“kei, do you ever think about how strange it is that we've never fought?” you ask, limbs tangled with his as you cuddle on his bed.
it’s 10:03 PM and you’re doing your best to fight against the chilling, icy atmosphere of tsukishima’s room. for some reason, he likes to sleep like a vampire.
“do you want to?” he offers with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. tsukki doesn’t even open his eyes when he responds, too sleepy to entertain another one of your late night overthinking sessions.
“no,” you say calmly, “but we’ve been together for 7 months. we must either be like, the greatest couple of all time or the exact opposite.”
you feel his chest rise and deflate against your head as he lets an overly dramatic sigh.
you knew tsukishima kei wasn’t one for pda. hell, it was one of the things you loved about him. he knew how to make you feel loved without having to scream it to the world.
like that one time on one of your first dates, when you had accidentally fallen asleep on the soft grass of the park while waiting for his weekend practice to end. you woke up with a hand massaging your scalp.
“how long have you been waiting there?” you giggle, rising from your slumber as you rub your eyes awake. he pulls away, casually avoiding your gaze. “why didn’t you wake me?”
kei only shrugs, “you looked peaceful.”
or that other time you got sick for a week and couldn’t make it to school, so he immediately visited you as soon as you got better and brought his backpack with him.
“i got two copies of all the homeworks due next week, so you don’t have to ask the teachers for them.” he unpacks his notes and fishes out two pens from his bag before turning to you. “come, i’ll teach you everything you missed.”
your teachers praised you for how responsible you were, and told you how much they appreciated that you took the initiative to study.
yeah, you totally did that.
or like right now, and all the other nights you’ve spent at his place. because unbeknownst to you, tsukishima kei sets up his bedroom every single time you visit. he tidies up, cleaning even spots that you would never think to look at. but most importantly, and tsukishima knows this routine by heart, he turns the a/c to the highest setting so you’d be forced to cuddle against him underneath his sheets.
“the former,” is all replies with, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.
“but seriously though. how lucky are we to never have fought even after seven months.”
tsukki sighs again, before reluctantly revealing, “we don’t fight because i make it a point to always agree with you.”
you’re taken aback by his words, sitting up slightly as you look him in the eyes, though his are still closed as he tries to focus on sleeping.
“...huh?”
“idiot,” he teases. maybe he thinks calling you names will cover up for how unbelievably sweet he’s being right now, “why would i want to argue with you?” he shifts, trying to subtly move his face away so you don’t see him fully.
“but i can’t always have my way, you know. a relationship should be 50/50, right?”
“not ours.” he presses your head back against his chest, and you hear his heartbeat fasten a little. “you’re the boss.”
BONUS: “and you’ve never paid in your life anyway. you don’t believe in that 50/50 bullshit.” “hey!” “i don’t even know what your wallet looks like.”
when you’re riding tsukki and he won’t shut up about how you’re struggling to take him so you shift forward, fingers tightening around the strong column of his neck. you see his eyes dilate, his breath hitch, all because of your fucking hand around his throat.
you get in close. your breath ghosts over his lips, saccharine smile overtaking your face, "you really think your cock's enough to satisfy me?"
he tries to strangle his groan, but you feel how violently his cock kicks inside your cunt.
"does little tsukki need his senpai to teach him how to fuck?" you lick the hollow of his throat. bite down on his neck. relish in the shudders and moans coming out of the usually sarcastic man. "did they not teach you how to make it fit?"
"what the fuck—"
he bucks his hips up into your slippery, wet heat, letting out a string of curses.
"aww, you mad at me, baby?" you're glad the languorous circles in his lap are driving him crazy. he teases you too often not to get fucked with. "should i call kuroo-san and see if he can pencil in a quick lesson?"
he’s got a fetish for your love
fluff, uhh kissing, one curse word i think, marking, one suggestive line at the end
tsukishima kei, for one, is a massive pole of stoicism, bitterness, and sarcasm towards people he absolutely wants to piss off.
so why is it that he can’t help but turn needy once you’re in his peripheral vision?
you were just existing, walking into the gym while drinking some soda. but to tsukishima? you might as well broadcast your footsteps with how fast his head turned when he heard the sound of your shoes.
to tsukishima kei, you’re perfect. you’re so perfect that it makes his eye twitch in annoyance. he wants to get on your nerves, really, he does. thing is, all his sense of self-respect ran out of the window as soon as you appeared in his life.
nobody could believe their eyes when they saw tsukishima jog—yes, jog not walk, jog—towards you, his eyes wide with what normal people call ‘love’.
tsukishima kei who wrapped his arms around you, burying his face on the crook of your neck, breathing you in like a man that almost suffocated.
“you smell so fucking good, y/n..” he mumbles against your skin, voice hoarse and needy.
you just laugh, hugging him back which makes him melt in your hold. “c’mon kei, you still have practice.”
tsukishima kei who let out a needy, whiny huff as he lifts his head up closer to your ear. “would you let me kiss you more later?” he whispers, and since no one could see anything except for his back, he nibbles on your earlobe. “that’s the least you could do for looking this enticing.”
“you say that everyday.” you groan.
“but i’m right,” he counters, finally standing straight. he ignores the gasps of his teammates as he leans closer and kisses your forehead.
tsukishima kei who reluctantly walks back to his very intrigued yet astonished teammates and glares at them so they wouldn’t ask any questions.
tsukishima kei who, once practice ended, practically floated over to you. he already snatched your bag away, his free hand wrapping around your waist as he guides you out of the gym.
tsukishima kei who can’t stop himself from stopping your walk home just for him to drag you to a shady alleyway to trail kisses down your throat, his breathing heavy as he complains about you being way too addicting for him to keep his hands off you.
“how— how exactly am i supposed to keep my hands off you if you’re like this?” he murmurs as he gently sucks on your collarbone where no one would see.
“like what?” you ask, your hands fisting his uniform for support.
“you look tempting,” he replies, licking the skin he marked.
“school air got me. i barely even have anything on my face.”
tsukishima kei who pulls back with a sly smirk while licking his lips, “even better.”
tsukishima kei who stops only after your legs are weak from his kisses, he picks you up while carrying his and your bags, and starts carrying you home.
tsukishima kei who keeps leaning down to peck your pretty face every five minutes because he couldn’t help it. how could he even hold that back if he has such a perfect lover?
tsukishima kei who doesn’t walk away from your house until he’s sure you’re safe and sound.
tsukishima kei who folds with just a little bit of your attention. you look at him? he gives you a small, almost unnoticeable lovesick smile. you glare at him? his knees turn into jelly. you breathe near him? he’s a second away from asking you to suffocate him.
tsukishima kei who loves it when you get annoyed and you manhandle him by pulling him down by his tie or the collar of his shirt. he smirks slyly, eyes lovesick as he lets you tug him down, your eyes narrowed.
tsukishima kei who’s face turns pink because you’re glaring at him. he keeps taunting you just to see you pissed off, loving how attractive you look.
tsukishima kei who’s eyes can’t help but drift to your lips while you scold him for being snarky, so he does the only justifiable thing to soothe your pretty little angered brain. he smashes his lips on yours, making you gasp.
tsukishima kei who takes that gasp as his chance to slip his tongue in your mouth, his hands coming up to cup your face and slightly tilt it to the side.
tsukishima kei who grins when you both pull back panting, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. “guess that’s one way to shut your pretty mouth up, huh?”
tsukishima kei who can’t help but get hard whenever you look at him too long or when you narrow your pretty eyes at him. he’s pathetic since he has a fetish for your love.
a/n: might be bad, ngl. it’s been awhile since i wrote anything like this.. like, a few days lol
summary: he has a reputation to uphold. he’s sarcastic, smug. definitely not the type to fumble over himself the moment you walk into the karasuno gym. right? [wc. 2.5k]
pairing: kei tsukishima x reader
note from sunnie: teehee surprise ending alert. this is just part of something bigger that I’ve been thinking about but I needed to post this because the idea has been driving me insane. tsukki pov.
two
The first time Kei Tsukishima sees you, he’s contemplating murdering one of his teammates.
Nekoma High School was visiting Miyagi Prefecture for a string of practice matches and had obligingly squeezed a stop at Karasuno in. He’s stretching out his long limbs, listening to Hinata and Kageyama’s endless arguing, when a wave of red tracksuits and big egos wander into the gym. Kei barely spares a glance in their direction.
But he’s really, really glad he does.
Because he sees you.
You’re trailing in after the last of the visiting team. You’re not wearing the Nekoma uniform, but you do have a trademarked red hoodie that marks you as one of their own. You’re not even looking at him, which is the worst part, because he shouldn’t be so affected by someone that’s not even paying attention to him.
You have headphones on. He wonders what song you’re listening to, and then realizes that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t even know you.
What he doesn’t expect is the way his body reacts to your presence. Heart picking up speed, a burning turns the tips of his ears a faint—faint—red. He can’t take his eyes off of you, either, which is a massive problem because he’s acutely aware that someone is going to notice and that will totally ruin the image he’s worked so effortlessly hard to cultivate.
God forbid the loud mouthed ginger realizes.
Kei shivers. Forces himself to look away. Glances back a few seconds later with only a tiny bubble of shame. You’re setting a bag down near the benches set aside for the visiting team, completely unaware of how he’s unable to keep his attention to himself.
“Tsukki!” Tadashi calls, snapping him from his—what, daydreams? He’s not sure what to call it. It’s never happened to him before. He’s horribly unaccustomed to the feeling of losing total control of his ability to not stare at a pretty girl like an idiot. “Daichi said we’re running laps now!”
“Coming,” Kei responds. He’s glad Tadashi didn’t notice his newfound problem, and even more pleased with the fact that he’s able to attach his focus to a task. Something to keep him preoccupied and not make a fool of himself.
Of course, he still finds his eyes drifting towards you while he jogs.
You linger by Nekoma’s bench, helping to fill water bottles and sort out the volleyball bags unceremoniously dropped by your team. He glimpses you interacting with Nekoma players, smiling at some while poking fun at others.
And he sees when you cross over to Karasuno’s side of the gym. He’s near the bench, folding and re-folding his towel with precision—totally not buying time to watch what you’re doing. You walk towards Kiyoko, not even sparing him a glance, but he thinks it’s better this way. If you gave him an ounce of your attention, he thinks he might despise you for making his heart flutter.
Kei Tsukishima does not experience heart flutters.
“Excuse me,” You say to Kiyoko, voice unexpectedly pleasant. You sound competent, like you know who you are and that someone isn’t totally bothersome, unlike the way he finds most people are. Or maybe he’s just biased, because you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen. “Do you know where our scrimmage jerseys are? I didn’t see them anywhere.”
“They’re probably still in the storage closet.” Kiyoko’s even voice cuts through the chaos starting to unfold in the gym. Tanaka and Nishinoya are yelling about something—it’s become impossible for him to keep up with what they’re upset about now—and the excitement is starting to spread. “If you give me a moment, I can—”
Something happens then that throws him completely off balance.
He acts without thinking.
“I can get them,” He’s saying before the words process in his own mind. Ignoring the fact he totally outed himself as eavesdropping on your conversation, he hates the way he sounds like an overeager child. The offer just rolls so easily off his tongue, like he’s someone who routinely helps others with simple tasks. He’s not, but he thinks, subconsciously, that he wants you to believe he is.
Kiyoko picks up on this, if the subtle smile on her lips or the way her dark eyes briefly dart towards you is anything to go by.
Shit.
“Are you sure? I can get them, if you just show me where to go.” You’re talking directly to him for the first time—looking at him for the first time—and your attention is wholly too much for him to handle.
So he decides he needs to do something more Kei Tsukishima-aligned.
“Yeah,” He looks away from you, towel still held in his grip, as if this is a totally casual conversation. He’s trying to act like he doesn’t care, which usually is easy for him. Except, he’s finding that with you watching, he cares a lot. “If you get lost looking for them, then everything will just take too long.”
Well, he thinks, didn’t actually need to sound like a dick.
You react to the small dig in a way that makes his heart kick up pace and realize that you might have the perfect attitude to match your perfect face.
“Really,” You hum, brows rising in an unimpressed appraisal of him. Something that looks dangerously like a challenge flashes in your eyes. And then, your lips curve into a half-smirk that seriously might rewire his brain chemistry if he looks too long. “Better hurry, then. I heard that they’re starting soon. Hate to hang around here any longer than necessary.”
You say the word ‘here’ like it leaves a bad taste on your tongue. Like being at Karasuno, entertaining this conversation is a total chore.
You’re just as sarcastic as him, and the thought drives him crazy to think you’re going back to Tokyo once this practice match is all over.
Kiyoko makes a muffled noise that might be a stifled laugh that snaps him back to the moment. All at once, he remembers where he is, that there’s a gym full of people watching, and he just told you he’d get the scrimmage jerseys so you wouldn’t waste time.
And there he was, wasting time, all because your pretty smirk matched his energy.
He turns without saying anything further, off to run his voluntary errands. From the corner of his eye, he sees you bow your head politely to Kiyoko before retreating back towards the Nekoma bench.
Tanaka comes into view, then, and he makes a conscious effort to look anywhere but you. The last thing he needed was for his obnoxiously loud teammate to notice him staring at you. Delivering the jerseys to the Nekoma side is relatively painless, too, because you’re already off helping someone tape their fingers and one of the players just takes the bag from him.
He refuses to acknowledge the seed of disappointment sitting in his chest at not being able to talk to you again.
Things go a little smoother from there. Mostly because he has the match to distract himself with—the several practice matches they run through—but also because you stay seated on the opposing team’s bench for relatively the whole time. You’re less dangerous, so far away.
It’s hours later, when everyone’s wrapping up, that his eyes drift towards you again. Like there’s a magnetic force pulling his attention in your direction and he hates it so much he’s starting to get annoyed with himself.
You’re kneeling on the gym floor, gear bags surrounding you on almost all sides as you sort through them to pack away for the trip back to Tokyo. Engrossed in your task, you—hopefully—don’t notice his staring problem. But he does admit he’s probably being a little too obvious by stealing glimpses of you whenever he thinks he can get away with it.
He’s helping to take the net down, a Nekoma player he doesn’t know the name of assisting him on the opposite end. The floor is almost ready to get wiped down, and yet both teams are mingling and talking throughout the gym. Kageyama looks like he’s trying to place a curse on Nekoma’s setter.
Through the din of dozens of separate conversations happening at once, someone calls out the name Kuroo. He knows that’s the Nekoma captain. And because he’s still watching you with the focus of a devoted man, he sees how you glance up.
He sees how you look towards the tall, opposing captain. Your intelligent eyes track the conversation between Kuroo and Nekoma’s libero—the one who called out in the first place—all while you’re still crouched in the pile of bags.
Oh. He gets it now. You like him.
Kei doesn’t know you. Not even a little bit. All he’s done is watch you from afar for the past few hours and said a maximum of twenty words, half of which were laced with thinly veiled ridicule. But he thinks he can picture it pretty clearly, how you have a crush on Kuroo.
He’s not surprised. Kuroo’s tall. He’s got that dark hair and stupidly winning grin that Kei’s certain makes him a total charmer in Tokyo. They’re qualities that Kei himself doesn’t possess, and though he’s not one to get jealous, he is faintly familiar with the burn of envy.
He finds himself mourning his chance with you before he even tried. Not that he would. He’s got a reputation to uphold. He’s supposed to be smug and standoffish and a little bit of a dick.
(Or maybe be a total douchebage. But he still has to stretch out, clean up the court, make nice with Nekoma, and go do homework, so he doesn’t want to be too hard on himself.)
This whole thought process takes place in a span of a few seconds. But he feels vindicated, all the same, because you’re still looking at Kuroo. He doesn’t notice that you don’t have the dreamy look of a teenage girl admiring her crush from afar, but he’s still reeling from the fact that you affect him so much that he’s acting out of character.
Even though his outward appearance gives away nothing that he’s currently thinking. Thankfully, his bored expression hasn’t changed once since you entered the gym, betraying none of the inner turmoil he’s currently grappling with.
“Tetsuro,” You call out, derailing his train of thought abruptly.
And. Fuck. That’s Kuroo’s first name, he thinks. You’re on a first name basis with Kuroo. This doesn’t bode well for him. The theory of you using his possible given name is tried and tested when the captain turns in your direction not even a moment later, eyes rolling and long arms thrown up exasperatedly.
“What do you want now?”
Kei’s mind does another pause and doubletake, a frown finally overtaking the total nothingness on his face before. Kuroo’s tone with you is… less than friendly. And he should know, considering his track record in how he goes about interacting with people on a daily basis. Kuroo sounds like he’d rather not have you talk to him, at all, let alone interrupt his conversation with the libero.
“Kuroo!” Coach Nekomata calls out, voice just an edge commanding that makes everyone in the gym freeze. He’s not being mean, like Kei’s heard other coaches in the prefecture can be known to yell.
But he’s definitely telling Kuroo that he better listen and listen closely.
Kei is only a little confused when your head snaps towards the coach as well as Kuroo’s. Pretty much the entire gym, save for a few Nekoma members, have stopped whatever they were doing to watch the interaction play out.
He’s just glad he’s not the only one watching you now, too. Plausible deniability and all that, he thinks.
“Yes, sir.” Kuroo’s tone is attentive, acknowledging. It’s the voice of someone who’s spent years under the tutelage of the same, steady man. The voice of someone responding to someone they admire greatly.
Someone who’s more than a little chastised.
“Don’t talk to your sister that way. She is our guest on this trip, and as her older brother you should be looking out for her.” Coach Nekomata’s voice carries throughout the gym in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if everyone weren’t so nosy. Despite the audience, the older man doesn’t even blink in anyone’s direction besides his team’s leader.
“Yes, sir.” Kuroo nods, steadfastly not meeting your suddenly smug grin. It’s at this point, and only this point, do the dots start connecting for him at the slowest rate of speed.
And then Kei’s mind blanks.
For as smart as he is, as Tadashi brags on him, it takes him entirely too long to process that Coach Nekomata is talking about you.
It helps him come to terms a little easier when you stick your tongue out at Kuroo. You don’t act like someone with a crush. You act like someone’s sister. You’re clearly taunting, and if Kei’s mind wasn’t currently melting he’d think that might make you made for him.
He’s known he’s not the only one listening to the conversation from the start, just probably (hopefully?) the only one with as much interest as him, though he may look totally indifferent. So it’s not surprising to him in the slightest when Hinata’s voice cuts across the entire gym.
“Woah, that’s your sister?!”
He’s not surprised, but Kei flinches at the sound and hopes no one notices all the same. He doesn’t like this—this odd feeling that has him twisted up on the inside, losing his cool in situations he usually wouldn’t blink at.
“Since birth,” You hum, glancing up at Hinata for a fraction of a second before switching your focus to Kuroo. Kei thinks for a moment that your attention dances over himself a beat longer than necessary, but the logical side of his brain that’s screaming to regain control tells him he’s being ridiculous. You’ve got no reason to be looking at him. Not in the way his stare kept drifting towards you all afternoon. “Tetsuro, can you come help me with these bags?”
“Just do it—” Kuroo pauses his retort, no doubt feeling the heavy weight of Coach Nekomata’s stare. You could probably ask him to carry you to the train station and Kuroo would be forced to agree, just to placate his coach. “Fine.”
Kuroo kneels next to you and aids in your task, his previous conversation abandoned. Pretty quickly, the remainder of the gym goes back to whatever they were doing before, more than a handful of Nekoma players snickering at their captain’s chastising. But he does move. He’s still watching you from the corner of his eye.
He feels a little lighter knowing that you don’t like Kuroo. And suddenly, the reason why hits in the center of his chest like a truck.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
He’s got a crush on Kuroo’s younger sister.
And you’re about to board a train back to Tokyo.
bonus note from sunnie: surprise shawty! Obsessed with the tsukki x kuroo’s sister!reader pairing and had this idea. and many more ideas. i’ll probably write some more, but enjoy this for now!
lmk what you think!
tsukishima kei is a busy man. if he’s not acing his classes, he’s repping sendai city and racking up points for his team. he barely ever had free time on his hands — specifically, you in his hands.
so, when he stopped by your place, it took you by surprise to see him standing at your doorstep. he was heaving, hair and clothes tassled by the wind. one thing led to another and…
“kei, c’mon..” you whispered again. he kept going, hungry and starved for your lips, deep groans in annoyance and protest to your wishes. he finally had you in his hands — how in the world could he pass up this opportunity? he kissed you in such a manner that if he pulled away for just a bit, you’d vanish from his touch.
he pulled you in closer by the waist, hands roaming around your body for something, anything to keep him on steady ground. his lips were no different from his hands, ravaging and becoming completely insatiable. tongues dancing, teeth clashing — it was just too much for you. with a whine and a small push to his shoulders, he finally pulled away, a string of your shared saliva covering the gap between your lips.
“kei, it’s getting late. don’t you have some work to do?” you panted as you clung to his sweater, small amounts of worry peeking through your voice. you knew how busy he was and how committed he was to his passions, but in this moment, nothing could match how badly he needed you.
“one more, please. please let me stay,” he begged in reply, voice laced with fear of an absence of you, even if it’s just a second. his glasses were long tossed aside, his hair tasseled from your fingers, lips swollen with kisses, and cheeks flushed a deep, bright red. his hand cupped your jaw as his wide hazel eyes searched for the smallest glint of permission to keep going.
YOU CANT JUST SAY YOU HAVE A TSUKKI FIC THEN LEAVE US STARVING PLEASEEEE
tsukishima loves torturing you
enemies to lovers trope - tsukki x reader
Ი𐑼 pre note. LMFAO i was cooking nonnie!!!! cookin!! this many words takes time lol i hope you like reading as much i liked writing it
warnings. explicit nsfw. minors DNI
content. 5.6k words || rough sex || college au || touch starved!tsukki || overstim || early orgasms || missionary and prone bone || light choking || fem!recieving oral || tsukki is a munch || late communication || sweet!loser has had enough trope || rly good arguments || good girl isn't a saint || mean guy is a loser || enemies to lovers trope || lying and red flag behavior || goofy yams appearance
He fucks his hand to the thought of you for four nights leading up to his game. It isn't the first time he's done it, but the consistency is heavily fueled by recent events. The stuttering, the stumbling, the adorable uncertainty about him, the three consecutive times you check him out after he gives you little more than a handful of words.
You like him. That's a pornographic concept for somebody starved of affection. So, no, he doesn't last longer than a couple minutes.
Seeing you in class again doesn't add or subtract anything from the fantasy-- and that's the weird part. You must have been perfect that day. Maybe it was the little streak of pen on your face, the mark of himself visible on you.
You carry an obvious awareness of what he did to you for the remainder of the week. He's back to being staunchly ignored. He's a menace with that clickity-clackity pen but you're prepared with earbuds. His teasing grants zero reaction beyond some tension in your shoulder blades. You pack your things quicker than he can rise, flying out the door before he can get the satisfaction of watching, for any longer.
That's the beauty of it, though. You don't ask him to apologize.
It's why when he catches you, in the stands, Thursday evening, he sucks his teeth and doesn't acknowledge you right away.
He has the entire game to think about why you might have shown up.
His uniform fits him better than the usual baggy attire he sports to your 8 a.m. It's actually the first thing you notice; his broad shoulders and the way his back fills out the number on his jersey. He moves with ease; quickly, though- with explosive athleticism you wouldn't have been able to imagine him with on your own. In class, he seemed part-snail how little he moved, how slow his swagger was between the desks even when he was late.
Though you stare at him hard, you lose sight of him often because you're never looking at his number. It's 17, you learn, after nearly twenty minutes of studying how his body moves.
Eye-candy aside, the game lasts much longer than you're prepared for. They go to full sets, and everybody clearly knows the rules better than you do. You aren't sitting in a group, you're stuck on the end of the bleachers, holding yourself, and flinching every time the crowd erupts. The thought to leave crosses your mind many times.
And yet, you are steadfast at your post. You don't take the opportunity for one sole reason.
He needs to pay.
You wondered why the invite felt so exclusive for a while. It felt unnatural for that boy to invite anyone anywhere-- let alone just a classmate he liked to tease. You soon found that his kindness, indeed, was too good to be true. Your hopes had been raised and sufficiently smashed back down in a million pieces. You discovered the streak of ink across your face when you stopped by the restroom after your third class.
It took every bone in your body to keep yourself from screaming when you realized you walked around campus like that all morning- and it was his fault.
After sitting on it for a day, muted rage eventually stirred up a sick, unshakable, feeling of responsibility. You had allowed yourself believe he might have been a nice, maybe misunderstood, guy all along- and there you were, suffering for it.
You still are, seated, over it and over him, while everybody else raises to their feet to clap for their Sendai Frogs' victory.
There you remain until the crowd has dwindled to a few stragglers. Some workers with brooms and trash bags pass you, sparing unsure looks. You tap your fingers, legs crossed, chin up. You know that he saw you. You're not going to come groveling to him, beyond entertaining the offer to come here.
It takes far too long. You're tired, it's way past your bedtime, and you cancelled some plans for this, so a storm was ready for when he comes dawdling up the metal stairs.
Tsukishima has his hands in his pockets, a towel draped over his shoulder, and slides on instead of athletic shoes. He's still flushed, but not out of breath. You hate how hot he is-- and hesitate when you notice he's got different glasses on. You look at him. He looks back at you. You squint at him. He squints back at you.
A big, tired sigh-groan makes you tighten.
"Iiii thought you were mad at me-?" He jeers, leaning back on the railing with a nonchalant sniff. He crosses his feet and finds more interest in sliding his shoe on and off than your stiff, unrelenting stare.
"What would I be mad at you for?"
He blinks and tilts his head back at the speed, the efficiency, and clear animosity in your query.
"Jesus."
He clears his throat at your frown, unable to bounce anything off of you, and a little cornered despite the gigantic gymnasium that houses you both. Instead of answering your question, he tries to steer you away from the very reason you tolerated this night.
"Did you like the game?"
Your words are lightning fast. Zippy and hard. His linger, slow, lacking in apology and soaked in sarcasm.
"Why would you do something like that?"
"Hmm-mm-mm... Whyyy would I do something like that...?"
"Yes. Tell me why."
"Tch... Tch... Tch... I don't know? Maybe- ohhh, yeah-! Because it was funny? Christ."
"That kind of thing is funny to you?"
"Hm. What kind of thing are we talking about?"
"Hurting other people is funny to you?"
"Mmmnever said that."
"You hurt me. Many times. Because you thought it was funny."
"I'm so sorry that you feel that way."
The oh-so-done-with-this attitude he has is, truly, bad enough. But the tiny smile he wears through your back-and-forth, like he can't be bothered to even view your anger as real, is worse. You uncross your legs. Your hands grip the edge of the metal bench so tight your knuckles lighten.
"It was just a joke," He swats off your sincerity, all your emotion, like a pesky gnat.
You stand up and snap, really snap at him. You shout, "You made me look like an idiot!"
"Lighten up!" He laughs, exhausted, a hand slipping through his salty, wet locks. Hours after a tough game, days after late-night fantasizing, months of repressing a crush, and years of building destructive emotional habits wracked up to come out in a tired, too-casual confession.
"Damn, (Y/n)-! I was fucking flirting with you!"
A breath of air fills your lungs. You notice it, how breathing makes you pause, and you realize that you're standing pretty close to him. Like you would, or even could, fight him. He finds a similar pause and swallows the lump in his throat. The immediate weight of regret weighs his head down. He would've rather taken the punch than admit that, in hindsight.
He slides a hand down his jaw and sighs. Then, you watch him wipe his face with his towel and readjust against the railing.
It's clearly your turn to speak.
"I didn't... uh," You wipe your sweaty palms on your pant legs- heartbeat feeling a little weak in your chest. "Yeah, I didn't gather that. From, y'know. The way you are."
He doesn't look at you, but snorts, and chortles, at your particular phrasing. His laugh is terribly cute. You can really see how tired he is when you choose to lean on the railing next to him, instead.
"Thank you. Really, thank you for that, Aristotle."
"Fuck you," You chuckle, tired too.
He glances down to you with raised brows. There's almost a smile.
"Oh, yeah?"
It's no effort, really. He doesn't try to make you blush, but it happens anyway.
You don't take the bait because you're better than that.
"They're about to close," Tsukishima sighs.
He motions to the more anxious-looking workers, idling at the exits for the two of you to be done with your lovers' quarrel. You jump, wincing at how inconsiderate such a thing was.
You walk with him, a little behind, because you don't know your way around. You give the employees enough apology nods along the way to make up for his refusal to do the same. He leads you to an offshoot section, near the locker rooms, and close to an exit. You're at ease because you think this might be where you parked your car.
"We can keep talking, if you wanna-," He glances around your face, pausing, so he can savor the reaction for the rest of his offer, "Go back to my place."
You're nothing if not polite.
"Um..."
A little breath fills you up, and you look away as you consider the suggestion. He watches with a smirk as color tinges your features, and your hands don't know where to go. Such a pretty girl, with no idea what to do with yourself. He wants to be your dirty little mistake badly. He wants it to be weird next week.
"Actually-,"
He cuts your thinking, your almost-no maybe-yes off, with a very unconvincing recollection. He jerks his thumb to the locker rooms and says, "I need to shower first. Before we go."
"-Wait for me."
It's not a question because he already knows that you will. Before he abandons you to wait again, alone in the hallway, he leaves you with a quick peck to the temple and a cheeky, "Come join me if you get bored."
Your skin tingles in the aftermath of his kiss. You touch where he held your chin, then where his lips were, and stand still in shock. You look back, but he's already out of sight.
He calls out, a bit echo-y off the locker room tiles, "Or don't! It's whatever."
Of course you don't.
But, when he said 'his place' you thought he wouldn't be in student housing. Not that you could judge; that's what you were used to. He was living in a slightly better accommodations, but still has a bunkmate. It's much like your own dorm room, but a little off, uncanny, and he can tell you aren't digging the threat of an extra person.
"He's working tonight," He throws a nod to the bottom bed.
You lean against a desk, dizzy, and unsure if saying yes was the smart move.
You don't know what to call him. He feels familiar, but just short of comforting, in this foreign room. The scale of its -his- newness weighs on you, multiplied by the fact that you had been in new places all evening. You had been so angry about how he treated you for so long because you cared- but now that's resolved, kind of, so what is there left to address?
He isn't going to guide you. You grasp, desperately, at nothing.
"You..." You feel his pressure right away and know you won't be articulate, "Said... that- you were- um... flirting. This whole time."
His duffel bag thumps onto the floor, across the room.
"Yeah."
A missed beat. You meet his eyes, briefly, but shrink at the thought of his offer at the gym. As he nears you, your heart squeezes in anticipation, "Wh-y-?"
"Because you're cute, sweetheart," A chill whisper ghosts past your cheek. Bordering on condescending. He puts two hands on either side of you.
Bad news. Bad news. Bad news. He's a walking red flag, you remind yourself. You've never met anyone so downright mean in all your years-- but, did his actions signify that he was totally irredeemable?
You couldn't get behind that type of black and white thinking, as you spare a wide-eyed glance at his hungry face. He is deceivingly pretty.
He leans down to keep you pinned into the desk- you hope, but aren't sure, that it belongs to him. You shiver at his words, brace against his hold, and shy away from that sharp gaze. He's so impatient.
It begs the question- one that keeps racing through your mind- Could this be the only way he shows affection?
You have a feeling that if you pull away, he'll never reach for you again. That, if you don't look at him right, it's going to be over.
So, out of curiosity, and in your best attempt to be kind, you relax. Your muscles stop fighting his grip. You press into his front and meet his hard-working expression with a softer, easier one. You trust your gut one last time and pray he doesn't make you regret it.
You whisper back, "You think I'm cute?"
Tsukishima's attention is stolen by the way you feel against him. Skin on skin. Cloth on skin. Cloth on cloth, fingers edged under his shirt collar. The weight, the warmth, of your tummy on his. His palms just keep you there, no longer rushed in his pulling, and his jaw twitches at how you search him so openly.
"Tsk."
His false disinterest might have discouraged you, had he not been sporting a generous erection that he kept firm between your bodies.
You repeat, eyes unwavering, noting his sudden flightiness, "You think I'm cute?"
It cracks his thin confidence. He looks down and away, wincing, at your parting thighs. You're soft- sooo soft.
He's breathing harder than you, holding you firmer, lost for fractions of a snotty response. You're distracting. He can't think beyond how good you feel.
Then, your fingers splay up into his fluffy blond hair. He takes a big, loud inhale through his nose at the sensation and sigh-laughs the breath back out. You bite your lip, captured, by how much he enjoys it, and dip forward to try and look him in the eye.
"Because..." You find his eyes for a fleeting moment, "I think you're a little more than cute."
"Hm-mmn."
He pushes his head into your grasp, seething, at your nails, and the way your thighs squeeze him. So, he was proving to be all talk and zero bite. You enjoy the way he holds you in his gaze, how he ruts against you like he's never had pussy before.
You grip the roots of his hair, and smile, a bit giddy with power, "Why'd you take me back to your place if we're just going to talk?"
He laughs. His eyes roll back to life with a sobered groan, "Ohh, yeah. Y'got me."
His tone freezes you. It weakens your grip. You're shocked by how quick he can shake off your touch. It doesn't happen without effort, but he can. And that makes you a little embarrassed that you believed, even for a second, that he was an amateur.
Because he knows how to touch you. His fingers pry from the desk to find your hips. He wedges strong thumbs into the crease of your thighs and rocks you forward, making you grip onto his shoulders with a startled sound. You have to wrap your legs around him. He takes a breath and envelops you in his arms. His lips meet the side of your neck.
"Mm-ch--, That's better, yeah?"
You sigh at the mark he surely has left and the fact that you fell for another one of his tricks. You're getting pushed off-balance, but held, hugged, closer, where he wants you.
"Or..." He slips the bra strap off of your shoulder and pulls the hem of your shirt down, "Did you like me more when you thought you were in charge?"
The muddy mix of pain and pleasure from his rough kisses confuses your opinion of him. You gasp at his teeth, squirm at his roaming hands.
"I don't know if I even like you."
He's quick to respond. Just like your argument back at the gym.
"We've got all night for you to figure it out."
Now that you're visibly his- he takes your chin between his fingers. You wear a pout he knows wouldn't be as adorable if it wasn't so unmistakably yours.
You lean in first and kiss him, like you're not conflicted. Sweet, gentle, and forgiving; how he knows you to be. You want him to return your patience and understanding.
It's not his style.
He hums against your mouth, deepening, prying open, what little you give him. When he rocks his hips against you, you knock over a cup of pencils in the process of finding a better leveraged place for your palm.
"Shit," His snicker brings you apart for a moment as he cranes to watch a few clatter onto the floor.
"You should pick that up before he gets back."
You scoff at him. So this isn't his desk. His smile would also indicate that he was waiting for something snarky in return.
"I thought you said we had all night."
He seethes, rubs your thighs, and replays the last minute in his head, "Did I?"
"You did."
A rare moment of sincerity raises his brows- a nod, and he remembers aloud, "That's right. I did."
His hands run up to the waistband of your pants and he starts toying with the button, the zipper- his tongue wets his bottom lip.
"I lied."
You don't inch away from his touch or interrupt how he starts to unclothe you. He's testing the waters and you want to show him you can be calm. You can get down.
"He does work tonight," He reaffirms, with a soft peck to your temple, "But he'll be back around midnight."
That was a huge cushion of time. You share a look of understanding first, then a greedier, faster kiss.
He hums at the feeling of your skin as he dives his hands down your clothes to massage at your hips. The way he moves your body for you screams that he's already been fucking you in his mind for a long time.
"Mm," You twist your head away from his bombardment of kisses, so he directs them down the curve of your neck, "We should hurry, then."
Tsukishima pulls his shirt off the second you're done telling him yes. You grin at the sight and join him, rushing a trail of messy kisses and scratches down his body. As he pulls his last pant leg free from his foot, he throws an arm to the ceiling.
The top bunk? You blink.
You crane to take a better look at his bed and strip a little slower. You eye his bulge, but stay thinking about the weight limit on these beds. The rules in your room dictated that the smallest roommate gets the top bunk. It was safer and easier that way.
You summit the thing regardless, grateful that you know the trick of how to get up on your own-- because he doesn't have the ladder attachment that comes with the bed.
"Is your roommate taller than you?"
The way he climbs up after you is practiced, and reminiscent of how well he moved during that game. You want to tell him, somehow, that you thought he was really sexy, how he played tonight-- but you shake the desire off. There's no way he would let you compliment him without tearing you down.
"No."
He doesn't ask why, but you see that he's shuffling through all the possibilities as to why you'd be thinking about his roomie.
"Then-," You shift, hand on the ceiling, and pluck a pillow from under your back, "Why did you take the top bunk?"
"Because I wanted the top bunk." He answers.
His simple phrasing gives you enough insight to how he generally is. A casual bully to not just you, but anyone that can tolerate him. His body takes up so much barely-there space above you. The air gets heavy, sweeter, but thicker- and you hold your breath.
"Don't look at me like that," A hand slips between your closed knees, ultra gentle, but daunting in its bigness.
You shudder and let him part your thighs.
"Like wh-at?"
"Liiiiike," He sinks into the prone, breath hot but his mouth hotter as he licks a stripe up your clothed cunt. His fingertips hook under your panties, "I'm gonna eat you alive."
His cruel sense of humor doesn't make you laugh, but it does turn you on.
"You're-ha-h, not funny-," You struggle and sigh, trembly, as he pushes them to the side instead of wasting time to pull them off.
He's patient and slow for a while. He listens. He adjusts, when you flinch- he learns your body and studies you, like a game.
Long fingers bring you forward into his mouth. You keep your hands on top of his, heart fluttering at the sensation of his knuckles and the strength of grip.
You worry that you're not necessarily fresh- your morning shower was 7? hours ago. You are not shaved. It takes a minute, or ten of them, to relax.
"Mnn-hh," Open-mouthed, dripping with clear from the chin, he orders, "You a robot, or what? Pull my hair. Do something."
He's the most sour you've ever heard him get. You gasp at a bite to the plush of your trembly thigh.
"Ow-! You-h-Ah,"
He groans against your pussy, tongue swirling, messy, around your swollen clit since that's how you like it, apparently. Your expression of discomfort weighs on him, so he repeats slower.
"Gimme somethin' or I'll keep doin' it." Harsh. Muffled. But inarguably enthusiastic.
You've been vocal. He's just greedy and wants you to be his thoroughly broken-in good girl.
The problem is that you aren't. You're no wide-eyed virgin saint. And he's not the secretly-sweet ready-to-be-changed guy you want, either. He likes how mean he is. It's practiced. You're just each other's folly for now, and that has to be enough for the night.
Thankfully, any pretty boy willing to go that hard for you can get it.
You arch into him, hands slipping through his damp locks, a broken giggle on your tongue at the ridiculousness you've both tripped and fallen down into.
He likes biting you. You find this out the hard way. When you don't pull hard enough, or when you fuck his name up.
"Just-," He struggles to get his shins out of the bottom of the wood frame, because what you didn't get to see was half of his legs dangling from the bed. "Call me Tsukki." He's so long and lanky it's impossible to keep the grin off of your face, even more impressive that you manage not to laugh until he's back on top of you.
His glasses are foggy. You chortle at him.
"Tsukki, you- shoul-d-- hahaa-," You giggle at his deadpan expression, and fail to tease him because, again, he looks so silly.
When you're done, he slides them off of his face with one hand. He reaches above you, and tenderly places his glasses on one of the wooden bed posts.
You stare at them for seconds after he's done setting them aside. This might have added to how strong of an effect his new face gives you. Now, that was a volleyball player. He squints at you, amusement twitching up his lips, at how you flex against him. His bare, amber eyes are so severe and you can't seem to catch your breath.
"What?"
"N-othing," You wince at your voice crack.
He laughs at you and frees you both of the last of your clothes. Once again, it cannot be overstated how pretty his laugh is, even when it's at your expense.
He is all-too aware of why your thighs squeeze him harder, why your chest is rising and falling uneven, why your face is getting hotter. He's slow, and drunk on your slickness coating his cock, "Mm... Do I look... different?"
"Just a little bit better?" His teeth make an appearance this time as he slides his arms under the pillow, closer, looking down at you, "Ohh, c'mon, y'can't talk to me? Don't wanna laugh?"
"You're- ah, an asshole," You sigh, shaky, and needy at how he lines himself up with you.
His kisses are rough and ruttish on the side of your face now that there's nothing in the way. He shushes you, too, as if he hasn't dismissed you enough.
"Fu-ck," He's vocal as he buries himself into you, denying you space, denying you air, or humility, "Mmhh-ah,"
His hand takes the whole lower half of your face and twists it up, away, as he soaks up your gasping. He can feel that you're able to take him already, he can hear you love it-- inflating his ego, and of course, he can't let that go unspoken for.
"Feels good, yeah?" He taunts against your ear, cock jammed against your cervix.
He feels like the kind of hook-up you won't ever forget. So heavy as he weighs you down, grabbing you, holding you, needing you despite knowing next to nothing about you. His hands are sampling every inch of your sticky skin. He's rough and not so calculated anymore. You laugh, a breathless version of one, at least, and return what strength you could afford.
"You're- so- h-ah, cute," You admit between gasps, brows squeezed together, fingers buried in his fluffy blond hair.
He tries to roll his eyes, but it just doesn't work. His head is heavy in the crook of your shoulder, his sounds exaggerated because they're immediately in the shell of your ear.
Fullness- real, and slick, and burning hot, fills you: He utters broken and whiny phrases of how perfect you are, every time he bottoms out, and soon he's wrapping his arms around you again.
He never struck you as a hugger, not on the first night, and certainly not a clingy one at that.
"Mnh!" You squeak at his biting, nails digging lines down his broad back.
You think about how good he looked in his jersey again. It was practically foreplay. What was his number? Maybe you could look pictures up online.
"H-ah...Y-our g-ame--,"
Your words fail you again and you can feel his lips turn into that shitty smirk against yours.
You groan, frustrated, and lock your ankles around him. He's deeper, and it's wetter, it's louder. You think about who might live on the other side of the wall.
"Mn-nh!!" He pants, brow furrowed, at the gesture, "Careful...fuck, hah..."
Did 'careful' mean he was close? You don't have time to get proud about it because he's already pulling out and catching his breath, collecting his senses again.
"Turn around."
You breathe in tandem for a moment. At first, you don't move, because there is simply no room for traditional doggy. And, he looks like he belongs in a magazine, all twisted and muscled in the dim light with a bouncy, slick cock.
Then you remember there are variations.
You're stuffed with him already. You gasp and your pussy flexes hard around him as he reaches around to hold your neck.
"This okay?"
"Don't squeeze."
You hesitate before adding an ultra-soft, "Please."
He kisses the back of your head and readjusts his grip, substantially lighter.
Okay, maybe you do want him to squeeze. You don't test it, though - you don't know him. And you can't, because he's fucking all the words out of you again.
"Ah-h-!" You whine into his pillow- legs trembling- full body getting wrecked as he pushes his hips into yours.
You whine his nickname; easy consonants that spill pretty, quieted, against his bedsheets. The bed is not sturdy, you notice, as you egg him on with very little effort.
His lips are on your shoulder as he mutters, mostly to himself, "Yeah. Should've fucked you sooner."
You feel it running down your thighs, the sweat and juice all mixed together - it burns against the bites he left on you. There's one that probably won't heal for weeks, long after he's done with you.
He fucks you until you're a babbling, incoherent mess. He entertains you, too, teasing and picking apart your sounds.
"I know, ohh, I know," His groans and sighs fall over your skin, inspire a deeper arch in your spine, relax you and ease your fussing.
You're not typically so easy, but he's kept you on your toes for more surprising twists than an premature orgasm. You're full of him, crying, whining, and clawing at his sheets that smelled just like him as you cum hard, way too early.
"Fuuck, yeah. Good girl," His eyes are wide with surprise behind you.
You can't see it. You could've maybe deduced it from his tone, but can't hear him through the milky high you're swimming in. "You okay?" Is a bit facetious, at first.
It's for the best.
This was lovely, but you can't help but get lost in the emptiness the refractory period leaves you with.
Salt burns your eyes. He's still a bully. You had been so vulnerable, and for what? He lies, at almost every opportunity, until he's caught. He's insensitive. You weren't looking for one night stands anymore, but he has to make you bring the list back out.
You feel a hand zip off your neck, and all of his weight shifting after he pulls out.
"Hey," Tsukishima cranes to look at you, wetting his pillow with overstimulated tears, and you sniffle, confused, at the panic written all over him, "Are you okay?"
"Mhm," You blink the sting away but remain still, heavy, and a little sad, but you can't remember why.
He lightly strokes some hair from your face, "Was it the choking? Was it too hard?"
"No..."
'No,' Ghosts past his lips, and he's trying to think of what else he could've done to upset you. His shoulders droop a bit when he's got a long list of qualifying actions.
Could it be that he's actually fretting over you? He sells it well, thoroughly disheveled, because his hair has dried oddly and it's obvious he can't see well. You learn that every second you choose to not speak slowly, incrementally, kills him.
He is ultra-weary by the time you have a blanket wrapped around you and a bottle of water in your hand.
You didn't want his compassion to end. You liked holding him in limbo. If this was his punishment for months of torment, it was -overall- a miniscule price to pay.
Sitting on the edge of his mattress, your feet automatically swing back and forth. You take in the volleyball posters on every wall as he gets dressed, fails to find his fallen glasses, and cleans up most of his roommate's pencils you spilled earlier. You have a quiet sip of cold water and smell a fistful of his blanket. You glance to an empty spot on the wooden bedframe.
"I like your room." You break your silence with a hoarse, tiny declaration.
Tsukishima stills. He has to be very intentional about not sounding like a dick, for once. He slowly drops the last pencil in and adjusts the cup to where he thinks it was, "Yeah?"
From this angle, you notice he's still fully hard and struggle not to look a second time.
"Tsukki?"
That tone you take on beckons him toward you. It's honied, and domestic, and makes his guilt feel a like a ton that he drags behind him. He only has himself to blame for getting so attached.
You reach for him and take his face in your palms. He looks up at you, searching as hard as he can with blurry vision.
"I'm okay. I promise."
Absentminded swinging stills at his touch.
"And...sorry you didn't get yours," You're not really sorry, but you desperately want to address his situation downstairs, and overstay your welcome, if you can.
His head rests heavy on your bare thighs with a pained grin.
"I mean," His grip slides up the outside of your thigh, eyes following, as he fights the desire to be truthful. He grimaces through it for you, "I came in the shower before this, so..."
"At the gym?"
"...Yeah."
The two of your share a chuckle; yours is amused, his is late and stilted. His head gets weightier as he nuzzles his face between your thighs, sucking slow kisses on top of the old bitemarks. You sip on your water, lids low, and part your legs for him.
Seething, his hands make quick work of your modesty cover as he starts to lap, apologetic, at you.
There's a loud ch-thunk of a door lock being opened, followed quick by it sliding open.
It shoots a shared flinch through both of you. He only has time to smooth your blanket back down and wipe his chin before his roommate comes in.
"Yo," He announces himself, then looks up, "Ohh, shit."
He puts your little scene together quick by the amount of skin showing and the position. You stiffen with chills and pull the fuzziness tighter. Your stomach sinks with disbelief that it's already midnight.
In one smooth motion, he covers his eyes, catches the door before it even has a chance to close, and turns back into the hallway.
You can both hear him check his phone with a quiet Fuck just outside the door. Tsukishima's phone buzzes in his pocket with a storm of late texts.
He sighs. His face finds your lap again as he thinks about what he wants to do.
"I can go-"
"What? No," He looks up only to cut you off hard, absent-minded, deep in thought.
He's got the plan mapped out in the next few seconds, but is slow to part from your legs, groaning, "You have to get dressed, though. He's a total virgin." He sucks his teeth and adds, "Obviously."
You shift, giddy with excitement, at the invitation to stay.
Ი𐑼 post note. honestly @polodetti major shout out i wouldn't have finished this if you hadn't requested. guys. i didn't know i was capable of doing full fics anymore. also? rarely do i find i have brainrot of one particular character. hope you enjoy the latest tsukki posting!!!
— cw: smut, bestfriend!tsukki x fem reader, penetration, unprotected sex, requited feelings (if you squint) | MINORS DNI
— word count: 0.9k
— a/n: here's part 2 of platonic cockwarming bsf!tsukki ♥︎ thank you for enjoying part 1 and for wanting more !! this can still be read as a stand alone drabble though ! enjoyed doing this mini series sm, let's end this year with a bang *winks*
“you think it’s funny?”
tsukishima’s balls deep inside you, still resisting the urge to move. it’s a game he already lost the moment he asked for you to sit on his cock. he sees you giggling at his question, almost laughing at how he easily broke with your tight pussy.
how come your calm and collected best friend's lost his mind when you already bottomed out on his throbbing length?
“knowing you, i should be the one more affected by this, kei,” you snide a remark, playing into his current state: brows furrowing, chest heaving more erratically, hands gripping your waist tighter than earlier.
honestly, tsukishima’s enamored and he doesn’t want to admit it. he likes the way you look good on top of him. he’s observing every strand of hair falling perfectly into place on your face, and how your plump lips curl into a smirk everytime he makes eye contact. he’s getting frustrated at how you’re hardly breaking now, after almost losing your mind earlier as he slowly entered his cock into you, when an idea briefly crossed his mind.
tsukishima lowers his hands to grip your ass and thrusts up.
“ah!” you moan at his sudden action, putting your hands on the wall to leverage on something, just anything, to snap you back to reality. you squeeze your eyes shut and whine at the sensation.
“you liked that?” he chuckles, biting his lip while pressing one hand on your back.
you grab the hair behind his head as you slowly nod.
it’s happening. he’s doing it. what’s supposed to be just cockwarming turned into full-blown sex.
you’re actually being fucked by your best friend tsukishima.
and it feels so fucking good that he's hitting the right spots inside you, the slick of your pussy slowly pooling down his balls as you start to fuck up and down his cock.
it’s sensual and filthy, it almost feels illegal. you look like lovers making love right now; his lips kissing your neck, his hands exploring every inch of your body, your pretty sighs egging him to risk everything.
tsukishima groans as he thrusts more, pulling out to tease your entrance then bottoming out again to kiss the deepest parts of your pussy.
“o-oh my god,” you elicit pretty moans as his living room is filled up with sounds of skin and slick and of you. “feels good, kei.”
“fuck, say it again,” he grabs your face, fucking you harder. “i like when you say my name like that.”
“you feel good in me, kei.”
tsukishima almost growls at how he moaned so deeply. he grabs his shirt and throws it on the floor. he grabs your clothes next, signaling for you to take them off. and you do, throwing your clothes and panties on the floor, then unhooking your bra and throwing it beside the pile of clothes.
he’s speechless, looking at all of you, and it’s harder now that his glasses are all fogged up from the heat between the two of you. so you remove his glasses like you read his mind, placing it on his table before bouncing on his cock faster, his hand cupping your face to kiss you, tongues swirling against each other as you moan in his mouth.
tsukishima breathes you in as you ride him, lips smacking against each other as his cock massages your insides, as if he’s perfectly made for you.
“you- fuck,” he briefly breaks the kiss, lifting you up and placing your back flat on the couch. “you’re driving me crazy.”
tsukishima pins your legs up and quickly rubs his tip on your entrance. you want to complain, for him to satisfy your needs, to keep fucking you.
“kei, please-”
he puts it in, thrusting into you rapidly. you scream as he covers your mouth with his hand, his other massaging your chest.
“more?” tsukishima encloses his lips on your tits as he grinds into you, hips moving harder and rougher.
“yes,” you grab onto his blonde hair. “please, make me cum.”
your pleas drove him insane, pulling you closer, his forehead now pressed onto yours as he fucks you, hitting your sweet spot again and again and again, more than determined to ride your high.
and you feel a sudden knot on your stomach, you grip his arms, back arching, feeling the waves of orgasm about to crash, “‘m gonna cum, kei, fuck-”
“yeah?” tsukishima rubs your clit while fucking into you, “cum for me.”
your legs shake as your slick gushes out, cumming as your sweet nectar wraps around his cock. you moan his name over and over again, eyes tearing up at how good it feels finally cumming around him, and tsukishima’s so captivated at your fucked out state, him bottoming out one last time before pulling out.
“shit,” tsukishima pumps his load on your stomach, cock throbbing at the mess he made on you.
heavy breaths echo his living room, both your clothes messy on his floor, your bodies now intertwined on his couch.
tsukishima lets out a chuckled sigh before looking at you, reaching for his glasses and grabbing tissues to help clean the mess he made on you.
you clear your throat. “so," he looks up at you as you let out a giggle. “you’re good.”
“shut up,” tsukishima avoids eye contact, his cheeks growing a shade darker. you don’t know if it’s humiliation or flattery, probably a mixture of both, at how your mostly stoic ‘best friend’ that barely shows emotion suddenly becomes more passionate at something aside from volleyball.
for you.
tsukishima plants a kiss on your forehead before grabbing your clothes, helping you get dressed.
and you’re not one to complain.
after all, nothing’s platonic with tsukishima anymore.
wc: 1.0k
content warning: kinktober day 3 - squirt, smut, hubby lowk freakay tsukishima x reader, not proofread
note: i hand picked my kinktober days and i js realized its lowk generic bc its stuff im more comfy writing with... but i still hope u guys enjoy my stories >_<
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the air's simmering hot and melting your mind as your newlywed husband, tsukishima's got his long and thick fingers shoved up your desperate cunt that swallows him whole.
the sheets? they're damp and clinging onto your bare sweaty bodies as you let moans slip out of your mouth, your nails clinging onto his broad shoulders and forming tiny crescents.
"k-keep going, kei.. hnngh~" you encouraged, feeling him curl inside your walls that stretched to accommodate his digits.
his fingers are pumping in and out, going in glazed with your essence and out completely soaked before shoving them back in as you desperately yearned for more. he knows you're needy, each pump he can feel your walls clench and wrap tighter around him like you want to suck up his fingers and snap them off.
"i need you inside me, i can't take it anymore" you whined as you gripped his bicep while feeling him continuously finger fuck you down below like the freak he secretly is. your eyes were big and doe like, just his weakness that gets him every time.
"you were taking me so good, and now you want more?" tsukishima chuckles as he slows down his pace to fully take his digits out of your pussy that ached for more of his touch, "don't be so greedy or you'll regret it."
sliding his boxers down, tsukishima unleashes his painfully hard erection from its restricting cage called 'a pair of briefs' as you watched it bounce the moment it was uncaged and hit his lower abdomen to bounce right back up. his tip was a fiery pink and already dripped with precum from feeling your gummy walls tighten up around him.
biting your lower lip as you looked him up and down, this time, in a seductive way as you watched him stroke his cock that stood tall in his palm. this sight never gets old, watching this gorgeous tall blonde and lean man get off right in front of you before sliding right back in between your folds.
"ffuck..! you're so big.." whimpering right in his ear between deep breaths, the moment just a bit of his tip started to slowly sink and part its way past your slippery and plush gummy walls was enough to make you cum on the spot.
you never minded the stretch his cock puts you through, it's always worth the days you could never walk. getting his whole cock inside you was like getting your insides completely filled up, every movement, breathing, centimeter of change in position was enough to make you shiver with pleasure and send you off to lala land.
"you okay?" your husband asked with his hand on your flushed cheek, noticing a difference in how you're acting compared to previous times you've been intimate.
"yeah, it's just—something kind of feels different" you felt awfully too full, maybe the foreplay was just too good, "just go slow."
thrusting his hips at a slow pace as your back arched into every thrust, tsukishima kept a steady pace that matched up with each of your echoing moans. his hands place your legs ontop of his shoulders, letting you completely feel all of him inside you at a better angle. you could feel him getting even bigger and harder inside you whenever you called out for him.
moving at a quicker pace, the skin on skin slapping made the room smell like sex as his beady dazed eyes watched your breasts sway with every motion as he laid a kiss on your ankle. the pounding was rough and made your core drip with ecstacy, it was like filling up a cup to the tippy top, to the brim—just barely spilling a drop.
well, it was trickling down the sides of the cup just like how your mixed fluids leaked down your sopping wet cunt that squelched every time tsukishima plummeted his cock back inside you.
"kei-i, i'm cumming..!" you shouted out as you squeezed your eyes shut, so hard that you saw stars the moment you came. it was like the cup just completely toppled over as you climaxed, letting your fluids completely burst out.
your chest was rising and falling at a rapid rate as you tried to recollect yourself for another round of his delicious cock. however, even though you just came, it felt like there was more that wasn't able to be released—like a bubble more than ready to burst.
"w-wait kei, something's weird. i just came but i feel like i have to again, ngh..!" pausing you mid sentence, he already knew what to do and that was to rip your second orgasm right out from you.
at this point, your back was barely touching the sticky, moist bed sheets as you arched and quivered tremendously as your body quickly adapted to all the stimulating waves of pleasure tsukishima sent.
his tip was kissing your cervix at this point, prodding at your one weak spot he always managed to find inside you as it built up your second climax with immediate haste. everytime his cock rubbed alongside your walls, you couldn't help but shiver at the way it left its imprint inside you.
you're screaming his name along with your moans and whimpers, gripping onto his blonde locs of hair as you continued to feel him dig deeper into your needy cunt and create a crazy amount of pressure in your lower abdomen.
"i—i, i'm cumming.. again!! sshit, t'feels weird!" your core pulsated and with one more deep thrust, your pussy broke out into a wet squirt.
your pupils are fully dilated, and you're completely frozen in shock, watching your trembling body release its first squirt, and it all just so happens to land on tsukishima. no wonder why you felt an immense build up of pressure all in your lower stomach besides his cock.
paused in his tracks, your husband pulls out for a moment to wipe your fluids off his glasses in complete silence, his mind trying to capture and rewind the moment.
"did you just.. squirt?" putting his glasses back on, this freak's got the biggest smirk on his face.
