his cum leaking from your stretched hole, pooling on the sheets. His breath hitched. “Holy fuck… you’re dripping everywhere. You can’t even hold me in.”
Setting the camera on the nightstand at the perfect angle, he spread your thighs wider with his free hand, the red light flashing as it recorded. Then his fingers slipped inside you, two at once, sliding through the mess he left behind. The squelch was filthy, loud, and the camera picked up every second.
“R-Rin!” you gasped, arching off the bed, your pussy tightening around his fingers.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, curling them deep before dragging them out, only to push them right back in. “Let the camera hear how fucking wet you are. Look at the way you’re swallowing my fingers—fuck, it’s like your pussy’s begging for me.”
He leaned down to kiss you, sloppy and wet, even as his hand worked you harder. Pulling back, he let his lips hover against yours, smirking. “So greedy… can’t keep my cum inside you without me stuffing it back in. Maybe I should make you watch this video next time I’m away—watch yourself moaning while I finger my load back into you.”
Your voice broke, crying his name again as your thighs shook. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, never slowing the brutal pace of his fingers. “That’s it, baby girl. Cum for me again. Give the camera another pretty show.”
Suna’s pace only grew faster, his fingers pistoning in and out of you with wet, obscene sounds. The sheets bunched in your fists as your whole body tightened, your walls fluttering violently around him.
“R-Rin—ahhh, fuck, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. You’re gonna squirt for me, pretty girl. Let it out, let the camera see how messy you are for me.”
Your back arched high off the bed, a strangled cry ripping from your throat as the knot in your stomach snapped. Warm liquid gushed out of you, splattering across his hand, his wrist, even dripping down his arm. The sheets beneath you were soaked instantly, the sound of it splashing only making you moan louder.
“Holy fuck…” Suna groaned, staring at the sight with half-lidded, hungry eyes. His grin turned downright wicked. “Look at that, baby. You’re fucking drenching me.” He pulled his fingers out only to shove them back in, pushing through the flood still leaking from you, making more squirt out with every thrust. “Shit—look at the camera, baby. Let it see how fucking wrecked you are.”
You could barely open your eyes, tears slipping down your temples as your thighs trembled uncontrollably, but he angled your face toward the blinking red light, making sure it captured your wrecked expression.
“That’s my girl,” he rasped, pulling his soaked fingers out to show the camera before shoving them back into your pussy, knuckle-deep. “So wet, so ruined for me. Fuck, this one’s gonna be my favorite to watch.”
“Rin, no more,” you whined weakly, your body twitching, thighs too sensitive to take another touch.
Suna chuckled, the sound low and fond, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Of course, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, no trace of the teasing edge he’d had moments before.
He reached over and clicked the camera off, the red light finally dimming. The room seemed quieter instantly, just the sound of your shaky breaths and his steady ones. With careful arms, he scooped you up, holding you close to his chest like you weighed nothing.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said gently, pressing another kiss to your damp hair as he carried you into the bathroom. The warmth of his skin against yours was grounding, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming after the chaos he’d just dragged you through.
He set you down on the counter, steadying you when your legs wobbled, and turned on the tap to fill the basin with warm water. Grabbing a soft cloth, he ran it under the stream before wringing it out and crouching between your legs.
“Look at this mess,” he muttered with a small smirk, though his touch was careful as he wiped you clean. “You squirted all over me, baby. Bet you’ll be embarrassed watching that later.”
You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, but he just laughed and kissed the inside of your knee. “Don’t hide. I loved every second of it.” His tone softened even more as he worked, making sure to be gentle, making sure you were comfortable. “You always do so good for me.”
When he was done, he pressed one last kiss to your thigh before helping you down. “Come on, let’s get in bed. You’re probably exhausted.” He wrapped an arm around you, keeping you steady as he led you back to the bedroom, the sheets already a wreck but the promise of his warmth waiting.
Suna grabbed a fresh pair of panties from the drawer and helped you slip them on, taking his time like you were fragile glass. Then he tugged one of his jerseys over your head, the fabric drowning you, hanging loose and soft against your sore body. He smirked at the sight, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
You settled into bed together, his arms immediately wrapping around you, your head tucked beneath his chin. The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the TV screen that had long since gone black.
After a while, he broke the silence with that lazy, mischievous tone. “Y’know… I think we’re sitting on a goldmine.”
You shifted, giving him a look. “What?”
“Our hard drive,” he said simply, smirking. “All those videos. Baby, we could make an OnlyFans and retire in a year.”
You snorted. “Retire? From what?”
“From life.” His grin widened. “Just live off the fortune of people paying to hear you scream my name.” He dragged out your name in a mocking imitation of your moans, the smirk on his lips pure sin.
You shoved at his chest, laughing. “Shut up, Rin.”
He only laughed with you, eyes glittering in the low light. “I’m serious though. Imagine it—thousands of people jerking off to you bouncing on my cock. They’d eat that shit up.”
You arched a brow, leaning closer to whisper, “And what if I said I’d actually consider it?”
The reaction was immediate. His smirk vanished, and he pinned you to the pillows with a glare that was more heat than anger. “Yeah, no. Not happening. Forget I ever suggested it.” He ducked down and buried his face in your chest, his voice muffled but firm. “No one gets to see you like that but me.”
You giggled, stroking his hair as he sulked against you. “You’re the one who brought it up, genius.”
He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his expression softer now. “Yeah, well, I regret it. You’re mine.” His hand slipped beneath the hem of his jersey, splaying wide against your stomach. “All mine.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, though your chest warmed at the possessiveness in his voice.
He leaned up to kiss you, slow and sweet, before pulling back with another sly grin. “Besides, the world doesn’t deserve to see how pretty you look when you cum. That’s for me only.” He paused, eyes narrowing in mock thought. “Although… we could definitely rank our videos. Like a little awards show.”
You laughed, smacking him lightly. “An awards show?”
“Mm-hm.” He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes glinting with amusement. “Best moan goes to last week—when you thought I was done and I flipped you over.”
You rolled your eyes, covering your face with your hands. “You’re unbelievable.”
Suna pried your hands away, chuckling, and pressed another kiss to your lips. “Maybe. But you love me.”
And you did—so much that you let him keep talking nonsense until the exhaustion finally pulled you under, his voice the last thing you heard, murmuring how perfect you were and how no one else would ever get to see you the way he did.
synopsis; (y/n) and suna get locked out of their apartment and decide to break their way in through the kitchen window
disclaimer: sexual innuendos, suggestive humour
Suna and (y/n) love a good debrief—especially after meeting up with mutual friends.
City lights flicker beyond their window as they remain nestled in the warmth of the Uber, half an hour deep into a heated discussion about a couple who’ve been on the verge of a break-up for five years but never actually bite the bullet. It's a conversation (y/n) and Suna have had a hundred times before—but then again, who doesn’t love beating a dead horse?
“Honestly, I don’t know how she does it,” (y/n) sighs, shaking her head. “He puts literally zero effort into their relationship. It’s embarrassing.”
Beside her, Suna hums his agreement. “Sad thing is, he probably treats her like that because he knows he can get away with it.”
“Right?” (Y/n) clicks her tongue. “I feel like she just needs to speak up for herself and set some boundaries or something. Before it gets out of hand.”
“She deserves better."
“She really does.”
Debrief concluded, they lean back in their seats with a final, shared sigh. The heat of their conversation still simmers in the air—raised voices, exasperated sighs, wild hand gestures—but as it fades, a comfortable silence soon settles between them. They sit like that until the Uber pulls into their driveway and the car doors unlock with a mechanical click.
"Anyway," she says.
"Anyway," Suna echoes.
“Thank you,” they call in unison as they climb out of the vehicle.
The moment (y/n) steps out, a sharp gust of wind slams into her. She recoils as the bitter winter breeze musses up her carefully styled hair.
Thank God they're almost home.
She’s already picturing herself wrapped in a blanket, steaming cup of tea in hand. The thought of peeling off this dress and oh—the thought of kicking off her heels makes her want to shed a tear of relief. Her feet are killing.
She fishes around in her bag, fingers already half-numb, thinking about the hot shower she’s about to melt into. Then, she pauses.
No. Surely not.
Her heart sinks to her stomach.
She can't feel her keys.
She digs around again, more urgently this time. A cold wave crashes over her, and this time it has nothing to do with the wind. She starts replaying her steps before leaving the apartment. She could've sworn she put them in her bag. She must have. She swears she even remembers unzipping her bag and putting them in their usual compartment.
Evidently not.
Shit.
Of all the times she could've forgotten her keys, tonight is the worst possible night for this to happen. Atsumu and Osamu are both out of town visiting family—not all the way in Hyōgo, but far enough that they’re not getting back any time soon.
They stop at the front door, and Suna looks at her expectantly. “What’s the hold-up, boss?”
It takes her a minute to get the words out. “I…don’t have my keys.”
Suna freezes, head snapping toward her. She looks up and sees the guttering storm in his eyes—the look of a man one second from homicide. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
She wishes she was. She really wishes she was.
On the drive home, Suna had gone on about how much he was looking forward to “passing the fuck out.” He was tired. Beyond tired. Not to mention his long to-do list for tomorrow that he'd anticipated getting an early head start on. He needed all the sleep he could get. And now, thanks to her, that endeavour is slipping further and further away.
She feels like a little kid again, fidgeting in front of her parents as she prepares herself for a scolding. “I’m so sorry.”
Suna lets loose a sharp exhale, holding back the frustration she knows she deserves. He’s a patient guy. Super patient, even. But right now, he looks about two seconds away from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her senseless.
He’s a better person than she is, though. Because whereas a cranky (y/n) might’ve thrown her head back with a drawn-out groan and acted like the sky was falling, Suna just sighs and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. When he pulls them away, they're bloodshot and struggling to stay open.
“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner," he says. "That’s what you owe me tomorrow."
His voice leaves no room for negotiation. But even if it did, (y/n) wouldn’t have argued. It’s a fair deal, considering he's now stranded outside for who knows how long. It’s the least she can do.
She also has a feeling that if it were anyone but him—Osamu, or worse, Atsumu—she'd be getting one hell of an earful right now.
“Okay,” she mutters.
Accepting his fate, Suna slumps down onto the pavement like even standing is too much effort. With another weary sigh, he stretches his legs out in front of him, tilts his head back against the brick wall, and closes his eyes.
(Y/n) lingers awkwardly for a second before sinking down beside him. “I swear I remember putting them in my bag…”
“Well, clearly,” Suna drawls, emphasising the last word, “you didn’t.”
Her shoulders sag. Poor Suna. If it weren’t for her, he’d be fast asleep in the warmth of his bed right now.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, fiddling with the hem of her flimsy cardigan. In this kind of cold, she might as well be wearing nothing. And Suna's not much better—just a light jacket over a T-shirt.
He shrugs it off when a particularly icy breeze makes her shudder, then dumps the jacket into her lap without sparing her a glance.
“No—you keep it.” (Y/n) dismissively waves her hands in front of her. “I feel too bad.”
“Take it,” he says gruffly.
“But what about you—”
“Wear it. It’s freezing.”
She stares down at the jacket, wrapping her hands around the fabric. It’s still warm. That alone is enough to make her want to give in—that and the fact Suna's probably won’t take no for an answer.
"...Okay." She slips it on and is immediately gratified. The relief is blissful.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, thankful her teeth are no longer chattering.
Suna grunts something that’s probably supposed to mean you’re welcome but can’t bring himself to say it.
Her stomach dips a little when she sees goosebumps rise along his arms. Tentatively, she scoots closer and presses her side against his, sharing a bit of warmth. Suna side-eyes her but doesn't object.
After that, they pass the time by listening to the sounds of passing cars and the soft buzz of the streetlamp overhead. Dinner feels like it happened a lifetime ago. Her makeup’s half worn off, she tugs off her heels and lets them dangle from her fingers, and the night isn’t getting any warmer.
At the very least, she makes sure to send Osamu a message:
You:
Me and Rin are locked out
Pls don’t hate me
I forgot my keys like an idiot
I'm soso sorry
“How long will they be?” Suna asks, impatience sharpening his voice. In moments like this, she can’t help but think he sounds a bit like Atsumu.
“Maybe an hour? Possibly more if they stop for food?”
Suna doesn’t say a word, but she can feel him stewing beside her.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks, though she already knows the answer.
“Yes,” he replies bluntly.
She pokes at a crack in the pavement. “How mad?”
“Pretty mad.”
She deflates, but doesn’t argue. Fair enough—it’s late, it’s freezing, and it’s all her fault.
When Suna shifts, she glances over. He’s got his arms folded over his knees, head ducked as he runs both hands through his hair.
“How do you even forget your own keys…” he mutters, as if pleading with the universe for an explanation.
(Y/n) drops her head back against the stone wall with enough force to make a dull thud. “I don’t know, okay? I swear I brought them. This has never happened before.”
He gives her a flat stare.
“Well, not in years.”
“Yeah, and you showed up at my door at 3 a.m that time.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” she repeats for the umpteenth time tonight. “I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I’ll cook you something you’ll like.”
“No, please don’t do that,” he says quickly, almost urgently.
“Why not?”
“(Y/n), you’re like Gordon Ramsay’s worst nightmare. What do you mean why not?”
Ouch.
She frowns. “I’m not that bad.”
Suna’s silence speaks volumes.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “I’ll get you takeout, then.”
Then, amidst the freezing cold, the tiredness, the crankiness—(y/n) is struck by a sudden wave of blazing clarity.
“Hold on—” she says, springing to her feet.
Gordon Ramsey. Cooking. Kitchen. Yes. That’s it!
“What?” Suna lifts his head from his arms, blinking blearily.
Luckily for him, she has an idea that could potentially save them from turning into human icicles.
“The kitchen window!”
Suna blinks slowly. “...What about it?”
She grins. “I left it open to air out after Atsumu burnt his eggs earlier. I can climb through it.”
Suna does not grin back. “You left the window to our apartment open?”
“Not fully,” she amends quickly. “Come on—I bet I can squeeze through the gap.”
She doesn’t wait for Suna to stand, already rounding the side of the apartment building where the kitchen is.
Lo and behold—the window is cracked open just enough for her to possibly slither through. It might be a tight squeeze, but at this point, (y/n) is ready to fold herself into origami if it means finally being somewhere warm. From there, she can grab her keys and unlock the front door from the inside.
Perfect.
“Gimme a boost.” She points at the small gap, already stepping closer to the wall.
“No offense, but you’re not fitting through that,” Suna replies, squinting up at the window.
“Ye of little faith,” she shoots back, beckoning him closer.
He obeys anyway, lacing his fingers and lowering his hands into a makeshift step. (Y/n) shrugs off his hoodie and her flimsy cardigan to make herself as slim as possible, then plants her bare foot into his hands. She grabs his shoulder for support and, on the count of three, Suna hoists her high enough to grab the windowsill.
“Got it,” she rasps, fingers hooking around the edge.
Suna gives her another boost, and that’s enough for her to plant both elbows on the sill. She ignores the sharp press against her bones and begins to shimmy her way forward.
It’s only when she’s halfway through that she realises—great. She’s stuck.
“Shit—”
She tries to wiggle, but the space is too narrow for her hips. The window digs into her sides, pinching and scratching and making everything impossibly awkward.
“Are you stuck?”
If she could turn around, she’d give Suna the nastiest glare known to man.
“No, not at all. I just fancied a break—yes, I’m stuck!”
Suna’s laugh is merciless.
If it weren't for her less-than-becoming predicament, she might’ve felt relief hearing it after his sour mood. But as it stands—with her backside currently hanging out of the kitchen window—it only adds to her humiliation.
How the tables have turned, she thinks grimly. Now she's the one who feels like committing a murder.
"I feel like I've seen this image before," Suna muses. She may not see him, but the grin in his voice is glaringly obvious.
"Huh?"
It takes her a while to process what he means. Then it dawns on her.
She’s stuck in a narrow space in nothing but a dress. Which—while not exactly short to begin with—has definitely ridden up to her thighs by now, presenting Suna with a premium view of her ass and whatever scrap of underwear she'd thrown on this morning. Perfect. From his point of view, it must look like one of those cheesy, old-school pornos where someone somehow gets stuck in a washing machine. Or something equally stupid.
"You disgusting pervert," she hisses. "Stop gawking and help me!"
He keeps snickering before footsteps sound behind her and his hands settle on her waist.
He pushes. Once. Twice. But she doesn’t budge.
(Y/n) sucks in a breath. God, she’s going to pass out. It genuinely feels like the oxygen might be getting cut off from her brain.
"You're gonna have to push harder than that,” she wheezes.
Suna's fingers dig into her waist as he puts his weight into the push. "I would, but I’m exactly working from an ideal position here,” he grunts.
He doesn’t need to explain what he means. It's not the angle that's the issue—it’s where he’s holding her that’s impractical.
After a little deliberation, she thinks: Fuck it.
"Rin, you have my full authorization to grab my ass."
The silence that follows feels strangely intimate until Suna breaks it:
"And they say chivalry is dead."
"Rin."
Another beat passes. She hears him shift his stance, then mutter, “maybe tonight isn’t so bad.”
She rolls her eyes. She can't see him, but she knows exactly what expression he's wearing.
Typical man.
She kicks her legs slightly, fighting the pins and needles creeping up her calves. "I can hear you, you know," she chides. "And please hurry—this window is about to bisect me."
There's movement behind her, then, “Alright. Hold still.”
He gives her a moment to brace herself, then—without much room for decorum—plants his hands firmly on her backside and shoves.
Nothing. Not even a wiggle.
"Do it harder," (y/n) gasps, trying to make herself smaller by sucking in her stomach. "Don’t worry about being gentle.”
There's a snort of barely contained laughter. “Yeah?”
“Mhmm—Harder.”
He says nothing and obeys, hands gripping tighter. At last, she feels the window frame give slightly.
“Keep going,” she manages between shallow breaths, her cheeks burning from exertion. “I think I feel something.”
The silence that follows makes her suddenly aware of how their exchange sounds. Oh. The innuendo hangs in the air between them, making her want to drag her hands down her face.
Suna's hands hesitate as a low chuckle escapes him. “Do you, now?”
She definitely doesn’t miss his voice dropping an octave.
"You almost there?" he teases, leaning close enough that she can feel his breath on her exposed thigh.
She bites her lip, suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact between them, his palms against her backside, the chill air on her exposed legs.
Well. She'd walked right into this one.
“Just a bit more,” she adds with exaggerated breathiness, deciding to lean into the silliness. "I'm so close—!"
Now they’re both laughing.
It takes a few more pushes—one, two—oof—on the third shove, she finally slips through with a graceless thunk.
Her landing isn't exactly gymnastics worthy—half on, half-off the kitchen counter like a dazed raccoon crawling out of a trash can—but she's done it. Her dress is bunched at the knees. Her ribs are sore. Her legs are numb. Suna saw her underwear. But, you know what? Who cares. At least she made it.
She props herself up on the countertop. A final, undignified hop off the counter and—
“I’m in!” she announces proudly, throwing her arms up.
This must be what it feels like to stick a parallel bar landing. Maybe not exactly. But it must be close.
“Nice one, Bond,” Suna deadpans from outside. “Now can you let me in? ’Cause in case you hadn’t noticed—it’s arctic out here.”
Right. The keys.
“On it!”
She flicks on the kitchen lights and begins her search, muttering to herself as she rummages through the usual places. She checks her jacket pocket, the dinner table, her other bag.
Nada.
Then she spots something shiny poking out of the fruit bowl. The fruit bowl? She grabs them, squinting like they'd somehow crawled in there themselves. How the hell did they end up there? She could’ve sworn she—
...Never-mind. Not important.
She sprints to the front door, jams the keys in the keyhole, twists, and yanks the door open.
"Tada!" she sings. "Open sesame."
Suna’s standing there as if he's been waiting for this moment his whole life. He wastes no time brushing past her, muttering under his breath. It's like watching the human embodiment of an ice cube thaw in real time. His arms flail a little as he shudders off the rest of the cold, stomping his feet to life again.
“Thank fuck,” he shudders.
He kicks off his shoes with little ceremony before making a beeline for the nearest couch. He flops down, limbs splayed out like a man on the brink of death, and lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a wail. “Wake me up in ten business days.”
(Y/n) shakes her head as she closes the door behind her, locking it securely. She’s still riding the adrenaline high of her mission-impossible window escapade. Her thighs tingle where the windowsill dug in, and there’s a faint burn where her ribs scraped against the metal. She lifts her dress to check—yep, there’s a red line blooming across her midsection. She can’t wait to tell the twins that story tomorrow.
“That’s gonna leave a nasty bruise,” Suna drawls from the couch. He’s peeking at her from under his forearm, one eye squinting against the lamplight. “Does it hurt?” he asks, nodding at the angry mark.
“Eh. Nothing some hot water can’t fix,” she replies with a dismissive shrug, kicking her shoes into the corner. "Speaking of, I'm gonna run myself a bath.”
"Perfect timing," he calls after her as she moves toward the stairs. "You can marinate on my breakfast options while you're at it. Oh, and lunch. And dinner.”
She freezes mid-step, turning to find him wearing that infuriating half-smile she knows too well. "Our deal," he reminds her, giving her a pointed look. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
Her eyes roll skyward as she continues her ascent. "How could I possibly?" she shoots back with deliberate sweetness. In her humble opinion, the window fiasco—and the liberties she'd granted him during it—should have cleared any debts between them.
Alas. Three meals it is. How hard could it be?
Either way, it couldn't be more challenging than contorting her body through a ridiculously small kitchen window.
thank you to everyone who likes, comments &/or reblogs! ☺️
hiiii sweet thinggg! i fell down this rabbit hole of ur page .. I LOVE IT SOOOO MUCH thank u for ur service 😇
i have a req if that’s okay (thought i’d give it a try). basically my ex (thank GOODNESS he’s an ex LOOOL) who said that eating pussy was gross 😭😭 (yeah maybe he just didn’t like me lol).
maybe a one shot with MY FAVESSSS iwaizumi suna and osamu (+ whoever you like, you can even choose one out of the three) where like i tell them that my ex told me that before (so now i jus feel gross even though I LOVEEE BEING ATE OUT) and they just prove me wrong
LMAO SORRY ITS SO LONG. hope ur having a lovely day as per usual <3
LIKE SUGAR ON MY TONGUE !
✩ ‧₊˚ how do they react to learning about your experience with your ex? / featuring miya osamu, iwaizumi hajime, && suna rintarou.
xoxo. girl he’s sooo weird for that wtf 😭 i had an ex that ate pussy so bad that i was grossed out
MIYA OSAMU.
it’s sick and absolutely twisted, but osamu can’t help but feel grateful that your ugly ex didn’t eat you out—this is now an opportunity to show off.
“—mm mm, there’s no buts,” he rasps, spreading your trembling thighs once more. the tone with which he speaks is very matter-of-fact and leaves no room for resistance; it serves as more kindling for your burning arousal. “‘s three times at least, honey. ‘m gonna give you what you deserve, okay?”
osamu lets his fingers coast along the tender skin of your inner thighs and sighs dreamily, his eyes inching up your body with abundant admiration.
you suck in a short breath, trying to ignore how your cheeks burn at every little thing he does. “y-you can’t be serious, samu. don’t you think three is rather excessive? maybe i—”
finally, those eyes meet yours, shining like steel through the tousled hair that’s fallen past his brows. osamu looks like a hot mess, largely due to your incessant tugging on his hair and his refusal to wipe your cum off of his face. “goddd,” he moans, voice catching on the word, “do ya even know how ya taste, sweets? yer all i wanna eat from now on.”
you swallow dryly, busy carding your fingers through his hair. in truth, you’re not very sure how to respond to him—you always knew about osamu’s love for eating, but not like this. it’s almost as if eating your pussy has fundamentally changed him; his cheeks are glowing red and his eyes are lidded like he’s high, but it’s his voice that’s changed the most. his words are colored with a distinct undercurrent of insatiability, which at times borders on desperation.
“o-oh my god,” your head drops back when osamu dives in once more and captures your pussy in a passionate french kiss. he plays with your preexisting sensitivity by dipping his tongue in and swirling it around, as though he’s trying to commit everything to memory.
osamu’s greedy slurping is nothing short of pornographic, and your noisy whimpering is just the cherry on top. a sheeny mixture of his spit and your slick slides down your ass, on its way to seep into the sheets. you don’t even notice you’re shaking—or that his hands have left your thighs—until he’s squeezing your hips to hold you steady.
“easy, baby,” osamu murmurs, half muffled. it seems as though pulling away for just a split second is too much for him. “yer bein’ so good ta me, lettin’ me have ya like this.”
you squirm at the honeyed praises, overwhelmed by his affection. it also doesn’t help that he’s licking your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. one particularly rough swish of his tongue puts you at a loss for words—the only sounds that leave you are either short, shallow gasps or whiny little moans.
osamu immediately recognizes the fluttering of your cunt and the realization that you’re about to cum again has his eyes rolling back into his skull. your fingers, which had once been gently running through his hair, are now curled tight against his scalp to hold him in place.
“gonna cum, samu,” you choke out, legs subconsciously wrapping around his head. his weak, answering groan is the last thing you hear before you fall straight into euphoria.
moments later, you’re twitching as you come down. your legs fall away from either side of osamu’s head and he doesn’t move—for a second, you worry that he’s passed out due to a lack of oxygen. but then when he looks up at you with slick covering half of his face and tears in his glossy eyes, you know that he’s exactly where he wants to be.
IWAIZUMI HAJIME.
hajime is fucking pissed, naturally. he’s angry that your ex boyfriend had the audacity to share such a stupid opinion, but he’s even angrier that you’ve been missing out on one of life’s greatest pleasures.
“oh, that’s so good,” you gasp like the breath has been knocked out of your lungs, because it has. hajime’s got you sprawled out on the couch with your legs over his shoulders and his hands on your lower back—a sloppy position that had felt natural in the heat of the moment. “just like that, mhmm.”
it’s so cute that you’re this worked up over something as simple as him teasing your clit with his tongue. you have absolutely no idea what’s coming, or how good you’re about to feel.
“princess—” he presses a kiss to your clit to carefully break the rhythm. “—how many can you take? what about two, just to start off?”
every thought in your brain is already melting away, but hajime nudges his slick fingers against your cunt and then your surroundings evaporate. “that’s a lot, haji.”
“aw, sweetheart,” he laughs like it’s no big deal, all no-nonsense and genuine. though there’s no disappointment at your refusal, your mind still changes in an instant, lighting up your stomach with fire. before you know it you’re pushing forward like you’ve got something to prove, and he bites back a smile. “you’re so damn tight, huh? i just know this pretty pussy was made for me.”
hajime only needs two fingers to 1. stuff you to the hilt and 2. make you dumb. it’s too easy and way too powerful, but how could it be anything else when he knows your body like the back of his hand?
“shit— oh my god,” you cut yourself off, throwing your head back in bliss. it can’t get any better than this, you think, until he curls and flexes his fingers. “right there, keep ‘em right there.”
hajime lowers his mouth to your puffy clit and pulls you closer, his eyes falling shut. you know that this is real, but everything is hazy and feels like a dream—how long have you been waiting for this?
he develops a natural rhythm, and you’re left speechless as your body surrenders to the many sensations at once. hajime certainly doesn’t need any guidance or direction, but you slip your fingers into his short hair nonetheless.
delighted by your confidence, he lets out a muffled groan. the tips of your nails graze against his scalp as you spur him on, pushing him down until all he can breathe in is you.
“hajime, that feels really good,” you warble, barely able to hear past your own heartbeat. it pounds in your ears like the steady beat of a drum, signaling your impending release. “i think i’m gonna cum.”
your boyfriend resumes as though he didn’t hear anything, not changing the way he mouths at your clit or the speed of his fingers. the continuous motions allow the high pressure in your core to build until it gets out of control and breaks past the boiling point.
hajime’s head is squeezed between your trembling legs as you fall over the edge and head first into blinding, flashing euphoria. you come undone, and your pussy gushes like a waterfall into his face, surprising the both of you.
“sorry,” you gasp out, face burning with embarrassment. you don’t even know why you’re apologizing. “i didn’t mean to make such a mess, haji—”
instead of telling you that it’s okay and there’s no need to worry, hajime just lifts you to his mouth and laps up the mess like he’s getting the last bit of miso from a bowl. it’s impolite and noisy, with his lips smacking and his breathy moans wafting over your skin.
after a moment of indulgence, you reflexively flinch away due to the overstimulation. “that—that’s too much, ‘m still sensitive.”
hajime’s breath comes in fast, short bursts and leaves him almost heaving for more. it’s quite the sight to take in all at once when he draws away—between the thick muscle rippling in his back and the way he’s gnawing at his lip to stop himself from going back for more, you aren’t sure where to look.
your lips are shaping around his name when he interrupts you with a small grunt and presses his cheek to your inner thigh. “just one more, princess? it wouldn’t be right to give you any less.”
SUNA RINTAROU.
it is now his mission to be over the top nasty about eating your pussy.
“rin, you’re ah-absolutely positive i’m not gonna crush you, right?”
leave it to you to ask the same question for the third time in a row when rintarou’s lapping at your soaked cunt like a soft serve.
“mhmm, pretty girl,” he pauses momentarily to answer, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “any more burning questions? or is it time for me to make you sit all the way down like i said i would?”
“not happening,” you huff, but you squirm unsteadily as the sensation begins to overwhelm you. “at least not yet, rinnie.”
he’s holding your hips with a grip that’s almost tight enough to leave small bruises, and because you’re still nervous about the new position, your fingers are curled over the edge of the headboard. the moment rintarou heard your story, something in the air shifted into place and you found yourself hovering directly over his face.
“relaaax, baby.” there he goes again with that carefree, suggestive tone; but this time it actually works because he pairs it with a hot exhale over your wet pussy. gooey, sticky strings of your slick cling to your skin, just begging to be licked away—but you’re too far out of his reach.
eyebrows scrunching, you lower yourself rather carefully. still, it’s not enough; it won’t ever be until he gets a faceful of you, and even then his thirst won’t be quenched. the thing is, rintarou is a slut—he takes a certain kind of pleasure in being nasty, especially when it comes to eating pussy. but with you holding back for what seems to be a stupid reason, he can’t enjoy his meal properly.
“rin, what the fuuuck,” your nerves dissipate and you finally give in to sitting on his face. but in your position, there isn’t much you can do to the contrary—he’s got his arms locked around your legs to keep you from sitting up. “oh my god, why does that feel so nice?”
it feels extra nice because rintarou isn’t just doing it for you, he’s also eating your pussy for himself. as you’ll come to learn and understand more deeply, he’s the type that needs to give before he can take at all.
a sob tears out of your throat and you squirm against his mouth, sloppily rocking your hips into the sensation. beneath you, rintarou is turned on to the max and more than happy to be where he is. if he was worried about having suffocation by pussy named as the cause of death on his headstone, he wouldn’t have had you sit on his face for your first time.
the raunchy sounds of him devouring you overtake the thoughts in your head and soon all else until it’s just you and him. the bedroom, the story, and the fear of hurting him are long gone.
“i’m so close,” you exclaim tearfully, palms sinking into the pillows. then you arch your back and work your hips forward until you’re riding his face, your clumsy movements a mix of desperation and determination. the tip of his nose bumps into your aching clit and he grunts at the same time you moan.
“i’ve got you, baby” is all you hear before he’s noisily slurping you up and groaning as he does so; you let your head loll so you can look back at him and damn is he hot like this. the stretch of the vein running along his left bicep and the ravenous attack of his tongue that comes after is what shatters you.
your reaction is beautifully obscene: your face goes slack as ecstasy bursts through every nerve, ultimately leaving you crumpled over him and crying. hot tears race down your cheeks in wet, salty tracks and hit the bedsheets before you can wipe them away.
clapping a hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear your pitched gasps and shaky whimpers, you fall over onto your side beside him.
rintarou gives you a soft smile, but it makes your stomach flip instead. seeing the entire lower half of his face covered in a mess that’s equal parts his and yours is terribly erotic. he pulls you in, and his skin is just as hot as yours.
his lips touch down on your forehead, and then everything feels less overwhelming. “that good, hm? c’mere, pretty baby, i’ve got you.”
