Obsessed Bllk boys trying to earn a praise from you x Fem! reader
Genre/Warnings: Mild angst, Toxic, unhealthy obsession, manipulation, verbal abuse, violence
Chars aged up to 19-20
A/n: I do nawttt condone behaviors listed here and so on, runaway if you ever encounter ppl like these
Part 1
The growing veins on Ego's forehead were visible no matter how far you are from him, he was irritated, fingers intertwined covering his mouth. The clock was the only noise filling the room, loudly ticking as all the members of blue lock stood before him, aware as to why they're there.
He was tired of dealing with coaches who quit 1 week after staying in the facility. With the pressure and expectations people outside the Blue lock facility have, he needs to surpass and make them entranced in-game and rotate the field no matter which team they play against world wide. But how can that start when one of the best coaches just left?
“4 coaches.” They tensed at his voice, the room felt heavy around them as a gloomy cloud formed behind the director. They didn't mean to make all of them quit, ‘M-maybe they just needed a level-headed and way more understanding leader who could vibe with them!’ was what Anri suggested hours ago before Ego called all the players in his office.
Vibe, get that shit outta here.
“All of you managed to make the best 4 coaches quit in a span of 1 month.”
The lanky man stood up from his chair, walking around his desk as the heels of his shoes clicked under the tiles while he leaned on the sturdy table, the reflection in his glasses covering his deadly gaze he’s directing towards them, deep, inconsistent breathing with hardened bodies, tch.
Everyone didn't shift an inch as Anri, who shared the same feeling with Ego, started sweating as she lightened her gaze at the young men lined up in front of them, hands behind their backs.
“Just because we won against one of the big leagues doesn’t mean that all of you need to relax your asses and have coaches quit before your training starts.” he paused to calm himself down. Seeing some of their gazes glued to the floor with guilt.
“Where’s the leverage? I thought you worthless lumps of coal wanted to be the best. I thought you wanted to win.”
No one answered, it's not like he wanted them to anyways, he'll get his answers when they prove it to him by sco– no, bringing their name to the top and finding the greatest striker in Japan.
Anri cleared her throat to ease the tension, the poor woman had so much in her hands right after the biggest match. Offers, calls, and biddings were thrown at her left and right to the point she couldn’t even watch over the player’s statistics and development like she usually would. “It would be nice if all of you would treat the new coach nicely, she gained experience from multi-”
“She?” Ego interrupted her, along with some curious players that raised their eyes towards Anri. “Ego, we have no other choice than her, I promise that she's better than the other coaches! She managed to temporarily coach in Barcha and Munchen!”
“Temporarily.” He huffed out, now that doesn't sound convincing to them, but coaching two famous football clubs makes it interesting enough. “Hey! Why do you think Barcha won last year!?” Anri defended the woman who wasn't present in the room as everyone stared at her. It still wasn't enough to convince the director but it made him think.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Till how long can this keep up before blue lock actually reaches its downfall without touching the highest point yet. He opened his tired eyes, glaring at the 23 young men before him. There was a pause as he tapped his finger inside his pocket in anticipation before exhaling a sigh out of him.
“For the love of God, do not make her quit.”
—-------
“We're glad to have you here with us!” They bow before the young coach, some are disciplined, others are forced (Que Karasu holding Rin's head down w Isagi struggling to bring down Barou’s head) as you stand cold and unfazed. To you they needed more…polishing in some areas where they think it's shining.
“I'm more than happy to coach all of you under my care, let's all do our best and have you put where you deserve to be.” Giving them a small empty smile as you introduce yourself while bowing.
You didn't see it, but you could feel all their eyes on you as you straightened back up, the feeling of being watched disappeared in an instant as soon as you set your eyes on them. “Great! All of you and Miss (L/n) will have a statistical review on your play-”
“Oh if I may Miss Anri, but I already watched their plays and did a personal review on it, we can skip that part and start on with training. If you'd allow it.”
All eyes were on you again, not a flinch from you moved as Anri raised her eyebrows in surprise, you were straight to the point with it. “O-oh! You did? Well then… let's start with the training and have a report submitted by the end of today then!”
You nodded towards her, the men in the room were not sure about you being a coach for them, but hopefully you reach their expectations like how Anri described you as.
But how wrong they are for feeling doubtful.
—-----
“Your plays are not quite my tempo.”
Was all you said after watching 3 brutal matches against the two teams. It had been 2 weeks since your arrival and Ego was internally thanking Anri for it. You were pushing them until they couldn't carry themselves and it had been 270 minutes since the first match started, and everyone but you was sweating their ass off.
“What…?” Isagi breathed out heavily, he was laying on the grass bathed in sweat, staining his white jersey along with the other players. For sure you can see Nagi passed out as Reo was trying to wake him up despite being on different teams. You know you can't have your expectations through the roof about them, but as Ego said, you're going to give him what he wants.
“White team would've won if you didn't take a second standing at the fucking field for a moment,” you raised your head to look up towards them, “I want all of you virgins to have a 2nd vision while playing, view yourselves in a higher point, then you'll see whatever's happening on the field instead of jacking each other off in every contact.” The insults you give them were quite humbling, yet most of the time they let it pass and try not take it to heart, except for Rin, Barou, and Tokimitsu. Shidou somewhat enjoyed hearing it the most.
“..What the hell?” Hiori mumbled under his breath, wiping off the sweat under his chin. Him alongside Gagamaru and Zantetsu couldn't think straight at the moment (double it on Tetsu), lights doubling in his vision so therefore he can't visualize whatever the fuck you're saying.
“Hey, isn't this abuse?” You didn't find whoever asked that question, but you didn't need to. “Well, how far would you go through to use yourself and make a tied score change? I'm sure some of you are still itching to make that goal instead of another teammate, aren't you?"
Silence, no one answered you, but it got them thinking. Regarding today's match, did they not put in their best? You felt a few sets of eyes stare at you for a few seconds before disappearing again, Shidou was grinning at the pain, enjoying every ache that reminded him of the goals he made. Some had their eyes twitching in anger or disappointed, while the rest were struggling to stay awake or catch their breath.
You looked down at your watch to see the time, 6:48 pm, it had been 6 hours since training started, now it's time to make another report. You stood up from the bench and walked towards the exit leaving them all behind, “My duty's done for today, I'll see you ladies tomorrow after breakfast for an elimination round regarding today's match.”
They shit their hearts out, all eyes were snapped wide open and placed on you. What the hell do you mean by elimination round?
“W-wait! Miss (L/n)!” Isagi called out to you, his body ached as he struggled to pick himself up. Limping towards you as you turned around to the blue haired man who was resting his hands on his knees. “Wh– what do you mean by that? Is that allowed?” He breathed out heavily. There's no way you'd do that after a brutal session, there's no way that Ego would just let one of his best players be dismissed just like that.
“She's right actually.” Speaking of the devil, the sounds of the speakers echoed around the indoor field as Ego appeared on screen. “Based on 2 weeks of training sessions and today's matches, I can't believe I have to let one of you go. If I want to find the best striker out there, then I'd let Miss (L/n) help coach under you, this was a suggestion of hers to see how much you coal socks would push yourselves to an extent, but I have overestimated you.” he was slurping on yakisoba noodles as Anri was scolding at him behind the camera. The young men who were wringed out and deflated on the ground looked at you with some type of emotion they couldn't lash out publicly, so they kept it to themselves.
You on the other hand, were secretly amused by this, you knew what they felt, you knew that they wanted to scream at the sudden elimination you brought out of nowhere. “But we didn't know th-”
“Why do you think you lot played 3 matches for the past 4.5 hours straight? Shouldn't you figure it out when it started? Sharpen your way of thinking people, I expected better from all of you.” Ego cut them off, screen going black, not caring about how some of them were starting to panic on the inside, this was all so sudden to them, was this the end for them playing in blue lock?
You looked at Isagi as his mouth was left open, his body was tense, especially on his shoulders. So you cleared your throat to let him know that you're still there and needed to leave.
“If you have anything else to ask while I'm still here, please do it fast” He snapped his head towards you, his sweat flinging in different directions to your dismay as he looked at you with wide, crazed eyes.
“..Why didn't you tell us?”
Was all he asked you, you expected this kind of reaction due to your experiences, reminding you of those two players back in Germany, old times. “If I told you to play, I meant it literally. Not a slop-on-my-dick type just because you're safe from winning against the Sae Itoshi, remember blue lock, you're still starting. Expect some eliminations and biddings coming your way. Thank me for preparing you for the worse.”
Isagi couldn't help but feel mixed towards you along with the other players. The questions you asked them, the pressure that you put them under training, they were tired but it drove them to like it. Why? Because it was you, your blank stare that you give them, the lack of praise they receive when they did something that passed your expectations. They wanted to earn something you half-assly gave them: Your acknowledgement that they were great players. So they should applaud towards Anri for finding the perfect coach they're having a rush to have a challenge with.
You turned your heel against all of them, your back burning from the stares you're receiving as the metal doors shielded you once you went inside.
—----
“She's insane.”
Karasu mumbled out loud, shoulders slumped down to relax, warm towel wrapped around his neck to ease the ache as the rest of the men were taking showers in the bathroom, some humming in agreement.
“I thought she watched our plays already, not that I mind tho” Otoya chuckled out with Shidou as Yukimiya and Hiori rolled their eyes. Typical of them, “She's watching how hard we can push ourselves to an extent.”
A few heads then to Isagi, “Okay who gives a shit about that, one of us is literally going to be eliminated tomorrow.” Chigiri snapped towards them, the atmosphere suddenly dimmed at the mention of elimination, at the mention of ‘you’ when you brought it up with no warning at all.
There's no medicine to cure whatever they're feeling, no plan, no suggestions talked about as the majority of them sulked.
“I know I played well so it's not me.” Rin started, the whole room shifted their attention to him with his bold statement. So it's like that huh?
“Obviously it won't be me either, I scored 4 points total for the whole team for 2 matches!” Isagi continued what can't be undone as the others followed suit, a small argument forming in the bathing room. “You still lost” “I scored 3 goals!” “Hey you had 2 assists from me!” “Assists don't matter!”
They couldn't stop arguing as the night went on, debating on who did the most to least during the match until they tire themselves out. And now that everyone's in their dorms, none of them couldn't sleep, too busy worrying about who's going to be eliminated. Hopefully some type of miracle would happen.
—----
The day has come, breakfast was served an hour ago and none of them could eat as their muscles ached, a few of them chatting with each other, too worried to stomach anything with dread erupting in their chests. The metal doors slide opened as you came into view, everyone went quiet as they stared at you. Eyeing the tablet propped close to your chest, the name of the player encoded in it to announce who's going to be eliminated today.
“It would be nice if you “kids” would have sustenance before playing a “death” match. Your diet’s part of the most important role in becoming the best.”
Their eyes widened, they didn't expect that from you as they froze. “I thought,-”
“I know, it's a bit harsh to set up a surprise of suddenly eliminating a teammate. So I talked to Ego and asked if we could give you all one last chance to prove that you don't deserve to get eliminated. So, eat your breakfast, and meet me at the field tomorrow afternoon.” Oh they could just apologize for talking to you like that yesterday but they didn't, they sighed out in relief as you walked away to grab your own breakfast, losing yourself in their line of sight.
They can finally breathe, but it's only temporary as some of them got up to get their breakfast while others stayed. “So a last match?” Nanase mumbled nervously, thumbs twiddling with each other under the table as Raichi sneered. “Bullshit!!! She's playing with us! Yesterday she's all talk about who's leaving, next she'll schedule in a match!?”
The others hummed in agreement, is this some type of method you’re using? It can’t be because Ego had it confirmed. They were quite confused, intimidated about how you'd shape them until they're the greatest in your view. But it's not like they're disagreeing with your ways or have any better ideas for now. “I’ll show her that I’m worth being here!” Bachira cheered for himself, he’s aware of his performance as the others started to get competitive.
‘Show her’
To prove themselves under your favor that they are worthy of becoming the greatest.
—-------
The day of the match came in quick, the day of who's going to be put down as 2 teams assigned against each other were facing you. “This match will be done differently,” you paused as 11 blue lock holograms came into view behind you, mirroring the player’s stance as they stared in shock. “Instead of playing against each other, let’s up the difficulty. These holographic players function based on the records I got from the first and last match, just more polished than all of you. They’re programmed to mirror, counter, and deflect your play style and accuracy in the field.”
‘So you watched our plays just to use it against us?’ Reo thought to himself with a challenged smirk. Now that’s impressive, Isagi was tightly gripping his hand behind his back out of anticipation. Amazed at your bark and bite session you do for them every meet-up.
Others were biting their lips nervously, feeling threatened as the rest were feeling challenged as Bachira, Raichi, and Shidou couldn’t help but shake excitedly. Nagi and Rin on the other hand grew irritated or tired. Just how extreme can you get?
“Play the best you can, today is your last after all.” You rubbed the wound harshly with that, intentionally pushing fear inside of them as you walked away and sat down at the bench along with Rin’s team as Isagi’s team went on first.
—---
The first-half of the match was quite painful to watch resulting in a 1-3 score and Isagi's team was crumbling in fast. He was close to losing it as Kurona was being shaken wide awake by Tokimitsu who was a nervous wreck. Yukimiya was pinching his nose in frustration along with Kiyora on the ground wiping off his sweat under his jersey, the rest were catching their breath as they checked on the timer.
It was messy, they were desperate for a win as the team sitting next to you were getting filled with doubt, Rin who was sitting to you the closest, glanced at your tablet every now and then. Checking each player’s stats and you ranking them from highest to lowest based on their plays. He was tense where he sat, unlike Shidou and Barou who isn’t nonchalant about what they feel, Aryu was pulling his hair from the tension as Niko was sitting quietly, there’s no way Isagi’s team would lose to a better “copy” of them.
Some were concerned, some didn’t give a shit because it wasn’t them being put in that position. All they can do for now is learn and observe.
And thus, the match ended, resulting in a loss for the white team, a score of 2-4. They were so far to even out the score until the holographic player swiftly stole the ball from a raging Isagi. They walked towards the bench slumped, sweaty, and defeated. Some were too tired to care about the elimination for now as Isagi crumpled on the bench in fear and disappointment, his hands gripping on his scalp harshly before resting it on his face while Rin’s team went on the field, still processing the loss on the first team as the match started.
“That was the best all of you could do.” A not so genuine comment came out from your mouth, eyes not looking up from your tablet while you scroll through stats as the others glanced at you. Isagi on the other hand moved his head sideways to look at you, eyes sharp like a falcon. You look like you didn’t give a shit about their loss at all, It’s like you favoured the holographic players more than them.
And they hated that, did you not see them sweat their ass off and vomit till they couldn’t work out anymore? Did you acknowledge their hard work at all? Of course you did, you just never showed any warm emotion towards them ever since you came in.
Yet, they needed to hear your praise, your voice telling them that you were proud of what they've become, but that time hadn’t come yet. And because of that, they acknowledged defeat that they were nowhere near “Great” as they thought they were.
—---
Rin and his team were just as bad as Isagi’s, more loud and chaotic even. The results were the same as before, 2-4, they devastatingly lost. Karasu was biting his cheek, eyebrows furrowed as Rin cursed under his breath, he swore he could've played better if it was just him in the field with better players now that the match is over. You stand up from your seat, calling the other team to follow you as all of you walk over the field, the tension rising every time you take a step close to them.
You opened up your tablet as all of them had their hearts racing, "I'm sure you’re all aware of your performances for the past few weeks, yes?” they tensed at your voice, your eyes were reading the final result as you looked at them. There are your empty eyes again, making them straighten up their postures.
“Based on today’s match,”
They were scared, even the toughest ones would secretly admit.
"The player who’d be eliminated–”
Please give us one more chance,
“And refrain from entering blue lock again is,”
You paused for a second. They couldn’t breathe, the anticipation of anyone’s name mentioned from your mouth was like a gun waiting to be aimed at their head.
“No one.”
…
They all froze. They couldn’t believe what they just heard, No one’s going to be eliminated?
“What?” Barou muttered angrily under his breath, “What the hell are you saying? What do you mean “no one”?!” Bachira and Karasu were holding him back as best as they could to not make him go near you.
“...Y-you’re not here to waste our time are you?” Reo hesitated, doubt was filling the room as they all looked at you, all the fear they carried throughout the game, the emotional stress you made them feel, all that just for no one to leave?
“It was a genius plan.”
There goes Ego appearing again on screen. “Take this punishment formed as a lesson from the last shitty match. I don’t want any more excuses for all of you to play so carelessly, you were all losing, so don’t take any of this for granted again, unless you really want to be dismissed. Am I clear with all of you?”
A few of them answered as his screen went black. They don’t know exactly how to feel, feeling everything and nothing at once. The pit of their stomach leaves a sour feeling for them. “Tomorrow’s a rest day,” you started, “I want all of you to not lift any gym equipment nor get close to the field, I have your training and workout plans scheduled personally for all of you on the following day, I’m certain your bodies would get sore, so take a break ok?”
They didn’t answer you, and yet that was the most where they heard you sound genuine. Some just gave in small nods and hums while the others didn’t look you in the eye. You stared at their tired figures and excused yourself as you took your leave, taking a few steps far away from them. “Oh and by the way,” you turned around to face them as some raised their heads in your direction.
“Those holographic men were actually leveled to a watered-down master’s play, all of you just played against one of the world’s best football players to a degree that's why both teams lost. But in my view, all of you did great.” And there it was, something they always wanted to hear. A part of them couldn’t believe that they finally have you say that to them after weeks of endless torture. A genuine smile was etched up on your face and in that moment, it turned up a switch inside their bodies.
Now they want more from you.
Their eyes glued on you as you left the field. They didn’t want you to leave yet, just come back, come back and praise them once more. Give them that warm smile and tell it to their face that they were the best. There was no one in the room to tell them that these men would fold under you the moment you praise them, well most, but not all.
You were fucking with them, mentally emotionally, and physically, and they didn’t know why they liked it. A part of them wants to heave out all their frustrations and anger for what you just put them through, while the other half ....was obsessed with getting your approval again. Seeing your facial expression soften in their direction was a high for them, and your praise just boosted the effect faster.
—-------
Everything you say meant to them more than anything that day. They listened to your instructions, took the day off and lounged in their rooms or the cafeteria, though there’s just one problem, they didn’t know what else to do when you’re not there with them. Staying away from the field and gym room was quite a challenge since you temporarily “banned” them from visiting. So they requested for you, a little bonding moment with doing homework to not forget their education.
All of you were at the study room, with you sitting in-between Nanase and Gagamaru, teaching them basic English. “Did I do this right Miss (L/n)?” Nanase raised up his paper in front of you. His handwriting in English wasn't the best but it's a great start. “It's good enough, though keep your lines straight unless you want me to have a seizure reading through it.” A normal praise with a side of insult came out from you as Nanase turned red, nodding and erasing his work to start again.
“What about me miss (L/n)? Can you check mine?” Bachira ran up to you, squeezing through you and Nanase as the poor boy yelled out a “Hey!” towards Bachira, making him sit farther away from you. You then glanced at his paper an- dear mother of fuck you couldn't understand anything at all.
“Don't tell me you still hold a pencil like you're 5 Bachira…” you deadpan at him, sighing before grabbing his paper and a red pencil. You were visually teaching him how to write the alphabetical letters swiftly, clean, and simple, making sure that he understood it well. He then copied how you write it out and improved immediately, though some letters still looked crooked, it was better than whatever he presented at first.
“Woah! I did better than the last! Did I Miss (L/n)!?” He was happy about his work. You were happy for him as you smiled, warming up as you praised him “You did very good Bachira, keep up and I don't have to read a doctor's handwriting from you.” Oh you weren't aware of what the praise did to him, along with the rest of the men with you.
Bachira’s smile widened as his heart quickened in his chest. He looked at the rest of his teammates across the table, smiling at them in victory like he was the chosen egotist, handpicked by you. And they can't help but feel bitter inside, so one by one, most of them come to you for help, pretending that they're bad at it and trying to receive praise for doing a damn great job at something they were already good at.
And Ego saw straight through them. His back was hunched as he watched the scene blooming in front of him, is this what happens when you bring a woman in blue lock? He questioned himself as some of the men tried to call for your attention to correct an error they themselves can do without struggle.
“Huh… So all they needed was a woman’s attention to have their asses spiked up?” he mumbled. Anri stood beside him watching the screens with a sweatdrop, they weren’t sure about the chemical reactions or divine happenings getting undone in front of them, but they sure as hell know that these men favor you out of all the coaches that quit fast.
“Heh…” Anri glanced down to Ego, suddenly freezing as she saw a crazed grin appear on his face. It sent chills towards her spine as the lanky man laughed on his seat, clutching his sides like it hurt. It only lasted for a few seconds before he suddenly went quiet, the silence was too eerie for Anri as she shifted uncomfortably in her spot. “Bringing her here was the greatest mistake you’ve ever made, Anri.” He stared at the screen with wide eyes, watching you on the large TV as you unintentionally held onto their invisible chains only he could see. Is this their new drive to become the greatest? If so, he’ll let it happen.
A/n: Imagine Ego turning into Fletcher cs yk, he likes whiplash (or he alr was)...ALSO this shit of a fic were kept in my drafts for weeks and it gets published the day the leaks came out with Ego BENCHING RRRINNNNNN--LAWDDD
aali………please please tell us exactly what Rin said about Isagi not being able to fuck that had Egoist Yoichi baby boy fuck reader right in front of Rin 😭 i KNEED to know I must know babes or I’ll go insane
*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— lost in the lights, out of my mind + yoichi isagi, rin itoshi.
૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — rin itoshi has a bad habit of dishing out what he can't take and a locker room fight with his rival, yoichi isagi, leaves him in the most vulnerable place he'll ever be in. all because of his little unrequited crush on you.
⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! heavy!smut, porn with some kind of plot, characters aged up to 20s, established relationships (with isagi), unrequited love (rin lmao), some crushing, manipulaton, reverse cuckholding (?), voyuerism, unprotected s!ex, clothed s!ex, fingering (f!receiving), finger sucking, nipple play, body worship, dry humping, multiple orgasms, male masturbation, overstimulation, edging, orgasm control, aftercare, light!degradation, light!dacryphilia, light!sub/dom dynamics, sort of a threesome, creampies, psychologically tormenting rin lmao!!! pro player!yoichi isagi, pro player!rin itoshi, fem!reader - not beta read !
⭑ words — 8.5K.
⭑ notes — happy birthday tew me!! this is my gift to you all, i feel like its such a tradition for me to post something on my bday like i have for the last three years so here you are!! anon, i am so sorry this took so long, i hope you like this... i lost my mind writing it but it was sososo much fun!! enjoy my loves <3 m.list / fic that this refers to (you dont need to read it to understand!) ✩
if there’s one thing rin hates more than anything, it’s losing. after a sour defeat, three goals to a frustrating two, emotions are running high and the locker room fills with an atmosphere so tense even a butcher's knife couldn’t cut through it. it suffocates the boys as they flood into the room, defeatedtly shoving their cleats and water bottles into their cubbyholes — their breathing ragged and muscles aching.
the silence is shattered by a vicious snarl from blue lock’s main star, yoichi isagi, as he walks in last and heads straight for his rival. “way to fucking go, rin! your stupid little act just cost us the entire game.” the striker bares his fangs, frothing like a rabid dog. “you happy now?”
“oh fuck you, isagi. were all your shots supposed to be that half-assed? or was that just a weak attempt to impress your little girlfriend up in the stands.” rin fires back, equally as riled up, throwing his sweat soaked shirt into his designated cubby for this game.
the rest of the team knows not to intervene when two of their best players go head to head, slowly retreating to the showers and changing out of their kit. rin is too highly strung, everything is his way or the highway and everyone is beneath him. isagi is hot headed, switches up on you faster than you can say your own name — and only gets worse if you mention his girlfriend during a fight.
for a moment, the dark haired striker’s face falls and his deep blue eyes cloud with something rin itoshi only ever sees on the pitch. but isagi quickly recovers, offering the other player a tight lipped smile.
“let’s keep her out of this, yeah?”
that only makes rin want to double down.
his relationship with isagi is complex — he’s better than the guy in every way he knows is possible, and yet he envies him. no matter what rin does, his fellow player will always have some kind of leverage over him. whether it be sae’s approval, ego’s favouritism, you. the history between the three of you is even more confusing and flustering, and to this day, rin still doesn’t know who he wants or hates more. jealousy reaches its boiling point at the forefront of his mind, it’s perplexing and he hates the way it makes him feel — like he’s out of the loop, out of control and it only makes rin want to lash out at isagi more.
so he does.
he pokes and prods at isagi, twists at the parts of him that really set him off because he has no other way to cope and no other outlet for his build up of emotions.
“she must be embarrassed,” rin drawls as if he’s enjoying taunting his teammate, though his face shows no signs of it. “to have a boyfriend who can’t even play soccer without looking luke-warm or mediocre. this is your job. your life. and yet, you’re still not getting it. you’re nowhere near being on the same level as me.”
isagi grits his teeth. “i’m warning you, rin. quit while you’re ahead.”
but he can’t, he won’t. not until he makes isagi hurt the same way he does. for losing this match, for losing control.
“if soccer is your life and you’re this bad at it, then i wonder what else you suck at,” the younger itoshi brother adds coldly with the petulance of a child still learning how to navigate how he feels. standing up to his full height, rin smirks as if he’s finally put his enemy into place. he lets his emotions spill into every word he says until they weigh down his tongue and all he can spit out are phrases of malice. “being a good boyfriend? fucking her right?”
satisfaction curls around rin’s beating heart as isagi looks to him; wide eyed and bewildered. there’s nothing like reminding someone where they belong in the food chain. beneath rin itoshi and never above. isagi flounders like a fish before him, searching for words of defence that never come and when rin thinks that the shorter of the two might finally say something — the door to the locker room creaks open and in comes…
you.
if there’s another thing that rin hates, it’s how weak you make him feel — especially when he knows that you’re out of reach. not his to touch. to hold. to keep. you can’t be the reason he feels so open an exposed, like a patient on an examiners table, because he can’t have feelings for you anymore, because you belong to isagi. your heart beats for him and that makes rin sick.
he wants to hate you, even though you’re sweet and kind and understanding. even though you step into the room wearing isagi’s number with doe eyes that glisten underneath the white artificial light. even though your voice fills him with warmth when you call out for your boyfriend (not him) and say. “yoichi, is everything okay?” in that mawkish tone that sends shivers down the length of rin’s spine.
and like he’s been snapped out of a trance, isagi looks away from rin’s face and searches for comfort in your own — his body instinctively gravitating towards you for affection. “yeah precious, what are you doing here?” he grins at you like he wasn’t just about to rip rin’s throat out with his teeth. “thought i was meeting you outside.”
“yeah but…some of the other boys and your manager got worried that something was happening between you and rin, so i came to check on you…i hope that’s okay?” you’re so good, well behaved and it’s all for isagi. it makes rin want to scream, rip his hair out, hurt something but he can’t. he won’t because he’s never been good at feelings. he has his older brother to thank for that.
rin watches the interaction between you both like he’s on the outside looking in. isagi treats you like you’re the world encompassed into one being. yet, there’s a glint swirling in those ocean eyes rin despises so much. “more than okay, baby…actually, i think you might be able to help us make up.” isagi hums, twirling you in his arms until your back is to his chest and you’re facing rin now too.
“…i can?” regrettably, your interest is piqued. isagi has that look in his eye, the one that he gets when he’s scheming and he has all the cards in his hands. except this time, he’s not looking at you.
rin itoshi seems to be the target of your boyfriend’s games tonight — and you, a mere chess piece on the board.
“mhm…” yoichi’s voice drops, brushing over the patch in your brain that controls your pleasure. you know that voice, you’ve heard it a million times before…during showers, early in the morning, right after games. the way he speaks switches up whenever isagi wants you. “you see, pretty girl, rinnie over here—“ the striker juts his chin out in the direction of his rival, using the sweet little nickname he knows you have for him. “doesn’t think i can be a good boyfriend, thinks i’m embarrassing, thinks i can’t fuck. would you say any of those statements are true?”
you frown, lips drawn into pout and brows creased where they meet in the centre. “n-no! of course not.”
and rin thinks he might die there and then, with you looking at him like you’re disappointed in his opinion.
for as long as he’s known you, you’ve never cared about the feud between himself and your partner but this particular comment seems to bother you. upset you. and as much as he pretends to be indifferent towards you, the last thing rin itoshi wants to do is hurt your feelings. he’s never quite known what it’s like to care for someone — aside from sae, pre-spain. so for him to consider your feelings with every interaction you have is weird, at least for him. you’re a baffling enigma to rin, he finds himself drawn to you like a moth to a candle flame and finds comfort in your sugary conversation and polite laughter.
you seemed to like rin, for all his awkwardness and lack of charm. you had once called him cute despite his rough exterior and cold nature — leading him to believe that he could maybe try a little harder for you, be with you. that was, at least, until isagi came along and swept you off your feet with boyish smiles and rose tinted cheeks.
isagi could do with you what rin couldn’t do for himself.
be open with his admiration for you.
for a second, you cut the connection between rin’s aquamarine eyes and your own to glance back up at your boyfriend.
“we should prove him wrong, then.”
“but rinnie— i mean, rin,” you correct yourself when isagi tightens his grip on you as you try to diffuse the situation as best you can. “he wouldn’t… he doesn’t care about stuff like that. i know you’re a good boyfriend. isn’t that all that matters?” but in a twisted sort of way, you like that he’s a little pissed off, that rin is there watching you all loved up on each other too.
you feel his excitement press into your behind, arm wrapping around your tummy this time. “you’re all that matters to me,” isagi affirms because it’s true. he shouldn’t really care what rin thinks, but he left his rationality on the pitch. he’s pissed off and he lost and all he can think about is fucking you up and proving his point. soothing his ego. his flirtatious voice tickles the shell of your ear and sends a strong current of electricity straight down to your centre. “but baby, i wanna fuck you. don’t you want him to watch? help me prove that i’m so fucking good to you?”
he just can’t let it go, not this time.
is it because he thinks rin’s words are true? that he’s not good enough for you? that you might even deserve better than a man that puts his heart and trust into soccer?
yoichi loves you so much he think he might rip stars from the sky, and maybe the the sun if you’d asked him to. he’s so good to you, he knows that. you know it too, but he wants to prove it.
have the one up on rin just this once.
you give a slight nod of your head because maybe you’re just as much of an egoist as isagi. you don’t want him to doubt himself, he’s the best in japan. in the world. at soccer, at loving you too. he deserves to show off that much. so you agree, hesitantly, “but, yoichi… rin is still…” you say. not that you care, you’ve partially forgotten that itoshi still exists — isagi’s loving touch as he feels you up from over your jersey provides a perfect distraction.
he’s always like this with you, makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the room.
“don’t worry precious. he’ll look but he won’t touch, unless he asks and you say yes. right, rinnie?”
it’s the first time in minutes that either of you finally acknowledge rin. the stretching silence filled with ragged breathing and the rustling of clothing as rin watches you lose yourself to lust. to isagi.
“right.” he scoffs like he doesn’t care, barely able to tear his eyes away from your slither of skin revealed as you pull up your jersey to give isagi better access.
“spread your legs baby, lemme see that pretty pussy. wanna show her off.” isagi hums in satisfaction but he doesn’t push, letting you lead. “you want it any way, precious? tell me what you need, i’ll give it to you.” his hands run down to your soft tummy, resting just above the hem of your boy shorts while he grinds into you from behind. “just wanna make you feel good.”
choices, choices.
the ghost of yoichi’s touch along your skin, a thumb on your faint adam’s apple, then over your nipple — it makes saliva pool heavily on your tongue and your eyelashes flutter. “w-what do you think, rinnie?” you gasp, lifting your head to face him.
the younger itoshi swallows thickly. “fingers.” he says without hesitation. “you gotta prep her first, idiot.”
“still so rude, rin,” your boyfriend tuts mockingly. “c’mere. get ‘em nice and wet for her.” isagi points to his mouth — gesturing for his rival to open up for his fingers.
“fuck off, isagi. i-i’m not— you’re not going anywhere near me.”
“oh come on, you’re the one that wanted to prep her. my girl can take it with or without.” isagi presses, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a cocky smirk. “this was your decision, remember?”
the mere thought of doing anything remotely sexual with yoichi has the fortress of rin itoshi’s mind crumbling, starting with it’s foundation. he’s not disgusted by the idea, no, but he fears letting his mask slip. “if you’re not willing to take care of her properly, then you’re just proving my point. you’re half-hearted. lukewarm. you don’t care to fuck her proper.” rin scoffs, ignoring the shake in his voice.
“please, rinnie,” you hiccup. “he won’t touch me if you don’t…p-play along.”
but when it’s you, rin can’t ever seem to say no to you.
you’re like a siren calling out to him to drown himself in all that he desires — your saccharine and salacious strings of words setting his insides alight with wanton. begrudgingly, rin strides towards you both and grabs your boyfriend’s wrist with flaming cheeks, heart hammering in his chest so hard he’s afraid you might hear it and think him weak.
the gentle part of his lips encircle two of isagi’s fingers and is tongue, once tucked away behind rows of brilliant white teeth, breaks free from its barrier to roll over the slender digits — glazing them in a of spit. rin feels degraded, it pours through him in the same thickness as his blood and replaces all the oxygen in his lungs. but then you look at rin like you want him, dainty gaze honed in on the way his tongue weaves between your boyfriend’s fingers and soaks them in his claim. he can’t help but grow more confident in the action.
but then yoichi reminds you both of his presence, thrusting into rin’s obedient mouth until his gags and his tropical ocean eyes blow wide in shock at the sound. isagi’s own blue pair drown in mirth.
“satisfied?” rin let’s your boyfriend go with a wet smack of his lips, rasping his words out as he regains his breath.
“not really, but she can help with that.” isagi sounds like he adores you, plunging his spit slicked fingers past your swell of your plump lips so you can get them even wetter for him. you seem eager, sucking on them as if you’re chasing the younger itoshi sibling’s flavour and the visuals make his cock twitch behind his elasticated shorts as he pictures you mouthing at the ache between his legs.
once isagi is truly satisfied, he pulls out of your mouth and pats your cheek lovingly. “did such a good job, precious. i’m gonna touch you now, okay?” he doesn’t wait for you to respond since you’re too delirious, giggling on trickles of ecstasy from being pampered in your lover’s hold. his hand slips in between your plush thighs and underneath your clothes easily, yoichi dragging a single digit along the length of your puffy folds to get a feel for just how messy you are. you’re dripping with sweet juices, the scent of you intoxicating and potent to both boys as isagi eases the finger past your clenching hole experimentally.
you hiccup and tremble, your head rolling back against his shoulder the more his thickness presses into you and stretches you out for later. rin can see just how much you make isagi’s skin shine with your wetness, clear strings of it oozing down your thighs and into the seat of his rival’s palm — all this from being barely touched? from watching rin suck on your boyfriend’s fingers so pathetically? you’ve barely been touched as it is.
it only makes the throb at rin’s core that much more painful.
“don’t you even think about touching yourself to this. you’re lucky enough to even be watching her,” blue lock’s shining star grunts out to rin possessively, his voice laden with a lust that scratches at his throat. you whine out for more, hips jutting downwards to chase more of isagi and his attention switches back to you. “sorry for the wait, precious. there we go, is this alright? is this how you want it?” his softness has you melting like butter in a pan, isagi easing a second finger alongside the first before he curls them to bare down harshly on your g-spot.
the moan that escapes you is a far cry from your angelic nature in rin’s eyes, reminding him that isagi’s the one who cast you out of heaven. “m-more yoichi,” you squirm impatiently, back arching away from the striker’s chest as he used his free hand to toy with yours. “faster, c’mon—!”
“alright baby, relax. we’ll do whatever you want.” isagi moans back desperately, as if your pleasure is his pleasure. he changes the angle of his hand so that the back of it is facing rin, creating the visual of him cupping your sweltering, glistening pussy. you drool into the seat of his palm while he works you open, stroking your velvet and sopping insides like the tide lapping at the shoreline to indulge you and build the pressure that bubbles just under your naval. “oh, you like that? want me to rub your clit too? just like that precious,”
the rough pad of his thumb draws signatures of love against your budding clit as your arousal pearls on it it. every push and pull of isagi’s fingers have you a syrupy mess, glinting under the artificial lights and only drawing rin’s eager gaze to the treasure between your thighs. when he looks to your face all he sees is your insatiable appetite and dire need to run after the high your boyfriend plans to give you.
rin’s tongue darts out to wet the crack on his lips and he attempts to swallow the saliva that coats his tongue and floods his mouth — making it difficult for him to breathe. and if he does, manage to breathe in, the scent of you is intoxicating and fills rin with a level of desire his body can’t even handle. shame brews below the surface level of his skin, intertwined with the blood cells that surge through his veins and right to the tip of his shaft.
he flinches as it pulses to life inside his briefs, pathetically wet from how wet you sound.
“listen to that, fuck,” isagi groans, his lashes fluttering against the side of your face the deeper he plunges two fingers into you. “cunt sounds so pretty baby. sucking me in like that, s’like you never wanna let me go.”
the way isagi touches you is intoxicating — casting a dark veil over every thought that dares to cross your mind and clouding your better judgement. with him it’s easy to be this vulnerable and allow yourself to crumble to pieces in front of the hawk-like gaze of someone you know all too well. you find yourself not caring about the way rin watches you, pools of tropical ocean eyes dropping from your eyes to your pulsing sex where your boyfriend pinches and toys with your folds to get you wetter and wetter.
you’re fucking enjoying this. isagi knows it. rin knows it — the three of you trapped under the spell and vulgar scent of sex that mingles with the air you breathe in. you hardly feel bad for teasing the poor itoshi baby like this, finding the shaky mewls and squeals that you usually save for your boyfriend are a little louder than usual — spiking even higher when blue lock’s star egoist pulls back the hood of your clit to maximise your sensitivity and receptiveness to his touch, rubbing your juices into the little nub.
“tell him how good it feels.” yoichi is so loving but oh so condescending, commanding the will of your body as he curls his fingers just right to brush over the spongy spot inside of you to make you see the gates of heaven.
your pretty pussy gushes in response before you can, milky white running down isagi’s forearm as it gathers in the seat of his palm. you’re desperate to speak, but your mouth feels as if it’s been stuffed with cotton and your words are replaced by shaky and choked moans. between being finger fucked to the brink verge of collapse and watching rin try to grind against his boxers for friction — you don’t know how your boyfriend expects you to form a cohesive thought, let alone speak.
still, you manage to stutter out some kind of praise to him. “oh god, f-fuck, yoichi!”
when isagi hits your g-spot, you spasm so hard you think you might die and at the same time, rin’s needy whimper echoes around the locker room as if to taunt him. “she’s close,” rin bleats, the pain in his cock becoming too much to bare as he fumbles over the front of his shorts to reprehensibly relieve himself. “aren’t you gonna make her cum?”
the question is meant with no malice or harm — more innocent than rin allows himself to appear and isagi quickly picks up on it, licking a hot stripe up from the base of your neck to just behind your ear. “you can always tell when my precious girl is close,” he scissors his fingers along your insides, clear strings of your arousal keeping him tied to you. “she clenches so fucking tight around me, like she wants to make me a mess and claim me. keep me all to yourself, right precious?” he coos to you slyly, stroking you into the shape of him and flicking at your clit — arousal gathering copiously between your pussy lips. “you wanna cum so bad, don’t you.”
“y-yes!” you nearly scream, legs buckling beneath isagi’s ministrations, pumping in and out of your velvet walls with newfound motivation.
pleasure grows inside of you bit by bit, as if isagi has laid the foundation for bricks of pleasure to stack up high and the fact that rin itoshi is watching you just cements it all together. “make yourself useful, and hold her up.” he instructs, lazily sucking marks into your skin. “so selfish, rin. just like always. getting yourself off while my precious girl’s a shaky mess. you could have been helping all this time.”
a smile that could rival the devil’s tugs at your boyfriend’s wet lips when rin staggers forward to hold you up in the comfort of his arms. the path to what he wants has always been clear and isagi plays on that like it’s a part of the game you all play — knowing that rin would never give up the chance to hold you this close. you can feel the outline of his bulging cock against your tummy, the thought of it grinding inside you alongside isagi’s fingers doing nothing to sedate the desire coursing through you. your selfish need to cum.
blood rushes through rin’s ears at he way you cling onto him life a lifeline. you might be creaming on yoichi’s thick fingers, letting them stretch you out in preparation for his even thicker dick, but right now — you need rin to ground you and keep you back down on earth.
“can’t,” you whine over the lewd slushy sounds reverberating from between your thighs, and bat your eyelashes up at the younger itoshi — pride internally rumbling in your chest as the black abyss of his pupils swallows his pretty green eyes. “can't hold it, ‘ichi.” there’s nothing greater to you than humbling someone like rin itoshi. he forgets that while you follow whatever pleasure is given to you, you’ll always be loyal to yoichi isagi. hearing you moan his name only shatters rin’s confidence.
“let go for me, baby. cum all over me like the good girl i know you can be,” a deep groan takes hold in isagi’s chest, roots intertwining with his lungs and his very being. much like a sturdy tree. his thumb goes back to signing his name over it, gaze honing in between the sinful movement beneath your clothes. “get on your knees, rin. see how i fuck her nice and good.”
doing as he’s told, rin bites back his humiliation and sinks to his knees before you — keening into your fingers as they move up to grip his broad shoulders and your nails dig into his milky flesh hidden by his kit. from here, gets a front row seat to your gushing sex and how it soils the tiny threads of your boy shorts stuffed between your fattened pussy lips.
sex crazed hormones drift into the air, rattling about and colliding with kinetic energy as isagi picks up the pace — the seat of his palm now grinding against your clit, rubbing you raw and relentlessly. he bites down on your pulse point, and that’s really all it takes to throw you over the ledge. the stacks of ecstasy that had been building within the depths of your soul finally come crumbling down and your release shoots out of you, slapping to the floor in a crude manner.
“o-oh! ‘m c-cumming!” you cry out, feeling evidence of your orgasm blaze a trail down your inner thighs in clear streams as isagi guides you through it. rin doesn’t bother fighting his biological instincts, craning his head up for just a taste, a smell, anything — your sugary and musky scent sending him spiralling while heady precum oozes from his time painfully.
“ah, ah fuck, baby. keep that orgasm goin’ for me, keep cumming. so pretty.” soft praises fall on your ears despite the white noise that overwhelms you, letting yoichi control the way you twitch and react with his large hands still working you through it all — perfectly nestled between your trembling thighs. you came so much, so sweet.”
it’s like yoichi is in awe of you, kissing your cheek as you come down from your high — still clenching and fluttering around his fingers. the pair of you forget about rin sitting on the floor between your legs — bearing witness to the way your orgasm rhythmically drips out of you. it’d be foolish for both boys not to become obsessive over the way you guys. slowly, one of your hands leaves rin’s muscled shoulder to grip your boyfriend’s hair and tug him into giving you a wet and loving kiss.
“you always make me cum so hard, yoichi,” you praise him, your shaky voice sounding angelic to both men. “thank you, baby.”
still licking his way into your mouth, isagi sighs in content, circling his hips into your ass. “all i wanna do is make you feel good,” he breathes his want into you. “are you okay to keep going? we can stop right here. rin doesn’t have to see anymore.”
it’s only then that you remember rin between your legs, discreetly humping the floor for some relief — practically shaking at how bad he wants you.
“you need me,” you say, hunger curling around the tone in your voice. “we can keep going.”
isagi fucking loves you. he’s sure he’s never quite met anyone on the same level of ego and desire as him. maybe you’re both insane, beyond the brink of normalcy with enough danger between you to destroy the whole world — but instead you stick to ruining the man before you both, ripping his ego down until it’s nothing but measly pieces and rin itoshi can no longer look either of you in the eye.
a pair of eager lips land on yours once again — tasting of freshly cut grass and the sweat on your lover’s Cupid’s bow. you suck and bite on one another, leaving your claim visually on each other while your hearts remain tied. isagi grabs at your fleshy ass cheeks, takes your tongue down his throat and lets you own him just as much as he owns you while rin bares witness to your boiling and passionate love.
familiar hands yank down your shorts and underwear in one go — desperately exposing your hot skin to the air conditioned room, causing a wave of goosebumps to erupt over your body in anticipation. excitement. “i wanna fuck you so bad, i can’t ever get enough of you, precious girl.” he whispers menacingly against the shell of your ear, like it’s a threat but instead directed towards the man at your feet. “‘m so lucky,” his hands wander again, cupping your cunt squeezing your waist and pulling the sweetest sounds from between your lips. “being the only one to have you like this.”
once again, you collapse forward and dig your nails into rin’s shoulders — relishing in the way he looks up at you like you’re a forbidden prize to be won. an angel. a diety. you smile at him, innocent and cute, whimpering a breath’s width away from rin’s lips as isagi arches your back for himself — peeling apart your juicy ass cheeks to set his sights on your glistening pussy. your squelching hole pulses around nothing, sending beading droplets of your arousal through your folds.
“hi rinnie,” you simper and struggle to keep your gaze focused on the athlete, feeling isagi rub his seedy hot cockhead against the entire length of his sex. teasing the both of you. “how’s are you doing?”
there’s so much he wants to say to you. to do to you. if rin had a little more confidence and higher self esteem — maybe he could acknowledge his feelings, he could kiss you, make you his, make you forget all about isagi. but rin is a coward paralysed by his own fear of feeling something real. he lets you walk all over him instead. both of you.
“i’m good, how are you feeling?” he mumbles in response, all needy-like. you almost feel bad for him, revelling in the way rin tracks your moans, his mouth dropping open just like yours when yoichi drives his hips forwards and bullies his heavy cock past your fluttering entrance. “f-fuck, you’re so…”
“so what, r-rinnie?”
“so pretty.”
his eyes shine when he speaks, glossy with desire causing pride to curl around your heart and fan the flames of debauchery inside of you. isagi pulls back, his brows creasing in the centre of his sweaty forehead as he adjusts his tender grip on your hips and pulls his cock from the snugness of your drenched heat. he thrusts forward, hitting every pleasure spot he’s ever mapped out along the length of your slippery walls, making you shudder and press your forehead to rin’s for support.
“pretty girl, how are you still so…” isagi grunts, high-pitched and borderline whiny, choking on the spit that pools against the pad of his tongue and slips out of the corner of his mouth. “so fucking tight. god, i needed this. needed you.”
the way in which isagi yearns for you will never fail to make you melt, following your biological instinct which tells you to push your hips back and throw your ass back on him too. “it’s all for you, yoichi,” you drawl, a wet sigh lying on your glossy lips while your boyfriend's milky tips drags along your insides, churning you up just as he kisses your cervix. rin’s face crumples and you feel a little mean for getting lost in his rival right before his very eyes — but the other half of you enjoys the psychological torment you’re putting him through.
you like how at any point he could have gotten up and left yourself and isagi to your fun. but rin stays, because he likes the position of vulnerability you put him in. he trusts you, both you and isagi.
yoichi pacifies himself by latching into your shoulder with pointed teeth, licking over the bite marks as his chest rumbles in content and his hips set a steady stream to fuck you with. his dark hair tickles your skin every time he pumps his cock in and out of you, feeding your body his lust for you and painting you with opaque layers of pre between your thighs. it mixes with your arousal, clear strings slinging against your legs each time isagi’s balls tap at your sensitive clit.
he breathes his ego into you, making your face burn, making you cry out until your throat is raw. isagi has always been able to fill you up so good, his cock is pretty — decorated with spiralling blue and green veins that hit spots you can’t reach with your fingers while is shaft slightly curves, up just enough to never leave your g-spot. even when he’s fucking you from behind.
“oh precious girl, that’s it, throw it back on me,” isagi slurs, hardly able to focus on anything aside from the way you take him in — the lewd pap, pap, pap of your pussy rippling around him. “show me how you want it. how you want me to use this cock for you.”
isagi tells you encouragingly between thready breaths. he’s always been a giver, his pleasure has always been your pleasure and his end goal to make you see stars when you cum. like you, isagi always finds a way to get what he wants. and he wants you to lose your mind to him. in front of rin.
“right there, yoichi — need you right there!” comes your heavenly little whine as you throw your head back onto his shoulder for the nth time that evening. your attention tears away from rin for only a second, giving him the perfect view of your breasts that bounce as yoichi pounds you from behind and the crystallised beads of sweat that run down the collum of your throat. “y’so big, oh my god.”
“you, hah, you hear that rin? she keeps cryin’ my name, praising me like i’m her fucking god.” he somehow manages to snap to his rival.
you have an inkling that yoichi going insane since his voice drips with a huskiness that lowers its octave. he seems to lose his goal, however, succumbing to your selfish cunt that refuses to let him pull out and forces the striker to keep his thrusts deep and targeted inside of your heated core.
bliss is pungent in the air, lays heavy across every inch of your mind and you find yourself succumbing to it — once mover digging your nails into rin’s shoulders until they form pretty crescent moons on the expanse of his milky flesh and you can use him as leverage to fuck yourself back on yoichi’s creamy dick.
everything sounds so fucking nasty, and rin really can’t fucking help it. all of his shamefulness that once painfully panged at each of his nerve endings seems to have fizzled away into shameless. he finds himself no longer caring that his cock is pulsing from watching his friend ( his rival, his enemy, his … crush? whatever …) fuck the girl of his dreams to high heavens and back. with his emerald gaze laser focused on darting between your viscous and drenched cunt sucking yoichi in, and your angelic expression ( creased brows and perfectly pouty lips) — rin let’s his hand slip beneath his shorts to finally relieve himself of the ache.
he hissed at the first contact with his erection, the sound quickly turning to pathetic blubbers that make his ears burn red at their tips — because it feels so good. finally touching himself in sync with isagi’s thrusts, getting himself off to the way he fucks you, loves you. torn between wanting to be either of you. it’s a large thing to admit to himself, sifting through a maze of lust, attraction. rin has been chasing after the want to be loved for so long and somewhere along the way it morphed into wanting to be between you both.
he won’t admit it out loud, however, but he feels lucky enough to watch right now. grateful that he pushed isagi this far.
the sounds of him jerking off his crying cock, rubbing at his slit from time to time, merges perfectly with the sinful symphony of your mewls, your cries and the weightly slap of isagi’s skin against your own. his guttural moans too, and his breeder’s balls smacking down wetly on your equally wet, puffy cunt. you catch on first, teary eyes drifting down to the movement beneath the younger itoshi’s clothes and then back up to his face — which looks lighter, relieved and less tense.
“oh rinnie,” you coo, voice rising an octave — delighted by the sight in front of you and the way in which your boyfriend eagerly chases the hot grip of your abused, leaky hole. “y-you’re so cute… you like watching me get fucked that bad, hm?”
“y-yes, god yes.” he lets out a choked moan in response, his throat dry from holding back and not having spoken in a while.
you grin lazily and lift a hand from rin’s shoulder to cup his cheek, brushing away a stray tear with your thumb. one that he didn’t even know had fallen. “you’ve been such a good boy, watching so well ‘n listening to ‘ichi up until now…” even though your voice wavers, and you’re just as submissive to your boyfriend as rin is to you right now — you somehow manage to reach out to him, lick at the longing parts of his soul that crave affection like this.
“he’s pathetic is what he is,” isagi rears his jealous head while slumping over you — aiming to steal your attention away. he’s rutting into you so fast that you swear you see a blinding white light, gushing down his dick and slicking him all up with your early release. “rubbin’ one off on your stupid cock to my girlfriend even when told not to. seems like you never listen, not on the field. not here. you just live to piss me off, don’t you man.”
it’s humiliating for rin, but he likes it. stuck between your loving praise and isagi’s harsh words. “seeing her cum for me wasn’t enough for me to prove my point to you, but now she’s on my dick and you still won’t admit it.” he barks but doesn’t let up on fucking you senseless.
the hand that squeezes and tugs at rin’s sorely, hard cock only seems to move faster the more mean, embarrassing shit isagi spews at him. tearing the younger player down but making him feel this amazing. he can’t ignore the small spurts of pre cum that his iron hot tip releases just from having the two of you watching him. it’s evident in the dark stain that seeps through the fabric of his soccer shorts.
his cheeks are flushed and his eyelids droopy as he looks up at you, palming himself to your very vision of beauty. the three of you are a mess. you can’t help but sequel like a lamb being dragged to slaughter between rin and isagi — who tears you apart by plunging into you as deep as he can go and pieces you back together with sloppy kisses to your back, tonguing at your neck possessively.
isagi’s veiny hands grab at your ass next to pull you onto his thrusting cock, pushing anything that leaks out of you back into your clenching hole. he peels his sweat soaked chest away from your back and you whimper at the loss of his body heat — only to let out a surprised sob when he spits onto the point at which your bodies join, fucking the froth past your entrance.
everything your boyfriend does to you, has a snowball effect on rin. he no longer holds back, wildly bucking his hips into his hand wishing it were your sluice sex, or your mouth. dying to have his hands all over you the way isagi does. you terrorise his thoughts but your moans and squeaks soothe him — dragging him closer and closer to his high. you’re dangerous, rin concludes, but it only makes him want to see you like this even more.
meanwhile, you’re in no better condition — every time isagi bends you over and ravages you like this, you’re reminded of the many reasons why he is blue lock’s star player. his strong build from playing soccer all around the world pays off in he’s with you, making good use of his new found stamina to wreck your entire being and pound you all the way to hell. though yoichi is shorter and lean where rin is taller and agile, he never fails to make your brain void of any thought and your legs soft thighs with how wet you are. he fucks you like he hates you, like he’s mad at you for your own existence but he speaks to you in ways that emulate love.
“you’re milking me, precious girl,” he mutters as if he’s in awe. “you want my cum that badly? you want me?” yoichi purrs, sending shockwaves through your system and right down to your pelvis — adding to the orgasmic knots that twist there, threatening to unravel at any second. “you’re so pretty, grinding up on me. so dirty, loving how rin watches you. my precious girl.”
“‘m yours, yoichi,” you reaffirm, preening into his touch as it cascades up and down your body like a rushing waterfall. “wanna cum, wanna cum f’you.”
your admission is like a bullet to the chest for rin but he doesn’t want to give this up, revelling how you look down at him, his milky white dick and his blushing face with an expression so sweet his teeth might rot and his ears fill with your honey-like voice — melting his brain. he wants this for as long as you’ll give it to him, for as long as isagi will allow him to witness it.
“i know baby, but you know what i want, feels so much better when you wait for me,” your boyfriend’s thrusts begin to grow sloppy and irregular — indicating the approach of his own high. but isagi knows you and your body better than anyone else, knows how to make you cum so hard that you might black out. you love to be edged, and you love him even more so. you’d do whatever he wanted and then some. and he would do the same for you.
he throbs within your tightness, your pussy papping and pulsating, smeared with isagi’s thick precum that douses your puffy folds in white. the mix froths, creating a foamy ring of white at the thickest point of his length. “p-please, yoichi. i don’t think i can,” you wail in denial like you always do, the sound causing both boys to squeeze the base of their cocks and groan in unison — attempting to stave off their orgasms. “hurts so good.”
rin is reminded of just how good his rival can fuck you. even when you’re desperate to cum (and he’s just as desperate to watch it happen again) — you still have a burning hunger for isagi to control your ecstasy. he wants to give up control like that too. with you, or with his destined enemy. liquid lust rolls down rin’s dick in large waves, his eyes threatening to roll back as he listens to your moans get higher and higher the closer you are. yoichi is in no better condition, growling and chasing after your cunt as your hips attempt to run away from him.
“she wants to fucking cum, you idiot.” rin grunts, finding his voice amidst the sound of crying, moaning and skin on skin. “please, let her cum.”
“why? so you can bust a nut to my fucking girl. jeez, rin. get a fucking grip.”
maybe this is what makes isagi the bad boyfriend rin so desperately wants to make him. putting his pleasure above your own even though rin knows that’s far from the truth — almost relenting while he jerks off to the same pace that isagi fucks you with. but then you call out to him, like a siren from the high seas.
“rinnie, please touch me. h-help me cum.”
his body moves on his own accord after that, the hand that’s not getting himself off to you and his so called friend reaching between shaky legs and salty skin to fumble with your clit awkwardly. rin has never touched a girl a girl before, not even like this. but he tries to recreate it in the way that isagi does, to listen to you moan for him and see you tremble above him.
“h-how’s that?” he breathes, watching in awe as your eyes roll back into your skull.
“more.” you say. barking out the command while your cunt spews a fresh wave of juices onto rin’s hand.
your body seizes up, pleasured from all angles. between yoichi’s cock and rin’s calloused thumb drags random shapes over the pearl between your folds. “motherfucker….” the curse spills from isagi’s lips before he can stop it and admit how fucking amazing it feels to have you tense around him, warm and wet. it’s worse when rin accidentally catches his cock as it slips in and out of you rapidly, churning up your insides. “fucking bastard. at least touch her properly, rub in circles.”
rin does what he’s told, following the simple command and obediently flicking at your clit. it’s totally worth it, surrendering his autonomy to the older player just to have you tug at his hair and squeal his name. you jut your hips back and forth, meeting both boys in their bid to make you see heaven. your limbs threaten to give out on you, you pulse and pleasure tremors through you like an earthquake.
“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” you chant like it’s a prayer.
the world around you falls away as you’re finally pushed over the edge — a bright white light flooding your vision accompanied by static fizzling in your ears. rin watches you cum a second time as if he’s witnessing the eight wonders of the world, your cunt flooding with isagi’s cum at the same time that you squirt with ease. his load floods your womb, filling you up to the brim and you feel so good you might die. a scream tearing in your throat and the knots in your lower tummy rapidly unravelling. the both of you cumming together, at last.
you can’t help it, surging forward to press your lips against rin’s, kissing him hazily, your tongue prodding through his lips — licking into his mouth. rin creams his pants at the very sensation, damn near sobbing into your open mouth. “f-fucking christ, that’s so hot.” isagi whines, slowly pulling out of you and letting the crude mix of your arousals hit the floor.
it’s only then that rin realises love is not binary. there are no clear paths to achieving the perfect love. there hat tricks or dribble techniques. love is unwinding and binding and there are too many possibilities. and that scares rin, for him to love a girl he can’t have.
your knees buckle under the exhaustion of it all and rin reaches out to catch you before you can pull away and the oxygen from reality floods his brain again. he misses you when isagi reaches you first, coddling you in his arms and kissing all over your face to calm you down and reassure you. loving you in ways rin isn’t sure that he’s capable of.
nosing your cheek, isagi coos out to you — his personality doing a complete 180. “you okay, precious. i wasn’t too hard on you, right?”
you’re so happy to be in his arms, close to dozing off. “‘m okay, yoichi. you were perfect. you always are. i love you.”
“do you need help getting to the showers? i can carry you there.”
eyeing rin on the floor, you look back up to isagi and shake your head adoringly — knowing that they’ll probably need to talk this out without you.
“i’ll be alright, find me when you’re done here. okay?”
the striker lets you back down and accepts a kiss on the cheek from you. you pad away to wash off — leaving him in silence with his younger counterpart. the tension fails to dissipate as they fix themselves, tucking away their dicks and floundering to speak.
rin watches the way isagi longingly looks at the door, wanting to be with you instead of dealing with the consequences of his actions. it dawns on him then, that he literally cannot win against isagi, that perhaps he is better than rin in all ways possible. he’s a loser. he lost to you and to isagi.
“i’m… i’m a good boyfriend. for her, yanno,” isagi says awkwardly after some time, scratching the back of his head shyly. “there isn’t anything i wouldn’t do for her…but how much i love her doesn’t reflect in my plays and she knows that. the way i love her and love soccer are different. i could never blame my mistakes on how much i care for her. it would be on me. like today was on you.”
rin can only blink back in response. “that’s true. i’m—“ he wants to apologise, but something inside him, something that he’d worked so hard to undo this past hour doesn’t let him. he can’t submit, be truthful and vulnerable. not when the setting isn’t as intimate as before.
rin still can’t let go.
something familiar — akin disappointment swirls in the blues and azures of yoichi’s eyes, but he doesn’t comment on rin’s silence.
it reminds rin of his brother, sae.
with nothing left to talk about, isagi nods quietly and shoved his hands in his pockets to head for the showers — no doubt to check up on you, be with you openly and happily, but pauses just shy of the door. he throws his head back to address rin once more.
“oh and by the way,” isagi mumbles, pushing his tongue around inside his mouth and against his cheek. looking for the right words. as if he’s holding back — saying whatever comes next against his will. “she did really like you. so, every day i have to prove to her that i was the right choice, the better one. a good boyfriend. so don’t get it twisted. alright?”
he makes his exit shortly after — leaving the younger player with no time to respond.
and rin can’t tell if those words were supposed to comfort him or not. in fact, all they do is make him feel worse.
🏁 ꒰ ✩ suggestive ⋆ mdni ⋆ characters are adults. pro football player yoichi isagi & popstar fem!reader. selfship coded. long distance relationship, secret relationship, situationship, inaccurate football descriptions, inaccurate World Cup descriptions, flirting, suggestive talk over the phone. -> secretly dating an internationally famous soccer star means calling each other just to flirt in the middle of an intense world cup match.
“your little football boyfriend’s on tv.”
you’ve just come off stage, all the muscles in your body stretched to their limit and your vocal chords well warmed from the run of twenty songs across four of your studio albums. someone hands you a bottle of water, the plastic crinkles between your trembling fingers and the straw meets your glossed lips. it’s a cherished drink that barely cools the adrenaline burning through your system, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
the dressing slash green room tingles with life and the kind of chaos that comes across as perfectly coordinated. people packing away your stage makeup, others organising costumes and some helping themselves to the snacks laying around after a hard night of work.
something plays on the wall-mounted tv on the right side of the room away from your makeshift vanity, its audio mingling with buzz of chatter from your staff — you try to find it, following the notice from your tour manager.
“yoichi isagi is not my boyfriend!” you chirp into the ambience, only to receive a pointed stare from your manager. “we’re just talking. where is he? the game’s not supposed to be for another hour —!” your gaze finally lands on the screen, emerald green glass and blurs of blue flash across it.
the chants echo through, similar to that of what you’ve heard from fans at your concert tonight. you’ve missed nearly half of the japan’s first game so far during your performance. “shit! turn it up! turn it up!”
the match ticks up in volume.
“it’s half time, one - nil. let’s get you out of this. also, you can’t stand in front of the screen like a toddler. your eyes will go bad—” your manager starts unclipping parts of your finale outfit. a little baby blue number, tightened with bows and lace and a number of moving parts you’d struggle to deal with on your own. especially now that you’ve rooted yourself in front of your match. “hold on, are you calling him?”
you’ve magically obtained a phone. who knows where from.
a month into tour means you’ve not been in the same place at the same time. your Europe leg starting just as the World Cup kicked off in the states. the two of you, just talking. not dating. have been making it work over facetime dates and phone calls that are hardly kept pg — you feel closer than ever even with the distance.
“i call him before every game — but i couldn’t this time. he’ll pick up, i know he will.” your eyes scan the screeb whilst the phone rings. luckily enough for you a camera decides to zoom in closely on yoichi isagi. number eleven himself. midnight blue bangs now shaggy over his eyes, dark blue spandex stretched across his chest clinging to each pectoral muscle as he catches his breath off to the side. “there he is! my diamond boy.”
your heart smiles when you see him, sweaty, but his eyes burning with that familiar crazed sense of passion, he looks at the pitch the same way he looks at you, something he adores with every fibre of his being.
someone hands him a phone and you can’t help the giddy grin slipping into your cheeks.
“hello?”
“yoichi,” you breathe easy. “hey, hi. i’m sorry, i couldn’t call. how’s it going?”
you see his body physically light up, tension rolling off his back as if your voice has kneaded it out of him. the crease between his brow eases too and soccer star glows under intense light, shining eyes and his golden skin fill your screen. “second half will be better now that i’ve heard your voice.” a pause. “i miss you, your pretty face.”
“shut up, you’ve been doing just fine without me,” the phone presses into your ear, as if pushing it any closer will bring isagi closer to you. your eyes flutter shut and you can picture him here with you, fingers slinking around your waist to bring you close, teasing lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “you’re going to win. you always do.”
“i’m always better because of you, though. i’ll show you in the next half.” the words are smug on his tongue, tinged with affection that the striker saves only for you. it’s impressive, how easily he’s able to switch from this intense monster on the field to the charming, boy next door you’ve been dating in secret for months.
yoichi doesn’t deny the victory on the horizon. he knows he’ll take it. his confidence in his ability, his freak instinct on the field is somewhat addicting — enticing. he burns for it — soccer — and everything that he does, even for you. isagi isn’t a half hearted kind of guy, you’ve come to know, he’d drop anything just to make you smile with the same dedication he’d display on the pitch. he’s all about you, he’s waited this long to even get a chance with you — he cares about one thing aside from winning and that’s how he makes you feel.
“i don’t believe you!” you purr down the line in a teasing tone, cheesing to yourself. staff flitter around you, helping tug off more of your outfit but your focus remains on your little boyfriend on tv.
he shifts on his kleets, rotating around the stadium in search for the nearest camera — it finds him first and you feel as though he’s looking straight at you. yoichi winks, deep blue eyes swirling with danger and desire. to win or for you. to isagi, they’re practically the same thing.
“what will it take?” he says, determined. hungry. loud and clear over the chanting and the cheers and the stomping feet.
butterflies flood your tummy at the lopsided smirk that slants on his plush lips. isagi raises a brow — rendering you weak in the knees. challenging you on live tv.
you chew on your bottom lip, gloss trapped under your teeth. “bicycle kick? score from five metres. then i’ll believe you.” is what you settle on. matching his intensity, daring his ability as japan’s diamond in the rough.
yoichi shakes out his fringe, pursing his lips at your dare, milling it over.
“your wish is my command, precious girl,” number eleven whispers huskily into the phone. you wonder if he looks as sexy to the rest of the world as he does to you, glistening as he locks the sweat from his cupid’s bow — hazy eyes and struggling for clear breath in the heat. the camera captures every twitch of his, each quirk of his lips, but it can hardly tell that all of it is because of you. isagi’s just as much yours as you are his. “call me after the game? wanna talk dirty to you as my prize when i win.”
“promise, and you can do more than just talk to me, yoichi. i’ll show you what you winning does to me,” your stylist unzips your heels and you step out of the constricting leather, glad to be back on your feet. a small, gentle mewl slips down the line right into yoichi’s ear. for a second, his cheeks flush pink through the camera lens. “fuck.” you gasp in relief.
“dirty girl, don’t get me excited, i’ll be thinkin’ about it for the rest of the game.”
“sorry,” comes your giggle.
“you’re not at all,” isagi’s cheery voice barely hides his visceral desire building for you. yet, you see it in his stance — squared shoulders and locked jaw. “keep your eyes on me, kay?”
“always.”
you end the call just before half time finishes up. the screen floods with other players from the japan team, nagi who you recognise and rin as well — friends of your boyfriend not boyfriend. they shove at his shoulders — teasing him no doubt for his sudden amped up motivation but it seemingly lifts the spirits of his entire team.
a makeup wipe is tossed your way, you swipe it off in trance and with a shaky hand as you anticipate isagi’s next move. whether he does manage to score a goal or not, you’ll be waiting for his call after ninety minutes all the same.
you quickly find out — ten minutes into the second half, that isagi takes bets just as seriously as he does his intentions towards you. along with thousands of others, you watch him kick off grass into the air — power wound up into his thick thighs as his legs sweeping upwards in a scissor motion. he strikes the ball directly into the top left corner of his options goal with ease. hitting the ground with a dull thud.
you still. the world stills.
and then: he sits up, grass and mud struck across his tanned cheek — ocean eyes looking for you in the camera once more. yoichi winks, blowing a kiss your way from across the globe.
“that one’s for you, baby.” he says with pride.
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
sypnosis: A compromise of your omniscient eyes to save your life, the demon king’s greed is your salvation. And now reborn without your sight to descry him by, you desperately seek to thank the saviour of your soul by capturing the immortal memory of his spirit in your sculptures.
pairings: isagi yoichi x blind fem reader
content and warnings: discrimination, angst with comfort, fluff, isagi is curious and a sweetheart, use of y/n, you’re lowkey a sculpture master, longing and yearning from both parties, mutual pinning, fastburn, situationship final boss (lowkey find the idea of outsiders seeing u both in a situationship bc it’s funny), doomed past life, reincarnated soulmates, religious imagery and symbolism
notes: public apology to @noecyan bc I was a fucking illiterate twat, I got inspired by @bleerlyy work on tiktok and how she paints isagi like he’s her dead lover (her artwork is what I used for the banner), got specifically inspired by her white her isagi (he looks ethereal). Also I dont know anyone who is blind so please be forgiving if I’ve portrayed visual impairments incorrectly (I’m aware blindness is a spectrum and its unlikely to be completely blind, but for the sake of the plot you are), inspired by veil and the intimacy shared between Emma and aleksander, had so much fun writing this even tho for two weeks I was having writers block, not proof read, PRAY FOR MY EXAM RESULTS LESS THAN WEEK IM SCARED, enjoy!
word count: 10k
bllk! masterlist
main! masterlist
“If the world was blind, how many people would you impress?”
Isagi pondered over the hypothetical question with pursed lips, cautiously cradling the exasperated sigh that threatened to leave his burning throat. He trudged forward without any vocal complaint, disguising the displeasure that coursed through his veins for lethargy to fetch the ball that went astray mid-training.
Dammit..! A noise of frustration eventually sounded from him when he deemed his distance far enough from the field. The dull boy was tragically familiar with this little game. Tiptoeing around his somewhat difficult teammates and falling victim to their wishes was a habit that came as naturally as seeing to Isagi.
Cursed since youth with the godforsaken ability to see a world that others couldn’t, to perceive and predict the future that others desperately sought to seek, Isagi yearned silently for the contrary. He wished for it gone, replaced with nothing.
Sometimes, he wondered what it’d be like to be blind or deaf. Well, to be senseless, free from the world’s expectations.
It felt wrong, but he often spent his time imagining what it’d be like to be so. To live without the unusual sensitivity he grew up with, how would that have affected him now? Would he have been less timid? Perhaps he’d be much more fearless than he ever was?
But then that would mean I can’t avoid risky situations… Isagi’s back hunched comically when a gentle wind curled against his sulking figure, brushing softly up his limbs and drawing his attention to the eye-catching obstruction that mockingly stood in his way. The obstruction— a lone stone, oddly shaped and unusually coloured peeked his interest.
“….”
With grooves and bumps that glared at him fiercely, the bright spots of colour challenged him to a stare down and Isagi’s brows scrunched in concentration— he wasn’t about to lose to a fucking rock. But his efforts were for naught, instead, he withered pathetically under the pressure of the pebble’s stare. His nostrils flared briefly at the loss, and the urge to boot the rock that insulted his pride grew.
Leg curling towards himself, he watched with mild satisfaction as it ricocheted off the tip of his cleats, the stone curled upwards and bounced to a soft thud when it landed a fair distance from him. The feeling was unfortunately short-lived, Isagi clicked his tongue when he heard the voice of Tada from afar requesting the former to hasten his search for the ball, souring the fleeting delight that previously loosened the tightness in his tense shoulders.
Isagi aggressively ruffled the tuffs of his short hair, hoping the action would physically remove the unpleasant thoughts that infiltrated his mind as he continued his reluctant search for the ball. It wasn’t until the echo of an abrupt crash nearby, followed by a pained groan that his slouched figure straightened with alarm. That’s where—! The noise had sounded from the vicinity he believed the kicked stone had landed around, a lump lodged itself in his contracting throat. Dammit!
Cold sweat clung to his skin beneath his kit, a physical hindrance to his limbs that urgently raced towards the location. Breath falling short, his eyes widened with comical horror when they fell on the figure slumped across the coarse pavement. He gulped audibly, licking his drying lips as he hysterically approached you, crouching down beside your fallen form.
“Are you— Oh my God, are you okay?!” His hands flayed about with frenzied hesitation, mentally debating whether he should cross an unwritten line and lift you up without some kind of advanced notice.
“Mhm, I’m totally fine, don’t worry.” You replied with a big, closed-eye grin, waving your hands about and unusually joyful for someone who seemed to have dived head first into concrete.
“..Are you sure..?” Hands still hovering unsurely around you, his voice trailing off as he shyly tore his gaze away from your skirt that rode up your thighs to the alarming, bloody grazes on your palm.
“Yes, haha. But, to think I’d share my first kiss with the pavement, it’s rather embarrassing…” Your voice petered out when you felt his presence closing in without warning, an unpleasant chill crawled up your spine. “Erm—!”
“Sorry.” He apologised, voice uncharacteristically serious as he leaned into your proximity, his breath marring your exposed skin with goosebumps.
It wasn’t until you caught a whiff of his scent that your muscles loosened. His clothes smelt faintly of clean laundry and sweat, soothing and nostalgic, but it was his sweat— his scent that caught you off guard. A distinctive smell, familiar and solacing. But familiar how? You couldn’t put a word to it. Dammit, I’ve smelt him before… A brief, featherlight caress on the back your thigh snapped you out of your spiralling thoughts. Your nose scrunched when the ghost of his touch was replaced with a phantom burn. “Your skirt was, um— yeah… should’ve said something first but— yeah, I’m sorry…”
In your moment of wistful stupor, a deep burrowed desperation provoked your heart into movement.
Your eyes may have been blind, but your soul did not follow suit.
Even with your lack of sight, your soul could descry the familiarity of the boy’s warmth. Your hand outstretched impulsively to the unidentifiable being, the wind of salvation grazing the tips of your fingers — an odious insult to your lifelong pursuit — before they came to a sullen, dreadful pause. “Uh, help-!” The realisation of your impetuosity locked the mobility in your nimble fingers. Ah… but—
“Then, ‘scuse me.” The boy didn’t question your unusual call for aid, nor did he let a moment linger in waste. His touch grounded your shaken form, a reassuring grip to your elbow and an arm wrapped around your waist. Epitomised solace embraced the stutter in your heart and mended the gaping hole in the fabric of your solitude. The stranger’s hold whispered consolation in your ear. Softly reassuring your growing worries and replacing them with firm support.
The words of gratitude you spent eons perfecting were not spoken aloud despite your wishes. They remained frozen in your closing throat, dissolving deep within the expanse of your bones and thawing at the persistent grief you carried. Before you could realise, you’d been carefully placed to your feet. The last of his touch lingered mournfully in the soft way he brushed the gravel off your blistering knees and arms.
“You should really be aware of your surroundings, y’know?” He scolded absentmindedly, voice trailing off as he gave your form a quick once over, scanning to see if he missed any injuries that may have required urgent care.
“Yeah… sorry about that.” You apologised mindlessly, your jovial expression dwindling down to a slight sulk.
“Ah-! Damn…” he muttered, immediately backtracking on his words after seeing you deflate comically. “I really didn’t mean to scold you… please, don’t apologise… Just— uh, keep a keen eye out for anything!” Isagi chuckled faintly, hoping the friendly gesture would soothe your moping figure.
“I wish.” You muttered humorously, unaware of the confused brow he raised at your odd response.
“Huh? More importantly— how have you managed falling over on flat pavement?” Harmless curiosity discernible in his query, her eyes have been closed this whole time… he noted.
“It must’ve been the wind.” You joked poorly, only puzzling the boy further.
“…uh, what? You tripped on air? You’re quite the clutz, aren’t you?” He replied unsurely, amused judgment adorning his tone.
“You’re quite rude, aren’t you?” You retorted with a mocking lilt, casually waving off the incoming string of profuse apologies. “I must’ve tripped over something small, maybe a stone?”
“A stone…?” A comical drop of sweat dripped down his temple, don’t tell me…
“I think so, my cane must’ve missed it.” Isagi’s gaze slowly turned towards the smooth pavement, lo and behold, the stone that looked eerily similar to the one he kicked earlier in his fit of anger was there.
“…..”
The silence that ensued would’ve been entertaining if you could see his deadpan expression, but unfortunately, you couldn’t. So rather than being amused, your hands clenched with unease, nails digging into the plush of your palm.
“Erm, are you still there…?” Your voice trailed off softly, dread gnawing in your stomach.
“I am, it’s just— uh, I’m really sorry! Are you— are you sure you’re okay..?” He swallowed the guilt that grew unduly with the realisation that he was at fault for your fall. The cane, your quiet response to his advice on remaining vigilant, your inability to discern whether he was still there or not just now and the fact that your eyes had been closed this whole time, it was obvious that you— that you were blind. His earlier words that made him appear so assured now made him so— so foolish.
Isagi had spoken so surely, with so much certainty, got so ahead of himself whilst being unaware of your predicament. He was a dullard to assume your situation, and he was even more of a blockhead to give you his unsolicited advice. “I’m so sorry.” He apologised for the nth time that day. This time not from the guilt of being responsible for your fall, but for being the one thing he hated others being.
Of all things to be at fault for, it just had to be the one thing he couldn’t stand.
An unadulterated mass of shame festered in his veins and he watched with quiet remorse as a wonderful smile grew bright on your face.
“I’m totally okay!” You simply waved his worries off again, the innocence in your laughter wrenching the blade of contrition deeper in his gut.
“…But, I..” His fingers trembled at his sides, your unconditional comfort undeserved and merely wasted on someone like him.
You hummed with thought before outstretching your hand and waiting patiently for him. “..Then, lend me your hand and guide me to the nurse, stranger.”
Isagi blinked at the visible callouses, momentarily stunned to silence at the roughness of your hand that opposed the benevolence of your conduct.
“Okay, stranger.” His voice cracked as he approached your proximity once more.
Your imperative left no room for disagreement, not that he would’ve argued, but the lack of plea and gratitude in your words eased his growing guilt. With pursed lips, he awed at your perception. You must’ve done it intentionally, he nodded to himself. Even though he was the one at fault, you gave him the chance to convey the sincerity of his apology by allowing him to demonstrate his remorse.
The walk to the infirmary was silent, sauf for the chirps of the birds, nature’s white noise and the trudge of your steps. Every so often, Isagi’s gaze fell from his surroundings to his arm and to your hand that grasped it tightly. You trusted him… enough to let him guide you, but still, there was hesitation in your movement.
Isagi made note of your furrowed brows, your delayed but hurried strides and he slowed his pace down to match yours. Ears tinging a feverish pink, his unoccupied hand fell atop yours, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. The boy silently signalled his presence, a subconscious reminder of your ceased solitude, provoking your other hand to embrace his arm.
Your pure and charming response eliciting a flustered pout out of Isagi. He inwardly cursed the conclusions he drew in his frazzled state and chastised himself. No, stop. You’re getting ahead of your self. Engrossed with self-conflict, he’d been unaware of your relaxing figure, completely blindsided to how you slumped over his arm and revelled in the warmth of him.
“By the way, I’m not stranger.” You broke the silence, unusually bothered by the label you were ironically responsible for.
“S’that so?” You could hear the amusement in his voice when he replied to you. “Well, me neither.”
“Yeah?” Your brows twitched painfully at his inability to take a hint.
“Mhm.” He hummed smugly, feigning ignorance.
“…Then what is it?” You eventually gave up trying to obtain his name through indirect means.
“Isagi. Isagi Yoichi. And you, stranger?” He tittered at the poor taunt, revelling in your endearingly frustrated expression.
“Y/n. Just Y/n. Not stranger.” You huffed with petulant annoyance, it seems he wouldn’t let your moment of whim slip.
“Alright then, just Y/n. You have arrived at your destination, the nurse’s office.”
“Thanks for the ride, Isagi Yoichi.”
Isagi replayed the interaction you both shared a disgraceful amount of times. It’s only been a day since the unusual encounter, but the kindness you bestowed him with was unforgettable. Providing him with a budding hope for the faith, or lack thereof, he had in humanity. The quiet eccentricity you carried with clumsy elegance became a memorable attribute in his dull life.
The boy flushed bright red with embarrassment when he recalled your introduction, you’d been so insistent on guilefully concealing your family name, revealing only your given name to him. Then, the memory of your contorted expression when he jokingly addressed you as ‘stanger’ crossed his mind. Clearly, you were displeased with the barrier of acquaintanceship, so was it wrong of him to assume you wanted to be more than that? Was it wrong to assume you craved for a deeper connection?
If not, then was it wrong of him to with to wish for that?
Was it greedy of him to yearn for your intimacy?
Isagi wanted to learn from your perception, he was curious, and he simply desired to sate it. Curiosity was a double-edged sword: it was what killed the cat. You may very well interpret his curiosity wrongly, might think he viewed your blindness as some kind of exotic feature rather than a trait you had besides being human.
But, he blinked, your psyche was like the gravity of the moon’s, and he, was the tide. Helpless against your pull. Isagi, with foresight like no other, longed for his future to align with yours.
Ugh, he’s only known you for a day, your exchange had been so fleetingly brief, lasting mere minutes, and yet— yet, it was meaningful. To Isagi, those few minutes meant more than he could physically describe.
And fortunately for him, fate was on his side.
When he parted ways with you, albeit reluctantly, he walked back through the path you’d both came out from. Not the shortcut that would’ve led him to field much quicker, no, Isagi took the long way around instead. Hoping to chase the lingering spirit of yourself in the afternoon breeze and the thriving foliage and the smooth pavement and the— the stone. The stone responsible for your fortuitous meeting.
A lucky charm, he’d rather say. His lucky charm, he decided after pocketing the source of his windfall. It was then, that he took note of your cane. Forgotten and lost, laying there absent of its owner. The key to another meeting with you, another conversation with you, to another opportunity with you lay there before him. It beckoned him over and who was Isagi to refuse? He let himself fall victim to its call like how you fell over his lucky charm, a fair exchange, the boy reckoned.
Isagi believed he set a new record for himself then. He’d never remembered running so fast in his life. Or maybe he has, who knows.
Through the path you both took to the nurse, he didn’t bother concealing his eagerness. Onlookers looked at him with unconcealed judgment, but fuck it, it’s not like you were the type to judge him. Besides, you needed this right? So he’ll just use that to explain his celerity, or so he thought.
When he’d arrived at the nurse’s office, your absence struck him first, ripping a hole in the fabric of his reality. The lack of your presence, the lack of you, caved his stomach inwards. He’d desperately inquired about you to the oblivious nurse, his worry increasing tenfold when she merely shrugged and told him honestly that she hadn’t seen you at all. Isagi pressured her with concerned inquires of you, the act exceedingly out of ordinary for him.
Isagi never prodded around more than necessary. He knew how to carefully tiptoe around the bound of limits and when to stop accordingly. But you seemed to provoke a new side of him.
The nurse, sensing his urgency, consoled his hysteria and informed him of the spare cane you carried with you. One that you apparently used in emergencies, but that’s not what bothered him. No, it wasn’t that. You were injured for goodness sake!
Nevertheless, the nurse mentioned she didn’t see you at all, so it was wrong of him to take his anger out on her, not when she seemed just as confused as he was frustrated. Isagi took a deep breath and loosened the vice-grip he had on your cane. Your belongings didn’t deserve to be a victim of his anger, he mustn’t mistreat them, just like how he wouldn’t want to mistreat you.
Crestfallen and slumped, Isagi left the infirmary with a slug in his steps, a deep contrast to his earlier haste. Thoughts riddled with you, he wondered if you were okay. Sure, you had your spare cane, but what about the grazes on your palm? They looked painful, and your reassurance to your well-being didn’t put him at ease. He wondered what spurred your spontaneity, what was so important that you had to dismiss the wellness of your health?
He’d spent the rest of that day inquiring about you, about yourself and your whereabouts to anyone who was willing to listen. It’d taken much longer than expected to get an adequate answer, but he got it in the end.
Most had initially brushed him off, dismissing his worry for nonsense, whilst the rest judged his adamancy for answers. Some even had the gall to be blatant with their distaste towards you. How could anyone hate you? It irked him but Isagi bit his tongue hard, he couldn’t afford to lose his only lead to find you.
Shockingly, it was actually Tada, his teammate, that provided him with the best answer.
“Y/n, the Itako, huh? Heard she’s always holed up in the art room trying to speak to ghosts or something.”
Isagi’s jaw went taut at the response, he wasn’t particularly fond of how Tada worded that, it sounded too mocking for his liking, nonetheless, he begrudgingly thanked the boy through clenched teeth. It was too late in the afternoon right now to find you, you might’ve already left the campus by now since school hours had long ended.
Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, he would look for you in the art room.
And true to his unspoken promise, Isagi was there, clutching your cain protectively close to his chest. The answers to his confusion lay before him, beyond the doors of the art classroom, in the very form of you.
He sighed, giving himself a once over in the reflection of the window. The boy hurried to smoothen the mess of his tussled hair, a byproduct of his morning rush. Isagi was determined and it showed. It showed in the way he carefully placed your cane on his desk at home, out of harms way and in line with his sight. It showed in the way he peddled faster on his journey to school, it showed the way he skipped the optional morning practice and it showed, it showed in the way he rushed over to the art room— to you.
The door was open, much to his relief, and he took that as an invitation to enter. Immediately upon his entry, he was greeted with unpleasant whispers, none directed at him, no, not at him, but—
Hushed conversation was shared amongst the occupants of the room, those of which condensed one side of the space. The other half of the room vacant sauf for the clutter of sculptures that kept a lone figure company. Your lone figure.
Deep amid the crowd of inanimate, clay faces, your small stature resided, back hunched over another piece of work, unbothered by the words of defamation tactfully aimed at you.
Isagi’s heart thudded in his chest, horror dawning on his expression as the joints in his knuckles fell weak to the baseless accusations thrown at you. How could anyone speak slander of you?
You, you of all people.
Your retractable cane fell to ground with a clatter through his loose grip, alerting the inhabitants of the room, including you, of his presence. They watched with mild interest as he scrambled to pick it up, a barely audible curse aimed at himself left his mouth in a short huff. Even so, you with your peculiar enigma picked up on it. On the familiarity of him.
You may have been unable to see, but you’ve clearly memorised every eye that’s looked your way.
“Yoichi..? Is that… you?”
Your hesitant voice awoke him from his stupor, the octaves in your tone rising higher with waver. He couldn’t pick up any uncertainty in it, rather, you sounded shocked. Incredulous of something, something he wasn’t exactly sure of himself.
“….”
A jarring beat of silence arose following your slip of tongue, your brows furrowed uncomfortably at the sudden stillness, ignorant to the gaping expressions thrown your way.
“…Did you guys hear that..?”
“The Itako used his given name…!”
“I didn’t know Isagi was close to her!”
“It’s probably because he doesn’t know that she—“
“Oh my God, do you think Isagi’s just like her?!”
Now, with the topic of discussion shifted from you to him, Yoichi watched with bated breaths as your brows raised with unease. Regret bloomed in your countenance, and he wondered why that was the case. It didn’t take long to figure out why though, the claims people were now pinning on him because of his newly revealed relation to you were a tell-tale sign for the alarm in your disposition.
Yoichi, could care less what others thought of him. Not now, not anymore. And especially not when you called him so dearly, so intimately. His name sounded so much more pleasant with the way it rolled off your tongue. Yoichi? Seriously? Were you trying to kill him?
Yoichi replied before you could even attempt to correct your supposed blunder. Well, he hopes it wasn’t one. The boy didn’t want to toot his own horn, but you’d done it so casually, so intrinsically. As if calling him by his given name came as naturally as breathing to you.
“Yes, Y/n. It’s me, Yoichi. I’ve bought your cane.”
If only you were able to see the bounce in his steps as he bound his way over to you, cane in one hand and whimsy in his grin. The scene eerily resembled a puppy returning to its owner with the stick they’d thrown whilst playing fetch. The hiccup of his heart came to a pause seeing the knot in your brows unfurl, your tense shoulders drooped with what he could only hope was relief.
“D’you mind if I sit? I’ve got some time to kill before lesson starts.” He asked hopefully, placing your cane down on the table besides a much more worn one, your emergency replacement he assumes. His request surprised even himself. Yoichi rarely socialised, he never initiated conversation.
“Go ahead…” You responded quietly, still very much in disbelief at the turn of events.
“See, I told you guys. The Itako’s not actually blind. She was able to recognise Isagi without even hearing him speak.”
“Yeah, well obviously. No blind person’s capable of creating those kind of sculptures.”
“….”
A muscle in Yoichi’s temple ticked at the brazen disrespect, what the hell happened to common decency? The boy scrutinised your expression, you, for one, didn’t seem bothered by it. Years of being subjected to strange whispers has desensitised you to the judgement of strangers. He tried to not let it bother him, bless him, he really did. Though the effort had been for naught. How the hell could he allow himself to be a wallflower in this situation?
“Y/n, how many fingers am I holding up?”
The question caught not only you but the rest of the quidnuncs in the classroom off guard. A gobsmacked silence ensued, namely by those who were smearing your name earlier, before it was followed with their outraged gasps at his audacity.
Strange. Were they not shameless when accusing you of faking your impairment just a minute ago? The depth of their hypocrisy was laughable, but his eyes were focused on you. You were the centre of his elusive attention. He watched you with unwavering determination as you briefly opened your eyes and faced towards the general direction of his voice.
“Uh, one..?” You guessed after a painfully awkward pause, your face scrunched up in thought. What was he trying to do?
“Wrong.”
“Then, four?”
“Way off.”
“Five!”
“Nope.”
“Two? Three? Ah—! I really don’t know, Yoichi!” You eventually gave up after a couple of pathetic guesses, your fists clenched and bottom lip jutted out in frustration.
“I was holding up no fingers,” he yielded in due course, determining your sulking expression a lethal weapon against his self-restraint. Yoichi pinched his chin in mock thought, as if he finally came to a conclusion on something before declaring rather passively aggressive the obvious. “I guess you really are blind.”
“Huh? Well— yeah…” You sweat-dropped at his bluntness, utterly bewildered by his peculiarity. “I really am blind..”
“Are these all your sculptures?” He then asked curiously, nodding in the general direction of all the clay models surrounding you, those of which he assumed have kept you from being forlorn in place of people. There was a considerable amount of them, and he wondered how long it took you to make each piece. Each oeuvre different from the other. Some with chips, cracks, and discolouration, and others without. Despite their differences, they were all strangely alike.
“Mhm, I need to get rid of them. They’re taking up way too much space.” You hummed indifferently, as if the thought of throwing away your art was such an effortlessly easy task. As if the very notion of it didn’t sicken your soul.
“I see, have you always been sculpting?” Yoichi doubted the endeavour was as straightforward as you made it out to be. If it really was, you wouldn’t have hoarded them till now.
Besides, there was a similarity in each piece. For one, each sculpture were depicting men, and one with ordinary sight may say they were all of different men, but Yoichi would argue otherwise. He assessed the condition of each piece, a telling sign of their age, and then mentally listed them in chronological order. Now, with the makeshift timeline in mind, anyone could see the pattern they followed.
“I guess? I’ve been doing it for a while now.”
The most recent one may have seemed unrelated to the presumed oldest, however, that wasn’t the case with the other more recent ones. It was as if your sculptures followed some kind of iterative process, but rather than getting closer to and refining what you’d hoped would be the final version— it seemed like you were headed in the polar direction. Perhaps, over time, you began forgetting the details of the man’s appearance. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t thrown away even your oldest of works. Even if you hadn’t acknowledged it yet or you simply wished not to, they were the closest thing you had to the original.
“No wonder, you’ve got many calluses on your hand. I was curious to why that was.” That same passive aggressive tone he used earlier when vouching for your blindness adorned his tone again. An indirect message to the onlookers listening in on your conversation. Yoichi was making an absolute statement to them, to those that expressed their prejudice against you.
“I… never noticed.” You admitted honesty, fisting your hands and true to his words, you could feel the hardened area on your skin. It was something you never gave much thought, not when your priority lay in capturing the immortal spirit of him. “You’re very… perceptive.”
“Haha— hardly.” He brushed off your comment, you were much more perceptive than he could ever be.
“I’m serious!” You argued, displeased with his self-doubt.
“I believe you.” And he did. Yoichi did believe you. After all, it was you, with your perception, who claimed him to be so. How could he ever doubt you? “How are your injuries fairing?”
“Eh— ah, uh… they’re okay…?”
“Yeah?” He pressed, strangely calm despite seeing through your white lie.
“Uhuh… erm… actually—! Yesterday, I didn’t go to the nurse’s office…!” It took absolutely zero pressure for you to fold, you didn’t want to lie to him. Not to him. Not to Yoichi.
“…How come?” He sighed, dismayed. Not at you, no, but at the thought of you quietly dealing with the pain of your grazes.
“Well,” you gulped the saliva that pooled in your mouth whilst twiddling your thumbs anxiously. “…I was overwhelmed with inspiration… and I wanted to sculpt again.”
“S’that so…? Can I see your hands?” He requested after a small beat of silence, pulling out a pack of wipes and plasters from his pocket with a crinkle.
“Here!” You threw your hands right at him, desperate to make amends by heeding to whatever demands he wished to make.
Yoichi wordlessly grasped your dry hands with quaint gratitude. The boy cradled and probed at your hands in his much softer, warmer ones, pleased with how you melted into a pile of pliant mass under his ministrations. And with antiseptic wipes and band aids, he began his meticulous treatment. Cleaning away at dried blood and tenderly dressing the cuts that were the plague of his worries.
“Done.” He muttered feebly, reluctant to let go of your hands but too timid to keep hold of them. With one last, final squeeze, he’d let them free from his grasp and watched the grateful smile grow on your face.
“See! This is what I meant I earlier, Yoichi. You’re super attentive!” You complimented shamelessly, clenching and unclenching your now nursed hands whilst marvelling at his handiwork. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to fall over every once in a while, not if Yoichi fretted over you like this with his serene warmth.
“Quit saying stuff like that, Y/n. You’re really going to embarrass me, y’know?” He whined, the sound music to your ears.
“Embarrassed? Will your ears turn pink?” You tilted your head curiously, tucked strands of hair falling loose from the confines of your ears to frame your face. “I heard people turn pink when they’re embarrassed.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“You definitely do!” You insisted boyishly with a breathy giggle.
“How would you know that, hmm? Are you pretending to be blind after all?” He teased, absentmindedly taking another dig at the gaping audience that he’d long since forgotten about when you’d enraptured him with your presence.
“I’m not.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest, “I promise.”
“Yeah, I know you’re not lying.” Yoichi agreed pathetically quick, he wished you didn’t make promises to prove your innocence to him. No matter the odds, Yoichi seriously believes he’d always take your side.
Ring. Rrrrring
Alas, good things must come to end. The bell finally rung, signifying students of the commencing lessons. Your interaction with Yoichi had yet again been quite short, nevertheless, it was worthwhile.
“….”
Honestly, you hoped this wouldn’t be the last of it, but that was wishful on your part. You heart sunk at the reality of it. All things must come to an end.
“Will you be here afterschool?” He broke your train of wistful thoughts.
“Hmm? Uh— I will..?” You answered unsurely, mouth gaping at the possible implication. That can’t mean anything—
“Good! I’ll come to check up on your injuries, yeah?”
“Okay…” You replied blankly, unable to process what just happened. If Yoichi wants to check up on your injuries, then, does that mean that he wants to—
“Alright, see you later!” He bade farewell, waving on auto pilot before realising that you couldn’t see the gesture. “I’m waving goodbye, by the way!”
“You too.” You waved back tentatively, mulling over the bizarreness of this all. Wait a minute… Oh my God! Your brain short-circuited when his words finally registered in your mind. Yoichi wants to see me again!
True to his words, Yoichi came to visit you later on in the day. That afternoon was followed up with tomorrow, and tomorrow was then followed up with the day after.
You’d wait eagerly for his presence with sweets in your hands for the boy to alert his presence with an intimate call of your name. Yoichi would then examine the state of your injuries like he usually did and after the initial prodding and caressing that were allegedly vital to finalise his verdict, he would deem your injuries unhealed, much to your greedy relief. Apparently, your injuries were still in need of monitoring, and thus, he would schedule another ‘follow-up appointment’ for the subsequent day to assess his treatment’s effectiveness. You’d offer him sweets that he offhandedly mentioned liking to return the favour of his concern, but he’d outdo you by applying lotion to your dry hands. Part of the treatment, he’d reason rather cheekily. Your cheeks would heat up at his audacity, nonetheless, you overlooked it. Yoichi was coming to see you again, he was coming to hold your hand again. You’d be a fool to argue with that.
His visits became a routine. They became your new custom. Conversing with him became the most anticipated occurrence of your day, even when he asked you the most outlandish queries you’d ever heard in your life. Most would be normal, the usual ice breakers like your favourite colour, your favourite song and your favourite food. Others would be about his curiosity towards your blindness, if your eyes hurt, if you see darkness and if your other senses were heightened because of your impairment. His curiosity was most ridiculous and knew no bounds. Questions exceedingly insensitive to your condition left his mouth unprovoked at times, those of which had your audience choking in disbelief, outraged at his blatant insolence. But, contrary to the crowd and their unsolicited anger, you were never bothered by them.
In fact, you enjoyed them. You enjoyed being the centre of Yoichi’s usually transient attention. Besides, it’s not like he meant any harm by them. You knew he would never intentionally insult you, not when he was so quick to profusely apologise after realising their inadvertent implications. You casually brushed them off, as you always did. If he was comfortable enough to be his candid self around you and ask you questions that would send others in an orbit then that so be it.
Unfortunately, your indifference wasn’t shared by the common folk.
Self righteous bastards that listened in on your conversations always felt the need to share their unbidden scoldings towards him. You shut them down sharply before softly reassuring Yoichi that it never bothered you. The sharpness in your tone returned as you aggressively informed them that you’d much rather someone question the accuracy of an assumption they have of you than blindly believe in them.
They were riddled with shame and resorted to silence shortly after. The silence then urged you to respond to Yoichi’s curiosity. Your senses weren’t necessarily heightened, you just relied on them more. You didn’t see darkness, you simply saw nothing. It was like seeing out of your elbow, you simply wouldn’t see anything. Your eyes stung when they were open, hence why you had them closed most of the time. You enjoyed eating sushi and snacking on matcha flavoured mochi. You didn’t have a favourite song, not when nothing could live up to the sound of Yoichi’s laughter. And your favourite colour would be the colour of his eyes. Whatever colour they were, you were sure they’d be beautiful.
Yoichi would quietly revel in your sincere answers, short circuiting whenever your replies consisted of him. You really are trying to kill him, aren’t you?
You always took your time when answering each of his foolish questions, Yoichi’s patience to blame for your endless words. He’d sit there and stare at you, taking you in wholly with a dazed glaze in the brilliance of his eyes like you hung the stars in the sky. It’s a shame, he’d always think with a pout. It’s such a waste to look at everything else when you— when you existed with your quaint luminescence.
You asked him questions too.
Unable to see and view the world as he did, you asked him what his favourite sight was. What his favourite thing to look at was and he replied honestly to your curiosity. Mindlessly, without even a garner of thought, Yoichi told you that your smile was the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
When your ears heated up at his sincerity, and your hands flew from his sacred hold to cover your burning ears, he’d worry about you all over again and scold you lightheartedly for cutting his medical examination short.
Yoichi always left you befuddled. It was a bad habit he had, one that always drew radiance out of you in the form soft laughter.
The interactions you shared with Yoichi were always ridiculous to the onlooker, but it was nothing of the sort to you both. Just as there were times you both conversed endlessly, there were also times where you both enjoyed the solace of silence together.
When Yoichi finally fell quiet, his mind free of idle thoughts and his heart full of you, the boy enjoyed the eccentricity of your presence as you diligently worked on your sculpture.
The sculpture— the man you carved with meticulous precision and intimate care— the source of his envy called to him one day. Wearing an expression of melancholy that ruptured his heart, Yoichi’s wonder sprouted. The seed of impatience plagued him with turmoil. Its roots grew as did its stem, sapping away at his perseverance. Till one day, he could no longer endure the tribulations of his curiosity.
“Y/n,” he drawled out with a sulk in his voice “Who’s the man you’re always sculpting? Is he your dead lover or something?”
“Huh?”
He’d meant it as joke, obviously, but the question… left you dumbfounded.
For the first time ever, you struggled to give him an answer. Your hands trembled with unease above the moulded mass of clay. A mysterious man with sorrow in his eyes and misery in his furrowed brows— who the hell was he…?
“I… don’t know, Yoichi.” You replied after an unsteady pause, your expression briefly mirroring the man’s. “I can’t seem to remember…”
The boy was quick to notice the shift in air. This time, even if your refused to admit it, he truly did ask the wrong question. Yoichi swallowed the curse that threatened to leave his constricting throat, he didn’t deserve to revel in his unbridled guilt, not when your posture curved in on itself with dejection.
He might’ve been unintentionally insensitive at times, but he wasn’t clueless.
He watched as you continued sculpting. Your nimble fingers firmly traced the man’s strangely ordinary features, a telling sign that you were forcefully busying yourself. Even when he’d probed carelessly and been the one at fault for your morose, you tried not to let it show.
Yoichi’s stomach lurched at your efforts, his voice rose an octave higher as he hysterically attempted to change the subject with another one of his outlandish queries. “D-Do you dream?!”
“What?” Again, you paused to process the words that Yoichi spewed out with hurried frenzy.
“Like, y’know since you’re blind, what do you see in your dreams?” He tried to explain, gesturing wildly with his hands hoping it’d help get his point across only to groan at its futility. “I mean— ugh..”
“Well,” you pondered with a drawl, endeared by his desperate haste to distract you. How cute. “I do dream. Though I don’t experience any visual imagery because I’ve been blind since birth.”
“So… you dream through your other sense?” He expressed his genuine interest with another follow-up question.
“That’s right,” your brows twitched at his discernment. Your touch softening against the clay figure. You caressed the slope of the man’s short nose, the bump of his pursed lips, the curve of his hallowed cheekbones, the wrinkle between his furrowed brows and the length of his short hair with your fingers.
The man was clearly weeping, but even so, you’d always found great comfort in his lamenting expression. It consoled you during the many times you drowned in desolation. Your recollection of the mysterious man was faint, but the peace he bought you was a factor you could never forget. And when you sculpted him and immortalised the memory of his spirit into your work, the guilt of debt you subconsciously carried was relieved. Come to think of it, when did you first start sculpting him?
Hmm, you’ve been sculpting him for a long time, so you must’ve started in your youth.
That day, you must’ve been in a trance. An indescribable urge to chase the fleeting essence of him must’ve hypnotised you— and your soul, desperate and wistful, spurred you into reifying it. You didn’t have clay on you at the time, but the soil, softened under the rain’s ministrations, was the next best thing.
You’ve never been fond of the rain for unknown reasons. But in your moment of lucid reverie, your knees weakened with delirious gratitude towards it.
Was it in a dream?
The rain has always been unpleasant.
The stench of mildew that lingered in the air, the moisture in the wind that persistently stuck to your skin with its frigid embrace, the reverberating splatter accompanied with timed thunder, and the scudding clouds that were useless and transparent against the lightning that blinded your sight.
You loathed it all. You loathed the rain.
You could never understand the common folk’s fondness for it. The rain was pleasant, they said. It was peaceful, they insisted. That the land would become quiet and tranquil under its ministrations.
You begged to differ.
Unlike everyone else, you were the sole being sensitive to the minuscule changes of the sky. Unlike everyone else, you were cursed since birth with this supposed divine blessing. The godforsaken ability to see a world that others couldn’t, to perceive and predict the future that others desperately sought to seek.
You, the Saintess of the Land, both pious and virtuous, pure and holy, devout and benevolent, were born with purpose. Protector of humanity. Healer of mankind. They would chant all sorts of praise to you ignorant of fallacy. The Church’s doing, you became entangled in the strings of their cruel intentions.
You were young, impressionable. A fool easily manipulated.
The livelihood of mortals became your responsibility. You’d become a pawn. An idyllic marionette, no longer human, now the marked property of the Church.
To save the world from evil, you were born to become the sacrifice that wedged a bridge to eternal peace. A being of salvation.
“….”
You may have loathed the rain, but the hatred you had for it was mere compared to your hatred for the world and the cursed fate they’d forced upon you.
In your act of vengeance, the world will come to hate the rain they were so fond of and you would come to love it in place of them. Tonight will last an eternity, not for you but for the world.
The walk to your grave was unusually peaceful. Eyes closed, as you often did to rest your overburdened sight, you trekked onwards through the labyrinth of darkness. At peace and no longer overwhelmed with information. Perhaps, the relief of your impeding doom overcame everything else.
“There’s an intruder in the Demon King’s fortress!”
The hysterical announcement of the demons didn’t deter you nor frighten you. Not when you decided that nothing would stand in your way. Human or demon, no obstacle will stop you from achieving solace.
Every demon in the foreign establishment that crossed path with you quickly met their demise with a wave of unrefined holy power. The thudding of corpses silenced the thunder of the brewing storm and your armour clinked with an unpleasant echo from every looming step you took towards the throne room.
You briefly wondered why you were obliged to wear this fitted, hunk of reinforced metal that did nothing but restrict your movement. Was it to protect you from the Demon King’s wrath? Or was it to chain you down and have you do their bidding? The Church’s last ditch effort to control you.
You laughed dryly at the mournful realisation, the noise self-depreciating and scratchy. This armour would stand no chance against the Demon King’s might. If he really were so weak, you wouldn’t have been able to step foot inside.
“Saintess…” a low rumble greeted your ruptured ears, the noise resembling a hymn you faintly remembered being sung at the Church.
If you were the soul obliged to shield and maintain tranquility in the Lands, he was your foil, conceived to wreak havoc in it and question your false utopia.
“My position’s been revoked, I’m no longer the Saintess.” You informed him with a crooked grin adorning your bruised face. Your gaze turned to the direction of his voice, and there, in all his wicked glory, resided the Demon King on his throne.
The phantom mass of evil, ambiguously taking the form of man, stared back at you. Despite the omnipotence of your eyes, you could never perceive him. Yes, you were able to see the Demon King and how his presence emanated wisps of darkness, but never beyond that. What kind of man are you, really?
You questioned if this was another one of the Church’s ploys, did they want to make sure your view of evil didn’t change? Ha! What wasn’t a scheme of theirs at this point?
“…Is that so?” He eventually muttered after a perturbed beat of silence and you wondered if he even cared. His indifference to your lifelong endeavours always bothered you. You could cruelly massacre several of his servants and yet, even then, he would never bat an eye to your doings. “You’re bleeding, Y/n...”
It must’ve been a shock to him that you were bleeding. You never bled, you were the Saintess. Holy power flowed through your veins in lieu of blood. But after releasing so much of it earlier, it was natural for it to catch up to you. You were a mortal being yourself after all.
But it wasn’t that— nothing, absolutely nothing could’ve prepared you for the shock of being called your name. When was the last time you heard of it? Maybe in your youth when you were still untainted with the countless sins of murder? It’s been… so long since you’d been called by your given name.
The strength in your knees weakened and they buckled under the weight of wistful memories and bone deep fatigue. Your sight turned bleary, eyelid glazing with unshed melancholy. For the first time ever, your eyes could not perceive what was before you besides a blur of incoming darkness. The realisation awoke a painful stutter in your heart, and your throat tightened with clawing agony as you choked on another laughter.
The irony of your life only now visible to your eyes.
You were really about to kneel before the Demon King, before the very presence of despair. A sight that would’ve sent the Elders into an orbit. Your only regret was that you hadn’t done it sooner. The Demon King wasn’t what locked away peace from you as everyone hacked into you, he was the key to it all along.
With bated breaths, you awaited for the clank of your armour to resound against the marbled floor, the final sign signalling your surrender, but you were instead enveloped with foreign warmth. “Don’t kneel before me.” Tendrils of darkness in the form of arms cushioned your fall, his voice, tremulous but soft, lulled you out of your spiralling reverie.
Another beat of silence passed before you filled it in, your voice croaking with stupefaction, “but you’re kneeling…”
“I don’t wish for your surrender.” He replied sincerely, his shadowy figure stable under your shaken form.
“But- But I’m tired…! And I’ve never wished for this life!” You mustered up your remaining vigour to spout out the thoughts that plagued the depth of your soul. “Take it from me— take away the burden that is my sight!”
Your cursed sight that granted you heightened perception, while powerful, was a double edged sword that overwhelmed your senses. The constant strain on your mind wore away your sanity, manifesting profound misery in your heart.
“….You cannot say stop to this now.” The Demon King’s perseverance withered under the guise of your lamentation, he couldn’t stand to witness the tears of your solitude. “Your words,” gently caressing your chapped lips, his featherlight touch wandered to the teardrops that gathered in your lash line, “your eyes,” he grabbed your limp hands and placed a chaste kiss on your palms, “and your hands… are only for me.”
Your feeble fingers twitched in his tender hold with a desperate itch to grab him, his imperative concern an enigma to your forsaken self. The Demon King noticing your intentions, leaned into your calloused palms, the warmth of it fading along with the brilliance in your eyes. “My hopes,” he whispered, aware of your senses that began to cease with your existence. He felt it in the way your holy power embossed him in its warmth, extracting a crooked grin on his face, “my smiles.” And he felt in the way his senses went overdrive from your divine gift, “and my dreams are only for you.”
In your stupor and longing, you traced the man’s face, committing to memory the fading spirit of him. The slope of his nose, the bump of his pursing lips that oddly resembled a pained smile. Your hands combed through his short, straight hair, what colour is your hair? Your hands wandered to his scrunched eyes, softly caressing his wet lashes, what is the shape of your eye? You wondered what kind of expression he sported, what do you look like?
No longer burdened with your cursed sight and heightened perception, a pang of regret coursed through your veins. I wish… I still had my sight. You tried to smoothen the furrow in his brows, but to no avail, they remained steadfast in a frown.
“Take me with you, my dear.” He mourned quietly with a broken sigh, tears meandering down the expanse of his cheeks and falling onto yours with a scalding burn, the noise of his solitude twisted your heart with sorrow.
“I want to see your face…” you rasped out, possessed with the indomitable spirit of mankind. I bet you look kind.
“Give yourself back to me, my dear.” The Demon King weeped, his hands clasped over your cold ones unable to let them go and acknowledge the absence of your presence— the absence of you.
That night, the Lands you diligently protected became swept with darkness. And the rain everyone was so fond marked your surrender, it marked the beginning of their demise.
You were the Saintess that craved chaos, and he was a demon that sought peace. Perhaps, if you had met under different circumstances, your lives would not have been wasted in vain.
You couldn’t recall the strange man ever appearing in your dreams, if anything, the memory of him felt too innate for that kind of possibility. And whilst the unknown of him normally paralysed you with fear, this time— this time you felt surprisingly quite calm about the whole unresolved situation.
It’s been so long... Your lifelong pursuit— the several years of sculpting away a mysterious figure in hopes to discover the purpose of your wistful longing, the one thing that kept you from the lunacy of solitude— should come to an end.
A reason to live, something alive as opposed to the reminiscence of the dead, has graced you with its warmth. You’d truly be a fool to refuse him in your chase of bygone nostalgia. One last farewell, you told yourself as you held the man’s crying face. Your forehead gently bumped his, the clay cool against your warmer skin, a bittersweet reminder of his lifelessness, and you mentally reviewed your final words.
“Thank you for keeping me company in my loneliness,” you whispered with heartfelt gratitude, your lashes brushing against the sculpture’s furrowed brows. “But he found me at my lowest and I long for him in your stead—“
“Y/n! You really are an Itako, aren’t you?!”
The interruption had you slowly part ways with the clay model, an accusatory tone adorned his pleasant voice. He’s probably pointing at me—
And true to your prediction, Yoichi was really pointing at you despite your inability to see the gesture. “I’m pointing at you by the way!”
Of course he was, you turned to face the direction of his voice, raising a brow with feigned ignorance. “What did you say, Yoichi?”
“I said,” he exhaled through clenched teeth, before gathering his bearings, “people think you’re a shamen who speaks to the dead.“
“People think I’m a shamen that speaks to the dead?!” You repeated, your expression declamatory.
He owlishly blinked at your appalled response, incredulous that somebody so perceptive can be just as equally unaware. “Yeah… and guess what?” He rhetorically drawled out, giving you no time to guess with his next words that followed with celerity. “I’m starting to believe it too!”
“Huh?!” You gasped melodramatically, brows shooting up in mock surprise, your hands flying to cup your cheeks. “How could you!?”
“Well, for one,” he sassed, crossing his arms over his chest, petulant envy so visibly audible in his voice. “You’re caressing a sculpture and whispering words of your affection to him.”
“Uh… actually,” you pointed out with a mellow smile after a beat of awkward silence, hoping to clear the not-so-ridiculous conclusion Yoichi came to. “I was bidding farewell.”
“…Huh? What?” He immediately reeled back puzzled, there’s no way—! “But you’ve been working on it for so… for so— no.. no—! There’s- there’s no way!” His hands grabbing the tuffs of his short hair in disbelief.
“I’m being serious.” And to prove your honesty, you clenched your fist and pounded dead centre down the face of your sculpture. The clay, still wet and clearly not dry, folded into itself under your ministrations. The out of blue action drawing out a noise of horror from Yoichi which you payed no mind to. “See?”
“But, but— Y/n, that was—!” He stammered with frenzy, incredulous at the fact you actually destroyed it. You’ve hoarded them for so long, why the sudden change?
“It’s okay, Yoichi.” You waved his guilt as you often did, the casualness in your tone meant to console. “It was about time anyway.”
Even when you said that, he still felt conflicted. The sculpture was your treasure. That along with the rest of them, they were what kept you afloat in your isolation, was it really okay to just get rid of it like that? “…How come?”
“Hmm,” you hummed a tune absentmindedly as you thought. “No particular reason, I just wanted to experience the world through you.”
You waited patiently for his response. The silence that stretched was still unsettling and unnerving, nonetheless, with Yoichi, you always felt inclined to try. Yes, with Yoichi, you wanted to experience the world. Unconsciously fiddling with your nail bed, your fingers came to a bated pause when the familiar touch of his hand enveloped them.
“…Then,” he whispered, tone husky as he timidly, but firmly guided your palms to cup his face, “experience the world and your relationship with me through your touch.”
Your heart hiccuped in your throat as a gasp, choked and relieved, sounded from you. Your fingers trembled as you caressed his face, the boy nuzzled into the warmth of your calloused palms and you took that as a sign to continue your scrutiny.
The swell of his slightly chubby cheeks, the soft arch of his brows, the curve of his small nose, the bump of his slightly dry lips, the sensations of him gutted you. Your brows pinched with uncertainty. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, it’s as if you knew hi— “You feel familiar, Yoichi…”
“Familiar?” You felt his eyes widen briefly at your review, then you felt him jut out his bottom lip with boyish petulance. “…Is it cuz’ I’m ordinary looking?”
“Ordinary?” You tilted your head, perplexed on why he would come to such a conclusion. “You’re the first face I’ve ever felt, I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“I’m… the first face you’ve ever touched?!” His hands briefly tightened over yours in shock, before his thumb gently stroked over the area with silent regret.
“Yeah,” you nodded and the implication had his cheeks burning pink, “so I’m not exactly sure what makes someone ordinary or extraordinary.” Your thumb softly kneaded the pliant flesh of his cheeks, ignorant to the effect it had on him. “Besides, I don’t know of the beauty standards people with sight have, y’know, since I can’t see?”
“Mhm,” Yoichi only hummed in response, not trusting his voice to express his thoughts. Then, after another beat of silence, he spoke so quietly you questioned the state of your hearing. “Then… do you… think that I’m— y’know.. handsome..?”
Your hands trailed from his face to swipe at his plump lips, before they meandered down the base of his throat that bobbed nervously against your sensual touch, “your voice is so husky, and when you laugh it sounds like wind chimes are playing. I want nothing more than to bottle the sound that resembles a hymn.” Gripping his shirt, you pulled him to fuse your proximities together before taking a deep whiff of his exposed neck. “And your scent carries the aroma of a spring garden after a gentle rain, it makes me find the rain pleasant…”
“Y/n…” Yoichi softly whimpered under your ministrations, his ears flushing coral, but you, as cruel as you were, continued your flattery despite his fluster.
“And your eyes, Yoichi,” your hands found their way back to his eyes that were scrunched closed with embarrassment. “Nothing goes past your eyes. You’re so attentive, Yoichi. You pay attention to every little thing, your perception is so attractive and that’s why the colour of your eye is my favourite. So yes, in short, I do think you’re handsome, Yoichi.”
“Ugh…” He groaned in frustration, becoming a pile of pliant mush under your hands. “That’s because you’re so damn charming, Y/n! It’s such a shame-! It’s a damn a waste to look at everything else when you exist! You’re the apple of my eye!”
His sincere declaration released a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach, and your heart warmed indescribably. “Yoichi… you’re the apple of my eye too.” You confessed shyly before continuing in earnest, “even though I can’t see you, I wish to see you, but your quaint radiance has blinded me, Yoichi.”
Your heartfelt words were for him, and your pretty smile was too. Your hands, still fondly caressing his face, were also for him. Ah, dammit. You’ve enchanted him with your shamen powers, body and soul, and he wishes to exist in your proximity forever.
Another bout of silence greeted your ears, and you quietly waited for Yoichi to speak. Imagine your surprise, when rather than being responded with his words you were instead replied to with a sniffle.
“You shouldn’t have said, Y/n. Dammit… it’s not fair.”
Your heart sunk at his croaky voice that broke with an unrestrained sob. Then, you felt it. Warm tears travelling down the expanse of his face and staining the tips of your fingers with sorrow. Under your heightened touch, his weeping expression crumpled into something that was way too familiar.
“I’m a crybaby… y’know?”
@yayamrata, please do not plagiarise, translate, or alter my work. all rights reserved.
how you and sae first meet! based off the couple from this fic
cw: sae being so down bad im literally embarrassed for him that man is nonchalant on the outside but crazy internally i know it
<3
Sae didn’t think that his little brother would be getting married before he did, but here he is, looking for a suit to wear as a guest to Rin’s wedding. He didn’t make the cut for best man or his groomsmen, but he’s okay with that and understands why.
Sae already has suits in his closet, custom-made and perfectly tailored from other events, branded by expensive fashion names, but of course his brother is difficult and chooses a dress code that doesn’t include those colours. So now he’s at the mall, near closing time so that he’s less likely to be recognised, looking for a shop that seems like it would sell a nice suit.
It doesn’t take long for him to find one, and he walks into it immediately. The shop is smaller than he expects, no other customer present except him, but as he walks around, feels a couple of clothing pieces, looks at the prices and materials, he can tell that it’s a high-end brand (though he’s never heard of it before). The lighting in the store is a warm yellow, but he’s suddenly greeted with something warmer, quite literally: you.
“Is there anything I can help you with today?”
Your smile is small but kind, unimposing, and your hands are behind your back as you lean towards him slightly to address him. You don’t seem to recognise him, or at least if you do it’s not obvious. His eyes quickly scan your face before going to read your name tag, and he’s reminded that he should probably answer you.
“Yes, actually. I’m looking for a suit to wear to a wedding in a couple of weeks, as a guest.”
“Is there a specific colour palette for this wedding?”
“Annoyingly, yes. I actually have a couple of suits already, at home, but the colour scheme for this wedding is quite… different, I don’t have anything for it.” You let out a small laugh at that, and he finds himself attracted to it, the way your eyes crease, and he doesn’t know why he’s rambling when he hasn’t even answered your question yet, “It’s pastel colours. Light blues and greens, pinks and beiges. Actually, I can just show you a picture…”
He pulls out his phone to show you the picture of his invitation, and when you take a step closer to see it, he finds himself having to remind himself to breathe properly.
“It’s very in season, we actually have a couple of suits that match those colours perfectly right now. Did you have a material preference, by any chance? Like if it’s in a hotter country or somewhere colder, or if you think you’ll find yourself moving a lot and need some stretch to the suit.”
Sae’s never bought a suit by himself before, and he’s certainly never had to care for these kinds of factors before. He’s impressed with your expertise, even though it’s your job, and is slightly regretful that he doesn’t remember the details about the suits he’s previously worn (when having to sell the name he’s wearing). Something about you makes him want to impress you, but he also doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself by pretending to be an expert in something he clearly isn’t, not when it’s a topic you’re clearly more knowledgeable about.
“No, I don’t. The wedding’s in Paris, city of love and all that, so I don’t think I’ll be too fussed about the material. I don’t plan to move much either, I’m not really the dancing type.”
You let out another laugh at that and he finds himself joining you, before you turn slightly and gesture to the back of the store.
“Our formal suits are at the back of the store so I’ll show you what we have first, if you’d like to follow me.” You start walking and he moves to walk next to you. You point at the different options, telling him about the different suit materials, the fabric weaves, the optional matching waistcoats.
“See anything that you particularly like?”
“The green and blue look good, is it alright if I try them both?”
“Yeah, of course! Do you know your blazer and trouser size already?”
He gives you his sizes, and he almost regrets it when he sees your hand go to the tape measure wrapped around your trouser’s belt loop: he’s been measured by other professionals before, but he can’t help wondering what it’d feel like being done by you.
“Perfect, I’ll grab those sizes for you, if you want to wait in the fitting room first? Did you also want to buy a shirt with the suit as well?”
Sae has plenty of shirts at home, also tailored to fit him perfectly. He absolutely does not need more.
“Yes, actually. Would you mind measuring me for those? I can’t remember my size, exactly.”
“Yeah, of course!”
Your hand unravels the tape by your hip and you step close to him, outstretching your arms to loop it around his neck. He squats to meet your height, your faces inches apart, which rewards him with a lovely smile from you.
“Thank you. Do you plan to wear a tie with this shirt?” Your fingers brush his neck as you tighten the tape measure, and he finds himself getting goosebumps. He tries not to be obvious at how he stares at your face, admires your features.
“Y-yeah, I do.” He clears his throat after his embarrassing voice crack, “Sorry.”
“No worries.” You say, though he can tell you’re holding back a laugh, and that makes him respect you a little more. You read out the measurement of his neck and pull away, to his dismay, “If you want to just follow me to the changing room, I’ll give you a shirt to try on just to check the size, and then I’ll get you those suits as well.”
“Alright.”
Sae follows you to the changing rooms and you hand him a shirt from a rack.
“If it’s too tight or too loose anywhere, let me know and I’ll grab you another size.”
“Thank you.”
He takes the shirt from you, fingers brushing, and you’re off to fetch those suits before he can even watch for your reaction.
Is this whole thing just a silly one-sided attraction from him? In fact, what is even going on with him, why is he thinking like this? He tries to get rid of his thoughts as he changes into the shirt. When he’s got it on, he finds that it fits perfectly, almost as good as the ones he has at home and he’s pleasantly surprised. He feels like he should show you, since you’re the expert and everything (not because he wants to show off his figure or anything), and he steps out to see you waiting for him, blazers and trousers in hand.
“What do you think? Does it fit okay?” He asks.
“Yeah, I think it fits perfectly. It’s not too tight or anything, right? Comfortable when you move around?”
Sae knows that he’s attractive, knows that he’s got a pretty well-built figure, filled out with muscle from soccer and the gym. It’s with that knowledge that he decides to flex a little bit, literally, and so he tries to roll his shoulder as seductively as possible, facing the mirror to pretend that he’s actually doing this for himself and not to impress you, but making sure you see the motion of his arm, the muscle that tenses against the fabric. What am I doing?, he thinks to himself, and when he’s done with his little show, he can’t even face you again out of embarrassment (that he makes sure not to let you see).
“Yeah, no, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Great!” You say, totally chipper and unaffected by him as you move to hang the blazers and trousers in his changing room, “Let me know how those go!”
You leave him by himself, and when he locks the door again, he has to rest his head on the back of it. Get yourself together, he tells himself, you’re being weird. He tries on the blazers and the trousers, and they fit fine - he’s not too fussed about things fitting as well as the suits he has at home since he doubts he’ll wear this suit much outside of the wedding. He’s just not sure about which colour to pick. He steps out in the green suit first, to ask for your opinion.
“How is it?” You ask.
“Yeah, they both fit fine. I’m just a bit torn between the colours, do you think I could get your opinion on them?”
“Yeah, sure!”
The two of you just stand there looking at each other for a second. Sae’s not sure what he should do, have you finished… judging? He decides to do a slow spin, internally screaming at himself because what is he doing!!!!!, before promptly leaping into the changing room again.
“I’ll change into the blue one, now.” He says hurriedly, and he finds himself wanting to just buy any of these goddamn suits and leave before he can embarrass himself any further. He steps out in the blue suit, deciding to not do a spin for this one.
“… I think I like this one better. The colour contrasts your hair and eyes nicer.” You say.
“I trust your judgment, I’ll get this one then.”
Sae almost forgets that he’d said that he needed a shirt with the suit, so when he changes out of the suit (ready to pay and get out of this place) and you don’t lead him to the till, he blanks at the selection you present him with, but recovers quickly.
“Did you have a colour preference for the shirt?”
“... Just white is fine. The one I tried on was perfect, if you have that?”
“Yeah, we do! I’ll just grab that for you from the stockroom, if you want to wait by the till?”
“Sure.”
And you’re off, disappearing behind a door at the back of the store. He goes to the till, suit in his hands, and waits for you.
He’s attracted to you (if that wasn’t obvious enough) but he’s not sure what it is. You’re gorgeous, he knows that clearly, but there’s something more to you, something that he wants to pursue. He’s never had this feeling about someone and he doesn’t want to let it go so easily, despite how much he’s embarrassed himself.
You interrupt his thoughts with your arrival, waving the shirt in your hand at him as you round the corner of the till to stand opposite him. You gesture for his suit and he hands it to you over the table with a quiet thanks. You start scanning things, putting the suit on a hanger to put in a bag, and Sae knows that if he wants to do anything, he has to do it now.
“… Do you get many wedding suit inquiries?” He cringes at his question, because obviously you do, but your presence seems to make his already lacking social skills become nonexistent.
“Yeah, we do. Especially now, since it’s peak wedding season. Most people prefer a wedding with nicer weather after all.”
You zip up the suit bag and turn to him to tell him his total, gesturing to the card reader. He pulls out his wallet and inserts a random card.
“You a fan of weddings?” He asks as he presses his pin into the keypad.
“Yes, I am!” Your tone brightens at that, completely different to how you’d be talking to him before, and it makes him look up at you; your cheeks are lifted, eyes bright and smile dazzling, “I really love weddings. They’re just so cute and fun, I really want to go to one.”
“You haven’t been to one?”
“I’ve only been to one when I was, 10 or 11 I think, but since then I haven’t, sadly. No one seems to be getting married around me.” You print his receipt and fold it into your hand, turning to unhook the suit bag from the hanger to give to him with a slightly diminished smile. You hand the suit bag and receipt to him expectantly, and he takes it, but doesn’t pull away immediately.
“Listen, I’m sorry if this is, wildly unprofessional and borderline harassment, but, there’s something about you that I can’t… I’d like to get to know you, if you’d let me. I think you’re beautiful and… was wondering if you’d like to go to this wedding with me?”
You’re shocked to say the least, visually evident with your raised eyebrows, your widened eyes and dropped jaw. Sae has no idea what you’ll say, but he’s prepared for the worst.
“… Are you serious?” Your hand stays next to his on the bag hanger, his only sign of hope.
“100%”
You look down at that, thinking, and Sae feels his hands getting sweatier.
“… Sure.” You whisper.
It’s Sae’s turn to be surprised.
extra:
You always do this when he wears this suit. This specific, pastel blue suit.
“Baby, I love that you do this, and I get it, don't get me wrong, but we’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”
Your arms are wrapped around him, chest pressed to his as you lay your head over his heart.
“Just a little bit longer, please?” You prop your chin on his chest, puppy-eyed and pouting at him; how can he say no to that? He tightens his arms around your shoulders with a sigh, making you giggle as you bury your head into him again.
“It’s the suit that got us together, Sae. We have to cherish it every time you wear it out.”
“Yes, sweetheart. It’s special.”
You start to rock the two of you side-to-side, and he lets you, swaying to the sound of nothing in the middle of your living room. Your swaying soon turns a bit too enthusiastic, and you think you’re going to fall, but Sae simply dips you down to his side, hands wrapped around your waist. You put a hand to his chest, eyes wide staring into his.
“Sae… I’m not really the dancing type.” His head immediately falls at the familiar words, and he pulls you upright again as you start laughing aloud, “You were so cute that day, trying so hard to keep talking to me and everything.”
“You just have that effect on me, even now.”
“You bought an extra shirt for me, just so I’d measure you.”
He looks sheepish at that, looking away from your eyes with a hand on the back of his neck.
“Guilty as charged.”
You’re so overwhelmed with love, it makes you jump onto him, arms wrapped around his neck as your feet raise onto your toes. He wraps his arms around your waist again and uses this opportunity to lift you up, walking the two of you to the front door. When he lets you down, you brush your hands down his arms to hold his hands instead, as you pull away.
“You’re so cute. I love you.” You raise onto your tip-toes again to kiss him, and you go to swipe away the gloss that’d transferred onto his lips, but he stops you, holding your wrist.
“Let me keep it. It’s yours.” The corners of Sae’s mouth lift just slightly, “Like me.”
You squeal at that and throw yourself at him again, and he’s always ready to catch you.
“Where was this smoothness when we first met, Sae?”
“Hey, I’m not into blatantly flirting with strangers, nevermind someone who’s just trying to do their job.”
“... I’m glad. Otherwise I might not have liked you as much.”
You pull away, and Sae is glad to see you finally put on your shoes, so he follows suit, checking his watch to thankfully see that you’ll both still be on time. He holds your hand as you stand, and you grab your bag from the wall hook. You say his name, and he responds with a questioning sound.
“Do you know why I said the blue suit looked better on you than the green?”
“... Because it contrasted my hair and eyes better?”
“Well, yes, silly. It did. But, it’s also because I never wear green. I wear blue much more often.”
You smile when the message sinks into him, his jaw slowly dropping, and you swiftly open the door to skip to his car, looking back at him teasingly as you say We’re going to be late, Sae!
He laughs in disbelief, following after you once he’s locked his front door.
“You’re sneaky,” he says, as he sits in the driver’s seat, “You do that when other customers ask for your opinion?”
“Of course not! You were the first and only, Sae. Who knew you’d be some hot-shot soccer player who’d turn out to be the love of my life.”
“I did.”
“Such high self-esteem you have.”
“You love it,” he says, and he puts his hand on the back of your seat to reverse out of his driveway, “But I knew you were mine. I’d never felt that way about anyone else, and still never have. Never will.”
He’s glad he’d stopped the car after reversing out, knowing that you’d throw yourself across the console to hug him again, and his hands slide to your back with a soft smile in return.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
<3
its lowkey giving guys who think the stripper actually loves them💔💔but ig in this case hes right😭😭😭#disclaimer this is not always successful!!!
I LOVE LOVE! Happy OR3 release day <3333 ALBUM OF THE YEAR LITERALLY LIFE CHANGING
𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐅! 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 who’s nearly in his late thirties but yet still manages to fuck you mean. as his calloused hands grip your hips with bruising force, fingers digging into soft flesh as he angles you just right. "beg. again." his voice is a low rasp against your ear, voice thick with dark satisfaction as he watches your back arch off the sheets. "worthless little diamond in the rough. you came untouched and you're gonna take every inch i give you."
𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐅! 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 who loves when you suck him off while he analyzes and calculates his players moves through the camera. as you suck him off, his eyes flicker between the camera feed showing his players in action and your mouth sliding up and down his length. a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he sees one of his players make a perfect play, matching his calculations exactly. "good girl,"
𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐅! 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 who even if he treats you like shit most of the time, he still has a soft spot when it comes to you. by letting you sit on his lap while studying his players position and strength. his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer as you sit on his lap, your head resting on his shoulder. he absently plays with your hair, his focus divided between the game and you. as he points out weaknesses in his opponents' formation, his touch becomes gentler, almost caring.
𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐅! 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 who loves fucking you while he gives instructions to his players, quoting he dictates that they must become the world's most selfish strikers by cultivating their own ego. his voice echoes through the room, commanding and dominant as he gives orders to his players. "be selfish. score more goals than anyone else. make the world bow to your greatness." his hips thrust into yours, punctuating each word as he drives into you roughly.
𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐅! 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 who likes eating you out. he buries his face between your legs, his tongue delving into your folds as he eats you out hungrily. his glasses fog up rapidly, the steamy air making it difficult for him to see. he pauses only briefly to adjust them, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh before diving back in, determined to taste your release.
𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐅! 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈 who secretly likes when you two match in different ways. as he stands in his expensive suit, adjusting his cufflinks for the blue lock game event, he glances over at you. you're wearing a dress that matches his suit perfectly—the same shade of blue, same elegant cut. a small smirk plays on his lips as he approves silently before adjusting his glasses once again.
TAGS: enemies to lovers, more like constantly annoyed to lovers lmao, friends with benefits, roommates!au, college!au, roommates!miya4, childhood best friend suna who doesnt believe in boundaries, like… he REALLY doesnt believe in boundaries, extremely inaccurate depictions of being a business major and opening a business, mutual pining but make it totally unaware idiots to lovers, somnophilia, CNC, overstimulation, possessive!osamu, banter during sex, INSANE sexual chemistry, sometimes you really just gotta fuck the guy you hate just to see what it's all about
a/n: MIYA OSAMU SOMNO STANS FOR THE FUCKING WIN!!!! thank you so so much to the person who commissioned this fic <3333
[commission honee here!]
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You've always hated him. You're not really sure why. You think maybe he might have always hated you, too.
You meet him in high school. He and his brother are in the same class as you, but you don't pay them attention at first. Not until you realize that Suna's started hanging out with them.
"Oh, that's lucky," he says, about a month into your first year. He's standing at the classroom door, phone in his hand as he peers at you and then drags his gaze to the twins on the other side of the room. "Less work for me."
Atsumu's easy enough to get along with. He matches your humor, though he jokes early on that you and Suna must be dating. When you both make matching faces of disgust — when you mutter that it's not possible to fall in love with a boy who burps in your face and used to put sand down your pants in the sandbox — it becomes clear that you and Suna will never happen.
Osamu doesn't find you funny. You don't need him to, but it grinds on your nerves to watch his empty eyes land on you, nothing forgiving behind them. When you ask him about it one day, catching him alone in the hall, he just lifts his brows.
"Nope, nothin' against you. Yer just kinda there."
You decide then, without meaning to, that you dislike him. "Just kind of there?" He nods, shrugs.
"Just kinda there."
"Are you projecting right now?"
You watch his eyes glint with something rude, his jaw clenching.
"What's that s'posed to mean?"
You lift a brow. "Nothin'. Just that your personality's just… kinda there."
His nostrils flare. It seems he's also decided. He dislikes you.
—
It continues through high school. You circle each other reluctantly, kept in place by Suna's insistence and Atsumu's childlike attachment to his friends. You all get into the same college, and you're forced to watch as Osamu agrees to sign the same lease that Suna had made you sign, the same lease that Atsumu managed to force Sakusa Kiyoomi to sign after learning that the man would be attending school with you all.
It's amazing, finding out that you can become such fast friends with someone you've just met but that you and Osamu can barely stand to be in the same room.
You find out that Osamu's a business major. You only find out because you are, too. Even if he wants to strictly sell onigiri and you want to strictly sell sweets — ice cream, cakes, sweet drinks to rot your teeth — it still feels like you're competing with him. Same classes, same projects, same extracurriculars. He's everywhere, for four years straight.
Same apartment, too.
He's not a terrible roommate, but he's your least favorite. Kiyoomi is tidy and respects your space, respects you. Suna categorically does not respect your space, but he's always been that way. Already lying in your bed when you come home, sitting at your desk when you need it most. He's like a cat in many ways, but you leave him to it because he's him. Atsumu matches your vibe no matter what, always ready to go out and party but also willing to sit on the couch with you if your energy's low.
But him. Miya Osamu? He's always got a problem with you. And you've always got a problem with him.
It's not about the roommate duties. Yes, you leave your shoes disheveled by the front door too often, and you aren't exactly sorry when he trips over them. Yes, he leaves too many dishes in the sink, and you've watched him pile them up when he's particularly annoyed at you. But, for the most part, he's clean, and you're clean, and you stay away from each other.
It's not about being roommates. It's about being near each other. All day, every day. It's about waking up every day knowing you're going to see Miya Osamu for more than half of your waking hours. It's about the fact that, even late at night when you're working in the dim light of the dining room, he's going to find his way to the same spot, claiming he can't focus in his room.
It's about the fact that, on the nights when he doesn't, you kind of wish he would.
You hate him.
You want to, at least.
You wish he didn't hate you.
But he does, so… you hate him, too.
—
"Alright, that's it for today. Don't forget that your proposals are due tomorrow at noon."
You sigh, packing your bag quickly. You hear Osamu behind you, talking to one of his friends. He should be lost somewhere in the lecture hall — he is lost, you can't see him even when you glance back — but you always hear him. Always recognize that low drawl, like your ears are attuned to him.
"Nah, nowhere close. Every time I try to work on it, I get stuck."
You listen, agreeing silently. The final project has been kicking your ass. It's the notoriously difficult capstone project for business majors, due just weeks before graduation. Design your business, from conception to execution.
It's the program's way of saying, "You want to own your own business? Prove it."
It should be a simple culmination of everything you've learned, but it feels like you're standing at the edge of a cliff and your program director is putting his foot on your back and kicking you off.
Find an open space and meet with the leasing agent. Report on the quote they give and decide its feasibility for your business, based on your projected profits and costs.
You have a full day of tours set up with an agent soon. They're all joint tours with another student, the agent claiming that this happens every year because your school is known for its gruesome expectations.
You sigh, standing and feeling the effects of the stress in your bones, your back, even the damn strain in your eyes.
You follow the long line out of the lecture hall, your gaze finally catching on Osamu, just a few people ahead of you. He's caught by an arm reaching out of one of the aisles, its fingers manicured.
"Osamu!"
You flinch. Whoever she is, her voice is too loud, too squeaky.
"Do you have plans tonight? I've been thinking-"
"Nah, I'm good." That low drawl cuts her off, quiet but sharp. "I've got this stupid proposal to do."
"Oh," she says, clearly caught off guard. You laugh under your breath, knowing very well how off-putting Miya Osamu can be. You see him clearer now, his frame blocking part of the aisle as he talks to the girl in front of him. He's glancing around like he's looking for any excuse to leave. You start to push past him, avoiding his eyes. "Well," she tries again. "Do you wanna work on it toge-"
There's a hand wrapping around your bicep, yanking you back. You make a noise akin to getting the air punched out of you, your balance thrown off as you stumble back into a solid chest.
"Wh-" You lift your head. Grey stares back. All too familiar.
"Nah," he says, eyes scanning your face before he turns back to the girl. "I've got someone. Sorry."
You want to rip your arm out of his grasp. You want to laugh in his face. You want to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, who he thinks he's talking to.
But you can't. You're just caught in his gaze, back on you and entirely him. Grey and deadpan, too close and too far at the same time. Looking at you like he knows you. Like he knows you better than you want to admit.
"I-" you fumble, eyes flicking between him and the girl who now looks like she's bitten into something sour.
"Oh," she mumbles. "I didn't realize you were taken. You're never together."
He's not taken, you want to say. Yell, even. But you're too flustered, glancing between them until you're dizzy.
He doesn't correct her, doesn't tell her that what he meant was that he has someone to work on the project with. Which he doesn't, if you want to really set the record straight. But that's not what she understood, and he doesn't correct her.
The girl steps past you both, nudging you with her shoulder much harder than necessary, but you don't get angry. You're still so lost.
Osamu unhands you, but he keeps staring. You blink once, and then you turn and walk away. Your head is fuzzy, static in your ears, but you just hike your bag up higher on your shoulders and follow the flow of students out the door.
You can feel him behind you. His warmth is familiar, like his clothes mixed with yours in the dryer. His scent is still washing over you, like the cologne on your bathroom sink.
You almost miss the hand that's waving you down, a few feet outside the lecture hall. It's one of the guys you did a group project with once, many months ago.
"Y/n, hey," he says, easy and calm and all thousand-watt smile.
You stutter to a stop, blinking rapidly. Why are you so caught off guard today?
"Hey," you say, approaching him. What's his name? "How are you?"
"I'm really good," he says, and then he laughs. "Besides this stupid proposal."
You laugh back, the sound empty. "Yeah. It's not great."
His eyes light up. "Well, are you doing anything today? I was gonna work on-"
His gaze finds a spot over your shoulder.
The cologne is on your bathroom sink, uncapped. You always nag him to put it away. You always tell him to stop putting his laundry in the wash with yours, too.
"She's got plans."
You should say something. But it's so damn hard sometimes.
"Oh," the guy says. "Didn't realize."
He wanders off before you can correct him. Because the assumption is still there, even when no one says it.
You never remembered his name.
You turn, finally ready to tell Osamu off.
He's already gone, taking grey with him.
—
"He's such a dick," you whine, tossing your bag down at the foot of your bed. Suna's sprawled across your comforter, scrolling on his phone.
"You say this every day," he yawns.
"He's a dick every day."
He just laughs, nodding in that placating way he's taken up every time you complain about Osamu. "You're so right, loser. When're you gonna fuck?"
You land a swing straight to his kneecap, silently setting up your laptop at your desk while he howls and clutches his limbs behind you.
"Get out. I have a proposal due at noon tomorrow."
He just whimpers pathetically behind you, and then you hear him rustling around in your bedside table. Something pink and solid smacks against your desk before tumbling to the ground.
It's your dildo, mocking you in the daylight.
"Take it," he whines. "You'll feel better after. Less violent."
You pick it up and clamber onto the bed, silencing his screams of terror with one of your many pillows as you hit him over and over again with the blunt side of the toy.
You door opens behind you after a few minutes, Suna's muffled cries for help inevitably drawing attention.
Atsumu stares blankly at you two, taking in the sight of you beating Suna's ass with a dildo. Osamu's behind him, gaze equally empty.
Suna's eyes catch on them. "Oh, thank god, you're here," he cries out. "The stress is getting to her. She needs to be fuc-agh-"
You've started beating him with the dildo again, your face burning because you'd caught the way Osamu's gaze had caught on the toy before flying away.
The door shuts behind you. You start to earnestly suffocate Suna with your pillow. His laughter a few minutes later is the only sign he's still alive.
—
Several hours and just as many cups of coffee later, you're slumped at the kitchen table, the rest of the apartment quiet and dark. Your head is in your hands, the proposal sitting open on your laptop and your notes scattered all around you.
This project has to be some kind of torture tactic. One last punch in the face between you and graduation.
A door down the hall opens. You know it by heart, even without the sound of his footsteps.
He's quieter than Atsumu and Suna, and Kiyoomi sleeps by ten every night without fail.
"What do you want, Miya?" you mumble, face still pressed into your hands.
"Nothin'," he mutters, dropping his notebook on the table lazily and taking the seat across from you. "Can't focus in my room."
"Can you focus in a different room than this one?"
He scoffs. You hear him start to type on his laptop. "Not tonight, Y/n, please. I'm not in the mood."
You sigh through your nose, trying hard to bite back a response. Knowing that he's going through the same things you are, that graduation is coming up for everyone and that you and Osamu have the same pressures weighing down on you these days.
You also know that the longer you talk to him, the more you'll want to bring up what happened earlier in the lecture hall. And you certainly don't want to do that. You don't have it in you to face whatever that was, not now and definitely not in front of him.
You choose to leave him alone for tonight, if only so you can get back to your own work. He sits silently across from you, typing on his laptop and taking notes on the page next to him. He sighs a few times, and so do you. You get up to make more coffee at some point, and he does the same a few minutes later. He taps one foot, knee bouncing, and your typing becomes louder.
It goes on for an hour.
"Could you quit it?" you finally snap, glaring at him. "You're shaking the table."
He just shakes his head, still working. "You're the one who's typing like you have a point to make. It's so fucking loud."
You groan, staring down at the time on your screen. It's almost three in the morning. The proposal is due by noon. You don't have nearly enough, and by the way he's been carding his fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots all night, you can guess that Osamu doesn't, either.
He starts to roll his neck from side to side, massaging at his shoulder with his eyes closed. He looks exhausted.
"Everything feels fucking tight," he complains. "I feel so wound up."
You wonder why he's telling you this, but you understand the feeling. "Yeah," you mumble, sighing quietly. "I feel like a rubber band about to snap."
"You act like it, too."
You scoff, starting to argue, but he's smirking to himself, eyes still closed. You sit back, eyelids heavy and head aching slightly.
"'m just so tired," you whisper. "I dunno if any of this shit's good enough."
He nods. You're amazed that he's being so easy about this, but you suppose you're being easy about it, too.
"Feels like they taught us what to do but forgot to warn us before pushing us out of the plane."
You laugh quietly, the image of a cliff coming back to you.
"Kinda wish I'd had more fun," you admit. "Slacked off more, gone to more parties, had more sex."
He doesn't even blink, completely unfazed by your crude thought. "Definitely wish I'd had more sex."
You laugh, self-deprecating. He does, too.
"Wish I found a situationship to keep on speed dial for nights like these," you sigh.
He makes a sound of agreement, doodling absentmindedly in his notebook. "Woulda made things more tolerable."
You both sit in silence, studying your respective laptop screens. Avoiding work, avoiding the part where you can only sigh and keep going.
But eventually, he stops doodling, his pen hanging there, suspended, while he stares down at nothing. You stare at the same spot, at the same nothing.
For all that you and Miya Osamu hate each other, eight years is a long time to learn a person.
"No strings," he mutters.
Your heart flies to your throat, lodging tight. You swallow around it and speak, a croak that cuts off at the end.
"No one needs to know."
He shifts. You feel his eyes on you, feel when they glance away. "Not tonight. The deadline."
Your knee starts to bounce. "But after tonight, it can be whenever we want."
His body twitches visibly. Your gaze finds him. His eyes are widening slightly, and there's a pink tinge warming his cheeks. He looks embarrassed.
"When you say 'whenever'…"
You stare. He makes eye contact and breaks it immediately, his gaze neutral but that warm embarrassment taking up way more space.
When it clicks — when you realize what he's saying — the embarrassment finds you, too. You didn't think you'd ever find out that this is a thing for him. You'd never really given it much thought before, to be honest. The idea of whenever, what that really means.
But now that you're thinking about it, giving it room to breathe… you can see why it's a thing. Why it's a thing for him, and why you don't hate the idea of it being a thing for you, too.
You clear your throat, swallow around the lump. "Whenever means whenever."
His eyelashes are pretty when they flutter like that.
"'Kay," he eventually bites, voice thick and heavy.
Yours is weak, fragile. "'Kay."
He stands, grabbing his notebook and his laptop and disappearing from the kitchen table. You hear his door close and lock.
Good lord.
—
You start to leave your bedroom door unlocked at night. He does, too.
During the day, everything is the same. He drinks the last of your milk and you drink his protein shakes. You argue over dishes in the sink and shoes by the door. But for the first few nights after that conversation, things are quiet. As the sun sets, you start to get nervous, quiet. He starts to hide in his room more.
Nothing happens, not for a week. In that time, not a single one of your roommates notices a difference. You take it as a good sign, take it as a silent kind of blessing that even Suna hasn't caught the lingering glances you keep accidentally throwing Osamu.
He must think the same, because your door finally cracks open in the middle of the night on Friday, after everyone's made it home safely from the bar. After Atsumu and Sakusa and Suna have all presumably fallen asleep or answered their booty calls' summons.
After you should be asleep. After you would be asleep, if not for the way he'd been looking at you tonight. Like it's okay to not be working just for tonight.
Your mattress sinks with his weight, and you feel him lay his fingers on your calf. He shakes gently.
"You awake?"
You find his eyes in the dark. "Need something?"
He sighs, the sound shaky. "Maybe."
Eight years is a long time to learn a person.
You don't question how easy it is to wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug him toward you, or how easy it is for him to cage you in and drop his lips to yours. You don't question why you don't feel uncomfortable or upset at the press of his mouth — warmer and softer than you'd expected — when everything else about him causes you such great distress. You don't question the quiet moans that pass through your lips when he slides his hands under your t-shirt, the low rumbles that get caught in his chest when he starts to touch you.
You just let yourself need him and don't question when he lets himself need you, too.
It's not prolonged, the first time you sleep with Miya Osamu. There's no extended foreplay, no jokes or moments of intimacy. It's sex, the kind you have when you're too drunk and desperate to bother pretending this is anything else.
Except you're not drunk, and neither is he.
So you're both just desperate.
You want to say it's a general feeling, that you just haven't gotten laid in a long time. But you can tell from how your body reacts to him — when he pries your thighs open with his, when his fingers card through your hair and tug hard, when the little sounds leaving his mouth make you clench hard around him — that this isn't about needing a quick lay. This is about him.
You should be embarrassed. Humiliated, even.
But it's him that's acting like that. Doing all this. Shoving himself between your thighs carelessly, his breath heavy. Tugging your head to the side with his fingers in your hair so he can press hickies into your throat. Moaning quietly when your back arches on a particularly hard thrust, the words 'fuck' and 'just like that' falling past his lips.
"You look good like this," he whispers at some point, his face flushed and his grip on your hips tight enough to leave bruises. "Full of me. Open for me."
His words speak of something more intimate than what this is, but it makes your tummy swim with feelings you don't want to think about. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and your head presses back into your pillow with a quiet whine.
His breath leaves him in one hard punch of air, and his eyes squeeze shut. His cock starts to throb inside of you, his arms trembling as he holds himself over you.
"Where d'you want it?" he bites, hips stalling.
You're panting, probably a lot louder than you should be. "Don't make a mess in my bed, Miya."
He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. "Always so difficult," he breathes. "'s okay. I'll just make a mess inside you, instead."
You want to tell him off for enjoying this so much, enjoying the spill of warmth against your walls the way that he is. But you like how it feels, too, like how he pushes his hand down against your tummy as he rolls his hips flush into yours. Like how he looks, his mouth hanging open a little bit and his chest heaving unevenly as he stares down at you through half-lidded eyes.
You think maybe he's done, that maybe it's time to clean up. You wait for it, the inevitable emptiness and the cold that'll settle over your sweaty skin. The slight disappointment.
But he just pulls out and stares down at where his cum is dripping out of you. He catches it with the tip of his cock, making good on his promise not to make a mess. He pushes back into you slowly, nothing more than a sigh and slight shudder. His shoulders tense up slightly, and you see him shiver almost unpleasantly, but he doesn't say anything, just starting to roll his hips in the same pace as before.
"What…?" you whisper, staring down at the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.
Osamu just grabs you by the hips and starts to fuck you in earnest again. You gasp, clinging to him hard. His eyes are screwed shut, and his breath is sharper than before.
You realize only when he moans, slightly pained, that he's overstimulating himself to make sure you come.
That he's enjoying it.
You're smacked with a wave of arousal that manifests in your walls clamping down around him and your back bowing off of the mattress, nails digging into his forearms as you cling desperately to him. As you come, open-mouthed and starry-eyed.
The aftermath is humiliating.
You're both sweaty and panting. There's thumbprints bruising your skin. Scratches lining his. The air around you quiets, which means you'd both been louder than expected. Osamu stares down at you, half-exhausted and half-examining, like he's evaluating if this is what he needed.
It's humiliating to think that only you got what you needed. From Miya Osamu of all people.
But then his shoulders sag and his thumbs start to trace circles around your hip bones, almost like he's apologizing for the grip.
"You good?" he breathes, still out of breath.
You nod, sleepy but tense. Still tense around him, even after all this. "You?"
"Yeah," he chuckles. "Better than before."
It isn't comforting. It isn't what you want to hear. But it's Miya Osamu, and you know that neither of you is willing to say what the other wants to hear.
But then you catch it — the way he glances down, eyes tracing the cum that's starting to drip out of you again. Eyes registering that it's him that did that. He's the one who filled you up. He's the one who made you like this.
Something flickers in his gaze that you can't place, but your body knows what it is. Your body likes the look in his eye, so much that your hole flutters and clenches, right as he watching.
His eyebrows fly up and his gaze finds yours. It's heated. His face is warm.
You're reminded of the moment that you realized that there are things Miya Osamu is into. But now it's about you.
He doesn't speak, and neither do you.
He just notches the head of his cock against your entrance, the question lingering in the fact that he doesn't go anywhere.
Your breath catches, anyway. A grin flickers across his face, gone in a moment.
Not a single word passes between you, but the urgency — the desperation — is back. The things between you in this moment-
Overstimulation.
Possession.
-become clear. You hear them even without words. The smack of your headboard against the wall, stronger and louder. The panting, the heavy breathing, the choked moans that pass through both your lips.
It's a shame, really. There's no way your roommates can't hear this. You know you're in for the mockery of your life.
But you can't bring yourself to care.
What a shame.
You come first this time, loud and only muffled by the hand he clamps over your mouth. Your legs twitch and shake, fighting the slight pain of coming so hard so soon after the first time, but he just grips one of your thighs and bends you in half. It only takes two more strokes — hard, rough, sloppy — for him to come, too.
He makes a mess in your bed this time, cum pooling between your thighs and under your ass, but you don't care. You can't care. Even when he shudders and collapses on top of you, you can't care. You just need to sleep.
You do.
He's gone when your alarm goes off the next morning.
—
You don't see him until class, hours after waking up alone in your bed. Part of you — the part that craves touch and affection — had been disappointed, almost offended. But the larger, more rational part of you was relieved, because when you'd come out of your room, Suna had promptly bombarded you with questions of who you brought home last night.
"It sounded like a good time," he'd commented, seemingly unaware of who had visited your bed last night.
You'd flushed, humiliated, and muttered something about the noise, that you would be better about it next time. He'd lifted his brows and grinned.
"So there will be a next time."
You'd just flipped him off and gotten ready for the day, careful to cover the hickies lining your throat.
Now, several hours later, you're shocked to find Miya Osamu dropping down into the seat beside you with a sigh, his bag heavy at his feet.
You turn, wide-eyed, and take him in.
His clothes are rumpled and his hair is disheveled, like he'd rushed out of the house this morning. There are hickies in the crook of his neck.
But he looks good. There's a glow to his skin and he looks like he slept well. And a quick flick of his eyes to yours betrays that he's pleased you look the same.
"What's this about?" you ask, slowly turning to face the front of the lecture hall again. You feel him shrug.
"Nothin'." There's a long pause, and then he says, "It felt bad leavin' like that. This morning."
You blink rapidly, nodding. You wonder if this is already becoming more than what you agreed to. And then you wonder if maybe he's just that kind of guy — the kind that's incapable of being cold, even when he's the one who said 'no strings'.
It would be dangerous for you if he is. It would be bad for you to learn that he's a good guy, that he's able to give you what you need even outside of the dark of your bedroom.
"You good?" he mumbles, opening his notebook and spinning his pen around his fingers a few times.
"Yeah," you whisper. Your professor starts to lecture, something about the upcoming deadlines for the project. You swallow hard, feeling a strange urge to make Miya Osamu happy. "If you want-" You clear your throat. "Tonight. Whenever."
His knee jerks hard, knocking against yours accidentally, and his pen falls to the floor. He rushes to retrieve it, that word floating between you in the silence.
Whenever.
"If you want," you hurry to add, realizing it's been less than 24 hours and you're already propositioning him for another night. "Up to you-"
"Yeah," he coughs, glancing around. You peek up at him, a little pleased to see the burn of his cheeks. "Sure. Sounds good."
"… Okay."
"Okay."
—
At dinner that night, Suna catches onto the fact that something's amiss, and it's not hard to see that Atsumu's figured it out, too.
Maybe it's the fact that you and Osamu don't argue over every tiny detail — who's cooking, what the meal is, who sits where, whose turn it is to do dishes. Maybe it's the fact that you just start cooking silently, and he wanders into the kitchen when he smells the aromatics, vegetables chopped quietly behind you. Maybe it's the fact that you don't address each other at all during the meal, which means things are already two hundred percent more peaceful than usual. Maybe it's the fact that, when Sakusa asks that someone pass him the salt, both you and Osamu reach for it at the same time and then flush with warmth when your fingers intertwine.
Maybe it's any of those things. Maybe it's none of them. After all, Suna Rintarou needs no excuse to corner you in your room after dinner, whispering furiously.
"You fucked him!"
You whirl around, shocked that he's followed you into your room and locked the door. "What?"
"You fucked him, you fucking fraud!" he whispers again, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. "What happened to you hating him?!"
"I-" You stare up at him, eyes wide. "It's complicated!"
He just deadpans at you. "It's probably not complicated."
"We're just-" you fumble, still being shaken by him. "I dunno! We're just relieving stress or whatever!"
He starts to laugh. "That's the oldest play in the book, babe."
You scoff, affronted. "That's all it is! We're both stressed because of the project-"
"Yes, yes," he says, that placating nod making its return. "You're just stressed, and it's just a little time to relax, and it's totally not going to lead to feelings, even though he's already acting different and it's making you act different, and-" His voice pitches up, mocking you. "-Why's he looking at me like that? Does he like me? Do I like him? Is this more than sex?"
You smack him hard on the chest. "Shut up."
He stares, following you to your bed, where you flop facedown and he flops sideways, still staring.
"It's already happening." He doesn't sound shocked, but he does sound amused. "You fall fast, I gotta admit."
"It's not already happening."
"Whatever you say," he sighs, relaxing on his back and extracting his phone. "Oh, Tsumu's asking me to save him." He stands, sighing.
"From what?" Your heart jumps, because you know already.
"Samu's beatin' his ass for asking too many questions."
Your face burns, even hidden in your pillow. "I should follow his lead and beat you, too."
"Yeah, but you won't," he sings, already unlocking your door. "Because I'm right."
—
You fall asleep with your door unlocked.
You're not alone when you wake up.
—
Your body reacts to him first. It only took one night with him, it seems, for your nerve endings to memorize his touch.
The line between dream and life is very thin, your mind wandering in dangerous directions that have everything to do with the circles being pressed against your most sensitive spot. His fingers are warm, warmer still when he buries them inside you. His mouth is the warmest, tongue searing hot as it traces the bruises he'd kissed into your throat just a day ago.
"Fuck," he whispers, and you hear the gravelly edge of it in your bones, echoing around your dream-state. "You're not even here and you're this wet?"
You whine, echoing in your head, and start to whisper his name, certain that if you say it loud enough in your head, he might just hear it in real life.
But it turns out you hardly need to try, because he's clamping a hand over your mouth and shushing you gently, fingers still working you open.
"Gotta be quiet tonight. They're dyin' to catch us."
The line between dream and life is very thin indeed.
His eyes are heated when you find them, his skin flushed as he lies behind you with his hand between your thighs. You wonder if he realizes just how pretty he is when he's embarrassed.
"Y'said it was okay," he starts, but he still looks a little nervous.
The idea that this is his first time trying something like this makes your tummy swarm with nerves, your walls clamping down around his fingers before relaxing.
"It is," you whisper, eyes half-lidded and ass pushing back against him. "Totally, completely okay."
He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and groans, shaking slightly. You take advantage of his weakened state and reach back, your fingers pushing against the band of his sweats. Your hand finds him easily — he's not subtle about the nervous jerk of his hips when you touch him or about the heavy, rattled sigh that falls past his lips when you start to stroke him like this.
For the first time in your life — today, in class, and right now, with your fingers wrapped around his cock — you want to make Miya Osamu happy.
"What is it, huh?" you whisper. "You like takin' advantage of me, Miya?"
He groans, his head shaking jerkily even as his cock twitches, like he can't decide what the truth is. You can tell there's something there, but that must not be it.
"You like knowing my body knows you, even after one night?" You're exposing yourself by saying this, and you both know it. He curls his fingers hard and pushes his thumb against your clit, his other hand still hovering over your mouth to catch you when you start to cry out.
"Think you like that part more," he grunts back, his laugh airy and tight. "Someone's got a crush."
"Fuck you," you whine, muffled by his palm and made even more laughable by the roll of your eyes into the back of your head. He must see it, because he's smiling against your cheek. You can feel his eyelashes on your skin, fluttering when you brush your thumb over the tip of his cock.
"Not tonight," he whispers, chest heaving against your back. "I don' need my brother knowing what you sound like when you fall apart on my cock."
You shiver, hearing that edge of possession in his voice. It showed itself to you in other ways last night, but this clearly isn't a one-time feeling.
"He already knows," you mock. And then you push in ways you shouldn't, and you know that. "Suna, too."
The effect is immediate, Osamu's grip on your mouth tightening. His fingers push deeper into you, curling and then spreading apart. Your muscles lock up, and you gasp pathetically into his palm. He pushes his hips against your fist, rough and rude.
"You done?" he bites. "You having fun?"
Yes, you think, your nerve endings singing for him. The most fun you've had in a long, long time.
But you know how to make it better.
"You know what I think?" you pant. "I think you like the idea of fucking me while I'm sleeping because it means I trust you."
Miya Osamu starts to break.
His breath catches and his cock grows heavy in your palm as you slide it along his shaft, wet and fast and loud.
You push.
"You like knowing I hate you and that I'd still let you do whatever you want to me."
He breaks.
You push.
"You like having me all to yourself."
He breaks and you push.
"That's what it is, isn't it?" you mumble, feeling him start to throb in your hand, precum leaking all over your knuckles. Your tummy swirls when he groans, when his sounds start to become open-mouthed and stupid against the side of your head.
You can't help yourself.
"Isn't it, Samu?"
Miya Osamu breaks.
You break, too. You don't want to admit that it's because he's moaning nothing but your own name into your hair, broken and depraved and carrying something you've never heard from him before. Something you never thought could happen between you.
—
He's still there when you wake up the next morning. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck. You can feel the weight of his arm draped over you and the hard muscle of his thigh between your legs.
When you pull your head back to look at him, his eyelids flutter open.
You stare up into his eyes, and he just stares back. No words are shared, and neither of you moves to separate from this position. You just examine each other under the slivers of sunlight streaming through your curtains. You just let your gaze drift to his mouth and then away. Just watch when he does the same.
You're not dumb enough to avoid the fact that 'no strings' fell apart in under two days.
You choose to ignore it. For now, at least.
Two loud bangs hit your door, followed by three more, multiple sets of fists on wood. You jump, wide-eyed, and sit up.
"What?"
"Open up, loser!" It's Suna. "Samu's not in his room, so he must be in yours!"
"Damn near a decade of hell, and then you guys do this shit?" That's Atsumu.
A quieter voice, closer to the wood. "Might I suggest sex in Osamu's room from now on? You and I share a wall."
And that's Kiyoomi.
You groan, hiding your hands in your face. The mattress shifts beside you, Osamu mumbling a quiet 'I got it'. He yanks the door open, his frame taking up the entire doorway.
"Can you guys fuck off?" You watch him gesture somewhere to his right, where Kiyoomi is audibly protesting. "Not you, Omi."
"Is that a yes to the room change?" the man mumbles, deadpan as ever.
"Sure, Omi."
Suna's gasp is as dramatic as it's been all your life. "So you are in here!"
Osamu gestures to his own body. "You saw me open this damn door, di'nt you?"
"Don't do it, Y/n!" Atsumu yells, trying to break into the room. Osamu wrestles him back with a yell. "He's a bad lay!"
Suna slips through the door as Osamu gets distracted with fistfighting his brother. Your bed jostles under his weight.
"So?" he says with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans back on his elbows. "Is he a bad lay?"
You roll your eyes, knowing you can't hide from him. "Of course not. Would I fuck him twice in two days if he was a bad lay?"
Suna's grin is that toothy, bright one that you grew up with. He lowers his voice. "And those feelings we talked about?"
Your knee starts to bounce. He snorts, shaking his head.
"Knew it," he sings quietly, satisfied.
"I didn't even say anything."
"Didn' need to."
You don't deny it.
—
'No strings' looks a lot like immediately falling into something with Miya Osamu. You want to blame him, want to say that he's the one getting attached, but you know that's not the truth.
Over the course of the next week, he sits with you in every class and you choose not to comment. If anything, you start to glance back at the door and around the room when he takes too long to get there. You start to get that funny little tummy swirl when he steps over people just to get to you, every time.
He starts walking with you to your next class together — or maybe it's you. Because you wait, hovering awkwardly by the door when he stops to talk to his friends briefly. You wait, wondering if you're waiting for nothing, if you're showing your hand by waiting. But every time you even start to think of walking away, of leaving first, you catch his glance. You catch the fond look in his eye, the amused raise of his eyebrows.
He's making fun of you, but there's something in it that tells you not to go.
So you don't.
You just give him the same look when you see him waiting for you outside of your last class every day, even though you've never given him your schedule. You just smile when he rolls his eyes and try not to look like you're rushing to catch up with him when he turns to leave.
You start seeing him in the doorway of your bedroom more often, his gaze curious as he hovers over where you're working at your desk. Your gaze just finds the laptop and notebook he has in hand, wondering if he'll ask the question on his tongue or if he'll just hover until you tell him it's okay.
He always chooses to hover, only moving when you give him a silent sign that it's okay. You don't tease, too busy trying not to get nervous when he closes and locks your door on his way to your bed. He takes up your space like it's his, for hours a day, and you just let him.
You let him take your space, let him see the way you struggle to focus on your work when his presence fills your room. You let him ask stupid questions — 'what'd you get for number six?', 'when's the paper due?' — because you know that he's doing exactly what you're doing: making excuses. He's making excuses to talk to you, making excuses to get your attention the same way you're making excuses to give it to him.
He just asks his stupid questions and grins, pleased, when you put your pen down and turn in your seat to scold him for distracting you. He just grins and says 'you gonna answer me or what?'. He just waits for you to get out of your seat and stomp over to your bed, where he's long made himself comfortable. And the moment your knees hit the mattress, that scowl painting your features like you aren't yearning to fill that spot next to him, he just reaches out and grabs you by the waist, dragging you in.
You just let him, the same way you let him do everything else.
You never notice the way the sun fades outside your window, never notice the time that passes with your hands buried in his hair, his lips pushing and pulling in time with yours. Even when you don't have sex — you can't actually remember the last time you had sex in this room — time passes with Miya Osamu.
He only leaves when everyone else is home, lips pink and swollen and sweats tented in the front as he kisses you one last time and heads to the kitchen to cook dinner. You just watch him go, glossy-eyed and nerve endings calling for him to come back. On the days that you cook dinner, instead, you always turn at the last second, catching the way he looks at you. Glossy-eyed and warm, like something under his skin might be calling for you, too.
Even the roommate-related arguments feel different. You do your best to keep your shoes organized, and it's not hard to notice that he keeps up with his dishes. But even when you do hear him trip on your sneakers, swears falling past his lips, you just stick your head around the corner with a sheepish grin and mutter your apologies. He just rolls his eyes and threatens to shove your shoes up your ass, amused exasperation lacing his voice. And when he lets his dirty plates stack one too many times, you just lean down in front of everyone and whisper threats of a sex ban into his ear. The dishes are always magically done within the hour.
Suna doesn't comment, and Atsumu doesn't comment. They just look on with interested, knowing expressions. Kiyoomi does comment in his own Kiyoomi way, pointing out dirty pots to you and pointing down at piles of overturned sneakers whenever Osamu's in earshot. You're perfectly happy to let him use the situation to his advantage, because anything's better than getting called out about the distinctly not casual way that you and Miya Osamu are behaving.
And then it becomes impossible to ignore, at an unimportant time on an unimportant Wednesday afternoon.
—
"Shit, shit, shit-"
You scramble off the crowded train and race out of the station, glancing at street signs and then the map on your phone before bolting in the right direction. You're late to your appointment with the leasing agent. You just hope she and the other student haven't already started the tour.
The other student, whose voice you can hear from around the corner.
"'s fine, we should wait for her."
"Well, okay. Just a few more minutes. I don't want to waste your time."
"I'd rather wait. She's never late fer things, so she's prolly freaking out."
"Oh-You know her?"
You skid to a stop at the corner, eyes wide. When you step out into view, he finds you immediately.
His brows lift, lips tugging at the corners as he fights an amused grin.
"Yeah," he says, looking over the agent's shoulder. "I know her."
You blink away the shock of seeing him and rush toward them, your face flushed and your appearance a complete mess from running. "I'm so sorry-"
The agent turns, smiling politely. "Lucky timing," she jokes. "We were just about to go."
You nod, apologizing again as you shake her hand. "Thank you for waiting." You direct your gratitude to her but mostly over her head at Osamu. "I couldn't find my application packet and missed the earlier train-"
She cuts you off again. You think you see Osamu's brows twitch in annoyance.
"Well, it is important to be prepared. Countless business deals have fallen through because of poor plannin-"
"She said she was sorry," Osamu comments. "And she's never late like this. Things happen sometimes." When the agent gives him the same look you are — dumbfounded shock — he just nods at the empty storefront before you. "Can we go in?"
She just gives a quiet scoff and mutters something about 'stupid kids' before heading inside. You plaster yourself to Osamu's side once her back is turned, his elbow in your grasp.
"Thank you," you breathe.
He just shrugs, planting his hand on the small of your back. "She's too uptight. 's not y'r fault."
You let him lead you forward, staring up at the side of his face. "How'd you know it was me on the appointment?"
"Saw your name on her clipboard. Knew somethin' wasn't right when you didn't show." He drops his hand when the agent glances back, and then he whispers something quick, sticking his hand out for you to shake it. "Let's find you your bakery, yeah?"
You take his hand, smiling politely at the agent as you shake it. "Onigiri Miya starts today, or whatever."
His laugh, pleasantly surprised, follows you through the door.
You're on your best behavior for the rest of the day, asking all the questions you've learned to ask and taking all the notes you know you'll need later. Osamu complements you perfectly, asking questions whenever you're busy writing and poking his head into corners when you're grilling the agent about downpayments and repairs and everything else.
When the agent gently suggests that you take a look around instead of asking her questions the whole time, you just nod at Osamu, who's crouched near a wall with some suspiciously exposed wires, the safe rubber part trapped between his knuckles as he examines the way they were cut.
"He's got me," you say, returning to your laundry list of questions.
You don't realize he'd been in earshot until two tours later, when the agent — by this point rather annoyed with the way you two have tag-teamed her — remarks that Osamu's not taking any notes. She asks how he possibly plans to keep track of the details and if he plans to run his business in the same way. Your back is turned, your notepad propped up against the wall as you jot more notes, so you don't realize that he's pointing at you.
"She's got me."
You glance over your shoulder at him, catching the look in his eye before he turns away.
The agent just sighs. "And when you're running your shop? Who's gonna have you then? Do you plan to open a joint shop where one of you takes care of the bills and the other takes care of the maintenance?"
She laughs, clearly expecting you both to look ashamed or even laugh along with her. But Osamu just finds your eyes.
You can see his mind start to work overtime, and you follow the thread he leaves behind for you.
"Maybe," you bite. "With the places you've shown us so far, it seems like there might not even be two viable places for us, anyway."
The agent is appropriately offended, but you've gotten tired of her attitude over the last few hours, and you know Osamu had lost his patience before the tours even started.
"Fine," she snaps. "There's two more places left, anyway. Maybe you'll find those viable."
You shrug, gesturing to the door. "Maybe. Shall we?"
Osamu is quiet on the drive to the next location. You would be nervous if you couldn't tell that he's thinking very hard about something. Not the life contemplation sort of thinking. More like he's doing calculations and needs to concentrate.
When you step out of the car, ignoring the agent's snarky comment about the day coming to a close, you see two empty storefronts lodged, side by side, in the middle of a strip of stores, just off of the main road.
The thought that crosses your mind — dangerous, personal — is reflected in the light that fills Osamu's eyes. Your gazes lock over the hood of the car. He flushes, and you do, too.
You follow the agent through the usual motions — downpayment, overhead rent, maintenance policies, repairs and renovations.
"It's the same for both stores," she says at one point. "All the businesses on this street are owned by the same person."
You try not to let your hopes get the best of you, but Osamu's completely ruining your attempts.
"So, in theory," he starts, walking around the space and nodding, seemingly pleased by what he sees. "We could knock a hole in the wall and put a door there?" He points at the wall connecting the two stores.
She lifts her brows, finally catching onto what he's planning. "In theory," she says slowly. "But I'd have to ask the owner. He has the final say."
He just nods. You're too busy glancing between them, your breath caught in your throat.
"Can you ask him how he feels about the whole wall comin' down?" he finally asks, a little quieter.
You swallow around the knot in your throat. "Samu," you mumble, a warning.
His eyes glint when he looks at you. "In theory, of course." And then he addresses the agent. "What was the downpayment again?"
She gives the number.
He looks to you, brows raised and that stupid, dangerous smile tugging at him again. "I have that."
You hold your notebook to your chest, knowing he can see the tremble of your fingers. "I have it, too."
He nods slowly. "You shook on it. Earlier."
You ignore the agent's look of confusion, just shaking your head and extracting your application papers from the packet in your bag.
Eight years is a long time to learn a person.
"Onigiri Miya, or whatever."
You turn away so he doesn't see the warmth in your cheeks when he addresses the agent.
"We'll take it. Both of 'em."
—
The front door slams and bounces off of the wall when you and Osamu burst through, your legs wrapped around his waist and his fingers tangled tight in your hair and your lips bruising from the pressure of his.
"Oh, hell no!"
You feel him wave off his brother, barely managing to let your own apology when your back crashes into Kiyoomi's arm as he's scuttling out of the way.
Suna calls out from the living room, laughing maniacally. "What the fuck happened to you two?"
You release the stack of papers that's crumpled in your hand, letting them fall to the floor. Osamu just uses one hand to shove your shoes off of your feet as he's kicking off his own, and then he stumbles down the hall with you in his arms. You hear Kiyoomi start to read off the papers.
"They signed leases?" The flip of more papers. "Oh. They're next door to each other."
Atsumu groans. "Damn near a decade of this shit-"
Suna just keeps laughing. "Congratulations, loser!"
Osamu's door slams and locks, your back pressed to the wood, just as Atsumu's suggesting they all go out for a few hours. You wait until the front door closes before you let yourself focus on the task at hand.
"So," he mumbles into your mouth. "You ready to talk about that little crush you got?"
You roll your hips into him, dragging your teeth down his throat and sucking bruises into his skin. "In theory?" you joke.
"Shut up," he grunts, yanking you off the door and crossing the room in two strides. Your back hits his mattress, and you can't help the sigh that falls out when you pull him down on top of you. His bed smells like him, and there's a tug of something more than lust when it hits you. You know what it is, that swirl of emotion that comes with knowing you're going to keep ending up here.
His mouth is urgent on yours, and his fingers are shaking slightly as he tugs desperately on your clothes.
"Keepin' these," he breathes, your panties yanked down and tossed across the room. You shiver, nodding.
"Yours," you breathe back, a moment of weakness.
Or maybe it's strength, because you feel invincible when you hear the moan that he presses against your throat when you utter that word.
"Mine, yeah?" he whispers after a moment, his jeans shoved down to his knees. You let him pry your thighs open, your nerves twisting and turning when you hear his question. Something tells you he's not asking about your underwear.
You nod, pulling him in for a kiss, but he stops at the last second.
"Say it."
You whine, biting down on your lip. "'m yours, Samu." When he grins, his smile bright and real and open, you turn your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "Fuck, this is so embarrassing."
He just laughs against your skin. "You have a crush on me," he teases. "That's fucking embarrassing."
You beat a fist against his shoulder. "You asked me to own a business with you."
"Yeah," he sighs, clearly pleased. "I have a crush on you."
You flush hard, meeting his eyes. You know he can see the affection you're all but radiating, because he just keeps beaming down at you.
"'s fucking embarrassing," you mumble fondly, searching his gaze. He lets you.
"You cool with it?"
You swallow your answer, gasping at the push of his cock past your entrance.
"Samu-"
"You okay with this?" he pants, bottoming out in one thrust. "You okay with me?"
Your back arches, unfiltered moans falling past your lips. "More than okay."
He fucks you hard, like he has something to prove to you. His whispers feel like honey on your skin, your name and his feelings mixing easily with moans he presses against the line of your throat.
It doesn't take long to fall over the edge with him. There's weeks of something between you, built into signs ignored and silences shared.
There's years, really. Years of nothing and everything, falling apart when you do. Words unsaid, bubbling to the surface when he moans your name but staying hidden all the same. Saved for later, when you're both ready to admit it.
When you're both ready to admit that it's always been there.
»You've spent years avoiding the boy who unnerves you, the one who looks just like your best friend. Until you can't anymore.«
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TAGS: best friend's brother, undertones of enemies to lovers but it's more like "avoiding each other to lovers" LMAO, penetrative sex, possessive breeding kink, sneaking around (platonic), sneaking around (not platonic), suna rintarou cock blocking what could have been the most amazing car sex
a/n: i need everyone to lock in please. lock in for possessive breeding kink miya osamu who's kind of a little shit. lock in please. and thank you so much to the person who commissioned this!! this was a crazy ride from start to finish LMAO
[commission honee here!]
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Miya Osamu’s eyes have always scared you.
Atsumu’s can be the same at times – cold, detached, empty of emotion. But it’s rare, that threatening quiet in his face reserved for volleyball or a moment of true anger.
But Osamu’s eyes are always like that. Always cold, always empty. Always unreadable.
It’s the very first thing you notice, on your very first day of school. The twin brothers standing together at the welcome assembly – one excited and rambling about something unheard, the other hovering passively beside him. One with eyes full of light, the other with eyes devoid of everything, both lost in a bubble entirely theirs while their parents talk to one of the teachers.
It’s those eyes – empty, not full – that find you first, on a quick pass of the room.
You look away quickly, returning your attention to your mother, who still has your little hand in hers. After a moment, you glance at him again, wondering if he’d really, truly caught you looking.
His eyes are still on you. Staring, watching. Empty.
His brother nudges him for something then, and he finally pulls his eyes away.
Your little brain holds the memory of those eyes for the rest of the morning, something about it really bugging you.
It’s entirely bad luck that you’re assigned to the same class as those twin brothers – the Miya twins, you learn. It’s even worse luck that Miya Atsumu is a boy you’ll come to adore very quickly, your personalities aligning perfectly in a way that could only be truly cosmic bad luck.
Such universally tragic luck that your best friend’s eyes are the very same that’ll haunt you in your dreams, through elementary school into middle and high school.
A friendship with Miya Atsumu means, by default, a life spent in orbit with his brother.
A boy who, on all counts, is just a quiet kid, seemingly an introvert. A boy who puts in only the necessary energy to play alongside his brother on the Inarizaki Boys’ Volleyball team, a boy whose temper could only ever be drawn out by his brother. A boy who’s harmless to everyone, including you.
But that boy is the same boy you feel watching you when you aren’t looking.
The same boy who sits on his bed while you and Atsumu do work on the floor and crack jokes. Scrolling on his phone and only contributing when directly addressed, his eyes finding the side of your face over the top of his phone.
The same boy who simply stares on the rare occasion that you find his eyes, too – accidentally bumping into him around corners or finding yourself alone with him in the Miya household for just a moment.
He never looks away first in those moments, and you begin to realize – far too many years too late – that he enjoys it, making you look away first, especially as you grow up. That the little smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips – his eyes never changing, no matter what emotion is on the rest of his face – is his way of telling you he’d won. That your inevitable break of eye contact is you admitting defeat to him, that he will always have the upper hand.
You only begin to dislike Miya Osamu in college, when you watch as he makes friends with ease. That the emptiness in his eyes is not a deterrent to the rest of the world, because he always makes sure to smile and joke and agree to hang out. That the emptiness you see is not, in fact, a lack of emotion.
That, instead, it’s your inability to read the emotion that is there. And that Miya Osamu will go out of his way to make it harder for you, that you’re the only person he’ll continue to show nothing to.
You make the reckless choice a few months into college to confront him. You find him alone, in the apartment he shares with his brother, on a day when you’d thought Atsumu would be there.
“He’s not here.” Osamu greets you with that and nothing else.
You blink in surprise, still caught off guard that it wasn’t your bright, blond friend who had answered the door.
Osamu starts to close it, but you jam your foot in his way at the last second, uncharacteristically annoyed.
“What’s your problem with me?” you ask, preparing for anything and everything. Preparing for him to tell you he finds you insufferable, that he’s tired of you always being around.
But he just looks you over, brows lifting over those empty eyes as he consider your question.
“I don’t have a problem with you,” he says plainly, offering no further explanation. You grow more upset at that.
“Then why do you always look at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you dislike me.”
“I don’t dislike you, Y/n.”
It’s the first time he says your name. It catches you off guard.
“T-Then-” you stutter, the sound of your own name said in Miya Osamu’s voice bouncing around your head and making it hard to think. “Why are we not friends?”
He blinks and furrows a brow, and it’s the first time he ever shows you an emotion. “Because you don’t like me…?”
“What?” You stare up at him. “Of course I do.”
Those empty eyes fill with disbelief – it’s relieving, knowing you actually are capable of reading him sometimes.
“No, you don’t. You just stare, and stare-” He smirks. “-and stare and stare and stare and stare. I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”
“Well-” You flush angrily. “It’s really hard to have a conversation with you when this is the only look you’ve ever given me!” You point at those eyes, empty again. He lifts his brows.
“What look?”
“That one! The look of nothingness. The look that’s empty of… any-” You cough, embarrassed. “-of any looks.”
His eyes don’t change when he smiles mockingly down at you. “The look of nothingness that’s empty of any looks. Got it," he says with a solemn nod. “Very insightful.”
You properly dislike him then – standing in the stairwell of his apartment building, humiliating yourself while he makes fun of you. You nearly hate him.
You leave without another word, hearing as he chuckles to himself and closes the door.
It takes over a year to have another proper conversation with him. In that time, you’d shifted from staring in discomfort at him to glaring and looking away every time he’d make eye contact.
But the era of disliking Miya Osamu ends with a single conversation, initiated late one night during the summer before your third year.
[11:21 PM]
Miya Osamu: i dont hate you
Miya Osamu: my face is just like that
You stare down at your phone, unseeing. It’s the first time he’s ever texted you.
You: what?
Miya Osamu: the look of nothingness is just my face
Miya Osamu: i dont dislike you
You: you make other faces with other people
You: ive seen a non-nothingness look before
You: but never with me.
He calls you. You reject it on pure instinct.
Miya Osamu: you did not just reject my call
You: it was fight or flight
Miya Osamu: ???????
He calls again. You pick up that time.
“Hello…?”
“Fight or flight. Really?”
“Yes,” you say, already getting annoyed. “And it’s telling me to hang up on you at my earliest convenience.”
“Jesus, okay. Will you give me five minutes?”
“Will you make fun of me?”
“Probably.” He laughs then, because you sigh in exasperation. You’d heard that laugh before, of course, with other people. But having it directed at you is new, unfamiliar. “I’m just trying to convince you that I don’t hate you. My face really is just like that.”
“Everyone else thinks you’re some wonderful, peaceful version of Atsumu,” you argue. “All our friends think you’re the cool brother and that Atsumu’s the chaotic, crazy one.”
“I mean. That’s not exactly a lie.”
“Then how come I’ve never gotten that sense from you?” You want to scream it from the top of your lungs, but you don’t want to wake your roommate, a wonderfully crazy blonde named Tanaka Saeko.
“I don’t know, Y/n. You’ve always been weird around me.”
“Because you’re weird,” you say without thinking.
“... Thanks?”
“No, I-” You sigh. “I’m just frustrated. Why have you always been so cold to me?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I haven’t been. My face is just like that.”
You roll your eyes. “But only with me.”
“Yes. And Tsumu.” When you say nothing, trying to figure out what that means, he laughs in your ear. “You think I don’t know what my face looks like to other people?”
You swallow hard. “You’ve been emoting for everyone else’s benefit?”
“Smartest thing you’ve said all night.”
You ignore it, just picking at a piece of lint on your pants while you think of what to say. “Then why didn’t you do it with me?”
“Because you were always at my fucking house, Y/n. I can’t keep it up 24/7.” He makes a fair point. “And you’d already hated me for whatever reason.”
“I didn’t hate you back then. And only a little bit nowadays.”
“Right. That’s helpful.”
“I’m just-” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Look. It was obvious that I was never the reason you were around, anyway. That’s fine – that’s usually the case. But then why would I fix my face for you? That’s tiring.”
You sit with that for a moment, a bit stunned at his admission. “What? I would have wanted to be your friend.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.” He sighs, clearly tired. “You’ve always looked at me different.”
You say nothing, knowing he’s right. You’d always avoided him, afraid of being perceived by him. “Sorry. You kinda scare me.”
“... What? Why?”
You switch topics, avoiding the question. “What did you mean, it’s ‘usually the case’ that you’re not the main reason people are around?”
“Uh-” He laughs in disbelief. “-you’ve met my brother.”
“So?”
“So… Girls don’t talk to the Miya twins for Miya Osamu,” he jokes, but you find yourself annoyed by that.
“I have so many problems with what you just said.”
“I’m not even being self-deprecating-”
“I’m not some stupid fangirl for your brother,” you cut him off. “Have you thought that of me this whole time?”
He seems genuinely taken aback when he mumbles a response after a moment. “... Sorry. But – You don’t like him?”
“No!” You purse your lips, hoping you haven’t woken Saeko. “No. I don’t. Fuck.”
“Sorry.”
“Whatever.”
There’s silence, and then he clears his throat. “You said I scare you.”
“Yeah.” You throw caution to the wind, still a bit incensed that he’d thought all these years that you were playing some kind of long game on his brother. “Your eyes scare me. They always have.”
“... I don’t exactly know what to do about that,” he says, perplexed. “I could try smiling more?”
“No, thanks. Your eyes don’t change when you smile. That would be creepy.”
“My eyes don’t- Then what the fuck were you mad about this whole time? Who cares if I don’t smile at you then?”
“I can still be mad you don’t treat me like other people!”
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?”
“Yes,” you say with ease. “I’m insane. You have serial killer eyes, and I’m insane.”
“Goodbye, Y/n.”
“Goodbye, Osamu.”
—
Not much changes after that conversation. You go back to avoiding him whenever he’s in the same room, and he goes back to saying nothing when you’re around. There’s a shared understanding that the conversation you had that night won’t happen again. That the moment of complete honesty between you – which had lasted all of four and a half minutes – won’t be happening again.
He goes back to being nothing more than your best friend’s brother.
You graduate college, and Atsumu’s recruited to Osaka to join the MSBY Black Jackals.
Osamu follows him there, and so do you.
He opens an onigiri shop, just a train stop away from the Jackals’ home gym.
You’re admitted to the university there for graduate school.
You orbit around each other, just like you always have. Planets that orbit around the sun that is Miya Atsumu, destined to never cross paths again.
There’s only one person involved who isn’t happy with the arrangement.
—
“I just don’t understand.”
“You never understand. Your cognitive abilities are low generally.”
“Insulting me will not get me to hang up. I get off on that.”
“Wow-” You make a face and sandwich your phone between your ear and shoulder while you lock your bike. “-There is no world in which I needed that information.”
Atsumu laughs loudly in your ear. “I get off on making you suffer, too.”
“Dude! Get a hobby or something. Please.” You shake your head, hauling your backpack over your shoulders and making your way to the Nutrition department. The building’s only a five-minute walk away, and you hope you can get Atsumu off the phone by then. You have a lab meeting in 20 minutes, and you need to catch your advisor beforehand.
“I don’t get why you and Samu can’t be friends. It’s so fucking awkward being in the same room with you two.”
“Tsumu, it’s not happening.”
“Well, did you fight?”
“No!” You shake your head, exasperated. “I keep telling you no. We just aren’t compatible as people.”
“But you and I are so compatible-”
“Yes, and you hate being compared to your brother.”
“I just want to be able to have him over for movie nights or somethin’.”
You sigh. “Then have him over, Atsumu! He’s your brother, and our apartment is our apartment. I don’t make rules by myself.”
“But I want you there, too!”
“I will be! I always am!” You check your watch as you walk up to the building. You’d turned the five-minute walk into a two-minute walk. “Look, I gotta go, I have a meeti-”
You’re stopped short when you glance up, sensing someone’s presence as they approach the building, too.
Miya Osamu stares back, eyes wide. He’s holding a large takeout order from his shop, clearly here to deliver to someone. He glances quickly at the plaque for the building, realizing belatedly that it says Department of Nutritional Sciences.
“Y/n? You there?”
“I gotta go,” you say, distracted, your eyes on Osamu’s. “See you at home.”
Those empty eyes fill briefly with recognition, and his gaze tracks your phone until it disappears into your pocket.
“Tsumu?” he asks, foregoing a greeting.
“Yeah.” You move toward the door awkwardly. “Delivering?”
“Yeah.” He says nothing else for a minute, following you inside. And then, as you’re waiting for the elevator, he pulls a paper from his pocket, showing you the order address. “Where’s Room 4140?”
Your heart drops momentarily, and you give him a pained smile as you step into the elevator together. “That’s my advisor’s office. I can just take it.”
He shakes his head, watching the floor numbers change. “I need him to pay me.”
“Her,” you correct.
He swallows. “Sorry.”
You ignore it. “I’ll take you there. I need to talk to her, anyway.”
The elevator dings, and you lead him down the hall. He’s silent, but you can tell he’s looking around at the posters and flyers on the walls, taking in the space you inhabit daily.
He stops walking, and you turn back, finding him outside your office door. He’s staring down at the name plate. And then he glances at you with what you think is blank curiosity.
You check your watch as you return to him. You could take an extra minute or two to drop your bag off.
You unlock the door for him, pushing into the office. Osamu follows you in, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room while you put your bag in your desk chair and extract your laptop. He turns in a slow circle, examining everything with that empty look.
The shelves on the walls, furnished with your stacks of books, large chunks of your monthly paychecks given to the titles he’s looking at now. The piles of papers on your desk – graded assignments from students and papers for your own work, marked up with green highlighter and scribbled notes. The smaller stack of books sitting on a coffee table in the corner, the ones you access daily and need within reach.
He sets the takeout down on the extra chair and reaches for a book you’ve read countless times, the annotation flags and dog-eared pages catching his eye.
You appreciate that he handles it with care.
“Y'know," he mumbles. "When you said you were going into nutrition, I really kept imaginin' cookbooks and pots on fire." He cuts you a glance. "You do, like, actual science and shit."
You shift your weight, feeling examined. "Cooking is science."
If he disagrees — and you get the feeling he does, because he grimaces and looks away — he doesn't say it.
That's a lie. He does say it.
"I see cookin' as more of an art."
You shrug. "It can be both."
"Not if you boil it down to just molecules and chemistry." He sets the book down carefully, despite disagreeing with its contents. "That takes the love out've it."
"I see knowledge as love. Understanding as love." You gesture weakly to the room around you. "If you yearn to understand something deeply, it can't be loveless. Definitionally."
He purses his lips but only nods. "To be loved is to be known, or whatever."
You take that as him trying to move on from the argument. You decide not to push it.
"I didn't know that you-" He waves generally at your office – at the books and stacks of papers, at the piece of your life that’s truly disconnected from him. “I mean, I knew. But. We don’t really-”
“It’s fine,” you say, gesturing toward the door. “This is kind of a separate part of my life.”
“Well-” He scoops up the takeout and waits for you while you lock the door. “-this is your life.”
“Still,” You smile awkwardly as you lead him to your advisor’s office. “I don’t expect you to know what I do.”
“...Right.”
You walk in silence to the suite of offices where your advisor’s is. You knock on her half-open door, peeking inside. “Professor?”
“Ah, Y/n! Perfect timing-”
You push into the office, smiling at her. She’s always been your favorite, bold and full of excitement about everything. At the moment, she’s standing on her tiptoes by her shelf, reaching with all her might for a book on top.
“Help me with that book, would you? An undergrad wants to borrow it.”
You put your laptop down, leaving Osamu at the door to rush to her side. She steps out of the way, and you push onto your toes for it, struggling. You have no clue why she's asking for help — you don't have much height on her, honestly.
You hear when she realizes there’s extra company.
“Oh, goodness, hello!”
“Hello, Ma’am.” Osamu assumes his business tone, pleasant and kind. “I’ve got your bulk order of 25 onigiri.”
“Perfect! Wonderful! Lovely!” Your advisor shuffles around her desk for her wallet, always a bit disorganized. “Our lab assistants will thank you graciously for keeping them fed and happy – Y/n here included!”
You flush, focusing on the book that’s just out of reach. “Yeah, thanks, Osamu,” you say in a strained voice.
“Hm? Do you know each other?”
Osamu doesn’t respond, but you feel a presence much taller than you at your back a moment later. His arm reaches past yours, able to easily reach the top shelf for the blue textbook with the bent spine.
“This one?” he asks in your ear, free hand pressed carefully to your lower back so you don’t stumble. You try not to jump at his touch, unfamiliar and shockingly warm.
“Yeah, that’s- that one-” You nod when he wraps a hand around it, looking up at him and realizing belatedly just how close he is. He realizes it, too, as he’s turning to hand you the book. His nose brushes yours, and then he’s stepping back with wide eyes, blinking rapidly.
You blink back, almost dropping the book when he releases you completely. “Uh- Thanks. Thank you.” You hand it to your advisor without meeting her eyes, because you know exactly the look that’s on her face.
She’s an incredibly nosy woman.
“You know each other quite well, I’m guessing.”
You cough, shaking your head. “We grew up together.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
You laugh at her tone, embarrassed. “Please pay the man for his services, I’m begging you.”
She just giggles to herself and hands Osamu some cash. “I look forward to ordering from Onigiri Miya for many lab lunches to come.”
Osamu’s face is even and neutral, but you think you see the slightest tinge of embarrassment in those eyes of his as he’s turning away.
—
A week later, you get a text around lunchtime.
[12:54 PM]
Tsumu: I REQUIRE YOUR PRESENCE
You glance at your phone, your fingers stilling on your keyboard as you stare at his text in confusion.
You: uh
You: present?
Tsumu: PLEASE BUY ME LUNCH
Tsumu: I DONT HAVE TIME
You roll your eyes, already saving your document and reaching for your backpack.
You know the MSBY boys are preparing for a home game that’ll make or break their sponsorship into the national circuit – Atsumu’s started leaving home earlier than usual, the front door locking sometime around 4 in the morning. It had taken his return to the apartment long after dinnertime on the first day for you to realize that training had begun, and he’s kept it up for two weeks straight.
[12:56 PM]
You: taking food requests for the next 12 seconds and then the kitchen will close
He’s responding in an instant.
Tsumu: ONIGIRI
Tsumu: MIYA STYLE
You stop outside your office, staring down at your screen. He must be joking.
You: does it have to be miya style???
Tsumu: bro i have the most VIOLENT craving for samu’s tuna mayo onigiri
You huff, shoving your phone into your bag and marching down to the bike rack outside. You make your way toward Osamu’s shop, praying the entire ride there that he’s out on deliveries. That he’s miraculously got some order to your department again, for the exact span of time you’re not there. That he’s needed across town, that you won’t need to make any kind of awkward small talk.
His car is sitting out front when you pull up to the shop.
Fuck.
He’s standing at the counter when you walk in, taking someone’s order.
Double fuck.
The door jingles behind you as he’s chatting quietly with the customer and scratching down their order, and he looks up at the notice of a new arrival.
“Of course – Can I get you anyth-”
He meets your eyes over the man’s shoulder and stops talking mid-sentence, pen hovering over his notepad.
You stare, and he stares back.
And then he blinks and lowers his eyes, finishing his sentence as he stares down at the order.
“-anything else, Sir?”
You get in the long line, fidgeting with your phone while you wait. Osamu’s eyes burn through the side of your face in moments between interacting with customers, and, by the time you join him at the counter, you’re sweating nervously.
“Hi,” you say with an awkward wave, stepping up.
He just blinks back, examining you. “Hi.”
You glance over your shoulder, disappointed to see that there’s no one waiting behind you, the lunchtime rush ending with you, apparently.
“Uh-” You train your eyes on the menu over his head, seeing with a quick flick of your gaze to him again that he’s waiting with notepad and pen and surprised disbelief coloring his empty eyes. “Can I get three tuna mayo?”
Osamu lifts his brows, understanding crossing his expression. He lowers his eyes to scribble on the order ticket. “Tsumu’s training?”
“Yeah,” you laugh nervously. He’s starting to ring you up, so you rush to scan the menu again for your own food. “And then, uh…”
You feel when his surprise becomes palpable, his eyes flying up to stare at you while you try not to burn the menu down with your anxiety.
“Is-Uh-” You scratch at your brow. “I’m not sure… Uh-”
A quick glance reveals that he’s starting to smirk, his shock fading into smug amusement while you struggle to compose yourself in his restaurant.
You clear your throat. “Any recommendations?”
That smirk widens, and his brows tent in the middle playfully. “You don’t have a favorite onigiri flavor?”
You swallow. “I like most flavors. It’s hard to choose.”
“Everyone has a favorite onigiri flavor, Y/n.”
You want to crawl in a hole and die. “I want to branch out, I guess.”
“Branch out,” he repeats with amusement, nodding as he lowers his gaze and writes on the ticket. He doesn’t tell you what he’s chosen, just ringing you up at the register and slotting the order through the window leading to the kitchen. You pay silently, and then you stand awkwardly at the counter staring up at him. He stares back, and you’re reminded of growing up with a boy who’d always refuse to look away first.
“Are you…” You break first, just like you always do. “...having a nice day?”
He purses his lips, a smile threatening to shine through just before he fixes his face back into neutrality. “Yes, Y/n. I’m having a nice day. Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Thanks.”
A suffocating silence blankets the space between you.
It’s broken only by the quiet ding of the bell from the kitchen, a plate of onigiri appearing at the window. Osamu turns away to grab it, and you flee, returning to the waiting area to sit.
You sit there for ten minutes, cursing Atsumu’s very existence and scrolling through social media without really seeing anything.
Eventually, Osamu approaches you with a takeout bag, setting it carefully on the bench. Your eyes fly up at his sudden appearance, and you find yourself staring up at him yet again. He stares back blankly, those grey eyes flitting around your face before settling on your eyes.
“Uhm,” you break, reaching for the bag and standing. He’s a lot closer than you expect, your body bumping straight into his, and you stumble back, nearly tripping. He wraps a hand around your elbow, steadying you and then putting distance between you once you’re stable. Your face burns – your skin burns – so you cradle the takeout against your chest nervously. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” He says nothing else, just stepping out of your way when you make a beeline for the exit.
The jingle of the door mocks you on your way out.
You bike to the Jackals’ gym, reliving every moment of that interaction and hating how nervous you’d been. By the time Atsumu meets you outside, you’ve got half a mind to smack him over the head with the takeout containers.
“Aw, don’t be mad!” he laughs, following you to a picnic table and digging into his lunch. “Please? I’m gonna need you for the next few weeks-” He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket, pushing it into your palm. You see on first glance that it’s a lot of money. “Maybe this will help you guys become comfortable with each other.”
You stare at him, your own lunch untouched. “Just how much onigiri ‘Miya style’ are you gonna be craving?”
He doesn’t respond, just grinning through his tuna mayo rice ball. You open your lunch with a heated sigh, anticipating a lot of Miya Osamu in your future.
Inside the box is a set of three different rice balls, an assortment of flavors. You warm, remembering your fumbled admission that you don’t have a favorite, and take a bite of each one. They’re each oddly perfect in their own ways. The spam teriyaki is salty, but it’s balanced wonderfully by the soothing flavor of the rice. The salmon yaki onigiri is just perfectly crispy, the salmon melting on your tongue and the inside cool compared to the grilled exterior. And the tuna mayo… You can see why Atsumu’s favorite is tuna mayo – Miya style.
You eat quietly, shooting a glare at Atsumu any time you feel him watching you, and wonder how Osamu would react if you were to text him. You’re overwhelmed with that urge, entirely new and unfamiliar. You juggle the choice the entire time you're eating, staring down at nothing.
"Where's yer head at?" You meet his eyes, surprised by the examining look he's giving you. He tilts his head. "School stuff?"
It's either "school stuff" or "I'm busy thinking about your brother, which I do way more than you think I do".
You clear your throat. "School stuff."
He gives a sympathetic hum. "You'll figure it out. You always do."
You just smile, the two of you enjoying your lunch in silence. It's rare that he's quiet, but Atsumu has learned to leave you be when you're lost in thought.
When he's busy looking at his phone, you extract yours from your bag, typing discreetly.
[1:35 PM]
You: i can understand why atsumu and my advisor both default to onigiri miya for lunch
You flush hard and lock your phone, letting it drop into your lap while you focus on eating. You think it’s okay that you texted him, but you’ve also never been the one to initiate a conversation. Will he think it’s weird? Were you too familiar with your text? What if he gives you a dry response that you can’t work with? What if-
Your phone buzzes against your thighs. You snatch it up, hoping Atsumu hasn’t noticed your nervous energy.
Miya Osamu: you tryna butter me up?
The relief that floods you is giddy, and you know you’ll be spending a long time tonight overanalyzing that exact feeling.
You: why? is it working? can i get a discount?
Miya Osamu: depends on if you chose the correct one as your favorite
You: what is this, a test?
You: arent you supposed to promote ALL your menu items?
Miya Osamu: well obviously theyre all perfect
Miya Osamu: the question is if youve identified the most perfect of perfect
You: youre a bit odd
Miya Osamu: that discounts not lookin so hot rn
You: okay okay
You: i can see why tsumus favorite is the tuna mayo
Miya Osamu: is that your final answer?
You: uhhhhhhh
You: can i have 3 to 5 business days to think about it?
Miya Osamu: you get 10 seconds
You: what!!!
Miya Osamu: 5 seconds
You: how is that fair????
Miya Osamu: 3
Miya Osamu: 2
You: SALMON YAKI
You: FUCK
Miya Osamu: ….
You press your hand to your mouth, trying not to make it obvious that you’re grinning like an idiot.
You: well???
You: did i get it right?
Miya Osamu: come back tomorrow and find out
You: oh i see
You: youre upselling me
You: this was a scam
Miya Osamu: and youre gonna fall for it
Miya Osamu: arent you :))
–
Osamu doesn’t bother to hide his satisfied grin when you trudge through the door to his shop the next day.
“Welcome to ‘Onigiri Miya’,” he says in his best customer service voice.
“Welcome to ‘Onigiri Miya’” you mock under your breath. His smile grows just milliseconds before he evens his expression out. You march up to the counter, a scowl painted on your face. He smirks back.
“What can I get you?”
“Three tuna mayo, please,” You grumble.
“And three salmon yaki?”
You just give him another mocking noise and roll your eyes. At this point, you don’t even care if you get the discount. You just want to get in and get out with minimal damage to your reputation.
He says nothing, scratching the order down and sliding it through the window. You see, though, that when he charges you, he only charges you for Atsumu’s. Your scowl immediately lifts into a small smile.
“So, I got it right?”
You see his eyes land on your mouth, watching your smile for a moment before he takes your money and glances away.
“It was the tuna mayo.”
Your mouth drops open. “What-”
“I’m giving you the discount this time because you clearly left your dignity in your office to come all the way down here.” He’s smiling to himself as he turns to head into the kitchen, and you’re left standing alone at the counter, embarrassed.
Miya Osamu might be the most irritating man you’ve ever met.
—
You see him two days later, sitting on your couch when you walk in the door. Suna is there, too, lounging across your furniture like he lives here.
"Hey, Y/n," the lanky man greets lazily, shoveling popcorn into his mouth as he flips through channels.
You grimace down at him, if only so you don't have to greet Osamu. "Is my TV remote going to be greasy and gross when you leave later?"
He snorts. "It's greasy and gross now. Wanna feel?"
You make a noise of disgust and turn away, looking around for your roommate. "Tsumu?" you call, peeking into his room.
"Went to pick up the pizza," Osamu comments quietly, scrolling through his phone.
You stare down at him, trying to hide your surprise when his gaze flicks up to yours, empty and grey. "Oh, okay. Sounds good." You force yourself to remember that this is your apartment, not his or Suna's. You don't need to stand here awkwardly. "'Kay. I'm gonna get changed and stuff."
You turn and make your way down the hall, only shooting Suna a middle finger when he calls 'without me?'. His cackle is heard even when you close your bedroom door.
You change and wash your face in your connected bathroom, trying to figure out how to handle tonight. It's not like anything's changed between you and Osamu — occasionally texting is hardly an update in your relationship. Nothing's new between you.
He's standing inside your bedroom when you come out.
That's certainly new.
"Uh-"
He'd been looking over your conference posters, hung proudly on your walls, but he turns now, his expression blank. You stare, wondering how to ask what he wants.
He just stares back.
You break first, moving around the room and tidying up. "What's up?"
"Not much," he mumbles. "Just bein' nosy."
You pause. Miya Osamu has never shown you an ounce of interest before, let alone enough interest to poke around your bedroom. "Okay? I mean-"
"You gonna keep comin' around?" he asks suddenly, his eyes trained on one of the many graphs on your posters. "T'the shop?"
You blink, staring at the back of his head. He's got the Onigiri Miya cap on, like he always does, but it's backward now, the logo staring right back at you. When he glances over his shoulder at you, you realize it's been a while since you've met his eyes outside of the shadow of his hat.
It's strange… They don't scare you as much anymore.
"I s'pose so," you mumble. "Tsumu's been sending me every day because he doesn't have time."
He grunts. "Dumbass needs to be eating healthier lunches. Onigiri every day's bad for you."
You smirk. "You tryna get rid of me, Samu?"
You say it like Atsumu does, tilted and sarcastic, but the syllables of his nickname come out different when it's you.
His head whips to the side, eyes wide as he stares at you.
You want to curl up in a ball and hide from him.
He just blinks a few times, almost dumb with surprise. Finally, he turns away. "Nah," he says weakly. "You can keep comin' round." He clears his throat. "If ya want."
You try not to notice that the tips of his ears are red.
The moment ends with the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut.
"Pizza!" Atsumu calls from down the hall.
Osamu all but flees from your room, you hot on his heels.
Atsumu hasn't noticed that you're both coming from the same place, but Suna's stare is piercing and examining as he eyes Osamu and then you. When you furrow your brow at him, he just smiles and gets up, groaning about how hungry he is.
The movie night is uneventful, if you count Miya Osamu's thigh pressed against yours and his arm tossed across the back of the sofa where you sit as uneventful.
You don't even know what the damn movie's about.
—
When you enter Onigiri Miya a week later, you’re painfully nervous.
You should feel fine coming in here now, what with Atsumu sending you on an onigiri mission every afternoon at exactly the same time. You’ve gotten used to interacting in-person with Osamu at the very least on this level, the one where he stands at a counter with his notepad and pen and stares into your very soul while you stumble through Atsumu’s order.
But today, Atsumu hadn’t asked for lunch, complaining on the phone that he's got a stomachache from eating so much onigiri every day.
Somehow, though, you’re still here. There's a part of you that knows it's because he'd told you it was okay. There's a larger part that's ignoring the implications of that.
It must be a habit, you’d rationalized to yourself on the bike ride here. Habit to ride your bike across town around lunch time almost every day. Habit to stand in the impressively long line, keeping your eyes on Osamu’s face while he works the counter. Habit to turn away the moment he glances in your direction, feigning immense interest in the wall decor.
Habit to walk up to the counter with a slight tremble in your legs, your steeling breath always the last thing you do before you have to look right up at him and greet him uncomfortably.
“Hi,” you say now, your awkward wave a habit, too.
“Hi,” he echoes, his empty gaze always just the slightest bit unnerving on first impact. “Three tuna mayo and three salmon yaki?” He’s already writing it down, his eyes lowering to the notepad.
“Uh-” You gather strength from the absence of his gaze, clearing your throat. “No, just-just the salmon.”
You hear when his pen stops scratching on the ticket, and you have to take another steeling breath, because his eyes are flying up to meet yours, his sharp gaze flooding with surprise.
“What?” he asks, unblinking.
You hate that your voice shakes when you respond. “J-Just the salmon. Three salmon yaki.”
His eyes flick between yours once, twice, and then a third time. He doesn’t look away when he tears the ticket from the pad and lets it fall to the counter, and he writes the new order without taking a single glance at the sheet.
Finally, he blinks and looks away, and you deflate with a sigh that’s far too loud to be coincidence. He slots the ticket through the window and turns back, ringing you up silently. As you’re paying, though, he mumbles a question, quietly curious.
“How much time do you have for lunch?”
You swallow. “It doesn’t really matter, as long as I get my work done today.”
He nods, staying silent for another minute while he gets your change. “Kinda like me, I guess.”
You grin to yourself, too busy pocketing the spare coins to notice when he tracks the small change of your mouth. “Yeah. Kinda like you.” You gesture to the waiting area and give him a tight-lipped smile, wandering over to your usual seat.
When he comes over to the bench, you stand, ready to bike your lunch back to campus and eat in your office. But he doesn’t move to hand over the bag, just clearing his throat.
“How much work have you gotten done?”
You blink, confused. “Most of it, I guess. I just have some papers left to read.”
“Oh. Okay.” He meets your eyes awkwardly and looks away. You realize what’s happening only when he makes no move to hand you the bag.
He'd said it's okay. It's okay for you to keep coming.
Maybe it's also okay for you to stay.
“Oh-” You flush. “I-” Your eyes watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. “I have time. The papers won’t take me long.”
He scans the room while he thinks, and then he just nods, turning on his heel to head down a hallway leading to the back. You follow, looking around at the space as you go.
“Never seen the back of a restaurant before.”
You hear him breathe out a laugh, leading you to a door at the end. “Ever seen an office in a restaurant?”
“Can’t say I have.”
He shoulders the door open, and you step gingerly into the room.
It’s a medium-sized space, with a nice desk and chair situated in front of a large, spanning window. There’s a grey couch in the corner, with a darker grey rug tucked underneath. There are shelves on the walls, with binders and cookbooks and cardboard boxes. A small coffee table in front of the couch holds menu designs and papers that look legal.
“Wow,” You set your backpack carefully by the door and look around, spinning a slow circle in the middle of the room – not unlike how he’d been in your own office. “Restaurant offices are really somethin’.”
“It’s kind of a mess,” He says, ears tinged a bit pink, and sets your lunch on his desk.
“I like it. It looks like you.” You’re not entirely sure what that means – maybe it’s the grey, or maybe it’s the disorganization that looks like only he can understand it. But it looks like him.
Osamu says nothing, just moving to the coffee table and gathering the papers. You sit in the chair across his desk, trying not to take up too much space while he picks up. After a minute, he murmurs ‘I’ll be back’ and disappears back into the hallway.
You wait, eyes tracing the labels on the binders stacked next to his desk. There are budget folders, test recipe folders, and even one that says ‘Rejected Receipes – DO NOT MAKE AGAIN’. You reach for it with a smile, pulling it into your lap.
Thumbing through, you can’t help but laugh. “Peanut butter and banana onigiri?”
“Atsumu was really convinced about the validity of dessert onigiri.”
You jump, turning to find Osamu at the door, a small smile on his face.
You laugh again. "You spent ingredients on an Atsumu idea?"
He grimaces playfully and crosses the room to sit on the couch. "Never again."
"You need a better taste tester," you joke. "Someone who understand the science of onigiri."
"The science, huh?" he asks, staring right at you. "Don'tchu mean the art?"
You roll your eyes, a smile lingering. "I'd argue they're the same."
"I wouldn't," he bickers. "But maybe that's why both are valuable." And then he leans forward, elbows on his knees. "What'dya say?"
You blink and then point at yourself. "Me?" When he quirks his brows in response, you laugh. "I'm not, like, a professional taste tester just because of my degree."
"Never said nothin' about your degree, Y/n."
You swallow, because his eye contact is too strong. Always too strong. "Okay. Sure."
He stands quietly, pointing at the bag of your food. "Eat," he commands. "I'll be back."
You listen to instructions, nibbling on your salmon yaki onigiri and wondering how the hell you got here.
He comes back after ten minutes, balancing a small platter with a plate, a bowl, and a tea cup. You watch him put it on the coffee table, staring at the ingredients.
The green tea is easy to identify, and the single yaki onigiri on the plate could be anything, really, but you'd wager a guess it's salmon. The bowl of broth is harder, but you just lean toward it and sniff, recognizing the dashi scent instantly.
It's not hard to piece together what he's making.
"Ochazuke?" you ask quietly, watching as he mixes the two steaming liquids. "Isn't it usually tea or dashi, not both?"
"'s why I need a taste tester," Osamu mumbles quietly. "Wanted to try somethin' new, but I can't trust my sous chef." He shoots you a quick grin. "He's a kiss-ass."
You smile back. "Oh, poor Samu."
Yes, his reaction is still the same. No, you hadn't done it just to test that theory, you swear.
"Here," he grunts, chewing on his bottom lip. He sets the onigiri in the tea-dashi mixture and pushes the platter to you, handing you a spoon.
You lift the bowl, giving it another sniff. The tea gives it a bitter undertone, but it's not unpleasant. You break the onigiri slowly, mashing it against the bowl with the spoon and watching pieces of salmon float to the top.
Osamu watches carefully when you take a bite.
You chew slowly, tilting your head this way and that. Osamu's knee starts to bounce. You smile to yourself.
"Nervous about somethin'?"
He grimaces. "No, 'course not."
You contemplate making him wait until you eat the whole thing, but you can't help yourself once the first bite is over.
"Do you want the good or the bad first?"
He narrows his eyes. "I didn't realize you'd have 'bad's."
"Shoulda asked your sous chef if you wanted your ass kissed," you say, grinning at him. "It's not a big thing, I promise."
He sighs. "Hit me, then."
"The tea is too overpowering."
He squints. "And that's not a big thing?"
"Not if you fix the ratio," you say, shaking your head. "Either you steeped the tea too long or there's too much of it, but either issue is an easy fix. Based on the smell, it should have a little undertone of bitterness, but the taste sticks to the back of the tongue in a way that smothers the dashi." You set the bowl back on the platter. "My advice is to start with half a cup, not a full cup. And steep for thirty seconds less."
He blinks. "Those are very precise instructions, Y/n."
You blink back. "Cooking can be a science, Osamu."
Nothing more is said between you for a minute. And then he nods down at the bowl of drowned onigiri. "And the good parts?"
You smile — a real one, one that you're not sure he's ever seen.
"If you fix the ratio, Onigiri Miya will be famous."
—
You end up going to Onigiri Miya every day for lunch, even on days when Atsumu asks for something else. Even on days when he doesn't ask at all.
Even after their training ends, right up until the day of the Jackals' sponsorship game.
At some point in the days since that first lunch together, Osamu brings up the thing that neither of you had wanted to talk about: Atsumu.
"I'm sure he'd be thrilled to learn we're hanging out, y'know."
You'd swallowed and looked away, face warming. "You know how annoying he can be when he's thrilled."
It's an excuse. He takes it.
"Yeah. I'd eat my own hair before I admit Tsumu's right about somethin'."
And just like that, a secret is formed. A secret between you and Miya Osamu, where nothing had existed before.
It's dreadfully attractive, sneaking around to meet your best friend's brother.
—
It happens before either of you is ready to admit this is more than just a budding friendship. That this is more than just sneaking around for the sake of not hearing Atsumu's gloating.
It's sneaking around because there's something else to hide, something that neither of you is willing to admit or address.
But it gets addressed anyway. It goes a little something like this:
The sponsorship game comes and goes. The Jackals win. There's an afterparty at a bar, one where Atsumu gets too shit-faced and the room is too crowded for anyone to notice that you and Osamu are sitting in a corner, talking low and with your heads close together. It starts with simple jabs, jokes made at his brother's expense and then more made between you — the result of weeks spent alone in his office, the taste testing nothing but an excuse.
An excuse, one that only your eyes can admit and only after three drinks. One that only he can hear in the way your gaze drifts to his lips and back, a smile tugging at him every time you flush.
A rushed goodbye, pressed into Atsumu's chest as you tell him that you've had too much to drink and that Osamu's going to drop you off at home. A questioning look ignored, your expression innocent as you wave and pretend you can't hear his confused noise. Suna Rintarou equally ignored, even as his gaze follows you and Osamu out.
The door of the bar, slammed open by Osamu, his other hand wrapped tight around your wrist, both of your stone cold sober by now.
He drags you to his car, three steps ahead while you scramble after him. You’re not sure if you’re actually reading this right. If this is going somewhere, or if he really is just going to drive you home. But you desperately — desperately — want it to be the former. After so many years of dreading his presence, you don’t want to say goodbye to him tonight.
You get the feeling that the heated look in his eye when he glances back at you is a promise that you're not going to be disappointed.
When you finally make it to his car, tucked away under the shadow of a tree in a far corner of the parking lot, you wonder if it’s just enough coverage for you to make a move unseen, or if you need to wait.
Osamu opens the passenger-side door for you, and you stand just inside of it, staring up at him, like you always do.
He stares back. Like he always does.
It goes on like that for seconds — entire moments — and the familiarity of it is a little comforting.
And then his eyes drop to your mouth, just long enough to be perceptible.
You lean in before you can talk yourself out of it. All you find is the palm of his hand.
"Get in the car, Y/n," he mumbles, his voice gruff and full of something you can't place. "We're in the middle of the street."
You pull back quickly and open your eyes wide, your heart dropping as you wonder if you've just made an ass of yourself.
He just stares down at you, eyes on your mouth. "Get in the car, Y/n," he whispers.
You've learned that you're very good at listening to instructions.
You stare at nothing as you wait for him to close your door and make his way around to the driver's seat. You stare at nothing at all, your mind empty of everything but the realization that this night could end very well or very not well.
It's quiet in the car when he settles in. You let it linger until it hurts, and then you turn.
He’s got his gaze right on you, sharp and heated and full of emotion — an emotion you can’t place, an emotion you’ve never seen from him before.
The planets that orbit Miya Atsumu finally meeting somewhere in the middle — at full speed, with no hope of stopping.
The crash isn’t so pretty, but it sure does feel nice.
You don’t know who moves first, but his fingers are tangled in your hair and your arms are flung around his neck before you process this night isn’t going to end with you crying alone in bed.
His mouth is searing hot against yours, and you think there’s a whimpering noise that escapes your throat when you’re not paying attention. Osamu says nothing, gives no verbal indication of his thoughts or how he feels. But he does press his hand flat to your back and draw you to him, pulling you halfway across the console so he can kiss you better.
After that, it’s a quick trip over the console entirely and right into his lap.
He angles his head up and slides his fingers back into your hair, cupping the back of your neck as he pushes his mouth up against yours. You kiss him eagerly, your heart pounding in your ears and your face radiating heat. You realize that he’s not doing much better when you cup his jaw and feel his pulse racing against your fingers.
You pull away, and the intoxicating sound of Miya Osamu panting fills the car as you drop your mouth to the juncture of his neck. A breathy moan cracks in the back of his throat, followed by the quiet ‘fuck’ that falls past his lips. His hands drop to your waist, and you feel when his head falls back against the headrest.
“Fuck,” he repeats, sounding like he’s very quickly coming undone. It eggs you on, and you bite down on his throat before soothing it over with a pass of your tongue. He shudders under you, a stuttered moan echoing in the car.
“Y/n-” His fingers find the back of your head, tangling and pulling taut to lift you away. You whine at the tug of your hair, wriggling in his lap, and then his mouth is on yours. He kisses you hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You hold his face and return the fervor, and he clamps down on your hips and pulls you closer, pushing your thighs apart until you’re seated right over the zipper of his jeans.
It’s only then – when you push down into his lap and pull a strained groan right out of him – that you realize that he’s hard.
Your stomach flips excitedly, and every nerve ending in your body lights up and burns under your skin.
You roll your hips experimentally, just the slightest shift of your thighs over his, and are gifted the wonderful experience of feeling Miya Osamu’s control slip. He tenses under you, one hand flying to cup the back of your head, the other holding tight to your hips and coaxing you forward again – urging you silently to keep going.
It’s embarrassingly easy to convince you.
This push of your hips down over his is just as charged as the last – more, really, because now Osamu’s eyes are open and locked tight on yours. His hand in your hair keeps your face close, your lips brushing against his with every miniscule shift of your body and your breath mingling in the marginal space between you. His eyes are hazy, distracted, but he keeps those eyes unyieldingly on you, and you find yourself trapped in his gaze, just like every moment before this.
When he rolls his hips up, the bulge of his jeans pressed under your skirt and right up against your core, the heat building in your navel spills over and fills your body with a burning, molten desperation.
“Samu,” you whine, staring right into his eyes when your hands drop to the button of his jeans and your forehead presses urgently to his. He keeps eye contact, rocking upward again and pushing on that little spot that shoves you further and further into dangerous territory. One hand falls to your bare thigh, fingers disappearing up your skirt and stopping right at the line of your panties, his thumb pushing up against your inner thigh.
He tilts his head up, using his grip on your hair to bring you close so he can kiss you. You return it needily, your lips parting with ease when you feel his tongue against your bottom lip. He pushes into your mouth, his breath heady and uneven, betraying his own desperation as you breathe each other in.
You shift your hips, his thumb slipping and pushing up against your clit. You gasp loudly, and he shivers, but it’s followed by a grin when he realizes what he’s done. He pushes that little spot again, his touch gentle but certain – you feel when his smile slips, though, because you’re rutting shyly against him, and it pulls a drunken half-moan out of him.
“Y/n,” he whispers against your mouth, a hard swallow following. You shiver in his lap, entirely willing to do anything and everything he asks of you.
“Samu,” you say, your fingers prying the button of his jeans open. “Can I…” You linger at the zipper, tugging in question.
He nods, his own touch sliding down your panties, and you know he means to push them aside. Your stomach swarms with butterflies at the realization of what you’re about to do with Miya Osamu.
You get the zipper down, and he lifts his hips, mouth pressing briefly against yours, heated and full of anticipation.
But before you can get his pants down to his thighs, there’s a slam on the front hood of his car.
You jump, biting down on a scream, and Osamu pulls you against his chest with a sharp inhale, his eyes flying over your shoulder to look through the windshield. Whatever he sees there causes him to mutter-
“Oh, fuck.”
“What the fuck are you two doing?!” There’s a voice screaming outside, one you distinctly recognize as Suna Rintarou. “Are you trying to get charged with public indecency?!”
The molten heat in your navel runs ice cold in an instant, and you can’t do a single thing except let Osamu lift you off his lap and over the console back into the passenger seat. You curl up there, your face burning with humiliation as he gets out of the car.
He joins Suna outside, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh, and you hear muffled, unintelligible conversation. Suna gestures in exasperation at Osamu’s undone jeans, and you wince when the twin quickly fixes himself, his embarrassed flush visible even from here. You hide your face in your hands, wondering who else might have seen you and how this could have gotten so out of hand so fast.
The men talk in serious, clipped tones outside for a minute before Suna is groaning and dropping his head back. You hear him laugh, but it sounds deranged, like he can’t believe he’s been caught in the middle of this. And then he turns to look you right in your eye through the windshield.
You sit up straight, nervous as he rounds the car to your window and knocks awkwardly. You fumble to open the door, and Suna crouches by your side with a sigh of exhaustion.
“You want me to drive you home?”
You blink. “Huh? I thou-” You look over at where Osamu’s starting to come meet the two of you, a wary look on his face.
Had he asked Suna to take you home? Does he not want to be alone with you again?
“Uh,” you mumble, your face burning with humiliation and the prospect of being rejected by Miya Osamu in front of a mutual friend. “Sure. I guess. If that’s what he said-”
“Oy,” Osamu interrupts, pushing two fingers roughly into the back of Suna’s head. “Can you fuck off? We’re fine.”
You look between them, confused. So… Osamu hadn’t just tried to get out of taking you home?
Suna looks back at him, scoffing. “Oh, sure, you guys are totally fine. Totally not gonna mess around when you get back to her place, right? Do you remember who her roommate is, or would you like a mirror?”
You blink.
Oh.
Osamu pushes Suna again, voice strained when he drops it an octave and warns, “Fuck. Off. Rintarou.”
You swallow, watching them share a meaningful look before Suna is shrugging noncommittally and standing to full height.
“Whatever. You go ahead and get caught – may the best twin live, I guess.”
And then he leaves, waving back at you as he fishes his keys from his pocket and heads to his own car.
You stare up at Osamu, willing him to look at you – willing, after years of begging not to be seen, for him to meet your eyes.
He doesn’t, just quietly closing the door and coming back to the driver’s seat.
You sit together in silence, watching as Suna’s car disappears into the street.
Osamu plucks the keys from the console and starts the car.
He drives in silence.
Osamu shifts beside you when he stops at a red light. "I need to know something.” When you say nothing in return, just staring at the side of his face, he sighs quietly. “Is this going to fall apart when my brother finds out?”
You blink, startled by the question. It's not entirely unexpected, but you have no idea what to do with it. "Meaning?"
“Meaning-” He’s firm about it. “-that you know how he is. How he can get when there are-”
-secrets.
You imagine how Atsumu would react – he’s territorial, possessive. Stubborn and childish and annoyingly good at holding a grudge. You can already hear it, the way he would explode if he found out–
‘When I told you to try getting along, I didn’t mean you should fucking jump into bed with him!’
Yeah. Miya Atsumu would not take this information very well.
But you find that you don't care as much as you thought you would. That even when you'd used him as an excuse — when things between you and Miya Osamu changed, not even a week ago — you hadn't really cared about Atsumu's reaction at all. Because you know he'll get over it, whatever it might be.
And there's a part of you that remembers the Miya Osamu from college, the one who'd accepted that his brother was the focus of everything. That he'd always be in Atsumu's shadow.
Maybe that's why he'd been so quick to accept your excuse. Because you were giving him a chance for the two of you to find some other orbit.
"No, Osamu," you say, a little strong. "It's not going to fall apart. Not for me."
"Even if Atsumu-"
"I don't really give a fuck what happens if Atsumu finds out." His eyes find yours, wide and surprised. You just stare back. "Do you?"
He stares for a moment.
And then you're being smacked up against the window from the force of him turning the car around.
"Wha-" You glance around, realizing you're heading away from your apartment now. "What-"
"He'll get over it," Osamu mutters, switching lanes and taking turns with an urgency that hadn't been there before. "You can just stay with me 'til he does."
You can't say that sounds like a bad idea.
—
The journey into Miya Osamu's apartment consists of stumbling over your feet and fumbling to rip his t-shirt off. You don't get much time to look around, all of your attention on the way he's guiding you to his bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours.
"Nice place," you joke. "Great decor."
"Shut up," he scoffs, scooping you off your feet and pinning you to the wall by his bedroom door. His mouth is unbearably hot, tongue searing against yours and teeth tugging down on your bottom lip after every pant. "Can I admit something?" he asks after you plant your hands on his chest and put distance between you so you can breathe.
"Hm?" Your head is spinning. "What is it?"
"I never thought-" He swallows hard, still holding you in place with his hips. "I never guessed that this would-we would-"
You laugh breathily, curling your fingers into his hair. "I thought I was gonna have to avoid you for the rest of my life."
He presses his body against yours, flattening you to the wall. "Yeah? Still plan on doin' that?"
You only have time to roll your eyes before he's pushing his mouth against yours again. "Already tryna get rid of me?" you ask between kisses, your breath shaky.
He just laughs through his nose, carrying you into his room. After dropping you on the bed and climbing over you, he answers your question. "Nah." He shakes his head. "You're mine now. Turns out I actually like havin' you around all the time."
You don't need to tell him how that statement affects you. How it affects you to learn that all these years of circling each other — lingering in his periphery, always in orbit — hadn't been the annoyance you'd thought it was. That he prefers you just like that, maybe even a little closer.
You don't need to tell him that. He can see it clear as day, because you're dragging him down to you and whimpering against his lips.
The distance between this moment and the moment he's pressing his tip against your entrance feels like everything and also nothing at all in the grand scheme of you and Miya Osamu.
As it turns out, when he'd uttered the words 'you're mine', there had been an undertone you'd missed.
You find it the moment he pushes into you. His head drops back, a noise leaving his mouth that cuts somewhere betweel a growl and a sigh.
"Fuck," he groans. You're too busy trying to pull the breath from your lungs to respond in kind. "Fuck," he whispers again, to himself this time, and stares down at the spot where he's starting to rail into you. "All mine — you're all mine."
Nerves flip in your stomach, and you whine low — the way he's looking at you, the way he's worshipping you is enough to set your skin on fire. "Samu-"
"Yeah, baby?" he mutters, driving his hips into yours and using his grip on your waist to slam you down on his cock at the same time. "Feel good?" When you nod fervently, he laughs, the sound a little unhinged. "Feel good to be stretched out like that, baby? Stretched out by me?"
"Samu," you groan, your back arching and your hands clawing at his arms. "Please, Samu-"
"What? What is it, huh?" he coos. "Want me to show you that you're mine?" You clench around him hard, and he moans in response. "Yeah, you're mine. You want to feel it, though, don't you?"
"Yeah," you pant. "Wanna feel."
"Wanna feel it when I make you mine?" His voice starts to shake and his breathing grows harsh. "Gonna fill you up — fill you up 'til you're leakin'." He presses his palm against your stomach, right under your navel, and bites out something that you think might be more for him than for you.
"Fill you up 'til it takes." You gasp, clenching hard, and he moans low. "Yeah," he pants. "Gonna make you mine."
The pulse of his cock deep inside you, the tip kissing right up against your cervix, is accompanied by the warmth of him coming. You feel it spill, feel it coat your walls and then push around his cock until it's spilling past your entrance. He must feel it happen, too, because he's moaning and grinding you down harder on his cock.
The realization that this is driving him insane is enough for you to clench down hard, your walls fluttering around him in time with your heartbeat as you come.
"That's it," he whispers, panting hard and collapsing down over you. His mouth finds yours, and you let him kiss you while you come down from your high. "That's my girl."
You don't bother cleaning up, too busy basking in the glow that comes with Osamu staring down at the mess he's made and then looking at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to him.
You fall asleep without meaning to, which, on one hand, is great for you, because you wake up in Osamu's arms and feel the peace that comes with him rolling over on top of you and showering you with affection.
On the other hand, you didn't go home last night. To your roommate. Who is now at his brother's door, banging on it with both fists.
"I swear to god, Samu, if she's in that bed, I'm committing a crime!"
» Love never looks the same, but that doesn't mean it isn't complete. «
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TAGS: poly!tsukkikage, established relationship, angst & smut, reader has a bad day and tsukki takes too long to read the signs, KAGEYAMA TOBIO TAKING CARE OF HIS THROUPLE????, different depictions of love and care and comfort, insecure tsukki, threesome, cunnilingus, nipple play, penetrative sex, tsukkikage have their own separate spit kink but that is none of our business okay, not-quite-choking (possessive hand placement), kageyama who gets off on seeing tsukki x reader's mutual affection
a/n: i am here to express my most massive gratitude to @doggywoofwoof for commissioning this piece AND for being so so patient and understanding for the past two months while i was dealing with the chaos of a lifetime. i appreciate you so much, and i am SOOOOOOOO happy we can bring tsukkikage brainrot straight to The People.
[commission honee here!]
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To say that loving and living with Kageyama Tobio and Tsukishima Kei is a peaceful, happy, warm life would be a lie.
It's a three-bedroom apartment full of sarcasm and tugged-on hair and two bedrooms that haven't been used in months. It's mornings with the coffee pot almost empty before the third person can even get to it. It's two men who argue incessantly about nothing just to have an excuse to make out afterwards, with you caught in the middle. It's bite marks and fought-over TV remotes and falling asleep with one man's hands on your waist and the other's fingers tangled in your hair.
It's the regular need to emotionally regulate, because being the girlfriend of two ginormous men who bicker like children and forget that you can't reach the top shelf when you most need it is not for the weak.
But you're okay with it. You're okay with pulling on Tobio's ear when he leaves his clothes on the floor next to the laundry basket instead of in it. You're okay with picking stupid fights with Kei when he leaves empty containers in the pantry instead of throwing them out because he's lazy or forgets half the time. You're okay with being astonished at the stupidity of man more often than not.
Because you love them.
You love how Tobio gets when he's sleepy, how his hands always find their way under your shirt and his face always ends up buried in your chest, his snores gentle against your ribcage. And when he wakes in the morning, he spends five minutes — without fail, like a ritual he can't skip — pressing his lips lazily along the lines of your shoulder and spine, his love quiet but doting. Never too loud, never too demanding. Always soft, like you're a goddess that he's still shocked to have gotten attention from.
You're the same way with him. Kei had commented on it once, when you'd both been curled around each other on the couch, very early on. 'I expected you to take charge. He needs something like that.' You'd only shaken your head and pushed your face further into the crook of Tobio's neck, feeling his soft snores against your temple. 'I'm not strong enough to lead this,' you'd said. 'He makes me feel soft.' And then you'd laughed, because what you'd felt even then had been impossible to explain.
'He makes me feel like a girl. Is that stupid?'
Kei had only shaken his head, fingers wrapped around your ankle and thumb pressing circles into your ankle bone. 'Something about femininity and safety, probably.' And then he'd chewed on his lip, examining you. 'Do I make you feel that way, too?'
Back then, you'd been nervous. Things were still new. You were used to arguing with Kei, used to the back and forth. Not this. This weird vulnerability.
'No,' you'd said, smiling when he'd looked almost offended. 'You make me feel real.'
He hadn't understood, and you hadn't blamed him for it. What you'd said was nonsense.
'Do you normally feel fake?'
'Not fake,' you'd laughed. 'But maybe kind of lost. Like everything is happening around me, whether I'm there or not.' You'd flushed with warmth, because the tips of his ears had started going red.
'You feel like an anchor. I know that if I can just find you — if I can just get to you — I'll be fine.'
And that feeling hadn't changed. Even as stupid high school kids, when life was suddenly starting to feel a lot bigger than the house you grew up in and the friends you'd lived next door to, Kei had been constant. A constant pain in your ass, sure, but he was there. Certainly and without fail.
As you'd grown up, you'd always had the sense that he'd stay — from stupid arguments at fifteen years old all the way to much less stupid arguments, twenty-three and trying to figure each other out. You'd always known he would be there, even on the worst nights. The distance between you was never more than a few feet, because even when you wanted to cry and scream and slam doors, Tsukishima Kei would never let it happen.
All he needed was a firm hand pressed between your shoulder blades and his mouth pressed to your ear, comfort whispered into your skin until you could calm down. Anchored until you were ready to come back.
Falling in love with Tobio had happened with awareness, with that fluttery, first-crush feeling that made you melt into him and around him. But falling in love with Kei had happened when you weren't looking, appearing overnight like a shock to the very cells of your body, as if he hadn't been there the whole time.
Watching them fall in love with each other had been a car crash. It was denial and avoidance and constant irritation, to the point of you wondering at one point if you'd all need to break your lease together. It was clumsy encounters in the kitchen and embarrassment turned to arguments, faces red with something that couldn't possibly be anger.
It was wondering why neither of them would get jealous when the other would spend time with you. Wondering why they would only find excuses to be there, too. Why they would examine you with curious eyes, watching how you'd act around the other man.
It was Kei blurting out that he knew you and Tobio had kissed, and Tobio radiating heat from the humiliation. It was Tobio snapping that Kei should just kiss you, too, if he was that obsessed. It was you, trembling with nerves as you'd agreed with one, single stipulation: that Tobio and Kei do the same.
That night had ended in your bed, murmured confessions and sex that felt like falling in love.
It was easy to fall in love.
But that doesn't mean every day is perfect.
—
It would have been fine any other day. You're used to him, to the way he chooses to care for you. You're used to the cutting voice and the rolled eyes and the irritating, little smirk that you fell for all those months ago.
But you've just gotten out of the work day from hell.
Your boss is an egotistical maniac who gets off on torturing his employees, and his boss is a walking, talking, perverted HR violation. And you've just had the distinct pleasure of dealing with both of them in their worst moods. You and your co-workers had banded together, heads down and work output high, check-ins made through passing eye contact and texts from the bathroom.
So, yes, maybe you'd forgotten to drink a lot of water and eat a normal amount of lunch. Maybe you have a killer headache and hunger pangs, and maybe you're in a shit mood. Maybe you want nothing more than to curl up on the couch and have your two tall, beautiful boyfriends pamper you like the princess you want to be.
Maybe, as you're shouldering the apartment door open, energy low and head throbbing painfully, you're hoping for a hug and a kiss on your forehead and maybe a foot massage.
But that's not what's on the other side of the door.
"Jesus, what happened to you?" Kei asks, examining you from the kitchen counter as he prepares dinner. "You look like you got run over and then arrested for standing in the way of the truck."
You give him a weak smile. "Creative, Kei. Thank you." Your lunchbag is heavy when you drop it on the counter, the noise of it clearly telling him that your containers are still full.
He lifts a brow. "You didn't eat?"
"No time."
"You get a break time, don't you?" he snorts, shaking his head, his knifework quick and easy. "You never use it right."
You feel the tick of irritation in the back of your mind, throbbing in time with your headache. "I didn't have time-"
"What's going on?"
You turn, finding Tobio as he emerges from the steaming bathroom, wet hair plastered to his forehead and skin flushed with heat. You just smile, because you know at least that he'll baby you. That's all you want. You just want to be babied.
"Hi, baby," you sigh, smiling up at him as he approaches. His smile is small and warm, and his eyes betray how nervous you still make him. He presses a kiss between your eyebrows.
"Oh, so he's baby and I'm just Kei, is that it?" Kei teases, his normal style of poking at your nerves. You can tell, even now, because he's smiling to himself as he does it. But you're not in the mood, so you just clench your fists and try to regulate your breathing.
"Yes, Kei, because you're being an asshole," you try to joke, your voice tight in your throat.
Tobio takes your side, just like he always does. "Stop being an asshole-"
"I'm not being an asshole!" Kei laughs, the sound loud and sharp. "She doesn't eat right at work, so she comes home crabby and hangry." Your emotional regulation starts to fail at his words, your heartrate rising and a prickle stinging behind your eyes. You're not crabby just because you didn't eat. He's minimizing your feelings. "And she probably didn't drink water, either," he continues, completely clueless to your mood shift. If he would just look up at you — if he weren't busy making dinner like the good boyfriend you know that he is — he would know you can't handle the taunting right now. You just need him to look at you.
"Babe," you try, your shoulders tense. Tobio's hand slides up the length of your spine, and you feel his eyes on your face. "I didn't have time, I told you-"
He's not listening, too busy doing his usual routine with that little smirk on his face. "She's dehydrated and hangry, even though we pack her lunch and water bottle every day, and then she wonders why she's in a bad mood-"
"Just stop!" you bark, damn near stomping your foot.
To his credit, he does stop. Right away, in fact. The moment he hears the snap of your tone, the pitch of your voice. He stops, eyes flying to your face.
To his credit, he realizes right away that you're in a terrible mood and that tonight wasn't the night for his usual game.
Because he's a good boyfriend, you try to remind yourself. He's a good man.
But you're tired, you're hungry, you're sad that it seems like you're not grateful for your boyfriends sending you off every morning with a wonderful lunch and a wonderful cup of coffee and a wonderful, expensive water bottle full of ice cold water just the way you like it.
All you'd wanted was a hug, a kiss, and maybe some affection. And now you're standing in the kitchen fighting off tears because you couldn't self-regulate fast enough to combat what would normally be a perfectly good banter session.
"I wanted to eat," you complain. "And I did drink water. I drank it all, but I couldn't refill the fucking bottle because I didn't want to get my boss's attention and because his boss kept looking at my ass whenever I would go anywhere! I even tried not to go to the bathroom as much!"
Kei is stunned, the knife sitting limply in his palm. Tobio's hand is firm against your spine, warm and safe.
You can see the battle in Kei's eyes. He's not good at confrontation, he never has been. He's always snippy and his ego is big enough that he struggles to admit when he's gone too far. But he's gotten better with you. In fact, he's always been better about it with you. He's never been too sharp with you, and he's only gotten softer over time.
That's why he folds almost the exact moment that your brows start to crinkle in that telltale way. It's why he drops the knife and approaches you with his hands out, like he's trying to reach you.
"Babe-"
You smack his hands away. You're tempted to keep going, to keep yelling about your awful day and your terrible headspace. But you know it won't help, that it'll only make both of you feel worse, so you just shrug his comfort away. You're upset that he wouldn't listen, and you're ashamed that you reacted so strongly.
So you do the only thing you can think of. You turn to Kageyama.
You don't see the way Kei deflates. You just push your face into Tobio's chest and sigh, feeling the expanse of his palms against your back and arms. Feeling the way he tangles one of his hands into your hair as he uses the other to gesture to Kei over your head.
"Just-" he starts. You feel his voice rumbling all around you. "Just fuck off for a little bit."
"Y/n," Kei tries again. You feel his fingers brush against the back of your shirt. They're always a little bit pointier, a little bit colder than Tobio's.
"Kei." Tobio's voice is warm, melting into your headache like honey, pulling it away. "Give her a minute."
And then he whisks you away, all fingers and voice and guidance. "Just close your eyes," he whispers, taking over. You do as he says, the same way he does as you say when he's in a similar place — lost and upset and hurt by things that shouldn't.
You rest your eyes, feeling the gentle push and pull of his touch, of his voice. "Lift," he murmurs into your hair, peeling your clothes away from your body and tossing them somewhere unseen and unneeded. "Hold my hand," he breathes, leading you along to the bathroom, still steaming from his shower. "Relax," he coaxes, leaving you only to fill the tub with fresh water. The room heats again, and you smell the scent of your favorite bath bomb, the one from your overcrowded basket that Tobio is normally too afraid to navigate.
You only open your eyes when he tells you to, all too touched to find that doting look in his eye. That look that scans you quietly but earnestly. Lovingly, even in his silence.
He doesn't say anything else, just helping you into the bathtub. He grabs one of your clips, very clumsily pulling your hair back.
"Sorry," he mumbles. "I suck at this."
You don't let him see how emotional you're getting, though you get the sense he can tell anyway. "'s perfect."
He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, and you let out a watery laugh when he bites down gently on your skin.
"'ll be back," he whispers. "Just relax." As he's leaving, he calls back, a grin peeking out. "Don't fall asleep and drown, though."
You laugh again, holding it together just until the door creaks shut.
You hide your face in your hands to cry, just so they can't hear it.
You feel terrible. You know that Kei is struggling, that he'd been blindsided by your reaction. And it's true that he probably could have paid more attention, but you can't really blame him. Not when this is normal, when jokes and nights like these are normal.
But it's always hard to solve issues between you and Kei.
With Tobio, one of you always caves first. And not in a 'You win, I lose,' kind of way. It never feels like that. It only ever feels like relief, because tension with Tobio results in an echoing, lonely feeling in your chest. One that only he can fill. And he's always too willing to give you space, even if he feels the same emptiness. He always wants to defer to you, because he's always been insecure about giving you what you need. So it's always you to give in first, quiet hands and watery eyes and a deep, yearning relief when he's all too eager to pull you back to him.
But with Kei, it's never that simple. It's never heartbreak that's solved with just a look and mutual apologies.
It's turmoil and frustrated sighs and an internal argument between your ego and your desire to make up with him.
But you feel so tired, and you feel so bad. You don't want to drag this out, and you're not even sure that you could. Your ego isn't here. You don't need drawn out tension and the frustration of skirting around each other because neither of you wants to give in.
You just need Kei.
—
You do end up falling asleep in the bath.
Tobio comes to collect you after half an hour, but you don't stir until you're already in his arms, soaking wet and ruining his clothes. You make a noise of confusion as he wraps you in a towel.
"Told you not to fall asleep," he jokes. "You're all wrinkly. Like a rat."
You groan, too tired to be offended. He just laughs and takes you out into the living room.
"Kei?" you mumble, still half-asleep.
"He's in the bedroom," Tobio's voice rumbles, through your skin and chest. "He's just giving you a little space."
You frown. "He didn't do anything."
"I know," he concedes. "But he did. Kinda."
You don't know what to do with that.
"So he's just giving you a little space," he sighs, sitting down with you in his lap. There's a bowl of pasta on the table. Your eyes sting a little when you see it.
"Kei?" you call again, sagging into Tobio's hold. He presses a kiss to your head.
"Yeah. Think he's tryna say sorry," he whispers.
You try to get up. Kei shouldn't be alone in the room, not while you're out here eating dinner that he made. But Tobio just pulls you back, towel wrapped tight around you and pasta bowl set firmly in your hands.
"Eat." When you start to protest, he hugs you tighter. "Just eat. You won't feel better until you do."
It's delicious. It's perfect. It's almost impossible to eat. But you eat it, because Kei made it.
And then you cry.
It's not like you had gotten into a serious relationship argument. It's not like he'd treated you poorly or made you feel small after realizing what the issue is.
You're just tired. Tired and overwhelmed and wanting your boyfriend more than anything in the world.
So when Tobio carries you through the apartment in the direction of your bedroom, you let him. You let him and hope that the Kei you find on the other side is also willing to ignore his ego tonight.
The Kei you find on the other side is stiff with tension. He's sprawled across the bed, scrolling on his phone hollowly. It's obvious he's not actually watching anything. He's dissociating too much.
When you're carried through the door, he sits up with a jolt.
"Hi." His voice is soft when he says it, so much softer than usual. Soft in that way it only gets when he's trying not to go too far.
You're damp and your hair is tangled and your skin is flushed. Your eyes are watery and hurt and full of yearning.
"Kei," you whisper. Tobio sets you on the bed, still wrapped tight in your towel and looking all too weak. "'m sorry. I was in a bad mood-"
"Nah," he breathes, sitting close and threading his fingers through the damp, messy hair at the nape of your neck. "I was an asshole-"
"You weren't-"
"I was," he insists. When he tugs you close, you lean in, grateful for his warmth. The mattress sinks down on your other side, and then Tobio's mouth presses against your bare shoulder. You see his hand press into Kei's knee, caging you in. Kei just keeps your eyes on him. "I shouldn't have started joking. I saw how tired you were. I should have checked on you first, without fucking around."
You pout up at him. "It's usually okay. I promise."
You catch what you think is a glimpse of something fragile in his expression, but he blinks it away.
"Okay," he mumbles. "How was dinner?"
You groan and lurch forward, arms snapping around his neck and clinging tight. When your towel falls away, his hands find your waist.
"Alright," he chokes, helping you as you clamber into his lap. "That good, huh?"
You push your mouth against his, reveling in the way his groan vibrates through his chest and into yours. His tongue flattens against the seam of your lips just by habit, and you're eager to let him in. His breath warms the inside of your mouth, even as he's pulling away.
"Wait, hang on," he pants, trying to put some distance between you. You don't let him, settling into his lap with the certainty of a woman who knows what she needs. He laughs, half-pained, and shakes his head. You can see him struggling not to take in the sight of your body. "I don't wanna take advantage of this. You had a bad day-"
You just pull him into another kiss. "Exactly. I had a bad day." You card your fingers thrugh his hair and tug lightly. His mouth falls open and his grip on your body gets tighter. "Make it better, Kei. Please?"
He glances urgently to the side, and you follow it, watching Tobio meet Kei's eyes. They communicate silently, nothing more than a lift of Tobio's brows and a weak grunt from Kei.
And then you're on your back, the breath knocked out of you as Kei climbs over you. His eyes trail down the length of your body and then find you again, full of appreciation and gratitude. His fingers trace circles into your skin, soft and ticklish.
"You sure?"
You roll your eyes and look to Tobio for help. "Will you tell him, please?"
Tobio just grins down at you, sweet despite the obvious heat in his eyes. "She wants you to take care of her." And then he stares at the side of Kei's face, his smile becoming a little bit evil. "Think you can do that, or should we swap places?"
"Shut up," the blond grunts. He slides down the mattress, ignoring your noise of surprise, and wraps his hands around the undersides of your thighs.
"Wha-"
"Shh," he murmurs, pressing his mouth against your inner thigh. He drags you close, arms curling up and over the tops of your thighs. He pushes you down into the mattress until you can't wriggle away, teeth grazing your sensitive skin lovingly. He's teasing you, the tip of his tongue somehow even warmer than the post-bath warmth between your legs.
"Kei," you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows and watching him. His eyes flick up to yours, and his smile wide against your skin when you let out a quiet moan at the impossibly beautiful sight of Tsukishima Kei on his knees for you.
On his knees is how he takes you, sliding to the edge of the bed and dragging you with him. Throwing your legs over his shoulders and burying his face between your thighs. Moaning against you when you cry out and fall back onto the mattress, your arms crossing weakly over your eyes.
His mouth is searing hot against your core, tongue sliding through your folds with a reverence you never knew was possible. Lewd noises bounce off the walls, and not a single ounce of you can tell if it's because he's just that good at unraveling you or if it's because you can literally feel him drooling all over your cunt. The thought that he's that far gone has you clenching around nothing, your thighs tightening around his head.
"Fuck, Kei," you pant. One hand flies down and tangles in his hair, yanking hard with every suck of your clit into his mouth. He groans, his own hand covering yours and squeezing tight.
"'s it," he grunts. "Use me. Use me to make your day better." A whine, desperate and needy, falls past your lips. Your hips start to roll against his face, and your heart flies into your throat and ears when he laughs into you. "There you go, pretty. Keep going," he rumbles. And then he presses his tongue flat against your folds, panting on your skin as you roll your hips into his mouth. Each jerk of your body pushes your clit against his tongue, over and over again until your breath is caught in broken, needy whines in your throat.
And then, when you're not paying enough attention — because you never are with them — Tobio leans down over your body and takes one of your nipples in his mouth.
You cry out, eyes flying open and legs clamping tight around Kei's head. He grunts, a laugh following as he watches you react to Tobio. You can see Kei through the dark strands of Tobio's hair, but it's Tobio's eyes flicking up to watch you, too, that makes your skin break out in goosebumps.
Gold and cobalt, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. Dedicated, committed to you.
When you come, it's with an arch of your back that has Tobio gripping your waist with one hand just so he doesn't fly off. It's with a clench of your thighs so tight that Kei's hands grip hard to your hips, fingertips pushing bruises into your skin. It's with one hand yanking hard on Kei's hair while the other falls to the mattress and searches to cover the hand that Tobio's using to palm himself.
Both men grunt and pant against you as you cry out for them, gold and cobalt watching you like there's nothing else in the word worth looking at.
You're trembling by the time it's over, thighs and fingers sore from the strain. Tobio and Kei are flushed with effort, breathing hard as they hover over you. Tobio looks proud, proud to see the tension of this day leave your body all at once. But it's Kei whose eyes you find, because it's Kei who you want to check.
He looks relieved, like he's also glad to see the tension leave your body but that he's more glad it was him who could do it for you. He also looks a little nervous, like he's not sure it was enough.
Tobio sees it too, climbing off of you and settling onto the mattress behind you, his back against the headboard.
"C'mere," he breathes, beckoning you to him. You go on shaky legs, all but pulling yourself to him with your arms. Kei helps you there, his palms warm on your skin and his mouth pressing to any part of you that he can reach while you move. When you try to straddle Tobio's thighs, he just turns you by the hips and drags you down into his lap. Your back falls against his chest, and you look up at him as best as you can, your eyes wide. He just gestures to Kei, who's equally confused. "You, too. C'mere."
Kei just gives him a look. "I'm not sitting in your lap, asshole."
Tobio's fingers snag Kei's jeans by the belt loops. "Just take your clothes off, you idiot."
You giggle, exhausted and a little delusional, and start to undo Kei's jeans. He helps you, fingers squeezing around yours and his head dipping every few seconds so he can catch your mouth with his. By the time he gets his jeans and boxers off, you've got one hand wrapped around his cock and the other tangled in his hair again, and he's got his tongue shoved down your throat while Tobio plays idly with your nipples.
The slide of his cock through your folds is slick and wet and loud, and it would be humiliating — Tobio has his hands hooked around your thighs and is holding your legs wide open — if not for the simultaneous moans falling out of their mouths. Your eyes flutter open, watching the way Tobio stares down your body and the way Kei's pupils dilate when he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance.
Your head falls limp against Tobio's shoulder as Kei pushes inch by inch of himself into you. You wriggle your hips, the way you always have to because they're both a little difficult to adjust to. Your ears are ringing and your head is spinning, made worse when you watch, bleary-eyed, as Kei pushes his mouth roughly against Tobio's. He tugs Tobio's bottom lip between his teeth and then shoves his tongue into his mouth, moaning as he bottoms out inside of you.
When he pulls away, Tobio drops his mouth open and lets his tongue fall out expectantly. Kei's cock throbs hard inside of you, pulling a whine out of you, but you still watch, because you would never want to miss the way Kei rolls his tongue around the inside of his own mouth. You would never want to miss the way he lets his tongue hang over Tobio's, the way his saliva slides down his tongue and falls onto Tobio's. You would never want to miss the way Tobio swallows it down with a grin so evil that Kei's hand snaps out and grips him hard by the cheeks.
"Fucking asshole," Kei bites, his cheeks flushed with desire and his eyes glazed over. His ears are burning pink, but you know that's only because he can feel you reacting to the sight. He can feel you seeing right through him, seeing what Tobio does to him.
He always takes it out on Tobio, because he would never take it out on you.
In fact, when his attention comes back to you, it's gentle. He still has Tobio's face in his hand, but his other hand is coming down to lie flat against your stomach. You both watch as he slides his hips back and then nudges them forward. You both watch as his hand lifts, because his cock is making your stomach bulge against him. You both moan, just like you always do, because you'll never get tired of it.
His pace never increases. He doesn't snap his hips like he usually does, and he doesn't grip you tight or manhandle you or put you in positions that make you burn with embarrassment.
He just holds you gently and rocks his hips with a soft, slow rhythm. It's torture, because your head is spinning and your nerves are stretching like taffy, slow and warm just like every stretch of your cunt around Kei's cock.
His hands wander your body lovingly, nails scraping against your skin and fingers gripping the underside of your chin. He forces you to look up at him, watching with wonder as your body bounces softly with every pulse of his hips.
"I was too mean tonight, huh?" he whispers, eyes searching yours. You furrow your brows and shake your head, but he doesn't give you the chance to talk. "I was, wasn't I? I wasn't careful with my girl's feelings tonight."
Your breath catches in your throat, and you're overwhelmed with both the feeling of him fucking you slow and the feeling of his eyes searching your soul the way that only he can.
"My pretty girl just wanted to come home and be loved," he continues, his pace picking up just slightly, like he's growing frustrated with himself again. "I didn't love her right."
You whine. "You always love me right," you whisper. He shakes his head.
"I could have loved you better tonight," he breathes. You catch that glimpse of something fragile in his eyes again. "'m I still good enough, baby?"
Your fingers wrap around his wrist, squeezing tight. "You're more than good enough, Kei."
"Still love me?"
"I'll always love you."
He groans, his hand slipping off your chin and sliding across your collarbones. He rests his palm against the base of your throat, fingers wrapped loosely around your neck. He doesn't squeeze or grip your throat at all, not like he usually does. He just lets his hand rest there, like he's reminding himself that you're his. That this is his.
You push your throat up into his palm, just in case he starts to forget again.
It's Tobio who moans, quiet and vulnerable as he watches you. As he watches the way you love Tsukishima Kei, so different from the way you love Kageyama Tobio. But the love is the same — full and whole and with everything you have.
When Kei's hips stutter and then push forward, his pace climbing steadily — desperately — Tobio presses his lips to the crook of your neck.
"Tell him again," he whispers, starting to suck on that spot. His fingers knead at your breasts, eager and urgent.
You wiggle your hips, feeling that blissful impact of Kei's cock smacking up against your g-spot and crying out when the feeling radiates across your whole body.
"Love you, Kei."
"Again," Tobio grunts. His fingers thumb at your nipples, tweaking and tugging and rolling them with the exact pressure you need.
"L-Love," you pant, clenching around Kei every time he bottoms out. "I love you, Kei."
"Me, too," Kei grunts through his teeth, flushed and warm. "I love you, too."
"Again," Tobio bites. When you glance up, he's staring into Kei's eyes. "Say it again."
Kei's pace breaks again, his eyes searching Tobio's with embarrassment. "I-"
"Oh, god," you breathe, overwhelmed by them. Overwhelmed by Kei and the things he's doing to your heart, to your body. Overwhelmed by Tobio and the way he chooses to take care of you, to take care of both of you.
Overwhelmed by the way both their eyes snap down to you the second you start to fall over the edge, your spine tightening and your body twitching in their arms.
Gold and cobalt, warm on your skin.
—
When you wake, it's in the dark of your bedroom and in the hold of someone's arms. His fingers are pointy, a little cold when he drags them down your skin, and his chest is warm against your back.
"Kei," you breathe. He hums into your bare shoulder, his breath warm. Your body feels a little sore, and you feel full of him.
He hasn't pulled out yet.
You clench at the realization, hearing when he swallows hard and breathes out shakily. But when you start to move your hips, he steadies you, shaking his head.
"Mm-mm," he sighs, holding you closer. "Jus' wanna feel you."
Your heart races in your chest, full of love and want. "Did you at least finish?"
He smiles into your hair. "Of course I did. Right where you like it."
Your cheeks burn at the loving taunt, even as you feel the warmth still spilling out between your thighs. "Asshole."
He snorts. "Not quite, but maybe next time." He just laughs when you elbow him.
You turn your head to look at him. "Tobio?"
His lips brush against your cheek. "Sent him to get you ice cream." When you perk up, his grin widens. "Told him if he gets you two pints, he can have me next."
You laugh, your body melting into his. "You sold your body for ice cream?"
"Two pints of it," he murmurs. It's quiet for a moment, one where he just drags his lips over your skin while he thinks. "I really am sorry, by the way. For earlier."
You curl your fingers around his and pull the back of his hand to your mouth. "Me, too," you say between kisses.
Neither of you says more than that, because neither of you needs to.
You just fall asleep together, until Tobio comes through the door with way more than two pints of ice cream.
SYNOPSIS. UH OH! It seems like the world has found out that ng11 Itoshi Sae is dating someone. Not only was he dating, but he was dating you! A world-class idol beloved by fans. Some disagree with this pairing, while some are just confused. But, it seems like love isn't impossible for all, even for the cold, blunt and frankly rude midfeilder.
TAGS. ITOSHI SAE X IDOL!(F)READER, oneshot, just full of fluff and happiness, written in both reader's and sae's POV in some sections, use of y.n., sae might be ooc, spelling mistakes and grammar issues.
WC. 2.9k
FC FOR MEDIA POSTS. Kim Jennie from BLACKPINK
AUTHOR'S NOTES. hello...bonjour....hola.....it's been a while hehe........anyways, since the world cup is literally tomorrow and i got back into BLUE LOCK, i though this would be the appriooate time for me to post something. but in all serious, if you guys want, i will post something on why i have been on a hiatus (atp can i even call it that?) for YEARS. thank you so much for everyone that has been waiting, i love you all and i hope this piece isn't a disappointment.
People were surprised (actually, they were more horrified) when it was revealed on the gossip tabloids that Itoshi Sae was dating someone, let alone dating one of the most famous idols, you.
The moment went viral on Twitter, with tweets ranging from pure denial because of how different both of you were in personality to your careers to supportive ones where people wished you happiness, to the obviously malicious tweets that were wishing on the downfall of the relationship because it was 'distracting you both from your careers'.
However, as time went by and your relationship gradually showed itself through small moments, the world learned to accept that this was the one that would last.
This was how the world learned that you and Sae were the real deal.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Through the small moments from your vlogs.
As an idol, it was important for you and your brand to keep your fans updated once in a while. It didn't have to be constantly to the point where it was every day, but enough to make sure your fans didn't think you were dead (oops….am I talking about myself here hehehe).
Vlogs were your way to stay connected to your fans. However, you are not going to deny that this was your way of living the 'YouTuber' life you dreamed of as a kid when you waited for your favourite vlogger to post, but it was amazing content for your fans.
The videos mainly contained 'behind the scenes' moments when you were preparing for your solo/group album and activities, or you were sightseeing abroad when you were on tour, where your bandmates, producers and staff members would commonly appear on camera. However, if fans were to start watching the vlogs from oldest to latest, it was quite obvious that Mr ‘The Prodigy’ Itoshi Sae was in your life a lot longer than people expected.
˖°📷༘ video 2: Madrid Vlog
"It's really sunny today," you mentioned softly, as you recorded the streets of Madrid. It was around mid-morning, when residents had most likely finished their breakfast and were now off to work. Yet, you were here admiring how beautiful the architecture was in the sun, especially since the houses were more colourful than in Japan, and with the greenery, Madrid was beautiful in the morning.
Suddenly, the camera panned around back to you, revealing your smiling face for a second before the video transitioned to the next clip, where you were now situated at a restaurant. In this clip, you were seen chatting with someone (where fans thought it was your manager at the time) before you both surprisingly ordered in decent Spanish, with the next clip presenting the food when it had arrived, with a suspicious hand on the other side of the table with two white and black bracelets, grabbing their glass of water.
Later on in the video, there was a segment that fans were punching themselves for not noticing that you and Sae were a thing.
"Can you hold the camera, please?"
You were giggling, while fans heard a sigh behind the camera, but it seemed like your manager…? accepted your request, as you handed the camera to them before asking if you were far enough to show the top half of your outfit. It seemed like you had trained your manager well since they were perfectly handling the shots as you were explaining your OOTD before providing a cinematic view of you with the scenic background.
"You look pretty." The voice was definitely trying to be quiet, but the camera managed to catch it. However, before fans could even analyse the scene any further, the video presented the next clip at La Tienda De Los Deseos, where you could be seen tying your wish within the array of papers surrounding the red shop door, before the next clip showed you ringing the bell.
You never showed your wish.
@.user1. now she knew damn well that we don't know anything about football because this was too obvious as hell
@.user2. I wonder what she wished for because I know FOR SURE it's a ring from her "manager"
@.user3. she was in madrid, but there wasn't a concert or anything scheduled at that time SO SHE WENT TO GO SEE HIM
@.user4. we should have realised when she was speaking in spanish, HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN DATING??????
@.user5. her and his pr team must have been sweating for years and somehow they got away with this
˖°📷༘ video 7: Japan Vlog
At the start of the video, it was just a regular vlog where you were showing your day-to-day activities since it was your day off, but what really caught the fans' eyes was the section where you were going through the gifts from your sponsors. Luxury fashion houses, high-end jewellery companies and sports brands you were the ambassadors for, and people loved these vlogs the most, yet they were in for a surprise.
The next clip showed you pushing a rather large parcel box into frame. However, what surprised the fans was that there were no logos or any fancy packaging when it came to the mailbox. It was just a regular, large brown mail box.
"This was sent to me by my friend," you explained while carefully using a box cutter through the tape. "They sent me a few things from Spain and other places they travelled," you continued, "I wanted a few snacks too, but they kept lecturing me on how unhealthy they were."
Tilting the box slightly towards the camera, there was an array of trinkets, other enclosed parcels and the supposed 'unhealthy snacks' that this friend said they weren't going to get. Through the small camera screen, you noticed a small envelope on top of the gifts and placed the parcel back down.
"Aww, they wrote a letter," you open the envelope to find a small postcard of Madrid before taking a quick glance at the content. A few seconds have passed before you smile softly as you address the anticipating audience, "yeah, I can't show this on camera, hehe".
After that, the rest of the video only showed some of the content you have received from this well-versed travelling friend of yours.
@.user1. is that….a Re Al jersey in that box?
@.user2. SHOW US THE LETTER MANNNNNNNNNN
@.user3. There are more snacks in there than I can count, omg
@.user4. omg they got her Ruffles in the Jamon flavour, they are my childhood
@.user5. they also got her principe cookies, and they said they weren't going to get her snacks lol
@.user6. wow sae really does love her man, he got her everythinggggg
˖°📷༘ video 15: Japan + Football Vlog
This was your most anticipated vlog yet, and that was because it was after the news broke out that you and Mr Sae Itoshi were dating. Even though people have already seen snippets of your relationship through very small moments from your previous vlogs, this is where they believed you were fully exposing your open secret.
And they assumed correctly.
"Today is Sae's U20 Debut." The camera was panning across the whole Blue Lock Stadium, presenting the wave of excited fans disguised in red, white and blue waves before facing the camera towards you, revealing yourself wearing the U20 Japan jersey.
"He told me I didn't need to come, but I couldn't miss his national debut." You smiled, before turning the camera again when the display screen showed his portrait, congratulating him on his debut before presenting his teammates. "I know he's going to do well, but I can't help but feel nervous," you mentioned before giggling at your comment, "he would say I'm worrying for nothing."
After that clip, the video continued with the camera remaining on your face since you knew filming the match could have consequences. However, the one time you did flip the camera was to show the aftermath of Sae's goal, with the display screen relaying his fantastic goal, but also the crowd chanting his name like crazy.
"Wow, even people don't chant my name like that in concerts, " you joked before placing the camera back in its original position, while laughing at your own joke.
What fans really loved throughout this whole vlog was how excited you were and cheering him on, while looking fashionable in how you had styled your outfit with the jersey, even though it was the dead of winter.
@.user1. wowowow you can tell she really loves him
@.user2. you know in the highlights of this match, you can see sae totally trying to find her in the crowd
@.user3. OMG FINALLY OUT IN THE OPEN???? after all those secretive vlogs, it was worth it
@.user4. WAIT GUYS SHE HAS A MINI SAE PLUSH ON HER BAG FROM THE MERCH SHOP AT THE STADUIMMM HOW CUTEEEE
⊹ ࣪ ˖ His Instagram Posts
The fact that Sae had an Instagram was a miracle in itself. Yet, that doesn't change the fact that it seemed like a mandatory thing for football players to have, so that was his limit when it came to social media.
However, ever since your relationship had become public, his fans couldn't help but notice him starting to post a bit more often (he would post like every 3 months). At first, it was just reposting posts from his football club's official account on his story. Then, it slowly transitioned onto his own pictures with a certain someone's songs as their audio.
What made it more evident that your presence has affected his Instagram was when he posted his first dump, and you were included…maybe included too many times.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ You both somehow make time for each other, even with your busy schedules.
It's no surprise that both of you are busy. With Sae being busy with his new endeavours with the Japanese football association regarding Blue Lock, and you were busy with sudden multiple fashion shows you were invited to, with the addition of the production of your new album. Yet, somehow, through your small social media posts, fan tweets and media coverages, fans start seeing you and Sae together more and more.
January 16th
Last year, it was your group's latest tour, and you had finally landed in Japan during your Asia stop. You recall telling Sae that he didn't need to come since he already went to the Spain dates, yet in true Sae fashion, he didn't listen and found himself backstage with you, a few minutes before the show started.
"You didn't need to come," you murmured, as you fixed your makeup, preparing for the stage that was starting in 20 minutes. Taking a peek through the mirror's reflection, you couldn't help but notice how your boyfriend was staring back at you with an annoyed expression.
"Who said I was going to listen?" he says, before casually placing a large bouquet of flowers on one of the tables. "I had some time to spare."
Lying ass, the concert was over two hours, and he knew it. However, you couldn't really change his mind; he was already here with his 'spare time', and it's not like you had already booked off the VIP balcony for him with your family. Yeah, you totally weren't ecstatic that he was here today.
Sighing at his response, you quickly turned towards him before looping your arms around his waist. "Thank you for the flowers," you smiled, placing a quick kiss upon his cheek before pulling yourself closer towards him.
"What's wrong with you?" his voice flat, but with a hint of concern.
"What?" you say, giggling into his chest. "Am I not allowed to be nervous before my performance?"
"Are you stupid?" Sae said seriously, causing you to burst out laughing.
Your staff and bandmates around you were a hundred per cent confused about the whole interaction. How can a boyfriend ask something so rude of his girlfriend, nonetheless, the same girlfriend who was going to perform in front of 55,000 people for the next three nights? Yet, your reaction was the most confusing to them. How can you even laugh at the question? However, you knew that this was Sae's way of asking, 'Why are you nervous when you have performed the same set for the past six months?'
That was how your Sae was.
May 13th
The Bernabeu was packed today. But that was a stupid statement. When was it never packed when it came to match day, especially with Re Al.
You were currently situated at the VIP box, where all the players' friends and family usually reside, standing against the balcony as the whistle blew, concluding the match with Re Al winning 4-1, with Sae scoring one and assisting two. Watching the aftermath of the match, you notice Sae resting his hands on his hips, taking a breather, before looking up towards the crowd, scanning closely towards the section you were in.
Making your presence known, you quickly gave a big wave towards the field, hoping to quickly notify him where you were, which he quickly caught. Not caring about the crowd's reaction, Sae quickly gave you a wave back before making his way towards the exit. Yet it seemed like his teammates were not going to let what he did slide, as they quickly gathered around him, wondering who he was waving to and why did it looked like he smiled for a second….wait, he smiled?
Luckily for him, none of the cameras for the league's streaming service or fan cameras managed to catch his 'smile', but you knew from your heart that he definitely smiled, even after he told you there was no need to come to today's match.
But who were you to listen, just like he mentioned at your concert?
⊹ ࣪ ˖ He was your no. 1 fan and isn't afraid to show it…..quietly, of course.
After the U20s’ ruffle with Oliver for this ex-girlfriend's 'overnight' bag, all five decided to further explore the midfielder's bag.
"Don't you think you've explored enough?" Oliver questioned, watching Sendo rummaging through Sae's bag. Yet, all fell on deaf ears when they found Sae's phone.
There was nothing wrong with it; it was just a regular smartphone with a normal black case. What made it surprising was his background. It was a photo of a girl, at what seemed to be a beach in Spain, in a white summer dress, crouching down collecting seashells, but her face wasn't visible.
"Do you think that's his girlfriend?" Teppei asked, peering over Sendo's shoulder, examining the photo. However, it seemed like the Ace of the U20s didn't want to believe it. "THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL THAT'S HIS GIRLFRIEND!" his voice loud, before going back to ransacking Sae's sports bag to search for some dirt.
Next, it was a black metal tumbler.
"Now that looks like an expensive tumbler," Kazuma stated. He was correct. It was an expensive one, and that was because it was a collaboration between you and the famous drinkware company. Sendo and Oliver recognised it, but why did the Itoshi Sae have it? Wasn't this bottle supposed to be coming out next month? And why did he choose this design? And why did he have the bottle again, he wasn't a sponser of this company?
"Ohhh, so the lil genius gets stuff early…." Oliver snatched the bottle from Sendo's grasp, examining the bottle's floral design while Sendo noticed he had a smaller version that came with the collection.
"So he is a fan of hers!" Sendo delightfully grinned, finally finding the dirt he was looking for. "Let's see if there is anything else I can embarrass him with."
As he was going through Sae's bag, Teppei couldn't help but notice that there was something hanging on the other side of the bag. An acrylic card holder was peeking through one of the bag's outside pockets, but what caught the U20s players' eyes was the photocard peeking back at them through the same pocket. Sliding the acyclic card holder out, the photocard revealed to be you. Yet, it wasn't just a random photocard you could get from your new solo album. It was one of the rarest ones you can get from a pop-up that happened a few months ago.
"HOW CAN HE GET THIS PHOTOCARD AND NOT ME?" Sendo screamed, gripping the acrylic by the corners with tears filling the corners of his eyes. "I bought so much stuff from that pop-up, and I only got the common ones," he continued to rant before looking around the room, "I'm stealing this"
"Unfortunately, you are not"
Jumping from the sudden interruption of their mission, all five boys turned around to find Sae, annoyingly looking at them, touching his stuff. Teppei and Miroku, with his phone in hand with your picture still displayed brightly, Oliver still having his hands on his tumbler, where he would be annoyed if he saw a single scratch on it and Sendo with his photocard, while Kazuma was comforting the Ace from his crying fit.
"Get your nasty hands off my girlfriend's picture," Sae commanded before snatching back the photocard and hooking it back on his bag.
"WHAT GIRLFRIEND YOU DELUSIONAL PRINCE"
Let's just say Sendo wasn't happy with the dating news that was released a few days later.
I'm sexually frustrated, and I can demonstrate it if you'd like.
𝄞 synopsis: your best friend, SAE ITOSHI knows you've never been one to have sex, do hookups, or even date. he doesn't want to overstep; he really shouldn't. but you keep looking at him like you want him to teach you, like it's his responsibility. and maybe as your best friend? it is.
𝄞 contains: SMUT, fem!reader, reader has hair, reader has a mom, they r 19, swearing, endless anime references, childhood best friends, family friends & neighbours, experienced!sae, inexperienced!reader, bratty!reader, pussydrunk!sae, posessive!sae, pining, sae teaches reader how to kiss and masturbate, making out, neck kissing, vaginismus (complications with his fingers), clit rubbing while you touch yourself, pussy spitting, pussy eating under the blanket, yapper sae i repeat yapper sae
𝄞 word count: 6.9k + 453 bonus drabble !
𝄞 credits: to @g-gulp for editing, discussing, and making the banner for me! ur so awesome n amazing. other creds to all my irl friends who beta read this...
𝄞 A/N: piggybacking off this post. based off an argument i had w an experienced!sae truther... also i took inspo's from @dotlusional's 'kiss' w katsuki! it was amazing!
"Okay, it's embarrassing, but I haven't really kissed anyone before."
"That's not surprising in the slightest."
"What? Hey!"
Sae had always been the blunt type; you knew of that. Ever since you were children, he would wave away the kind reporters asking him questions with a harsh 'Go away', take trophies and medals wherever he walked, and speak like he was better than everyone else.
Nobody told him he shouldn't talk like that to people — especially to adults and teachers. That language like that wasn't proper etiquette, so he never fixed it.
And you were always the more polite type. Shy, but got along with almost anyone if they spoke first. Kind, chiding him whenever he told another kid to piss off. Pretty, as the years went by and you went from scraped knees and tangled hair to soft skin, girlish fragrances, and the delicate contour of your legs.
He swallowed thickly.
Your legs.
As you got older, you stopped wearing basketball shorts and switched to skirts, then short shorts, then slacks. Frankly, it was hard for him to look away from your thighs. They were plush and soft and ran up the curve of your—
He tore away his gaze from your bare legs resting over the blanket and focused on the TV screen, the fan, and the open window pouring with rain. Anywhere but your tempting skin.
Sae usually doesn't admit these kinds of things, especially not to you, but looks alone? He's astonished that not even one person ever tried hard enough to date you. You're smart, comforting, and nice to look at. If he were to settle down, he would do it with someone like you.
Of course, someone like you.
"I don't mean it like that," he murmured, fixing on your eyes instead. Pretty they were—all round and warm and focused on his. "You reject everyone who's interested in you."
Your index rubs your chin thoughtfully. "That's because..."
"Of your standards. Always on about your anime boys, huh?"
"That is so not funny, Sae!"
"It is a little funny. You're like Rin. He's almost finished his Junji Ito collection."
"Oh, now we're comparing me to Rin—"
"You collect figures and manga."
"They're pretty."
"They're anime boys."
"They're Tomoe, actually. Don't generalise."
"Tomoe is an anime boy."
"You were the one who watched Kamisama Kiss with me!"
"Hmph. Touché."
When was it? The summer before he left for Spain? You were prancing on about your ritualistic tradition of bingeing romance anime with him. There was Kamisama Kiss; Lovely Complex; NANA, which he had to stop because he hated Shoji; and his favourite, Ouran High School Host Club. The blonde male lead, Tamaki, always made him snort into his sleeve as a boy while you shook his shoulder squealing about it.
Anime like that was more up Sae's alley compared to Rin's fixation for horror and suspense, so he quietly cherished those days. Lying on the couch, watching TV in the summer heat, your frame on your stomach next to his, destroying a popsicle stick. It was a much better predicament than watching some porno his teammates had found on a beat-up DVD rental.
After all, he was with you.
You fiddled with your hands as the movie played on. Taxi Driver, for the third time this year. It was his favourite movie, but now that he thought about it, he never asked if it was yours too.
Was it?
You severed his thoughts with a question. "What was the anime you like right now, anyway?"
"The Apothecary Diaries. I like Xiaomao."
"You just like her cause she's like a cat."
"Meow."
You rolled your eyes at his quip. "I wonder what you think of Jinshi, then."
He paused. Sae always had a soft spot for the types of people with an odd backstory, much like Jinshi. It spiced things up compared to all the boring societal bullshit he deals with enough every day. "...I like him too. But he's a little dramatic for my tastes."
"You only like him cause he's pretty."
"Are you slut-shaming me or projecting?"
You snickered. "The former. Is he your type?"
"Not really? What do you think my type is?"
Waving your hands around, you mocked. "Someone hot with a nice ass."
He scoffed, but for some reason, he could feel his jaw clench. "So now you think I'm shallow."
You snorted. "...Yeah."
"Looks aren't everything, y'know. Pretty sure I go by vibe."
You snickered, your hand reaching into the bag of potato chips, his favourite snack that he was banned from eating. Damn you. "Uh huh."
You popped the chip into your mouth; a soft crunch was heard between your teeth, but all he could focus on was the plushness of your lips. He wondered if they felt as delicate as they looked. If they were as untouched as you said. How could that be possible? Look at you—
"Y'know that scene in The Apothecary Diaries where Maomao thinks his dick is a frog?"
He rubbed his cheek, snorting into his palm. "What about it?"
"Do dicks feel like frogs?"
Sae hadn't jerked off enough to remember, and he certainly wasn't going to check. Sighing, he said. "I don't think so? Mine doesn't."
"So why did she think it was a frog?"
"She's never felt a dick before. And it was probably the position. He was on top of her, after all."
You shook your head. "No, she was on top of him."
"Idiot. He was the one who landed on her."
As Sae reached for his phone before you could pointlessly argue about their weird pseudo-sex position, the sheets rustled and—
You climbed on top of him. Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, grinning like you proved something. Your arms were braced on either side of his head, your hair grazing the skin of his cheeks. And your knees—they were braced on either side of his hips, the urge to grab them all too real. Too sweet. Too good.
His breath hitched, magenta bangs poking his forehead as he murmured lowly. "What are you doing?"
Still, his large hands moved to rest on your waist, anchoring himself.
You reached for the phone in his hand, plugging in the password you knew by heart into the screen, fiddling with the phone.
You tilted the glass right before his eyes, it was that stupid frog scene. Maomao was on top of Jinshi, and you were unfortunately correct.
"See! I told you she was on top of him!" You grinned, pulling the phone away.
Before Sae could process what was about to leave his lips, he scoffed. "Are you sure you've never even kissed anyone before?"
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
Fuck.
He grumbled softly. "You're on top of me."
You scowled. "It's how the scene goes—a physical demonstration. And you're dead wrong; I don't feel a frog in this position."
"Cause m'not hard, stupid."
But if you kept yourself there any moment longer, he might be. His dick was already stirring to life in his sweats.
"Pfft— You aren't?"
"Very funny. You're a natural at this."
"At what?"
Sae didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. Ever since you were kids, he had always felt this weird sense of protection towards you. At first, it was the same protection he felt towards his younger brother, Rin, even though you were the same age and probably tougher than him. Then as he grew older and hit that age where some people were more than family, that protection grew into something different. Something familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time.
So he shouldn't overstep; he'd be a horrible, horrible man if he did. But your lips are curved so prettily into a proud smile. Your eyes, the colour and wrinkles of skin, stirred something down his neck and abdomen.
The tingle didn't stop there, blood rushing to his half-hard cock.
Shit.
He already moved to tuck your hair behind your ear, whispering. "Temptation. Wanna gain some experience?"
You paused, eyes blowing wide.
Shit.
The both of you recoiled from each other instantly. Sae had nowhere to run, really, but he threw his head back against the couch, hands twitching, deciding if he should let go of your waist or not. You, on the other hand, completely pulled back. In this new position, it seemed more like you were straddling him than just looming over him.
A flush crept up his neck, his hand moving to cover the lower half of his face. "That was a—"
"Geez, didn't know you could be so bold." You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck.
He blinked, hoping you were another hallucination and he was dreaming in the confines of the Real Madrid training facility. That you were just another illusion tempting him.
No, you were still there. This time, your eyes lit up.
"Hey, that's a great idea, actually!" You leaned in closer again, a bright smile plastered over your mouth as your breaths mingled.
He paused. One second. Then, the next one. His lips twitched expectantly, his cerulean gaze low-lidded and fixed on you.
"...What is?"
"Teaching me how to kiss."
Damn his biology, cock completely twitching to life at your wanton suggestion. "Wha... What?"
"Oh, come on; it's just a little kiss," You whined, nudging his shoulder.
Sae cleared his throat, quickly adjusting the waistband of his sweats. "No."
"You've already kissed like, so many other people. One more wouldn't hurt. And it's for educational purposes."
"There's a difference when I kiss other people," he whispered, his sensual gaze betraying his words. "It's that they're not you."
"Dude, am I that bad?"
Dude? His brows furrowed, his lip curling into a grumble. "Not what I meant."
"Then what?"
The space between you was so thin he could die. Let the couch swallow him whole, and let the hallucination die with him.
Hazy excuses and words scrambled in his mind. "It's just that... We're friends. And your mom wouldn't be exactly happy with me if she knew about this."
You shuffled in your position, hips lifting off his. "...My mom isn't here right now. And we're not kids anymore. I don't need my mom's permission to do things."
Sae inhaled sharply when you pouted, head tilting back and hitting the soft cushioning. Were you going to keep whining about it until he gave in? Pester him and keep pressing yourself against him? God, what if he were going to like it?
Then, you muttered. "...Fine. Not like I wanted to know, anyway."
Ever since you were children, Sae had always been the more disciplined one of you two. When he was renowned as a football prodigy, nutritionists and dietitians quickly came into his life, lecturing him about his dietary restrictions to maintain and grow his build. While you ate Happy Meals and devoured candy every week, Sae had to almost entirely let go of fast food, specifically his favourite—French fries. There was no doubt that he had to let go of many things to be perfect, but then he discovered that perfection was more than a flawed goal. Flawed philosophy. A lie.
But even if he wasn't perfect—nobody was—Sae could have at least shown some semblance of hesitation or discipline, especially when it came to you, someone who was oh so dear to him.
Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you down, his lips brushing your cheek.
One breath.
Then, the second one.
And on the third, his other hand snaked to the back of your neck, the faint blades of baby hair standing up from his touch.
"I'll teach you," Sae whispered, something resembling a low whine pulling from his throat. "Nobody else can."
You swallowed thickly, eyes wide and pouring into his.
"Okay, I trust you."
His lips were twitching and breath uneven as you uttered the words. You might have been some sort of hallucination he imagined to get through the countless gruelling days in Spain. You might have been a fragment of his dream. Who cares? You were still so utterly divine.
After all, you were his favourite girl. His best friend.
Sae didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. But if you didn't learn ruin from him, then someone else would have to teach you. And he knew he was too selfish for that.
One breath. Then, the second one. And on the third, you closed your eyes.
And his lips pressed against yours.
You never thought you would find yourself in this kind of situation.
Sure, younger you had eyes. Sae Itoshi was famous and handsome and rich, but he was off-limits. He was your neighbour. And after Sae moved in Spain for almost three years, you were much closer to Rin than the distant boy since he barely responded to your letters and calls.
Getting involved with Sae would be a betrayal to your dear neighbour and pseudo-son, Rin. You once thought. Sae was annoying anyway.
But then his lips pressed against yours like you were something delicate, and the faint taste of strawberries and honey sent thrills of warmth straight to your core; any semblance of restraint you had melted away, pressing yourself against him firmer—needier.
Then, you pulled away, just enough to peer down at him. His magenta locks were all frizzled up from the cushioning, and his cerulean gaze was half-lidded and fixed on yours.
No, more like on your lips.
"Did I?..." You start, but he cuts you off with a chuckle. "That was just a peck, idiot. Open your mouth."
You blinked.
His cold thumb pressed softly against your bottom lip, pushing the fullness down just enough to part your lips.
"Open your mouth," he whispered again, lower, against your lips. "It feels better this way, I promise."
A soft whine escaped your throat as he pressed his lips against yours again, shocks of electricity shooting down your spine and abdomen. His tongue swiped against yours once, something you assumed was like asking for permission, and your lips completely sealed around his, pressing yourself against him further.
Your hands scrabbled at the collar of his white T-shirt as his tongue prodded in the wet cavern of your mouth. It was gentle, like he was testing if you'd pull back. And when you whined, his tongue dragged slowly over yours, his hands tangling in your hair.
"Mmm—" Sae drawled into your mouth. "Is this okay?"
You panted, your breath mingling with his. "Yeah, yeah—Sae—it's good. Feels good."
"Yeah?" He seared his lips onto yours again, tongue webbing out to rub the roof of your mouth, sending sparks of heat down your stomach. He pulled back again in a quick haze, lips brushing against yours. "Feels good, hm?"
"Feels s'good; is it always this good?" You mewled, pecking his lips before flicking your tongue over his bottom lip, gasping when his mouth parted.
One of your hands gripped his collar, the other cupping the back of his head, tangling between his soft magenta locks. A gentle prick disturbed your bottom lip, caught between his teeth.
It stung a little. And in a normal context, it would even hurt. But it felt so good—so, so good when the sting came from him.
His lips then descended to pressing wet kisses down your jaw, all the way to the column of your neck.
You moaned quietly. His lips were hot—suffocatingly hot to the touch. Burning, like a fire had scorched your skin, but instead of pain, it was bliss.
You felt his lips curl into a faint smile against your warm skin as you craned your head back, exposing more of your neck. Soft groans escaped your throat, your fingers curling hard into his shirt.
His lips settled in the junction between your neck and shoulder, pressing a soft kiss before biting down. Harder than before.
"Sae!—"
"First time it felt this good for me too." He murmured against your skin, slowly thumbing your hips all the way up your waist. "You sure this is your first time?"
A slight flush crept up your neck, turning your head away from him. "You don't have to try and make me feel better, y’know…"
"M'being forreal." He tilted his head to the side, cerulean eyes filled with something you weren't quite used to—mirth. His gaze kept following yours even as you tried to look away. "Don't believe me?"
You pursed your lips sheepishly, your hands moving to rest over his shoulders. "Not really. But I— It's kinda hot in here, isn't it?"
Maybe it was his wet, full lips, or the fact that his lashes were so close you could count the endless, luscious hairs. Maybe it was the soft tingle in your core that tightened with each lingering touch of his hands.
Then, he lifted himself up before gently pushing you off his lap. "You're nervous; I get it. It's because you're on top of me."
He loomed over you, a playful twinkle in his eyes so faint you wouldn't catch on if he weren't your best friend. An annoying kid you forced to be your friend.
Naturally, you pushed yourself back until your back hit the cushions. Blinking up at Sae, who stopped himself short when you lay down, your hand tugged on the hem of his shirt.
You knew what that meant; so did Sae. A silent plea for something more than kissing. A silent prophecy that if he leant down, he wouldn't be able to get back up again.
Fucking Sae Itoshi, the idea of that was too surreal. You knew he had experience, that being a prodigy meant plenty of beautiful men and women threw themselves at his feet. You knew that he lived in an entirely different world from yours for five years, doing who knows what out there.
Still, you wanted him. You wanted him bad.
You frowned. "...Sae."
"This is going a bit far, don't you think?" He said, eyes averting from yours.
"I thought you wanted to."
"...I do."
"Then why are you hesitating?"
"I'm not supposed to touch you like this—"
"But you already have," you cut in. "Why are you acting like I'm some kind of... some kind of nun?"
"Pfft— You kinda are."
"That's not even true!"
"You are really innocent, sweetheart. It's not a bad thing."
You bristled. Sweetheart?
"Sae, c'mon," You tugged harder, watching his jaw clench. "Please."
He muttered. "Don't say that."
"Please."
You tugged on him a little harder, but this time, he let himself fall over you, hands bracing on each side of your head.
He pressed his lips against your forehead once, the action more intimate than you liked to admit. Like he was afraid of breaking you.
"You do know what you're asking for, right?" He whispered against your temple, carefully moving to the shell of your ear. "I don't wanna pressure you into anything."
"I—" You paused, trying to ignore the shivers trickling down your spine. "I want this."
"Are you sure?"
"Sae," you whined. Was he teasing you again? Your chin tilted to face him, your gaze softening at his unsure one. It was so uncharacteristic of him. Completely unlike the impassive boy you grew up with.
"M'sure."
"Okay," he nodded, cheek softly nuzzling against yours. "You're in charge then."
You weren't so sure what he meant, but your eyes shut and carefully found his lips. His kiss was slow and carnal, nose brushing the side of your own and large hands snaking around your waist. He squeezed you so softly, as if it were afraid of your departure, and held you close. So close that his breath felt like your own.
Your hips lifted to accommodate his hands, sliding to paw at your ass. His tongue gently prodded in the expanse of your mouth, darting around before stilling just at the tip of yours.
A noise of confusion escaped your throat as you scrunched his collar.
Sae hummed, laughing quietly against your mouth. "C'mon, kiss me too. You wanted this, right?"
The thought made you squirm beneath him, hands gripping tighter. He gently grasped your wrists and redirected them over his shoulders, coaxing you further.
"Wan' you." You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck. "I do wan' you."
Your lips reconnect, this time slipping into the cavern of his mouth and rolling your tongue against his. The wet friction sent shocks of electricity between your legs. Your tongue prodded behind his teeth before licking the roof of his mouth.
"Don't get shy on me now," he whispered. "Get your tongue deeper."
Your tongue pushed deeper at his words. So warm. So nasty. So fucking good.
He hummed, lips sensually following the pace of your own, hands grazing whatever he could touch. His tongue dragged over yours to poke your inner cheek, laughing when you whined and pulled him closer.
You pulled away breathlessly, only disrupted from his lips chasing yours into one last, searing kiss.
"Sae—" You gasped.
He gently pecked your lips. "Sorry. Got carried away."
You panted, temple pressed against his cheek as you caught your breath. Your thighs rubbed together from the hot ache between your legs, sparking with each fleeting second.
"You're wet, aren't you?"
Your head tilted up, your eyes widening at him. "What?"
Sae was breathless and debauched, his lips swollen and wet from your own, magenta hair dishevelled from your hands, almost revealing the baby bangs he liked to hide after turning sixteen.
"Here," two fingers shakily slipped past to press against your clothed pussy. "Feels good, right?"
You squirmed, fingers clasping around his wrist. "T-That feels good."
"You want me to help you?" He panted, softly thumbing your clothed slit. "You can say no."
"No— I mean, yes."
You paused, eyes darting to the sheets instead of his curious gaze. "...Do you have a condom?"
He was at your place, after all. And frankly, you were gravely underprepared for this kind of situation.
"Idiot," he laughed, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. "We won't be needing that for a while."
The chill of the AC hit your skin when Sae tugged your shorts over your ankle, fingers smoothing over your clothed mound.
"Hm," he mused, tapping his index over the wet patch of your panties. "You're really wet."
His digits were twitching over your pussy, hooking beneath the edge of the cotton fabric. Like the urge to push your panties to the side was killing him.
A flush crept down your neck, gaze settling on the sheets. "No—No shit."
He made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tapping over a particularly sensitive part of yours—one stationed above your hole, twitching when he rubbed it.
Your hips jolted at his touch, his index slowly circling the beady sweet spot. "Mm!—"
Then, his hand pulled away, moving to the curve of your ass. With a gentle tug, he hooked your panties' waistband down. "Up."
Your hips lifted as he tugged away the last remnant of privacy you had. Any semblance of comfort washed away from the cold air and his lingering gaze, the fabric hooking over the same ankle your shorts were.
"Hey, relax." Sae clicked his tongue when you squirmed, his warm hand moving to rest on your knee. "Eyes on me."
You tried to listen, focusing on his collarbones, his shirt, and fragments of his messy hair, but nothing worked. You couldn't meet his gaze, not when he stared at you so intently. Not when he could see every part of you. Not when his fingertips moved to press against your entrance.
Was this really what you imagined fucking Sae would be like? Not like you had imagined it or anything, just out of curiosity. He was never open about his personal life, but it was obvious that there was a side of him you've never seen. The weird phone calls. The weird disappearances. Hearing him curse and belittle others was the normal kind of crudeness you were used to with Sae. It was no doubt he was gentler with you—softer with you.
So to hear him be so blatantly vulgar?
He inched closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
"You say you want me," he started. "Then you do shit like this."
It was bewildering.
You fiddled with your fingers before finally tilting your head to face him, swearing you saw the faintest hint of a smile when he dipped the tip of his middle finger inside.
"Mm, good."
Something like a whimper escaped from your lips, unaware that you were actually able to make those kinds of noises. "S-Shit."
His brows furrowed as his finger gently prodded at your entrance. "You're—" Sae bit his inner cheek pensively, stilling his digits. "You're a little too tight."
You winced, feeling your hole stretch around his finger. "I-It hurts."
He immediately withdrew his finger. "You've touched yourself before, right?"
"Um, yeah? Not really, like this—"
Sae smoothed his hand along the underside of your thigh—an attempt to soothe you. But his eyes were wide and... chiding? "Why didn't you tell me that before?"
"Okay, well, I don't know how this works!"
"Oh my god." He sighed before sitting back. "C'mere."
You chuckled nervously. "To do what?"
"To do it yourself," he chided. "C'mon."
That's when you found yourself in an embarrassingly exposed position, settled right on Sae's lap, his knees stationed right between yours, spreading your legs.
"Can't believe you wanted to fuck before even masturbating..." He murmured, chin hooked over your shoulder.
You swallowed thickly, head turning away. So vulgar. "It's not m'fault I didn't know."
"It's not your fault. Should've prepped you better."
You huffed softly. "So why do I have to do it?"
"Because," his hand gently clasped over your dominant hand's wrist, snaking it down your exposed abdomen. "There's no way someone at our age hasn't touched themselves before."
"I have. Just not..."
"Fingering?"
Your ears burnt. "It hurts."
"Because you're not relaxed or turned on enough." He brought your index finger to rest over your sensitive bud. "This is your clit. Feels good to almost any kind of touch. Be gentle with it."
You bit your inner cheek, watching his hand guide you to rub your clit in slow circles. "I know what a clit is."
"...Nice to know that's the only thing you've touched in the past nineteen years."
Your head snapped towards his. "Hey!"
He snickered, ignoring your huff. "So, if you want to cum..."
His lips ghosted over your ear, whispering softly. "Touch here. Rub there. Doesn't matter. But you could always..."
A soft whine escaped your throat as his hand guides you down further, stopping right at your entrance. "Make yourself feel good here."
Before you knew it, your middle finger was already dipping between your folds and inside your hole.
"Oh my god," you mumbled, brows furrowing. "Sae."
He hummed lowly. "Like that, go slow. It's good, hm?"
"S'good." you murmured, your finger now entirely inside.
"Feels even better when you curl your fingers."
Your brow twitched at his words, following curiously. "Wha... Okay."
His lips trailed down to the spot under your ear, kissing and sucking on the skin softly. "What do you usually think about when you touch yourself?"
His hand tapped the back of your own as you panted. "You."
It came out quicker than you expected, and in all honesty, it didn't even register properly from all the haze. But it was weird that after every call, every time you met Sae, you couldn't help touching yourself later that night.
It was something about his drawled voice, or the contour of his skin, or the flawlessness of his lashes or the chisel of his jaw. Or maybe it was his body, sculpted from divinity itself?
His breath hitched at your admission, fingers twitching over your hand.
You whined, pulling your finger out to push it back inside, curling to hit a sweet spot that made your toes curl. "I always think of you."
Something stiff throbbed against your ass cheek.
Your breath caught in your throat. Then, he bit down on your neck. Harder. "Ow—"
Sae seared your lips in a fervent kiss—all tongue and teeth and the intimate squeeze of your waist. He drank down every noise you made, panting against your mouth, swirling his tongue along yours.
"Let me help you," he panted, shaky fingers moving to gently pinch your clit. "Need to help you."
You moaned into his mouth, hips jolting from his touch. "S-Sae."
"Two fingers, you can do that, right?"
Swallowing thickly, you panted over his lips as he pecked you. "Mm—"
"C'mon," he muttered, pressing wanton kisses down your jaw. "Gonna make you feel s'good."
You pressed your ring finger to your entrance, pushing in slowly, wincing. "Hurts, Sae."
"Shh," he hushed against your cheek. "You can take it."
His index and middle rubbed against your puffy clit in a desperate side-to-side motion. Brows twitching with each passing second, he panted heavily. Your hips lifted in shock, fingers instinctively curling inside you.
Oh, you hit that good spot. It was spongy and rigid and oh so sweet.
You moaned, head thrown back over his shoulder. "Ah..."
"That's—" he sputtered, fingers continuing their relentless attack. "That's your g-spot. Should feel different from the rest of ya. Should feel really good."
Wet noises filled the room as you pistoned your fingers in and out of your hole, bracing yourself atop your best friend. Even though he was talking in your ear, breathy and hot as he always did, nothing registered. Every sense you had was being replaced by the overwhelming sensation of sweet bliss, your jaw slack and eyes shut.
"Curl your fingers more. Yeah, like that, deeper. Shit, you're—"
You whimpered, hips jerking as he continued to rub and roll your clit. "Sae, think m'gonna do that thing where I... F-Fuck."
He let out a quiet whine against your shoulder. "You are?"
"Y-Yeah, aren't y-you supposed to be the expert?"
"Sh— Shut up."
Just as something hot and unbelievably euphoric was about to snap, his fingers pulled away, panting harshly over your shoulder.
You huffed, your brain foggy. "Wha... Why?
"Not yet," he muttered. "Not yet."
Before you knew it, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you. "You sure this is your first time masturbating?"
He pecked your lips, descending to your chest, pressing soft kisses to your clothed nipples and down your stomach. "You're pretty good at it."
"Pretty good?" you murmured, jolting every time he kissed your stiffening buds. "Thank you?"
His low-lidded gaze flitted down to your drenched slit, lips spasming at the sight.
You frowned as he settled between your thighs. "Sae, no."
"No more?"
"No," you shook your head, hand scrambling to tug at his collar. "I didn't do anything for you."
"...You don't need to."
You huffed, spotting the tent in his sweats. "Don't lie."
"M'being serious," he grabbed your hand, pressing a hot kiss to your palm. "I want to do this."
You sputtered at his words, embarrassed that he was inching so close to your bare pussy. Panting, you whined. "Do what?"
"Eat you out."
"What? Oh my god, that is so—" you stammered. "So embarrassing!"
His hands smoothed over your inner thighs, spreading them apart. "No, it's not."
"Yes it is. Sae, get up!"
He huffed as you pulled at his collar again, his sigh blowing warm air over your wet folds, making you yelp.
"How about this?" He reached for the blanket urged aside. "You see a blanket instead of me. Way better, right?"
You huffed. "You say that like I don't want to see you..."
"Isn't that what that is?"
"I don't want you to see me!"
"But you're so pretty." He pressed a kiss right on your clit, making you jolt. "And so sweet."
Your ears burnt as he pressed another kiss on your slit and another on your entrance.
"Okay, okay. We'll use the blanket."
"Alright," he hummed, pressing one last kiss to your clit again.
"Fun."
It was weird, feeling the ghost of his breath but only seeing a broad figure under your blanket.
Your legs were spread over his shoulders, thighs marked with soft kisses and bites Sae spent minutes on perfecting, murmuring something almost biblical to himself.
Then, you felt his fingers spread your lips in a V-shape, letting your head fall back on the cushions.
One breath.
Then, the second.
And on the third, still, nothing came.
"What are you doing down there?!" You whined, heel digging into his defined back.
You were only met with silence, but from the hot wave of air, you knew he was annoyed.
You scrunched your nose. So typical of him.
Then, he spoke from under the blanket. Low and teasing. "Your clit is all puffy."
"...What?"
He leaned down, pressed his lips to the bud and whispered. "And you smell s'good."
Then, his tongue licked a slow strip from your weeping hole all the way to your sensitive bud. The entirely new sensation washing over you in ways you could never imagine, your teeth catching your bottom lip.
"Oh, fuck. Sae..." Your hand reached under the blanket, tangling in his magenta locks.
His tongue slowly swirled around your clit, switching to softer kitten licks, slowly bobbing his head. You whined, thighs clamping around his head. "Ah— t'much!"
Your thighs squeezed shut around his head, so close that your knees grazed each other and the sweat from his hair smeared against your thighs. Sae huffed and wrapped his lips around your sensitive bud, slurping it into his mouth harshly.
You moaned sweetly, cheek pressing against the cushioning. "F-Fuck!"
Finally, you loosened up enough for him to catch your thighs off guard. His fingers dug into the plushness and pushed them apart, all the way until your knees hit the cushions.
"Too much?" Sae hummed, spitting into your messy hole. "You're so dramatic."
Dramatic? He was the one seriously overwhelming you!
His tongue webbed out, swirling around your entrance before licking up your folds. Spreading your labia with his tongue in a firm, upward lick, soothing the fold with soft, barely-there kisses.
Then, he sealed his mouth over your entire pussy.
"Sae," you whimpered, fingers pulling his hair in warning. "Don't even think about it."
A soft huff vibrated against your folds, his snicker evident. His thumb gently rubbed your thigh like some kind of apology. Then, he sucked your pussy in one, harsh motion.
"Oh my god—" you cried, thighs struggling to close against his strong grip. "C-Can't!"
"Mm," he murmured against your folds, his tongue moving to swirl around your entrance again, the tip gently prodding its way inside. "You can."
Your fingers sharply pulled at his hair. "S-Sae!"
He grumbled, the vibrations sending tremors into your pussy. "Stop movin'."
"Can't," your eyes squeezed shut when his tongue pushed in, firmly licking your sweet spot. "Sae, I c-can't."
Sae's tongue withdrew, soothing your pussy with wet, apologetic kisses, lips pressing over your inner thighs. "Why? What's wrong?"
You panted, fingers still gripping his hair. "...I told you I can't."
"Can't what?" he hummed, thumb reaching to rub your clit in slow circles. "Cum?"
"Cum." Your cheeks burnt at the word. "No, I do wanna cum."
He panted harsh breaths against your thigh and pussy, the oxygen levels decreasing by the minute under the blanket. "You're pissing me off. You say wanna cum, but you can't take it?"
"H-How is that my fault?"
He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it aside. His bangs were all sweaty and pushed back over the rest of his hair. Sweat beaded at his temples, some reaching down his neck.
And his lips quivered, his entire mouth drenched with your wet slick, smeared over his cheeks and nose. Sae huffed lowly, cerulean gaze focused on the cushions, catching his breath. "M'going as slow as I can."
"I-I'm trying to keep up with you."
He scoffed. "...Yeah 'course you are."
You huffed. "I don't like your attitude."
"Okay then," he retorted, eyes threatening to roll. "So stay still. I'm not using a blanket this time."
Your breath hitched as he settled between your legs again, fingers tracing circles over your hips.
"And," he hummed. "M'not letting you hide."
Before you could process what that meant, he steadied his hands over your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. You could only see the open window from this view. Not Sae. Not a blanket. Nothing.
Your feet kicked squeamishly, though it didn't help much. "Wait!— This is so embarrassing—"
His lips found the seam between your thigh and ass, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin. "Hn, stop squirming."
"How can I?" You buried your face in your hands. "You can literally see everything and I wanna die—"
You were cut off with a soft moan, his thumbs spreading your lips to slurp up your dripping hole, tongue prodding into your hole. His fingers dug into your ass cheeks, groping it harsher—needier.
"Fuck," he groaned softly, kissing down your folds until he found your sensitive bud. He sealed his lips around it before sucking fervently, noises growing as you squirmed. "Fuck, fuck. You taste s'good."
He almost growled into your cunt, moving to press kisses to your ass cheeks, softly biting down on the flesh.
Your hand wrings back to grab at him—his shirt, his shoulder—to be met with a firm hand clasping your wrist. He pinned it to the couch as he leaned down again, lapping his tongue over and over at your clit.
He was breathing—panting so hard that his exhaling puffed air into your hole. "S-Sae!" You moaned softly into the cushioning. "Oh my god—Sae!"
Something warm tightened in your abdomen. It was hot and electric and aching to explode, just like the times when you'd touch yourself, but this was much more. So much more.
You panted into the cushions, soft moans and whines escaping you as he ate your pussy. He was relentless; he always was, but this was a different kind. Sae could do anything, say anything, but when he promised you pleasure and brought you heaven?
Holy shit, it was too much that you could go crazy any second now.
"Let me tell you somethin'," he broke your thoughts, murmuring as his tongue slid out of your hole. "When you feel something so good you think you'll go crazy. Say you're cummin'."
"I-I know what that is."You whined, seeing that sort of language in the porn you read and watched, but not exactly knowing when to use it. "I think."
He muffled a scoff against your cunt, switching to long, firm licks up your entire pussy. "Wow. Genius over here."
You felt the warmth spread down your stomach to your thighs and cunt and clit and everywhere, fingers clawing into the cushioning. "Okay! Okay, I'm... M'cummin!"
You could feel his brow quirk, lips ghosting over your clit. "You're what?"
You were close, so close to the pressure releasing. But now, your cheeks were burning because Sae couldn't help but bully you about sex language. "I'm... I'm—"
He smiled against your pussy, the curve faint but there, and wrapped his lips around your bud one last time, flattening his tongue and sucking harshly—so harsh you could see stars.
"M'cummin'!"
White dots skewed your vision, and you swore you had died just now, but the pressure released, getting licked softly from Sae's tongue.
But oh, it still felt so good after you came, grinding onto his wet muscle. "Ah, Sae..."
His tongue stilled as you ground on his face, fingers digging into your ass cheeks harder. "Now's the time you get eager?"
"Sh— Shut up." You whined as he freed your wrist. "Oh my god."
He began to lap again, a little softer but pleasing against your puffy clit. "Mm," he hummed. "You came this time."
"I already told you— I know what that is—"
He slurped your clit into his mouth, the sensation all too overwhelming for your current senses. "Ah!"
"I know you know. Just telling you." Sae said, pressing one last gentle kiss to your bud before pulling away.
You panted against the cushions, only now realising the drool pooling in your mouth. Your ass was still perched in the air, your whole body dripping from sweat.
Sae swallowed thickly at the sight, his own erection throbbing against the cushions.
He didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. Sae was your best friend. Someone your mom entrusted to you. Someone you'd watch romance anime with. Someone who purposely didn't laugh at your jokes, just to see you get angry,
But you tasted so fucking sweet. Your noises were so pretty, so alluring. He'd have to die before leaving his place between your legs.
And you kept arching like it was his responsibility to teach you. Touch you. Make you cum over and over until you couldn't think of anyone else but him.
And maybe as your best friend, the boy you knew since you were in diapers?
It was.
"One more." His hand moved to grope your ass cheeks again, flipping you onto your back. "Give me one more. I know you can. Just one more."
"Wha?... Sae." You whined, so clearly fucked out, not even bothering to glance at him.
"You can do it," he whispered, leaning down to press several shaky kisses to your wet folds.
"For me. C'mon."
BONUS!
The summer after you graduated high school, you found yourself back at home in Kamakura. The weather was scorching, sweat beading down your neck as you stared at the ceiling. Your feet were perched over the side of your bed, back pressed against your cool floor.
"Did you finish?" you murmured, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sitting on the floor against your bed was Sae, who had come back from Madrid to spend the summer with family. Frankly, in the past three weeks he had been here, he had not spent one day with his family.
Well, maybe aside from his mom, but everyone liked Mrs Itoshi. Besides her, he always had some lame excuse to work out, go on a jog, meet someone, go to Tokyo, or spend time with you.
You didn't mind, really. It just meant summers were meant for Sae.
"Shut up, m'almost done." He said, checking off the boxes on his phone. He wore a black T-shirt, legs crossed in a pair of basketball shorts, accentuating the muscles he had been gaining over the past few years.
Was it weird to stare?
Your head tilted faintly, settling on his concentrated face. He had been getting pretty good-looking recently, a little more than you'd like to admit. Since last year, he's been pushing his bangs back. His bangs were cute—almost childlike, but him with this new style... It certainly brought out his blessed facial structure and his lashes. Also, the glowiness of his skin—
Oh my god, ew, that sounds so dick hungry.
And that was certainly not towards Sae Itoshi.
"Done," Sae tilted his phone towards you, a bright red sixty-four illuminating from his screen.
"What the fuck have you been doing in Spain?" You immediately propped yourself up, snatching his phone. "A rice purity of sixty-four?"
He shrugged. "Why would I tell you?"
"Last year when you came back, it was like, an eighty-seven."
"Things change."
"Whore."
Sae rolled his eyes, taking his phone back. "You'll get there one day."
You scrunched your nose as he petted your hair—outwardly affectionate, but you knew he was being annoying.
"I don't wanna be like you." You swat his hand away. "I am totally okay with my ninety-two. Totally okay."
He stared at you blankly. "...Riiight."
You whined, sighing. "Maybe I'm not, but will that day come any sooner?"
"Y'know, in order to get some, you have to...put yourself out there. Talk to people. Flirt."
"Oh, fuck off," you reached to pinch his side, grinning when he groaned.
"You're too old to be doing this."
"We're eighteen, dumbass."
He grumbled, efficiently moving four feet away from you. "Wonder who your first kiss is gonna be, or somethin'. I feel bad for him."
Then, Sae groaned again when you threw a pillow at his face.
⋆˚₊‧ — INCIDENT LOG : fist bump? ‧₊˚⋆
⤷ ゛isagi experiences brain malfunction (caused by stranger). it's bachira's fault. ˎˊ˗
ᝰ.ᐟ 2.3k. gn!reader · fluff · romance · canon univ · 2nd-hand embarrassment srry · bakery meet-cute · listened 2 something super sweet by rory webley while editing
› a/n: probably one of my favorite drabbles from likeeeee 3 yrs ago . heavily edited tho lowk i have grown as a person tyvm, bllk fandom did u miss me
yoichi isagi, contrary to popular belief, is not as socially adept as he looks.
it’s lucky he’s got the manners and charmingly boyish smile to cover it all up. he’s lucky fans and friends alike see his attitude as something to praise, that they fawn and squeal over how well he takes the shit he’s put through—ignoring how he gets on the field sometimes—and get little to no opportunity to see anything more. it might crush his career. there are very few that’ve seen what he’s like when there’s not a camera to smile at or a game to play, or god knows what else.
he’s lucky most of those people are those who’ve sparingly seen him anywhere else—who he’s met on the field. first impressions are always the last, and all that. not that he wouldn’t have gone to the potluck bachira’s hosting right now if it weren’t just the guys from blue lock, but ah. it’s reassuring to know it’s just them. yoichi figured he’d be okay just being himself. as it stands, no one really seems to mind, anyway—they’re all too busy catching up with each other, because damn, everyone is here. he hadn’t, for some reason, expected bachira to invite so many people, let alone that so many of them would show up—isagi’s sure this group would look a little out of place, made up of athletes from across the fucking nation, the world.
“isagi!” calls the aforementioned host, unsurprisingly giggly and practically tipsy already given the early hour. he nearly tips yoichi over in his rush to touch—his best friend has always been a clinger, and it’s rather sweet—but catches himself with an arm looped loosely around his neck, letting yoichi bear all his weight as he leans in to pointlessly whisper in his ear at top volume.
“kunigami ‘n chigiri are gonna go grab more beer, and uhh, i think nagi’s letting reo take him with them? ’m thinkin’ we go ahead ‘nd grab some food, i know you don’ wanna be left alone but everyone’s kinda gone off already and—”, he starts whipping his head around, hair smacking yoichi in the eye as he makes for a headcount, which could take forever.
isagi cuts him off before he goes on that tangent—he’ll probably try for a guessing game to see where everyone else went, which could last far longer than whatever free time they have right now—with a soft “that sounds good, bachira.” this earns him a hearty grin, and before he knows it, they’re stepping out of his building’s elevator and hightailing it across the street. yoichi’s always been a little jealous of the neighbourhood bachira lives in—there’s a bustling little plaza a five minute walk away, the area nothing compared to the towering highrises back where he calls home now. his best friend tugs him into a bakery just off the intersection.
“mmm, smells good!”, he hears bachira say, and it’s true—it smells nutty, kinda caramel-y, perfectly paired with the faintness of something floral, likely from the various flower pots scattered throughout the shop. isagi hums in agreement and inches to the side a little bit, just short of knocking into a stool. it’s a cozy little place. the speakers are playing something r&b.
“—just give me a sec!”, he hears someone say, sees a shadow ducking out from beneath a curtain, behind which yoichi could assume hosts dry ingredients and whatever else. he hadn’t registered the ding of the bell above the door signalling their entry
“sorry, we’re near closing. what can i get you?” you ask, ripping out a couple old receipts from the machine and leaning over to toss them into what he can only, again, assume is the trash (he can’t see behind the counter), before turning and giving him and bachira—
yoichi looks around, and thinks, only a little exasperatedly, where the fuck is bachira.
—your full attention.
he offers you a small smile, which feels easier to do than expected despite the million-and-one questions running through his head right now. he doesn’t know why exactly he’s surprised, but it’s been a while since he’s had to feel like a fucking parent who just lost their kid. it’s been way too long since he last came to visit. he hadn’t even felt the guy’s weight leave his shoulders, and wonders how appropriate it would be to turn around and start calling for him like a lost cat right now ‘cause honestly, where the fuck did he go? it’s a tiny ass shop, and he’s nowhere in sight.
see, the thing is, he would, but you end up smiling back at him with something that he knows, logically, is a customer-service smile, and he’s kind of abruptly hit with the fact that he’s standing before probably one of the most attractive looking people he’s ever seen in his life—which is saying a lot, because half his time is spent around people who end up on billboards. forgive him for feeling and probably looking a little stuck between giving you his full attention and ensuring his grown ass man of a best friend is perfectly safe being left alone for all of five seconds.
he tells himself it wouldn’t be appropriate and would actually be pretty embarrassing. you’re giving him your full attention right now, so it’s only fair he returns it. bachira can fucking wait.
he glances up at the menu on the displays above your head, and just then hears someone call for you from the behind the curtain you dipped under. your name sounds like heaven to his ears, and god, he’s such a fucking sap. you sigh, letting an exasperated little chuckle slip out before shouting back a hang on, we have a customer! and looking back at him. yoichi’s tempted to test out your name on his lips, but refrains from doing so after almost actually trying it. he’s stupid.
“i’ve never been here before,” he says instead, and cringes at himself before the last word even comes out.
fortunately for him, you don’t seem to mind, glancing up at the display behind you while he opts to stare at you. who would’ve thought, yoichi isagi, world-famous football star would meet some pretty stranger in the middle of the night and act stupid because of it—whether you know who he is or not remains up for debate, actually, but the point still stands.
you hum thoughtfully, gaze locked on the weekly special on the screen furthest to the right—he has really good eyes, he’s not staring that hard, he can just tell, his peripheral vision is good, it doesn’t take a genius, okay?—before it slides back over to him and fucking rakes over his figure. he tries to pretend he doesn’t feel electricity race up his spine at the weight of your gaze.
“hmm. we’ve got an assorted box for cheap? we’ve got a bunch of random stuff left, i think, so you’d be doing me a favour. some might be a little stale, though.” you trail off, stepping to the side a bit to peek into the display, where there are a ton of things he can’t really identify, much less so while he’s busy watching you. yoichi follows you with his eyes, pulling out his wallet. if it’s for cheap, he thinks, it means he can get rid of a couple loose coins and hopefully feel that same rush up his spine at the touch of your hands. holy shit, he’s pathetic.
once again, he’s not that socially adept. sneaky is a better term.
“is that in a dozen?” he asks, and glances up at the weekly special you were looking at, which isn’t, surprisingly, what you’d offered. he pauses, “my friend also might want—”
“—a pineapple puff pastry? i can just toss that into the box, too. it actually comes in a half-dozen, but i can get you two.”
you’re tapping the screen of the register in front of you as you speak, leaving yoichi a little dumbstruck. it’s not really at the fact he’s been interrupted, but moreso.. well, you. he has to shake himself out of it the best he knows how before he gets to counting. a part of him screams you’re jealous at the thought of bachira coming in here every day, that he gets to see you often enough for you to know something as trivial as his favorite food, while the other part swoons because you’re thoughtful enough to remember it.
“that’ll be…” you trail off and glance up at him, surprised to see him sliding way too many coins across the counter and stuffing his wallet into his pocket.
it’s just then that bachira decides to reappear, almost bringing both him and his friend down as he pounces, entire body weight falling onto your customer. you can’t help but snort at the gesture of affection, so like him that you’re used to it; bachira’s come around so often he probably knows more about you than you do yourself, spending so much of his free time here even though he’s probably crazy busy just to chat with you a little in the evenings.
as you sift through the register for his change, which you’re ninety-nine percent sure isn’t even going to cover the generous ‘tip’—he’d mouthed this to you as he slid it over—you listen to the two of them bicker. it’s not hard to admit he’s caught your eye. it was his eyes first, a solid cobalt blue, then the unruly black hair, and then his smile. you’re interested, duh, and you’re far from stupid. the way he reacted to you checking him out, paired with the way he’s been looking at you since he walked in? clearly it isn’t one-sided.
you hold out a closed fist, change heavy, curled between your palm and practiced fingers, waiting for the two to notice before bachira’s friend leans a little closer to you—bachira letting go of him to wave at your coworker, who has suddenly appeared to fill the boxes and bag them up—and knocks his fist against yours in what couldn’t be interpreted as anything but a fucking fist bump?
um? the fuck? it takes you a second, but you snort before you can help it, and bachira, who also froze up, follows with a bout of laughter. before you know it, your coworker is patting your arm in consolation as she walks away, and you’re suppressing a smile. bachira’s smacking his friend’s arm and has dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, the guy looking at the two of you as if he’s just completely embarrassed himself in front of thousands of people—he looks mortified.
really you are trying your best not to laugh any more than that, but christ.
“isagi..” bachira says, clutching his friend’s arm—isagi? you think, and oh, shit, the famous football player?—as he leans in to whisper something in his ear. you really, genuinely, try your best not to stare, fist still held out between the two of you, and wait for them to finish.
once bachira’s done and leans away, this sneaky little smile on his face that should only mean trouble ever-present, he skips on away, the front door bell going off upon his exit. his friend is still standing there, the hand he’d used to do that resting loosely on the edge of the countertop. he looks like he’s at a bit of a loss, but the sigh he lets out is a quiet thing that somehow elicits that juvenile feeling of butterflies in the pit of your stomach, and man, maybe you’re the pathetic one.
you reach out and grab that hand with the hand not holding his change, carefully uncurling his fingers and dropping the coins into the palm of his hand with a cupped fist. to his chagrin—he’s not stupid, he knows he totally lost his chance with you, holy shit, this is the worst thing he’s ever done—, you don’t let go as you rip the receipt from the machine with the coin hand, holding his wrist firmly in a way his mind, traitorously, hopes leaves a bruise.
unfortunately for him, you’re holding him too gently for that, and he has to remind himself of that as you crumple up the receipt a little on top of the change, and fold his fingers back in. with both hands. he can feel how clammy his hands are, between the calloused tips of his fingers and rough edges of his palms—but all he can focus on is how the touch feels electric, something far surpassing what he’d expected from the touch he’d been seeking.
“your change,” you hum, sweet as sugar and a little mocking, taking the pastries from your coworker, who’s giving you an all-too-knowing smile and holding it out to him. you only briefly breaking eye contact to glance at the movement of his hands as he dumps all of his change into your tip jar.
“um,” his right hand, which you’d just held in both of yours, comes up to rub at the back of his neck, his left gently taking the plastic bag from you. “thanks.”
fuck it, shot in the dark, he’s fucking adorable.
“too late to ask for your number?”, you ask, and swear the pink in his cheeks increases tenfold—but he only looks bashful at the request, not uncomfortable or disgusted, which you aren’t all that surprised by. you watch as he scrambles to flatten out his receipt, then as he palms his pockets to find what you can assume is something to write with, wanting to see him fumble for only a little bit before fondness wins out and you slide a pen across the counter.
now you’re the one staring, as he scribbles the digits that make up his very, very exclusively given out number—’cause of his status and all, he’s gotta stay safe!, his mother always says—and folding it up all nicely to give it to you.
“finally,” your coworker groans from behind you, prompting a laugh from both of you.
yoichi doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone with a smile as alluring as yours.
Satan is new to this thing of falling in love and everything gets mixed and messy.
+18,Slow Burn (?) Satan jerks off to the thought of you, Delusion behavior(?), guilty pleasure, sweet and perverted.
(Thinking of making a part two of this....)
Reblogs and comments appreciated! <3
Satan who is a very closed guy. He is too intense, he knows that, he has been called that many, many times. So, on his mind, he would be the last person in his family you would come up to do anything.
But after some months, his opinion started to change when you would vehemently would go to his room with some flimsy excuse. He's not stupid, he knew you wanted something— a pact with him perhaps? Humans are always so greedy—and your bright eyes didn't emphasize him so much...at first.
Satan who would be delighted by your persistence and especially for your genuine curiosity and willingness to learn. The feeling deep inside his guts telling him to make space for you in his own life. Your nightly and daily visits soon went from mere conversations through the crack in the door to tea and deep discussions about all sorts of things: books, movies, comics, and your shared daily life.
Which, unintentionally and without realizing it, would involve you in his routine almost naturally. And again, months later he felt he could discuss his deepests scars, the most impossible scenarios about life, about love, because no judgment emanated from your beautiful vocal cords.
Satan who is actually excited when you bring the idea of a little book club just for the two of you. His mind forming a spiral of all the possible debates and exchanges of ideas that could happen, and where they would happen. He has a pretty long list of cozy places he likes to go when he wants to immerse himself in his daydreams about his own future. Maybe you would like them too.
Satan who loves how you make everything magical. Yes, he knows how to cast spells, curses and everything a normal human can't, but, all of this is nothing when you don't have the hability to bask in the simple. Everything is magical to you because you pay attention to "trivial" things.
You love choosing what scent to wear based on where the book club will happen. You love to share with everyone what little creatures you saw on the RAD garden, and hear their opinion about it. You love experiencing the interests his brothers have, no matter how troublesome it may be or look. You love living in the present, and that washes his soul in a way that he didn't even know it needed to be cleaned.
Satan who starts to seek you out more often than he would like to do. The tip of his fingers in a desperate need to share the same space as you as soon as possible, and he has to swallow his pride and his nonchalant act when he knocks on your door without any true reason to be there, besides wanting to spend time with you.
Satan who feels his mouth go as dry as the desert when he found a letter on his bed. With you initials. A cute little heart besides it. You perfume on the paper. The paper's weight thick enough to be pleasant to the touch, the delicate design making his own heartbeat be all he can hear until he finishes reading it.
The letter was about him. About how you perceived him. Your words were so full of your essence, so deep, caring and somehow philosophical, that he was speechless, in true shock that someone could see so much beauty in a creature like him. A creature born from pride and forged in the raging fires of hell. You saw none of that, even though you admired him for that too, for you, he was simply, Satan. And he felt cared for that.
Satan who's favorite place to go with you is a cat cafe, - cliche, I know - there's something about the way you lose yourself in the sea of fluffly little balls with big eyes that makes his heart clench in his chest. He can feel his face heating up terribly when he bought you a pair of good quality cat ears and you meowed for him.
Satan who loves to act a little extra when it comes to his mannerisms around you. You just made everything so comfortable for him that he feels free to be truly an gentleman. He starts dressing himself more for when you two have a club meeting, he opens every door for you, he pulls out every chair for you to sit, serves you first, and makes sure everything is alright with you before he seeks his own needs.
Satan who knows nothing about romance besides what he reads about. And he reads a lot of it. So he knows the feeling blossoming in his heart is not just the warmth of a friendship. You are just so...present...and caring...and beautiful and amazing, and kind, and-
You bring so many perspectives to matters he already had put an end to it, that it's impossible for him to not think about you 24/7.
Satan who tries to coop with these feeling writing for you. Letters. Or poems. A bunch of them. The firts ones are just an introduction per say. He greets you, asks about your day, says a little bit about his own and finishes saying he is anxiously waiting for your answer. It's shy, but it is sweet.
Satan who's DDD homescreen is a picture of you holding a black kitty with those same cat ears he bought you. Your big smile puffing your cheeks and he stares at the picture for yours on end.
Satan who loves when you mischiviously hold his hand underneath the library table, claiming in a whisper that it's better for your concentration. He chuckles when he senses your eyes so attentively on him, and he can't help but blush deeply. The giggle muffled by your sealed lips, making him hide his face on his book. But his grasp on your hand only tightens.
Satan who is completely obssessed with the way you wore his clothes. His button up shirt a little big on you but doing little to cover your tights. His coat engulfing your figure as you laugh and say that he can be the Watson for your Sherlock. Your smell lingering on the pieces making him insane, his nose sniffling his own clothes frustrating him, 'I look like a creepy, for sure'.
Satan who might burst out of his skin when you give the idea of an sleepover in his room. You are jumping around, asking questions and sharing theories in your little pjs and god, what is happening to him. He who can't focus when you look so pretty in his habitat, surrounded by books and more books, papers, ink and pens. You look like you are his.
Satan who's mind went miles ahead, his tongue tied in a beautiful knot and he has to swallow the lump in his throat when you ask to share the bed with him. His big green eyes looking for some hint that you are joking or pranking him, but he only found an expectant - yet hesitant and shy - expression in your face. You looked amazing under the low orange light of his room and he can only say,
"...O-of course Kitten, do as you please."
"My favorite quote...from my favorite book, hmm...d-don't judge me okay? It might be controversial, but...I think It would be Heathcliff’s desperate plea to the ghost of Catherine in Wuthering Heights."
His eyes sought yours in delightful surprise. His green irises waiting for a better explanation for your choosing.
"Don't look at me like that, okay? I know their relationship was far from healthy, but...sometimes, more often than I would like, my own heart play tricks on me and make me imagine about...h-how would it be to...have someone feel this way about me, you know?"
Yes, yes he knows. Fuck, how he knows.
"I know...this type of behavior is...questionable, but... what if it were a reciprocal and respectable love? It would be something like the muse and the painter, but the muse would also be in love with them...so-something...like that..."
Now it was your eyes that searched for him. His bed feeling like concrete but not more heavy than the silence you were given.
"Forget it. I know it is a weird choice, and I might sound like some crazy dark romance booktok enjoyer who completely distorted the story and forgot that it's not a romance book, but wanted it to be...but I swear I understood the story! And that's why I love the book, I-"
"Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot die without my soul!"
Your monologue was cut short, and you found yourself staring into green orbs that now shone with supernatural intensity. Blond strands of hair framed his pale face like threads of gold woven by God himself, and his next words felt like soft cotton on your skin.
"I understand what your heart is saying. Claiming for a heavy love feels bittersweet, doesn't it? It's a beautiful quote. I wouldn't expect less from you."
The feeling of his skinny and warm fingers caressing your shaky hand underneath the covers was the last thing you felt before you forced yourself to sleep. Face hot and red, heart thumping and mouth dry.
Satan who now feels more confident about what he feels, and the feeling of fullfilment he gets from simply making you blush is imense. He who feels full. Full of love. Full of cuteness. Full of warmth.
But...
Besides being a truly genuine guy and totally interested you, his lust starts to show up uninvited and at the worst times ever. It's honestly impossible for him to not take a glance at your beautiful body or at your pretty lips when you guys are together. He knows it's not wrong, erotism is a part a life, is normal. However, with you it felt different, it felt sacred.
Satan who gets deeply concerned when he starts daydreaming about you. His favorites memories to marinate into his brain are the ones you are in white. You look like an creature made in heaven, and he loves to spiral in the possibility that you two could have been angels in the amazing garden god created.
It always starts with something pure. The image of him chasing you softly throught the trees, the leaves creaking under your feet, the sun graciously blessing your skin and the breezy whispering in his ears makes everything more magical.
The tud his body make when he tackles you both to the ground does nothing when he can hear your - hypothetical - laughter as he tickles your sides. All the fruits and animals being witnesses of the soft moment.
His eyes get numb and he is lost in a paradise it never existed. His own mind playing tricks on him. But he is there, somehow. He is there with you. Caressing your face while he whispers your name countless times, affirming that you are his forever. He can feel it in his fingers. The moment, the scenery, the forbidden feeling of being tempted to have you right there, on the sacred grass of God's home. Everything is alive.
Satan who adores to cuddle with you. Since there's no day light in Devildom, the nigths tend to be much more cold than you have ever experienced. So having your legs on his lap, you two sharing the same blanket while he reads one of his books, is heaven.
Although...he has to hide the gulp he swallows everytime you rub your feet together, your figure too entranced on your own book to notice the pressure you are making on his dick. The lazyness of your movements making him dizzy and the grip on his book gets hard enough to bend the spine of it.
His cheeks getting more flushed by the passing of the seconds and his eyes began to well up with tears. Satan is sure you are aware of what you are doing, but when he looks at you he sees you biting your lip, your pupils going side to side, eating every word like it's your last meal and he has to excuse himself hurriedly. You looked to perfect, too good that if he stayed for even a minute more his pants would have been wet shamessly.
Satan who is lost. He reached a level in his life that he is certain he is under a spell. He feels gross everytime he sees your face. His dick throb in his pants and he can't stand being next to you without wanting to put you in his mouth. It's too much for him. Caring for someone this dearly, having this passion, this fire bubbling inside of his guts.
Satan who starts questioning if his desire for you is healthy or not because he can hear your voice ecchoing in his head when he is alone. His tights starts to burn more often and his eyes shed more and more tears. He is insanely lost in you. his pelvis, the sheets, his shirt...everything covered in cum and he doesn't care that he is acting like a beast. He's delirious with the possibility that you want him too. That you're waiting for him too. In your white angelic robes - or in your cute pjs - with patience and a pure smile, innocently waiting for the sinner that will for sure come to be tamed by you.
Satan who, now, feels like every little thing about you is eletrical. The single touch on his arm when you are passing him in the corridors, the hug you give his waist while you smush your head in his chest, complaining about how hard the test was, the little kiss you gift his bony cheek when he saves you a seat besides him and your pudding from his big hungry brother...everything is so silly, so casual, but affects him deeply. It's almost like a wound he can't close, and he feels like a beast bleeding away from it's hunter, who is getting closer and closer.
Satan who almost got on his knees and begged you to be his forever when you so sweetely asks if he is okay. He's been avoiding you like the plague. His dark circles were deeper than usual, his hair was strangely messy, and the poem you received wasn't delicate as usual, but rather spoke of the agony of loving like a dog waiting for its owner's affection at the end of the day...it was creeping, profound, beautiful and dark, completely different from the things he'd sent you before.
Satan who is stuck in a deep trance, almost hallucinating, lost in his daydreams and he can only feel the way his hand is wet and sticky. His dick hurts and he doesn't know what time is it or for how long he has been beating his meat raw, but he simply can't stop.
His hand caressess his tip - so sensitive that he cross his eyes in pain - and he trembles and whine in his hand, biting hard enough to draw blood. Just the thought of your plush lips on his cheek bone makes his hand squeeze his poor cock again and he sobs in his pillow.
Strangled moans scape from his throat messily with his words. A bunch of :
"y-you are mine right?!"
"Pleasesayit!"
"You arejus-just mine!"
"Yeaahh, what a dirty kitty- you l-ike that huh?"
Satan who by the end of his session is filled with guilty pleasure. The same hand who caresses your face with an fake casualty, now is dirty with his own feral needs.
Satan who misses every fucking hint you give him, you offered to sleep in his bed for god's sake! He thinks that you at least is a little more infatuated with him than with his brothers, but everything is uncertain and unless he has solid proof that you desire him too, he won't risk losing you. He can't lose this feeling of being complete, even if you aren't with him yet.
But this shame, this profound desire, only distanced him from you. However, you got tired of his hermit behaviour, of him dismissing every conversation and encounter you wanted to have. You got tired of not knowing what is happening. Tired of mixed signals from someone who claimed to be so mature.
You got tired of his avoidance, of his scared cat act whenever you entered the room. What happened to you lovely friend? Your confidant? The demon who understood you more than any other human could have?
Invinting yourself to another slumber party in his room, without consulting him, and without even listening to his excuses about it not being a good time to that, you sat on his bed, - noticing how his room was more messy than before - big pout while you hold your own pillow tighly in your arms, shooting daggers at a visibly uncomfortable Satan.
"Did I do something to upset you?"
Totally taken back by your harsh tone, Satan freezes when you stomped inside his room like it was yours.
"W-why would you think that?"
He fakes an innocent act that does little to stick to you.
"Maybe it is because you can't even be in the same place as me for more than two minutes? Or how you barely sent me any poetry anymore? Or how you stood me up, today, when we were supposed to meet at the museum? Is that enough for you, Mister?"
Don't get him wrong, he is startled by your confrontation, but he truly hopes you forgive him for not listening to your complaints very well because, good lord of hell, how you look amazing like this. Looking like a mad kitty who haven't received any headpats from its owner.
"So? Did you get bored of me or what? I won't leave until you fucking answer me."
Your big pout, your fierce eyes, your fingers clawing at the pillow like it personally offended you. Fuck, you look so cute. And worse, he is starting to get visible aroused by your presence. Your demanding and accusatory words working him up more than it should. Get serious, Satan! Focus!
"I didn't! Of course not...it's just that-I-...I needed time...yes! Time to think about some projects and-stuff..."
He can feel his lower part already trembling in antecipation, it's too much for the avatar of anger to see a piece of himself on his beloved!!
It's been days since he really took a good look at your face, and now, seeing you up close, he could notice the details of your furious figure. You look impatient, for sure, but your lips look so shine and soft, plump. Your body was covered by his old shirt that glued to your body in a glorious way. Your hair was messy, and your eyes puffy...have you been crying? Because of him?
Your silence after his answer was everything he needed to know. He could feel your stare on his crotch, but he refused to meet your eyes.
"I-I am sorry. I didn't know you were having your alone time I-...I just felt so lonely without you with me...and I was wondering if you...hated me...somehow...so I need to-"
"It's your fault."
Your mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. Your eyebrows to your hairline and the hold you had on your pillow completely forgotten.
"What."
Satan grabbed his weeping cock through his slacks, firm and shameless, looking deep into your eyes, his voice full with no regret.
"It's all your fault. This, is your fault. My absence, it's your fault. My love for you is driving me crazy and I can't stand being near you without erotic mental images of you flooding my mind. Fuck! It's frustating because there's nothing more that I want than being with you! You are my soul! My heart!"
Each and every word he spoke sank down into your heart like an anchor, and your body warmed terribly with the desire of kissing him stupid. And you did.
With long and hurried steps you cross the space between you two in seconds, your lips crashing with his with full force but his mouth seemed prepared to welcome yours completely.
Lips graciously caressed themselfs, missing each other dearly. But soon, he couldn't hold it anymore. Satan's tongue licked your soft mounds with vigor, holding both sides of your face while his finger tangled in your hair. You opened your mouth fast, eager to finally feel his taste. The taste of his love.
You too, grabed and tugged at his hair, but with the purpose of vengeance instead of longing. He is still has to pay for all the melancholy he has put you through.
Soon, the need for air surfaced, and a sting of thick saliva was the only thing connecting you both. For now.
"My fury has yet to be extinguished, you dummy, and you will be the one to feel it all."
he's such an asshole at work. he micro-manages everything you do and scrutinises your work to an unfairly harsh degree. he doesn't pay attention when you speak, or he just rolls his eyes and dismisses what you say. he talks shit about you behind your back but never leaves a trail so you can't report him to HR.
you didn't want to attend this stupid work night-out, if he was going to be there.
hence, it's honestly quite jarring how the night spins from laughing and having one-too-many glasses of wine with your colleuge at the bar, to you sprawled across his bed while he hits it from behind.
all your clothes have been discarded, and you're so drunk you can't remember whether you took your shoes off at his door or if you lost them during your uber ride home (during which you could hardly keep your hands off each other; the poor driver was probably mortified.)
regardless, none of that mattered now that you were collapsed on his sheets, letting his fat cock ram into your hole over and over, abusing that senisitive spot inside you. he stood at the edge of the bed, holding your hips firmly in place while he drilled into you, but he was so hammered that he was on the verge of losing balance with each rough thrust of his hips. the only way he could steady himself was by leaning forward, so his chest was against your back and his body is pressed closely against yours.
you can feel his laboured breathing against the shell of your ears as he groans, "you're—" his voice hitches, "so, so pretty. my sweet angel." he lazily scatters kisses against your back, pecking at your neck and working his way around your shoulders while his cock continues to plow into your pussy at a delirious rate. the cold lenses of his glasses against your skin almost causes you to shudder.
"kei.." you moan, toes curling at the way he keeps stretching out your creamy cunt. you couldn't get enough of him, hence you arched back into his touch, craving more friction to send you over the edge.
"hm? baby.." he rumbles against your skin, lips dragging lazily against the tender flesh of your neck, "what is it? talk to me."
so sensitive, and barely able to contain yourself, you choke, " 'm close.." the only words your intoxicated mind is able to grasp. and you can feel as the corners of tsukishima's lips tug into a smirk at your pathetic little whimper.
"close? my cute little assistant is ready to cum? that right?" he taunts, running a hand down your bare body and gripping at the meat of your thigh, causing to mewl into his sheets. "want me to fill up that tight hole, huh?" the speed of his thrusts begin to decrease and his hips rock carefully into you, each movement deliberate and teasing, "my perfect angel. that's what you want, right? to be mine. such a good girl."
you nod frantically into the duvet, and try to grind back against his cock but his lethal one-handed grip on your waist prevents you from doing so. but your desperation for stimulation is somewhat satisfied when his other hand trails down to toy with your needy clit, "don't know why i call you names. you're not a stupid whore, are you, baby?" he presses a messy kiss against the angle of your jaw, "no, whores aren't this fucking tight. no, you're an angel. the prettiest angel i've ever seen." his hot breath tickles your skin as he chuckles.
he jovially slaps your clit, the jolt of short-lived escasty causing you to cry out, "please, kei! i need you, please fuck me!" your voice is shaky and there's genuine desperation in your tone, which tsukishima is able to pick up on, even in his inebriated state.
"want more, princess?" he says in a low voice.
"yes.."
he gives you another drunken kiss, against your cheek this time, just at the corner of your lips, "how could i say no to you, beautiful. you're too hot to ignore." his final chuckles echoes through your head as that's the last sounds you're able to process before your brain is fucked straight out of your skull.
he splits you in half and your whole body trembles with each fierce thrust of his dick into your slobbering pussy. his tip doesn't relent at that rough spot on your walls that he knows drives you crazy , and although his aim is inhibited by the several drinks he's had, the pure urgency of his pace alone is enough to cause you cum before you even know what's going on.
"ah, perfect little slut. just like that. cumming all pretty for your boss. so behaved." he groans, caressing your waist lovingly. spasming around his cock, your fluttering walls are not able to prevent tsukishima from continually rutting into you. he's chasing his own high now, aching for a release just as badly as you were, and stopping at nothing until he's climaxed, even as if that means using you as his personal fleshlight for hours while you lay there — overstimulated and fucked-out — under him. well, maybe you weren't there for hours, that could be an exaggeration but truthfully, you're unsure. after your orgasm, you were so hazed and blank that your body's internal clock had broken. perhaps you were there for hours, maybe you were only there for a couple seconds.
regardless, the end result was the same. his sticky seed spilling through your insides, coating your slick walls. feeling his cock throb within you ignited something in the pit of your stomach, but he yanked himself out of your pussy before the sensation had an opportunity to foster. not by choice though, he'd keep his cock buried in your tight cunt all night if he could. but the sheer volume of his load that he had deposited inside you, left you so conjested with no room for his dick. instead, he had to heave himself upright so he could watch your puckered little pussy drip with his cum.
"nice n' full." he muses, using his finger to guide whatever cum was staining your folds back into your hole, with a lewd squelch. "my sweet angel."
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
although that encounter was surreal and left you with an strong (yet entirely inappropriate) yearning for your asshole co-worker, the awkward part was that come the next morning, he didn't seem to remember a single thing.
after the main event, you both collapsed and fell asleep. however, you woke up in the middle of the night to collect your stuff and stagger home, and despite how it's all a little fuzzy, you still retain the majority of your memories from that night.
tsukishima on the other hand, doesn't seem to remember a thing. he didn't acknowledge it once when he saw you in person at work the next day, not even a nudge or a knowing glance. nothing. albeit, he did act a bit more demure in the few days following the incident, but that was likely due to the embarrassment of drinking, and he was back to acting as cruel and irritating-self in no time. with no awareness to the fact he stuffed your cunt full with his seed at the work night-out.
how grim. but perhaps this was for the best, at least his amnesia erases the chance of a HR nightmare. still, you can't help but feel a bit jaded that your entire relationship with him was exactly where it started, because he couldn't remember a thing.
or, at least, that's what you thought. until he notices you working overtime one evening, and drops a box of cream-filled doughnuts at your desk. there's no one around, so he's already snacking on one, and he opens the box to reveal the rest to you. "here." he states bluntly.
you perk up from your desk, and glance between him and box, eyes wide with hope (and suspicion), "for me? why?"
tsukishima shrugs, sauntering away from your desk. but not without first motioning to the part of the doughtnut where the cream poked out, and commenting,
summary: Your technique allows you to hear the thoughts of others, which you’ve spent years learning how to filter. Unfortunately, Itadori Yuuji has very loud thoughts.
warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, smut, aged up characters, mutual thirsting, idiots in lust, reader’s technique involves mind reading, poor reader is losing her mind, sooooo much fantasizing about sooo many things: fingering, oral, spit kink, dry humping, exhibitionism
notes: happy birthday, best boy! genuinely so shocked at how quickly I turned this around. literally dropped every other wip to get it up today, but anything for best boy! (btw, this will end where it ends. if you want a follow-up use your own imagination instead of asking for a second part.)
words: 2.9k
minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not like, reblog, or comment
They call you the Psychic Sorcerer. Well, not they. It’s really just Gojo — or at least it’s really just Gojo to your face. Everyone else knows how much you dislike the moniker because you’re not psychic.
Your cursed technique allows you to form a telepathic connection — whether it’s with people, animals, or cursed spirits — and manipulate your target. And as part of your technique, you can see the thoughts of others, which is what psychics do, but you’re not a psychic.
Psychics look into crystal balls and read tarot cards. They claim to tell the future, speak to the dead, and exorcise spirits. Yes, you also do that last one, but you’re not a psychic. You’re a sorcerer, which you’ll admit probably sounds just as spurious to non-sorcerers…
Your technique is strong, but it’s taken you years to hone. When you were younger, you used to unknowingly slip into the minds of your playmates and the neighborhood pets, leaving them in a trance and you overwhelmed. It’s only through training and your time at Jujutsu High that you learned how to focus your technique and form a link only when you mean to.
However, there’s a part of you that thinks you’ll never be able to fully master your technique. For all your skill with it now as an adult, and after all the trial, error, and embarrassing missteps you made as a teenager, there are times when you still can’t help but pick up a stray thought if it happens to be loud enough — like two radio waves crossing.
And Itadori Yuuji’s thoughts are loud.
To be fair, most jujutsu sorcerers have loud thoughts to match their loud personalities. You particularly remember when you first met Todo and you were on the receiving end of a mental barrage of images of some idol that you faintly recalled having seen in passing before and big ass after big ass. So you’ve long made your peace with the fact that loud thoughts come with the territory.
But when you first met Yuuji during your first year at Jujutsu High, it felt like you could hear everything he was thinking — even without accounting for the curse caged inside of him. It would get so bad that you ended your days during those first weeks of knowing him feeling dizzy.
While Nobara has always been quick to project whatever irritation, excitement, or disgust she feels, her emotional flashes are quick to come but equally as quick to fade. Megumi’s unhealthy instinct to suppress everything he thinks and feels has always made him one of your favorite people to spend time with.
It’s Yuuji who thinks loudly and feels loudly around the clock. Before you learned how to filter out and block every stray thought you heard, it felt like you were constantly aware of Yuuji's status whenever he was within a few hundred meters.
You knew when he was hungry, when he was enjoying something, when he was annoyed, when he was happy, when he was excited, when he was sad, when he thought something was funny, when he had to go to the bathroom, when he didn’t understand something, when he thought a girl was hot, when he was angry, when he was in pain, when he was winning at pachinko, when he was tired.
But after so many years of training, and so many years of being his friend, his thoughts and emotions are still just as loud, but you only ever hear one if you need to in the midst of a fight — or if it’s strong enough.
And for the past few months, his thoughts have been so strong that it feels like you’re 15 all over again. It’s not all his thoughts that are strong enough to reach you against your will, just…certain ones.
The first time it happens, it’s so sudden that you feel like you’ve been hit over the head.
People assume that with your technique, you can hear every word going through someone’s mind. And while sometimes you do, people think both verbally and visually.
So, you’re not surprised when an image suddenly flashes in your head. After all, it’s a phenomenon that you’re more than used to. You are, however, surprised at the image.
Because as you’re waiting in line at a bakery to order, leaning in slightly to look at the display case of pastries, you’re suddenly assaulted with the mental picture of yourself from behind, particularly the way your dress has slightly ridden up the backs of your thighs. It’s not high enough to be obscene, only enough to hint.
And to accompany the image is a deep desire — for you to bend over further, for your dress to ride up even higher, to know what’s beneath and for it to be a thong.
You cut off the connection before you can see anymore and shoot back up to stand perfectly straight, your eyes as wide as saucers. Your heart is racing in your chest and you have to fight the urge to bury your face in your hands to hide your burning cheeks.
“Did you figure out what you want?” Yuuji’s curious voice is suddenly in your ear as he leans in over your shoulder to look at the pastry selection himself. “That ham and cheese one looks so good.”
He sounds so…unaffected, like he wasn’t just fantasizing about what your underwear looks like. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and none of it is on his face.
“Th-the pistachio one,” you mumble, distractedly pointing at the croissant in the corner of the display case.
“Oh, you’ll have to let me try a bite!” he grins, moving in even closer to look at what else the bakery has to offer, entirely oblivious to the mental breakdown he’s caused.
And that’s how it starts.
You’ll be out with Yuuji and you’ll get a flash of him wondering how soft your lips are when you apply some chapstick, or of him appreciating how your neckline dips just low enough for him to see the edge of your bra when he looks down at you.
It’s not every time you’re together, but it starts to happen often enough that you begin to prepare yourself whenever you know that you’re going to see him, just in case. And it does work. You accept that your friend seems to be attracted to you and assume that this new crush will probably go away. You’re able to shut out the thoughts as quickly as they come.
But then they get louder — and filthier. You’re no longer seeing things that could barely be considered PG-13.
You’re seeing your face coated in white streaks of Yuuji’s cum, your mouth open and your tongue sticking out to catch every last drop as he fists his cock. You’re seeing your ass in the air as he eats you out from behind, your own imagined whimpers and moans ringing in your ears as you grind back into his face. You’re seeing yourself from above, his hands on the backs of your knees pressing them towards your chest as your ankles dangle by his ears while you beg him to go “harder, Yuuji!” You’re seeing him yanking you into an alley to bend you over and fuck you against the concrete wall.
It’s only made worse by how casual he acts when you’re finally able to recover from whatever obscene display has been forced upon you and you can dare to look at him. He’s never flustered or lost in some fantasy. He’s never distracted. You never catch him staring at your tits or ass. You’ve never even been able to catch him with a tent in his pants.
He behaves as if everything is normal, like he’s just your friend that you’ve known since high school. A friend who doesn’t fantasize when you’re laughing together over hotpot about spitting in your mouth or when you finally have a chance to go see Human Earthworm 6 about you swallowing his cock in a crowded theater.
Your other friends seem to have noticed that something is off. Megumi has asked on more than one occasion if you’re coming down with something when he sees how you’ll suddenly start breaking out into a sweat. Nobara is more perceptive, immediately jumping to the conclusion that there must be a new man in your life with how flustered you’ve been lately.
There’s a sudden, sharp pang of someone else’s dismay you feel when she makes her deduction in front of your friends.
But what you don’t know how to tell her is that this new man is Yuuji, and the reason you’re so flustered is because every time you see him, he’s been unknowingly projecting graphic pornography featuring both of you directly into your mind. And even worse, you don’t know how to tell her that you’ve started to look forward to it.
At first, you thought the reason why you would get so wet was because Yuuji doesn’t just share what’s running through his mind, but also what he’s feeling. Your arousal is really just his arousal.
But that doesn’t explain why you’ve found your eyes lingering over his broad shoulders when his back is to you or appreciating the sight of him shirtless and sweaty after training together or wondering what it would feel like to have two of his thick fingers buried knuckle deep in your slick cunt.
And you’ve started to realize that he doesn’t even need to be around for you to end up yourself lost in a fantasy of your own making.
You’ll be scrolling through your phone and your mind will drift to how it would feel to look down and see Yuuji beneath you as you ride him, your palms pushing down against his bare chest for leverage with every rock of your hips. You’ll be sitting on the couch and wish that Yuuji were with you so you could climb into his lap and desperately grind against him until you both come in your pants as you let out needy little whimpers against his lips.
You’ll be in bed late at night with your hand buried between your legs, your fingers sliding in and out of your dripping pussy while you grind the heel of your palm against your clit, and mourn the absence of his cock.
After months of this ongoing torture, your sanity is about to snap. It feels like every time you’re together, if it’s not his fantasies that you’re seeing, it’s your own.
But then you notice a change. Because where you’ve started to feel less flustered every time one of these images is playing in your mind — so desensitized to them by this point that they leave you turned on more than anything else — he appears to be growing more flustered in your presence.
There are times when he can’t quite meet your eyes. You’ll look over at him and see that his cheeks are suddenly as pink as his hair. There’s one time where he starts to choke on the soda he’s in the middle of drinking for no apparent reason. You finally start to catch him staring longingly at your ass.
You begin to wonder if he’s close to reaching his breaking point.
It’s what you find yourself contemplating one night as you and Yuuji get caught in the rush hour crowd on the subway. He’s strong enough and thoughtful enough to have pushed a path through when you boarded, so that you can lean back against the set of doors on the opposite side. He rests his forearm above your head on the window, using his body to shield you from the rest of the crowd.
It’s an awkward situation for two friends to be in. For as much room as he tries to leave between you, people continue to get on at each station, and eventually, there’s no space left — you can feel every firm inch of him pressed against you.
He seems to be more conscious of it than you, his eyes directed nervously up at the ceiling. You’re just relieved that it’s him invading your space and not some creep who’s ready to take advantage of the close quarters.
Thankfully, most of the station platforms are on the same side as where you entered the train, so neither of you have to worry about moving or the doors you’re both leaning against opening. With Yuuji seemingly feeling too shy to talk while you’re in such an intimate position, your mind begins to wander.
What if you turn around? Yuuji would feel every one of your curves as you reposition yourself so that your tits were pressed against the window and your ass slots perfectly against his crotch. You could take his free hand in yours and slip it under your skirt and between your thighs so that he could feel the wet spot in your underwear.
Actually, in this fantasy, you’re wearing no underwear. God, the groan he’ll let out when you slide his fingers up your legs, only to find that there’s no barrier between his touch and your soaked pussy.
His cock would be so hard against your ass as you give a slow grind into it, able to feel every solid inch even through the fabric of your skirt and his pants. But you can’t waste any time — the doors supporting you both could open at any of the next stops.
So, while you flip up your skirt, he rushes to shove his pants and boxer briefs just far enough so he can pull out his cock with one hand. And that one hand is then quickly slapped over your mouth to muffle your cry when he slides his cock into your sopping cunt in one smooth stroke.
He takes you so roughly that you can’t tell if it’s the train that’s so jerky or the punishing rhythm he sets, desperate to get you both off before someone either catches you in the middle of your illicit act or you enter a station where the platform is on your side of the car.
It’s just as you slide your hand down between your legs to furiously rub at your clit that the fantasy comes to a screeching halt with all the force of someone hitting the emergency brake on the train. Because you’re suddenly incredibly aware of something hard between you.
You look down, but it’s pointless with how close Yuuji is — pointless because you can’t see beyond his chest and yours, and pointless because what else could it be other than his cock? You then look up at him with hooded eyes to see how red his face is.
He looks pained, his features scrunched together, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and a bead of sweat running down his neck that you want nothing more than to catch with your tongue. You tilt your head to the side curiously, wondering why he’s so distressed. Obviously, he’s feeling embarrassed, you don’t need to be able to read his mind to know that. But this seems to be something beyond simple embarrassment.
Feeling your gaze on him, he eventually opens his eyes and gathers the courage to look down at you. Your breath catches in your throat when you see how wide his pupils are, his warm brown irises merely a thin ring around them, and how you can see a mixture of deep hunger, desperation, and pleading.
“I’m begging you,” he says. His voice is barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the train as it continues to run along its track, but it’s impossible to miss the rasp to it. “You have got to stop doing that. You’re killing me.”
Your forehead wrinkles as you frown in confusion, trying to understand what he’s talking about. But then he lifts his free hand, the one you had just been fantasizing about having between your legs, and taps his index finger meaningfully against his temple, and you gasp so loudly that you know other passengers have turned to see what’s happening.
Because over the months where Yuuji has been projecting his thoughts, unaware that they’ve been loud enough that you can’t help but hear them, it never occurred to you that a longer-lasting connection was slowly forming with every image, every word, every emotion. Your mind became so open to receiving what he was unknowingly sharing that you hadn’t realized that you were slipping into his mind the way you used to do with others when you were younger and still learning the basics of your technique.
And what you grew to understand as you developed it was that if you don’t form a barrier to protect what’s in your mind, then the connection becomes reciprocal and your target can see everything that you’re thinking, too.
Which means that for the last few months, it’s not only him who’s been projecting graphic pornography featuring both of you directly into your mind, but also you who’s been projecting graphic pornography featuring both of you directly into his mind.
All you can do is stare up at him, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find the words. Unfortunately, while you’ve lost your ability to speak, your mind refuses to quiet and all you can think of is how you want him to stick his fingers in your mouth.
From the way his head drops back with a deep groan, it seems you’ve accidentally projected that as well.
nagi was lazy. you knew that. reo knew that. everyone knew that.
so of course, you weren’t surprised when nagi refused to help you with the dishes. “that’s too much of a hassle…” he mumbled from his bed, game console in hand. “playing zelda. ‘m busy.”
you sighed. “the dishes aren’t going to wash themselves, nagi. then our entire place is going to smell like shit, and we won’t be able to use the sink. c’mon, nagi, i always do the dishes. can you do it just this once?”
“you sound like maid barou right now. it’s too much of a hassle.” nagi retorted. why was he so tired anyway? he played soccer with reo maybe once or twice a week, he lazed around all day and just played video games.
“sei, please.”
nagi froze, sitting up almost immediately. “alright, alright,” he commented, making his way to the sink and rolling up to sink. “just let me play in peace after i’m done, m’kay?” he drawled.
“thanks, sei. love you.” you didn’t point it out, but a pink hue dusted his cheeks as he washed the dishes.
“nagi, do i look good?” you asked, stepping out of the changing room. nagi sat on a plush chair, console stuck in his hand. “nagi!”
“huh? oh, you look fine. let’s go.” he replied, not even looking at you. you rolled your eyes, snatching his console. “that was uncalled for.” he gave you a deadpan look.
“sei, babe, how do i look?” you asked again. he blinked a few times, before his eyes widened just a few degrees.
“you look great.” he blurted. “let’s get one of every color.” nagi stood up, before practically falling on you, wrapping his arms around you like a koala. “yeah, you should totally get this.”
“you sounded like reo just now.”
“mmmm, yeah, but you’d never call reo something so cute…” he replied sleepily. “angel, let’s just get this and go home, m’kay? i wanna nap. with you.”
“nagi, can you please stay for just 5 more minutes?” you asked, eyes barely open. it was practically the crack of dawn; nagi was usually never awake this early. not unless a certain purple haired rat scolded him again.
“can’t, babe. reo’s gonna get mad again. it’s a hassle to deal with him when he’s pissed off.” nagi slouched, halfway through taking off his shirt. you pouted; you had today off. was it so wrong to want to stay in bed a little longer with your lover?
“sei, can you—“
“you don’t have to ask twice, angel.” he responded immediately, dropping next to you on the bed once more. he slung an arm over you, nuzzling into your neck.
“what about reo?” you asked, stroking his hair tiredly, although a small tug of your lips suggested victory.
“reo can wait. you can too, angel, but i don’t want you too…” nagi was half-asleep already, just from laying down next to you. “and i can’t say no when you call me something so cute.”
“so it’s not a hassle to do things as long as i call you sei?”
“no, never.” he planted a lazy kiss on your shoulder. “it’s only a hassle if i don’t like it. and i like you. a lot. and i like it when you call me that. a lot. so it’s not a hassle.”
