synopsis ⸠he was drunk when you called, but he sobered up the second he heard your voice. you said it was a mistake, that you didnât mean to dial himâbut he was already on his way. six months later, heâs still in your living room, dragging out every screw and instruction manual like itâll keep you from asking him to leave.
tags ⸠exes to lovers, divorce, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, mentions of night terrors, making out, pda, dry humping, breèding kĂnk, hand job, unprotected sèx, nĂpple play, riding, praise kĂnk, dĂrty talking, creĂĄmpie
wc ⸠12.4k
The sandpaper rasp of the wrench twisting into place sawed through Osamu's mental haze. He paused, squinting down at the befuddling array of components fanned out across your living room floor. What the hell was he even working on now? A dresser maybe? Or was this the start of that ludicrously ornate entertainment center you'd ordered last week?
With a frustrated grunt, he raked a meaty palm down his face, grinding the heels into his eye sockets until stars burst across his vision. Didn't matter what useless hunk of IKEA crap it was - the process remained the same damn song and dance every time. You'd call him in a mild panic over being hopelessly lost, he'd show up grumbling insults about your household incompetence under his breath, then inevitably succumb to staying and handling the entire assembly from start to finish.
All because of that one fateful night nearly six months ago when you'd called without thinking, voice soft and contented in a way that gutted Osamu completely.
"Hey babe, think you could come over and help me put this new coffee table together?"
The endearment had slipped out so effortlessly, luring images of the thousands of other mundane evenings he'd reported for wifely summons over the years. How many times had you greeted him just like that after work, beckoning him over to lend his hands to whatever domestic task needed handling while you puttered around your warm, chaotic little home?
He'd frozen with the phone still cradled against his ear, a penny whiskey and lingering self-loathing temporarily displaced by blinding white confusion. That single careless "babe" ricocheted through his alcohol-addled senses like a gunshot. Osamu replayed the words over and over, hunting for any hint of mockery or jest in your gentle tones. But there was none to be found - only the breezy assumption that he would, of course, be heading your way like always when called upon.
"...Osamu?" Your hesitant inquiry several beats later had him flinching violently, nearly dropping his glass in the process. Somehow you'd already sensed your mistake, uncertainty creeping into your voice. "Oh god, I shouldn't have justâwe're notâI mean, I know you're not my husband anymore, forget I asked..."
But he hadn't forgotten. Hadn't processed or responded at all, really - just let the stunned inertia carry him forward for once instead of railing instinctively against it. His body moved on autopilot while your clumsy apologies filtered through the dense cotton shrouding his mind. Keys plucked from the dish. Jacket shrugged on over his rumpled sweats. The rote motions of preparing to head out and placate your helplessness all over again, divorce papers be damned.
The words finally came in a gruff rush only after Osamu was already pulling his truck out onto the main road.
"Just send me yer address. Be there soon."
He had no justification for the abrupt decision, no reasoned explanation. Maybe it was sheer impulse driven by a lifetime of conditioning to provide for you. Or perhaps there was some profoundly deeper current swirling beneath his dependably cynical surface that wouldn't allow the separation to sever such intrinsic responses completely. Either way, Osamu was powerless to resist its undertow - and he found he didn't want to fight it as he steered towards your place with a hollow ache spreading through his chest.
That first visit was supposed to be an outlier, the exception to shut down any further relapses in domesticity. Yet somehow, it had quickly spiraled into a new normal. Every time you inevitably dialed his number with a hapless plea for assistance, he reflexively found himself throwing on shoes and grabbing his toolbox without preamble. Often he was already halfway to your door before bothering to rationalize it or talk himself out of enabling this pathetic pattern you'd lapsesd into.
Week after week, month after month, the excuses and pretenses became flimsier and flimsier. At first, he told himself it was pure ego driving him to show up - that he derived some sick satisfaction from giving you hell about being so helpless on your own without him around to pick up the pieces. Look at your dumb ex-wife, can't even follow basic IKEA diagrams!
But the more jobs he completed with that same well-worn song and dance, the less weight the cruel taunts carried. His insults grew increasingly toothless, more like ingrained preambles out of sheer habit than any genuine derision. Until finally, Osamu was forced to confront the awful truth clawing at his ribcage each time he walked back into your space:
He simply couldn't resist the unconscious pull of being your husband again, even briefly and in this limited scope of handyman duties. Maybe it was masochistic, allowing himself to sink back into those waters of domesticity he used to drown in daily before everything went to shit between you. Or maybe he was just weak in ways he'd never admit - still not fully untangled from the intoxicating gravity of your combined existence.
Whichever justification rang truest, the outcome was the same. Osamu let himself become utterly unmoored by the mindless allure of being summoned to your side again, no matter how much he pretended it was an unwanted imposition. Because in those moments of cursing and hammering and careful assemblage, everything felt temporarily right in a way it hadn't for what felt like eons. Just him, sweat gathering along his hairline as he handled tools with a familiar easy cadence. And you, pottering nearby with a ready supply of beverages and off-hand encouragement to keep his steady rhythm flowing.
It was all so painfully, disarmingly unchanged whenever he willingly shed his lone wolf persona and stepped back into his vacated role at your side. That fact alone should have stripped Osamu of any lingering delusions - the harrowing intimation that perhaps he hadn't actually let go of being your partner in all the ways that mattered most, no matter how many years or court proceedings stated otherwise.
Yet whenever he found himself standing before your disheveled array of particle-board and scattered allen wrenches, Osamu couldn't resist the same tired refrain from echoing across his brooding inner monologue:
"Gonna take me at least a few weeks to get this mess put together proper. Might as well get comfortable, sweetheart..."
The endearment slipped out unconsciously, as natural as breathing. Osamu didn't even flinch at it anymore - just accepted the treacherously effortless backslide into old habits wherever you were concerned. Because in reality, this ramshackle plywood monstrosity wouldn't take him longer than a few hours, max, to fully assemble and have operational.
He was lying through his teeth about the projected timeline, and you both knew it. But you never called him on the flimsy ruse, just accepted each revised delay with a bemused look and fresh supply of cold barley tea awaiting Osamu's eventual break. As if you inherently understood that he was grasping at straws to prolong these rare interludes of domesticity for as long as possible.
The first time you'd moved to fetch your purse and peel off some cash to compensate him for his troubles, Osamu hadn't even thought - just reacted. One large, calloused palm engulfed your smaller one before it could fully withdraw from your bag. He drew it towards his chest, splaying your fingers over the steady thrum of his heartbeat through the thin cotton barrier.
"Don't even think about it, dummy," he'd rasped, the gentle admonishment at odds with the gruff delivery. "Ya know damn well I ain't here for money."
The words hung pregnant with unspoken depths between you, a fragile tension replacing the usual playful bickering. For a fleeting moment, Osamu thought you might draw away, might finally put a stop to this peculiar pattern of his with a soft yet firm rebuke.
Instead, you simply watched him with those infinitely familiar eyes that still gutted him regularly - open and searching and far too understanding for his liking. Then you nodded once, just slightly, and allowed your hand to linger against the frantic cadence of his pulse until he released you.
Since that evening, a sort of tenuous equilibrium had settled over your strange arrangement. You never moved to leave Osamu to his own devices anymore when he played dumb about needing "more time" with a project. Just accepted his continued presence hovering around your space with all the routinized nonchalance of a spouse moving through their own home.
He, in turn, no longer fought the subtle shifts that pulled him deeper and deeper into the reassuring gravities of old patterns. Like watching you haphazardly toss off your mismatched fuzzy socks in a meandering trail from doorway to kitchen before puttering about with whatever domestic task you pleased. Or the easy silence that embraced you both as Osamu worked, punctuated only by his quiet curses or the clinking of a fresh beverage being deposited within his reaching range.
Some nights, the easiness extended even into your kitchen as he prowled barefoot through the cramped galley, fully re-immersed in the role of putting together a meal for you both. Not out of any sense of obligation or guilt, but simply because the mindless ritual of cooking for your household came as second nature after so many years' practice.
Osamu couldn't resist sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch you curled up on the sofa, bare feet tucked beneath you and attention divided between whatever book or video you had playing and the soothing sounds of him working nearby. In those flickering moments illuminated by the soft glow of lamps and candles, everything felt so oppressively, deliriously right - like stepping directly back into the warm embrace of the past in a way Osamu hadn't experienced since your world was upended.
Some nights, he let himself pretend none of it had ever changed. That walking through the front door wouldn't eventually mean a jarring return to his cavernously empty apartment and the ever-encroaching loneliness lately. That this suspended illusion of being your partner again could simply stretch on indefinitely, leaving him gloriously unmoored.
Denial was a hell of a drug, as they said. But Osamu had always been a hopeless addict when it came to you.
The vanity's cumbersome weight settled onto the bedroom floor with a muted thud, scuffing pale marks into the worn hardwood. Osamu straightened, rolling his shoulders to work out the lingering knots as he surveyed his handiwork. Not too shabby, all things considered - the ornate piece looked damn near regal set against the soft blue-grey walls.
He blew out a low whistle, dragging his arm across his sweat-beaded brow as he pivoted to scope out the rest of your bedroom for the first time. Despite all the weeks and odd jobs he'd tackled around your new place, this particular sanctuary had remained off-limits until now. Part of him had unconsciously avoided crossing that line out of respect for boundaries, no matter how blurred they'd become elsewhere.
But now that he stood amidst the intimately personal space, hints of your essence seemed to permeate every particle. The delicate woven throw draped artfully across the overstuffed armchair in the corner. The collection of well-loved books haphazardly stacked on the nightstand, their cracked spines and dog-eared pages testaments to being revisited often. Even the subtly floral fragrance woven through the summer-breezy air unmistakably belonged to you.
Osamu inhaled deeply, letting the soothing familiarity of it all momentarily envelope him as he dragged his analytical gaze across each detail, cataloging and filing away the pieces of you on display. That's when his sweeping perusal stuttered to a halt, brow furrowing slightly as realization struck like an anvil weight in his gut.
There was no bed.
He did another slow pivot, eyes roving every inch of the spacious room as if expecting the absence of something so fundamental to materialize out of sheer obstinate scrutiny. But no matter which way he turned and looked again, the bare reality remained - no bed, no mattress, nothing more than the solitary armchair and vanity occupying the wide-open floorspace.
A harsh slew of curses broke from Osamu's lips before he could rein them in. Of course...of fucking course you didn't have a proper bed set up yet. He was peripherally aware of your sleeping situation - if the ramshackle state of your living room sofa quilted with ratty blankets and travel pillows was any indication. But standing here confronted by the harsh truth amidst these walls meant to be a sanctuary hurtled the implication home with stunning finality.
He raked a hand through his disheveled hair, mouth twisting bitterly as flashes of repressed memories flickered across his mindscape. Of you curled up in the dead of night, whimpering and shaking, whole body quivering from the thrall of another night terror. How you'd instinctively burrowed against him for safety, for the solid reassurance of his bulk and soothing murmurs easing you back from the brink. Neither of you had ever acknowledged those visceral moments of vulnerability, but he knew - knew how terrified you were of the dark and of sleeping alone with only your unquiet mind for company.
That was just the first of a whole cavalcade of realizations rapidly crashing over Osamu in waves of nauseous comprehension. With no bedframe, there was no tucking you in each night and drawing you close, surrounding your slight body with his familiar warmth and protective embrace until your racing heart calmed. No nuzzling your sleep-tousled hair and breathing in those first soft, earthy exhalations in the morning before extracting himself and padding off to put on a fresh pot of coffee. The way you'd always loved waking up to its rich aroma wafting from the kitchen no matter how early Osamu rose.
No more startling upright at the smallest creak or groan of your home settling around you, every noise an intruder until Osamu made a sweeping check and eased you back down with a reassuring murmur that it was just the house, just the old frame contracting with the night's chill. No more of him lumbering up in the darkness to find the latest unfortunate creepy-crawly invader and dispatch of it before returning to tuck you securely back under the covers, soothing your shudders with warm palms and featherlight kisses until you drifted off again.
Just...no more intimacies and routines and domesticities that had shaped so much of Osamu's purpose for well over a decade, now unceremoniously stripped away by your separation.
The realization left him feeling as though all the air had been forcibly drawn from his lungs in one punishing exhale. He doubled over with the force of it, knuckles blanching against the glossy vanity's sleek countertop as he struggled to draw breath. Of course he'd been aware of the changes, the rifts now severing what had once been such an intrinsic part of sharing your lives. But coming face-to-face with this empty bedroom and how bereft of true comfort it clearly was for you sliced right through to something primal and protective deep in Osamu's psyche.
"Hey, dinner's ready whenever you're done brooding over there!"
Your lighthearted call shattered through the spiraling vortex of Osamu's troubled thoughts. He straightened abruptly, disoriented for a beat before the rich, homey scents wafting in from the kitchen reoriented him. Right, you'd mentioned putting together a meal for the both of you once he finished up for the evening.
Dragging in a deep, steadying breath, Osamu willed his turbulent emotions into an infinitesimal box to be violently suppressed for now. He couldn't allow the anguished maelstrom of domesticity's absence to show on his face, not when you were so close and oblivious to his inner torment. With a few raking swipes of his palms down his sweat-damp face, he drew himself up to his full imposing height and turned towards the doorway.
The sight that awaited him in the cramped kitchen archway very nearly unraveled Osamu's hard-won composure all over again.
There you stood in your usual cooking attire - one of his old oversized t-shirts from high school, the faded cotton bunched up around your hips and showcasing your bare legs all the way down to those ridiculous mismatched fuzzy socks you always insisted on wearing. Your hair was piled in a messy topknot, loose tendrils framing your face and catching the soft evening light in a glowing halo.
You looked...so achingly familiar. So reminiscent of the thousands of other evenings Osamu had returned home from the restaurant or the gym or wherever to find you pottering around your shared living space in that same casually intimate state of undress. Completely comfortable and unguarded in a way very few ever got to witness - the purely domestic you that he'd committed to loving and cherishing until the end of his days.
And now here you were, existing in that same warm cocoon of homemaker contentment but utterly bereft of his steadying presence as the other counterweight. The gorgeous tableau you made standing there stirring something on the stovetop with your bare feet tucked up under you felt hauntingly, tragically incomplete in a way that put Osamu's throat in a vise.
His gaze roamed over the flex of your arms as you lifted the spoon to your lips for a taste, the elegant curve of your spine as you shifted your weight from foot to foot - all the tiny, quotidian details he'd once memorized so thoroughly they felt like extensions of his own body. Little snapshots of life and movement he'd once gotten to observe and admire as freely and unguardedly as he pleased, because you had belonged irrevocably to one another.
Now that simple pleasure - the artless intimacy of basking in each other's natural state - was forbidden him apart from these fleeting glimpses stolen under the pretense of being your handyman. Osamu felt reality crashing back down in waves of visceral grief sharpened by the purgatory of never fully losing this aspect of you, yet constantly having it daringly daunt just beyond his yearning reach.
A lump swelled in his throat as images began flickering through his mind, each one more haunting than the last. Of you succumbing to winter's vicious chills with no one there to wrap you in fortifying layers and nourishing soup broth to fight off illness. Of slipping and taking a nasty spill down the narrow staircase without his steadying arm to cling to, lying there helpless and alone until you could drag yourself to a phone for emergency assistance. Of bolting awake in the dead of night with your heart jackhammering from some terror-soaked nightmare, hands scrabbling for purchase and finding nothing but empty sheets and darkness to compound the panic.
Worst of all were the flashes of you simply...existing in a state of isolated loneliness, surrounded by this hollow house that was supposed to be a sanctuary but instead formed yet another reminder of Osamu's absence. Of his failure to be there for you the way he'd once sworn to the farthest stars.
Before he could spiral entirely, your melodic voice anchored him back to the present moment at hand.
"Earth to Osamu?" You grinned over your shoulder, luminous eyes sparkling with a gentleness that sucker-punched him squarely in the gut. "You getting that broody look again cause something's too complicated for those big strong hands of yours?"
The teasing lilt was feather-light and lilting - so fondly familiar that for a single delirious heartbeat, Osamu could actually convince himself nothing had changed between you. That this was all just another evening unfolding like the millions preceding it throughout your long history together.
Then reality came crashing back down, that infinitesimal box of suppressed emotion cracking open until acidic undertows were lapping at his ribs with every inhale. Osamu sucked in a harsh breath through his nostrils, jaw clenching hard enough to grind enamel as he struggled to reign himself back in.
"Very funny," he managed at last, aiming for nonchalance but hearing the ragged edges fringing his tone nonetheless. "You got a mouth on you tonight, that's for sure."
Rather than rising to the bait and firing off another salvo of playful barbs, you simply hummed thoughtfully before turning back to your cooking endeavors. Osamu watched, feeling increasingly disoriented by the casual domesticity, as you deftly transferred portions to waiting dishes and carried everything to the small dining table in the adjacent room.
"Well c'mon then, no need to make yourself a stranger!" you called over your shoulder with a grin. "That vanity won't be ready to use until you've refueled for the night."
The lilting words wrapped around Osamu's senses, both grounding and disorienting him further into a dizzying vortex of memories and yearning and desperate, crippling fear.
Dinner proved to be even more torturous than Osamu could have anticipated. Seated across from you at the cramped little dining table, he found himself repeatedly clenching his jaw and fists to restrain from simply reaching out and clasping your hand in his. To twine those deft fingers with his own calloused ones and revel in the featherlight caress of your pulse fluttering against his wrist.
You carried on with breezy conversation, utterly oblivious to the brutally visceral war he was waging to keep from shattering every pretense between you. With each lilting anecdote and bright peal of laughter, Osamu's resolve fractured further - hairline cracks spiderwebbing outwards from his restraint's foundations. By the time you rose to start clearing dishes, his composure hung by a few bare threads.
He watched with bated breath as you padded around the kitchen, hips swaying in that unconsciously hypnotic rhythm he'd admired for over a decade. The column of your throat worked with each swallow, clavicles casting distracting shadows that drew Osamu's heated stare like a magnet. Resisting the overwhelming urge to simply cross the scant distance separating you and wrap himself around your pliant form was swiftly becoming an exercise in agony.
You paused by the sink, back to him as you efficiently rinsed the first plate. The soft sounds of running water and your quiet humming curled around the nape of Osamu's neck, sending goosebumps rippling across his flesh. His fingertips twitched with yearning to reach out and ghost along the elegant inward curve of your waist, palms settling possessively on the flare of your hips to tug you snug against his chest. He could perfectly envision nuzzling into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, lips skating across the hammering pulse point as you shivered and instinctively arched back into his embrace...
Osamu's throat clicked with a muffled groan as he abruptly shoved away from the table, scattering the remaining dishes in his haste to create distance before he could surrender to the impulse clawing at his ribcage. The harsh screech of wood on tile finally made you turn, blinking owlishly at him.
"Everything okay?" The words were innocent enough, but Osamu flinched like he'd been struck. Didn't you realize what you were doing to him with even the slightest movement or vocal caress?
"Iâyeah. Just...gonna get a head start cleaning up the rest of that mess." He gestured vaguely at the half-assembled vanity parts still strewn in the living room to divert your questioning stare. You hummed in acknowledgment before returning your focus to the sink and dishwater.
It took every ounce of Osamu's waning self-restraint not to immediately retreat right then as planned. Instead, some masochistic impulse rooted him to the spot, gaze helplessly drinking in every curve and subtle shift of your body at work. The nearly irrepressible compulsion to wrap you up in his arms and relearn each dip and swell with hands and mouth was becoming a physical ache, radiating from the cradle of his hips.
By the time the final dish clattered into the drying rack, Osamu felt positively feverish - a maelstrom of need and desperation simmering beneath his clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists. He watched with rapt hunger as you turned towards him once more, swiping loose tendrils of hair back from your flushed cheeks. At the first glimpse of your softened features and those infinitely gentle eyes regarding him, a tremor shivered through Osamu's broad frame.
"So..." you began, seemingly unaware of the storm roiling behind his rigor-tight exterior. "That should just about do it for assembling everything I needed help with, yeah?"
Your words were like the death knell, reverberating through Osamu in waves of wretched comprehension. Whatever dizzying spiral of domesticated bliss he'd spun himself into was about to end. This illusion of being your husband and provider again, however fleeting, would shatter permanently the instant he returned to the barren, yawning silence of his own empty apartment. And some small, wretched part of him wasn't sure he would survive the transition emotionally intact a second time.
Osamu tried and failed to formulate a response around the steadily constricting vise encircling his throat. He simply stared at you mutely, gut clenching with all the farewells and protestation scalding at the back of his tongue. Don't make me leave. Don't eject me from this little world we've reconstructed and straight back into the bone-deep loneliness, not yet. I'm not readyâ
"Hey." Your soft murmur coaxed Osamu's awareness back to the present just as you'd begun tentatively closing the distance between you. Your palms cupped his bristled cheeks with infinite tenderness, calloused thumbs sweeping in gentle arcs. "This was...really, really amazing of you, you know. Coming through for me again and again like this despite everything. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to properly thank you forâ"
The gentleness in your tone and the exquisite warmth of your touch against his skin proved to be Osamu's ultimate undoing. With a harsh rumble torn from the depths of his sternum, he surged forward and engulfed you in the circle of his arms - swift and utterly inescapable. You made a soft sound of surprise quickly swallowed by the solid wall of his chest as he crushed you against his painfully rigid frame.
"Don't..." Osamu rasped out the single syllable with such gruff vehemence that you instinctively froze in his unrelenting embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut, savoring the feel of you - so achingly familiar yet electrically new after weeks of deprivation. The scent of your hair, the pliant curves yielding to his unyielding musculature, the stutter of your startled inhalations puffing against the bare skin of his throat. It was intoxicating, dizzying, devastating in equal measure.
"Don't you dare thank me," he managed at last in a low rasp against the crown of your head. His words vibrated into the very marrow of you with their quiet intensity. "Like I'm some stranger doin' you a favor instead of..."
Instead of what? His wife, his partner, his entire goddamn world until the cosmos decided to twist the knife a little deeper? The sentiment clung bitterly to the back of Osamu's tongue, sullen truth cloying in his throat until he swallowed hard against it. No words could adequately capture the depths of what you were to him in this moment, wholly encompassed in his arms once more.
With a shuddering inhale against your hair, Osamu simply allowed himself to sink further into the comforting abyss of holding you so intimately. This was what he'd been so desperately aching for all along - not the mere ability to lend his capable hands in putting together inanimate pieces of your new life, but the privilege of simply being present as a visceral part of it once more. Of slipping so seamlessly back into being your steadying anchor, your shelter against the world's crueler contradictions that you fought so admirably to rise above.
Time seemed to melt and blur around the two of you frozen together in the dimly lit kitchen as a galaxy of contradictions warred behind Osamu's eyes. He breathed you in with every lungful, each molecule of your essence searing straight through to scorch his withered soul. Memories flickered like dying embers - thousands of other embraces shared over countless evenings, each as mundane and life-alteringly significant as this one.
Yet in the same breath, this felt profoundly and irrevocably unprecedented between you - the first time since your legal separation that Osamu had dared clutch you with such brazen, unguarded yearning. As if enveloping your pliant form was the only talisman still binding him to reality, to whatever remnants of purpose and identity were inextricably tethered to simply...being yours. And you his, despite the distance contrived to render the notion dead letters on a decree.
The thud of Osamu's rabbit-kicking pulse reverberated through every inch of his suffocating embrace. Each hammering cadence seemed to scream the same lament - Never leave me again, don't make me surrender you and this world we've only just reconstructed. I can't, I won't, don't ask me toâ
His silent inner turmoil must have vibrated outwards, bleeding into the aura of frantic desperation enveloping you both. For you made another small, unintelligible sound against Osamu's heaving chest that sparked like a livewire to his nerve endings.Instinctively, he stiffened his arms into unforgiving bands until you were utterly subsumed within him. As if the slightest allowance of space would mean your immediate, irrevocable loss forever more.
Then, with a ragged exhalation escaping his gritted teeth, Osamu reluctantly dragged his lashes apart and allowed his forehead to drop against yours. Your faces hovered achingly close, close enough for your trembling breaths to mingle and eyes to blur together into a universe of their own making. Little more than a hairsbreadth separated your primed lips, Osamu's gaze fixated on the infinitely delicate swell of their petal-soft flesh as you unconsciously swiped your tongue over the seam in a devastating swipe.
A low, gravelly keen vibrated up from the confines of his ribs as feverish compulsion took over. Osamu found himself leaning infinitesimally forward without conscious thought or restraint, magnetic and undeniable. He angled his head just enough to allow your noses to brush in the faintest caress as your lips...your lips were suddenly so impossibly close his entire being vibrated with the need to surge across that final searing distance andâ
Your trembling fingers found purchase against the taut cords of Osamu's nape, digits splaying wide to anchor him in place. He shuddered at the scorching brand of your touch, gut clenching in anticipation of either being pulled infinitely closer or utterly severed from your tempting orbit.
But you didn't relinquish the tenuous connection thrumming between you. If anything, the barest hint of pressure from your palms coaxed Osamu to sway another infinitesimal fraction nearer until the whisper-soft swell of your lips hovered an exquisite hairsbreadth from his own.
A tremor rippled through his whole body at the first searing brush of your breath fanning hotly against his mouth. Osamu's lids slipped to half-mast without conscious thought, transfixed by the plump blush of your lower lip as your tongue swiped out to wet them with devastating intent.
He was already leaning in, succumbing to the magnetic draw, when you surged upwards to crash against him in a searing collision of velvet heat.
A deep, guttural keen reverberated from the depths of Osamu's chest as your mouths melded with urgent insistence. He swayed dangerously on the precipice of his restraint for all of a heartbeat before surrendering completely. With a harsh rumble of pure visceral need, his arms constricted around your pliant body until not an inch of space remained between you.
Then, like a starving man who'd glimpsed an oasis after years of deprivation, Osamu simply allowed himself to indulge without hesitation. To sate the endless aching hollow that had steadily consumed him since last he'd sampled your essence so intimately.
His lips moved with hungry, devouring strokes - licking into the searing cavern of your mouth with relentless undulations that stoked the wildfire rapidly engulfing your entwined frames. You arched helplessly against the scorching heat of his broad palms spanning your lower back, fingers splaying wide to knead against the flexing muscles working just beneath the surface of your skin.
When the first desperate keen spilled from between your kiss-bruised lips, Osamu wasted no time in coaxing it into a resonant moan that buzzed against his stinging mouth. He canted his hips with purposeful pressure, pinning you immobile as he ground his rapidly stiffening cock into the softness of your pelvis with deliciously torturous friction.
It wasn't until the two of you were both trembling and gasping into one another that Osamu found the iron-willed strength to slowly disengage. He gentled the devouring sweeps of his tongue, teeth scraping in a lush caress as he gradually coaxed the tempo into something slower and infinitely more searing. Each excruciatingly tender glide of your mouths was a convulsive give and take - a tantalizing farewell embrace soaked in poignancy and desperate longing.
Finally, with a ragged groan torn from somewhere primal, Osamu tore himself free. Only to sway there gasping as if punched in the gut, foreheads pressed flush and lungs heaving in ragged synchronicity. His chest still cradled yours, hard ridges and sweat-dewed flesh sealed as one.
You whimpered first - a soft, infinitely vulnerable sound that fractured straight through to Osamu's very marrow. It took every ounce of restraint still lurking in his hollowed bones not to immediately surge back in and silence the anguish with his lips and tongue and wretched, yearning soul.
Instead, he found his hands drifting upwards until his palms cradled your feverish cheeks with infinite tenderness. Osamu drank in every precious detail of your features through a sheen of unshed desperation. The frantic flutter of your lashes against freshly kissed skin. The lush, swollen contours of your mouth that panted in time with his own.
"Let's get you a fuckin' bed already," he rasped out at last, the sudden gravel of his voice making you shiver anew against him. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of Osamu's mouth, underscored with a hundred different roiling emotions barely restrained behind it. "Can't have my wife spendin' another night on that worn-out sofa, now can I?"
The endearment slipped free before he could bite it back, weighted with layers of yearning and promise and a profoundly deeper intimacy than simple words could convey. But from the way your breath hitched and crystalline eyes sharpened to laser focus entirely on him, Osamu knew you heard every one of those unspoken depths loud and clear.
He didn't look away or attempt to backpedal â simply held your searching stare with that same molten intensity even as his thumb stroked tenderly across the upswept beauty mark below your parted lips. An anchor, a tether, a binding vow of intent all shored up in one infinitesimal caress.
You held Osamu's piercing stare for a long moment, feeling pinned in place by the smoldering promise flickering behind those gunmetal irises of his. Finally, you gave a slow nod. "Okay...let's go get a bed then."
The drive to the local furniture showroom passed in a weighty hush, punctuated only by the occasional burst of evening traffic and sideways glances you stole at Osamu's grim profile. He kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, forearms tensed against the steering wheel with hands gripping tight enough to strain the knuckles. You couldn't begin to fathom the cyclone of thoughts and emotions warring behind that brutally calm facade.
Eventually, you pulled into the dimly lit parking lot and climbed out without a word. Osamu fell into step beside you, radiating that aura of surly disquiet you'd grown so familiar with in recent weeks. Yet there was an undercurrent thrumming between you now - a new vibrating frequency wrought from the lingering echoes of your impassioned embrace and whatever fragile agreement you'd stumbled upon.
Once inside the cavernous showroom, you felt some of the leaden tension release its vice grip enough for you to draw a deeper breath. Almost instinctively, you found yourself gravitating towards the furthest display of luxurious mattresses and bed frames, fingers trailing along the opulent fabrics and polished woods as you passed.
"I've always liked the look of the sleigh beds," you commented idly over one shoulder, watching Osamu steadily approaching through your periphery. "With the curved headboards and footboards, you know? They feel so sturdy and supportive without being too overbearing."
He hummed noncommittally as you came to a halt before an incredibly lavish mid-century piece. Despite its grand presence, the subtle embellishments and deep coffee wood stain exuded warmth and familiarity in a way you found immensely appealing. Beckoning, even.
You sank down onto the plush mattress with a contented murmur, feeling the high-quality memory foam contouring to your weight and cupping your curves enticingly. Almost without conscious volition, you leaned back onto your elbows and stretched out â shameless in your indulgence to test the comfort and support in your usual sleeping position.
From the corner of your eye, you watched Osamu's throat work in a harsh swallow as his gaze raked over the lines of your body. There was a weighted heat searing behind those slate irises of his, a predatory promise reminiscent of your fervent embrace only an hour earlier. The memory of his unyielding frame pinning yours into searing compliance made an insistent fluttering erupt low in your abdomen.
"Not bad," was his only terse assessment after a prolonged pause. You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly circled the bed like a wolf scenting its prey. Each unhurried footfall felt charged with blistering tension and roiling intent.
When Osamu reached the footboard, he braced both hands against the smoothly curved wood with enough force to whiten his knuckles further. His shoulders tensed and released as he inhaled a measured breath before pivoting to pin you with that loaded stare once more.
"Lots of space to stretch out," he remarked in that same low, thrumming rasp. "Seems sturdy enough, too. Built to take on a lotta...friction without fallin' apart."
The blatant insinuation curled around your nerves like physical caresses. You bit the inside of your cheek sharply to smother the whimper threatening to break free at the spark of liquid heat pooling between your thighs.
Perhaps sensing your body's visceral reaction, Osamu's mouth curved into a smug facsimile of a smirk as he leaned forward incrementally. Until his weighty presence consumed your periphery, obliterating every other stimulus apart from the sandalwood-musk cologne and smoldering promise radiating off his solidmuscular frame in waves.
"You think it'll do, babe?" His gravelly rumble was pitched for your ears alone, dripping with dark promise that liquefied your bones. "This the kinda bed you want me puttin' you through your paces on every night?"
A violent shudder ripped through you at the mental images his words conjured â of slick flesh trailing scorching paths across rumpled sheets, sinuous bodies arching and rocking in unbridled ecstasy. Osamu's smirk deepened into something utterly ravenous at whatever he glimpsed flickering across your features. He opened his mouth to undoubtedly ratchet up the torment further when a discreet cough from across the showroom shattered the lascivious fog wreathing you both.
You startled, eyes swiveling guiltily to find a middle-aged saleswoman regarding you with a look of polite incredulity. Clearly she'd witnessed enough of Osamu's provocative stance looming over your prone form to gauge the situation accurately. Heat flooded your cheeks as you scrambled upright, surreptitiously tugging your skirt back into proper place.
Osamu simply leveled the hapless employee with one of his signature inscrutable looks, not bothering to extricate himself from his position caging you against the mattress. If anything, he seemed to lean in fractionally closer - a barely perceptible assertion of dominance that had your pulse skittering anew.
The poor saleswoman cleared her throat again, shifting awkwardly. "My apologies for interrupting...I simply wanted to let you know we'll be closing the showroom in about fifteen minutes if you need any assistance with your, er, selection this evening."
"We're good, thanks," Osamu responded gruffly, not even bothering to glance her way as he continued pinning you with that incendiary stare.
You studiously avoided the employee's surprised look until she gave a jerky nod and retreated towards the front offices. Only then did you realize you'd been holding your breath, letting it escape in a shuddering rush as your shoulders sagged infinitesimally.
"So..." You swallowed hard against the unexpected burst of uneasiness now seizing your nerves. Tentatively, you raised your eyes to meet Osamu's heated regard head-on. "We're really doing this again? Uh, g-getting...a bed together, I mean?"
His expression didn't so much as flicker, maintaining that composed intensity that somehow felt more loaded in the wake of your question. You fought against a sudden urge to squirm under the weight of that smoldering appraisal, abruptly regretting the wobble of uncertainty now coloring your tone.
For several beats, the silence stretched unbearably taut between you. Then, just when you thought you might shatter from the stifling tension, Osamu leaned in until you were practically cross-eyed from his proximity. Until you could make out every subtle shift of gunmetal and amber swirling through his irises, every calloused ridge scoring the seam of his lips as they parted to murmur:
"Baby, if you think I'm gonna put us both through that fresh hell of gettin' separated again...well then, you must be confusin' me with some sorta moron. Because I already updated my life insurance policy. Listed you as the sole beneficiary again. You know, just in case I accidentally choke to death on any more crappy pickup lines I might try on you from now on."
The words were spoken with such dull candor, so utterly devoid of humorous inflection or levity of any kind. Yet the sheer unexpectedness of Osamu's customary deadpan delivery combined with the saccharine endearment and sappy-as-hell promise slammed into you with startling impact.
You stared at him, feeling your lips twitch as incredulous euphoria bubbled up from your core. Osamu's brows furrowed in apparent consternation at your lack of verbal response. But you were powerless to fight against the rising tide as it crested, expelling in a sudden peal of loud, uninhibited laughter that echoed freely through the cavernous showroom.
"Youâ" You gasped out between wheezing guffaws, clutching at your midsection. "You absolute sap! Did you...really...just say that...with a straight face?"
Osamu's expression remained utterly impassive as you gradually descended into intermittent hiccuping giggles. If anything, his severe features seemed to sharpen even further in affront at having the solemn weight of his declaration demolished so thoroughly.
"Yeah, and what about it?" he growled at last, the underlying gravel of his tone only serving to rekindle your mirth. "That's you spoken for, end of story. I ain't goin' through losin' my goddamn mind again just cause you can't wrap your brain around a simple fact."
His eyes fairly smoldered into yours, lips thinning into a mulish line that should have been intimidating yet only struck you as unutterably endearing in that moment. You reached up without conscious thought, palms cradling the prickly warmth of his jawline as a fresh bubble of giggles escaped on a sigh.
"My big ol' grumpy bear," you murmured through your smiling stupor, thumbs stroking across the sharp ridges of his cheekbones.
Osamu's carefully cultivated scowl faltered infinitesimally as the searing intensity in his gaze transmuted to something softer, more vulnerable. Like he'd just been robbed of his last defenses against the rising swell of cautious optimism blooming between you.
With a low growl that rumbled straight through to your bones, he surged forward and crushed his mouth against yours in a searing reclamation of heated devotion.
The apartment felt almost cavernously silent in the aftermath of your laughter at the furniture showroom. You sank back against the worn cushions of your living room sofa with a contented sigh, the last few giddy giggles tapering off into the warm evening quiet.
Osamu settled in beside you without preamble, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch as his frame angled bodily to face yours. You watched, transfixed, as his piercing slate eyes slowly carved a path from the crown of your head down to your bare toes and back again in one unhurried sweep.
The weighted regard made your skin prickle with rising heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. You recognized that look - the same dark, hungry simmer he used to level your way when you were still newlyweds and Osamu couldn't seem to get enough of simply...observing you existing around him.
"C'mere," he rumbled at last, voice rough as flintstone in a way that liquefied your bones. Without a second's hesitation, you leveraged yourself up and swung one knee over to straddle Osamu's solid thighs, knees sinking into the frayed upholstery on either side of his hips.
His spine straightened at the sudden change in proximity, those brooding steel irises darkening further with naked want. You could actually feel the scorching brand of Osamu's stare skating across the swell of your breasts now devastatingly close to his line of sight, unconsciously squirming a little closer at the intoxicating sensation.
Thick cords of muscle flexed and jumped beneath the sleeves of Osamu's shirt as his hands drifted up to bracket your waist, thumbs stroking idle patterns against the jut of your hipbones. His palms felt like searing manacles as his fingers splayed possessively, fingertips just grazing the soft undercurve of your ass to tug you infinitesimally nearer still.
A throaty sound of pure satisfaction rumbled up from Osamu's barrel chest as your bodies melded flush together, his thick thighs cradling your hips in a scorching vee. You could feel the rapid kick of his pulse stuttering against the notch of your breastbone where it was sealed to his own swiftly rising and falling with quickened breaths.
"Fuck, I missed this..." he rasped in a gruff undertone, the words more felt than heard with how intimately you were entwined. Osamu's knuckles traced the elegant inward curve of your spine through the thin cotton barrier of your shirt. "Missed gettin' to look my fill whenever I wanted, no matter how greedy it made me."
Your nails scored lightly against the nape of his neck, noses brushing in an achingly delicate caress as your mouths hovered infinitesimally apart. "Well you've got your chance now, don't you?" you whispered in return, stomach clenching at the rasp of Osamu's harsh exhale ghosting across your sensitized lips. "All the time in the world to drink your fill again."
His eyes slipped to half-mast, pupils swallowing up nearly all the quicksilver irises in a look of pure, unguarded yearning that stole the air from your lungs. With purposeful leisure, Osamu's broad palms mapped every dip and flare of your torso in slumbering strokes before reversing course. His gaze followed the journey, hooded and predatory, like a man committing every intimate landscape to indelible memory after nearly being rendered sightless.
You found yourself hopelessly captivated in turn by the minuscule changes flickering across Osamu's ruggedly beautiful features as he absorbed you in. The way his jaw tended to tick subtly whenever your upper bodies brushed together with each shared breath. How his brow pinched when large hands found a new swell of softness to reverently mold and explore. And most distractingly, the steady darkening of those piercing grey eyes until you felt pinned and utterly claimed beneath their singularly focused weight.
It wasn't until you felt the first wayward tear searing a path down your flushed cheek that you realized the gravity of what was unfolding between you. More followed in their wake, hot and silent, prompting a low keen of alarm from somewhere deep in Osamu's broad chest.
You smothered the wounded sound with your mouth before he could give voice to his concern, lips parting on a desperate whimper as they crashed together in a searing tangle. Your tears continued unabated even as your bodies writhed and strained closer, cradling Osamu's whiskered jaw between your palms while his calloused digits dug in with bruising possession.
Neither of you pulled back until breathing became a secondary need to sating this newly rekindled inferno raging between your fused frames. Chests heaving in ragged unison, you simply clung to one another through the aftermath - foreheads sealed, noses brushing, lips so closely aligned that the softest whispers could be savored with searing intimacy.
"We're really doin' this for good, aren't we?" Osamu murmured at last, the usually gruff rasp nearly inaudible but rippling through you with sledgehammer impact. You felt his hands - those powerful, work-roughened appendages you'd once admired in daily reverence - tenderly cup the hinge of your jaw. "You and me, all chips in and no more runnin' the second shit gets sideways again..."
Somehow, you managed a jerky nod through the fresh swell of tears rapidly clouding your vision. Osamu drank in the silent confirmation with undisguised adoration and soul-deep longing painted across his chiseled features, thumbs brushing away the molten salt streaking down your cheeks with exquisite tenderness.
"Good," was his only graveled response before tugging you back into another searing, desperate kiss that seared you both straight through to your very marrows.
You surrendered wholly to the scorching tempers of Osamu's questing mouth, fingertips digging harsh furrows into the dense cords of muscle spanning his shoulders and back as you clung on for purchase. The room seemed to tilt and spin dizzyingly in your periphery until the only stable anchors were the unyielding planes of his body and the ravenous sweeps of his tongue claiming you in rough strokes.
Eventually, oxygen deficiency began to pound thick drums in your skull. You tore away with a shuddering gasp, lungs heaving in great draughts of air that did little to steady your racing pulse. Osamu simply watched you through half-lidded eyes, lips curved in a smugly satisfied slant as he dragged the back of his knuckles down your flushed cheek.
"Who'da thought the mighty [Y/N] would be such a crybaby after all these years?" he rasped, black depths glinting with teasing amusement despite his own labored breathing.
You blinked at him owlishly for a moment, still struggling to comprehend anything beyond the electrifying aftershocks of his kisses ricocheting through your nerve endings. "What...?"
The raspy chuckle that rumbled up from Osamu's broad chest vibrated through you in delicious waves, prompting fresh tingles to erupt across your skin. "Don't act like ya don't know what I'm talkin' about, babe," he goaded, leaning in to brush the words directly against the swell of your kiss-bitten lips. "You bawlin' yer pretty eyes out over the dumbest little things. Like that time ya got so hysterical over the snowglobe I gave ya for our first Christmas..."
Recognition instantly dawned, rapidly giving way to a fierce burn of arousal and indignation in equal measure. You immediately attempted to pull back, twisting your torso away from Osamu's heated vicinity as the memories resurfaced with embarrassing clarity.
"Don't you dare bring that up again, Miya!" you huffed, chin jutting mulishly even as mortified tears began prickling the corners of your eyes anew. "It was a sweet, thoughtful gift and the timing couldn't have been more meaningful! I was allowed to be a little emotional over it..."
But Osamu simply crooned in a low tone of unbridled satisfaction, strong arms banding around your waist with sublime indifference to keep you trapped against the scorching brand of his frame. "Sure, bawlin' for a solid hour while puttin' a dent in the couch cushions from hidin' your face was totally proportional to the occasion..."
You attempted to cut him off with a fierce shake of your head, but he easily overpowered your squirming until your bodies were melded together in a seamless wall of unyielding muscle and feverish, tingling softness. Emboldened by your tearful indignation, Osamu simply smirked and pressed his advantage - ducking to brush his whiskered jawline along the fragile tendons straining in your throat.
"Or what about the time yer favorite shitty boyband dropped a new album right before finals week?" he practically purred against your hammering pulse point, teeth grazing wildly sensitive flesh just enough to make you shudder violently. "Pretty sure I had to pick ya up off the floor when ya got so overwhelmed ya passed right the fuck out from blubberin'..."
"Stop it!" you cried in a watery burst, chest hitching with miserable laughter even as you feebly swatted at Osamu's questing hands and wicked mouth. "You're such an ass, bringing up all that ancient history like it means anything!"
But even as you scolded, your thighs instinctively parted to grant him deeper access, spine arching to present your vulnerable throat in clear supplication. Osamu rumbled deep in his chest again - this time a low sound of pure masculine satisfaction that skated like a physical brand across your nerve endings. His broad palms found purchase on the undercurve of your backside, fingertips digging in with delicious urgency until your hips were rocking in a slow, salacious grind against the formidable bulge rapidly taking shape beneath the snug denim.
"So what's got ya cryin' this time?" he growled against the fragile hollow just beneath your ear, trailing heavy open-mouthed kisses downward. "Me finally puttin' a baby in that pretty belly of yours after all these years? Can't think of a better reason to get those waterworks flowin' again if ya ask me..."
The sheer audacity of his words - the carnal filth as much as the undisguised insinuation that this reunion was only the opening salvo to so much more - punched a startled keen of pure, searing need from your very marrow. You twisted with renewed urgency, mouth finding his in a souling embrace of slick heat and tangling tongues as the desperate flames licking between you swiftly roared into an inferno once more.
Osamu kissed you back feverishly, his thick tongue delving deep to taste every corner of your mouth. His large, calloused hands roamed over your body, squeezing and caressing. He broke the heated kiss with a ragged gasp, lips trailing open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.
"God, I've missed you..." he rasped against your skin, voice dripping with raw need. "Missed the way you taste, the way your body feels against mine."
You shivered at his words, nails digging into the firm muscles of his back as you arched against him wantonly. Osamu groaned deep in his chest, the bulge in his jeans grinding against your core. His hands grasped your hips, guiding you into a slow grind that had you both panting harshly.
"Spent so many fuckin' nights after we divorced just lying there, remembering what it felt like to be inside you," Osamu confessed in a low, gravelly tone. "So deep I couldn't tell where you ended and I began. Thinkin' about it drove me crazy with how much I wanted you back."
A desperate whine spilled from your lips at his words. You hastily pushed his shirt up, desperate to feel his heated skin under your palms. Osamu aided your efforts, quickly stripping the garment off and tossing it aside. His eyes burned with molten intensity as your hands mapped every ridge and muscle of his powerful torso and shoulders.
"Wanted to feel you wrapped so tight around me again," he growled, the rough timbre of his voice sparking liquid heat in your veins. "To get so deep in that velvet pussy until we were both lost to everything but being joined."
You swallowed thickly, body thrumming with need at his filthy words. You knew exactly what he meant - the feeling of being utterly filled and completed by him in the most carnal sense until the world faded away.
Osamu captured your lips in another bruising kiss, all clashing teeth and tangling tongues. His hands roamed over your clothes, desperate to bare more of your feverish skin to his ravenous touch. When you finally parted, you were both panting harshly.
"It felt like I could breathe again when you first called after the divorce," he admitted in a rough rumble, steel-grey eyes boring into yours intensely. "Even though it was just asking for help with some dumb furniture, it was like...like I was still yours when you said my name like that."
You made a choked sound at his confession, heart clenching at the rawness in his tone. Osamu didn't give you a chance to respond, claiming your mouth in another searing kiss that had you melting against his solid frame. His hands found their way under your shirt, calloused palms mapping every inch of newly exposed skin as the kiss turned messy and frantic once more.
Finally, he tore his lips away to mouth hot, open kisses along your jaw. "Soon as I heard your voice, I was already moving without even thinking about it," he panted roughly against the hinge of your jaw. "Out the door and in my car before I could second-guess just like all the other times you needed me."
You gasped shakily in understanding, fingers tunneling through his hair to hold him close. You vividly recalled that first fateful call and Osamu showing up without hesitation, just like he had done a thousand times before when you were still married. Despite the legal separation, some intrinsic part of him was still bound to answer your summons without question.
Osamu pulled back slightly, eyes blazing as he cradled your face in his big palms. "Never stopped being yours, no matter what kinda shit happened between us," he stated simply, calloused thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. "Always gonna come runnin' when you call, woman. You hear me?"
His raw declaration hung heavy in the charged air between you. You searched his ruggedly handsome features, taking in the grim set of his jaw, the intense heat smoldering in those gunmetal irises. Osamu meant every single word - you could feel the solemn truth behind them down to your bones.
You let out a shaky exhale, fingers splaying against the solid planes of his chest. His heart thundered beneath your touch, a rapid cadence you knew matched your own racing pulse.
"Osamu..." you began, then halted uncertainly. So much still lay unspoken between you beyond the heated admissions of desire and longing. Questions and doubts flickered like candle flames, threatening to undermine the fragile foundation you'd reconstructed.
Sensing your hesitation, Osamu's calloused thumb stroked your cheekbone soothingly. "Just say it," he rasped in that deep timbre that never failed to make you shiver. "Whatever's goin' through that big brain of yours. We're layin' it all out on the table here."
You drew in another fortifying breath, leaning into the solid warmth of his palms cradling your face so tenderly despite the rough calluses scoring your skin. When you finally met his piercing stare again, you found yourself talking without conscious thought.
"I want to try again," you stated plainly, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. "You and me, for real this time. No more separating or letting things fall apart between us."
Osamu's jaw ticked subtly, but he remained silent and impassive, letting you forge ahead unfettered.
"But I need to know you're all in," you continued, willing your voice not to waver. "That you're not just going to take off again if things get tough or we hit another rough patch. Because I can't..." You broke off, blinking rapidly against the burning swell of tears. "I can't survive that a second time, Osamu. Losing you nearly destroyed me."
The anguished admission seemed to reverberate between you, cracking the simmering tension briefly. Osamu's brow creased, eyes softening imploringly as he pulled you flush against his body once more. You went willingly, savoring the steadying anchor of his solid frame and familiar, intoxicating scent.
"Baby, I ain't goin' nowhere," he murmured gruffly against your hairline, one big palm cradling the back of your head. "Should never have left in the first place, no matter how bad shit got between us. That was the biggest mistake of my damn life."
You squeezed your eyes shut at the regret saturating his gravelly rumble, fingers flexing against his skin where they rested against his chest. After a steadying moment, you felt Osamu pull away just enough to lock eyes with you again. His gaze was open and earnest, burning with an intensity that stole your breath.
"I'm all in here," he vowed simply, stroking the pad of his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. "No more runnin', no more wastin' time apart when we both know there ain't nothin' for me without you by my side. We're gonna make this thing between us work this time, you hear? Even if I gotta spend every day for the rest of my life provin' it to you..."
His words trembled through you with the weighty promise behind them. You searched Osamu's stormy gaze for any hint of prevarication or doubt, but found only steadfast resolution burning there. A dawning smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the vice of uncertainty unclenched around your ribs.
"Well, you'd better get started then," you murmured, shifting to wind your arms around his neck and bring your foreheads together. "Because I'm going to keep putting you through your paces until I'm absolutely certain you're not going to flake out again, Miya Osamu."
Osamu's deep chuckle rumbled against your body, the vibration sending tingles skittering across your sensitized nerves. "Gettin' my ass put through the wringer every day for the rest of forever?" His calloused palms roamed soothingly over the dip of your waist and flare of your hips. "Sounds like my kinda livin' hell, babe."
Unable to resist any longer, you closed the scant distance and sealed your mouths together in a slow, drugging glide of velvet heat. Unlike before, this unhurried press of your lips and tangled tongues spoke to something deeper - a resounding connection and intimacy born from years spent in each other's orbit. It was a familiar kiss that nevertheless sparked fresh flames of passion and hunger, igniting the dormant fire between you with all the raw power and promise of a phoenix rising.
Osamu's broad palms gripped and molded every inch of you they could reach, stoking the building flames further with each hungry sweep and caress. You responded in kind, dragging your fingertips through his silken, ash-brown locks and raking across his scalp with just enough force to make him groan. Your tongues curled and twined as you savored the wet heat and tangling strokes, bodies pressed close enough to feel the thundering cadence of his heart racing against your breastbone.
A sudden surge of impatient desire had you tearing at Osamu's jeans, desperate to feel him fully bared and pliant beneath your wandering palms. He helped you shuck his belt and shove the snug denim down his hips, boxers quickly following until his cock sprang free - swollen and heavy, pulsing with every rapid throb of his hammering pulse. You hummed appreciatively at the sight, wrapping your fingers around the familiar weight and length and giving a few loose, languid pumps.
"Fuck, that's good, baby," Osamu grunted, eyes slipping shut in pleasure. His head fell forward to rest against yours, breath ghosting hot and quick over your flushed cheeks. "Been too long since I felt those pretty little hands on me, missed you so damn much."
Your own eyelids fluttered shut, drinking in the husky, graveled rasp of his voice and the feel of his thick cock twitching against your palm. "I've missed this, too," you murmured, swiping a bead of pre-cum from his tip and using it to slick your hand as you began stroking him with intent. "Missed the feel of you, how good you always made me feel. How perfectly we fit together."
Osamu let out a guttural sound, his hips bucking involuntarily into your touch. He quickly recovered, though, deftly working the fly of your jeans open and pushing them down over the generous curve of your hips. His mouth sought yours again, swallowing your moans as he palmed the generous swell of your ass and squeezed, grinding his rock-hard erection against your belly.
"Let me get my mouth on you, baby," he begged between messy kisses, tongue sweeping deep into the cavern of your mouth. "Wanna taste that pretty pussy of yours, feel you comin' apart on my tongue."
Your entire body jolted at the carnal filth spilling from his kiss-swollen lips. You'd always had a weakness for his wickedly talented mouth, and the prospect of it licking and devouring you like some succulent feast had you instantly slick and throbbing. But tonight, you wanted something else entirely.
"Later," you breathed against the corner of his mouth, nipping his bottom lip sharply before pulling back. Osamu's pupils were blown wide with desire, his gaze burning hotter than the sun as he stared at you uncomprehendingly. You couldn't help the wicked smirk curling the edges of your mouth.
"Tonight, I want you buried inside me," you declared bluntly, delighting in the way his eyes went hazy with lust. You let go of his cock long enough to wiggle out of the confining denim and kick the jeans aside, then immediately grasped his hand and guided it between your legs.
"Want you filling me up, fucking me until I'm sore and aching," you continued, biting your lip as his fingers parted your slick folds. The first teasing brush against your clit had your entire body bowing and thighs clenching, but you forced yourself to meet Osamu's scorching stare once more. "Making sure I'm thoroughly bred, so I can never forget who I belong to ever again."
For a moment, all Osamu could do was gape at you in mute astonishment. Then his nostrils flared, pupils blown so wide the blackness nearly eclipsed the steel-grey of his irises entirely. A low, animalistic growl ripped from his chest, and the next thing you knew, his mouth was slanted over yours and his thick fingers were pumping into your molten core.
"Fucking hell, woman, what're ya tryin' to do to me?" he snarled between biting, desperate kisses. His free hand found purchase on the swell of your breast, squeezing roughly before rolling and pinching your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. "Gonna be the goddamn death of me with that dirty mouth."
You arched into his touch, panting heavily as he worked you higher. His long, thick fingers stroked and rubbed your sensitive inner walls, coaxing wave after wave of slick honey from your throbbing channel. You writhed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase on the corded muscles of his shoulders.
"Please, Samu, I need you inside me," you moaned, hips bucking against his hand. He cursed harshly, fingers stilling inside you for a moment. Then he withdrew, making quick work of the buttons on your blouse before yanking it down your arms and tossing the garment aside. He followed up with your bra, leaving you bare before him save for your panties.
"Look at you, all soft and pliant, ready to take me," Osamu growled, calloused hands skating reverently over the curve of your belly and hips. "Finally gonna make me a daddy, huh?"
He dipped his head, latching onto the supple flesh of your breast and suckling deeply. Your hands found their way into his hair again, fingers digging into his scalp as you moaned wantonly. When he finally released your breast, he blew gently over the stiff peak, causing it to pucker even more.
"You know you can never go back once you have my baby," he continued, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the valley of your breasts and up the column of your throat. "No other man would ever measure up after that. You'd be ruined for anyone else, just like I was the first time I was inside you."
You keened sharply at his possessive, primal words, head falling back to grant him better access. "Good," you gasped, nails scoring the planes of his back and shoulders. "Because I've never wanted anyone else, Samu. It's only ever been you."
He groaned against the shell of your ear, grinding his thick, heavy length against the damp fabric still concealing your aching core. "You're damn right, and it's always gonna stay that way."
One powerful hand found purchase on the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place as he devoured your mouth with bruising, punishing kisses. At the same time, his other hand slipped between you, ripping away the final barrier separating your bodies. The shredded material was summarily discarded, and you barely had a chance to draw breath before he was lining up and plunging home.
"Ride me, sweetheart. Just like you used to."
The command was a deep, resonating purr against your feverish skin, one that sent a shiver dancing down the notches of your spine. A whimper escaped your throat, fingers flexing against Osamu's muscular back. You could already feel his length pulsing inside you, stretching and filling you to the brim with that familiar, delicious ache.
"Fuck, that's perfect," Osamu hissed between his teeth, his head tipping back and eyes slamming shut as you began to roll and undulate against him. You were already impossibly wet and aching, his thick, swollen shaft bottoming out with each fluid pump and grind of your hips. He was seated so deep and full inside you, it felt as though there wasn't a single molecule of space between your bodies.
You couldn't help but agree.
"You feel so good," you moaned, eyes fluttering closed at the delicious stretch. You shifted slightly, finding the best angle to allow the bulbous head of his cock to graze and stroke the sensitive cluster of nerves hidden deep within your slick channel. "So big and hard inside me, splitting me open. Like you were made for me."
Osamu's rough chuckle vibrated against your chest. He dropped a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the tender flesh. "Damn straight, I'm made for you," he affirmed, voice muffled against your skin. "Just like you were made for me. Fuckin' perfect, we are."
You sighed in contentment, arching into his touch. Your hands skated over the rippling muscles of his back and shoulders, reveling in the familiar sensation of his solid, warm frame and the taut lines of his body moving against yours. The scent of his skin - that intoxicating, masculine musk and subtle hints of spice and citrus - enveloped you completely, filling your senses and flooding every corner of your mind.
The room quickly filled with the slick, obscene sounds of your coupling - the wet squelch of your joined bodies, the breathy sighs and ragged grunts as you both raced toward the edge. Your bodies were in perfect sync, instinctively attuned to each other despite the years apart. Every roll and thrust, every shift and cant of your hips, was matched and amplified by his.
It wasn't long before the coil of pleasure in the pit of your stomach began winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. Your breath was coming in short, gasping pants, nails digging into the taut sinews of Osamu's shoulders as you clutched him tighter. He sensed the subtle shift in the air, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
"My beautiful girl," he murmured, calloused palms cradling the sides of your neck and jaw. His piercing stare was focused entirely on you, the intensity of his gaze making your heart trip over itself. "Never knew what I did to deserve a woman like you, but I'll spend every day of my life tryin' to live up to it."
The raw vulnerability in his deep, graveled rumble tugged sharply at your heartstrings. A trembling breath spilled from your lips, eyes prickling with sudden emotion. You reached up, mirroring his hold as you gently cradled his rugged features.
"You don't have to be anyone other than who you are, Osamu," you assured him, voice thick with the swell of emotions roiling in your chest. "Just...just be with me. That's all I've ever needed."
A beat of silence passed between you, a suspended moment that seemed to stretch an eternity. Then, like a thread snapping, Osamu's expression crumbled, and he crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was desperate, hungry, conveying everything unsaid with a ferocity that threatened to consume you whole.
"I love you, Y/N," he panted roughly between biting kisses, calloused palms roaming restlessly over the bare expanse of your back and shoulders. "Fuck, I love you so goddamn much."
Tears pricked your eyes, the lump in your throat thick and hot. "I love you, too," you choked out, kissing him again and again. Your bodies never faltered, the slick slide and pump of his thick cock still pistoning in and out of your molten core.
When Osamu finally pulled back, his pupils were blown wide and black with hunger. "Come for me, beautiful," he urged, thumb slipping between you to circle and rub your swollen clit. "Need to feel you milkin' my cock, wanna feel you cum all over me."
The tension in your belly snapped, white-hot pleasure surging through you like lightning. You cried out, the sound swallowed up by his ravenous mouth. Your cunt spasmed around him, gripping his pulsing shaft and wringing him dry.
Osamu came with a guttural snarl, his body seizing and jerking against yours as his hips pistoned erratically. Thick ropes of seed splashed against your womb, painting your walls and filling every nook and cranny. He kept pumping through his climax, drawing out both your orgasms for as long as possible.
You were both boneless and panting when it was over, limbs tangled together and foreheads pressed close. The heat of the moment was slowly dissipating, replaced by the steady thud of your hearts and the soothing warmth of his bare skin against yours.
Osamu's thumb brushed the swell of your cheek, calloused pads smoothing the lingering tracks of tears. "What's the verdict, babe?" he murmured, dark brows pinching together slightly.
Your own lips twitched in a small smile. "I think you've made a pretty compelling argument so far, Miya," you quipped lightly, then leaned in to kiss him. "But you know, they say it takes a few rounds to really make sure a job's done right."
He chuckled, a low, husky rumble that made the heat stirring in the pit of your belly flare to life once more. His mouth curved into a crooked smirk, the glint in his eyes promising wicked delights and the fulfillment of many, many desires.
"Guess we'll just have to keep tryin' until it takes then, yeah?"
Today I wanted to talk about Kyle Bassinga. Kyle was a 21 year old man from Georgia, whose family described him as "a kind, thoughtful, and smart young man who loved nature, music, and the people around him". Kyle Bassinga was killed on February 18th 2026, just ten days after his birthday. He was found hanging from a tree in a park.
The police ruled it a suicide. The family and local community demanded an investigation. The police refused to change their ruling.
I know this website it too white for this to really go anywhere, but an understanding of the present reality of white supremacy in the United States is just so important to transfeminism here. Lynchings never stopped, white supremacy never went away, you just stopped looking.
Iwaizumi who hates being told that his baby girls crying is them being âmanipulativeâ
He hates itâno, absolutely despises it, because how can a baby be manipulative? It doesnât make sense to him. And he gets fed up with the same remarks happening over and over again, when he carries one of his twin girls when she starts crying, or when he carries her twin sister in his other arm because she was about to start crying as well.
And then he hears itâa random woman who was in the same aisle as him speaks up.
âOh they both know what theyâre doing,â
Her tone isnât necessarily malicious, but it irks Iwaizumi nonetheless. He tries to dismiss her kindly, shaking his head with a hesitant smile.
âAh, I donât think so.â
âI know so, trust me.â She waves her hand at him, the other hand clutching her cart. âIâve seen this happen so many times. They cry when they canât get their way. Itâs almost like they know how to be manipulative!â
This time, Iwaizumi canât hold back his tongue.
âThey donât know what that is.â
âThey do, they do! Itâs wired in themââ
âItâs not wired in them. My daughters are 5 months old and recently recovered from a cold. If they wanna be held itâs because they are babies, not because theyâre evil.â
That makes her go quiet, her lips parting and closing a couple of times before sheâs nodding and walking away.
You walk back from the frozen food aisle, shooting him a puzzled look cause you noticed he was talking to an old woman.
âIs everything okay? I saw you talking with that woman.â
You grab one of your daughters from him, and he nods before leaning down to kiss your forehead.
âPeachy.â
ââŚyou only say peachy when something is off.â
Iwaizumi chuckles at this and pats your back. Because he knows if he tells you the truth, tells you that the woman called your daughters âmanipulativeâ that you would go after her and confront her about it.
Your mama bear instinct have turned you feral when it comes to your babies, and as much as your husband admired you for that, he didnât want to cause you any distress while you were still breastfeeding.
âEverythingâs good, mama. Letâs go home.â
2025 Š all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.
for @notsochillnerd for the Fall Requests. Please excuse the exzessive Atsumu slander in this, I still love him dearly.
End of First Year
âHow do you care for someone who doesnât want to be cared for?â Rintaro asks, eyes glued to his phone as if he doesnât care for an answer.
âHm?â Osamu looks up from the bowl of chips heâs snacking on, swallowing. âWho are you talking about?â
âJust⌠hypothetically speaking.â
âRight,â Osamu nods, though Rintaroâs pretty sure his friend doesnât believe him. Heâs not as easy to fool as Atsumu. âWell, I guess if they donât want to be cared for, thereâs nothing you can do. Forcing them to accept it isnât nice, itâs just harassment.â
âTrue,â Rintaro puts his phone down at last, glaring at the wall behind the hundred and one posters Atsumu has hung up in his room. âBut, you know⌠what if they secretly want to be cared for?â
âBeats me,â Osamu shrugs. âHow would you figure that out anyway?â
Rintaro wants to answer, despite knowing he shouldnât, but Atsumu's returning puts an end to the discussion. Maybe thatâs for the better.
-
Beginning of First year
âWhoâs that?â Rintaro asks, pointing.
âHuh?â Atsumu turns. âOh, thatâs Ginjima. Heâs on the team with us.â
Osamu rolls his eyes. âNot Ginjima, you idiot. Rin means the girl.â
âIâm not an idiot!â Atsumu claims, hackles raised. âHow would I know-?â
âAnd who is she?â Rin asks, interrupting the impending fight. âShe seems familiar.â
âBeats me,â Atsumu shrugs, and Rintaro wonders if he should really be friends with these two. But hey, theyâre on his volleyball team, so he kinda needs to at least get along with them.
âManager's sister, I bet,â Osamu adds after a second. âTheyâve got the same nose.â
Atsumu turns, suddenly interested. âYouâre right. You think sheâs gonna be our new manager? They always pick first years, right?â
âOnly one way to figure it out,â Rin says, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his trousers and walking over.
âGinjima,â he greets the guy, glad that Osamu had told him the name again. âAnd you are?â
You blink, unimpressed. âWhy should I tell you?â
Rin grins. âNo need,â he shrugs. âJust wanted to let you know that Atsumu over there,â he points vaguely in their direction, so you can pick whichever twin you find cuter, âthinks youâre cute.â
âGood for him,â you say, your features blank. âAnyway, about English-â you turn to Ginjima, stopping short only once to send Rin a glare. âDo you need anything else?â
âNah, Iâm good here,â he pulls out his phone and stays where he is, seemingly lost in the vices of technology, though listening in.
-
Beginning of Second YearÂ
âManager-chan,â Rintaro teases you lightly, taking the heavy bag from your shoulders. âDonât run.â
âI wasnât running!â You tell him, your voice dripping with annoyance.Â
âMhm, looked different.â He keeps his steps aligned with yours, slouches under the weight of the bag. âArenât you, like, terribly good in English?â
âThat sentence sounded wrong,â you point out, âbut yes. Why?â
âJust asking for a friend,â Rintaro lies, sending you a smile. âA friend whoâs got terrible marks on his last English Exam.â
âPlease tell me itâs not Atsumu.â
âItâs not Atsumu.â
You narrow your eyes and send him a glare. âIt is Atsumu, right?â
âYou told me not-â
âForget it,â you huff, waving him off. âIs it Atsumu or is it not Atsumu?â
âWell, itâs me, but if you want it to be Atsumu-â
âThank God,â you groan, rubbing your temples. âHe keeps pestering me about his serves, and I donât want to think about what that would sound like in English. Do you need help with your English Lectures?â
âMeh,â Rintaro shrugs. âIâll live.â
Your narrowed eyes again, glaring at him as if you could see right through him.
âWeâll meet after school,â you propose. âAnd Iâm sure thereâs something you can do for me, as a favor.â
âI donât suppose you need a lesson in blocking? No. Well, my best subject is Math, so-â
âDid you see my test?!â You ask, suddenly breathless and on high alert.
âWhat test?â
âMy Math test. Did you?â
âShould I have?â
You donât trust him yet, that is clear. But your shoulders sink lower when he doesnât seem to respond to your threats, until you breathe normally again.
âFine. Math it is.â
-
End of Second Year
âYou knew I was struggling in Math, right?â You ask, unaware of the way the sunlight is creating a halo around your head, that youâre being framed by the sakura blossoms outside the library window.Â
Rintaro would kill for a picture of this, but heâs not sure if he can take a picture sneakily enough.Â
âMost people struggle in Math,â he replies casually, but this time spent together, studying, must have changed you as much as him, because you donât seem convinced this time.
âYouâre a filthy liar.â
He smiles, quick and easy, and catches the way your breath hitches at the sight.Â
Maybe, just maybe, heâs got a chance with you.
âThere you are,â Atsumu announces from the corner, breaking the moment like heâs wont to do. âAre you done yet? Hideko from class D is single again, and I need you to wingman for me.â
âGet Samu to do it,â Rintaro tries to dismiss him, recognizing the signs. How youâre pulling away already, face closing off, the moment lost.
âSamuâs not as talented as you are,â Atsumu pouts, and Rintaro wants to deck him, for real this time.
âYou should go,â you point out, moving to gather all your books. âIâll see next school year, yeah?â
âYeah,â he taps the table, urging to touch you instead. âDonât get lost on the way there.â
You pause, something like confusion washing over your face.
âDonât say things like that,â you point out, a touch of vulnerability to your voice. âPeople might think you like me.â
-
Beginning of Third Year
Atsumu is talking about nothing else, and Rintaro would like him very much to stop.
Itâs one thing to get confessed to on the very first day of the new school year, another that the girl confessing is the most popular girl from the class below, and yet another that he cut her off before she could finish, his answer a resounding âNo, thank youâ. But the fact that Atsumu wonât shut up about it like itâs the most interesting thing in the world-
âHeâs in love, donât you get it?â Osamu finally shuts his brother up before taking another bite out of his sandwich - his famous second breakfast. âHas been for a while, ya doofus.â
âIâm not a doofus!â Atsumu cries. âWhat do you mean heâs in love?â
Osamu rolls his eyes so far back that Rintaro starts wondering if heâs looking at the back of his skull, searching for a way to return Atsumu like a wrongly bought pair of socks.Â
âIâm not telling you if you havenât figured it out already, Captain!â
âNot fair, I- Oh, Manager-chan,â Atsumu interrupts himself at your sight, rubbing his neck awkwardly. âAre you here to talk about the Club?â
âNo,â youâre glaring at him in a way that tells him youâve heard the news. âRintaro, do you have a minute? And bring your Math and English Books.â
-
He follows you down the hallway, up the stairs to the rooftop thatâs surprisingly empty for this time of day. Maybe itâs the cold wind that has driven everyone else off, though you wrap your arms around yourself and face it like a champ, turning to glare at him instead.
âYouâre my boyfriend,â you tell him, with the voice you usually only use to scold the twins when theyâre being stupid. âAs of now, youâre my boyfriend.â
Rintaro stares back, speechless for the first time in ages. You falter at the sight of it, your momentum lost.
âI mean, it felt like you, err, like you had feelings for me. The last two years. And if I was right about it, Iâd-â
âSo youâre ordering me to be your boyfriend?â He asks, unable to keep from smiling. âInstead of confessing?â
âWell, yeah.â You scoff. âConfessing is stupid.â
âReally? So you donât want me to confess to you?â
You falter again, though more flustered than embarrassed this time. âI mean, I could⌠err, listen to you. I think it could be nice, coming from you.â
âBut not from you?â
Your brows furrow angrily again. âDonât make fun of me.â
âOh, no, you canât have me as your boyfriend and not have me make fun of you. Thatâs not how it works.â
âSo youâre it?â You cut him off, a little breathless, and a little speechless too. âI mean, weâre it? A couple.â
Rintaro grins, slips out of his sweatshirt, and drapes it across your shoulders. âAnd I want everyone to know it, Baby.â
-
End of Third Year
âThe twins are fighting again,â Rintaro mutters in your ear.
âDonât care,â you reply, leaning further into him. âWhat do you think of that?â You point his phone at him, his screen filled with pictures of different dresses. âI like the purple one.â
âThe purple one is fire,â he pulls you a little closer, and lets his head rest on top of yours. âBabe, thereâs a girl staring at me.â
âIâm not sitting on your lap again to stake a claim,â you answer flatly. âAnd if itâs my reflection again, Iâm going to bite you.â
âOh, I like that,â he teases, laughing when you slap his thigh instead.
Ginjima sighs from across the table, glaring at them. âI hate being single.â
âIâd hate that too,â Rintaro replies truthfully, wincing when you pinch his thigh through his pants. âOuch. What was that for?â
âFor being mean to Ginjima. Ginjima, is there no girl youâre interested in?â
âI mean,â he stutters, flustered under your sudden attention. âMiho is cute.â
Rintaro wrinkles his nose. âMiho has a crush on Atsumu. You donât want someone with no taste.â
âI used to have a crush on Atsumu,â you admit, giggling when you add. âFor about five seconds, until he started talking. Ginjima, you can still win her over. Though donât listen to Rintaroâs advice, not all girls want freaks.â
Rintaro sighs, as if mortally wounded. âNot all boys want freaks either, but here we are.â
âOh, boo,â you tease him. âYou fell first, donât lie.â
âAnd you fell harder.â
âThat I did,â you admit freely, before handing him back his phone. âThanks for buying the purple dress for me.â
He sighs again, exaggerating it. âYouâre going to be the death of me.â
âOh,â you pinch his cheek lightly. âItâs cute that you think death is going to get you out of this relationship.â
â a haikyuu fanfic // suddenly... they got hot?!
synopsis: years later, you find yourself fucking the karasuno men... and you cannot help but ask one question: when did they get so hot?!
pairing: afab! reader x aged! up hinata shoyo, kageyama tobio, tuskishima kei, tadashi yamaguchi, daichi sawamura, sugawara koushi, ryunosuke tanaka.
cw: MDNI. CONTAINS MAJOR SMUT. NOT PROOFREAD!
nsfw includes: penetration. cunnilingus. blowjob. dry-humping. fingering. brother's bsf trope. cheating. office sex. power imbalance. dubcon. on-duty fucking?? fwb. "teaching" sex. prostitution. male and female orgasms. rough smex(???).
old m.list. | new m.list.
âŽâË hinata shoyo!
i'm back. ten thirty, hotel lovebomb. you blink at the text. you immediately rub your thighs together at the thought of him, the thought of going to fuck your brother's best friend.
"my god, shoyo." you groan, raking your nails down the pro-athlete's sculpted back. his tanned skin, courtesy of brazil, smacks against your ass with lecherous plaps! the fat of your ass and thighs jiggle, prompting the athlete to grasp handfuls of your body and knead it under his firm grip.
shoyo groans, holding onto your body as he fucks into your pliant cunt from behind. his breath is short, punctuated with ragged moans that remind you of what you two are doing - fucking in a nameless motel somewhere before the japanese citizens even know he's back.
you meet his thrusts backwards, rolling your hips to match his frenzied, enthusiastic rhythm. his chest presses to your back and he snakes a strong hand around your waist to hold you firmly.
you gasp, feeling the pressure of his hold on your tummy. his weighted grasp, along with his unyielding thrusts make your knees go weak. you feel your cunt spasm against his length, contracting out pulses that only serve to lure him into fucking you better and harder and faster.
you feel his washboard abs press against your back, feel the muscles of his bicep tick as he holds you close. his breath is hot against your neck, his weight delicious against your slack body. you feel all blood rush down your body, leaving you delirious and fucked-out.
"fuck, shoyo." you groan helplessly as he grinds his cock into your gummy walls with endless stamina, "when- when did you... get so fuckin' hot?!"
shoyo laughs from behind you, something boyish and irresponsible, "probably brazil."
"th-thank brazil."
âŽâË kageyama tobio!
the last time you saw the infamous king of the court, you were tutoring him for english. he fucked up that test, and you never bothered teaching him again. but here he was... four years later, with a new lesson to learn.
"slightly to the right..." you moan, breathlessly moving his face against your cunt. his tongue licks down an experimental stripe against your fluttering bundle of nerves and you keen into his touches. your lips part, "yeah. are you sure... you wanna eat me out?"
he only nods eagerly, licking another soft stripe in the same manner.
it only takes a few minutes of adjustments before kageyama tobio proves himself to be the most adaptable man on earth. his fingers dig into your flesh, your hips are pulled hard against his handsome face, and his tongue darts across your pretty clit, pressing messy kisses to it.
"ah-hah..!" you pant, arching off the mattress as he makes a mess of your juices on his tongue. his pink, sultry muscle is quick across your cunt. it licks and nips and bites and then kisses the building ache away. he hums against you, then groans and grunts and whimpers. you feel all of him â all of his feral, borderline animalistic sounds and actions. he loses himself in you.
after making you cum the third time, you pant, droopy gaze going to rest on his flushed, sticky face. you bit down your lips, "kageyama... when did you get... hot?"
he blinks, then immediately flames at your question, tucking his face back against your pussy with a sly blush.
âŽâË tsukishima kei!
not ever in your twenty-something years on earth could you guess you were going to be holed up in some rando's bedroom on a random party, gasping over the sounds of loud and trash EDM as that anti-social, middle school ex-classmate of yours, tsukishima kei, would be fucking your cunt so obscenely.
his brows bunch, rosy-lips parted as sweat trails down his sculpted cheekbones and down his pale skin. he clasps your palms in his broader ones, pinning you down easily as his mushroom tip bludgeons an impression of itself against your gummy walls.
you feel your eyes criss-cross, drooling lips part open in yet another loud moan of his name. you feel your brain turn to mush, effectively growing dumber 'n dumber with each powerful ram into your gushing pussy. you feel your jaw sag open as you gasp, "tsu-tsukki..."
"hm?" a lazy smirk pulls at his full lips as he slows his pace down, deliberately deepening each drag of his cock to give you some space to think, to breathe. his rough words are punctuated with ecstatic pants, "what's up?"
your eyes rake over his body for good measure. muscled body, rippling biceps, sharp eyes. the boy you remember from your childhood was just a tall, awkward, dry-humored fucker! never did you think that your body would be pressed against his in such an intimate dance.
you grin dopily, "when... did you get so fuckin' hot?"
tsukshima scoffs but his cheeks are dusted pink, "shut up."
âŽâË tadashi yamaguchi!
"the audit... report." yamaguchi's words lose themselves somewhere between the sounds of your obscene moans and his whimpers. you cock up an eyebrow at your highschool crush, tilting your head to the side as you ask, "what about the audit report, yamaguchi?"
but he finds it so hard to speak with your foot pressing down on his cock. you're both shut in your office, with your subordinate yamaguchi biting down his lips to contain his moans as you play with his erection as if it's a toy.
pressing down on the bulge, he stutters his hips upwards. his eyes are wide, cheeks flaming as he asks, "why... why are you doing this?"
"i'm asking you for the audit report." you hum, "i'm your boss. is it not your job to get it to me?"
he gulps, eyeing down your foot as you press the heel of your feet harder into his painfully hard cock. he stammers, "i- i mean... this."
your foot moves forward and backwards over the dress slacks. you feel how painfully constricted yamaguchi is under those formal clothes of his. you tut, "think of it as a reward."
he nods without putting up a fight, his body going slack in the chair as he feels the friction build up with your movements. head tipping backwards, he fists his hands as you caress his growing bulge with erratic, hard movements.
one more stroke and yamaguchi stills, chewing on his lips as his cum wets his dress slacks. you tsk, "get me that audit report, yeah?"
yamaguchi nods, all sweaty and undone. standing up on jelly-like knees, he pulls a binder against his crotch as he begins to walk out of your cabin. you call for him and he turns. you smile, "by the way, when did you... y'know, get hot?"
his ears go red as he bows, "i- i don't know...?"
"hm." you shrug, unbothered, "that report now, please."
âŽâË daichi sawamura!
taut blue uniform across his muscled body, and you all but feel your tongue loll out of your mouth like a badly-behaved dog. he grins at your state, whispering, "don't look so easy."
but it's hard not to look easy when officer daichi, your highschool ex, is pressing his hot body against you in the backseat of his government-issued police car and kissing you all mean and mouthy.
you sink down to your knees, your flesh rubbing against the carpeted floor as you tug open his uniform slacks and take his leaky, bulbous tip in your mouth. he bucks under you, groaning heavily as he fists your hair in his hand and maneuvers your head up and down his shaft. his dick is heavy in your mouth, hot as you run your tongue up and down the throbbing veins. he hisses and ruts his hips upwards into your mouth.
your nose hits the tufts of neatly-trimmed hair, eyes rolling back as your ex-boyfriend abuses your throat with short, quick thrusts of his cock inside you. air becomes scarce and you dig your nails within his uniform, tearing moon-shaped crescents into the fabric.
daichi grunts, cumming in your mouth with lazy, slow-dragged pumps. you pull off of his cock with a lewd pop! your voice is hoarse as you mumble, "what happened to my good boy, daichi? hah. when... when did you get so hot?"
daichi shrugs, tugging you upwards with a mean, sharp pull. he pulls your dress upwards as you straddle his hips. his eyes meet yours and he grins, "probably when you broke up with me."
âŽâË sugawara koushi!
you blink at the man sprawling his legs open in front of you. your old highschool classmates smiles up at you, holding a hundred dollar bill as he muses, "i didn't know you got into... this business."
the neon lights of the strip-club colour you in a myriad of shades. you shrug, accepting the money and tucking it into your bra. "i didn't know you were an enjoyer of this business."
pushing him back, you grind on the man. your body hovers over his as you give him a lap dance but your warm flesh never touches his, something that clearly adheres to the rules of the establishment you work at. but sugawara is wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling you down to straddle him.
you shake your head quickly, "i can't." but he laughs off your protest, "i'm clothed. you're clothed. we're not doing anything wrong."
and so, you find yourself grinding down on his erection, looping your hands across his neck for support. his erection is needy, you feel is throbbing against your hot core. your panties drench with your essence, even marking his jeans with sinful streaks of translucent lust. you both grind together, panting in each other's mouth as both of you climb your respective highs. you cum, you with a sweet moan and him with a grunt. he wets his pants with his cum, some of it transferring onto your soaked panties as well.
you smile down at him, all cashmere as you grind down on his sensitive shaft, "my, my. when did you get hot, sugawara?"
he grins back, pulling out another another hundred dollar bill, "another round?"
you tuck the bill into your bra again.
âŽâË ryunosuke tanaka!
"stretch. and just breathe." tanaka whispers in your ears, holding your legs apart with one strong hand as another fucks in and out of you. you're pressed, face-first, into the gym wall as your old flame, and current personal trainer presses from behind, fucking his agile fingers deeper into your slippery, sopping pussy.
you throw your head back, clawing at the motivational wall as your moans ring loud in the closed gym. you feel his bruising erection press into your ass as he fastens his pace. his fingers curl and wiggle around your heat, making you lose your balance. trapped, immobile, between his hard body and the wall, you can't help but do anything other than cry out his name.
"ryu- nghhh fuckk-!" you moan as his other hand circles around your clit. your entire body spasms, "fu-fuck... ryu my husband's gonna be hereâ"
"soon?" he laughs from behind you, your words nothing but fuel for him to fuck you faster. "yeah, i'd have you cummin' again by the time he's even here."
he pulls your face back and plants a sloppy kiss across your lips. you yelp, feeling an violent orgasm brew in your stomach. with stuttering words and half-working braincells, you gulp and ask, "ryu... when did you... get so-so hot?"
"been like this since forever, baby." he laughs breathily against your lips as you feel you husband's car pull into the parking lot, "you're just slow to- hah, catch up."
a.n: NOT PROOFREAD. ALSO PLEASE ignore that all of them have always been hot, okay? enjoy the nasties mwuah mwuah! pshh, requests are open!
old m.list. | new m.list.
Okay. . . Reader serenading Kiyoomi while listening to love songs and organizing a random junk drawer. . . Thoughts? (I'm obsessed with how lovingly chaotic your reader is đ¤)
âbaby, do we need three rolls of tape in here?â
âwhatever you say handsome.â
kiyoomi laughs at your answer, shaking his head before continuing to rustle around the drawer, pulling things out to clean it and organize it. he had grown frustrated with the clutter, not being able to find things in it easily; youâd argued that itâs literally in the name to be junky and disorganized.
he won the argument, but you werenât making the task easy for him.
standing right behind him, swaying your bodies back and forth to the music playing from your phone, you go from subtle rocks back and forth to a thorough sway, guiding his body with yours and disrupting his organizing. sometimes your hands sneak up to grab his pecs, squishy under the t-shirt heâs wearing, before his hands come up and bring them back down to his waist. âstay.â
âbut they want to wander,â you whine, tickling his stomach. he squeaks and grips them firmly to still your fingers.
âif you cannot behave, you will not stay,â he says firmly.
âoo, iâm so scared,â you mock.
he sighs. you win.
you kiss his back and bury your face in the fabric of his shirt. it smells like cheap detergent and fabric softener, the kind made for sensitive skin; he always said it made his clothes softer. you couldnât care less, as long as your clothes were clean, but you were more than happy buying it for kiyoomi, anything to keep him happy.
a song starts to play, one that reminds you of the early days of your relationship, and you coo softly and squeeze your arms around his waist tighter, âoh, kiyoomiâŚâ
âi know,â he says softly. you can hear the smile in his voice.
you find yourself humming to the lyrics before they bubble out of your throat, your eyes fluttering shut and letting yourself get lost in the words. itâs like youâre doing the most romantic thing in the world, and not just cleaning out a junk drawer, like youâre about to whisk him away on a getaway that allows you both to indulge in the love that is your relationship. it amazes you how much you adore him, the love you have for him only growing with each day, you wake up eager to see him and dread sleeping in fear of missing him.
âsing it, baby,â he says, interrupting your sentiment. you grin as you belt the lyrics, chin resting on his spine as you sing into the air, disrupting the midday stillness that sneaks in through the window. you sway your body with him again, this time letting the melody take charge in dictating your movements, indulging in the moment with your man.
the song ends, and you feel him relax under you. âyouâre a bad singer,â he lies.
âi know,â you giggle.
âitâs okay. i like it.â
âwhy?â
âbecause itâs you.â
you melt against him, making puppy eyes at the back of his head adoringly. he hums, âkeep singing for me. you need the practice.â
âokay,â you mewl happily, singing the next round of lyrics while kiyoomi continues to clean the junk drawer, moving his body with yours and occasionally humming the tune with you.
everyone who works under msby can see it, well, everyone besides you and him. you donât seem to notice the way his entire face lights up when you walk into the gymnasium along with the rest of the cheerleaders. you donât see the doopy smile on his face, or the way he canât seem to tear his eyes away from you.
their coach ends up throwing his hands up in the air in defeat before calling for a break. he hopes atsumu will take the next fifteen minutes to collect himself, that never happens. atsumu uses their break to sit back and admire the focused look on your face as you practice the new choreography for their next game.
no one is sure how you miss the clear signs. like seriously, atsumu used to beg his coach to let them stay longer for practices, insisting heâd close up the gym. now, the second coach says to go home, atsumu is running to the locker rooms to shower and change into clean clothes.
he ignores the sly comments his teammates make, and sprints out the doors in the direction of the womenâs locker rooms. youâve gotten used to seeing him lean against the wall as you exit the lockers, the second the two of you lock eyes itâs as if no one else exists.
itâs amusing for everyone around the two of you to witness your interactions. they watch the way both your faces flush, and the way the two of you shyly walk alongside each other.
atsumu swears he sounds cool and confident, but heâs stumbling over his words every time your pretty eyes meet his. oh god, and if you laugh? atsumu straight up freezes, sakusa takes great pleasure in smacking the back of his head to get him to reboot.
he opens and closes every door for you, theyâve watched him walk you to your car and open the door. the craziest part of this? his teammates have witnessed him buckle you in before biding you a shy goodbye as he closes your door.
atsumu doesnât head to his car until your out of the parking lot. and at the point, he isnât walking, the fake blonde is skipping to his car with the biggest grin on his lips.
he never EVER hides his feelings for you, and maybe itâs because he doesnât notice how head over heels he is for you. hinata is sure if atsumu realized how deeply he felt for you, heâd at least attempt to keep his goofy actions to a minimum.
the rest of the team strongly disagree.
the entirely of msby arenât the only ones who are forced to witness the feelings the setter has for you. everyone who watches their games can see it. once your cheer team finishes their performance, the camera ALWAYS pans over to the setter whoâs enthusiastically cheering your name. his entire face flushing once he realizes the camera is zoned in on him.
atsumu doesnât care (heâs a little embarrassed), especially not when you stare at him with those eyes. the kind of eyes that make him believe he has a chance with you (he does).
he looks up from his phone as you make your way to his table, your hair a little mussed. up close, your cheeks were a little pink and you breathed a little too hard; you probably rushed over here.
"hey," you breathed, sitting on the chair on the other side of the table. "what are you doing here?"
"um," he starts, then shakes his head. "nothing. just wanted to get out of the house."
"oh," you say with a smile, putting down your bag and taking off your jacket. "you been here long?"
"not really." he puts his phone away. "what about you? what are you doing here?"
"don't laugh at me," you say with a slight chuckle, "but oikawa said he'd set me up on a blind date."
he blinks, then laughs under his breath. "huh. did he now?"
"yeah," you laugh. "but i'm, like, 10 minutes late because there was a train thing so i have no idea if the guy he set me up with is still here."
iwaizumi cocks his head. "he didn't tell you who it was?"
you shake your head, your hair following the movement. "he said i'd know when i got here, but now i'm here and i don't see some dude waiting for nothing."
you look around the cafe trying to see anyone you know, so you can't see iwaizumi try to control the twitch he can feel starting at the corner of his mouth. "well," he says, "you can sit with me if you like. and here, get some; this is too much for me." he slides a plate with a few pastries towards you.
you beam. "thanks. can i borrowâthanks," you say as he hands you the extra fork and knife set in front of him. he watches you practically saw off a big chunk of the cinnamon roll he'd bought and shovel it into your mouth. he can't help his snicker.
"horry, ang hongry," you sound out as you try to wrestle with the giant bite you just took. after you finally manage to swallow, you say, "man, thank god that blind date didn't happen. that would've been embarrassing."
iwaizumi smiles. "i'm sure it would be fine. it was funny; whoever oikawa tried to set you up with won't be stupid enough to be turned off by something like that."
"well, we won't know now." you wave your knife in the air. "you want some? this place has great cinnamon rolls."
he watches you cut another piece of the roll and hand the fork to him. he gently takes the fork and feeds himself, chewing thoughtfully. "it's good," he says, handing the fork back.
you grin at him. "can't believe you ordered this by the way. what are the chances?"
he hums and smiles. "anyway, since you're here, let's catch up. i haven't talked to you in a while. how've you been?"
â
you waved iwaizumi goodbye after he dropped you off at your house. it was a great afternoon; even if the blind date oikawa set up didn't happen, at least you had a lot of fun catching up with him.
you'd been friends since last year, meeting through oikawa, who was your classmate first. you and iwaizumi weren't exactly close, you were closer to oikawa, really, but you were friendly and spoke to each other in the hallways. this day brought you closer together, actually, and honestly, hanging out with him today was so much better than some dumb blind date anyway. you enjoyed his company.
it was also nice that he said that you should do that again. you'd said yes immediately, of course. maybe you could watch a movie.
heading inside your house, you toed your shoes off and walked into the living room, placing your bag on the coffee table and relaxing on the couch. your phone vibrates against your hip, signaling the arrival of a text.
oikawa [6:17 PM]: how was the date!
you [6:19 PM]: what date lol it didn't happen
oikawa [6:20 PM]: wtf no way? he told me he was there and he was waiting for you
you [6:21 PM]: who was there??
you [6:22 PM]: i don't even know who you set me up with, oikawa
you [6:22 PM]: but i met iwaizumi there, we just hung out the whole time
you [6:23 PM]: better than some stupid date tbh
you watched as the three dots of oikawa typing showed up and vanished at least three times before he finally sent a message.
oikawa [6:25 PM]: no offense
oikawa [6:25 PM]: but are you stupid
your face contorts into disgusted confusion. "what is this guyâ" you start to complain, then something occurs to you
"it's a surprise," oikawa had sing-songed. "you'll know who i set you up with when you get there."
"but the only person i knew there was iwaizumi," you mumble. then your stomach falls to your feet. "OH MY GOD."
you practically punch your phone into your contacts and frantically scroll for a name. when you finally find it, you jab CALL and jump up, pacing nervously across your living room as it rings.
finally, the other end picks up. "hello?"
"it was you!" you nearly shriek into the phone. "oh my god, i'm so stupid!"
iwaizumi laughs on the other end.
you nearly collapse on the couch, pressing your palm hand to your forehead. "oh my god. oh my god. iwaizumi, i'm such an idiotâ"
"you're not," he reassures you. "really. you just didn't expect it."
"did you know?" you ask him, pulling your hand away from your face.
"yeah, i did," he admits sheepishly.
"why didn't you say anything?" you whine, leaning back against the couch cushions.
you can hear a noise in the background. "sorry, hold on, getting on the train," he says, and after a shuffling sound, he speaks again, "i... don't know why i didn't say anything, actually. oikawa said the same thing to me, that i'd know who he set me up with then i got there. then you walked in and looked like you had no idea what was going on, so i thought oikawa was kidding when he said he set me up on a blind date."
"but i told you eventually that he set me up!" you point out.
"yeah, it made sense then. but i don't know. seemed more fun if it was just us hanging out without... you know. pressure." he seemed sincere as he spoke.
you laugh exasperatedly unto your phone. "i feel like such an idiot."
"don't. it's kinda cute, actually."
that makes you flush. "my god," you groan, trying not to dwell on it. "oikawa will never let me live this down."
"don't worry about him," iwaizumi says kindly, but you can hear an underlying threat. you vaguely recall someone pelting oikawa with a volleyball in the hallway, coming from iwaizumi's classroom...
you try to laugh but it turns into a whine. "i feel so silly."
"but it was fun, though, right?" he asks, and you can hear him get a little unsure. "i mean, even it didn't work out as oikawa intended."
you sit up on the couch. "it was," you say sincerely. then you sniff.
"and," he continues, and you can somehow tell in his tone that he's trying to muster up the confidence to say this coolly, "the next time can be an actual date... if you want."
you smile. "i'd like that, actually."
iwaizumi laugh softly, and you can hear his relief. "great. how does next week sound?"
a gift for @mangostarjam as part of the summer fic exchange organized by @sodaneko i hope you enjoy fuji :3
word count: 1.3k
Your breath smells like sweet wine when you grin and tell Osamu, âYou know, I think you should get a girlfriend.âÂ
He raises an eyebrow at you. Itâs just you and him in Atsumuâs living room, your legs kicked over his lap and one of his fingers twirling around a strand of your hair. Everyone else is gathered in the kitchen, their loud conversation carrying over, but Osamuâs attention is all on you. âYeah?â he questions, pinching and twisting the ends of your hair.
You shrug. âOr a boyfriend. Either or.âÂ
Osamu makes a humming noise in the back of his throat. Heâs watching you, looking attentively at the way your lips almost twitch into a grin. âAnd what am I going to do with a girlfriend or a boyfriend if I get one?âÂ
âCherish them. Love them. Maybe get laid, god willing.âÂ
He scoffs, and leans back against the couch, dropping your hair. âYouâre always in my business,â Osamu chastises lightly.Â
âIâm just worried about you!â you protest, sliding your legs off his lap to lean forward, poised and ready to lecture. âYouâre always working. Itâs so intense, and donât say itâs not because I can see the bags under your eyes.âÂ
âI like working,â Osamu counters simply. Itâs a nice excuse for him, one that he employs liberally. Itâs easy to bury himself in itÂ
You frown. Itâs cute. It almost makes Osamu laugh. âYou never meet anyone new.âÂ
âWhy the hell would I want to meet anyone new?â he asks.Â
You bring a hand down against his knee, for emphasis. âTo get your girlfriend and/or boyfriend!âÂ
Osamu flinches. âAnd/or?âÂ
âListen,â you start, and Osamu knows heâs in for it, âIâm just saying, as the best friend you have, maybe youâd be a little happier if you found someone to be with.âÂ
You say it like the words are forced from you, uncomfortably and uneasily. Osamu looks at you and the way you avoid eye contact and wonders if youâre just barely drunk enough to bring up this conversation. He figures you must really be worried about him and his ungodly eye bags.Â
But Osamuâs not interested in finding someone to be with, not someone that isnât you. He hasnât been interested in anyone thatâs not you since the day he met you back in his final year of high school. Which, coincidentally is the last time heâd ever had a girlfriend and/or boyfriend, and Osamu canât help but feel that thatâs a little bit pathetic. So, the conversationâs pointless, he figures.Â
He just crosses his arms over his chest and insists, âIâm plenty happy.âÂ
âStop arguing with me,â you say, and then your tone shifts slightly, âI know youâre lonely.âÂ
Osamu narrows his eyes at you. âYeah? You know everything now?âÂ
âI can just tell,â you say, eyes dropping down your lap. âFrom this look you get sometimes. Especially when you see other people together,â you trail off, and then lift your eyes to look at him. âI know you, Samu.âÂ
For a moment, he thinks he might vomit. From the way that you look at him, the way you say his name, it makes his face hot and his heart leap into his throat. Everything seems dry to him, all of the sudden. âAlright,â he nods, hoping you donât notice the redness in his cheeks. âThen what would you do if you were me?âÂ
âIf I were you?â you question.Â
âYeah,â Osamu says, shrugging, hoping that it downplays his abrupt nerves. âHow would you go about getting a girlfriend and/or boyfriend?âÂ
You let out a stream of air. âWell, first Iâd cut back my hours at work.âÂ
âNot gonna happen,â Osamu interjects.Â
âOh my fucking god, man,â you groan, dropping your head back in frustration, âjust hire more people to help you! Itâs good for the economy, anyway.â
He smirks. âSince when do you give a shit about the economy?âÂ
âCan we get back on track, please, you jerk?â you grumble, and then straighten out your shoulders. âSo, Iâd cut back on work and Iâd spend more time going out with my friends. Be more sociable, you know?âÂ
Osamu looks over his shoulder and then back at you. âAm I not being sociable right now?âÂ
You give him a flat, dry expression. âDrinking on Atsumuâs couch with the same twenty people youâve known since high school doesnât count. Unless you plan on fucking Aran. I mean like going out. With people you donât see as much and ideally arenât related to.âÂ
âWhat if I am planning on fucking Aran?âÂ
âAre you?â you question.Â
âNo.âÂ
You roll your eyes. âYou love to waste my time.âÂ
âSo you want me to just go out and party until I meet someone?â Osamu asks.Â
âWell, yeah kinda.âÂ
âIâd rather be at work.âÂ
You groan again, eliciting a light chuckle from Osamu. âYou are quite literally the biggest buzzkill on the planet.âÂ
âWhat if the love of my life walks through the doors of Onigiri Miya and Iâm none the wiser because I was out at a bar trying to pick someone up?â he counters, though he knows itâs not going to happen. He argues to indulge you, because he doesnât believe there is anyone he could meet that could ever change his mind about you.Â
âOh, and youâre gonna ask for their number while youâre working? Like thatâs not creepy.âÂ
Osamu raises an eyebrow. âAny creepier than asking for someoneâs number at a bar?âÂ
âAlright,â you relent, raising your hands in defeat and flopping back against the soft cushion of the couch, âyou clearly do not want my advice. You just want to be alone and single forever. You know what? Fine by me.âÂ
âOh, câmon, donât pout,â Osamu says, trying to sound like heâs not laughing at you, and not doing well.Â
âIâm not pouting,â you say through a very obvious pout.Â
âYou are.â Osamu reaches over and pokes your cheek. He sees your lip twitch, like your biting back a smile. âCâmon, just smile for me.âÂ
You wave him off. âNo, you piss me off.âÂ
Osamu sighs. âAlright, what would you do if you found someone then?â Osamu shifts, leaning forward to get closer to you. âLike, say I got someoneâs number and weâve been talking. How would you take it from there?âÂ
You take a moment to eye him, trying to spot any insincerity. âIâd get them flowers,â you say uneasily after a beat of silence.Â
âFlowers?â he echoes. And he doesnât want to tease you again and risk irritating you further, but he seems he canât stop himself. His grin is sloppy. âIs that not the cheesiest possible thing you could do?â he asks.Â
âItâs not cheesy,â you insist. âItâs sweet. It shows someone you care about them. It shows effort and consideration.âÂ
âSo, youâre so worried about me working too much and being lonely, you want me to go out with people constantly until I meet someone I like enough and then, if Iâm lucky enough to get their number, you want me to send them flowers?âÂ
You nod. âYeah, pretty much.âÂ
âNever gonna happen.âÂ
âOh, come on,â you complain.Â
âItâs a lot of effort. I like my work too much,â Osamu explains. âAnd really, to be honest, Iâd rather just be here with you.âÂ
Osamu smiles at how easily you relent, how quickly you give into the smile that grows on your face. âWell, I guess thatâs another option. Just sticking around me forever. Yâknow, I wouldnât mind it.âÂ
âHmm,â Osamu looks at you, and feels warm. âOr maybe Iâll just fuck Aran.âÂ
The next morning, Osamu wakes up at the same time he always does, with the intention to go into work the same as he always does, with the same staff and the same hours. The only variation being his stop at your apartment along the way, to deposit some flowers at your doorstep. He smiles to himself as he does so, and he bets youâll know exactly what it means.
no warnings, just fluff and atsumu being whipped and stupid
â
itâs like a reflex to him, you ask him to do something and heâs on autopilot. obeying your request before he even realizes what heâs doing.
gently shaking him awake at night and in your lowest whisper asking, âiâm super thirsty, could you bring me some water please?â
youâre not even sure his eyes are fully open before heâs sleepily stumbling to the kitchen, returning with a full glass of ice water in hand.
âthank you,â you smile up at him, though he canât see it in the darkness of your bedroom.
itâs not like he even registered your words anyways, nor will he have any recollection of this interaction the next morning.
or youâre standing in line with him at your favorite coffee shop before suddenly realizing you left your loyalty punch card in the glove compartment of his car.
âi almost forgot!â you gasp before hurriedly handing atsumu your purse and rushing out of the shop door and toward the parking lot.
a few moments later, you re-enter the cafe, relieved to see that it still wasnât your turn to order and you hadnât held up the line. atsumuâs eyes seem to have never left the menu. he stands still as he was before you left, continuing to study the extensive list of monthly specials.
âtsumu, my purse,â you say, waving your hands in front of him.
that seems to catch his attention. his brows furrow as he looks down at your open hand gesturing him to give you something, and for the first time he notices your purse in his grasp. when did he even take this from you?
atsumu is used to the usual teasing from his brother, but tonight his twinâs taunts seem a little more serious as he sits across from him at the counter of onigiri miya.
âyou know, sometimes it seems like ____ has got you programmed or something,â osamu comments as he finishes bagging up his brotherâs usual order.
âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âi donât know, itâs just sometimes i watch you two and itâs like you read her mind. do things before she even finishes asking,â he explains. âitâs not bad, just a little funny watching from the outside. didnât know youâd be whipped like that.â
âiâm not whipped, dumbass,â atsumu scoffs. âthanks for the food, iâll see you later.â
osamu just waves him off, heâll figure it out sooner or later.
âhoney, iâm home,â atsumu calls out, setting his keys on the hanger next to the door.
âbe there in a second!â
atsumu busies himself plating up your meals while he waits for you. cracking open a can of your favorite sparking water and pouring it over some ice as the sound of your footsteps draws closer.
âtsumu can you get one of those cans out of the fridge and pou- oh you already did. perfect,â you smile, noticing the glass sitting neatly on the table next to your plate.
atsumu freezes in place, suddenly trying to recall what heâd even been doing for the past five minutes.
The bass thumped in your chest, but it was nothing compared to the way Tsukishimaâs arm slung heavy across your shoulders made your pulse race. His weight leaned into you- not because he couldnât stand straight (though the whisky in his hand wasnât helping), but because he wanted to.
âYâknowâŚâ his voice was low, rougher than usual, his breath hot against your ear. âYouâre⌠really pretty right now.â
Your eyes narrowed. âYouâre drunk.â
He smirked- lazy, smug- lifting his drink just enough to swirl the melting ice. âMaybe. Or maybe Iâm just not holding back anymore.â
When you didnât respond, he tilted his head, the gold of his hair catching the neon lights, his glasses sliding down his nose. âDonât look at me like that unless you want me to do something about it.â
You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was, of the way his thumb was brushing idly against the bare skin of your arm. âSomething like⌠what?â
His smirk deepened, slow and deliberate. âYouâll find out once we get out of here.â
And thenâbecause he was a menace- he took another sip, eyes on you the whole time, like he already owned the answer.
tsukishima who notices your glasses first when you two meet, perched high on your nose. he thinks heâs never seen someone pull off glasses so adorably before, or maybe thatâs just because of your face. from then on, heâll always take note of each movement you do with the framesâfingers pushing them up when they fall down, pulling strands of hair out when they get caught in the hinge, adjusting them when theyâre askew.Â
tsukishima who grabs a microfiber cloth to clean your glasses when he sees them get smudged with fingerprints. heâll take his timeâcareful and slow, rubbing the stubborn prints out diligently so that you wonât notice any hint of a blur when you put them back on. always your glasses first, then his after.
tsukishima who gently massages the sore red marks on your nose when your glasses feel too heavy for your face. heâll chastise you every time, telling you to pick lighter frames when you whine about getting a headache from them. he never brings it up when youâre glasses shopping though, because he loves giving you that temporary relief and seeing your face soften from his touch.Â
tsukishima who thinks you look like such a sexy nerd when you gaze at him with lust-filled eyes, frames sitting low on your nose. he smirks, simply leaning back against the couch, watching your eyelashes bat at him from behind the clear glass.Â
you straddle his lap, desire pumping through your veins at the way his half-lidded eyes look sensually at you behind his own pair of glasses. you grind slowly against him, wrapping your arms around his neck, body melting from the friction. all while tilting your head to the side in the way you know he loves, with strands of hair falling over your frames.Â
âkei?â you whisper softlyâseductively, âdo you like what you see?â
tsukishima hums low in his throat, the sound going straight to your pussy. he places both hands on your waist, slipping underneath your shirt as he leans forward and kisses you deeply, pushing your body at an angle that would make you fall if he didnât immediately brace your back.Â
heâs licking and biting your lips, tongue roaming your mouth in betweenâwet smacking sounds is all you both hear.
grinding his hips up, he notches his aching cock perfectly in between your legs and against your clothed heat, feeling a puff of pride swell in his chest at your moans now adding to the lewd sounds filling the living room.Â
you both break apart, lungs heaving. tsukishima rips his glasses off his face and throws them off to the side, not even caring that they bounce off the couch and onto the floor.
without missing a beat, he instantly grabs the back of your head and pulls you towards him, kissing you more roughly this timeâmuffling any worries about the forgotten frames.Â
you try prying your own glasses off in the little space between you two. but he grabs both your wrists to pin them behind you, his voice raspy, âno, keep them on.âÂ
your body shudders as he licks up your neck, sucking on that sweet spot just under your ear, whispering darkly,Â
âi want to see how my little nerd takes it while i fuck this pussy.â
On the last day of training camp, the coaches held up the tradition of a good olâ barbecue. While everyone else got ravenous, you were bummed to see Tsukishima frown.
Your boyfriend wasnât a big eater, and events like this made it even more apparent to those around him, meaning more people felt inclined to force him into eating.
While everyone else feasted, Tsukishima couldnât help how his eyes followed you from where he sat on the stairs going into the gym. You and Yachi were trying to reach for food, but constantly got cut off by freakishly tall teenage boys lacking any spatial awareness.
He considered it for a moment before getting up and walking over to Ennoshita, who was happily conversing with Fukunaga.
âCaptain,â Tsuki started. âDid you see where they put the plates? Iâm quite hungry.â
âYouâre hungry? Let me get it for you!â Thatâs all it took for the teamâs new dad to scramble around to get him a plate of food. Tsukishima didnât have to do anything but wait with his arms stretched out until a much too full plate was tucked into his hands. âThere you go, eat up!â
âThanks.â With a smug smile, he snuck off to where the managers hung out, raising his eyebrows when he caught your eyes. âHere,â he said, holding the plate out. He had to use both hands to balance all that food, and drew a sharp breath when his fingers brushed against yours while handing it over.
Yachi gasped, hands shaking with excitement at the prospect of deliciously grilled food. You smiled and chuckled softly, taking the plate from him. âThank you! Have you eaten as well?â
Tsuki shrugged, already turning away, lest he blow the cover of your secret affections. âIâll have some too, donât worry.â
masterlist
a little scene I didnât end up using for Telephone<3 @tsukisangel
dating iwaizumi hajime is like living with two different peopleâjapanâs most terrifying athletic trainer during the day, and the sweetest, most caring boyfriend who makes you breakfast shirtless and kisses your forehead like youâre fragile glass
he enters the national team training facility like a tankâface blank, clipboard tight in one hand, and god help anyone who slacks off even a little
atsumu once joked that iwa was "hot when angry"âiwaizumi made him do ten sets of bulgarian split squats and said, âhow hot am i now?â while walking away
bokuto once tried to sneak out of cooldownâiwaizumi called his name once and bokuto turned around like a puppy caught peeing on the floor
hinata cheered too loud during warm-upsâIwa gave him the death glare and snapped, âthis is volleyball, not karaoke, dumbass!â
he drops the persona instantly once he's homeâthrows his bag down, kisses you breathless at the door, and asks if you ate yet while guiding you to sit down
he cooks shirtless, sweat still clinging to his chest from his own workoutâhair slightly damp, back flexing as he flips eggs like itâs nothing
sometimes you walk into the kitchen just to hug him from behind, nose pressed between his shoulder bladesâhe hums, leans into your touch, and says, âmy pretty girlâs clingy todayâ
iwaizumi didnât like the idea of you working out at firstâhe was firm that you didnât need to change anything, said he loved everything about your body
you only convinced him after endless begging and puppy eyesâbut your workouts are light and short, because he refuses to let you overdo it
heâs your trainer and your boyfriendâcorrects your posture gently, guides your arms into the right position, kisses your neck between reps
your home gym often becomes a prelude to something moreâone moment youâre bent over doing light squats, the next his hands are gripping your hips and his voice is low in your ear
âbend deeper, baby. yeahâŚjust like that. now stay there for me.â
he pushes your shorts aside and drags his fingers along your folds, already slickââso worked up already? from the workout or from me?â
your breath hitches as he fucks you over the gym benchâdeep, slow thrusts at first, just enough to make your legs tremble
he loves to grip your waist tight, pulling you back onto his cock with bruising forceâmoaning low, âyou take me so well every time. this pussyâs perfect.â
after making you cum once, twiceâhe doesnât stopâpicks you up effortlessly and carries you to the bedroom, cock still buried inside, kissing you the entire way
he drops you on the bed, climbs over you, pins your wrists down and spreads your thighs with his kneesââyouâre not done yet. gonna ruin this pretty little body i love so much.â
favorite position? mating pressâhe loves folding you in half, watching his cock disappear into you, hitting you so deep your toes curl and your back arches off the sheets
his muscles flex above youâveins prominent, sweat dripping down his jaw as he fucks you like heâs training for gold
âyou feel that? thatâs how deep i go. no one elseâll ever touch you like this.â
his voice gets filthy in bedâgone is the sweet, calm boyfriendâinstead, heâs a dirty-talking menace with no mercy
âsuch a messy little slut, arenât you? moaninâ like that just from me stretchinâ you open.â
âgonna fuck you so dumb you forget your name. only word i want from you is mine.â
he spits on your pussy mid-thrust just to see it drip down, watches it mix with your slick, then fucks it in even rougher
when he senses you're close, he grabs your jawâforces you to look him in the eye as he says, âcum on my cock, baby. show me how much you love being ruined.â
he finishes deep inside every timeâgroaning your name, hips snapping hard as he fills you to the brimyouâre shaking, legs limp, tears at the corners of your eyes from overstimulationâbut he still fucks the cum back into you with lazy thrusts
when he finally pulls out, he kisses every inch of your skin, whispering praises like, âyou were so good for me, baby. so damn perfect.â
he draws a warm bath, carries you in, and holds you close, cleaning your body carefully, gentlyâsweet again, like the devil didnât just make you cry from pleasure
but come tomorrow, he's once again barking at atsumu in the gym, completely deadpanââthis is why you canât keep up with sakusa, dumbass.â
total menace in training, absolute sweetheart at homeâand in bed? nothing short of ruinous.
Š 2025 yukkigiri âž creations by luna â please do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
gamechangershow
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
