savoryleekachu

[savoryleekachu]

𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥?; 𝘛𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘶 𝘖𝘪𝘬𝘢𝘸𝘢 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

angst, PRE-TS, established relationship, fem reader, hurt no comfort heh..., ummm warnign tooru says mean things I guess, sorry this is kinda bad :c .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. inspired by:

.・゜-: ✧ :- Tooru couldn’t even remember what started it. Maybe he missed just one too many serves at practice. Maybe it was the ache in his shoulder that hadn’t gone away for weeks, or maybe, worst of all, it was that you were always there. Always present. Always patient. Always understanding.

And somehow, tonight, that felt like too much. It started small. Something about him forgetting to text you, that practice ran late. You’d asked if he was okay. You said it gently. You always did. But instead of telling you the truth: that he was just a bit tired, a bit overwhelmed, that he just needed some space, he let it fester. Let it twist. Until it spilled out ugly and sharp. “No—no, seriously,” he had snapped, voice a vicious blend of sarcasm and exhaustion, “do you ever stop? It's like being smothered with expectations all the damn time.”

You had paused, hands frozen in mid-air from folding his laundry, unsure if you heard him right.

“I can’t even breathe around you anymore,” he added, pacing like a caged animal, voice rising. “Everything I do, there’s some comment, some concern, some—some look like I’ve failed you. God, you’re exhausting.”

“Tooru—” you’d tried, but he cut you off.

“Can’t you just fucking relax? You’re on my ass all day. Why can’t you go bother someone else for once? I wish you could just be a chill girlfriend and be grateful instead of—God, you’re so high maintenance it’s like dating a fucking chore list.”

The silence after that was like the air being sucked out of the room.

He didn’t mean it. Of course he didn’t. But he said it. And there was no dragging those words back into his mouth once they were out. They just hung there—sick, festering, heavy.

Your face went blank. Not stoic. Blank. Like every emotion had been yanked from it at once, and all that remained was a shell trying not to shatter on the spot. You didn’t say anything—didn’t cry or yell. You just walked out of the bedroom, quiet as a ghost. He heard your footsteps down the hall, the soft swish of your socks on the floor. The bedroom door stayed open, but the space you left behind felt cavernous. This time, he didn’t walk away. ...

But you didn’t come back either. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ When Tooru woke up, the silence was oppressive.

2:13 AM.

His head throbbed. His mouth was dry. His body was warm, but not the way it used to be—not with your leg tangled in his, not with your quiet breathing against his chest.

The bed was too still. The sheets beside him were untouched. Not even a dent in the pillow.

A flash of fear crept up his spine as he pushed the covers off and stood. The hallway stretched out before him like a tunnel. He checked the guest room first, expecting to find you curled on the edge of the bed. But the door was cracked open, and the bed was empty. His heart began to race.

The kitchen light was off. The bathroom door was wide open. No signs of life anywhere.

Then he stepped into the living room.

Then he saw you.

You were asleep—barely—on the couch. Curled tightly into yourself under a throw blanket that was too thin, one arm tucked beneath your head as a makeshift pillow. The lamp was off. The television still displayed the paused menu of the last show you’d watched together.

Tooru stood frozen.

There was something about the sight of you like that—huddled into a corner of a couch, curled in a way that made him feel like his heart was punched through his chest.

You didn’t even take a pillow from the bed. Didn’t even grab the thicker blanket from the closet. Just escaped the bedroom. Escaped him. You always hated the couch. Too firm. Too short. You once joked that it “felt like lying on a bench in purgatory.” But here you were, trying to sleep on it, because he’d made you feel like you didn’t belong in bed with him anymore.

He stepped closer quietly, unsure of what to do.

Your face, even in sleep, looked worn. Not peaceful—tense. Lips pressed together like you were fighting something even in your dreams.

“Tooru,” you mumbled, barely audible, turning in your sleep. He swallowed. He didn’t want to wake you, but he couldn’t just let this stay like this. “Hey,” he whispered gently, kneeling beside the couch. “Sweetheart…” You stirred slowly, eyelashes fluttering before your eyes opened blearily. You blinked at him, confused at first—then, as the memory of the night returned, your face hardened. Not with anger, but with something worse: hurt.

“Why are you out here?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you murmured, curling into the blanket.

It was the kind of answer that didn’t ask for a reaction. A simple truth, tossed gently between you, like it wasn’t heavy.

But Tooru flinched like you’d hit him.

“What? No. No, that’s not—” he stammered. “That’s not true, you never bother me. I was just… angry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You didn’t say anything. Just adjusted the blanket slightly, like that would be enough to keep out the cold that had nothing to do with the air.

“I say stupid shit when I’m overwhelmed,” he tried again, softer. “But you know I don’t… I don’t feel that way about you.”

Your eyes didn’t meet his. They stayed somewhere near the far end of the room. On the floor. On nothing.

“I know you were tired,” you said quietly.

And somehow, it felt like the most painful thing you could’ve said.

Not forgiveness. Not even understanding. Just… surrender. Like you were folding the moment up and putting it away so you wouldn’t have to carry it anymore.

Tooru’s hands curled against his knees. He hated that tone — the way you’d said it like it explained everything, like it made his cruelty easier to live with.

You added, after a pause, “You always tell the truth when you’re tired.”

“That’s not fair,” he whispered.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t push. That wasn’t your style. But you looked at him then—finally—but then there was something in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

A distance that hadn’t always been there. A stillness in you. Not calm. Just empty.

“I don’t think you hate me,” you said softly. “I think maybe I just make you tired.”

The silence afterward was thick, like the breath before a sob, like the hush that falls in a room where something has just died. The clock ticked on. The streetlight outside buzzed faintly, casting pale orange through the blinds. Dust floated through it — tiny fragments suspended in a world where time had stopped.

Tooru opened his mouth, closed it again. There were a thousand things he could say. A hundred lies that might’ve sounded like love. But he knew none of them would reach you now.

“I’ll leave the door open,” he said quietly, because it felt like the only thing he could offer.

But maybe it wasn't the right thing to say.

[savoryleekachu]

birthday treat ! | ft: koushi sugawara

smut | teasing, riding, cameras, drunk suga

The restaurant lights were soft and golden like karasuno’s emblem. The windows were steamed from the warmth inside, and a birthday banner hung overhead, adorned with your calligraphy writing & midliner markers, taped gently to the door frame.

Sugawara stopped in the doorway.

You smiled, leaning one hip against the hostess stand. “Happy birthday, baby.”

His eyes flicked around the empty dining room, every table lit by a candle, no other guests in sight. “You rented the whole thing?”

“For my favorite volleyball player? Of course.”

Koushi gently laughed as he ran a hand through his hair, placing his arm around your waist.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, letting you guide him to the best seat in the house, a velvet booth tucked in the corner.

“You love it,” you teased. “Tonight, you get to eat whatever you want without Noya’s wandering stomach”

“Don’t tempt me,” he groaned. “I’m two seconds away from blocking all of them. Even Daichi.”

“Daichi?”

“He took four bites of my cake sample before I even got to try it.”

You gasped. “Oh, the betrayal! .”

“I raised those boys,” he sighed, dramatically draping a napkin over his lap like a tired parent. “I bathed them. I fed them. I yelled at them for walking inside with their court shoes on.”

“Mm-hmm. And you deserve a break from motherhood, Koushi. A whole night where you can feel appreciated like the handsome, sexy, sweet heart you are.” you beam, serenading him with countless compliments.

He softly laughed as he set his wine glass down.

Dinner was slow and perfect. His favorite dishes, all spicy, from countless cuisine. He talked between bites about the upcoming practice match with Aoba Johsai, the ridiculous TikTok Tanaka made, and his interests in becoming an elementary school teacher.

As he continued, his voice softened — slowing down as a drunken suga realizes the solace he’s in.

“I think this is the quietest meal I’ve had all year,” he murmured, halfway through dessert.

You reached for his hand. “That’s the point, baby.”

You didn’t let him clean up or lift a finger. You led him, still a little dazed, through a hallway behind the kitchen where an old photo booth stood glowing quietly in the dark.

“Wait,” he said, blinking. “Is that thing still working?”

“Wanna find out?”

⸻ ♡(｡- ω -)

Inside the booth, the second the curtain closed, he was out of breath and whipped.

“Wait baby, what if someone—”

“No one’s coming back here,” you whispered, climbing onto his lap. “They’re giving us the full night.”

Your hips pressed into him slowly, and he was already getting hard, all flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, fingers shaking where they gripped your waist.

“Fuck this is,” he hissed as you reached between your bodies and pulled him out, your hand warm, your voice warm, everything too much.

“It’s your birthday,” you murmured, sinking onto him with a sigh. “Let me take care of you, just this once.”

He choked on a moan, his head falling back against the vinyl seat as you undid his pants. Suga was drunk, falling for your every moves as he devoted himself to you.

You lowered yourself slowly onto him, feeling every inch bottom out inside you. His hands locked around your hips, holding you steady as his toned abs flexed beneath your fingers, a perfect balance of strength and softness. You traced the smooth planes of his stomach, memorizing the way his muscles tensed with every move.

His breath hitched and before you could pull away, his lips crashed onto yours deep, desperate, claiming. His tongue tangled with yours in a heated kiss, the taste of wine and sweat mingling on your tongues. You gasped against him as he pulled you closer, the tight space amplifying every touch.

“Fuck you’re so good for me,” Sugawara breathed, voice low and ragged as he bottomed out again.

His hands slid up to cup your face, thumbs stroking over your flushed cheeks. “You’re such a good girl, riding me like this.”

You moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his soft silver hair. “Koushi,” you whispered, trembling.

His eyes fluttered open, dark with need, and he kissed you again slow, sweet, worshipful. “Look at me,” he said softly, voice rough. “So beautiful, so perfect. You make me so fucking happy.”

You shivered as he kissed down your jaw then nipped gently at your neck. “You’re mine tonight, yeah? good girl baby, fuck — yeah, atta girl…”

“Yes,” you breathed, your hands clutching his shoulders. “all. yours. kou.”

The camera flashed, catching your tangled, heated bodies, his pants and shirt undone as you both connected by the hip — the proof of a birthday night neither of you would ever forget.

⸻ (─‿‿─)♡

You leaned back against him, breath still shaky, heart pounding in that perfect afterglow. His arms wrapped around your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your skin.

Sugawara’s voice was soft but teasing. “You really made my birthday unforgettable. I don’t know how I’m going to survive practice tomorrow after this.”

You giggled, nuzzling his neck. “Maybe I should come with you and be your good luck charm.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and low. “I’d like that. But don’t expect me to go easy on you during warm-ups.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh? Challenge accepted.”

He kissed the top of your head, voice dropping to a gentle whisper. “You’re such a good girl, you know that? Best birthday present I could’ve ever asked for.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling safe and adored. “And you’re my favorite boy to spoil.”

He squeezed you tight. “Always.”

The photo strip lay between you, a perfect reminder, koushi sugawara was utterly getting older, yet utterly yours.

[savoryleekachu]

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳?; 𝘙𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯 𝘈𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

It was one of those rare, almost peculiar instances when Reigen found himself behind the wheel.

He had never been particularly fond of driving. It always felt too stressful, too chaotic—too many variables that could spiral out of control, too many things he couldn’t charm or talk his way around. Yet today was different. Today held a quiet significance that overrode his usual aversion. Today was all about you.

It was a promise he had made to himself: no matter what, he would always try—really try—to make you happy.

Lately, though, he’d felt something shift. The distance wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It crept in quietly, tucked away in the subtle changes—how your laughter came slower, how you took longer to respond to his teasing, how your once-effortless smile now carried the weight of effort. It wasn’t that you stopped caring. It just felt like something had dulled between the two of you, like a light dimming behind frosted glass.

Reigen had noticed. Of course he had. He picked up on those things more than he let on. But instead of confronting you with questions he wasn’t sure how to ask, he made a plan. A day at the beach—just the two of you, like you love(d).

He remembered how the sun used to revive you, how you thrived outside, chasing waves and laughing until your stomach hurt. He thought maybe what you needed wasn’t answers, but air. A reminder of warmth. Something that felt like before.

So that morning, he playfully yanked the covers off of you and tossed you an outfit he’d picked out with more care than he’d ever admit. Something he thought you’d feel good in. Something you might have chosen. He just knew you that well.

With that same undying enthusiasm he always wielded around you, he guided you into the passenger seat and started the engine. But the moment the key turned and the car rumbled to life, a quiet unease coiled in his chest.

You didn’t complain about being up too early. You didn’t grumble or roll your eyes like you normally would. You just moved—quietly, passively. Like someone stepping through the choreography of a routine they no longer believed in.

As the car sped down the highway, Reigen cranked up the volume on one of your favorite songs. The windows were down, the summer wind whipping through his hair as he belted out the lyrics with theatrical passion. He glanced at you, expecting your usual eye-roll or reluctant grin, maybe even a duet if he was lucky.

But you just smiled.

It wasn’t your smile—not the one that crinkled your eyes or made your nose scrunch in that endearing way he loved. This smile was thin, polite. It was like watching someone smile at an old photograph. Like you weren’t fully there with him. Still, Reigen kept singing. He clung to the melody like it might somehow pull you back.

“Come on, I know you remember this part!” he grinned, tapping the steering wheel with faux drumsticks. “This is your verse!”

You laughed, but it felt hollow in your throat. Even you could tell. “Yeah,” you murmured, almost apologetically. “I remember.” And you did—kind of. You remembered the brightness of those summer days, the sunburns, the salty fries, the feeling of sand caught between your toes. You remembered how Reigen used to laugh so loudly people turned around, how his cooler was always packed like he was preparing for a weeklong expedition. You remembered loving it. Loving him.

But now, it all felt distant. Like looking at your life through a fogged-up window—familiar shapes, blurred meaning. He kept talking. Stories spilled out of him like water from a cracked glass. A possessed vacuum cleaner. A cursed goldfish. A woman who was convinced her socks had transformed into eels. His voice was bright, lively—practiced. He was doing what he always did: filling the silence before it became too loud to ignore.

But for you, the sound was almost painful. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him. You did. Maybe even more than he realized. But lately, your life felt like a memory you were trying to wake up from. Like you were always a step behind, chasing feelings you used to have rather than actually having them. And the worst part?

You didn’t know why.

You stared out at the passing trees and blue sky, that guilty flutter churning in your stomach. What was wrong with you? Your boyfriend had done all this for you. He tried so hard. He was trying right now. And all you could offer him in return were quiet nods, half-laughs, and an occasional glance just to make sure he knew you were still there—even if you didn’t feel like you were.

You clenched your hands together in your lap. You weren’t angry. You weren’t even sad, exactly. Just… wrong. Like a puzzle piece in the right box but the wrong spot. You turned to look at him, really look at him—his profile against the summer light, eyes on the road, singing with so much hope it nearly broke you.

“I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a fragile glass ornament, delicate and heavy at the same time. It felt as if a weight had dropped between you, shifting the atmosphere in the car. He swallowed, the corners of his mouth twitching as his smile started to falter, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his hand sought yours, wrapping around it with a gentle, almost desperate grip, as if trying to hold onto something that felt like it might slip away.

You turned your gaze out of the window, the landscape blurring past like a fleeting memory. Your voice came out softer, almost a whisper, “Maybe some things… just don’t go back.” The words felt like an admission, a realization that settled in the pit of your stomach. He remained silent, the weight of your confession hanging thick in the car, mingling with the smell of leather and the faint soundtrack of tires on asphalt.

The road rolled on beneath the tires, steady and unchanging, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you both. You could feel the space between you expanding, an invisible chasm that neither of you quite knew how to bridge. Outside, the sun dipped low, casting golden rays that danced through the trees before being swallowed by a distant mountain. Shadows pooled over your hands, creeping across your skin like the unexpressed thoughts that lingered uncomfortably in the air between you, hovering over your faces, over what remained unspoken.

In that profound silence, you both grasped at different truths—his heart still brimming with hope, a flickering flame against the gathering dusk, while yours lay quietly resigned, the embers of what once was dimming slowly. It was as if you were both adrift in separate currents, both moving forward but drifting further apart, even as the miles of road unwound behind you. The sound of the engine filled the void, a monotonous hum that accompanied the silence, amplifying the reality that some things just couldn't be salvaged.

[savoryleekachu]

ts is peak

birthday sex | june 10, 2025

ft: hajime iwaizumi | p in v, riding, oil, whipped cream, & handcuffs!

He walks into the bedroom and stops completely. His eyes follow the trail of petals across the floor. They land on the headboard first, where the cuffs wait, silver and polished. Then they travel to the oil, the whipped cream, and finally to you.

His voice is hoarse. "You’re trying to kill me."

You smile slowly, rising from the bed in soft steps. The lace clings to your curves just the way you hoped it would. In silence, you press a small black velvet box into his hand. He opens it, and his breath catches when he sees what is inside. The cuffs glint under the light, resting on velvet.

"I wanted to make tonight about you, Hajime," you whisper, sliding your fingers behind his neck. "I want you to let go. Let me take care of everything."

He does not say anything at first. He just looks at you like you’re something divine. You kiss him, slow and deep, and guide him backward with patient hands. You undress him with quiet reverence, pressing kisses to every new inch of skin you reveal. When he lies back against the pillows, you fasten the cuffs around his wrists, anchoring him to the bed. His arms stretch out, his chest rising and falling as you straddle his thighs.

The lights are dim, just candlelight now, casting golden flickers over the sheets, over your skin, over the faint sheen of oil you just drizzled across his chest. The scent is warm, musky, something sensual and calming all at once. You rub it in slow, watching the way his jaw clenches as your fingers move across him.

"You’re gonna kill me," he murmurs again, voice wrecked.

"Not yet," you say sweetly.

You dip a finger into the can of whipped cream beside the bed, real cream, none of that store-bought sugar foam. You swirl it across the hollow of his collarbone, slow and teasing, and lean down to taste him.

Hajime groans. Loudly.

The oil makes his skin smooth and warm under your hands as you trail kisses down his chest, licking little drops of cream, tracing your nails just enough to make him squirm. His arms flex uselessly against the cuffs, muscles straining.

“You’re so unfair,” he breathes.

“Mm. You look really pretty when you beg, Haji.”

That earns you a low growl from deep in his throat, and you grin, licking a slow stripe over his abs. He tastes like salt and sugar and something entirely his and you’re not stopping until he’s trembling under you, totally at your mercy.

You pause at his ear, fingers trailing over the cuffs, just enough pressure to remind him he’s yours tonight.

“All tied up,” you whisper, “and nowhere to run.”

He lets out the softest broken laugh, eyes half-lidded, body flushed.

“I wouldn’t run even if I could.”

You’re straddling his stomach, thighs shaking from how much teasing he’s been doing. You’re already soaked just from his words alone. He keeps glancing up at you, lips parted, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“Please, baby,” he groans, voice husky, “just sit on my face.”

Your face burns. “I… I can’t. I—what if I hurt you?”

He laughs like you’re the crazy one and grabs your hips tighter, guiding you up his chest toward his mouth.

“Then let me fucking suffocate.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh, biting gently, looking up at you like you’re the only god he believes in.

You pour warm oil into your palms and rub it between your hands. The scent is warm and heady, like amber and musk. You smooth it over his chest slowly, letting your fingers trail lower, watching his muscles twitch beneath your touch. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, already undone before you have even started.

"You look like something I could worship," you murmur.

His voice cracks as he exhales. "Then do it."

You slide your hand between your thighs, already wet and aching for him. He watches as you guide him to your entrance, and when you sink down onto him, the breath leaves him in a ragged sound. He bottoms out inside you, thick and deep, and you stay there for a moment. You are stretched full and trembling, hands braced on his chest.

His eyes flutter closed. "Holy shit," he says, breathless.

You move slowly at first, rolling your hips in soft circles. Every shift pulls a sound from his throat, every glide draws him deeper into you. The cuffs rattle softly with each motion as he tries to lift his arms, but you have him bound, and he cannot do anything but take it. You watch the way his body arches beneath yours, the way his lips part when you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"You feel amazing," he whispers, the words falling apart in his mouth.

"Look at me," you say.

Hajime opens his eyes, dazed and dark with need. You ride him harder now, pace steady and deep. The wet sounds of your bodies fill the room, along with the soft creak of the bed and the low groans slipping from his throat. His cock pulses inside you with every grind, and you can feel him getting close.

"I’m not gonna last..fuck baby," he warns, voice strained.

You lean down, nose brushing his, your lips at his ear. "Not yet."

But you are close too. Your hips move faster, and your fingers find your clit. The pressure builds, your breath hitching as you rock against him. When you finally come, it is hard and fast, your body tightening around him. He follows instantly, spilling deep inside you with a rough sound, back arching off the bed.

You collapse against his chest, your lips pressing to the hollow of his throat. His heart is racing. His wrists are still bound, but he does not care. He only cares about the way you make him feel wanted worshiped alive. "Happy birthday" you giggle as you lay on him, feeling his disheveled breath as he came down from the high.

"Best. birthday. gift. ever, princess" he whispers as he drives off to sleep.

[savoryleekachu]

"𝘈𝘮 𝘐 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦?"; 𝘙𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘯 𝘈𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

"Reigen, am I... unlovable?" Your question has been haunting Reigen for days. Actually, it wasn't really the question itself— it's what he responded with. Arataka nervously laughs, turning away from you.

"Hah... What..?" You turn to Arataka, your face tinted with offense.

"I'm serious, Reigen." He glances at you, eyes sharp, a little too fast with his reply.

"Don't be so dramatic. You're not special enough to be unlovable."

The words hang in the air, heavier than either of you expected. You stare at him, stunned. Arataka instantly regrets it, but his pride locks his mouth shut. •·.·''·.·•

Arataka hadn’t seen you in days. He hadn’t been able to contact you either; the constant dial tone rang in his ears for hours. Have you blocked him? He doesn’t blame you. Not really. But that doesn't stop the creeping nausea that coils in his gut every time he thinks about what he said.

“You're not special enough to be unlovable.”

What the hell was that? It came out too fast, too defensive— a reflex, like swatting at a wasp too close to his ear. Except this wasn’t some harmless sting. It was your face. The way your eyes sank just slightly, like something inside you quietly folded in on itself.

And now you were gone.

He tried to convince himself you were just busy. That maybe your phone had died. That maybe, any moment now, you'd barge into his office like always—grinning, uninvited, holding lunch in one hand and some half-baked excuse in the other. But it’s been four days. And now even Mob is getting antsy. His head snaps toward the door every time the clock strikes 4:00 p.m.—the time you'd always show up with snacks for both of them and that warm, effortless smile like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Even Serizawa had started asking about you. Arataka could see it in his eyes—how much he missed your quiet presence. You always made time to sit and share a cup of the cheap tea Arataka bought for the office with him whenever he and Mob were too busy. And now, that small comfort was gone—because of him.

It was Arataka’s stupid mouth that ruined it.

He was the one who took away Mob’s favorite person to talk to after a long day.

He was the one who pushed you out, even as every part of him ached for you to stay.

And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was supposed to say to your question.

"Reigen, am I... unlovable?" “No. You’re the only person who ever made me feel like maybe I wasn’t, either.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *

On the fifth day, Mob came into the office, looking around as if he was expecting you to already be there. It broke Arataka's heart.

He was looking for you, too.

"Shishou," Mob frowned when he failed to spot you, his shoulders sinking a little, "What happened to (Y/N)?"

Arataka didn’t look up right away. His eyes were fixed on the half-empty coffee cup sitting on his desk, pretending to be lost in thought. But Mob didn’t rush him—he was patient. Quiet.

He glanced at the door, half-expecting you to walk in like you always did. “I… I miss her.”

Arataka’s jaw tightened.

Mob wasn’t one to say things like that lightly. If he missed you, it meant your absence was more than just noticeable—it left a hole.

“Yeah,” Arataka admitted quietly. “I miss her too.” ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Arataka should’ve cared more. He should’ve cared enough to ask where you lived. He should’ve cared enough to walk you home, to say something real instead of the half-hearted goodbyes he always gave as you left the office.

Now, as he wanders through the streets of Seasoning City, every familiar corner twists into a reminder of what he lost—and what he never gave. His phone feels heavy in his hand, each call unanswered, each message left on read like a silent rejection. But he can’t stop. He won’t stop.

He roams, hoping to stumble across you by chance, hoping to see that smile that always made the chaos of his days feel a little lighter. He’s desperate—desperate to say the words he should have said a thousand times before. That you are lovable. That you always have been.

That he loves you.

And maybe, if fate is kind, maybe you’ll let him say it to your face. Riiiingggg. Beep! Arataka pauses. Did you just— "Why are you still calling me Reigen?" Your voice is soft but empty— no bitterness, no anger. Just a quiet resignation as if you had just accepted you were less than nothing in Arataka's eyes. That's what crushes him most. His throat tightens, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I… I need to say it to you. To your face. Please. Where are you?" There was a long pause; the only thing he could hear through the speaker was the low hum of your room—the faint whir of a fan, the creak of old floorboards.

He spoke again, more desperately this time, pain catching in his throat. “Please… tell me. I just want to see you. I want to try—try to fix this!" •·.·''·.·•

Arataka had never run faster in his life.

His feet pounded the pavement, heavy as lead—each step a battle against the guilt clawing at his back, begging him to stop, to turn around, to admit he was already too late.

His legs burned. His lungs screamed. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. His tie flapped wildly over his shoulder, suit jacket unbuttoned, shoes slick with city grime—but none of it mattered.

All he could think about was you.

The city rushed past in smears of light and motion—faces, cars, voices—all a blur against the singular thought screaming in his head:

Please still be there.

He should’ve cared more. So much more.

He should’ve known where you lived. Should’ve walked you home every night, instead of waving lazily from the office door. Should’ve asked how you were, how your heart was doing, whether you felt seen—whether you felt loved.

He should’ve done everything differently; and now he was chasing a moment that should’ve never been lost.

Arataka rounded the corner too fast and stumbled, barely catching himself as his eyes locked on you.

You were there, standing beneath the red awning of the café you always mentioned—the one with the bitter coffee and the soft seats. You were standing upright, scanning the sidewalk, your eyes searching every passerby with that same quiet determination he’d seen so many times before.

You were waiting for him, and that shattered something inside him.

He didn’t call your name—there wasn’t time.

A storm of guilt, regret, and fear surged through him, and before he could stop himself, he was in front of you, pulling you close.

He crashed into you, wrapping you in a tight, desperate hug that almost stole both your breaths. You tensed for a moment—caught off guard—but then let yourself settle into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean what I said. Not a single word.”

His forehead rested against your shoulder, seeking comfort just as much as offering it.

“You deserve so much love,” he said, voice trembling. “And I love you. I love you more than I can say, and it crushed me when you asked if you were unlovable.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say. But you always found solace in hugs, and slowly, your hands came up to wrap around his waist. “I always say the wrong things when it matters most,” he confessed. “I joke, I deflect, I pretend it’s not serious—and I hurt people because I don’t know how to be honest when it counts. That’s on me. It’s always been on me.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes—his filled with tears he wouldn’t let fall.

“You asked me something real, and I mocked it. I mocked you. It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

His voice softened, almost a whisper now.

“I don’t deserve your love… but I love you. I always have. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

The silence between you trembled, fragile as a whispered secret, a glass on the verge of shattering. He braced himself, expecting you to pull away, to recoil, or even to strike out in pain or anger. But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him back, drawing him close. Your face found shelter against his chest, your breath quiet and steady. In that simple touch, a thousand words went unspoken—apologies, hopes, regrets, and a love too deep for speech. His fingers traced softly through your hair, every stroke a silent vow.

I’m here.

I love you.

And this time, I’m not letting go.

[savoryleekachu]

pov; your boyfriend gets a new digi cam?! | ft: hajime iwaizumi

You hear the floor creak as your boyfriend sets his duffle bag down by the door. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and you murmur his name into the dim light.

"Iwa?"

He pauses, voice low and a little surprised. "Hm? You’re still up?"

He’s been coming home late these days. train. focus, win.

You know he’s tired, but god, so are you. Tired of missing him.

"Yeah… couldn’t sleep," you say softly, turning over to face him.

He sits beside you, leans down, and lets his fingers slip gently into your hair. His touch is slow and careful. Your eyes fall shut again under his warmth.

"Missed you," you whisper into his palm.

He looks down at you, curled up under the blanket, your voice barely audible. And something in him softens.

He slides in beside you, one arm wrapping around your waist. His other hand still holds the silver digital camera he’s been carrying around lately — the one filled with goofy photos from team practice. Matsukawa making faces. Oikawa throwing peace signs. A few accidental shots of Iwaizumi himself, caught mid-glare.

Your gaze drifts toward it, your voice muffled against his chest. "Hmm… baby, what’s that?"

You take it gently, scrolling through the pictures on the screen, then snap a sleepy selfie of the two of you without warning. He scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away.

"Team pitched in. Got it for practice," he says simply.

You hum in response, pressing closer to his side, letting his warmth lull you back into comfort.

Then, without another word, Iwaizumi leans in and kisses you. Firm, slow, and full of all the things he doesn’t know how to say out loud. You kiss him back, your hands finding his jaw as he cradles your face.

"Missed. You. So. Much. Baby," he mutters between kisses.

Iwaizumi isn’t the type to get clingy or overly affectionate. He’s steady, strong, practical. But in these rare, exhausted moments , you see the way he needs you.

And you let him.

His kisses begin to trail lower, down your jaw and throat, then to the nape of your neck. He exhales softly against your skin.

"Fuck, I haven’t been alone with you in so damn long," he whispers to himself.

Both of you had been busy, coming and going. He was lost in brutal practices, while you were drowning in final exam prep. You missed him in ways you couldn’t even explain, and there was never a real chance to enjoy his presence. Not with how late he always came home.

"Come here, let me take these off," he murmurs against your skin, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

He tugs at the oversized t-shirt — his shirt, the one you’d stolen months ago — and pulls it off with his teeth, slow and deliberate.

"Do as you wish, honey," you laugh quietly, already breathless.

Despite the long nights and exhaustion, Iwaizumi is never tired when he’s with you.

And you love the way he takes charge, the way his hands know exactly where to go. So you let him do exactly as he pleases.

Your boyfriend shifts himself in between your legs as he sucks on your tit's nipples, groping the other with his large hands.

"I missed the girls so much, princess."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently as he lifts his eyes to look at you, eyes dark with something raw and unspoken.

"You’re so beautiful like this," he murmurs, voice low, rough. "Mine."

His hands slide over your sides, thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles into your hips.

You arch into him, desperate for more, but he holds you still, eyes flicking up with a faint smirk.

"Patience," he breathes, voice dripping with control. "Let me have you properly."

You bite your lip, the air is thick with heat, his touch setting fire to every inch of your skin.

You feel as his fingers softly circle around your clit, feeling your arousal pool up as he laughs to himself.

"Huh? So wet and I've barely even touched you." he smiles as he gets on both his knees.

Iwa's moves are quick and precise - just like on the court. He pulls your panties to the side.

"Do you always look so gorgeous, princess?" he asks as he looks up at you.

"Shhh, please put them in, Iwa" you beg, feeling your boyfriend's fingers tease inside your folds.

"Huh? What do you want?" he teases.

"You. I- cmon baby." you whine. Your boyfriend is satisfied with your response, entering one finger inside you before stretching you out for a second.

"Fuck, feels so good around my fingers, huh?" he asks, increasing his pace. You run your fingers through his hair as you try to hold your composure.

Just before you are about to release, you feel Iwa pull his fingers away.

"Huh? Iwa, what was that..." he silences you with a firm kiss, leaning your body onto the bed as he bit your lip for entrance.

As you two engulfed in the heat of one another, you feel your boyfriend break free from the kiss to undo his sweatpants.

"Fuck pretty, missed you all day. Couldn't think about anything else but this pretty pussy while I was on court. Do you know what you do to me?" he mumbles, speaking to your naked body splayed across your bedroom.

You feel his tip line against your entrance.

"Gonna use my gorgeous girlfriend as a cumslut, you'd like that, huh? Gonna breed this pretty pussy..." you shut your eyes as you feel him enter you, digging into his back as your nails clawed against his chiseled skin.

His pace was rough, relentless - a complete 180 from the quiet man you know. Hajime lifted your legs up, proping them against his shoulders as he thrusted into your sweet hole.

"So incredible...so hot, miss you...missed this." He chants, enchanted by the way you took him so well.

The atmosphere grew incredibly hot, masked with a blend of you and Iwa's moans. He reached for the digital camera behind you, turning it on as he kissed the inside of your thighs.

"Iwa...what are you doing, baby?" you questioned, seeing him swipe through the various features of the camera. "Hm? Thought I'd snap a picture. You look so pretty like this, love.'' he smiled, angling the camera towards your fucked out face.

"Mmmm...Iwa, please, fuck...i'm about to cum." You groan, feeling as you tightened around his dick. Iwa continued his thrusts, angling himself towards the spot that drove you so crazy.

"Ah! Iwaizumi. Come on..baby, baby, oh fuck, fuck!" you cry, feeling a wave of release as you reach your orgasm.

"Yeah...hell, I'm about to cum love, want me to come in you, huh?, make you a pretty little wife? all fucked out and filled with my kids?"

Unable to register what he is saying, you nod frantically as you feel him push your thighs closer to his body - closing all gaps between you two.

You feel him spill his seed deep inside you, feeling the white ring form around his dick.

Snap! You see that Iwa took another picture, grinning to himself as he looks at your reaction.

"Baby, fuck, look at how pretty she looks when I cum in her" he chuckles, showing you the clear image of where you two connected - holding up the digital camera as if he's the proudest man in the world.

You laugh at your boyfriend's stupidity, turning to your side as he joins you in bed, grabbing your waist.

"You did so good for me, princess, cmere, lemme run you a bath."

You smiled at your boyfriend, resting soundly as he gave you the best bath you could ask for.

Maybe those pictures are a worthy trade-off?

[savoryleekachu]

happy birthday, hajime

It was nights like these that Hajime loved you even more than he already did.

Cheap Party City streamers adorned the walls of your small, shared apartment. Colorful balloons nestled in the corners of the room and small platters of food were scattered across every flat surface. The speaker you’d borrowed—well, stolen—from one of your friends played soft tunes, adding to the warm ambiance. And of course, Hajime's beloved friends and family were packed into the living room.

If he was honest, Hajime had never really cared for celebrating his birthday. But when he saw the sparkle in your eyes, the way you looked up at him for approval, the love so clearly written across your face—he couldn’t say no.

As the party wound down and guests slowly filtered out after cake and presents, Hajime found himself growing antsy. He’d had enough of the small talk, enough of the endless music, enough of the loud laughter—when all he wanted was to hear yours.

Spotting you chatting with the last lingering guests, Hajime slipped an arm around your waist, his touch gentle as his lips brushed your ear.

"Love, I'm tired," he whispered, his tone laced with exhaustion and just a touch of pleading.

He didn’t say much—he never had to. You understood him with little more than a look. With a quiet smile, you gently ushered the remaining guests out, and Hajime couldn’t help but feel lucky. I am so fortunate to have someone as kind and understanding as you.

╰┈➤˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

"Did you like the party, Hajime?" you asked sweetly, starting to clean up as he collapsed onto the couch, clearly worn out.

"Of course. Thank you so much, baby," Hajime murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t stop admiring you—your effort, your thoughtfulness, the time and money you'd poured into making the night special just for him. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

As he watched you take down a few more streamers, Hajime stood and slipped his arms around your waist again, this time from behind. His lips found the crook of your neck, pressing light, affectionate kisses against your skin.

You sighed in contentment, leaning into his embrace, your fatigue becoming harder to ignore beneath his calming touch.

"We can clean up later," Hajime murmured between kisses on the other side of your neck.

And with that, you let him take the lead as he gently guided you toward your shared bedroom.

Hajime's kisses never relented, even as you made your way to the bed. He gently lay you on your back, attacking your neck—now collarbone— with love bites.

"You make me so happy you know that?" Hajime muttered under his breath just loud enough for you to hear as he slowly started to unbutton your top.

"I think you deserve a reward for your hard work," His words tease as he slowly slips off your blouse at a deliberately slow rate leaving you in only your bra. Hajime takes his time to admire you as his hands caress your sides. His gaze lingers on the content yet exhausted look on your face, the way your chest slowly rises and falls, the rhythm breaking every time his hands grazed a bit too close to the soft, plump skin under your chest.

As his hands start to deviate from your sides and onto your clothed breast your breath hitches, his large calloused hands massaging your chest with practiced ease. Hajime groans at the feeling of you against his hands, the hardness in his pants only growing at the sensation. He lowers himself onto your body, placing open-mouthed kisses on the existing exposed skin. Your hands move to card through his hair, your jaw dropping slightly with pleasure.

"Sit up, love," Hajime commands lightly. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck as he undoes the clip to your bra, your nipples hardening at the rush of cold air.

"My pretty girl," He murmurs into your skin as he gently pushes you back down into the bed, throwing your bra to the side. One of his hands makes its way back onto one of your breasts, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth latches onto your nipples, his tongue swirling around the bud. His gaze never leaves your face, his arousal only heightening at your suggestive expression.

Hajime sucks and kisses your breast before moving his free hand that was once caressing your chest to lift your skirt—his touch light and teasing. Your face starts to contort with pleasure as he rubs his lanky fingers onto your clothed folds, your whimpers making it hard for Hajime to hold back.

"Baby," You whine desperately, "please," You writhe and squirm under his touch, unable to resist the teasing any longer. Hajime's mouth unlatches from your chest with a quiet pop.

"Anything you want, honey," Hajime makes no time hooking his finger on the hem of your underwear and pulling it down, allowing you to kick off the loose fabric. He starts to slowly trace the outline of your folds before dipping two of his fingers into you, a whimper again escaping from your lips. Hajime lowers his face onto your clit, adding to the stimulation. As you writhe and moan under his touch, Hajime becomes increasingly impatient.

You whine as Hajime pulls away, but before you can complain his lips crash onto yours as he struggles with the belt on his pants. Hajime lets his pants and underwear pool around his ankles before kicking the fabric off onto the floor.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby, I love you so much," Hajime practically whines against your lips, just as needy as you are. He flips your skirt up, letting the fabric sit on your stomach as he starts to grind his length against your pussy. Hajime groans and your slick immediately coats his hardened length, pleasure already coursing through his veins. Your moans and whines mix as he continues to grind before he starts to align his tip with the entrance.

"You're already so wet for me, love," He utters against your neck before he slowly pushes his length into you, his girth causing you to moan explicitly.

"Oh god, Hajime—" You start to whine before he cuts you off.

"Shh, love. Let me take care of you," Hajme whispers as he bottoms you out, his tip hitting your cervix; which elicits another moan from you. Hajime starts to move slowly, taking in each second to bask in the pleasure.

It's not long before his speed starts to increase, he can't help but want to take you to the edge. He whispers sweet nothings into your ears, his soothing words contrasting the explicit act between you two.

"You're always so tight for me, so good," He praises.

The wet sounds of pleasure and groans fill the room as Hajime's speed increases. Inaudible pleads fall from your lips as Hajime thrusts into you relentlessly. You start to claw at his back and clench around his length, eliciting a sharp moan from Hajime.

"You're squeezing," He pants, "Are you close, baby?" Hajime asks sweetly, watching as your face contorts with pleasure.

"Nnngh, so close Hajime," You manage to slip out, the knot in your stomach making you breathless.

"Cum for me, baby," Hajime whispers, his lips brushing against your ear as his free hand moves to circle your clit, encouraging you to chase your high.

A few more thrusts leave you screaming his name, and waves of pleasure rush through your body as you ride out your release. It's not long before Hajime follows you, shooting ropes of cum into your pussy. He slowly thrusts into you as you both ride out your highs, panting heavily. After a few minutes, he pulls out and lowers himself onto you, his hands moving to cup your face as he places a long, loving kiss on your forehead.

"I love you so much. Thank you for the best birthday, my love." Hajime whispers against your head before pulling the covers over you both and holding you close to his chest.