kuroonyang

[kuroonyang]

warnings: NSFW🔞, heavy somnophilia, non con, age gap (nanami is 40, reader is 22) poor nanami :3 this is a long one~

coming home from college to surprise your mom sounds like a great idea until her boyfriend, nanami, mistakes you for her and shoves his dick in you.

it’s not your fault you dozed off in her bed, waiting for her to come home from work. she’d never mentioned her late nights, and you never thought to ask. maybe if you hadn’t slipped into one of the oversized, decidedly masculine shirts and baggy sweatpants from her closet, it wouldn’t have been so easy for someone to mistake you for her. but honestly, that’s not your fault either. your mom had packed up your old clothes from your childhood room ages ago so you figured she wouldn’t mind if you put on some of her clothes after being on the nasty train all day. and it’s not like you asked for the gene that makes you look enough like her from behind for it to be a problem—especially when they’re drunk enough to not tell the difference.

your first real mistake, the one that’s entirely on you, is never being able to sleep on your back. you’re a side sleeper through and through—so used to the position that you didn’t even stir when nanami stumbled in, muttering half-forgotten lyrics to an old jazz song, sighing deeply in that heavy, drunk way older men do every now and then. he tossed his clothes off, carelessly flinging them toward the hamper.

it’s definitely your fault for suggesting your mom get this high-quality mattress, telling her, ‘you’re getting older, gotta take care of yourself.’ it’s so comfortable that you can’t help but drool in peace when nanami collapses onto the bed, pressing fully into your backside as he slurs, “heeey, honey— look at you, all wrapped up in my clothes? did you— hiccup— miss me?”

it’s barely your fault that the feeling of a warm, hard muscled, naked full grown man wrapping his heavy arms around you leaves you undisturbed. even when he starts grinding something mean against your upper back thigh and licking at the shell of your ear, it’s on you for not coming to.

even as nanami’s rough hand, that he had washed before crawling into bed despite being drunk off of his ass—pressed against the lower half of your face, you only stirred slightly.

“let’s get it on, baby. ‘m sorry for what i said earlier, i don’t wanna fight. gonna do you real good like you want me to. read so many— hiccup— articles,” he slurs lowly into your ear with hot, whiskey breath as his thumb rubs your cheekbone soothingly.

you have to give yourself some credit though, your subconscious had almost woken you up when he shoved a hand into your sweatpants. he brushes the tips of his middle fingers against the gusset of your panties with a, “ohh, there she is.” the first half of his two long fingers take up the entirety of your labia, if you were awake maybe you’d even feel the way an experienced nanami found your clit before even feeling around for it first.

you can’t fault nanami too much, a small alert in the back of his wasted head went off when your thinly covered labia felt a little shorter in length than he had remembered. but poor nanami figured he’s just drunk, that and he hasn’t touched his girlfriend or been touched by her in quite a while. he can’t even pinpoint the last time his oppressed balls were emptied.

his movements are nice and slow, rotating between sensual circles and soft strokes from the top of where your inner lips start and down to the bottom where your hole is starting to wake up before you even do. his touch isn’t fast and rushed like all of the college boys you’re used to who are driven purely by raging hormones.

rather, nanamis rubbing on your pussy is enjoyable for him, his eyes are closed in bliss as he noses at your neck and hair. your pussy is warm, the heat is rapidly escalating in temperature with every stimulating touch. he basks in the feeling of slowly coaxing your clit to start thumping against his fingers when he pushes against the hood covering it in two short pressing nudges, using your panties to soften the sensation.

he coos an appreciative hum when your leg muscles twitch in response and your hands jerk softly as you sleep. it didn’t take long for your clit to go from subtle thumps to needy throbbing. “i know, i knoow— don’t say it— hiccup— you want me to be more rough with you. but, still needa get you wet for an easy slide into this honeypot.”

if you were awake, you’d fucking laugh at the old man term for pussy— then again maybe you wouldn’t because he’s starting to move his fingers back and forth with forceful pressure to wedge your panties between your outer lips. he nibbles on your neck as you let out a sleepy whimper. your nipples and lower abdomen ripple in a wave of tingles as his fingers use the fabric to produce a delicious friction. it’s akin to a paper towel being set down on a puddle of water, the way your gusset soaks up the abundance of leaking arousal the second he wedges the cloth in, making a dark patch.

that dark patch is balmy and sticky, aiding in a nice slip and slide for his massage. “fuck,” he grunts into the side of your head, “got so sticky wet so fast. see?— hiccup— you do enjoy when i’m soft on you, baby.”

the way he emphasizes the word ‘do’ is as if he’s made this point before. if you were awake, you’d probably be able to connect the dots that he and your mom are having intimacy issues but who are you kidding, you’d be too distracted with the way he’s rubbing you in a relentlessly sweet way that he’s enjoying as much as your body is.

your pussy has been adequately prepped for minutes now, but he figures since you’re sleeping, you can’t make him hurry up and stick it in you like his girlfriend always rushes him to do. he can do what he pleases right now, thats what nanami thinks your mom’s argument was anyways, for him to do get a little greedy.

truthfully, he’s acting out of bitterness, upset that your mother told him she’s no longer attracted to him because of how soft and kind he is. his way of ‘getting back at her’ is by taking his time to touch and play with what he thinks is her pussy until he wishes to stop. nanami’s instincts when he’s upset is usually to comfort and cherish, not hurt and destroy, he genuinely thinks he’s in the wrong right now by taking all the time he wants to play with your pussy.

to hear a ‘squelch’ everytime he prods at your clothed cunt is diabolical. one would think the cloth would prohibit any kind of ‘chu’ noises but even when drunk, nanami is too skilled, he’s teasing you expertly by simply relying on his own desires to do so.

nanami is lost in the act, addicted to your twitching clit and the clench he feels your hole make every time he brushes against the entrance of it. even your reproductive organs are anticipating some kind of penetration. but the sound of a muffled, sleepy cry against his palm snaps him out of it. he chuckles and peppers kisses against your shivering neck, uttering apologies between every kiss. his fingers transition to apply pressure to the entirety of your labia in attempt hold you over for just a moment, aware of the silent plea of your body yearning for penetration.

“okay, okay, i feel it. i know. shh,” he coos into your ear as your legs and abdomen jerk due to the pressure to your sensitive cunt, “need something to milk, hmm? you’re in luck, my cock needs milking, you— uh— slut.”

nanami’s trying his very best, using all of his drunk brain power to think back to that article titled ‘seven ways to spice up your sex life and please your unsatisfied woman! (intense, hard sex for beginners).’

1. be dominant— check. he hopes playing with your pussy from behind with a hard hand over your mouth the entire time counts. a subsection of this said to ‘take what you want!’ and he certainly has so far, subjecting your unconscious body to torturous fondling. he thinks he’s doing alright.

2. mean dirty talk— check. calling you a slut once, although very poorly, counts.. right?

3. consensual non-consensual play— check. he had to put on his reading glasses to read the definition on a site called ‘urban dictionary’ to understand what the fuck somnophilia was after your mom had said it as if it were an insult, that he ‘hasn’t even tried that’ on her, in their little argument. that’s what led him down the private online browser black hole to find this article in the first place.

already three down and a few more to go, nanami’s feeling confident as he shoves your sweatpants and soaked panties down until they’re at your knees. hazy eyes flit down to coordinate his movements as much as his drunk ass can, all while murmuring, “lets get these— hiccup— off of you. sorry, just gonna—yeah— shove ‘em down.”

is there any excuse for not waking up by now that makes more sense than to say you’re exhausted from midterms? a nice, wet dream where someone with a deep voice is holding you, playing with your cunt, and whispering sweet nothings into your ear is just too inviting for a college student who’s only possible relief is a two-pump frat boy who spreads a rumor that you suck in bed after.

nanami uses one hand to press on your lower tummy to jut your butt out towards him before using the same hand to grip the base of his hard cock. he shivers as his fingers, slick and sticky with your fluid, graze against his dick, his focused, squinted eyes locked on your arched ass as he aims himself.

“ready?” he mutters to you, more a question to himself than anything, as his tip brushes softly against the outside of your entrance.

“three, two,” he slurs as he counts down, hand on your mouth tightening as he pushes your head back into his chest to prepare for your awakening. he pauses for much longer between two and one, gulping to himself. he’s applying enough tension with his hips so that his tip presses to the outside of your cunt without having to hold it there, so he can use his free hand to gently pull one of your lips away as to expose your silky, toasty insides for better access.

“one,” he breathes out with eyes blinking, a long pause delaying any movement despite one being the number he’s supposed to penetrate you on.

this feels wrong, your body, who he believes is your moms, is blissfully asleep and still. it’s as if he’s waiting for you to give him a little encouragement, a muffled whimper or something, but you don’t. he wonders what you’re dreaming about, if it’s him or if it’s that guy who your mom boast’s about with a flush to her cheeks at the work parties he brings him to. that infuriating thought leads him into the thought that maybe he’s who your mom will leave him for, maybe he knows how to be rough with her the way she years so badly for. maybe that guy wouldn’t second guess himself when he’s about to shove his unforgiving cock into her soft body.

the irritating thought spiral makes the vein in his forehead pop and his jaw clench. he moves his eyes up from your arched back and leans down to your ear to breathe heavy into it. his hand subconsciously tightens around your lower face as his jealousy grows, making your brows twitch into a pout briefly in your sleep as one of your hands slides a few inches against the sheets in a jerking reaction.

the build up to this moment happened in twelve frames per second, choppy and fragmented, similar to the way his drunk mind is operating right now. but when nanami finally makes a move, everything turns into a sudden burst of force, like a sneaky wave that slams into the back of your head and pushes you off of your feet and equilibrium as all of your senses turn from serene beach noise to a loud sloshing that fills your ears and lungs.

one mean, rough snap of his lower body, motivated by so many conflicting factors within nanami’s head, and he’s mounted all the way inside of your body.

“biiig stretch,” nanami growls deeply into your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his toes twitch and his legs push against yours.

4. leave a mark— check. he can feel your soft skin giving in to his teeth, no doubt you’ll be dealing with that reminder for weeks after this. he doesn’t even feel bad when the thought of your mom’s work ‘friend’ seeing the evidence of her very exciting personal life.

everything that happens to your body when he infiltrates happens all at once—your wide eyes shoot open, nostrils flare with a big inhale, back arches, one hand flies behind you to dig your nails into the muscley ass of whatever is penetrating you while the other claws at the hand over your mouth, legs extend straight out, toes curl, and pussy flutters.

if nanami wasn’t so drunk and riled up by his own thoughts, he would absolutely notice the difference in sensations within your cunt. although it’s been more than a while since he’s felt the inside of your mothers body, its agonizingly clear that this one he just forced into feels different. if he didn’t use so much strength initially to slam in, he would have had to practically pry his way in. when his cock head nudged at the little folds where your hymen is located, in less than a split second, mid thrust, he felt a resistance that made him engage more core strength to get past it.

that’s not the only thing thats different, what he’s used to with his girlfriend is a cute, subtle flutter around his cock when he gets inside but, the flesh surrounding him right now is choking his fucking dick every half second like it’s panicking, like it’s crying out that it’s not used to this.

the consistency of these walls are gooey, bumpy like any pussy is, but really the only accurate word to use is gummy. its like he’s being strangled by a sticky gelatin candy that’s alive and breathing. even drunk nanami is surprised by how wet you are inside, its making him think back to when he played with your pussy and wonder if he had lost track of time and done it for longer than he thought because what his cock is used to with your mom is a slightly dry consistency. he knows he hadn’t prepped you that long at all, maybe twenty minutes and you’re gushing as if he’s been fingering you for three hours nonstop.

but even if nanami wasn’t inebriated, his primal instinct to give in to the tight hug of this pussy he’s entered is too strong for logical thinking and it’s much too strong for him to get a better look at who’s actually connected to this cunt.

he briefly detaches his teeth to let out a euphoric ‘ooowh’ as his hand that was holding your pussy lip moves to rest against your lower tummy where he can feel his own fucking bulge inside. he quickly rebinds his teeth into your neck after— an almost subconscious way to cope with your tight body.

now fully awake, you quickly notice the hand over your mouth prohibiting you from gasping and crying out through it the way you need to, the large warmth of a man enveloping the entirety of the back of your body, the sharp teeth locked onto your neck, and the monster cock stretching you out painfully all at once in a way you’ve never felt before.

you immediately start to squirm, rotating from pushing against his hip, hitting at it weakly, and sinking your nails into it to cope with his unyielding presence seated within your cunt, unmoving and forcing you to deal with it.

one of your eyes twitch in sync with your muscles in the hand on his hip when the sharp pain of nanami detaching his teeth from your neck shoots through your nerves.

“good—” nanami hums, basically purring as he laps a slow few licks at the indents, making you shiver and flinch, “—morning.”

the shock subsides enough for you to begin thinking through what the fuck is happening. you’re clearly not in your dorm. the nightstand beside you holds an open scrapbook with your baby pictures, a reminder of when you were looking through it earlier. it all floods back—how you came home to surprise your mother and ended up falling asleep while waiting.

immediately, you assume whoever is behind you is a stranger who broke into her home and you start squirming harder than before, trying to get out of his grasp.

“hey, hey— calm down,” he’s speaking directly into your ear, drawing out the phrase in attempt to soothe you as his hand on your lower tummy begins to rub in comfortingly slow circles, right over his protrusion.

you whimper and try to shake your head harshly as to refuse his request. you’re using your hands to push as hard as you can against his hand on your mouth and his hip, which isn’t very hard since his third arm has rendered you limp and useless. you don’t push his warm hand away from your tummy though, because perverted intruder or not, it actually is easing some discomfort.

5. restrain yourself or her— check. apart from the fact that he’s had a hard hand clamped on your mouth this whole time, he’s quite effortlessly keeping your writhing body restrained against him as well.

“it’s just me, honey,” nanami quickly says, in a reassuring tone with a bit of humor in it and a kiss to your ear. “—your very, very mean, rough boyfriend.”

the way he’s playfully cooing that he’s a mean, rough boyfriend makes you blink and your resisting hands falter a bit. your eyes flick to the dresser: a bottle of expensive cologne, hair gel, designer watch, a plain leather wallet, the large shirt you’re wearing and the XL sweatpants that are sloppily hanging onto your knees.

you realize as quickly as you squeal in horror under his palm that this has to be your moms boyfriend that she obviously never wanted to tell you about. and clearly, she never told nanami about you. or maybe she did, but since you thought it’d be a good idea not to tell her you were coming, you’re now cock warming your mom’s secret boyfriend who thinks you’re her. the butterfly affect in action.

drunk nanami clearly perceives your squeal of horrifying realization as one of excitement because he chuckles and nuzzles the side of your face. “mmmhm— see? this ‘doormat’ of a man can be greedy too,” he lets out a deep slow breath against your face, “played with your— ahem— pussy for twenty minutes before you woke up.”

clearly, your mother had called him a doormat at some point. the way he says ‘pussy’ is like he’s not familiar with the word. it’s obvious he’s trying to make a point by telling you about his twenty minute handling of your cunt, to prove that he’s capable of acting on his own desires, without being mister nice guy and always catering to his girlfriend’s wishes.

panicked by his ‘twenty minute’ confession, you begin to kick weakly at his calves, but you quickly waver in your attempt when it feels good. the both of you groan into each other—you into his palm and he into your ear, your eyes flutter, and your back arches because the kicking inadvertently sparks some deep, oscillating friction of your connected parts.

“fucking god-damnit,” nanami grunts and lets out a deep breath, “you feel so tight, honey. good god.”

your eyes clench shut at his mortifying compliment but your hands pushing at his hip and his hand weaken to a gentle lingering. he’s not even thrusting and you’re already exhausted, growing dizzy even. attempting to cope with intrusion that’s much too large for your smaller body, trying to escape his unfathomable strength, and the emotional turmoil of the situation— it’s all too much for you to continue to resist so adamantly.

nanami is about to whisper into your ear for permission to begin fucking your body with all of his might but he stops himself and huffs, reminding himself of your mothers cruel words before— ‘sometimes a woman just wants to be taken, kento. i want to feel like you desire me so much that you can’t control yourself but you’re too busy asking me for fucking consent!’

your eyes bulge and you cry out under his palm as nanami suddenly launches his hips into a vicious pace with no warning, your ass is rippling and your body is jerking like a fucking doll with every jackhammer. the power behind these ruts would fuck you right off the bed if he wasn’t pushing your lower tummy and face into him. every ram comes with a deep grunt, a drag of his cock against your panicking walls, and a collision to your cervix.

6. thrust roughly— check. ‘fast and hard is the name of the game,’ nanami remembers reading. he’s familiar with soft love making, being attentive of the woman’s every reaction as to be careful and kind. he’s only ever lost a sliver of control when he’s about to cum, unable to hold his harder thrusts back during that time, but it’s never as rough as he’s being right now.

your hands fly out, one dragging on the bed before grabbing at anything within reach while the other is being forced to replace his hand on your lower tunmy before closing his palm on top of yours to keep it there and to steady you.

“can you— shit!— feel that?” nanami growls, his voice unsteady due to the harsh fucking his delivering to you, “this is what you fucking wanted, right?”

you shake your head, hard, with clenched watery eyes, letting out muffled ‘mmm!’s against his hand. despite the fact that you’re shaking your head ‘no,’ answering nanami’s rhetorical question at all only goes to show how fucked out already you are. nanami’s strength behind every single thrust is knocking any sense or logic from your brain.

“let me take you,” nanami breaths out in a quick pant, “let me take you— fuck!— let me take you. give in— shh— give in to me and this fucking cock.”

nanami can hardly believe the words coming out of his own mouth, words he’s only heard when he was a teenager, rolling his eyes at the locker room talk the other boys were engaging in.

the pathetic moan you let strangle out of you and muffle into his palm because of his deprived dirty talk is diabolically immoral. he’s panting and repeating himself like a wild animal, like he’s losing all control as he pries you open and then lets your pussy close up again, over and over and over. it happens so fast, four thrusts in the span of half a second— which you’d think would be too quick to have any power behind it but it does, it’s powerful and it’s swift.

then, every one of your defenses are falling, with no other option or choice, he feels the subtle shift of you pushing your ass into him to meet his hips, the interlocking of your fingers with his on your tummy, and your other hand moving from his on your mouth to the back of his head to rake your nails through his hair. you’ll deal with everything else later, all you can think about now is how to make him wedge deeper so you can get off on his cock.

“god yes,” nanami coos in appreciation, a wave of affection coming over him to join the toe curling pleasure and he finally feels like he’s won you over through your cunt, “there we go, that’s my girl. atta fucking girl— oowh—never felt so goddamn strangled in my life.”

strangling him, you are. he feels it and you can feel it, your pussy is holding onto him like it’s yearning to conjoin your genitals together for eternity.

your eyes roll back as your tits bounce painfully. if you weren’t completely consumed by the most euphoric orgasm of your life—starting in your shaky legs and surging upward until your vision clouds white and your mind blanks—you might notice his shift in tone. the sudden, effortless stream of filthy words spilling from him is a clear sign of his own climax drawing near.

nanami wants to get even deeper when he feels your orgasming cunt squeeze him harder than ever, so he kicks your knee up with his until his leg is nudged between yours and your leg is resting on top of his. you both shudder at how much deeper he’s able to penetrate now. you can feel his swollen balls slap against your overwhelmingly sensitive clit as his grip on your face and tummy turns painful.

“gonna cum,” he grits out directly into your ear before smearing his face into the side of your head like he’s losing control, “‘m gonna blow my fucking load right into your pussy.”

nanami lets out a drawn out, deep disgruntled groan that sounds almost like, ‘wwhuuaah,’ reminiscent of a middle aged man in porn, as his balls rise and begin to twitch in eager preparation. he’s clearly not familiar with the feeling of a twenty two year olds body and moral nanami had never thought about it before anyways.

he sucks in a sharp breath of air with eyes clenched shut before slamming his hips into you once more, all the way up until your flustered cervix and his smiling tip nuzzle together with affection. it’s as if they have a spirit of their own, more than happy to hug and kiss and get familiar with one another in such a sweet way.

when nanami moves his hand away from your mouth, mid jizz, you inhale a large breath of air as if you had been suffocating the entire time. before you can even shout at him to get off of you or not to cum inside of you and then move to the other side of the room and proceed to explain that you are not your mother in a very loud, horrified way as you pull the sweatpants up your shaking legs— you don’t get to do any of that. nanami instead, grips your jaw and yanks you towards his face before sloppily connecting your lips and shoving his tongue all the way into your mouth that at one point, you swear he reached your throat, muffling any shouts you might have had ready.

your eyes are wide as your pupils race back and forth from each of his clenched shut eyes, frozen with your mouth open wide as he tongues it. your free hand that isn’t trapped under his on your tummy falls from his head and spasms mid air as you feel that first aggressive spurt of cum connect to your cooing cervix.

he grunts and groans into your mouth through his orgasm, rocking his hips in a gyration while not pulling out even a little.

suddenly, just when you think it’s all over, you squeal as he slowly but surely pushes you down with his own body weight until you’re flat on your stomach and he’s on top of you, still completely seated inside of you. your mouths disconnect along the way and he falls completely limp against you as the last of his cum spills from him.

you’re gasping for air, aggressively attempting to catch your breath— partly due to his body crushing you and partially because of the absolutely diabolical sex he’s just inflicted on you.

he hisses into your ear as your pussy goes through the involuntary process of pulsing after your orgasm, effectively milking him of the cum he has already given to you. his arms wrap around your midsection and he cuddles into your back.. “wow, fucking wow. that was amazing,” he breathes out as he too attempts to catch his breath, refusing to pull out despite the overstimulation.

nanami is blissfully unaware as he falls into a deep sleep, the only thing on his hazy mind is the happiness that he’s finally shown his ‘girlfriend’ that he can satisfy her.

once you catch your much needed breath, you immediately start to squirm under him as to push him off. you’re completely trapped under him.

“g-get off!” you shout effectively for the first time all night with a scratchy voice, due to all of the moaning and screaming you were doing, “hello? hey asshole! wake up! you’re still— ngh!— inside of me!”

maybe it was the fifth glass of whiskey nanami had drank a few hours ago at the bar with haibara, satoru, suguru, and shoko but he’s already snoring in an old man way that he has no right to be doing at his age of forty. you quickly realize he’s not going to wake up after slapping the man as hard as you can and you go through all the stages of grief until you land on acceptance.

“stupid old man,” you grumble to yourself, a bit bitter about how relaxed your body feels because of the incredible orgasm he’s gifted you. you can’t bring yourself to admit anything past the fact that college boys simply don’t stand a chance in hell after this experience.

you reach around the sheets as much as possible to search for your phone but you can’t find it since it’s somewhere on the floor after being knocked off by nanami’s jackhammering.

you try your hardest to stay awake because imagining your mother coming home to see her boyfriend lying on top of her daughter with his semi hard dick plugging her slippery cunt as they sleep together in her bed sounds more horrifying than if you’re awake when it happens.

but even though you try your hardest to stay awake, a few hours pass and the exhaustion gets to you.

~

when you wake up, that crushing weight on top of you is gone and your sore pussy is empty, though you can still feel that echo of what was once molding the inside.

you cautiously take in the sight of the neatly made bed under you and the sun lit room around it that you grew up identifying as your mom and dads room before rubbing your sleepy eyes harshly. your phone is plugged in on the nightstand beside the clock that reads seven am, and you know for a fact that your mother’s shift ends right about now. that gives you thirty minutes to get the fuck out of her bed.

turning over to lie on your back, you wince at the ache in between your legs. taking a deep breath, you sit up and blink down at your covered legs. you’re wearing a new pair of large sweatpants and the same big shirt that belongs to your moms boyfriend.

you peak into the hem of the sweatpants with a cocked brow and blink at your labia that looks a bit too clean after all the cum that was inserted into it last night.

questioning why the sheets have been somehow changed without waking you up, why your phone is plugged in, l why your sweatpants are changed, or why your pussy is lacking cum is pushed all the way to the back of your mind to keep your priority on getting out of this bed. sure, it seems innocent if your mom comes home and finds you here, likely happy to see you surprise her with your presence, but that happiness won’t last long when she starts questioning where her boyfriend slept if you slept in their bed and all the questions that follow that.

you pull the covers back and stand on jelly legs, wincing once again as your pussy silently cries out. you take your phone and shove it into your pocket and grumble as you limp over to the door. you take a deep breath before peaking your head out and looking both ways down the hall guardedly. the coast seems clear, so you race as quiet as you can over to your childhood room before slipping inside.

you avoid the boxes of paperwork your mom stored in here over the years you’ve been gone and enter the connected bathroom to take a shower. you take the opportunity to find some evidence that you didn’t just dream up a man pummeling into you. you cringe as you stick two fingers inside of your sore, sensitive hole just to be met with strings of cum racing down your knuckles as you hold them in front of your face.

you have no option but to slip back into the same clothes you woke up in. you quickly ruffle up your bed as to make it look like you had slept in it before nodding to yourself and entering the living room.

you halt the second you see the back of a large, neatly gelled blonde man seated at the kitchen island. you remember that blonde hair, but it was much messier when you were scraping your nails through it last night.

the scent of breakfast food is vivid and you can hear the quiet sound of him sipping on something.

you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you just stand in the archway of the entrance to the kitchen/living room.

nanami’s eyes trail up aimlessly and land on the microwave as he sips his coffee. he does a double take at the reflection of you in it and chokes on the hot liquid before setting it down as to not spill. he almost trips over himself as he stands and faces you, wiping his mouth and clearing his throat after he catches his breath.

you’re expecting an ugly, old man when he faces you since you didn’t get a good look last night, but you’re wrong.

you gulp as you take in how handsome the tall middle aged man is, thin reading glasses on his face and he clearly showered this morning, but he has heavy eye bags that expose his hangover and soft wrinkles that expose his older age. he’s wearing an ironed button up shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, an expensive watch to accentuate his veiny, massive hands, and slacks for bottoms with socks. you immediately get the impression that he doesn’t often wear comfort clothing like the ones you’re wearing of his right now, he’s pristine.

but what catches your eye most is the clear look of guilt on his face and panic brimming just below the surface.

you should feel grossed out by him, but now that you’ve had a very good nights rest after the best orgasm of your life and you’re laying eyes on one of the most beautiful men in town, any anger or discomfort you felt last night has dissipated greatly. you can’t help but let your eyes lag on his clothed cock, which he notices of course, but it only seems to make his mortification grow along with a red blush to his cheeks.

nanami’s taking you in as well, the first thing he notices is the harsh bruising indents of teeth on your neck— his teeth and he immediately wants to repent to a priest. you’re also much smaller than he is, making him mentally curse at himself remembering just how rough he was with you. and of course, he notices how beautiful you are, but in a normal situation where you—a young girl—meets him— an older man— he’d appreciate that you were beautiful for half a second and it would never cross his mind again. but because this isn’t a normal situation at all, your face reminds him of how it felt to hold your mouth closed as he forced himself into your small body, over and over.

a moment passes where you both seem to wait for the other to break the silence. his mouth opens and closes a few times, and your head tilts slightly, watching him with quiet curiosity.

“u-uh hello,” nanami awkwardly greets, clearly unsure of what to do with his hands as they hang on either side of his body, “would you like some.. breakfast?”

nanami’s gaze shifts briefly to the kitchen island before returning to you, prompting you to follow his line of sight. there, three plates of breakfast sit waiting. one is clearly his—half-eaten, with a newspaper folded neatly beside it and a mug that reads, ‘best adoptive dad ever!’ the other two, you assume, are for you and your mother.

you blink at it and then at him before accidentally letting out a snort at the absurdity of the situation, like your mouth had a mind of its own for a second. your hand immediately snaps up to cover your lips as a grimace flickers across nanami’s face, embarrassed with himself for opening the conversation with an offer for bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

nanami mutters a ‘goddamnit’ under his breath, his eyes briefly closing as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides. when he looks back at you, his brows are faintly pinched, his expression heavy with quiet, dutiful sympathy.

“i cannot tell you how sorry i am, i don’t even know what to say—”

“—got any syrup?” you interrupt him casually, walking, well, limping over to the kitchen island where you take a seat in front of one of the plates.

a long beat of silence passes as you take a bite out of the bacon and nanami stands there, stunned.

when you look up at him expectantly, he blinks rapidly, snapping out of his daze. he starts toward the fridge but abruptly changes direction, as if forgetting where things are in his own kitchen. “oh—uh—yes, i believe we do. let me just—” he says, before opening the fridge. his brows knit in concentration as he searches for the syrup.

you watch his tense demeanor with a flicker of an amused twitch to the corner of your lips as you chew, bacon still in hand.

he turns with two options in hand and you hum, considering your options, maybe a bit more leisurely than you should, before you nod at the right one.

he sets the other back into the fridge before placing the one you chose beside your plate, now facing you, standing on the other side of the counter.

you don’t even glance at him as he watches you cautiously, a hint of bafflement in his gaze, like he’s waiting for a pin to drop. instead, you casually pour an obscene amount of syrup onto your pancakes, acting as if last night never happened. the only reminders of his sin are the dark, bruised impressions of his teeth on the side of your neck, the slight limp in your step, and the rag he used to clean your cum stained labia.

his mouth opens and then closes a few times like hes unsure of what to do or say as you take your time eating, all without looking up at him once.

just as he’s about to try speaking again, you look up to gain eye contact and cut him off.

“you fucked me,” you say matter of factly before returning your attention to your pancakes to shove a piece into your mouth and nanami’s face drains of blood, “like, straight up shoved your dick into me while i was sleeping.”

in a regular situation, nanami would never accept this language from a young woman like yourself. but he has to hold himself back from correcting you, you hold all of the cards right now.

“i— i know—” nanami begins with a shaky, terribly serious, apologetic tone but you cut him off again.

“this morning, did you wipe your cum off of my pu—”

now nanami is the one who interrupts you, unable to resist the urge to keep you from saying such a deprived word, “yes— ahem— i did.”

you hum nonchalantly, as if you already assumed so.

a beat of silence.

“and the change of sweatpants?”

he nods and lets out a shaky sigh. “yes, i hope you don’t mind.”

you snicker loudly, which makes his brows furrow in confusion. “you hope i don’t mind if you changed my sweatpants?”

“um— yes,” he says it in a slightly questioning tone, not understanding what you’re getting at.

“i came on your dick and you think i mind if you change my sweatpants?” you laugh, making him blink at you like you’ve just told him he’s terminally ill. nanami hadn’t known what to expect from you, but a young woman who has a dirty mouth that could rival toji’s was not it.

he’s too stunned to tell you that he’s just trying to be polite by saying he hopes you don’t mind, that it’s simply a way of speaking with respect.

another beat of silence as you eat and he manually closes his shocked, parted lips.

“oh, i appreciate the whole foreplay thing, rubbing my clit for— how long did you say?” your brows furrow like you’re thinking back to what he had said last night, “oh yeah, twenty minutes. least you could do before you destroyed my guts— i mean jeez, you’re one strong old man.” you point your fork at him with a snicker when you say the last part.

nanami is surprised he hasn’t collapsed to his knees, his body limp with shock, horror, and utter mortification—every emotion hitting like a theatrical gut punch. your blunt words drive the final nail into the coffin of any fleeting hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all some alcohol-induced nightmare.

he had went in for a good morning kiss upon waking this morning and jumped back with a horror he’s never felt before when he realized the snug warmth he’s buried inside isn’t his girlfriend at all—it’s a much younger woman who bares enough resemblance to her to come to the conclusion that you’re her daughter. the flutter of pleasure when sliding out of your gushy pussy after that realization will haunt him for eternity.

“you know you came inside me, right?” you continue and he isn’t even sure if you had been talking this whole time or not but these words snap him back to reality.

“oh fuck.” nanami’s head spins as his hand flies to clutch his mouth, like he’s about to throw up.

“yeah, oh fuck,” you repeat, chewing and swallowing before a flicker of some kind of realization flashes on your face, “ohhh— you creampied because mom had that hysterectomy, i was wondering why it was so easy for you to just fill me up like that without much thought.”

nanami blinks at you, barely able to process your words and you snort at the flicker of a question on his face when you utter the phrase ‘creampie.’

“damn, how old are you? cream. pie.” you space the words out obviously as to make him connect the dots, “it’s pretty straightforward. you creamed my pie.”

nanami cringes at the phrase and then takes a deep breath, attempting desperately not to pass out.

“a-are you on..?” nanami manages to grit out, pathetically and he feels like a dirty, old man who’s just committed a grave sin that will follow him forever.

you huff a laugh and shrug, “on what?”smiling in utter amusement when his face drops and he braces against the edge of the counter like he’s trying not to fall to the floor with his head tucked down.

you burst out giggling and he looks up at you slowly with slowly blinking eyes as he attempts to make sense of how the fuck it’s funny that he might have just impregnated you.

“i’m fucking with you, old man. i’m on birth control, relax.”

nanami lets out a long sigh of relief with eyes closed before leaning down to rest his elbows on the marble counter with his hands clasped together in front of his face, not in the way someone does when they pray, but more like he’s attempting to cope.

after a long moment of you eating your food pleasantly while nanami’s life and job flashes before his eyes, he gulps at the thought of what comes next and stands up once again. “y-your mother, are you going to—”

before nanami can ask you the terrifying question of if you’re going to tell your mother about this, which he knows you have every right to do so, he’s interrupted by the front door opening.

you mutter a quiet “speak of the devil,” just as the sound of your mother’s keys and the door mask it. nanami straightens up quickly and faces her, his movements so sharp that it’s clear he feels like he’s been caught, even though he’s only standing there while you eat.

“ugh, work was so long,” your mother says as she closes the door, but she pauses mid-sentence, her expression shifting to one of happy surprise as she turns to see you. “honey! oh my! when did you get here?”

you give her a smile back as you stand and give her a hug.

you explain to your mom that you arrived last night, noticing the brief flash of panic on nanami’s face. but as you continue, telling her you fell asleep in your bed, in your old room, waiting for her to come home, nanami visibly relaxes and lets out a quiet, relieved sigh.

your mother’s basically beaming at you, bashfully apologizing for not introducing you to her boyfriend sooner as she guides you to the dinner table. nanami trails behind you both, looking as though he’s lost in a dream. they take their seats side by side across from you.

you brush it off and shrug, making her give you a grateful smile.

you may be skilled at acting nonchalant but nanami has never really had reason to lie in his life, not that he’s even speaking much. he’s pale and stiff, and if he’s not avoiding eye contact with you, he’s staring into your soul as you speak as if to anticipate you exposing what happened between you at any second. your mother notices the odd vibe coming from him and gives him a weird look before returning her gaze to you.

“have you guys met before?”

nanami basically chokes on air, coughing into his hand as he attempts to catch his breath.

“before today, no,” nanami says quickly as he’s still in the midst of clearing his throat, “last night i was just— so tired that i damn near broke the bed— ahem— from, you know, falling into it and going to sleep. so i didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her until this morning.”

your mother blinks at him curiously before you speak up.

“wait,” you blink at him with furrowed concentrated brows, “you do look familiar.. we have met.”

nanami’s eyes flicker wide before moving back and forth from you to your mother and he lets out a deep older man laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “huh? no, we haven’t.”

you squint at him like you’re trying to place him before your face lights up, “yeah— wait! haven’t you taught at my school?”

“s-school?” he stutters out loudly, “you’re in highschool?!”

your mother laughs with a confused tilt to her brows as she regards him with a hand to his shoulder, “college, honey. shes too old to be in high school still.”

your mother must not have told him that you existed at all since he didn’t know you were in college. it makes you wonder what he thought your old childhood room was for.

he lets out a huge breath of relief and it’s clear to the two of you that you’re deriving much amusement from making him sweat and he figures he probably deserves it— that, and eternal damnation.

nanami tells himself that if he can just get through today and wait until you’re back on the train to college, he can manage this. but when you smile and casually tell your mom you’re thinking of staying for the entire summer—your eyes discretely flicker to him as you add, “if that’s okay with you guys?”

he feels something good and wholesome weaken inside of his soul as his cock jumps.

“of course you can stay, honey! stay as long as you’d like, right kento?” your mother squeezes his knee in a sweet, wholesome way and his heart drops down to his ass when he feels your socked foot brush against the inside of his calf.

nanami gulps and nods at you, “o-of course— as long as you’d like.”

7. start secretly fucking your girlfriends controversially young daughter all summer long— check.

—

brb gonna act like i’m sleeping so he fucks me too

[kuroonyang]

When you moved in with Nanami Kento, despite having spent countless days and nights there prior, he insisted upon orienting you to the penthouse.

"The rubbish is collected on Tuesdays, unless there's a public holiday, in which case it's collected on Wednesday," Kento droned, as if he'd rehearsed his lines in advance.

You followed him, pulling a suitcase behind you with a fixed expression of earnest interest. You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh every time he turned his back to you, before schooling your expression again the second he looked back.

"Okay, Kento. Wednesday, got it. Anyway, I thought we could order some takeout, and celebrate--"

"No." He snipped, turning back to you with narrowed eyes, "Tuesday, unless there's a public holiday, in which case--"

"--it's collected Wednesday. Okay. I hear you."

Kento narrowed his eyes a little more. You stood to attention. A heartbeat passed.

"Good." Kento looked down, ticking something off his list, and you felt yourself wither and die with equal parts adoration and exasperation.

"Next, fire safety."

"Oh, god--"

"Pardon?"

"Oh, god, I love fire safety!"

"Good. We have lots to cover. First of all, the designated fire exits are marked on the map, here, here, and here."

"This, er...this laminated one?"

"Yes. I have one too."

"Oh, we match~<3"

"It's important that we're both adhering to the same protocol."

As Kento continued, highlighting fire doors, and escape routes, and emergency contact details, your mind began to wander. His voice, while deep and smooth, ran monotonous when left to run for too long, and your eyelids drooped, your arm sagging on your suitcase handle, and--

"Are you listening?"

"Me? God, yes, I love...water based fire extinguishers. I use them on everything."

Kento prickled, a shiver rippling up his beige suit from toe to shoulder, "I certainly hope not, water can only be used on wood fires, or--"

"--or my flaming hot pussy, because this is really getting my engine goi--"

"--I feel like you're not taking fire safety seriously."

"Kento...please--"

"Because it excites me when fire safety is taken seriously."

When Kento turned his back again, you turned too, dropping your suitcase and dragging your palms down your face, a silently screaming oil-paint figure on a bridge.

"Regarding bathroom etiquette," Kento toned, his voice flat, as you thudded your head once against the drywall. By the time he leaned around the corner to look at you, you smiled, bright and attentive.

"What was that noise?"

"I...jumped. Out of...excitement."

Another silence. Another narrowing of the eyes.

"Good," Kento pipped, "as I was saying, regarding bathroom etiquette, I hope you're not one of those reprobates that squeezes from the middle of the tube--"

"Oh, no, I prefer to suck it straight from the tube--"

"--I beg your pardon--"

"--Kento, are you anxious?" Kento froze with his back to you. The toothpaste lid squeezed off with force in his hand, clattering across the bathroom floor. A slow coil of toothpaste squeezed out of the tube, to slug down his clenched fist.

You crept closer, and slipped a hand under Kento's suit jacket to his lower back, and stroked it. You felt the tautness in the muscles beneath his shirt, as rigid as a door of oak.

"Are you anxious about me moving in?" You repeated, your voice soft. Kento swallowed, hard.

"How...how could you tell?"

You sighed. When you turned Kento to face you, he could hardly maintain eye contact, looking anywhere but at you. You could see the worry beneath his thin facade.

"Nothing's going to change," you whispered, cupping his cheeks in your palms, "and if it does change, it'll change for the better. And I can't wait. I can't wait for...for every late night, and every early morning. I can't wait for every hug, and every argument, and every day off where we can just wake up in each other's arms, and say good morning instead of texting each other good morning."

Kento melted into your touch, his palm rising to cup yours against his cheek. His voice was tight, exerting control in what little way he could.

"I'm just determined to get this right. You're everything to me, and if I got this wrong I'd never forgive myself."

"There's nothing to get wrong. Or, if there is, it doesn't matter, because we know we're safe together. We'll forgive each other. Alright?"

Kento sighed through his nose, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Just tell me one thing."

"What is it?"

"...do you really not know which fire extinguisher to use for an electrical fire--"

"You are joking, Kento."

"I never joke about fire safety."

[kuroonyang]

thinking abt older nanami, like greying hair and two grown kids older nanami. older nanami who goes golfing on the weekends and fucks you in the country club bathroom. older nanami who uses his retirement money to buy you lingerie and pretty dresses. nanamis ex wife who looks at you with disdain, perky tits and curvy body, everything she wanted back.

older nanami who smokes large cigars and wears vintage suits he remembers buying when they were new. who slips his cock out from his slacks and makes you slink down on him as you cry out ‘daddy’. older nanami who’s kids think is going through some midlife crisis to be with a girl around their age, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. he’d never felt so at peace with his girl clinging all over him, working his cock between her glossy lips.

older, grandad, nanami n his pretty young thing. 🙂‍↕️

[kuroonyang]

That time when you were being all over Nanami and sitting on his lap as you went on about some stupid gossip, what you failed to notice was a subtle discomfort, underneath you. Like something hard.. well maybe that was his wallet or belt as you slightly changed your position causing a reaction from Nanami. You noticed it, when you stopped whatever you were saying and accidentally seemed to grind on his lap, the way he quickly looked away as a slight grunt left from him. Then it hit you, Oh.. he is hard.

"and? what happened then, sweetheart?" He urged you to continue the story like nothing was happening. You liked how he was hiding it pretty well. You threw your hands around his neck as you grinded forward on his lap, his lips turning into a thin line at your silence "hmm.. what was i saying again? Remind me?" Of course he couldn't spell it out if you are grinding onto him like that. "When— uh, your friend—" he struggled to respond as one of his hands came to rest on your hips now. "Yes, my friend?" You urged him to go on. "Hah.. goddamn it, baby" he said in a desperate plea.

"What was that?" You asked like you didn't know, completely unaware. "Darlin' im hard," he said pulling you close, his hardness nudging against your clothed core. "Is that right?" Before you could even finish, you were met with a impatient and passionate kiss.

[kuroonyang]

cw: office au, nanami x loser!reader, semi public, oral, praising, slight emotional dependency? geto version gojo version

nanami is so in love with the little office loser. he doesn’t give you much attention when you first arrive, just another presence in the office. then he starts to, unwillingly, listen to the conversation of others about giving the new clumsy girl a little rough time.

nanami watches from the corner of his eye as you quietly accepts your boss’ request to work overtime, he frowns as your boss implies under many corporate jargons that it’ll be unpaid and you should do it for the team.

“so naive” he murmurs watching you smile.

he can’t help but become infatuated with you when watching your skirt raising when you try to reach a tall shelf in the communal kitchen.

“here” he catches the coffee beans bag for you, without even needing to extend his arm much. nanami arrives so quietly that his voice scares you and you take a step back bumping into his strong body behind you and leaving a tiny squeal out, “sorry, are you okay?” he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“y-yes, thank you” he gives you space and you turn around looking at him over the thick frame of your glasses. it reminds nanami of those ads where a gorgeous woman has a pair of glasses down her nose and the caption says something like ‘single hotties in your area’. he then understands the appeal.

he keeps himself busy most days, so one day as soon as he sends an email he relaxes on his desk rolling his shoulders and looking around just in time to watch you knock a box of staples off your table. he raises from his seat to go help you but he gets a call at the same time so he sits back down to answer it while keeping his eyes on you.

you kneel picking the small items one by one. he likes seeing you on your knees. then you push your chair and crawl under the desk, trying to reach a few staples that went under the cabinet, at this point you’re with your head down on the carpeted floor and your ass up, nanami watches it with lusty eyes, just agreeing and humming to whatever the person on the phone is saying while wondering if you remember you are wearing a skirt. he watches in awe the black semi transparent pantyhose you have on stretch at the back of your thighs and the panties peeking out from underneath it.

when you get up your hair is messy and your face is flushed, you don’t think most of it, just glad to have caught every little staple. meanwhile nanami pulls his chair closer to his desk so you don’t see the volume in his pants when you pass by after basically flashing him.

nanami knows he wouldn’t last long with you around. one night he also stays overtime and you, being the extreme people pleaser you are, bring him some coffee and different sugar packets since you don’t know how he takes his coffee, but even with this simple self-assigned task you still manage to screw up and spill some on his pants immediately apologizing and getting on your knees to clean it with your sleeve. the friction on his upper thigh is making him grow hard but your teary eyes is what pushes him over the edge.

“nanami-san, don’t go home too late” the last person in the office says stepping on the elevator and waving goodbye.

“have a good night” the blond manages to say over the desk divider that hides your figure. finally knowing you two are alone kento throws his head back and allow his muscles to relax and enjoy the warmth of your mouth as you suck him.

“that’s right, sweetheart, good girl” he praises with a guiding hand on the back of your neck. it’s so good to have someone praising you in this place that your eyes water with joy. kento never meant to nut in the office but here he is, watching his cum run down your chin.

you take the small bin under his desk to spit the incriminating evidence of his pleasure so you don’t have to swallow it, “here, let’s make the clean crew think that’s matsuda’s” kento switches the bin with the one under his coworkers desk.

he hates to admit but over time he starts to look forward the times you feel overwhelmed and come to him for affection.

which leads him to the tiny copy room way too many times, making you hold the edge of your skirt and pulling your underwear and tights down to eat you out on top of the copy maker.

“keep quiet, darling” he warns knowing fully well how thin the walls are.

although you have done many unspoken things to him in this office, nanami still flusters you. every time he’s near, your thighs start to shake and your clit throbs untouched.

“come here, i’ll show you” he motions you over his desk when you ask for help with a task. you watch him perform it on the computer screen, “now you try it” he moves his chair a bit to give you space to use his keyboard and as you bend over slightly to replicate his steps he uses the opportunity to feel the skin of the back of your legs since today you don’t have any tights.

“go back, click here” he corrects still touching you, his hand comes higher, laying just under your ass cheeks, “why are you shaking? type the code there” he says like he doesn’t have a hand under your skirt.

“s-sorry” you say when making a mistake.

“it’s okay, start over” he commands, now playing with the hem of your underwear, it’s hard to do what he showed you when you can’t even guide the cursor right.

nanami pushes the material of your underwear into your folds making out the shape of your pussy through it.

“do it again with this file” he points sounding so collected it makes you even more nervous, he rubs your core so lightly, it’s almost like he’s doing it for his own pleasure, like he’s trying to make out the shape of your clit with the tips of his finger only.

“save it, and send to yourself” as you finish the task he starts to pull down your underwear looking around to make sure no one is watching when he helps you step out of the white lacy material, “well done” he bends to pick your panties, giving your leg a quick kiss — since that’s the most he can do in the office during the day—, and putting the soaked fabric in his pocket.

“thank you” you smile and slowly make your way back to your desk, though your boss calls you middle way about a mistake you made on a file and to come to his office, now you wonder how you’re supposed to make it through the day not only without underwear but also dripping wet.

[kuroonyang]

SAVE A HORSE RIDE A WHAT???? 📢

ac: takk1m on twt

[kuroonyang]

need you bad

imagine cw: post-time skip, established relationship, atsumu x reader, NEEDY atsumu, smut, grinding, kissing, not proofread

౨ৎ⦂⊹. ݁

Before you started dating your boyfriend Atsumu, you knew he’d be a handful when it came to him as a person. Not just dating in general, not his personality either or the copious time spent on training. But, really it was his clingy neediness that made him want you so bad. 

Sometimes you find yourself all over him because he craved your touch so much due to his busy schedule. There's days on end where you both weren't able to see each other. When you're able to, Atsumu would come rushing to your front door whenever he finished volleyball practice. His lips fall and crashing onto yours roughly the moment you open the door. Followed by a hand caressing the space between your hips and waist, fondling the skin like dough.

“Need ya so bad babe..” Atsumu’s hot breath would trickle onto your delicate neck when he started to move downwards with his sloppy kisses. His toothy smug grin shining back at you while you fall into his temptations.

Moving onto the plush couch, you’re making out with his swollen lips on his lap with your hands around his neck. Tugging at his blonde locks of hair as it was your turn to trail kisses down the surface of his dewy skin, leaving a few marks in places only you’d be able to see. Your hips gradually grind onto his growing bulge, feeling the simmering heat ignite. 

His groans of pleasure grew louder while his half lidded eyes lingered down your shirt, eyeing your laced bra. His large hands continued to grasp onto your flesh through the thin fabric between you and his warm touch. Rocking your hips at a quicker pace on his painfully hard erection, a damp spot starting to appear in full saturation on his crotch. 

“..if ya keep grinding on me like that, I might just cum on the spot” looking up at you through his bangs that stuck onto his sweaty forehead with a slight smirk plastered on his face, as if he were up for the challenge. His head tilted back when you started to use your full hips to stimulate his cock further before getting off right after you started to feel him twitch beneath you.

Legs planted back onto the ground before you lowered yourself to your knees. Your head is at the same level as Atsumu’s opened legs, staring at the moist darkness. Pulling down his snug waistband, his cock bounces out, tip pulsating a fuming shade of pink to see his length dripping with precum.

“Already like this for me?” a finger collecting his essence.

masterlist here

[kuroonyang]

It’s been a stressful work week for both you and your husband, who still isn’t home by the time you draw up a bath to wind down for the evening. Hot water, plenty of bubbles, a lightly scented candle in one corner and soothing lofi playlist to set the mood. You submerge yourself into the water, your body instantly relaxing in the heat.

Five minutes in, you hear the front door open and shut in the distance, then Nanami’s voice calling your name.

“I’m in the bath!” you yell out to him, not making any moves to get out anytime soon.

He gently knocks on the door before entering, jacket slung over his shoulder, tie slightly loose around his collar. “Hi sweetheart,” he greets you, giving you a tired smile.

You smirk, beckoning him over. “Looks like you could use a bath too.”

He undresses in seconds, clothes haphazardly scattered on the tile floor, eagerly taking his place right behind you. You lean back against him, his arms wrapped around you in a loving embrace. “I hate overtime,” he mumbles, his face at the nape of your neck, inhaling deeply.

You turn your head to him, nuzzling your nose to his. “At least it’s finally the weekend.”

“Thank god for that,” he says, pressing his lips to yours. The kisses start off soft and sweet, all the stress pouring out of him to indulge in this moment with you. His hands roam up your arms, fingers tracing the dew glistening on your skin. He slides down to your ribs, then slowly to your chest, kisses becoming sloppy and needy as he cups your breasts, massaging at your nipples until they’re plump between his fingers. You moan when he grips your chin with one hand, pulling you in deeper to explore your mouth, the other still playing with your bosom. “Kento,” you whimper, pussy aching with arousal. Water sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the tub, both your movements becoming more and more erratic, succumbing to your desires.

His hand travels past your navel and you instinctually spread your legs wider for him. “Play with your nipples while I touch you,” he demands, voice husky with lust, his cock hard and throbbing behind you.

You obey him gladly, squeezing at your breasts as his fingers massage your clit, his tongue still lapping greedily into your mouth. He doesn’t stop until you’ve come at least twice and he can no longer deny his cock from being inside you. You reposition yourself to face him completely, straddling his lap as best as you can in the tiny width of the tub, sinking all the way down on him. You ride him with his face in your chest, sucking hard on your sensitive teats, his thumb pressed deliciously on your swollen bud. He fucks another two, three, maybe four orgasms out of you, you’ve lost count. When it becomes too much for him to hold, he comes in you, filling you up to the brim with his hot load, all the tension in his body eased out of him. You keep his cock warm inside you, kissing him languidly, running your hands through his damp hair, not ready to get out just yet.

So much water has splashed out onto the bathroom floor, most of the bubbles have dissipated, and the temperature is now lukewarm at best. It doesn’t matter, though. This is the most relaxed that you and Nanami have been all week, so you’re going to savor it a little while longer.

[kuroonyang]

domestic fluff. married couple nanami x fem!reader. ⚠︎ talks of aging, death and grief ⚠︎ suggestive humor and dialogue. 

nanami kento is graying

You realize it as he lays his head on your lap and you thread your fingers through his soft, fluffy hair. His strands fade into a lighter shade near the roots, a gradient from gold to gray. 

“Oh no,” you sigh. “You're turning into a sexy silver fox.”

“Pardon?” He replies.

“You're graying. Have you noticed?”

“Ah. I never really paid attention. I was more worried about balding.” 

“I think I prefer that,” you say lightly, as you glide your fingers through his scalp. “At least I’d have less competition.”

“Competition,” he laughs. “Woman, you're my wife.” 

“I know that!” you laugh as well. “But once you’ve gone full gray it's fisticuffs between me and all the GILF-chasers.”  

“What is a G—you know what, don't answer that.” 

You settle into comfortable silence, alone in the house you've built together. How long has it been since he swept you off your feet and carried you into this life? Time has compressed all of your moments into a montage of routine domestic bliss. In the decades you’ve been married to each other, you've woken up and slept next to him for thousands of nights and days. You've held his hand and kissed his lips, embraced him and made love to him countless times. 

And it's ironic, actually, that because of how close and intimately aware you were of each other's bodies, you never noticed those tiny increments of change that come with age. 

His eyes flutter shut and your fingers wander towards his face. What else about him has changed? You brush against the faint gray hairs on his brow, the wrinkles around his eyes—lines that converge to his outer corners and curve under the bags of his eyes. You love the way it deepens when he smiles. And maybe that's why you've never seen those wrinkles as a sign of aging. Seeing your husband’s wrinkles is a sign of his joy.

“We're growing old together…” he sighs. 

“You said it like it's a bad thing.” 

“It's not. It's just a matter of fact. I'm happy that we lasted this long.”

You know that tone in his voice. 

“But?” you asked.

“I guess, sometimes, I can't help but question what it really means to grow old with someone,” he says. “Back then I was scared of dying on the job and leaving you alone all of a sudden. But now… what about if I grow ill? Or frail? What if you spend the last years of our marriage washing my ass until I die?” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” you tease. He's never outgrown his tendency to brood, but you've learned how to stop him from indulging in such sad thoughts—a skill you've honed over the years. 

Nanami smiles at the way you lightened his mood. 

“I just don't want to bother you with all that work then leave you grieving,” he says, holding your hand over his heart. “That's not what you deserve.” 

You can't help but smile at his devotion. You raise his hand and nuzzle your cheek against his warm, rough palm. His skin is looser at the back of his hand now, with thick and soft veins running underneath. But the way he has held you stays the same. Gentle and warm. Like laying your head on the sand.

“Grief... Grief is just an echo of love, Kento. That's how we know it was real. And that it was powerful,” you say, reaching down to caress his cheek. “We're spending the rest of our lives together, darling. I wanna feel and experience everything with you. That's what I deserve.” 

You lean down, until your soft breaths caress each other’s lips.

“And besides…" you whisper. "I like touching your ass."

Nanami rolls his eyes and shakes his head, though he couldn't help but smile. Then his eyes soften with warmth as he holds his gaze. Perhaps, for the first time, he is seeing the changes in you as well.

And everything about it is beautiful. 

“You're the love of my life,” he murmurs. 

“And you're mine,” you reply. 

You press your lips together, as you did a thousand times. And everything about it feels familiar and right. As if your bodies have found home in each other once again. 

He chuckles low against your lips and his joy is infectious. So you lean back and laugh as well. 

“What?” You ask. 

“It doesn't matter how old we get," he says. "I still feel young whenever we kiss."

You bite your lip and smile and you indulge him once again with your kisses. This time, he parts his lips and lets your tongue slip into his mouth with a deep groan. You pull back, warmed and softened by the taste of him. 

“Are you still feeling young down there too?” You ask. 

Nanami laughs softly, his eyes turning dark with want. 

“What do you think?”  

this is a birthday dedication to one of my dearest friends, who supported and guided me through my every hyperfixation. one day we will grieve each other. but not before we grow old and hot and rich 🥰 like catherine branski.

this is very rushed and i am sorry if the quality is not as good as when i take my time,,, i wanted to reach my friends birthday. please be gentle with me 🙇‍♀️

[kuroonyang]

ask you something. (iwaizumi hajime x reader) chapter three

>> the floodgates have opened, and you're both a little more desperate than expected <<

tags/cw: very suggestive, innocent reader, possessive iwa/reader, slightly perverted iwa (he will in fact get worse <3), brat tamer!iwa

chapter two || masterlist || chapter four

he tastes like black coffee, bitter and sharp.

‘will you show me?’ you’d asked, waiting with bated breath for him to fill in the blank. 

he hadn’t, and you’re convinced even now that he’d done it on purpose. ‘show you what?’ is all he’d muttered. but he’d shifted closer to you on the couch, his thigh burning against yours. 

‘what happens at parties.’

he’d angled his body toward you, and you’d leaned closer. you could feel his breath on your skin, the heat radiating from his bare chest. 

‘all of it?’ he’d whispered. your heart has lurched into your throat then, beating uncomfortably. ‘or just a little bit?’

your breath had caught, and your face had warmed to the point of being impossible not to notice. 

you hadn’t answered him. 

he hadn’t needed you to. 

‘just a little bit, then.’ 

his hand had cupped your face, hot from the mug, and he’d turned you toward him. you’d closed your eyes, unable to meet his.

his kiss feels the same as it had a year ago.

you don’t know what to do with your hands, so you leave them in your lap, trembling as they fist the fabric of your pants. he’s careful with you, mouth gentle and sweet, just like you’d known he’d be. 

his voice may be rough, but that’s all it is. you still wonder — what if — but you don’t think this is the time to push it. you don’t think this is the time to do anything but try not to faint. your head is staticky and light, and your body tingles as your limbs go numb, so it’s a non-zero possibility. 

he angles his head, and you lean into it, settling your shaking hands on his chest. his lips are patient, pushing and then pulling back just a little, just enough to make you chase him. you try to keep your wits about you, but iwaizumi hajime’s mouth is warm, soft, and tastes like coffee, so your wits are the last thing you’re willing to hang onto. 

when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, a test, your breath catches and then falls out in a stuttered mess. he tries again, pulling your lip between his teeth and running his tongue over it. you gasp, starting to pull away. he doesn’t let you, sliding his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, keeping you there.

“open your mouth,” he whispers against you, loud in this dark apartment. 

“what?” you squeak, feeling his heart pick up under your palm as he scoots closer. his tongue slides across the seam of your lips, and you recognize that you were right — it hadn’t felt good at the party, but it feels good now. 

“open.” 

your heart skips, but there’s a fire burning in the pit of your stomach, lighting up when he talks to you like that. when he’s not so careful with you. 

and when he groans quietly because you’re listening to him — because your lips part for him, because you do as he says — you know that listening to iwaizumi hajime is something you’re good at. you can do that, for as long as he needs you to. 

his tongue swipes across your lip again, a warning, and then it dips hesitantly into your mouth, his head angled and his hand — searing hot — pressed against your spine. your breath stutters and stalls when his tongue brushes against yours, and he retracts it quickly, his own breath labored in your mouth. 

when you return the gesture, slipping just into his mouth and then retreating to safety, you feel something shift with him. he has your permission now, your invitation to keep going. 

he pushes his body against yours, and your hips are being grabbed and pulled in his direction. you’ve got your knees on either side of his thighs before you can put together that he’d lifted you into his lap. 

you gasp again but don’t pull away, too caught up in your own heartbeat and the heat of iwa’s hands on your hips, seeping into your bones. he leans up into you, mouth hard on yours and breath heavy in between every rough push of his lips. you latch onto him, letting him nip and bite and suck. letting his tongue slide against yours, hot and wet and effortlessly good at provoking the addicting pulse of your own heartbeat between your thighs. 

you whine and moan, too overwhelmed by these new sensations to have a sense of how loud you’re being, how loud your noises sound when they echo off of his walls. you’re wriggling without realizing it, your body reacting to him and wanting more. you shift your hips this way and that, and you push your chest flush to his, mindlessly craving the feeling of him. 

he doesn’t laugh or comment or give any indication that you’re too much for him. he just holds you down in his lap while you move and swallows as many of your moans as he can. he just belts his arm around your waist tighter when you whine his name, that needy ‘haji’ echoing off his walls, too. 

he just lets you pull away when you do, only steadying you so you don’t fall, because you’re gasping and burning with things you’ve never felt before when something hardens against your inner thigh. 

“sorry,” he says roughly, his breathing uneven and forcing his chest to rise and fall in jagged pants. “can’t really help that part.” 

you stare down at him with wide eyes. his cheeks are burning red, and his eyes are hazy and he won’t look at you properly, and his lips are wet and swollen and pink, so pretty in the dim light of the room. he’s got both hands on your body, still but firm, and his head is leaned back against the couch while he catches his breath. 

“can i stay here tonight?” you just ask, quiet and nervous. his eyes fly to yours, alarmed and surprised, and you rush to explain. “my roommate asked me not to go back…” 

“oh,” he breathes, relaxing a bit. “i thought you meant-“ he swallows. you try not to piece together the rest of his sentence, but it’s hard not to. “yeah, that’s fine. you can stay.” 

“i can take the couch,” you offer. it’s empty, and he knows it’s empty, because he just smiles to himself and looks off into the kitchen. 

“oh, you’ll take the couch?” he teases, snorting under his breath. 

you purse your lips, ears burning. “if you want me to.”

“and if i don’t?” 

silence stretches between you, and that burning feeling in your gut returns. your breath runs shallow, and your hands press just a little harder into his chest.

“then i guess i won’t.” 

his eyes dart to his bed, still ruffled and warm, and then back to you. that olive green is heated — it melts you to your core, and you stand from his lap shakily. his eyes graze over you, landing on your trembling thighs and the way you press them together. he smiles to himself, clearly satisfied, but doesn’t say anything about it. 

you do. 

“uh-“ you stumble back when he stands, nearly tripping over his coffee table. he just grips your arms tight and pulls you back to him, chest to chest. “i’m not sure… what i’m-why i feel so-“ 

“you’re not sure?” he asks, quiet and dangerous against you. when you shake your head, unable to look him in the eye, he just grins, a little wicked. “none of those boys before me made you feel like this?” 

none of those boys before me. 

not quite friends, not quite more. not willing to specify, not willing to talk about it. 

“no,” you breathe, eyes screwed shut. “first time.”

his inhale is sharp, sharp like the harsh tug of nerves in your navel. 

“maybe you should sleep on the couch,” is all he says in response. 

you don’t feel rejected, oddly enough. 

—

things are back to normal. things are finally back to normal. 

when hajime wakes the next morning, you’re still curled up on his couch. the small part of him that had worried that you would leave while he was asleep is appeased, and he makes you both fresh coffee and breakfast. he tries not to jump when he feels your forehead press between his shoulder blades, your body warm from sleep against his back while he cooks. 

“can i shower?” you mumble sleepily. “got class at ten, and i look like a stripper.” 

hajime snorts, glancing at the clock on the stove. it’s a quarter to nine. he nods. “grab whatever you want from my dresser.” 

“thank you,” you breathe, and he thinks he feels your fingers ghost over his waist when you push off of him. 

when you emerge from his bathroom, steam spilling into the room with you, he has to remind himself that you wearing his clothes isn’t new. he has to remember that he’s seen you like this before, that it’s normal. 

you’re fixing a pair of his athletic shorts, adjusting the material on your hips and shifting his t-shirt around on your shoulders until it falls right. you smell like him, he thinks, when you sit beside him on the couch and pull the plate of eggs and bacon into your lap. 

“thanks, haji,” you say sweetly, digging in. 

god, your skin looks so good when it’s moist like that. he wants to run his tongue over your throat, to lick away the condensation and drops of water still lingering there. he wants to push his hands up against your torso and grope you while you whine his name, fingers hidden and doing terrible things under his own t-shirt. he wants to-

“haji,” you breathe, and he blinks hard, snapping out of it. you’re pursing your lips, your little smile overtaken by the warm rush of heat in your cheeks. “why are you staring at me?” 

“i’m not,” he says immediately, lying straight to your face. “you smell nice.” 

“i smell like you,” you giggle. 

“well, then, i smell nice,” he barks, snatching his plate up and turning away from you, not even bothering to acknowledge how stupid he sounds. “what time’s your class?” 

“ten,” you say, leaning forward with a teasing grin. “like i said earlier.” 

right. you had said that earlier. 

“well,” he snaps, hearing the edge in his own voice. he was right — you aren’t sensitive to it anymore. he doesn’t know why he doesn’t like that. “hurry up, then. i wanna go to the gym before my class.” 

“okay,” you chirp, humming while you eat. “what’s your schedule today?” 

that’s the first time you’ve asked since you got here. 

“uh-“ he stutters, trying to remember his plan for the day. “class until two. clinic hours until four.” 

“i’m busy until four, too,” you mumble. “i was thinking of going to that hiking club organizational meeting.”

he snorts into his coffee. “you hate exercise.” 

“well, maybe i wanna branch out. try new things.” you say it jokingly, but he still cuts a hard glance at you. 

if you’d said that to him yesterday, he would have thought you’d meant trying new things aside from him. away from him. try new people that aren’t him. he would have hated it, would have panicked.

today, he only watches you shrink under his gaze, embarrassed and shy and swallowing hard as you try not to be seen by him. he watches you come to understand the implications of your own words, alone in his apartment with him. 

“never hurts to try new things,” he says simply. you meet his eyes, wide and laced with something he wants so badly to place as desire. 

“yeah,” you mumble, nodding and fiddling with the string on his shorts. your breath is short, almost a pant, and hajime is only a little embarrassed to realize he’s half-hard in his sweats. “wanna try new things.” 

everything’s back to normal. 

—

at noon, he gets a text from you, asking if he wants to eat lunch with you and your friends. 

his heart surges with excitement, because you really aren’t avoiding him anymore, and he responds that he would if he weren’t stuck in lab. but that he’ll pick you up and walk you to your next class if you want. 

another test, just to make sure. 

‘you don’t have time to eat??’ you say, and hajime can’t tell if this is a worried text or an accusatory one. if you’re upset he’s not eating or upset he’s not spending time with you. 

he thinks of you being a little irrational, a little needy or angry with him for something he can’t control. pouting up at him with those pretty little lips, calling him ‘haji’ with a little attitude.

he has to turn away from his lab partner so he doesn’t see how hard hajime’s getting. 

‘no time,’ he texts back, vague and offering nothing else. just to see. just to check. ‘but i’ll pick you up. is that fine with you?’ 

‘i guess.’ a minute passes, and then— ‘ill bring you some food, okay?? you gotta eat.’

you’re just worried, sweet and soft and pretty as ever. not giving him attitude. but, if he ignores that last message, he can pretend you are. he can pretend you’re as needy as he wishes you’d be, that pout sitting in front of his eyes while he finishes running the bio lab. 

he makes it to the dining hall by 12:45, texting you quickly. you come outside with your friends, holding a tupperware of dining hall food, and he turns away, steadying his breath and trying to make it look like he hadn’t just run across campus for you. you introduce him to your roommate, and he smiles handsomely down at her. he doesn’t need to impress her —  he’s been your best friend since you were learning to walk — but he knows girls talk. he wants her to think he’s good for you. 

she shoots you a look of approval and whispers ‘so this is your man’ when she thinks he’s too busy opening the tupperware to notice, and hajime knows he’s cleared the bar. you nudge her, and he makes a point of getting distracted by the chicken stir fry you packed for him, just so he can hear you mumble ‘shut up’ in that embarrassed way he loves so much. 

“thanks,” he says plainly, capping the plastic container. “i would’ve had to subsist on clinic granola bars until dinner.”

you pout, and he laments that it’s sweet but not the one he craves. “that’s no good,” you say, stepping close — too close to be friendly — and tugging on his sleeve. “don’t they teach you about nutrition in the exercise major?” 

“sports science,” he corrects with a mocking edge, and then he flicks his eyes to your roommate. she’s watching the two of you with her arms crossed, a knowingly smirk spreading across her face. she can see something you can’t, something hajime wishes you would. “and the clinic granola bars are nutritious.” 

“i’ll get you something from now on,” you say with finality, so deliciously close to demanding, and he just lifts his brows with a smirk.

“yes, ma’am,” he whispers, forcing a grin down when your face starts to radiate heat. 

“okay,” your roommate says, clapping. “i’m leaving.” 

you turn to her, eyes wide. “we’re going to the same class.”

“yeah, but-“ her eyes find his, and he knows she can see how badly he wants to be alone with you. “-i’m not in the mood to third wheel. that guy from last night is ghosting me.” 

“third wheel-“ you protest, mouth open dumbly, and she just kisses you on the cheek.

“see you in ten, babe.” 

you turn to him once she’s gone. he doesn’t bother to hide the smug grin on his face. 

“coffee?” he says innocently, checking his watch. “i can make it happen in three minutes.” 

you flush, but you don’t do more than mumble ‘jerk’ under your breath before following him. he laughs, picking at his new lunch while he walks you. 

neither of you address why he’s so smug, why you’re so embarrassed. 

why the air between you is so charged, something so very acknowledged and unacknowledged at the same time, something so obvious that it’s left unsaid. 

—

you find him in the library after your club meeting. ‘third floor stacks’ is what he’d texted you when your meeting had gone over time, and you’re wandering the dark aisles of the empty stacks now, searching for him. 

“third floor stacks,” you mutter to yourself. “couldn’t be more specific?” 

“did you need me to be?” 

you scream, the sound sharp and echoing, and whirl around. iwa’s poking his head out of one of the aisles, one you’d already looked into. you must have missed his shadow in the dark. 

“haji, no one uses the stacks.” you stomp over to him, huffing in annoyance as you drop your backpack at your feet. “it’s creepy and dark and full of spiders in here.” 

“it’s also where the books are,” he teases, and you realize he’s got a small stack of health sciences textbooks at his feet. “how was hiking club?” 

“good,” you say, surveying the shelves around you. “there’s a retreat in a couple weeks. getting to know each other or something.” 

he hums, crouching and scanning the titles. “sounds fun – if you like hiking, i guess.” 

“i could like hiking.”

“you could, yeah. but do you?” he chuckles when you sniff in annoyance at him. “let me know when you figure it out.” 

“there’s a meeting this weekend,” you offer. “going to a trail nearby, something for beginners, apparently.” 

“take enough water. and food. and a hat and sunscreen.” he rattles the list off distractedly, and you get the feeling he’s reading out of a mental textbook.

“i’m asking if you wanna go,” you sigh, standing over him and digging the toe of your shoe into the linoleum. he blinks away his to-do list now, his eyes clearing as he looks up at you. 

when he stands, towering over you now, it takes everything in you not to wither. because he’s got his short sleeves rolled up to his shoulder, a habit since high school, and his jeans are dark and fit him just right. and there’s writing on the inside of his left forearm, the call numbers for books he needs scribbled impatiently in black pen. 

and he smells good and is standing close and has eyes that make you want to fold like a lawn chair. and he’s smirking, those stupid lips curling in a way that makes you ache for him, and his warmth — the heat he always radiates without trying — is washing over you. making you feel drunk. 

drunk, still hoping uselessly that he can’t tell. hoping he can’t see the fog in your head, reflected in some traitorous haze in your eyes. hoping you’re not drooling, because it feels like you are.

hoping you’re not imagining that he’s stepping closer to you, his gaze cast down his nose and burning right through you. 

“i dunno about that,” he says, barely above a whisper. “it’s not really my thing.” 

“you’re athletic,” you argue weakly, hearing your own words slur in your ears. “be athletic.”

“i play club volleyball twice a week.” 

“but you don’t hike. different muscle groups.”

“is that right?” he chuckles. the sound goes straight between your legs. “you got a source for that?” 

“haji,” you whine. you know how you sound, but you’re starting not to care. you’d been desperate to hide your feelings for him before — your attraction, spilling off of you in thick waves. now you’re just desperate for him, and he’d shown you last night that that’s okay. that it’s allowed.

it shouldn’t be allowed. you’ll stop trying to control yourself if it’s allowed. 

“yeah?” he asks, and you know for sure this time that he’s stepping closer. 

“please?” you say, tilting your mouth up toward his, an invitation.

he doesn’t take it. you wait a moment, just in case, but he just stares down at you expectantly. you frown. 

“haji,” you ask again — beg, really. 

he just lifts his eyebrows. “you haven’t told me what you want.” 

your frown deepens. he watches it happen. “you know what i want.”

“do i?” he smiles, tilting his head to the side and pretending to be confused. your impatience grows. “i’m not sure i do.” 

you can’t help it. you stomp your foot. you stomp your foot like a spoiled princess and glare up at him. “don’t be mean-" 

and then you gasp, loud and echoing in the aisle, because he’s grabbing you by the hips and pinning you roughly to the shelf. 

“h-hey,” you stutter, laughing nervously up at him. he’s staring down at you with molten eyes, excitement dancing in his gaze and making his hands tighten on your waist. a shock of nerves courses down your spine. you don’t know what this is, but there’s a tug in the pit of your stomach that tells you you don’t hate it. you don’t hate it at all. 

“who're you talkin’ to like that?” he asks, laughing quietly in your face. “you’ve never been the bratty type.” 

“‘m not bratty,” you argue. the tick of light in his gaze makes it clear that you’re making it worse. “i’m telling you what i want-”

“mm-mm,” he argues, dipping his head low and brushing his nose against yours. his eyes drop to your lips. “you’re really not. but you’re free to remind me.” 

“haji,” you complain, feeling embarrassed. embarrassed that he’s pegged you for what you are — desperate. 

when his lips brush against your ear, you latch onto his biceps to keep yourself upright.

“you’re never this shy, you know,” he whispers. “you’re usually a little too honest.” you pant against him, arching your back and pressing your chest against his. something hard pushes against your hip, but you know now that that’s a good thing. that it’s good when iwaizumi hajime feels like that. 

“ask me,” he breathes, dropping his lips to a spot under your ear. his breath makes you shiver. “ask me what happens in the stacks.” 

your breath catches audibly, and you shift unconsciously against him, all too aware of the quiet grunt he lets out when you press your hips against his. 

“h-have you ever been here with a girl?” you ask, your face on fire and your eyes pricking with humiliation. “in the s-stacks?” 

he smiles, irritatingly pleased. you realize that the rough edge doesn’t need to be in his voice for you to feel pushed around by him. bullied by him. 

you don’t know how to tell him that this is the feeling you’ve been waiting for. 

“no, i can’t say i have,” he mumbles, shaking his head. your heart jumps at the admission. “do you wanna try it out with me?” 

“yes,” you breathe, immediate and wanton and embarrassing. “yes, please.” 

his lips are so rewarding, brutal and rude on yours. he forces his tongue past the seam of your lips without warning you, but you open up for him gratefully, and he moans into your mouth, praise to your ears.

“haji?” you ask when he breaks away, breathless and unable to think about much except for the searing hot line he’s kissing down your throat. 

“hm?” he asks distractedly, and you realize only when his teeth scrape against your skin that he’s marking the same place that the blond guy had last night. covering any trace of another man on your skin. 

“you’ve really never been in here with anyone?” he shakes his head, and shivers start at the crown of your head and spill down your body when he passes his tongue over the spot he’s just bitten down on. “then—how many girls have you been with?” 

he snorts when you ask, but you can feel his arms tense under your fingertips. he sets one hand on the shelf behind you, caging you in. “you really want me to answer that?”

he’s nervous. he doesn’t want to tell you. 

you definitely want to know now. 

“yes,” you say, your voice wavering — because he’s sucking on a spot that makes your knees weak — but you say it with certainty. “tell me.” 

he sighs, rough and a little frustrated, and pulls away to look you in the eye. his brows are furrowed.

“four. but you can’t be mad.” you are mad. your chest swells with jealousy, green and ugly. he must see it, because his mouth — pretty and swollen from kissing you — sets into a hard line as he stares down at you. “you dated after i left, y/n. you can't be mad.” 

he’s mad, too.

that shouldn’t make you as giddy as it does. 

you lift your brows, leveling him with a smug smile. your nerves flip in your stomach, strong and swooping over each other in uneven turns, but you lean up into his face, anyway. “not mad.” he scoffs in disbelief. your heart dances when he glares down at you like that. “just want you to teach me.”

his eyebrows fly to his hairline, clearly surprised with the turn this conversation’s taking. but there’s something in his eyes that conflicts with it. something that makes you think he might have been wanting you to ask. 

when he looks at you like that, asking doesn’t seem so hard. 

“please, haji?” you whisper, holding out against the heated look he’s giving you. “teach me?” 

he looks devastatingly interested, eyes stuck on your mouth, but he still protests. he still protects you, still keeps you innocent. 

“if you cross that line with me, you can’t take it back,” he murmurs, almost like he's reluctant to say it. 

you just lean into him, arms around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair. “don’t wanna cross it with anyone else.” 

“christ,” he breathes, his sigh warm and promising on your skin.

footsteps sound behind him, only a few aisles away. iwa steps away from you, eyes hot on yours as he leans against the opposite shelf. your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you glance at it quickly. your roommate’s asking about dinner. 

when you look up again, he’s trailing his eyes down your body shamelessly. you just bend and scoop up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. his eyes find yours, brows lifting curiously.

“bye, haji,” you whisper teasingly, grinning when he narrows his eyes at you.

you hear him sigh loudly when you turn the corner, his breath coming out in a sharp ‘fucking shit’. your face burns with nervous excitement the entire walk to dinner.

taglist: open! add yourself here

@gangsterthomasbrodie @feiwelinchen

[kuroonyang]

the window above the kitchen sink is open, letting some of the morning air in before it gets too hot. soapy hands wash the remainder of breakfast from the plates before they’re placed in the dishwasher. you close it quietly, starting it with a small beep. you’re about to walk towards the laundry room when you notice a certain grey haired man outside of the window.

he’s on his knees, screwing the hose into the spout just below the window. you can only assume this is for you to water your flower baskets with. you frown when you realize he’s having a bit of trouble, fumbling with the attachment for a moment. the frown turns up quickly when you have an idea.

it’s only fair. he’s done it to you hundreds of times.

you quietly lean over the sink, careful to not knock anything into it and ruin the surprise. you have to bite your tongue when kita stands up, looking out towards the fields. he’s right there.

your lips part to shout, call his name, really anything to spook him.

“i can feel ya behind me, ya know,” he turns around and smiles sweetly at you. you roll your eyes.

“seriously?”

he leans his forearms on the windowsill, only the screen separating the two of you. “really. why don’t ya come out here with me?”

you sigh. “you’re no fun.”

he tilts his head, resting on his arm. “come out and see for yerself.”

against your better judgement, you walk out the back door and almost immediately get drenched, all down your shoulders and torso. you look up to see a very smug kita, holding the hose in his hand.

“it’s all about timing, love. gotta get ‘em off guard.”

[kuroonyang]

stop an angel from losing its wings

akaashi x gn!reader | fluff. Not that serious. about men cutting their hair

“do you think my hair’s getting too long?”

the knife in your hand stills halfway through a peach for your boyfriend.

keiji watches you, innocently, fiddling with the dark strands falling across his brow as your head snaps up, eyes locking onto the same bangs framing his face. “keiji akaashi, don’t you dare.”

“...what?”

“please, so help me god, if you cut your hair short i will cry.”

there’s a familiar click as the kettle turns itself off, hot water meant for his tea bubbling against glass.

“pft—”

“don’t laugh!”

“i’m not—” his chuckle is barely muffled by the hand over his mouth, and you gape.

the last time he cut his hair was maybe six months ago, and you’ve watched it slowly but surely reach a perfect length.

it lets you make little horns when you shampoo his hair as he holds you against him,

it looks stupidly good when he combs it back for special occasions,

it falls in his face just enough that it’s brought you the gift of keiji with his blue light glasses, cat slippers, and a little sprout ponytail on top of his head, tied with a little fruit hair tie, as he works away late into the night.

and he’s allowed to cut it. he is, but at the same time—

“this is serious! keiji, please- i’ll get on my knees and beg, look, please.” 

the apartment isn’t big; your spot in the kitchen is just a few meters away. it takes all but three seconds to leave the fruit you’ve cut for him and jog over with your arms wide open.

keiji holds his out to stop you. “what? no—”

“please, please, please, please, please,”—you dodge and slide to the floor, wrapping your arms around his legs—“please, my angel, my beautiful boyfriend, love of my life who i love so much, please—”

“i’m—” he snorts while you laugh between desperate pleas, muffled against the cotton of his pajamas, “i didn’t want to cut it, i was just wondering.”

and you sigh, loosen the grip around his pajamas, now slightly wrinkled. “oh thank god.”

keiji snickers and moves his hand to rest on your head. it travels down to hold your jaw, tilting your face to look at his. “is cutting my hair really that awful of an idea?”

you lean into his touch. “i mean, no, you look good no matter what. but they’re not joking when they say every time a boy with perfect hair cuts it too short an angel dies.”

he hums, his thumb rubbing against your cheek. “so are you the angel in this case?”

“am—” you almost parrot the question, caught in place by the amusement on his face. “shut up.”

“because if you’re the angel then i definitely can’t cut my hair.”

“oh my god.” the hair in question falls in front of his eyes again, and you take the opportunity to stand up while he fixes it. “whatever, i’m leaving, you nerd. go back to editing or whatever it is you do,” you huff with a smile and pinch to his cheek.

his soft laughter fills the room while you move to let him work, (swearing when you remember his tea you promised to make,)

but your leg is caught by one of his, and a hand is suddenly holding yours against his face.

keiji shoots you a smug smile, keeps you near just a little longer, just so he can say one more thing—

“okay, angel.”

forgot i wrote this months ago. hey

🏷️| @pelicanpizza @godoffuckedupcats @causenessus @priv-rose @ur-local-simp @xaaavi @respitable @hasti-666 @deepenthevoid

[kuroonyang]

after you and suna link for the first time, you try to leave the man in complete ruins. you both know how this works. yet he can only gape at you when you roll off of him and start putting on your clothes.

“and where in the fuck are ya goin’?”

his question has you turning to look back at him, tilting your head curiously. “um home?”

his dick is still wet with your juices and your cunt feels empty without him inside you but you’ve decided to head home? he doesn’t know whether to laugh or pull at his hair. he does both.

“stay.” he groans out, sitting up and reaching your bare hips to tug you against him.

“rin—”

successfully capturing you in his arms, he cuts you off, leaning back so the two of you fall into his pillow.

“shhh, just stay with me woman. damned near rocked m’world and then ya try to run away? fuck off.”

[kuroonyang]

routine

character: shinsuke kita (timeskip!kita)

word count: 639

warning(s): fluff!!!

content: kita welcomes the new additions to his daily routine.

a/n: this was totally meant to be smth for kita's birthday oopsie. happy late bday handsome <3333

Kita had always been an early riser; just like clockwork, he would wake before sunrise, work in the fields until the sun sets, and fall asleep after some dinner and a warm shower. 

But here he was, still lying in bed with the first light of day peeking through his curtains. He’d been awake for a while now, but in recent months, he’d been habitually a little slower to rise than normal. 

He had a new little addition to his routine: he wanted to see the soft morning light catch your face before doing anything else in the day. 

He fondly watched the rise and fall of your body as you slept, a soft snore escaping you every few breaths. He couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the sight of some drool on your pillow. 

You looked so content, so at peace. 

His heart practically melted at the sight of the morning sun shining on your sleeping figure—you were absolutely breathtaking. A soft chuckle escaped him when your expression contorted into discomfort from the brightness hitting your face, and he shifted his body to now shield you from the light. He was well aware of your bad habit of being a night owl, so he did everything in his power to make sure you got as much undisturbed sleep as possible.

But like always, right before he was about to get up and get dressed, you inched closer and closer to Kita until your face was pressed against his bare chest. And just like clockwork, he began running a gentle hand down your back as you nuzzled into him.

“G’mornin’ darlin’,” Kita greeted in a raspy morning voice that always had you swooning. You mumbled a “g’mrning” and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him like a koala. You knew his morning greetings always meant he was about to leave and get up for the day. 

He sighed, wishing it were easier to leave your embrace. “Ya know I gotta get up now.”

You quietly huffed into his skin, mumbling, “Please stay, just for ten more minutes.” In an attempt to bargain, you peppered soft kisses against his collarbone and shoulder—his ultimate weakness. “Please?” You added, honey dripping in your voice. 

He hummed, his eyes fluttering closed, slowly beginning to succumb to your touch. “I wish,” he admitted as he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. His warm gaze was filled with quiet adoration when he added, “But I gotta work hard ta make ya happy.”

“You already make me happy,” you argued, a small pout forming on your face.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good. Gotta keep it that way,” he whispered against your skin, “Go on back ta sleep, it’s still early fer ya.”

If anyone from his high school days saw him now, they’d fall to the floor and deny that this was the same Shinsuke Kita from their adolescence. Kita, the former no-nonsense volleyball captain who had his own system to the way he lived and stuck to it religiously—no ifs, ands, or buts. They came to know that his collection of small, daily habits was what shaped him into the man he was. So they assumed nothing came between Kita and his routine. 

They’d be shocked at this Kita, who now took longer getting dressed so that he could watch you slowly drift back to sleep. Kita, who now watered your own little garden every morning before venturing out into the fields. Kita, who now returned home before the sun set just so he could see you standing on the porch to greet him from a long day’s work. Kita, who now took an extra moment to watch as the golden hour of the evening sun caught your face just perfectly before going inside for the night. 

masterlist | navigation

requests are open!

please do not repost or alter my work. © @bokutoko

[kuroonyang]

ending the series right here bc this is exactly how it should end 🙂‍↕️😘

nineteen — no idea

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.7k content. swearing, sex mentions, some angst, some fluff

You can’t seem to focus at all.

Maybe it’s the professor and the way she talks really slow. Maybe it’s Iwaizumi doodling dinosaurs into your notebook right beside you. Maybe it’s Yukawa (is that his name? You’re not quite sure) sitting right behind you, still trying to get the nerve to ask for your number. Fuck, maybe it’s the wind. Who knows?

Nothing is getting past your skull today. You groan, realizing you’ll have to go through all the material again later just to understand it.

“You okay?” Iwaizumi asks. He opens a pack of marshmallows and puts it on the table in front of the two of you.

“Yeah,” you tell him, sticking one in your mouth. “I’m fine.”

You know you should stop talking, that there’s no reason for you to continue, but your mouth has a mind of its own—

“I’m dating Atsumu.”

Your friend blinks at you. “You’re… what?”

You purse your lips. Oh, you realize, that’s why I can’t focus.

“Yeah,” you say again. “He’s kinda my… boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi stays quiet, popping two—no, five marshmallows into his mouth and very slowly chewing them. When they dissolve on his tongue, he eats another five.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you tell him.

He shakes his head, mouth still full. “Just let me process.”

When the professor dismisses the class, he’s still stuck in his seat, stuffing his mouth with marshmallows.

“Iwa.”

He holds a finger up. “Wait.”

You slump into your seat beside him, waiting for him to plow through the whole bag.

“Y/N?”

Yukawa.

You glance over your shoulder and find the boy looking at you shyly. “Yeah?”

“Right so I was wondering,” he says, clearing his throat, “do you wanna go grab some coffee with me?”

Iwaizumi cuts you off before you can even open your mouth. “She’s taken!”

Yukawa’s eyes grow wide. “Oh! Shit, okay.”

“She’s dating Atsumu,” your friend continues. “Miya Atsumu. Don’t wanna cross him, man.”

The memory of that day at the cafeteria seems to flash in the boy’s mind.

“Fuck, right, sorry!” he exclaims, quickly gathering his things. He bows at you quickly. “Really sorry. Bye.”

You gape at Iwaizumi. “What the fuck was that?”

He shrugs. “I’ve processed,” he says. He picks up his bag and walks out of the classroom, leaving you to rush after him.

“So?” you ask when you’ve caught up. The two of you are in the hall now, on your way to the coffee shop you’d promised to meet Oikawa at. “What do you think?”

“About?”

You elbow him. “Atsumu, dumbass.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to say something. Then closes it. Then opens it again. Then closes it. Then, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

You get to the coffee shop and find your best friend already smiling and waving you over. You swallow the lump in your throat. You’re gonna have to tell him too.

Oikawa urges you into the seat beside him. “Took you long enough.”

“It’s Iwa’s fault,” you say automatically.

“Oh?” Iwaizumi raises his brow, sitting down across the table. “You sure about that?”

You wince when you realize he has the ammo here, not you. “No, it’s my fault.”

Oikawa puts his face in his hands and flutters his eyelashes at you. “Do tell.”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

He squints. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” you say. “Nothing bad at least.”

Your best friend crosses his arms and frowns at you. It’s like he’s trying to read your mind and, honestly, you haven’t been able to prove that he can’t.

“Tell me,” he says.

“It’s not a big deal,” you insist. “I’m just, you know… dating Atsumu now.”

“Like for real?”

“Yeah.”

“Like you’re his girlfriend?”

“Uh-uh.”

“He’s your boyfriend?”

You narrow your eyes. “Tooru.”

He throws his hands up. “I’m just checking!” he says. “Wasn’t sure if you meant it the way I thought you did.”

“What do you think I meant?” you ask, tilting your head as a bewildered expression takes over your features.

“I don’t know!” Oikawa exclaims. “You kids have weird ways of labeling relationships.”

“I’m literally older than you.”

He shrugs, smirking as he sips his coffee. “I’ve been in a relationship longer than you.”

You scoff. “Well, I’m gonna be better at it than you.”

“As if.”

You look over at Iwaizumi. “Iwa, remind me again about how Tooru was late for your anniversary dinner.”

The boy smiles, much to Oikawa’s dismay. “Yeah, he still kinda owes me for that.”

“I said I was sorry!”

Suna stretches himself out on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television. There really isn’t much to watch nowadays. “Why do you guys even have cable?”

Osamu grunts, shifting in his seat. “How am I supposed to know?”

“For the news,” Atsumu supplies, scrolling through his phone on the floor. “At least that’s what Ma says. She pays for it anyway.”

Kita walks into the room with Aran on his heels. “Remind me why we’re here again.”

“Atsumu has something to tell us,” Suna says, lazily hanging his head off the side of the couch. “But he’s being awfully quiet.”

The blond hushes him. “Just gotta wait.”

“For what? Pigs to fly?”

“Shhh!”

“My theory is he forgot what he was gonna say,” Osamu says as Kita and Aran pile onto the couch beside him. “He’s just too embarrassed to admit he forgot.”

“Ya guys are—”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Aha!” Atsumu exclaims, jumping onto his feet and bolting for the door. “Yer gonna eat yer words.”

He unlocks the door and opens it up to find you standing there, a nervous smile on your face as you poke your head in to see the others.

“Hi,” you say, removing your shoes and sliding into a pair of slippers they keep by the door.

“Told ya!” Atsumu says, slinging his arm around you and walking you over to the others. “It’s Y/N!”

“We know it’s Y/N,” Osamu deadpans. He looks over at you and grins. “Hi, Y/N, whatcha doin’ here?”

Your eyes flit over to Suna. He’s looking at you, his expression a mix of worry and confusion. He hasn’t seen you since the party, since the you called things off between the two of you.

You try to look away.

“Oh, you know,” you start, nudging Atsumu, “he has something to say.”

“Right!” He perks up. “Everyone, this is Y/N—my girlfriend.”

The room is a little hard to read. Osamu is clearly amused, Aran is a little concerned, Kita is somewhere between the two, and Suna is, well… not entirely there.

“Well, we kinda saw it coming,” Kita says eventually. “Right, boys?”

Osamu starts cackling. “Yeah, man. This isn’t the news ya think it is.”

Atsumu huffs. “How ‘bout be happy for me for once!”

“Good luck?” Aran offers you as Atsumu starts chasing Osamu around the house, trying to tackle him. “I mean, ya know what yer gettin’ into, right?”

You watch as your boyfriend chases his brother into the bathroom. “I guess I do.”

It doesn’t take long for them to settle down and start ordering dinner, Kita busy making sure everyone gets the right food and Aran heading out to get some ice. The twins get into an argument about whose turn it is to wash the dishes, leaving you and Suna in the living room.

“So,” you say, trying to clear the tension. “This isn’t weird, right?”

He looks at you blankly. “Why would it be weird?”

You let out an awkward chuckle. “Right. Why would it be weird?”

“Yeah. It isn’t.”

“I was gonna tell you—”

“You didn’t have to,” he says. His voice seems far away, like he’s speaking to you through a wall. “I’m happy for you. For both of you.”

He gets up from the couch and goes out to the balcony, leaving you there with a sick feeling growing in your stomach. You stare at your feet, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt and anger.

You don’t owe him anything.

It wasn’t anything.

It was just sex.

“Ya know, just ‘cause yer together now, doesn’t mean ya can just fuck on the couch,” Osamu says when he walks into the living room later that night.

Atsumu frowns, looking at the whole couch’s worth of space between the two of you. “We’re not even touching though.”

“Just sayin’,” his brother says, giving you both the evil eye, “I’ll know.”

You look up from the book you're reading as he makes his way to his bedroom. “Night, ‘Samu!”

“Night, Y/N,” he says, opening his door.

“How ‘bout me?” Atsumu demands, glancing between you and his brother. “Don’t I get a ‘good night’?”

“Did ya say ‘good night’ to me?”

“No.”

Osamu gives his brother a disappointed look before stepping into his room and closing the door behind him.

“Oh, we are so fuckin’ on the couch tonight.”

You let out a laugh. “Kinda tired, babe.”

Atsumu smirks, inching closer to you. “‘S’okay,” he says. “I can do all the work.”

“Such a horndog,” you giggle, lightly pushing his head away.

He sighs, letting his head fall in your lap. “Can I kiss ya at least?” he asks. “Tell ‘Samu we made out on the couch?”

You roll your eyes. “Just one kiss.”

He grins. “I’ll take it.”

Closing your eyes, you lean down and catch his lips in a gentle kiss. The angle is a little awkward and the contact is sloppy, but you don’t mind it. You can taste the mint of his toothpaste and smell the cologne he’s wearing.

Everything about him is just Atsumu, all that he is. Wonderful and terrible enough to make your heart beat out of your chest.

You pull back and find him smiling at you from ear to ear.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you say back.

“How do ya feel ‘bout all this?”

“Honestly?” You bite your lip. “It feels right.”

He nods, taking your land in his and placing a light kiss on the back of it. “I think so too,” he tells you. “Feels exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

You use your other hand to play with his hair, still damp from his shower. “I really like you, ‘Tsumu.”

He leans into your touch. “I really like ya too.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” you say, smiling down at him.

“Oh, ya have no idea, sweetheart.”

notes. how’s everyone doing :D

[kuroonyang]

ma’am im just here to write abt pretty volleyball players

[kuroonyang]

— 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. ₊˚⊹

notes. men who r clingy and all cute for their partner when they're drunk have my heart 🫶

"baby," atsumu whines, breath reeking of alcohol.

you roll your eyes in reply and refocus your attention on carrying both your weights into your shared apartment, stumbling and scrambling to reach the bedroom so you could free yourself of the parasite that is your boyfriend.

finally feeling the mattress against your back pulls a sigh out of you. but then the bed shifts, and your moment of relaxation is cut short as you realize atsumu was still wide awake.

curse osamu for calling you over to onigiri miya in the middle of the night, and curse him for not taking responsibility for his drunk brother and dumping atsumu onto you when you could've been soundly sleeping by now.

"damn you, osamu." you grumble, taking a peek at your boyfriend. he's already staring back with a slumped smirk, grip failing as he attempts closer contact.

"ya know, yer s'pretty," atsumu slurs, "mmh..soo beautiful."

you cock a brow at this, "am i now?"

"mhmm, mos'gorgeous girl 've ever seen." he coos like you're a child. you're unimpressed, evidently, but then atsumu gathers your cheeks in his hands and leans in and suddenly your poker face crumbles.

"m'wanna kiss ya baby," he whispers much too close to your lips, "can i?"

"you smell strongly of alcohol." you try to reason.

"so what?" he argues, eyes pleading desperately.

you hum, as if thinking his words over, "right.. maybe just one."

atsumu perks up and abruptly attaches his lips on yours. you settle into the kiss quickly, melting in his arms as your boyfriend manages to heave noises from you.

for someone who was hammered, atsumu still possessed so much of his strength, you think.

you're pulling away first, leaving your boyfriend pouting and wanting more. he's gently clawing at your waist and pressing his body flush against yours, needy. you call his name out, voice low in warning.

"'tsumu.."

"aw, c'mon baby jus' one more, hm? please?" he drags the last word out and you're barely able to keep yourself from giving in.

"maybe in the morning, 'tsumu, when you're not drunk."

atsumu huffs out a breath, "oh fine, wh'teva." yet doesn't do anything to protest, only snuggling up to you.

you smile at his childishness, "well– i guess in return for your patience, you can have more than just a kiss."

atsumu seems to brighten up at this and he nods his head against your chest, "deal!"

you're next to grinning at this point, god your boyfriend could be such a child.

© its-weeping — do not plagiarize or translate.