dearru-rb

[dearru-rb]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ academic rivalry with rich boy gojo, but you genuinely don’t like him and he doesn’t understand it until it’s too late.

gojo doesn’t know you hate him.

in fact, if anyone asked, he’d probably say you like him. maybe even admire him, the way people tend to admire the sun when it catches their face in an accidental beam of warmth. he’s so sure of this that he’s never once considered the possibility that your tight smile isn’t playful, that your clipped tone isn’t just a quirk, that you might actually—god forbid—despise him.

he thinks you’re playing.

and why wouldn’t he? to him, everything is a game. he’s been winning since he was born—money, intelligence, height, beauty, charm, every stacked advantage you could imagine. the universe has been dealing him aces since day one, so when you come along and you’re… sharp—razor-sharp, not in the way that flatters but in the way that bites—he sees it as a worthy challenge.

you don’t just compete with him, you match him. quiz scores, debates, grades, presentations—you’re always right there, nipping at his heels or, occasionally, yanking the rug out from under him entirely. most people try to keep up with gojo. you try to trip him. and god, he thinks it’s fun.

he’s convinced the tension between you is mutual amusement. to him, every scathing remark you throw is just another volley in your private match, another brick in the strange little castle you’ve been building together for years.

and he likes it. likes you.

he makes a game of finding you in every room. you could be hidden in the corner of a crowded lecture hall, pretending to be engrossed in your notes, and he’ll still spot you in a heartbeat, striding over with that easy, infuriating smile. he talks to you like he’s letting you in on some secret, even when it’s just to point out that your pen ran out of ink and offer you one of his obnoxiously expensive ones.

he saves seats for you without asking.

he slips you answers when he thinks you’re stuck (you never are).

he says things like, “you’d miss me if i disappeared” with such unshakable confidence it makes your skin crawl.

the worst part? everyone else sees it too. to them, you’re just another in a long list of people charmed—begrudgingly or otherwise—by gojo satoru. your professors tease you about your “healthy academic rivalry.”

your classmates watch the two of you trade barbs like it’s some sort of will-they-won’t-they sitcom subplot.

nobody realises that while he’s busy grinning at you over the rim of his coffee cup, you’re thinking about how nice it would be to knock it out of his hands. to him, your relationship is the most exciting part of his academic life.

to you, it’s the most exhausting.

because you hated gojo satoru before you even met him.

not personally—back then, you didn’t even know his name. but you knew the type. loud, untouchably confident, born with more than they could ever deserve. the kind of boy who makes an entire room feel like they’re living in his orbit whether they want to or not.

and then you sat down for your first lecture of the semester, cracked open your notebook, and heard his voice behind you—smooth, careless, as if he were narrating life for an audience that existed solely to adore him.

of course.

but disliking him in theory was easy. hating him in practice took time.

the first time you realised you truly couldn’t stand him was during that stupid pop quiz. the professor was walking around, collecting answer sheets, and yours was barely dry from the last thing you scribbled down when a hand reached over your shoulder and took it. gojo. grinning, waving it in front of you like he’d just snatched candy from a child.

“don’t worry, i’ll hand it in for you.”

he didn’t wait for a thank you—just sauntered off, humming under his breath. when the grades came back, you noticed the coffee stain on the bottom corner of your paper.

you told yourself it was petty to care.

but then it happened again, in different ways.

the time he “accidentally” spilled water near your laptop but somehow turned it into a joke about you overreacting.

the way he always managed to just barely beat you in class rankings, like he was toying with the margin on purpose.

how he’d answer a question you were raising your hand for, looking over his shoulder to wink at you while the professor praised him.

the worst part was how untouchable he was. no matter what he did, everyone liked him. the professors adored his wit. classmates leaned toward him in conversation like plants toward sunlight. even the people he embarrassed seemed to forgive him instantly.

and you? you played along.

because to break the illusion would mean explaining— to people who wouldn’t understand—that he wasn’t your rival in the fun, cinematic way they thought. he wasn’t a foil or a muse. he was just… exhausting.

so you kept your voice dry and your smile tight when you spoke to him. you let him think it was banter. you let everyone else think so, too. because it was easier to let the world believe you were some clever pair locked in an endless, flirtatious duel than admit the truth: you wanted him out of your life.

and yet, despite all that—he was everywhere.

every class. every study group. every event you didn’t even know he’d be attending until you heard his laugh from across the room. and each time, he’d make a beeline for you, all effortless energy, as if you were a fixed point in his compass.

you hated how good he was at finding you. you hated even more that you’d started noticing when he wasn’t there.

still, the things he did to piss you off(or just things he did, the way he existed) were too irritating, you absolutely despised him sometimes.

like that time you were deep into exam prep, surrounded by a fortress of books, when a hand slid a cup of coffee across the table toward you. you didn’t look up, because of course it was him, but you did say, flatly,

“if this has spit in it, i’m reporting you.”

gojo dropped into the chair across from you like he’d been invited. “spit? no way. that’s an artisanal oat latte. i had to wait in line for seven minutes for that.”

you stared at him. “i didn’t ask you to.”

“oh, i know.” he leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “but if you burn out before the exam, who will i crush?”

you meant to roll your eyes and go back to your notes. instead, what came out was, “you’re not half as smart as you think you are.”

he grinned. “sure i am. you just think you’re smarter.”

you bit down on the urge to tell him you didn’t think—you knew.

or when you’d somehow gotten paired with him for a group project. halfway through a work session, he started idly tapping his pen against your notebook.

you looked up. “can you not?”

“what, this?” he kept tapping.

“yes, that.” your voice sharpened, the way it did when you were one irritation away from snapping. “you’re distracting.”

his eyes lit up like you’d complimented him. “oh? then it’s working.”

you were so stunned by the sheer audacity of that answer that you just stared at him, giving him exactly the amused eye contact he thought you meant in the first place.

or the afternoon you’d just gotten a test back—second place again, him barely ahead—and you found him leaning against the wall outside, already waiting.

“congrats,” you said dryly, shoving the paper into your bag. “another half-point victory for the golden boy.”

he raised a brow. “you sound jealous.”

“i sound annoyed.”

“same thing, in my experience.” he fell into step beside you as you walked away, his voice easy and bright. “don’t worry. one day you’ll beat me again, and i’ll act all shocked, and we’ll laugh about it. that’s our thing.”

you stopped mid-step. “our thing?”

he smiled like it was obvious. “yeah. the whole ‘you chasing me, me pretending you’re catching up’ thing. it’s cute.”

you almost told him you weren’t chasing him at all. instead, you kept walking, because you knew it wouldn’t matter—he’d just think you were raising the stakes.

one late afternoon, after a seminar, you finally let the irritation slip.

“do you ever stop?” you asked as you both left the building.

he tilted his head. “stop what?”

“being—” you gestured vaguely at his whole existence “—you.”

“not really,” he said cheerfully. “i mean, would you want me to?”

you opened your mouth to say yes, but he was already smirking, like he’d caught you in some elaborate romantic setup. “yeah, didn’t think so.”

you hated him.

and worse—you hated that he was right about one thing: you’d never really get rid of him.

because of that, for a while, it was easier to hate him.

hatred is simple—it’s sharp and clean, like the edge of a paper you didn’t see coming. but somewhere between the constant barbs and the inevitable groupings and the countless “accidental” encounters, you started… not minding him as much.

it was never a sudden switch. it was little things.

like the time your umbrella broke in a sudden downpour and he wordlessly held his over you the whole walk to the station—not teasing, not smug, just humming something under his breath and keeping you both dry. you didn’t thank him, but you also didn’t tell him to get lost.

or how, during one particularly brutal presentation day, he passed you a pack of gum under the table before yours started. you didn’t notice until after you’d nailed it, when he leaned over and said, “told you it’s magic,” and you realised he’d given you his last piece.

and there was that week you got sick. you didn’t tell anyone, but you came into class looking pale and ready to collapse. he noticed instantly—slid his notebook across so you could copy without asking, didn’t make a single joke about it. that was weird for him. unsettling. you didn’t copy anything, instead giving him an exhausted, weirded out look.

yet you started to think… maybe he wasn’t completely insufferable.

you still didn’t like him—god no—but there were moments where the energy between you didn’t feel like a battle. sometimes it was just… something. it felt like calm before storm.

and then came the internship.

you’d both applied for it—competitive, prestigious, the kind of thing that could shove open doors for the rest of your career. you wanted it so badly you’d cut your free time to nothing, prepping and polishing every piece of your application until it was practically a reflection of your soul.

when the results came in, you didn’t even have to check the email. you saw him in the hallway—leaning against the wall, phone in hand, that unstoppable grin stretched across his face.

“guess who’s officially off to the big leagues,” gojo announced to… well, everyone. he was holding his phone up like a trophy, scrolling through something with one hand while he waved the other in a lazy half-gesture. a couple of classmates offered congratulations, and he soaked it up like sunlight.

you felt the floor tilt under you.

you’d been waiting for that email all morning. checking your inbox every ten minutes, refreshing so much your phone battery had dipped into the red. you’d prepped for this internship like your life depended on it—cutting back on sleep, skipping out on weekends, combing through every requirement until you knew them better than your own name.

and he’d gotten it.

of course he had.

when he spotted you, his grin widened. “ohhh, there’s my runner-up. c’mon, don’t keep me in suspense—did you get it too?”

“no,” you said, too fast.

he blinked. “really? huh. weird. you were working your ass off.”

you don’t know if it was the casual way he said it, or the fact that he meant it like some kind of backhanded compliment, or just the sheer unfairness of it all—but something in you cracked.

“yeah, well, some of us have to,” you said, and it came out sharper than you intended.

he tilted his head. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means you breeze through everything without trying, and then you stand there acting like it’s all just some fun little game.” you stepped forward before you could stop yourself, voice rising. “i killed myself over that application. i did everything right. and you—”

you broke off, because your hands were shaking.

gojo straightened slightly, the first flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “hey, it’s not like i didn’t work for it—”

“you didn’t work for this. not like i did. not like anyone else did. you just… exist. and things happen for you. they always have. you can waltz into any room and get whatever you want, because you’re gojo satoru, and people fall over themselves to give it to you.”

he opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him, hand flying up to shut him.

“and you know what? i don’t think this rivalry thing you keep talking about is cute. i don’t think you’re clever, or charming, or any of that crap you clearly believe about yourself. i don’t like you, gojo. i fucking hate you. i have from the start.”

the hallway felt suddenly, horribly quiet. someone down the way ducked into a classroom.

gojo just stared at you.

for the first time since you’d met him, he didn’t look like he had a quick comeback ready. he didn’t even look like he knew where to start.

“okay,” he said finally, and it wasn’t his usual playful tone—it was quieter. “didn’t realise you felt that way.”

you almost laughed, because how could he not have realised? but you didn’t. you just shouldered past him and walked away, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

—

he didn’t move for a long time after you walked away.

he just stood there, phone still in his hand, screen dimming to black while the echo of your voice replayed in his head.

i don’t like you. i hate you. i have from the start.

gojo satoru wasn’t used to people telling him they hated him.

sure, he’d heard worse in debates, maybe in a couple of online comment sections, but those were strangers. disposable opinions. and when people didn’t like him in real life, they usually hid it. smiled through their teeth. tolerated him because it was easier than being on his bad side—or, more often, because they didn’t want to miss out on the good side.

you?

he thought you were in on it. the banter, the jabs, the constant back-and-forth—he thought that was your thing. your thing. he’d built the whole framework of whatever the hell your relationship was on that assumption.

and you’d just ripped it apart in a handful of sentences.

he tried to replay your expression, but all he could see was the way your hands had been shaking. not in fear but in that kind of restrained fury that felt personal. not academic, not playful. personal.

“dude, congrats on the internship,” someone said, passing by.

gojo smiled automatically, a thin, mechanical curl of his mouth. “yeah. thanks.”

his body moved through the rest of the day on autopilot. meetings, classes, congratulations. he kept hearing bits of your voice threaded through the noise.

you just exist. and things happen for you. they always have.

it wasn’t like he’d never heard that before—he had. but from you, it landed differently.

by the time he got home, the words had settled somewhere heavy in his chest. he told himself it was just surprise. he told himself you’d cool down, that you’d come back in a week with some sarcastic remark and they’d pick up where they left off.

but there was something else gnawing at him—a suspicion that maybe you hadn’t just been angry about the internship. maybe you’d been angry this whole time, and he’d been too wrapped up in his own little game to see it.

and for the first time since he’d met you, he wasn’t entirely sure how to win.

[dearru-rb]

lets play a sport!

[dearru-rb]

hitting on brazil hinata

your doorbell rang softly, cutting through the quiet hum of your apartment. you peeked through the peephole and caught sight of a flash of bright orange hair—curious, you opened the door.

hinata was standing there, balancing your food order carefully, his breath still a little heavy from weaving through the busy streets of rio.

“ah, your order is here!” he said, cheeks flushed from the ride and the afternoon sun. he muttered something quietly under his breath in japanese, barely audible.

you couldn’t help but giggle softly. “don’t worry, i understand you.”

his eyes widened in surprise, clearly caught off guard. “you… understand japanese?”

you leaned in just a little, offering a playful smile. “i’m half japanese and grew up in japan. just moved here recently. guess i’m lucky to catch you mumbling like that.”

hinata’s cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, and he scratched the back of his neck, looking down shyly. “ah, i didn’t think anyone would… especially not my customer.”

you laughed softly, holding out the payment. “well, you’re cute when you’re flustered, so maybe mumble away more often.”

he blinked, a genuine smile breaking through his nervousness. “u-uhm… are you free this saturday?”

you raised a curious eyebrow, letting your voice dip just a touch, “that depends… what do you have planned that’s so important?”

hinata’s grin grew wider, but the nervous energy was still there, making your heart beat a little faster. “there’s a beach volleyball match at copacabana. i’m playing… i thought maybe you could come watch?”

your smile softened, warmth spreading through you. “i’d love to. can’t wait to see you in action.”

his face went a shade redder, but this time he seemed almost proud. “great! i’ll pick you up.”

as he swung his leg over the bike and took off, you watched him go, feeling a flutter in your chest. there was something about this fiery-haired boy—so full of passion and nerves—that made your day feel a little brighter, your world a little warmer.

maybe it was the beginning of something new.

© 2025 yukkigiri ☾ creations by luna — please do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.

[dearru-rb]

gojo to cure me

[dearru-rb]

"Hey," Atsumu asks as soon as he steps out of the bathroom. "Did you finish my shampoo?"

"No," you answer, eyes still on your phone as you do your daily aimless social media scrolling. "Why?"

"I'm almost out."

"Wait, what shampoo?" You turn your head to meet his gaze, but as you tended to do, you look anywhere but his eyes. You see that he has a towel over his head. You see that his sweatpants are low on his hips. And you see that there is nothing covering his chest.

His amazingly toned, wonderfully built, completely naked chest.

You quickly avert your eyes, but it's too late. He's seen. He knows.

You should have been ready for this, because you know Atsumu is an athlete. He works out for a living as a professional volleyball player. You should've been prepared for the inevitable moment that you would see your guy roommate naked, but he's been completely not rude and not naked around you ever.

It's his fault. He tricked you into lowering your guard.

"This shampoo," he says, almost smugly, and you can imagine the way he walks when he saunters over. He hovers the bottle by the side of your head and you feel your face heat up.

"I didn't use it," you muster.

"You didn't even look," he tells you, and you feel something grab your chin and turn your face.

You discover that what was hovering next to your wasn't a shampoo bottle, but his face, terribly near and dangerously kissable.

"Hi," he says, smirking.

"Bye," you say, pulling away.

He laughs. The hand on your chin trails down to your arm to hold you in place. "Hey, don't run."

"Atsumu—"

He places a soft kiss to your cheek. "Hey. It's okay."

The kiss doesn't shock you because you've shared a few in the past—thanks to things like being dates at events, alcohol, and dinners with your parents who keep wanting to set you up with their friends' kids—but his next words do.

He brushes your hair behind your ear with his free hand. "If I saw me, I'd be flustered, too."

It takes you a minute before your face crumples in disgust. You jerk your arm away. "Good bye, Atsumu."

He laughs again from behind you. "What? It's true!"

You march into your bedroom and slam the door behind you, and you make a mental note to up his rent just for being a dick.

[dearru-rb]

IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?

FEATURING. itoshi sae

WC. 3.1k

SYNOPSIS. sae’s been more distant than ever, and you’re sick of it. but sae’s keen on fucking those thoughts out of you.

WARNINGS. dubcon (consensual, but no verbal confirmation), toxic behavior, sadism, hard dom!sae, brat taming, pussyslapping, spanking, doggy style, afab reader, p in v sex, porn some plot, angst if you squint, throat-grabbing, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, degradation/praise, creampie, pet names, inspired by cherry waves by deftones

NOTE. this fic was born from an edible and the darkest cornerstone of my mind (writing evil and toxic men is a disease and i got two days left to live)

“Don’t be like that,” Sae hisses through clenched teeth, following close behind you as you storm through your shared penthouse. You don’t bother to mask the sound of your feet stomping against the marble flooring or to hide the nasty scowl plastered on your face as you blatantly attempt to slam the door shut in his face. But he catches it with his hand, still trailing behind you despite the fact that you’ve made it obviously clear he’s the last person you wanted to see.

You spew more curses at him as you enter your walk-in closet, grabbing your nearest bag and tossing it onto the floor.

“You promised!” You retort, grabbing handfuls of clothes and throwing them into your bag without even considering what was going inside. “This is the second time you forgot!”

The second time this month that he’s forgotten about your annual date night, leaving you alone and miserable in your painfully empty penthouse. You even went as far as wearing the new lingerie set he had specifically chosen for you, with pretty pink lace sitting on top of your smooth skin, only for it to be wasted by yet another practice running late.

“I didn’t forget,” he states slowly, his tone tight in his throat like how it does when he’s trying to bite back his irritation. “I texted you, I’d be late tonight—“

“Yeah, after an hour of me waiting around for you!” You snap, going to gather your belongings. He had the nerve to be the angry one? When you were the one home alone all night? You wanted to laugh, he had to be kidding. But no, his clipped words and low voice blatantly showed his growing irritation. It only made your burning resentment grow hotter.

Fuck this. You weren’t going to be sleeping in the same bed with him, let alone in the same apartment. Every inhale he takes before speaking or a strained word that leaves his sharp tongue sends your blood boiling. For the betterment of not killing your soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend and ending up in the headlines for ending the life of an international soccer superstar, you’d be better off staying in a hotel for the night.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He practically snorts, going to block the door with his large body, barricading you inside, seeing as how his body takes up the entire doorway. He glances you up and down, chuckling at the bag haphazardly packed in your hand.

He’s amused at the situation, as if the thought of you, his long-time girlfriend, abandoning him was some kind of funny prank you were playing.

“Away from you!” You exclaim venomously, but you can’t deny the sting in your eyes that’s been threatening to turn into tears since the argument began– no, since the night began. “I’m sick of this, Sae! You can’t just expect me to—“

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, saccharinely calm, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to alleviate your frustration or attempting to mock you. But you can guess that it’s closer to the latter.

You always hated that about his stoic tone— it never betrayed what he was thinking. No matter how long you’ve been together, you still can’t figure out what’s making him tick. You can’t tell if he’s even upset right now. If he even cares.

His voice is level, his jade eyes narrowed, his frame unmoving.

“I’m not letting you out— you’re upset and crying. You can’t go anywhere like that.”

“Fuck you,” you spat at him, but there’s a weak tremble in your tone that exposes you. It’s undeniable you’re still feeling the pang of hurt he caused. And how couldn’t you?

He yanks the bag out of your hand, tossing it aside onto the floor, ignoring your attempts to protest as he glowers down on you. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“This is the last time,” you seethe again, but the way he stares down at you like some sort of prey is starting to diminish the dwindling confidence in your chest. Still, you try to glare back. “I’m serious, I’m done—“

A beat of silence passes.

He quickly bends over and swiftly throws you over his shoulder, before hauling you off in the direction of your bedroom as you begin to flail and kick, beating your hands helplessly against his back. Your ass, clad in just the matching panties of your slip gown, is on display right in front of him, and you can already imagine his greedy eyes raking over you.

“Sae Itoshi, I swear to God, if you don’t let me down!—“

He doesn’t pay your tantrum any mind, as he haphazardly throws you onto the king-sized mattress placed in the center of your bedroom. You sputter some weak-willed response, before he climbs over you, forcing your back flat onto the bed as he sinks his head to meet the valley between your breasts.

He nips at the base of your chest, pushing your hands above your head, using his free hand to keep them together in a locked grip, the other propping himself up as his knee knocks between your thighs, prying them apart involuntarily. You whine at the faint kisses tracing along your collarbone, leaving burning heat in their wake.

You’re mad, no, furious. So angry to the point of feeling red-hot and dizzy in the head, and his blazing skin on top of yours isn’t helping the growing temperature of the room.

“My poor girl’s been waiting for me all night, is that right?”

“Sae,” you squirm underneath him, trying to muster protests, as you lie helpless under his weight, pinning you down as he shifts his head to rest in the shallow between your neck and shoulder. “If you think this is enough to—“

“C’mon, bunny, let me make it up to you,” he hums into your neck, breath hot and heavy against your skin.

You bite back a moan, ignoring the heat creeping up your stomach to remember the fact that you sat around hopelessly for hours, waiting for your boyfriend to come home. Even though a blatant want was crawling up your spine, you use the memory of you sitting alone at a dining table for the better portion of the night to summon your strength into a biting voice.

“I told you, if you ever do that again, it's over—“

But you don’t get to finish your response.

His hand swiftly leaves your wrists, and he smacks his palm against your clothed pussy— it’s so quick that you barely register what happens before your pussy stings in response, unconsciously clenching around nothing when his palm makes contact with you.

“Ah, Sae!—“

“Don’t be such a brat,” he hisses into your ear, his breath panting your ear as he roughly kneads his fingertips over your still-covered groin. “You know I’m busy with practice, so can’t you be a good girl and wait for me?”

“But you never spend any time with me anymore,” you choke out through moans as you feel the pressure of his fingertips pressing into your aching core, and trying to fight back the bitter burn in your eyes as you try to argue back. “You’re never home—“

He sinks his teeth into the vein charting across the side of your neck, causing your breath to hitch and another whine to escape your lips as your eyes begin to water. Fuck. You needed him. In every way.

“It won’t happen again, bunny, now let me make it up to you.”

You stifle a shriek when his fingers push your lacy panties aside, slipping his two middle fingers easily into your already soaked cunt, as he suckles on the hollow of your throat. Your back arches off the bed with a blatant moan spilling from your lips, but Sae’s body easily holds you down into the bed.

“Got so pretty for me tonight, yeah? Is this the new set I bought you?”

“Mhm,” you nod weakly, your hands instinctively going to grab onto his sculpted shoulders as you rut into his hand desperately as he rubs tight circles onto your sensitive clit.

It was a designer lace babydoll and panty set you bought the other month on an impromptu shopping spree that Sae took you on when he brought you to Milan alongside him for an away game. You distinctly remember it was an apology gift after he missed your dinner date one night because his post-game interviews ran late.

Back then, you wondered if it was really just a gift for him instead of you based on how his hungry eyes raked over the way the fabric fell onto your tits, and the way the flimsy strings of the panties clung onto your hips. His hands crawling all over your body confirms your suspicions.

His other hand slips into the cup of your babydoll, easily cupping your breast with a rough hand that begins to work on your hardening nipples. He rolls the buds between his fingertips, each tweak sending a jolt through your body. His lips drag rough and messy kisses along the curve of your cleavage. His lips are shiny and coated with saliva, plush against your skin.

“Such pretty tits,” he breathes into the flush of your breasts, before pulling one of your breasts into his mouth, swirling a lazy tongue around the hardened buds, making shocks of pleasure ripple throughout your body. His teeth brush along the tips, the sharpness of his canines nipping onto the flesh.

“Hngh!— Sae, ah!”

His fingers scissor into you, dipping and flexing into the curve of your G-spot, as the pad of his thumb massages circles onto your buzzing clit, as you cry out against his touch. He could always fuck the attitude out of you, no matter how pissed you were.

“You’re so needy, are you sure you wanna leave now?” He hums lazily into your skin, his face still settled between your tits, the babydoll now slipped off your shoulders, leaving you practically bare underneath him.

“N-no,” you shake your head weakly, feeling the ghost of a smile against your skin.

“Say you need me. I’m the only one who can make this pussy feel good, right?”

“Y-yes, n-need you, Sae!—“ You stammer weakly as you begin to feel the tightening of your stomach and the incessant clenching of your pussy around his long fingers. He picks up the speed of his fingers plunging in and out of you, causing you to wail. The sopping sounds of your cunt fill the air as your slick coat Sae’s hand with an obscene gleam.

“You wanna cum?” He breathes into the shell of your ear. “You need it?”

“Y-yes! P-please!—“ You try to begin before Sae coos into your ear.

“Shouldn’t even let this needy pussy cum, you’ve been giving me too much attitude lately,” he scoffs into your ear as you whine, tears spilling down your cheeks as you feel the sharp ache building between your legs. “Aren’t I so good to you? Still filling you up even when you’ve been nothing but a brat.”

“S-so good to me!” You whine, as his fingers threaten to stop— but you’re so close. “Need you, p-please, I’m sorry!”

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” He grunts into your ear, the tight rubs onto your clit growing more rapid.

“Yesyes, please!”

On beat, he curls his fingers into the spongy dip of your cunt, as your toes curl and your eyes speckle with white flashes. You gasp sharply as Sae bites onto the soreness of your nipples as you gush around his hand.

“Such a slut for me,” he breathes, inspecting the mess you’ve made on his hand and the sheets. “And I haven’t even gotten started with you.”

Your head is still spinning from the orgasm rolling over your body when Sae flips you over, positioning you onto all fours, exposing your flushed and glistening cunt to his hungry gaze.

He pries off his shirt, tossing it aside, and you wish you could see the flex of his muscles behind you, the light of your bedroom rippling over his carved physique. Your mouth waters at the thought of the hard lines of his body, dipping down into the V of his abdomen, and trailing down to his flushed cock, long and weeping at the tip.

“Ngh, Sae, p-please…”

He swiftly smacks your ass, causing you to moan obscenely, curving your ass into the air. The pain makes the image of Sae’s body in your mind falter.

“You want more? This pussy needs me that bad, huh?” He taunts, his rough hand massaging over the reddening of your ass as if to comfort you despite just spanking you moments before.

“Miss y-you, Sae,” you whine, your back arching further into him. There’s an undeniable falter from how he tenses up at the sound of your sweet voice before you hear him beginning to remove his belt buckle and the ruffling of fabric as he removes his pants.

You suck in a breath as you feel him line the tip of his cock against your withering entrance, whining as you feel him smear the mixture of his pre-cum and your slick along his shaft as makeshift lubricant. You wriggle helplessly underneath him, at the mercy of him looking down on you, blatantly exposed.

“Don’t you ever say you’re leaving me ever again,” he seethes, gripping onto the handles of your hips. “Think you can go a day without my cock in you? Laughable.”

You think he’s going to continue his degradation, that he’s going to make you beg for it, but he’s more impatient than you realize because he takes you by surprise and plunges his cock into you to the hilt, immediately kissing into your cervix. You let out a sob of pain at the sudden intrusion, even though he had stretched you out thoroughly with his fingers.

He wastes no time before he bullies his cock into you, holding onto your hips with a white-knuckle grip, as he slaps himself into your wet pussy furiously, filling the air with the lewd sounds of skin on skin. You barely manage to stay on all fours from the brutal force he’s knocking into you with, but Sae’s using his grip on your hips to force you back onto his cock. Your tits swing with each thrust of his body, your body completely moving to his regard.

You’re a drooling, sobbing mess underneath him as he blatantly uses your cunt as a means to satisfy himself, taking little concern with how roughly he’s manhandling your body. You’re moaning and crying his name, your tears staining the sheets.

“A-ah, Sae, too deep!”

You’ve given up on trying to prop yourself up on your palms, instead held up by his strength alone, as the rest of your body falls limply into the mattress. Sae’s got you angled nearly into a V-shape as he puts his weight onto his knees, continuing to pummel his cock into your cervix so hard you can begin to map every vein lining his long shaft inside of you.

“Shut the fuck up and take what I give you,” he grunts, swiftly smacking your ass again as you yelp at the burn his palm elicits. “Shouldn’t even be letting this pussy take my dick, you’ve been so ungrateful.”

The assault on your pussy, paired with your earlier orgasm, makes another one creep up your core quickly. Sae’s relentless pace makes your toes begin to curl, and you blink back stars.

“G-gonna c-cum, fuck!—“

You hurdle into another orgasm, your eyesight going white as Sae milks out your pussy, coating his dick is even more of your juices. You scream dryly into the sheets as Sae continues to fuck you through your second orgasm.

“Shit,” he curses through his teeth. “Just like that, baby, fuck, see how I take care of you? Only I can make you feel this good.”

“Hah, ah!— S-Sae— S-so good, ah!”

His thrusts are getting sloppier, and you can tell he’s about to unravel, but suddenly he pulls out and flips you over onto your backside, throwing your legs over his shoulders and folding you over as he snaps right back into you.

“Let me see my pretty girl’s face, yeah? Shit, so good for me.”

Sae grabs onto the base of your throat, pushing his lips onto yours in a messy kiss, his tongue suckling onto your bottom lip as you moan into his mouth, muffled by the taste of him. His other hand kneads your breast, grabbing onto your supple flesh.

“That’s it, cum with me, fuck—“

You breathlessly whine, your voice too hoarse to protest how there's no way you could cum for a third time, but Sae rubs tight patterns onto your clit and makes your nerves pinch, focusing on the pressure of his cock fucking into you desperately. It’s coming quickly as you moan incessantly.

“Gonna cum in you, gonna fill you up, you want that?”

“Y-yes, p-please!—“

“Apologize for trying to leave, and I’ll make you cum,” he groans into your neck, and you can tell from the way his hips stutter into yours, he needs your release to be able to finish.

“I’m s-sorry, w-won’t do it again, p-please! Hah-ah, need you, Sae!”

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he exhales raggedly, driving his cock into your core as you claw at his arms, dragging manicured fingernails across his smooth skin. “Fuck—“

He plunges one more time into your sopping cunt, burying himself into you as he fills you to the brim with his cum, a warm gush overcoming your pussy. You blink through the aftershocks, his cock stilling, but still inside of you. Your legs drop from his shoulders and flat onto the bed.

You’re on the verge of passing out right then and there, before Sae returns to your neck, nipping over the marks he left embedded onto your skin, softly tracing his lips on the dips of your throat.

“I’m sorry, baby, promise I won’t miss our next date night, alright?” He hums into your skin, rubbing your skin with the pad of his thumb in lazy circles. “Can’t let my sweet girl go.”

“Fine,” you mumble as he laughs into your neck at how you insist on still showing him attitude. His breath tickles your skin.

“I think I’m going to need to teach you another lesson,” he rasps, his hand crawling to your throat.

You don’t have time to protest before he pushes back into you.

likes, comments, + reblogs are appreciated! xoxo, silena

[dearru-rb]

*with heart-shaped pupils* I can't stand that guy

[dearru-rb]

⟢ pairing: kuroo x reader

⟢ genre: fluff

⟢ wc: < 1k

⟢ a/n: oh I miss him :((

“Thanks for letting me use your shower.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. How long will yours take to get fixed?”

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

“Aw, how did you guess?” you say, rolling your eyes. “Actually, I’m just asking because I know it must be a hassle having to come here just to shower.”

“Maybe I should just move in at this point.” Kuroo sighs, shutting the bathroom door behind him as he enters your small kitchen, dressed comfortably in sweatpants and a black t-shirt with a fluffy white towel draped about his shoulders. He leans against the counter beside you as you busy yourself with cooking eggs for breakfast, watching fondly as you focus on the task before you. “The landlord told me that the plumber should come over in a couple of days.”

“First your heating, now your plumbing, whatever next?” you chuckle.

“The perks of being a student,” he drawls sarcastically.

“Are you sure this isn’t a ploy to use my expensive shampoo?”

“Smell my head and find out.”

“You’re so weird.”

You turn off the heat and plate up your food before turning to your best friend to say something witty, only to suddenly find that your tongue is too heavy to speak. The first thought that crosses your mind is ‘how have I never seen this before?’ The second is that you hope he can’t feel the burning heat radiating from your cheeks from where he stands. You’re quiet as you stare at him, half admiring, half amazed.

His hair lies flat, unlike the usual unruly, gravity-defying mess of black that sits on his head. It’s still a little damp, slowly drying in the warmth of your apartment, a lone droplet of water dripping from the ends and landing on his towel. It hangs in his eyes a little more than usual and the urge to run your fingers through it overwhelms you - it just looks so soft.

“What?” he asks, cocking his head to this side.

“Hm?”

“You’re staring.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

Without missing a beat, you mirror him. “Maybe because I didn’t know your hair could do that.”

He makes a noise of confusion. “Do what?”

“Go flat. I thought it was impervious to the laws of physics.”

Kuroo snickers, running a hand through his hair almost bashfully and you’ve never felt so jealous of a hand in your whole life. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s like finding out that the tooth fairy isn’t real.”

“My hair isn’t a mythical creature.”

“Clearly not. What’s your secret if not magic?”

Kuroo can’t help the grin that splits his face and he shakes his head as he laughs at the pout on your lips. “Bad habits.”

Huffing, you fold your arms over your chest. “It even looks softer.”

“It’s always been soft,” he frowns.

“I wouldn’t know,” you shrug.

“Then touch it,” he says, tipping his head towards you. It’s too tempting an offer to pass up, one that makes you giddy and fluttery inside. You feign resignation with a heavy sigh.

“Fine.”

Sinking your fingers into his hair makes your heart ache wonderfully because he was right - it is soft. The strands are silky between your fingers as you gently comb them through his thick mop of hair. Now that you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop and Kuroo is clearly enjoying the attention, humming and subtly pushing his head into your hands as you scratch at his scalp - like an overgrown cat. You catch the scent of his own shampoo, fresh and masculine and dangerously pleasant.

“I guess you really didn’t use my stuff,” you murmur.

“I did say.” Reluctantly you remove your hands from his hair and he raises his head a little to look at you. There’s a gentle twinkle in his warm eyes, an even gentler smile on his face that one could easily mistake for adoration. His voice is hushed, face inches from yours. “Your fingers felt nice.”

“I could tell,” you whisper. “I really thought you were about to start purring there.”

His cheeks flush pink with embarrassment and you giggle, tentatively reaching out to brush his fringe back. “If you carried on, I might have.”

All of a sudden, you become hyper aware of how close he is to you, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips - so close that if you inched forwards just a little, you could kiss him. You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. For a moment, you’re convinced he is because his eyes flutter and he wets his lips as his eyes flicker down to your mouth for the briefest second. But then he slowly straightens up and you have to squash the disappointment that blooms in your chest as he clears his throat.

Wrong again.

“Let’s eat.”

[dearru-rb]

love going "a friend of mine" irl and it's a tumblr mutual

[dearru-rb]

affirmations for writers: i know how to write. i have seen sentences before, and i know how to make one. i can identify up to several words and their meanings. i am not afraid of semicolons.

[dearru-rb]

geto suguru is the type of boyfriend who peels your satsuma orange with the adroitness of someone born into a higher caste of domesticity. thoughtless, in the way second nature often becomes. something his hands do while his attention is half elsewhere—usually fixed on you bickering with satoru over something inconsequential.

he sits quietly beside you, elbow propped on one knee, thumbs carving arcs through the rind and lifting it away in a single curling strip. not a drop of juice on his knuckles; the bitter white pith scraped clean. he folds a napkin, slides it across the desk toward you—the segments arranged in a pretty bloom.

sometimes, in the middle of one of your heated back-and-forths, he gently presses a slice between your lips. you take it automatically, still glaring at satoru, mumbling “thanks, babe” through a full mouth while suguru hides a fond smile behind the heel of his hand.

you’re spoiled. he’s down bad. everyone knows it.

[dearru-rb]

super jellyous!

your boyfriend’s pursuing his dreams of being the number one striker in the world! and you get to watch him do it all on live tv! the only thing is his teammates are very handsy…

text conversations about you being jealous of the way the team acts with isagi. smau. crack. jealous reader but it's lighthearted. various isagi ships mentioned? technically? one dirty joke. timeline not in order. ooc.

my first smau!! i literally made this half asleep 💀

[dearru-rb]

── LAZY SUNDAY MORNING 黒尾 鉄朗 kuroo tetsuro

contains: fem!reader, post-timeskip!kuroo, fluff, established relationship, domestic bliss, pet names (baby)

word count: 1.1k

as part of the hq! summer fic exchange — for miss misu @bouqette ♡

the other side of your bed is surprisingly empty.

while that's not uncommon for kuroo who often has to get up early for his nine to five, it is strange for a weekend.

he still keeps up with his regular morning fitness regime, not truly being able to drop the well oiled routine he's cultivated even after stepping down as captain of the volleyball team in high school. it's ingrained in him after all this time, though he's a lot more lenient with himself since then. he's still firm, just a tad softer, and you love it all the same.

but that's saturday's business.

it's sunday morning, the mutually understood and agreed let's not care about breakfast and rot in bed until lunch pocket of time that you've carved out in your personal schedules no matter the circumstances.

and he's missing.

sunlight's tricking in through the smallest gap between the curtains and you groan, rolling over to blindly pat around the bedside table and check the time on your phone, the glare temporarily flashing you and you squint, not quite ready to face the day just yet.

8:34AM. it's still way too early.

the sheets on the side where he lays is still warm, he probably hasn't been up for too long, you muse as you gently rub your eyes and reluctantly pull yourself up, slipping on the first t-shirt on top of the messed up pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. it sits wide on your shoulders, one side slipping off and the hem grazing your upper thighs.

smells like kuroo, smells like home.

you pad quietly towards the sound of a sizzling pan and soft humming, a song playing quietly around the open kitchen with lyrics that ring a bell but your barely conscious mind can't put two and two together. it's a sight to behold, so peaceful and quaint, you wish you could take a picture but alas, your phone remains charging on your bedside table.

warmed by the golden rays of saccharine sun shining against his bare broad back, kuroo's almost glowing, a few small moles and marks littering his back like a sea of constellations in a clear night sky and you can't help but be drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

goosebumps rise on his skin when he feels you loosely wrap your arms around his waist, tensing up in surprise for a second before registering the softness of hands that can only belong to you, relaxing as your thumbs find purchase on the waistband of his shorts.

"mmm, good morning." you mumble against his skin, apologetically pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade for unintentionally scaring him as you relish in the heat radiating off him from the inside out. "you're up early."

he hums, free hand pushing the wild strands of his jet black hair in all of it's early morning mess back before placing it above your own, finding yours like its instinct, second nature. "wanted to make you something."

"what's the occasion?"

"what, can't spoil my girl with breakfast in bed?" he glances back now with a cheeky grin, and you return a sweet smile, eyes trailing across his features, extra boyish and youthfully fresh out of slumber. you take a deep inhale, chest pressing against his back as you take in the aroma of a wonderful home cooked meal and his natural scent mixed with what seems like your body wash. soap thief. "speaking of, why aren't you still in bed?"

you murmur with droopy eyes and the smallest pout you don't even know you're making, and kuroo has half the mind to kiss it off your face, "you weren't there..."

"aren't you a clingy little baby hmm?"

he chuckles fondly when he feels your soft hum vibrate against his back, not even trying to deny his statement. you always did love hanging off him like koala. with his stature and physique, how can you not?

his hand gently squeezes yours, "i'm almost done here, do you want to get you and your cute butt back into bed?"

you nod and make a sound of agreement but put in no effort to leave, instead tightening your hold on his waist, finding solace in the subtle yet steady rise and fall of his torso with every breath he takes. it's a comforting feeling, a motion almost like the rocking of a chair, rhythmic and constant, and you're sure that any longer of it will begin to lull you back into the gentle, irresistible embrace of drowsiness.

he sighs dramatically, borderline whining, and you just know he'd be clutching his chest if his hands weren't busy with the food and toying with your own, "you're so stinking cute it's unfair..."

it easily falls into a dreamy, comfortable silence aside from the occasional clang of utensils and clinks of ceramic, the flame of the stove turning down slowly until it fizzles out and completely disappears. you take turns spooning food into each other's mouths and exchanging kisses in between, surrendering to the moment of respite with eyes barely open. you swing your legs back and forth while perched on the counter, the surface cool against your skin as kuroo remains close, never straying too far as he stands between your thighs nursing his first coffee of the day with a hand absentmindedly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ears.

this little compact kitchen's enveloped in a special flavour of comfort, never quite filled but always full, of mutual love and shared aspirations, whispered promises and bellowing laughter.

many nights have been spent with hands clasped over the clean marbled island after long days, and countless mornings of what seems like rush hour in your own home with the both of you scrambling to have a cup of anything caffeine and small bites before inevitably having to run off to your commitments.

from carelessly dancing barefoot with the backdrop of the refrigerator light to giggling with scrunched noses and scrubbing the life out of a pan charred from burnt food, it happens more often than you think when distractions are abundant with someone like kuroo, countless of little instances and silly happenings have carved it's mark into the nooks and crannies of this space.

time has come and gone, seasons changing as with the stages of your life but this? simple moments like this will never fade, a small but unwavering fire burning in the many walls of your home and hearts, tucked away with a lock and the matching key that's been disposed of a long time ago, long before exchanged vows and three words spelled out by eight letters.

and you wouldn't have it any other way.

a/n: started writing this like a month ago jeez, then shit hit the fan and now i'm here / title is also one of my favourite perfume scents ;3

masterlist

taglist: open (link to form) @romybites @ottocre @mayyhaps

© opulace. please do not repost, plagiarise, translate, or feed my work to ai.

[dearru-rb]

Today's kitchen hand

[dearru-rb]

geto used to kiss you after missions.

greedy, almost juvenile—palms cupping your face, mouth firm on yours before you even had time to say hello. your lips, your breath, your skin: his reward. like a child choking down bitter medicine, then chasing it with something sweet.

but something changed. he’d press a hand to the nape of your neck, lean in like he meant to kiss you—and then, at the last second, his lips would skim past yours. a chaste peck to your temple or cheek. the corner of your mouth, if anything. anywhere but where you wanted him most.

swallowing curses had always been part of his technique. but lately, it had become unbearable. the aftertaste coated his tongue like bile-soaked gauze. but what he feared most was the association—some sort of fucked-up, pavlovian response; classical aversion. what once brought him comfort—you—could be irrevocably rewired into revulsion.

no, he wouldn’t allow something so foul to embed itself in the memory of you. that would be desecration.

kisses became rare. only when he was sure the aftertaste was gone, when he’d cleansed his mouth with tea or menthol rinse, waited hours. only then did he allow himself the indulgence.

you were so sweet and understanding about it, too. never once complained, though he could see the hurt in your eyes each time he shied away.

years later, standing alone in his temple, he presses two fingers to his lips and realises with a pang of regret:

he should’ve kissed you more.

[dearru-rb]

It starts the same way it always does: with Atsumu watching you from across the room like you’re something he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.

You’re curled up on the couch, reading a book that’s way too big for how small your hands are. The soft light from the lamp catches in your lashes, your head tilted just enough that he can see the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath the hoodie he swears he didn’t mean to leave behind last week—but he's glad you stole it anyway.

You don’t even know he’s looking, not really. But you smile like you do, and it wrecks him in the gentlest way possible.

“Tsumu?” you say, without glancing up.

“Yeah?”

“You gonna keep starin’ or you gonna come sit with me?”

His heart kicks. That stupid, disobedient thing always does when you say his name like that—soft and easy and safe.

He pads over, socked feet making no sound against the hardwood, and when he drops down beside you, your knees brush. He pretends he’s cool. Casual. Not that he spent the last five minutes memorizing the curve of your jaw from twenty feet away like some lovesick teenager.

You tug the blanket over both of you like it’s instinct, and Atsumu just stares at your profile in the glow of the lamp, feeling something in his chest pull tight and tender all at once.

He wants to say something, anything. That he likes when your laugh echoes in his kitchen. That his bed feels bigger and colder when you’re not in it. That he doesn’t remember what it’s like to feel calm, except maybe right now—with your shoulder brushing his and your hand finding his under the blanket.

But instead, he says, “Y’know, I missed ya.”

You blink, then turn to look at him—really look.

“I saw you yesterday,” you tease, though your voice is laced with warmth.

“Still,” he shrugs, eyes flitting to your mouth, your eyes, the softness of your expression. “Missed ya anyway.”

And there’s a moment, suspended between breaths, where he swears he’s going to say it. That he loves you. That he’s been loving you.

But you smile again, lean your head on his shoulder like it’s where you belong, and whisper, “Missed you too, Tsumu.”

And maybe that’s enough—for now.

Because he can wait. He’ll yearn as long as it takes, if it means keeping this—this quiet kind of forever with you wrapped in his hoodie, under his blanket, in his arms.

m.list

Sol's report: Once again I shall say that I'm pushing my yearner atsumu miya agenda

General Taglist: @pomigranit, tba!! (Open)

© 𝑺𝑿𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 ᯓ★

[dearru-rb]

HOW TO KISS YOUR BOYFRIEND

YOUR INEXPERIENCE WITH ROMANCE AFFECTS YOUR COURAGE TO DO THE FIRST MOVE. By God’s graces, you were lucky to be the only person who receives romantic attention from Tsukishima Kei, who is commonly known to have little interest in anything; Kei knew that there is a first for everything, and right before he goes to college, he wants to experience what being in a relationship would feel like with you.

It is not his first time to be in one—but being in one with you makes it a little special.

And as to not disappoint his expectations, you find yourself huddled up inside your dorm, buried in your heavy comforter with a laptop in front of you. The brightness illuminating from the screen serves as the source of light that hits your face—your face was so focused, your fingers working non-stop to find the perfect tutorial.

🔎 how to kiss your boyfriend

🔎 kissing tutorial

🔎 how to kiss properly with tongue

One of the videos shown to you advised you to enclose your palm, and put your lips on the side. The woman in the video is practically telling you to make out with your own hand—you cannot help but feel off. The next video interests you as it was shown with a partner.

“Start with slow, gentle kisses and skip the tongue and the teeth—for now,” the woman speaks with a gentle smile on her face while the man beside her looks between you and her expectantly. They show you the way by pressing their lips together, no tongue yet. “Stay at a manageable level of saliva. Slobbery puppies are the last thing you want your date to think of you,” your eyes sparkled, knowing you can do this; of course, you were curious about the next technique. You fast forward the video, skipping the couple just meshing their lips together like dolls.

“Now, try French kissing,” you gulped, hearing her words come out of her mouth. Anticipation brewed inside you, your eyes focused on the screen. “Slide the tip of your tongue inside your partner's mouth and gently move it against the tip of his or her tongue.” They were making out in front of you, tongue swirling around her partner’s tongue—her hands were gripping the man’s shoulders to set the mood, hinting for more.

The radiation from the laptop starts to irritate the nerves all over your eyeballs. You can feel your head aching from the lack of food in your system. Droopy, unfocused, and worried are all what you feel at the same time—how the hell were you supposed to practice kissing Kei when all the videos that you have watched are practically making you look like an idiot?

However, you did not notice that your own partner just arrived in your dorm and caught you watching an unexplainable video of a couple kissing. Tsukishima looks at your unaware form in confusion, “What are you watching so intensely—?”

You screamed loudly, shutting down your laptop, almost throwing it out of the window. You glared at him, your heart beating erratically fast; you felt your stomach drop when you could hear the woman’s voice still continuing with a slight sound of smacking lips together. “Try deeper and harder strokes—!”

Tsukishima scrunches up his face in accusation, already thinking the worst and formulating a remark. “Are you seriously watching porn?”

You interjected immediately, “No!”

Kei puts the In N’ Out doggie bag on top of your desk, before shamelessly opening your laptop. He scans the unfinished tabs and titles on the screen with his golden-brown eyes under his glasses, before he lets out a snicker, not failing to irk you. “Pfft—!”

“Kei, shut up!” You buried your face on the pillow, not caring about hygiene on your face anymore. Kei’s snickers became the aggravating laughs you hate when he teases you—Tsukishima could not breathe from the comedic situation.

He keeps snickering, “You seriously do not know how to kiss?” Tsukishima relishes in the embarrassed look on your face, as you try to save your face by scowling.

“Oh, and you have?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he proudly admits with a grin.

You feel annoyed and a bit jealous that he already shared his first kiss with someone. You bit back your lower lip to hide your frustrations, not wanting to worsen your humiliation any further. “Whatever.”

Tsukishima grips the fat on your cheeks with one hand before leaning in closely with a teasing, handsome grin. “If you want to learn that badly, I can teach you.”

Your eyes softened, feeling a bit down and insecure at your inexperience. You gaze at his lips before going back to his eyes. “I do not want to disappoint you. It may not be your first, but it is certainly mine, and I—ouch! What the hell?!” At the latter part of your statement, he begins to pinch your cheeks—harder at that.

“…” Pinch. Pinch.

“Stop that!”

Kei cannot help but have a cuteness aggression with how you’re acting right now. It did remove his stress and tiredness because of you. “You’re rambling again, for no reason.” He pokes your nose in amusement, as if he wasn’t the reason you’re stressing out, making you sulk at his carefree attitude.

Your boyfriend leans in, his warm breath fanning over your lips—the previous teasing and unserious facade he had was gone and shifted into something more flirtatious. The air around you suddenly becomes hotter and intimate, him leaning against you while both of you are on the bed. “What are you doing?” You stuttered.

“What do you think?”

This was too much for your heart—he looks too handsome, he smells so good; you were at a loss for words. All you two have been doing is holding hands, cuddling, kissing on the cheek and forehead. On the lips? You made a point about how you do not know how.

“C’mere, I’ll show you how,” he whispered softly, his eyes already focused on your lips. Tsukishima takes off his glasses before he pulls you on his lap. His hands rest on your hips, wanting you to get comfortable—he coos at your flustered expression, knowing this was far more intimate than cuddling.

Your heart is beating too fast; you cannot speak. You do not even hide how much you look stupid right now. Tsukishima is having the time of his life; he’ll have this as one of his memorable moments. Kei leans in, taking his sweet time before pressing kisses on your jaw—Tsukishima knows how to make you melt to give in.

You lean your neck back before your lips are inches away from each other. Kei whispered teasingly, “You do not even know how to close your eyes?”

That ticked you off, “Fuck off.”

You roughly press your lips on his firmly. He slightly opens his mouth to lock his lips with your lower lip. Tsukishima rubs his fingers on your hips, guiding you patiently as he winces when he feels your tongue trying to invade his mouth already. “Damn, are you a puppy? You need to relax,” he mocks you while grinning on your lips—and it is the thing you’re afraid of before you try to pull away.

“I’m sorry—”

Kei didn’t give you the chance to pull away, completely locking his lips with yours. You let out a whine, embarrassed at initiating a French kiss; and he looks so hot giving you guidance. “I’ll guide you, so stop squirming,” Your breath hitched, seeing his expression darkened—out of delight and desire.

Tsukishima hummed pleasantly, sensing that you were adapting better to the kiss. He mumbled, “Open your mouth,” You followed his words with no complaint before you let out a muffled gasp when you felt his tongue slip inside your mouth, swirling around the tip of your tongue. You squirmed when the kiss became more intense, letting out a breathy whine when he took control of the kiss—you tried to nibble his lower lip, making him let out a noise that fueled your ego.

“Tch, don’t move too much. You might start something you’ll never finish,” he demanded with a husky voice, wanting you to stay still on his lap. You stopped breathing and moving in response to what he said.

The rhythm of the kiss started off awkwardly, yet it became the most amazing one that had you wrapping your arms around his neck like your life depended on it. You two were now making out; he shudders when he feels your fingers rubbing his nape. He grips your shirt tightly, wrinkling it within his grip.

You two broke off the kiss to catch your breath. A string of saliva leaves between your lips. You stared into his eyes, already aching for more, but he was controlling himself. You licked your lower lip. The heat in your lower stomach burned hotly, finally experiencing the magnificence of kissing someone you’re interested in.

Kei smirks at your dazed expression, “Now, was that so difficult?”

You huffed in response, knowing you had thoroughly and sincerely enjoyed it. Tsukishima pecks your nose, mocking you while grinning lazily. “Let’s do it again.”

image is by @Freaka_LoonyZ on X || credits to wikihow for the kissing tutorial