toorusmu - Tumblr blog

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

♡ Levi has been missing for a month after a scouting mission, when he finally, unexpectedly returns to you and the two of you reunite...

♡ NSFW, minors DNI ♡ Canon!Levi x Female!Reader ♡ One shot, passionate, reunion sex ♡ Word count: 1800 ♡ Summary: Levi had been missing for a month after a scouting mission gone horribly wrong. No one knew what had happened or where he was, but the other scouts assumed he was dead. You and Levi had finally began your romantic relationship, and you were devastated by every passing moment without him. You're standing in your bedroom by the window, another sleepless, heartbroken night, when...

“Y/N.”

Levi’s voice. You recognized it immediately, and it was enough to send a frigid chill shooting up your spine. Your grip faltered on the windowsill and your breath trapped itself in your throat.

Was your mind playing tricks on you? Was this a part of grief no one had told you about? Was this what happened to a person after being so heartbroken and sleep-deprived?

It couldn’t possibly have been Levi. He’d been missing for nearly a month after a scouting mission gone horribly wrong and while no one around you dared to say it to you, everyone was sure Levi was dead.

You were nearly too afraid to turn around — that once you did, he wouldn’t be there, and your faint glimmer of hope would be taken from your desperate hands.

But, you had to. You turned around, your eyes moving first, your heart beating for the slim chance that Levi was really there, that he’d finally returned to you.

When your eyes finally landed on him, standing there in your doorway, he looked like an apparition. His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent in the moonlight; his weary eyes were cradled by purple circles. Fresh scars trailed over his skin — it was too unnerving to think of how he might have acquired them.

“Levi.” The word came out as a single, shuddering breath. Without another thought, you rushed over to him, your knees wobbling slightly with each step.

Your trembling hands reached up to his face, and during the split second your skin made contact with his, it felt like you were touching a ghost. Your fingers molded to the contours of his jaw and cheeks, a shape they’d memorized long ago. Your eyes darted between his, searching for confirmation that he was, really, alive in front of you, and not just a wraith of the man you love. His steely eyes caught in the moonlight, shining and burning, fervid emotions stirring in their depths.

A single ragged, sharp breath released from your parted lips. Tears welled in your eyes uncontrollably, blurring your vision as they hung precariously on your eyelashes before pouring down your face, shimmering in the soft light. For the past month, you’d gotten used to the feeling of hot tears rolling down your face; they’d trail down your neck or drop to the floor, no one to wipe them away for you.

Levi’s hands instinctively flew up to your face, his calloused fingers brushing away each tear with a tender firmness and a subtle urgency. Seeing you cry made him feel like his gut was being twisted and wrung out.

“Why are you crying?” His voice was a gentle, gravelly whisper. “I’m back. I’m here. I’m okay.”

“Levi,” you managed to say, the word caught between shallow, pleading breaths. It was the only word you seemed able to muster.

His hands firmly cradling your face, he leaned in and gently kissed your cheeks, his lips absorbing the tears that continued to fall. It was seldom that he’d ever initiate something so intimate — he never really had before — but this was the time for it. He needed you. There was no denying it anymore. And he would do anything, at all, to stop you from crying.

His lips, which were always so unexpectedly soft and pillowy, swept across your cheeks before landing against your lips in a gentle, tender kiss. Your lips melded onto his, a feeling you had missed so tremendously and hopelessly over the past month.

The kiss became more desperate, more wanting. Your breathing harmonized with his heavy breaths that escaped between hungry kisses, your tongues found each other. Your fingers curled into his soft hair, grasping at the strands. His hands slipped from your face to your waist then your hips, grazing underneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin.

His grip on your hips tightened slightly as he walked you backwards to the bed, his lips still moving urgently against yours. He laid you back onto the bed, hovering over you for a moment to simply look at you, lying there before him. As you gazed up at him, your eyes shining with longing and adoration, his hand reached down and cupped your face, his touch reverent.

As he lowered himself down onto the bed above you, his lips parted with a soft, admiring sigh, and his hands shifted to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and over your head, your bare skin left glowing in the moonlight.

His hands worshipped your body, his palms roaming against the curves of your skin. His thumbs brushed against your nipples as his mouth found the slope of your neck, placing devoted kisses below your ear.

“So pretty,” he murmured, his hands covering over every inch of your skin. “Thank you for waiting. For not giving up.”

Your head tilted back as his lips explored your neck.

“Levi,” you whispered between heavy breaths. “I’d have waited forever…”

His back heaved slightly at the admission of your undying commitment for him. His hands moved down to the waistband of your skirt, slowly sliding it down your legs, his hands rested on the softness of your thighs.

His hands gripped deeper onto your thighs as his lips moved down your body, slowly kissing a path from your neck down to your hips. After placing a soft kiss against your hip bone, he lifted his head, positioning himself squarely between your legs, taking in the sight of you swollen and slick for him.

His jaw clenched slightly as his fingers reached out to separate your folds, revealing the depths of your neediness to him completely. He dipped his head closer, his tongue swiping from your entrance to your clit.

“So sweet,” he murmured, as he went in for more, his mouth covering you entirely. “Always so sweet.”

His tongue lapped at you, savoring the taste of you, his eyes remaining on your face to see your every reaction. You reached down and slid a hand into his hair, pressing his face further against you as you released a loud whimper.

“Yes,” he moaned against you, his tongue teasing you, coaxing out pretty moans. His nose pressed and rubbed against your clit as his tongue slid inside of you, in and out, repeatedly. As you began to writhe and squirm beneath his mouth, his hands clasped onto your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you.

His tongue slipped out of you and up to your clit, sucking and teasing it relentlessly, earning urgent and strained moans from you.

He looked up at you again, his lips and nose glistening wet from your juices, as he reveled in the sight of you, pleasured by him. Before he could continue, your hand tugged at his hair, lifting his head up.

“I need you, Levi,” you whispered, your eyes locking onto his, your chest rising and falling quickly. “Now. I need to feel you close to me.”

You were desperate; you’d missed him too much, been too scared that you’d never get to be with him again.

His pupils constricted and he drew in a sharp breath. He nodded slowly and began to strip his own clothes off, his shirt falling to the floor and his pants pulling down to reveal his cock, throbbing and twitching with anticipation. He positioned himself over you, his eyes studying every inch of your face and body.

“God,” he groaned as his tip felt your entrance, pausing for a moment before pushing inside you completely, surrounding him with tight, wet warmth.

“Oh, Levi,” you moaned breathlessly, your cheeks flushing as his cock stretched your walls.

As you adjusted to his size, he lowered himself down onto you, his body pressed against yours, your legs wrapping around him. His hand found yours, your fingers intertwining tightly as he nipped and kissed your neck and drove into you with slow, deep motions, his cock filling you up completely with each thrust. You whimpered and moaned softly, sweetly into his ear with every movement, drawing a needy groan from him. His free hand tightened around your hip, holding you in place.

“I missed you,” he whispered, muffled against the skin of your neck. He quickened his pace, the tip of his cock hitting the sweet spot inside of you with every needy thrust, the room filling with sounds of your skin slapping against each other and your moans blending together. “I missed you so much.” He repeated, his voice raw and husky.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, struggling to get the words out between your moans. “You’re my everything.”

Your body began to tremble beneath his, and he knew that you were getting close. He lifted his head from your neck to hover above yours, his eyes locking into yours with unbridled passionate intensity. His hand slipped from your hip to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles into it as he drove into you. Your body arched up into his, your face turning hot, and an unfiltered moan escaping your lips.

His eyes drank in the sight of you like this — seeing you overcome with pleasure was all he ever wanted or needed.

“That’s it,” he whispered between slightly gritted teeth, his thrusts becoming sloppy and his thumb moving quicker, “cum for me.”

As if on command, your hips began to buckle wildly beneath him, your hand gripping onto his until your knuckles turned white. Your eyes shut tightly, the pleasure too overwhelming.

“Levi,” you cried out, so intense it was practically soundless, as your legs tightened their grip around his back, your walls clenching rapidly around him. The feeling was enough to drive him over the edge and with one final thrust, he spilled himself into you with a jagged, primal groan, his eyes remaining locked onto your sweet, flushed face.

As your breathing leveled out, you opened your eyes, gazing up at him once again. His body, spent and satiated, settled down onto yours, his hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. He tilted his head down to press a soft, gentle kiss against your lips.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered against your lips. The words hardly audible, as if he was trying to keep it a secret between the two of you, fearing that the world would conspire against you again and take you away from him.

Your hand trailed to his jaw, clasping around it softly, your eyes looking into his. “I love you too, Levi. And we won’t be apart again. I promise.”

His eyes closed with a single nod, and his head found the crook of your neck, his breath soft and gentle against your skin. His chest rested against yours, his heart beating solely for you.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

Requested by anonymous

607 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

after he opened the water bottle i literally thought "damn id give him head" before remembering

god this is so good

akaashi keiji x fem!reader

summary: being the manager of the msby black jackals is stressful, but when a handsome stranger shows up, you think you might’ve stumbled upon a hidden perk.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, post-time skip, kissing, oral sex, blowjobs, p in v, smut, fluff

wc: 5.3k

a/n: watched the movie last night and i cried (if you saw this post before, no you didn't) <3

also on ao3!

Six months in, and you think you might be ready to quit your job.

Sure, securing a job as the MSBY Black Jackal’s manager was one of your proudest achievements, but no one had told you that you’d be dealing with men like this. You understood that you were in the presence of some of the finest sporting talent in Japan, but these men were wildly immature.

It’s why you’re here now, glaring at the man who had made fun of his teammate.

“What were you thinking?” you hiss, pointing your pen at the offending man.

Atsumu groans, his head tipping back against the wall of the locker room. “I was only having a little fun.”

“A little fun,” you reply, nodding along, “right, and that’s why Bokuto is off sulking in who knows where!”

“C’mon!” Atsumu protests, leaning forward, staring at you desperately, “I made a comment on the color of his shoes! How was I supposed to know that was gonna set him off?”

You can feel a headache begin to set in and you sigh, pointing towards the door of the locker room.

“Just go warm up, okay? I’ll try and find Bokuto.”

Atsumu nods, and has the grace to look at least a little apologetic as he pats your shoulder and leaves.

You follow him soon after, out of the locker room. Bokuto’s sulking most likely meant he wasn’t going to perform as well. You knew about his bouts of being discouraged, had seen it during the occasional game when something would set him off. People are milling about, and you quicken your pace, turning a corner to finally find Bokuto sitting on a bench.

“Bokuto!” you call out, the relief in your voice clear.

The outside hitter looks up at you, a pout on his face.

“You ready for the game?” you ask, putting on a wide smile to try and make him feel better.

“Do you think they’re ugly?”

“W- what?”

“My shoes,” he says, pointing at them, “do you think they’re ugly?”

You have half the mind to tell him that they’re just shoes and that he should grow up, but the look of utter despair on his face has you holding back. A quick glance down at his shoes and from what you can gather, they look relatively… normal. You were definitely going to kill Atsumu later.

“They look fine,” you say, pausing when you see his frown deepen. Your fingers tighten around the clipboard clutched against your chest and you put on a cheery smile, voice pitching up. “I meant they look totally great! And they really suit you!”

Bokuto makes no attempt to move, simply stares down at his shoes and traces one of the stripes absentmindedly. You’re at your wits end, growing antsy as you check your watch and realize there’s only 10 minutes before the game starts.

“I could get you some new-“

“You doing okay?”

A voice breaks in through from behind you and your head turns, brows furrowing when you see an unfamiliar man. The lanyard around his neck has a card attached to it, bold letters spelling out VIP .

“Akaashi!” Bokuto sits up, his eyes lighting up for a moment, “do you like my shoes?”

You stare at the pair of men, bewildered. The man, Akaashi, pats Bokuto’s shoulder and lowers his voice to whisper some words to the pro-volleyball player. In what you think might be the quickest change of mood from Bokuto yet, the volleyball player stands up and gives a hearty laugh, his chest puffing out.

You’re even more stunned when he pats your back happily and jogs off in the direction of the court.

“How did you do that?” you blurt out, eyes flitting towards the man who was now standing beside you.

“I used to play with Bokuto in highschool,” Akaashi replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Fukurodani. I was the team’s setter so I had to get used to Bokuto's little slumps.”

Huh. That did make more sense. You narrow your eyes, examining the man a little more. He’s handsome, sure, his glasses sitting on the slope of his nose as he shifts on the spot. Akaashi stares back down at you expectantly.

“Uh- well, thank you,” you say, holding your hand out and giving him a sheepish smile. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get him onto the court at all today.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, his hand shaking yours.

You introduce yourselves and he follows you onto the stands, both of you overlooking the two teams as they line up on the court. Nervousness makes you restless, your teeth biting into your lower lip as you watch the players get into position. You really wanted the Jackals to win.

“Relax,” Akaashi murmurs, his head lowering to speak directly into your ear to help you hear better over the roar of the crowd.

Your eyes meet his and he stares back at you intently, his hand squeezing at your shoulder gently. You think some sort of magic might be laced into his words with the way your body loosens slightly, your tense shoulders dropping.

“Thank you,” you mumble, giving him a faint smile.

Akaashi smiles back and squeezes your shoulder one more time before his hand drops away. You nearly protest against it, wanting to feel the heat of his body near yours again, but you can’t because you’ve only just met the man and you aren’t that desperate.

The game goes perfectly well, thankfully, and you’re up on the tips of your toes cheering for the Jackals as they shake hands with the other team. Your previous nervousness has all melted away, leaving only a feeling of pure giddiness. Akaashi claps with you, his reaction much more toned down compared to yours.

“You can come down with me,” you say breathlessly, flicking through a few pages on your clipboard to find the schedule for the post game press conference.

Akaashi nods, his eyes drifting over you for a moment. “Yeah, I’ll come. I need to congratulate Bokuto anyways.”

You beam up at him and against better judgment, hand him a copy of the schedule before giving him a wave and disappearing off to meet the team. Akaashi watches as you flutter away, skirt swaying, the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand.

“No talk of shoes, okay?” you warn Atsumu as you had him a bottle of cold water. “We can’t have Bokuto breaking down on national television.”

“You worry too much,” Atsumu complains, pressing the bottle of water against his flushed cheek.

“My job is on the line!” you argue, giving the man a glare.

Atsumu only gives you a pout and you thank Meian when he comes to get his teammate, grateful for the captain’s unwavering leadership.

You slip into the conference room before long, making sure to give the Jackals an encouraging smile and a thumbs up before you sidle up to the wall, watching as the various reporters ready their questions.

A few bottles of water sit on a table beside you and you reach for one, twisting at the cap. The stupid plastic burns across your skin harshly, making a glare settle on your face as you narrow your eyes at the bottle of water. You try again but to no avail, the cap latching on stubbornly tight. A soft curse gets muttered under your breath before someone’s hand reaches out, grabbing the bottle of water from you.

You blink in surprise when you realize it’s Akaashi, his hand twisting at the cap effortlessly and breaking the seal.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“That’s the third time today,” he whispers back, his eyes glimmering with mirth, “should I keep sticking around for more of your thanks?”

A smile pulls at your lips and you glance up at him to find him smiling back.

“Don’t be an asshole,” you mutter, elbowing him in the side lightly.

Akaashi hums in response, his warm hand grasping at your elbow to hold you in place. You freeze for a moment, surprise flitting across your face but then you lean into him slightly, avoiding his eyes as you press into his side. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just stands there with you, his eyes trained on the little notes you scribble on paper as the players speak.

To your relief, Atsumu manages to steer clear from the topic of shoes, answering the reporters’ questions thoroughly with a bit of humor thrown in, to lighten the atmosphere of the press conference. You find that you can’t really be all that mad at the man, he knew how to get the job done when it came to it.

The press conference comes to a close half an hour later and Akaashi trails after you as you usher the men back into the main foyer.

“Good job everyone,” you announce before flicking through a few pages of your clipboard. “The Chairman has been impressed with your performance this season, so he’s personally sent a congratulatory cake.” You stare pointedly at Atsumu and Bokuto. “Please make sure to not make a mess.”

The men are gone in a rush before you can say anything else and you smile fondly, shaking your head.

“You gonna let me get in on this cake thing?” Akaashi asks, raising his brows.

“You’re welcome to join,” you reply, shooting him a smile as you try to not sound too eager. “You do have VIP status, after all.”

Akaashi smiles back and you think it might be a miracle that your legs haven’t given out under the soft gaze he sends you.

Thankfully, Atsumu and Bokuto don’t make a mess although you do spot them bribing Hinata to bring them a few more slices, the orange-haired man utterly oblivious to the fact.

“Hey,” Akaashi murmurs, stepping in beside you as you finish off your piece of cake. “You’ve got a little something.” He motions to the corner of your mouth.

“Oh!” you flush with embarrassment, wiping at the corner of your mouth with a napkin. “Gone?”

“Just a little more,” he says, watching as you try and fail to get rid of the chocolate icing that’s smudged over your lips and the corner of your mouth. “Just- here, let me.”

You freeze when he reaches out for you, his thumb swiping over your lip and skin gently, cleaning you up.

“Napkin?” you ask weakly, offering it to him so he can clean his thumb.

“No need.”

Akaashi keeps his eyes on you as he licks the pad of his thumb, your hazy eyes following the motion of his tongue, a rush of heat pooling in your lower stomach.

“Do you-” you begin, clearing your throat when you hear how airy your voice has become, “do you do this often?”

A smile pulls at his lips and he leans in a little closer, his breath fanning across your skin as his mouth opens to murmur something into your ear.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

You jolt, half-lidded eyes snapping open when you find Bokuto slinging his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. Irritation flashes through Akaashi’s eyes but it seems to fade when Bokuto begins to speak animatedly, detailing the past events Akaashi had missed.

Part of you would’ve liked to speak to Akaashi more, but you can’t find it in yourself to fault Bokuto, deciding to busy yourself with getting another slice of cake. A heavy arm slings itself around your shoulders and you roll your eyes when you realize it’s Atsumu, the wide grin on his face making you feel uneasy.

“Saw you getting real chummy with Bokuto’s friend,” he whispers conspiratorially, trying to swipe at your cake slice.

“I was being friendly,” you retort, glaring up at Atsumu.

“You look like you wanna fuck him.”

“Your observations are not appreciated,” you grit out, trying to squirm away from under him when he steers you into a corner.

“Good news is, I think he wants to fuck you too,” Atsumu says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ Why are you doing this?” you groan, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Because you, my lovely manager, deserve happiness!” he says cheerily.

Your eyes narrow, taking in the smile on Atsumu’s face, suspicion flaring. “What did you do?”

“What?” Atsumu’s smile falters. “Nothing. Why do you always assume I did something?”

“Because you usually do something, Atsumu,” you reply exasperatedly, trying to peek out from behind him to catch another glimpse of Akaashi.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, moving to the side so as to block your view of Akaashi.

“Let’s hear it then,” you say, peering up at him.

He beams at you, his head lowering so he can whisper into your ear. “Just make sure you take charge. Guys like that sort of thing. Yank him by the shirt or something and kiss him. My advice is foolproof .”

Was the advice really foolproof if the fool himself was giving it to you?

You shoot Atsumu a skeptical look, waving him off before he puts any more ridiculous ideas into your mind.

As the night passes, the amount of players reduces, deciding to make their way back home. Atsumu shoots you a wink in passing and you glare back at him, fighting the urge to swat him.

“Heading home?”

You blink up to find Akaashi standing beside you, his brows raised.

“Yeah,” you say, a wistful smile coming across your face, “it’s been a long day.”

“I could drive you home?” Akaashi offers, falling into step beside you as you both exit the volleyball stadium.

You had been planning to just catch an uber or something, but when Akaashi stares down at you like that , his gaze soft and lips looking sickeningly inviting, you nod immediately.

A few stolen glances later coupled with you biting back an inappropriate remark at the way his lithe fingers wrap around the steering wheel, you find yourself standing opposite Akaashi in the open doorway of your apartment.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” you say, peering up at Akaashi.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Akaashi murmurs, his hands shoving into his pockets.

Akaashi shows no signs of leaving however. Silence passes over you as you both just stand there, staring at each other. Your gaze dips down to his shirt, trying to stop Atsumu’s obnoxious voice from blaring through your normally rational decision making.

Yank him by the shirt or something and kiss him.

Eyes flitting up again, you decide to take your chances. Your hand curls into Akaashi’s shirt, yanking him towards you, lips crashing onto his. Several seconds pass and Akaashi stands there limply, his lips unmoving and non-reciprocating.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, feeling utterly mortified as you let go of him. “Atsumu said you wanted to fu- I mean- he said guys liked that sort of thing!”

At the same time, Akaashi begins to speak. “Bokuto said you weren’t interested.”

“ What? ” you sputter, eyes widening. Frustration sets your nerves alight and you fish out your phone, dialing Bokuto’s number, ready to give him an earful.

“Hey,” Akaashi says, plucking your phone from your hand and setting it down onto a nearby dresser, “think you could do that after I kiss you?”

Your flurry of movements pauses, breath hitching when he steps inside your apartment, the door shutting behind him softly. He smiles down at you, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering as he spins you around, pushing you up against the door gently, “y-yeah, I can do that.”

“Yeah?” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing yours. One of his hands slips up higher, smoothing over the length of your neck to cup your cheek.

You let out an incoherent noise, managing out a jerky nod. Akaashi laughs, tilting your head to the side as he places a soft kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, heart racing uncontrollably in your chest as he drags his lips across your skin, planting another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His glasses dig into your skin but you can hardly find it in yourself to care, pulling him closer desperately when he slots his lips over yours. Akaashi kisses you heatedly and you whine, arms wrapping around his neck to return his kisses eagerly. His tongue gently parts your lips, hands slipping back down to squeeze at your waist and move you flush against him.

A few stumbles later and you’re pushing his chest, watching as he falls back onto the couch. Akaashi grins, his thighs spreading invitingly as he gets comfortable.

“Come sit on my lap, baby.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You scramble up onto his lap, straddling his hips, lips finding his again. Akaashi groans when you run your fingers through his hair, hips rolling across his lap as he spreads his fingers over your skirt, groping at your ass.

“So- so you do wanna fuck me?” you ask breathily, unable to resist yourself from leaning forward and stealing another kiss.

“I thought I made myself obvious,” Akaashi replies, his hands slipping under your skirt to feel the warm, bare skin of your thighs.

A soft hum leaves you, fingers tracing across his cheek before reaching out to take his glasses off, setting them down. You smile down at him hazily and Akaashi smiles back, maneuvering your body so that you’re laying down, head nestled in the cushions.

You bite your lip when he kisses down your neck, sighing softly when he undoes the buttons of your shirt, pulling it apart. Akaashi’s eyes darken when he sees the swell of your breasts in your bra, his hands reaching out to grope at them greedily. You fumble around, unclasping your bra, tossing it behind you.

“So pretty, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips before kissing down your body.

You gasp when his tongue swirls around your nipple, squirming underneath him as his hot mouth envelops it, sucking and licking, even nipping gently making your body twitch. Back arching, you moan, fingers tugging at his soft hair. Akaashi lets out a hum, mouth opening wide to suck your breast into his mouth, groaning when he feels your hips buck underneath him.

“ Fuck ,” Akaashi hisses, his fingers rubbing at your clothed cunt, panties utterly drenched, “you’re dripping. How long have you been like this?”

You flush, looking away. Akaashi clicks his tongue, grabbing your chin to turn your gaze back onto him.

“Tell me,” he coaxes, rucking your skirt up before he tugs your panties up, watching the hard press of the fabric outline your puffy folds.

“Maybe- maybe since you opened that water bottle for me,” you mumble, blinking up at him innocently.

Akaashi’s grip falters, his brows shooting up in surprise. Your cheeks are hot, eyes dropping to find his cock straining against his trousers, the bulge making you lick your lips.

“That long?” he whispers, leaning in.

“Mhm,” you nod, arms looping around his neck to pull him into a sloppy kiss, tongue and all.

“If I knew it was that easy, I would’ve done it the moment I saw you,” Akaashi smiles, his nose nudging against yours as he continues to rub your pussy through your panties.

“Shut up!” you laugh, pushing at his chest.

He laughs with you, smacking a quick kiss to your cheek before slinking down, pulling your thighs apart. A contented sigh leaves you when he licks up over your ruined panties, mewling softly when he pulls them to the side to get a glimpse of your slick pussy.

“Such a pretty pussy. All of you is so pretty,” he murmurs, pulling your panties off.

You don’t miss the way he tucks them into his pocket.

Akaashi’s mouth encloses around your clit, sucking with fervor. You let out a strangled moan, fingers fisting his hair roughly, thighs twitching.

“A- Akaashi,” you whine, hips rolling up to meet his mouth needily, “ hah- oh fuck!- ”

His nose nudges into your clit when he stops suckling on your clit, licking up a wide strip along the length of cunt, a low moan slipping out of him as he watches your cunt clench and flutter around nothing.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rasps, arms curling around your thighs, thumbing apart your folds to press his tongue in deeper, licking over the velvety flesh of your cunt.

You moan again, breath catching in your throat when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles into the sensitive bud before his tongue presses into your aching pussy, thrusting in and out of you. He makes an obscene sound and you tug at his hair roughly, pushing his face deeper into your cunt, squealing when he shakes his head, tongue swiping all over you.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, beginning to chant drunkenly, “don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Akaashi grunts into your pussy, spreading apart your folds against to spit on your cunt, his tongue swirling around your swollen clit before sucking it into his mouth. He suckles on it hard ; the sensation making your toes curl and eyes squeeze shut tightly.

“Gonna cum?” he asks, a hoarse laugh leaving him when you push his head back down.

You nod rapidly, hands squeezing at your breasts, pinching and tugging at your own nipples. Akaashi slips his fingers up past your chin and your mouth opens obediently, hips rolling up as you suck on his fingers.

A whimper escapes you when his teeth graze your clit, his tongue laving over it again as he sucks desperately, driving you further and further to the edge.

“Cum on my tongue, baby,” Akaashi whispers, “wanna watch you cum all pretty and needy.”

You don’t need any more encouragement, back arching as your body draws taut. You cum with a cry of his name, squeaking when he licks over your oversensitive pussy, thighs clamping around his head while your fingers tangle in his soft, black hair.

Akaashi pulls away with one final suckle to your clit, peppering kisses up your body before slotting his lips over yours again. You whine softly, cupping his cheek to return his kisses feverishly, feeling the press of his clothed cock against your inner thigh.

“Take your clothes off,” you say softly, pecking his lips sweetly.

You squirm out of your skirt and top when he gets off of you, watching with hazy eyes as he pulls his shirt up over your head. The flex of his biceps has you letting out a low whine, fingers slipping between your thighs, unable to help yourself, rubbing your clit unabashedly.

Akaashi doesn’t miss the movement, shooting you a lazy grin, his hand smoothing over his trousers, squeezing at his bulge.

“Enjoying the view?” he murmurs, unbuttoning his trousers, “hm, baby?”

“‘m enjoying it a lot,” you reply airily, entranced by the motion of his hand as he grasps himself through his boxers.

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes his boxers down, tongue feeling heavy as you watch the bob of his cock, heavy and thick. The hardened length twitches when he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his cock, pre-cum beading at the tip.

“T-taste?” you mewl, slipping off the couch and crawling towards him, “wanna taste, ‘kaashi.”

“Needy baby,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face.

Your eyes flutter shut when he bends, meeting his lips in a short kiss. Akaashi presses the head of his cock against your lips soon after, a moan slipping out of him when he sees the way his pre-cum spreads across your lips.

You lick your lips, mewling at the taste of his pre-cum, mouth opening wider, tongue lolling out.

“Want it,” you whisper, fingers digging into thighs, “please?”

“‘m gonna give it to you,” Akaashi rasps, grasping the base of his cock to smack the head of it against your tongue a few times. “Go ahead, pretty.”

You hum happily, mouth wrapping around his cock, hand curling around the base of it. Akaashi groans, his head tipping back as you squirm on your knees, fingers finding your slippery clit again.

“Just like that,” he whispers when you begin to bob your head, tongue swirling around the head of his cock, suckling gently.

Akaashi’s thighs twitch, the hand tangled in your hair tightening when you shuffle closer, mouth stretching open to take more of him into your mouth.

You suck and lick, practically dripping onto the carpet beneath you as you hear the grunts and groans that leave Akaashi. He sounds pretty, the little airy gasps and stutters of his breath giving you the encouragement to try and take him deeper, your nose pressing into the black tufts of coarse hair at the base of his cock, before you pull off with watery eyes.

“I might have a hard time letting go of you after this,” Akaashi says, watching as you blink up at him with starry eyes, stroking his hand over your hair as you mouth lazily across the length of his cock.

“So don’t,” you whisper, laving your tongue across the head of his cock, tasting his pre-cum.

You land a soft kiss to the tip, tilting your head to kiss at his heavy balls. Akaashi stops you before you can suck them into your mouth, dipping his head down to kiss you instead.

“‘m gonna cum if you do that,” he whispers against your lips.

“That’s sort of the point,” you smile, hand stroking along his length.

He snorts, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you up onto your feet. His throbbing cock presses against your stomach as you wind your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Akaashi gropes at the fat of your ass appreciatively, both of you standing together as you makeout languidly.

You pull away for air soon after, hands roaming across his firm chest, eyes growing hazier with the way the muscles of his abdomen flex under your touch. A glob of pre-cum beads at the tip of Akaashi’s cock and you grasp his hand, rocking up to kiss his cheek before pulling him after you.

“Wanna ride my cock?” he whispers, teeth nipping at your earlobe gently when you lead him into your bedroom.

“Y- yeah,” you reply airily, crawling up onto his lap when he sits down, his back against the headboard of your bed.

You rock your hips, grinding your cunt against his hot length, mewling softly when the tip of it nudges against your clit a few times. Akaashi catches your chin, pulling you forward for another filthy kiss, his hands smoothing up and down the length of your back.

“Sink down on it, baby.”

A soft whimper escapes you at his low voice, hands gripping his shoulders as you rise up onto your knees. Akaashi wraps his hand around the base of his cock, holding it for you. His head tips back, a guttural groan leaving him when you sink down on his cock, your nails digging into his skin.

“ Oh- ” you whine, “‘kaashi- hah- ”

“Keiji,” he replies, fingers dimpling the fat of your hips, trying to gain some semblance of control with the way your cunt’s clenching around his cock, “call me Keiji, baby.”

You let out a dazed sigh, rolling your hips and whining again, your own head tipping back.

“K- Keiji, you feel so good.”

Akaashi moans appreciatively in response to your words, landing a spank to your ass to urge you to move. You hiccup, cupping his cheeks, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as you roll your hips one more time and begin to rise and fall on his cock.

He keeps his eyes on you, letting out soft pants as you mewl and whimper out his name, hips swaying back to meet his thrusts when he begins to move his hips too.

“Good girl,” Akaashi whispers, head dipping to suck your breast into his mouth, “gripping me so tight, baby.”

“Keiji,” you mewl, dragging out his name in a needy call.

“‘m right here, pretty,” Akaashi murmurs, arms wrapping around your waist more firmly.

You squeal when he lifts you up and begins to drop you down onto his cock himself, his face pressing into your chest, leaving desperate, heated open-mouthed kisses against your sweaty skin as he makes you take his cock.

“Oh fuck-,” you begin to gasp out, eyes squeezing shut, “ oh fuck! ”

“Take it,” Akaashi hisses, hands drifting down to grip the fat of your ass tighter, “fucking take my cock, baby.”

A surprised squeak leaves you when he lays you down, his cock pushing into you almost immediately after. Your legs wrap around his hips, hand reaching for his as he fucks his cock into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing lewdly throughout the room.

You scrabble at the bedsheets, trying to find some purchase as Akaashi drives his cock into you harder and faster.

“Gonna make me cum,” he grunts, face pressing into the crook of your neck, his body dropping to be flush against yours, hips rolling to a slow grind.

“‘m gonna cum too,” you say weakly, eyes fluttering as he mouths at your breast lazily.

Akaashi peers down at you when he pushes himself up, bullying his cock into your cunt, balls pressed snugly against your ass.

“Can I cum inside?” he asks softly, brushing your hair out of your face.

“You’re a terrible influence,” you sigh, giving him a dazed smile as you pull him down for a kiss, “but yes, you can.”

Akaashi grins, mouth slotting over yours again, thumb rubbing at your clit. He groans when he feels you clench around him, his hips stuttering jerkily when you dig your heels into the backs of thighs, forcing him to push his cock in deeper.

“Brat,” he hisses, head dropping forward as he lets out a low whine, cock jerking inside of you as he cums.

You squirm, back arching as his thumb rubs harder, thighs twitching as you fall apart on his cock. Akaashi pants against your chest, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets out a few more whines, thick cum filling you up.

He rolls off of you so as to not crush you with his weight, running his hand through his hair. You curl up into his side, leaning forward to kiss his jaw.

“‘m gonna go clean up,” you whisper.

Akaashi nods, patting your hip affectionately, his eyes trained on the sway of your hips as you disappear into the bathroom.

You tug on a fresh shirt and a pair of panties, crawling back into bed to find Akaashi’s pulled his boxers back up over his hips, the manga volume you had been reading last night in his hand.

“It’s good,” you inform him, pressing into his side, head resting on his shoulder as you look over the little panels of drawings.

“I’d hope so,” Akaashi says, his hand rubbing at your side absentmindedly.

“Why?” you ask, brows furrowing.

“I happen to be the editor.”

You stare at him blankly, eyes flitting from his towards the manga. “No way.” You snatch the manga from him, flipping through towards the large page. His name is there in the little lettering, plain as day.

Editing: Akaashi Keiji

He smiles at you, nuzzling into your cheek, pressing several kisses here and there.

“Well,” you say, setting the manga down and wrapping your arms around his neck, “now you have to tell me what’s to come.”

“My lips are sealed,” Akaashi replies, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Keiji!” you whine, pouting up at him.

“Not happening, baby,” he says, shaking his head before leaning forward to kiss the pout off of your mouth.

You let out an irritated huff, pushing his head away when he tries to kiss you again.

“Look at that,” he muses, “you get all sulky like Bokuto.”

“Please don’t insult me.”

4K notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

Happy Loss

Kenma x gn!reader

TW: NSFW, blowjobs words: 379

Kenma loves having you suck him off while he plays video games.

Your boyfriend tends to be quiet and composed most of the time, but you swear his eyes light up like a little kid on Christmas every time he sees you crawl beneath his desk.

And it's almost as if his body naturally craves you ― his legs parting just wide enough for you to slot yourself between his thighs, his cock already hardening in anticipation as you free it from the confines of his boxers. It's almost cute.

Not that you would ever say that to Kenma, who tries oh-so-hard to keep his cat-like eyes fixed on the monitor with a bored expression. He's always careful to maintain his typical nonchalant demeanor. But you notice.

You always do.

His fingers tighten around the mouse ever-so-slightly, his eyes momentarily flickering to where you're kneeling beneath the desk before returning to the monitor in front of him. His cockhead is already glistening with precum, and you haven't even touched him yet. You let out a pleased hum and then lean close enough that he can feel your hair lightly brush against his thighs. You hear his breath hitch, and you'd almost tease him for getting so worked up over something so small if it wasn't for the fact you can feel warmth beginning to pool in your own belly. With just a moment's pause and a playful flick of your tongue against his sensitive tip, you take him into your mouth.

A breathy "..ah," escapes his lips, his free hand quickly sliding into your hair. He tries to focus on winning his game, but it's hard to concentrate on beheading pixelated zombies when your lips feel so amazing wrapped around him. How are you always so good at this?

"Oh-fuck," he mumbles when he realizes he just walked into a hoard of zombies. His screen turns red and the words 'game over' pop up on the monitor. Yet he doesn't feel the typical annoyance he gets when losing a game, even when his teammates curse in the chat.

His eyes flicker down to your head bobbing between his thighs, and his lips twitch up slightly as his fingers tighten in your hair.

A loss has never felt this good.

259 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

oh to be high with kenma in the rare instance he's off stream, and you guys don't last three mario kart maps before you're going at it like rabbits ://

he's always been a lousy pervert when he's high, getting hard and needy from you even remotely looking at him; its part of the reason you're playing the damn wii right now, if he focuses too hard on you, he’s done for.

but kenma's coordination always flies out the window when he's stoned, and he grunts in frustration as your koopa troopa passes his funky kong after he slipped on a banana peel, desperate to ignore your judgmental laughter.

"s okay baby," you tease, "not everyone can be as good of a gamer as me."

"i get paid to be a gamer for a living, you just got lucky with that banana."

"or maybe," you start to purr, and he grimaces and his cheeks flush as from the corner of his red eyes, he sees you're crawling towards him, your own bloodshot eyes looking at him hungrily. he swallows thickly, and his dick twitches in his joggers. "im just really good at distracting you."

"you wish."

"and you're so hard you're practically shaking at the idea of your cock down my throat."

his adams apple bobs as he gnaws on his lip, dick in fact twitching at the idea.

but he moans when you attach your lips to his neck, and he hisses softly when you bite his jugular. a hand comes up to cradle the nape of your neck, coaxing you to keep kissing him. "you sure," you say against his now bruising flesh. "cause i saw king kong fly off the map."

"funky kong," he whimpers.

"you want me to blow you or not?" you scoff against him, and he nods desperately. your hand moves to pull his dick out past the waistband of his sweats and before taking him fully, you spit on your palm and grip him gently in your fist, stroking him to full hardness. your head wasting no time in ducking to take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his flushed tip before being able to bob your head up and down.

"f-uck," he pants, head lulling back while his entire body trembles in a chill at the first feeling of your hot mouth on his cock. his chest heaves to take in air that got stolen from him when you first wrapped your lips around him. his hands nearly drop the controller onto your head, and he quickly discards it, the plastic crashing to the floor as he flexes his hands into fists, searching desperately for a place to relax them so he doesn't pathetically push your head in search of pleasure. his jaw opens wide enough it cracks.

you hum against him, vibrations tingling through his soul and making his shoulders shake. each time you move your head, you take him deeper, getting closer to his base where the nerves light up the rarest and shoot straight to his tip that grazes the back of your throat. all his nerves are fixated on your movements, and god the way you gag around him is delicious, he feels it in his toes causing them to curl.

you reel your head back and jerk him with your tightened grip, lubed with your spit and pearled precum that your lips smeared, popping your mouth off of him like a lollipop, "aren't you gonna finish the race?" you ask, and kenma looks at you with glassy eyes.

your hand stops. he pathetically ruts his hips up for more. "since im not a distraction, go finish the race." you smirk cruelly and blink innocently, "i'll edge you until you do."

he shakes his head rapidly, clearly lost in a haze of pleasure to verbalize is distain for that idea. you thumb at his slit, "then you better get driving and focus on your last two laps baby."

he gives you a petulant pout and trembling hands grab the wii steering wheel and start up funky kong's engine again, trying to focus on the windy course despite the tightening of your throat around him. he sinks his teeth back into his lip to distract himself, trying to shroud the pleasure in the sharp pain of his teeth piercing his lip.

you were cruel.

a thumb at his frenulum sent his catapulting over the edge.

a wad of spit on his pulsing slit had him spinning wildly.

jerking him with your fist had his eyes screwing shut and smearing his overstimulated tears around long eyelashes.

it takes him nearly 20 minutes, according to the game clock, for him to finish, victory music making you hum once again after a slurp of his dick.

with new marks on his now swollen lips and knuckles tense from holding the steering wheel, beads of sweat forming at his hairline and balls tight enough to bust the second they get permission, kenma finally finishes his race, cockhead throbbing from the stimulation you'd give, then take away at the worst time, right before he came. "i won," he whimpered, voice broken from wails and raspy grunts. "c'n i cum?"

"welllll," you purr after pulling your warm mouth of of him. he groans in agony. "you were so good, didn't know if you wanted to cum in my mouth, or my pussy."

you are truly cruel.

"fuck-"

"well?" you ask, slinging your leg up and over his waist. he feels your heat through your panties, and with the subtle friction of fabric brushing against his dick, kenma cums, he cums right between you both, grunting furiously as his entire body spasms. you gasp as it splatters over your hand and thighs, kenma's quick breathing interrupting the music in the background.

you smile lean down to kiss him, swallowing his whimpers and coaxing them past his bruised lips, thighs tightening around his slender hips. "that was so hot," you giggle.

"thank you," he whispers.

you peck him once again before pulling back, mischief in your gaze. "but you didn't pick one for me, kenma."

he sniffles. you squeeze the base of his cock.

"guess we'll have to start over. i won't distract you- i promise."

you're smirking.

274 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

18+ kita x f!reader, rainy day <3

i should be focusing on homework, but all i can think about is kita taking you against the wall of your shared country farm home. it’s raining, and you hurried out to the fields to drag him back into the house.

“oh, shin…!” you softly cry out, your head falling back against the siding of your home. you’ve never really been able to get used to that first stretch of his cock when he eases himself inside, and this time is no different.

with your legs dangling over his biceps as he holds you against the wall, his hips meet yours at a deep, reverential pace. his breath is hot against your ear, letting out the lowest of grunts as he drags his cock in and out.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, “oh, God… ya feel so good—”

the rain pours down on the two of you, hair sticking to your foreheads, soaked clothes clinging to skin, and everything feels so hot on this late summer night.

from the twinkle of the moonlight as you cover your mouth, kita sees the beautiful engagement ring he gave to you many months ago—remembering all over again that he gets to marry you in just a week's time.

"my... my beautiful wife," he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss against the lobe as he feels that all too familiar growing tension in his gut.

your eyes are on him, feeling that familiar coil in your belly as well. "shin," you gasp as you remove your hand to tug on his hair, "i'm close—"

"me too, sweetheart, 'm close," he repeats back, his lips brushing against your own as your thighs begin to shake.

the two of you gasp in each other’s mouths, moaning out each other’s names as you ride out each other’s highs. and feeling that familiar warmth in your belly when he comes inside... well, there's really nothing better, is there?

a/n: snarling at the bars of my enclosure kita shinsuke i want you bad… also the two of you got colds after this,, can’t let y’all live in delusion for too long <3

enjoy my masterlist!

mdni. do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bedcchem 2025.

641 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

😈😈 i gobbled this up

I'll just say, I may be here posting about Mounting Spring, asks etc... But I'm cooking... I'm cooking something everyone asked me for lol

“I like this! This 3D flower pattern is so on trend right now.”

Levi’s eyes were glued to the screen as a freshly painted nail was shown up close.

“Oh, hi! Thank you,” her voice popped up again, and like an animal in pure confusion, he tilted his head to the side.

What are those things popping up? He was completely lost.

“Isn’t it too late for coffee?” she read aloud before grabbing her cup and taking a sip from the straw. “There’s no such thing as too much black or too late for coffee. Plus, it’s girls’ night! What’s a girls’ night without iced coffee or a glass of wine?”

This feels wrong now, Levi thought, taking a sip of his own drink, lazily sprawled on his bed. But when she started showing off her pajamas, that’s when he lost it.

Holy shit... it’s the little shorts doing it for me.

“This is why kids these days have their eyes glued to this shit,” he muttered, almost offended— as if his own mouth wasn’t slightly open and his eyes weren’t stuck to the screen as she vibed to the song playing in the background.

“Have you ever tried… this one?” She winked at the camera, arm in the air, hips moving in a way that Levi quickly guessed was meant to simulate riding. Over the kitchen island.

…I’m definitely not better than a 12-year-old boy.

The chat flooded with messages about how much they loved the song.

Whose song is this?

“Oh! I love that! Ugh, my heart is divided, I want all of them to win! Birds of a Feather is so good, but Hot to Go?” she gushed, listing more names Levi didn’t recognize.

Who are those?

“And the dance?”

What trend? What song? What dance?

Levi felt lost. Completely lost.

“Oh, thank you for the donation! Here, a heart for you!”

She pressed two fingers together in the shape of a heart. Levi tilted his head again, frowning.

How the hell is that a heart?

But before he could keep questioning his entire existence—or, perhaps, his age—her expression shifted. The usual bright smile faded as she read something from the chat.

“Look, if you’ve got a problem with me, just keep scrolling, buddy. Can an admin ban him from the stream, please?”

That made Levi do the exact opposite. He scrolled up through the rapidly moving chat until he found the comment in question. Some idiot had said she owed it to him if something happened because of what she was wearing and doing on screen.

“What’s your fucking problem, dude?” Levi whispered, clicking his tongue. “If a woman has never even touched you, don’t say it so loudly.”

His fingers moved on their own, pressing the guy’s username, looking for a way to reply—until he suddenly let the phone drop onto his chest and stared at the ceiling.

“I need to calm down,” he muttered. Being in this live stream was already too much for him. Getting into an online argument was not the way to go.

How long had he been watching? He wasn’t sure. But in that time, he’d learned that ASMR meant tapping on objects with freshly done nails and whispering, that people voted on live which designs she should do next, and… a whole lot more.

“Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know. That’s me, espresso…”

She sang along to the music, and he felt hypnotized.

“…Did I just spend two hours of my life on this?”

The “Love ya!” came through the speakers as she blew a final kiss before ending the live.

“For fuck’s sake…” Levi muttered, almost offended. “You can’t be that stupidly cute.”

Maybe pop songs were popular for a reason. Maybe that’s why Levi never downloaded any apps on his phone or used it for anything beyond strictly necessary texts. Because explain to him why the hell he was humming at work.

“Since when do you know Sabrina Carpenter?”

Hange appeared out of nowhere, catching him off guard.

Levi had to come up with an excuse. Fast.

“What? Is it illegal for me to know new songs?”

“No…” Hange dragged the word out, squinting at him in suspicion. “But since when do you?”

“Give me a break. I’m not that old. I can get to know new artists,” he brushed it off while brewing himself a tea.

Hange let it slide, but their mind was already working, scheming. They kept talking, mostly about work. But as Levi finished his tea and was ready to leave, Hange casually dropped:

“Espresso?”

Levi frowned. “What?”

Hange repeated the question immediately, as if he hadn’t heard them the first time. But of course, he had.

“Fuck no. You know I hate coffee. Black tea,” he grumbled.

To his shock, Hange chuckled, shaking their head, biting their lip as they held back a knowing smile.

“Aww, Shortie… don’t give yourself away.”

“Huh?”

“Espresso. That’s the song you were humming.” Their grin widened. “I’m starting to think you’re not just listening to new artists—you’re watching new people.”

Levi stiffened.

And for the first time, he couldn’t hide the subtle embarrassed blush creeping up his face.

“Get off my ass,” he muttered, already walking away.

But Hange wasn’t done.

“And I think it might be Erwin’s cute little influencer friend!”

I won't say anything else, let the readers figure it out.

101 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

sakusa kiyoomi who just scored the winning point and his first thought is you.

the crowds cheer in an uproar. the team piles together, sweaty and heaving. they're all happy. they want to cry, laugh, congratulate their teammate on scoring the point that won them the hardest game of their MSBY careers, but he's already pacing across the court. he's dodging hands and journalists with his vision dialed to where you stand at the bottom of the bleacher stairs, eyes brimming with pride and elation.

kiyoomi clears the railing like it's nothing, gaining surprised looks from the people around, but he doesn't care. you don't care about anything as he takes you in his hold, wrapping his arms around your torso while your hands snake around his neck, hand balled onto the back of his jersey. he squeezes you close, forehead leaning on your shoulder as he inhales deeply.

the ringing in his ears dies down as you pull away slightly, smiling wide. proud. kiyoomi lets go of your waist, gently cupping your cheeks as he pulls you into a searing kiss. passionate and desperate for an outlet to his excitement. you melt against him, despite how gross he outwardly feels, he's never internally felt better.

"you should probably go talk to your teammates, bokuto looks like he's ready to burst." you shove him away, facing him to his teammates, who in fact, very much do want to talk to him.

"i really... don't want to." you start to walk with him, almost dragging him by the wrist before he stops where there isn't anyone; near an empty bench.

"kiyo, you just finalized the harshest tournament i've watched you guys play. go." you pat his cheek, he leans into your hold.

"fine. but... can we have a-"

you cut him off, "a hot bath with the lavender salts? yes." a small smile rose to his lips. he could feel the effects of the weekend tournament weighing on his arm already.

sakusa kiyoomi feels like a million dollars today. and yesterday, and every other day he's gotten to call you his. oh and the fact that he scored the final point, but who cares about that when you're standing right in front of him?

masterlist

2K notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

Levi won't be the "overprotective dad" type. From a young age, he'll teach his daughter self-defense, ensuring she can handle herself and kick some ass if necessary. Because of this, he won't stop her from staying out late, going to parties, or even dating. He trusts the standards he has set by being a respectful and kind man to you, confident that his daughter will make wise choices.

He'll be the kind of dad his daughter feels completely comfortable confiding in—sometimes even more than with you. He'll create a space where she can share anything without hesitation.

But god forbid.... If anyone dares to make her feel uncomfortable or hurt her in any way, Levi will make sure they regret it—whether with a sharp warning or his fists.

🩷If you wanna be tagged let me know🩷

Masterlist

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @anti-cupid @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @satorella @sugacor3 @darkstarlight82

#we could make up for that 80%#just saying #levi ackerman #aot

129 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

one thing about todoroki is he is always down. deku sends a location with no context? he's there. illegal plan to rescue bakugou from a group of dangerous villains headed by the evil overlord with exactly four (4) of his classmates? he's in. he sees deku and bakugou fucking off in the middle of war with no explanation? immediately he's following.

1K notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Note

god ive seen what youve done for y/n 🙏🙏

Hiii, I love all ur fics sm! Ur literally so talented omgg

I wanted to request a fic where Oikawa and short/academically inclined reader are friends with benefits. I think it would be fun to see them get jealous and tiptoe around their feelings for each other since they don’t wanna ruin what they have. Can it also be nsfw and could u add some angst pls? Thank youu!

f*cking jealous!oikawa in secret

hi! thank you so much!! hope this interpretation is alright!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / short!reader / jealous!oikawa / popular x loser trope / jock x nerd trope / tutor!reader / subby-switch!oikawa / switch!reader / oikawa with a nerd fetish / needy!oikawa towards the end / kind of hate fucking? / oikawa being mean / riding / implied oral / fluff, angst, and smut / reader with glasses / 1.8k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines

"You're sooo lucky to tutor him, (Y/n),"

Your hopeless friend sighed, scrolling through Oikawa's Instagram for the upteenth time.

"I'd give anything to spend that much time alone with him."

It was a little creepy, but you loved her. Other girls fawning over your secret fuck-buddy was something you had to -begrudgingly- get used to. It pained you more when it was somebody so close, but nothing was worth coming clean about it.

The last thing you needed during senior year was a target on your back.

"Oh, he's such a prick!" You wave her off and grab your drink from the café counter with a smaller, pleasant, 'Thank you.'

The table was more of a C-curved booth that your group had to shimmy into. The shape made it hard to get in and out of, rather serving as an ultra-cozy prison to focus on your studies, your caffeine, and your snacks.

As a way of not letting you off the hook so easily- your friends cracked open their notes, laptops, textbooks, while entertaining the 'absurd' idea that any of you could actually date Johsai's least eligible bachelor.

A bunch of star-students with decorated academic achievements was the only impressive thing about the patrons at your favorite, quiet, coffee house. With- maybe-- the exception of money in eyeglass prescriptions, or luxurious stationery that decorated the table.

Your voice stood as the most displeased, the most troubled, of the discussion. You flipped through the chapters, halfway forgetting what page you needed to be on, because you got caught up in his shortcomings.

"He doesn't listen- he takes my hours away from people who might actually need it- he's, obviously, got the biggest ego I've ever seen--, Oh- hold up."

It was a struggle to flip to your page and rummage around your pocket for your buzzing phone.

"Well, I'm glad somebody's got some common sense-," Was the only guy in your group, disgruntled at all the Oikawa-talk.

Oikawa's name flashed across your screen. Your body seized and you hugged it to your chest.

"Woah!"

"You good?"

"I'm just--gonna take this outside," You cleared your throat and sank all the way to the floor, crawling over shoes and bags from under the table to get far away from your friends.

It was on the second-to-last ring by the time you hurried outside. You hated him for many things, but the wind picked up, spraying a chilly mist all over your clothes, and you couldn't help but associate him with the feeling. Your hoodie was still inside, forgotten in your haste.

"What? I'm busy right now." You spat, shivering already.

"Don't fog your glasses up, princess."

His easy, light tone particularly bothered you. You groaned.

"Get to the point, pretty boy, I'm busy--,"

"I know. I just called to say you should stop talking about me. Reads as a bit... obsessive, don't you think?"

The breath you took to poke a hole in his 'obsessive' argument gave way to nothing- except a silent realization.

"You're- where are you?"

You squinted at the dark window, but it was one-way.

Oikawa watched you turn to the parking lot, smirking, from inside the cafe.

He sighed, a real airy, fake one; the one he knew you loved to hear from him in bed.

His voice was lower, closer to the receiver. "I thought you said you were busy?"

The audacity to call you obsessive, mixing with the adrenaline his sudden proximity shot into your system. You pressed 'end call.'

When you re-entered the cafe, you spotted him immediately. He was walking back to his booth, one away from yours, from the restrooms. Though you both saw each other, there was hardly an indication that you knew one another at all, thanks to so much practice.

It was, still, hard to watch him slide into a seat right next to some other girl.

So, he heard you talking shit about him while on a date, then left her to go call you? You rejoined your booth, and spared a mean glance over at him, like the absolute garbage he was. He returned it with lesser intensity.

You'd think, with his cock in your hand, he wouldn't bring up the events of that morning. It put him in a less-than ideal position.

"Y'knoww,"

He hadn't said anything yet, but your eyes were rolling. Used to the attitude, and equipped with a firm point to make, he continued:

"You should ditch- ahh, that little loser in your little friend group."

A little roll of your hips had him wincing- spreading the slickness all across his dick, from all the work he had put in, already.

You cocked your head at him, "Oh, yeah?"

Oikawa's eyes rolled back into his skull, a groan at how hot you looked, grinding on him. You were his perfect, nerdy little secret. He specifically wanted you to keep your glasses on today. It was a thing. You didn't understand it in its entirety, but it likely had a connection to the reason why he opted for a lowkey arrangement.

"And you should ditch that shallow whore--,"

"Oh my god!" He gasped, surprised to hear such a thing uttered from your mouth, "Fuuuck you're so jealous-!"

"Me?"

It was completely unfair and utter bullshit that he acted like his jealousy was nonexistent. To him, only you could get out of your pay grade. He pretended to forget that the only reason you were fucking multiple times a week was because he 'needed' you so bad. You felt a little exploited.

"That's so hot-aughhh!"

His big, strong hands were forcing your cunt against his slippery, thick cock, since you wouldn't move quite right.

"M-mmh-! Tha-t's-," You struggled, voice breaking, hands against his muscular chest, "Not- mh, fair."

Your textbooks, his assignment due in 40 minutes, were neglected on the floor across his bedroom. Your tutoring was basically roleplay. It turned him on as soon as you got to talking about the relevant class material, telling him that the work he had already done was wrong.

It turned you on too, to an extent. You liked that you got him stiff without trying, without touching. You loved when he pretended like he wasn't, but bounced his leg right next to yours, cleared his throat before every response, got caught staring like some depraved creature.

You were exactly his type. He was the hottest guy you'd ever met. Something had to give.

"I- ah, don't wanna--," He fucked you hard, like you had a ring on your finger, "See you talk to that loser again."

He couldn't stand the threat of being second place. A guy with such a precious ego needed to feel like you wouldn't leave him. While your social structure may have harbored the suggestion that this would be the case, it wasn't an accurate representation of your feelings.

The whimper lacing his voice grew as you placed a firm hand around his throat.

"Don't- date- other girls." You threatened through gritted teeth and bitten-back moan.

It was just your luck that the most ridiculous peacock of a man would have such a great dick, give you such great head, that you couldn't live and let this fucked-up situationship die. The timer of the semester ticked away, standing as an informal end to it, so neither of you had the gall to cut things off before you needed to.

He whined under your touch, bottoming out hard, keeping himself as deep as he could get.

The lonely bastard draped his arms around you and pulled you close.

"Mmh- you know I gotta- h-ah, keep up appearances for us, princess," His quiet mutter, spilled across your shoulder, forced a shiver down your spine.

His sheets smelled just like him.

You loosened your grip and decided to play with his soft, lush locks, taking in his scent, his touch- that feeling. Like you were his, but not in some twisted, shameful way.

You wanted one of his shirts but it wasn't that simple.

For the moment, you chased the dream, while he was still gentle and peppering you in kisses.

Maybe in some perfect world, he would let go of his status, be a little less weird about your intelligence, and you could have a boyfriend instead of a glorified dildo.

He sounded close, so you fucked him back, hand back on his throat; you wondered how many girls would be disappointed to know that Oikawa Tohru didn't last very long in bed.

"You wanna cum, pretty boy?"

A wince at your rough, loaded kiss. His grip was iron, his strength speaking enough for how mute you got him.

It was so quiet, so pitiful: "Pl-ease,"

God, he looked so cute all fucked-out. He only looked at you like that. Like he never wanted you to leave, like he couldn't breathe without you around him, like you weren't just friends with benefits.

Too bad you were just some freaky nerd-fetish.

He pulled out and you sat, buzzed, on his drained cock, more than satisfied with the sight of cum all over his stomach.

When you pushed up your fallen glasses, his cock twitched accordingly and reminded you of the only reason you existed to him at all.

Kissing, cleaning up, cuddling, all of the winding down was still commonplace between you. He wanted attention, you wanted time to chill before you had to go home. He even made it difficult to get dressed and out the door.

Today, he kept his arms around your waist when you attempted to get up, after 20 minutes of cuddling.

"Pleaaase stay," He whined, unable to hold you as firm as he wanted for fear he would hurt you.

You smiled.

"I need to study more tonight."

"Study here!" He pouted.

Right. Then this would happen all over again- because as soon as he would see a pencil between your teeth, he'd try to replace it with his cock.

"Really study," You pried his fingers off and got dressed.

He watched for a time, but needed to assert himself more in order to feel like he wasn't useless, or forgettable. He joined to get dressed, too, and kept a close eye on your seemingly unbothered expression.

"I'm sorry for cursing at you."

It was so unimportant that you had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's okay," Rolled off your tongue, fast.

Oikawa got twitchy. His sly attempts at dragging out your departure slipped through his fingers like sand.

"Let me help you with that," His unprompted kiss to your forehead, along with his gentle gathering of your things, left you a bit dazed.

You fixed your hair- hesitant to look at him.

"Thank you."

He insisted, like usual, to walk you home. You sighed and posed the same argument, the way you had for the past month. People would notice if you were together in any capacity. Rumors would start.

When he was done packing your books up, he was touchier, and hung over you like a cat rubbing itself all over your ankles as you walked to the door.

You rationalized that it had to be your glasses. It gave him some sort of kick. He barely let you out of his bedroom, let alone his house.

You forgot to ask for a shirt, but... maybe next time?

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines.

977 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

i love you

Just a few small nsfw thoughts about the yandere haikyuu cast

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, non-consensual photography/involvement in masurbation, foot stuff in Noya's, spitting, overall just real unfortunate habits they have

Thinking about Daichi Sawamura who is the natural option for you to run to when mysterious packages start showing up at your door. It’s all sorts of intimate items – pretty lingerie that somehow fits you perfectly, all in your favorite colors (and his, too, of course). Then it shifts towards just single items, no longer the pretty babydoll sets – silk thongs with an initial stitched in, collars with your name engraved in the metal tag, vibrators that slowly get longer and thicker. It’s only when one comes that’s much too realistic, leaning slightly to the left and with veins lining the top that you finally confide in Daichi. It all comes tumbling out, and it’s only when you show him the handwritten note with the most recent dildo – reading it’s modeled after my own, let me know how it fits - that Daichi softly sighs, throwing you a look and telling you that you know there’s nothing we can do about it. Creeps like that always get away with it, unfortunately. Just ignore the way his uniform pants are straining at seeing you all teary-eyed and dependent on him – cute. Maybe you’d like another gag – he’s noticed you haven’t used the last one yet.

Thinking about Koushi Sugawara who feels bad about installing the bug on your phone, but not bad enough to disconnect it. It’s not visual, is what he tells himself – it’s not creepy if it’s not looking at you, after all. It only picks up on sound when he activates it – which has let him into a whole other side of you. You bring your phone with you everywhere, he’s realized, and he’s always keeping his headphones on at any given time, playing the live feed and letting his cheeks turn red and his pants grow tight at the sound of you. Your voice, your laugh, your humming, your moans and whimpers and hell, even the sound of you peeing is enough to make him feel light-headed, connected to you in a way that gets his heart racing and his cock swelling. Maybe one day he’ll install the visual one, too, but for now the sound is enough – the audio recordings he takes of you is more than enough fodder should he ever need it.

Thinking about Asahi Azumane, whose apartment is basically your second home. You come over and spend the night often – often enough to have your own toothbrush permanently living at his place, set off to the side and out of the mainly used area of the bathroom counter. It’s a common brand, one that Asahi can find at the corner market – which he does, keeping a constant supply around so that he can replace it each time you use it. He keeps them all stacked nicely in a Ziploc bag, dating each in permanent marker so he can recount and remember all the times you’ve slept under the same roof as him, only a room away. And of course, this makes it much easier to slip the it between his lips and against his tongue, teeth grinding down against the bristles and his eyes fluttering closed because it just feels so very intimate. It’s embarrassing and he keeps everything well hidden from you, but the way he stares as he brushes his teeth beside you is a bit of a give-away that there’s something going on.

Thinking about Ryunosuke Tanaka who keeps a running list of the insults you throw at him. They’re never truly mean, always just jokes or digs at some niche thing about him and his Loverboy attitude, but Ryunosuke notices. He’s transcribing them into his Notes app on his phone, and when he gets home each evening he repeats the insult to himself out loud, saying the word over and over in a mimic of your own voice, letting his hands run down the length of his body as he closes his eyes and melts into memories of your expression, your tone, the way you’d been looking at him. He’s got something of a degradation kink, and he’s training himself to become aroused at the mere mention of a derogatory nickname – it's for the future, he’ll tell himself, so that when he’s got you straddling him, tying him up and keeping him pinned underneath you, he can preform exactly how you want him to. He’ll be good for you – just call him a freak again, please.

Thinking about Yuu Nishinoya always making jokes about feet because he knows it makes you squirm in discomfort, but soon it stops being a joke. He’s always tickling your feet, making exaggerating sucking sounds when you slip your shoes off, even snatching your socks and running around with them, the adrenaline of you chasing him and yelling his name and looking at him him him making him giddy. But then he’s managing to keep the sock one day, curiously rubbing a finger over it as he palms himself, running his leaking, bright red tip against the material and cursing. He’ll wind up using it as a sort of cocksleeve, fucking into it and leaving it so riddled with cum that it’s hard, and suddenly the next time he jokes about you letting him give just one suck, c’mon is less teasing and much more serious.

Thinking of Shoyou Hinata who doesn’t understand why you get so angry when he suggests switching underwear. He thinks it’s sweet – a sign of love and comfort with each other, really. He’ll step into the cute, flimsy panties he buys for you, pulling them up and face twisting up slightly as he adjusts himself, trying his best to get the thong to hold as much of his cock and balls as he can. He feels naughty, wearing them under his shorts when he runs to the store to pick up groceries, and with each step he can feel the lacey material – the very material he’d forced you to strip out of that morning, the material still warm. And of course, you were forced into his boxers – the same ones he'd slept in, smelling musky and feeling wet with something you don’t want to name.

Thinking about Tobio Kageyama who has a full body reaction when he hears you say his name. It’s not subtle, either – he’s going stiff as a board, eyes blowing wide and pupils dilating, visible goosebumps erupting all over his skin. His breathing gets a bit heavier, and every muscle in his body is flexed, clenched so tightly that he can hardly move. He’ll stare at you, lips focused entirely on your lips, murmurs leaving his own that sound vaguely like your name, vaguely like fuck. You’ll have to pull him out of the moment yourself, with a touch to his shoulder or waving your hand in front of his face, and it’s only then that he’ll clear his throat, shifting in his pants and realizing much too late that he’s visibly hard, a bit of sweat visibly staining his exercise shirt under the armpits. He’ll make some lame excuse and run away, but as he fists his cock and replays the moment over in his head, he’ll be whining your name and your name only.

Thinking about Kei Tsukishima who feels so, so very stupid but can’t help but bite his lip as he scrolls through Spotify. There’s a separate, private folder of playlists he’s curated, each lasting easily two hours, all with different, single word titles. Doggy, cowgirl, lotus, 69. There’s ten or so, and they get updated at least once a day. It’s music that he can almost too easily imagine touching you to – slowed, passionate, your favorite songs, almost all of them coming from recommendations you yourself gave him. He just can’t help the mental imagery that fills him the moment he hears the chords and the singer’s voice – immediately you’re perched in his lap, tits pressed against his own chest and grinding on him so slowly that he’s near tears, desperation filling him and suddenly his finger’s tapping before he knows it, the little ‘saved to edging’ notification popping up at the bottom of his screen. It’s mortifying, really, but so is the silence only interrupted by the bassy thump thump that would otherwise fill up his bedroom every night.

Thinking about Tadashi Yamaguchi who splurges for his birthday and buys himself a customized life-sized body pillow with you printed on it. He’d been bright red the whole time he’d been ordering, the prized photo of you – scantily clad in your cute, revealing pajamas with your breasts just barely contained by the top – uploaded to the cute little Etsy shop. The package had arrived not soon enough, and he’s both flushed and breathing erratically the moment he rips open the packaging, wide eyes nearly tearing up at the sight of you – well, almost you. He’d paid extra to have the little audio insert sent alongside it, and as he records an audio he’d saved of you teasingly telling him goodnight ‘Dashi, love you, he’s shivering in excitement. It’s a shame that he stains the fabric with cum the first night, but a quick wash leaves it good as new – leaves you good as new.

Thinking about Tooru Oikawa and the pretty dildo he’s got buried away in his closet. It’s smooth, a pale pink color that reminds him of Sakura blossoms – that reminds him of you. He doesn’t use it often; only when he’s been on long, long stints away from home, tournaments and games making his muscles sore, his eyes sag, his heart ache in his chest. But as he sprits your perfume on it and whines your name as he sits down on it, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he remembers how he snatched this from your own closet after having watched you fuck yourself on it through your bedroom window.

Thinking about Hajime Iwaizumi who absolutely loves the big, pretty mirror you have in your bedroom. It’s the first thing he notices when he walks in for the first time, and it’s also the first thing he looks up when he gets home that night. And when he’s got you spread out on his cock a few months later, the locks on the doors numerous with passcodes he’ll never tell you, he’s sure you’ll be a bit relieved to see something familiar on your new bedroom’s walls. And he’ll tell you as much, gruff voice in your ear as he bounces you in his lap like some kind of toy, telling you to look at the mirror, baby, lookin’ so pretty… And when you cry he’ll wince, but the way his cock throbs inside you is telling.

Thinking about Kotarou Bokuto who calls you when he’s touching himself, narrating to you exactly what he’s doing. Of course, it’s not from his own phone – he likes to think it’s more exciting if it’s an unknown number. Maybe he’s seen too many TikTok thirsts about men in masks and Scream, but he thinks you’ll like the mystery. So when you stop picking up, he’ll just leave voicemails – always groaning and moaning your name, putting the microphone on the phone right up next to his fist, the wet schlock schlock sounds loud and clear. It’s risky and dirty, and when you bring it up the next time he sees you, complaining and confiding in him that some fucking creep is leaving horrible messages for you, he’ll only play along, convinced you’re hiding your true feelings to avoid looking like a pervert. But that’s okay, he likes that you’re a pervert! So pick up next time, yeah?

Thinking about Keiji Akaashi who, when the late hours and pages upon pages of editing the same manga get to him, will switch over to edit the more lewd, more explicit series he’d recently been assigned. Yeah, maybe it’s illegal to be photocopying the pages when there’s particular scenes that appeal to him, and maybe there’s something ever so slightly creepy about printing your photos and cutting out your face, pasting them onto the hentai’s protagonist and doing the same with his own photos, but it’s not a big deal. At least, it’s not a big deal until you find the volumes upon volumes of different almost collaged panels with your photos, all strung together in Keiji’s own personal fantasies of exactly what he wants to do to you, fit with his own handwriting covering the neatly White-outted text bubbles.

Thinking about Tetsurou Kuroo who purposefully gets a desk at work that can be raised to standing height. It’s not often, but when his mind is wandering and he can’t sit still while thoughts of you become unbearable, he’ll bring the desk up slightly. Standing up, he’ll align the wood right below his groin, shuffling forward and gently resting his clothed erection against the surface, sighing and rolling his head back as he lightly thrusts forwards and back. The fantasy of having you bent over the desk is too strong to ignore, and when you – his oh so sexy little assistant – come knocking at his door, he’s thanking anything that’s listening that you can’t see the way wet spreads across the front of his slacks.

Thinking about Kenma Kozume who only plays Sims because he has characters for the two of you. There’s no other avatars, solely and only the two of you. He’s curated your character to have your hair, your eyes, your body proportions, even buying special packages and programming his own mods to make it happen. The house you’re both living in is, he’ll admit, a bit excessive – there’s beds in every room, and the very first thing he’ll do each time he opens the game is immediately press the WooHoo button, zooming in on the monitor to get as close to your pixelated forms as possible. He’ll gulp and palm himself, eyes unblinking and repeating the command until he’s panting and gasping and staring at the sticky mess he’s left behind.

Thinking about Lev Haiba who’s not good at the up-skirt photos he tries to take. He’s not subtle, the camera flash going off and making you stiffen up. It’s easy to brush off with him though, his little laugh and scratching the back of his neck, telling you that he’s just supposed to be taking ‘candid photos of myself, something my new agency’s been wanting! Hey, look at that bird over there, so cute right?’ The flash as you turn around is less noticeable, but the way he audibly groans at the sight of your pretty panties certainly isn’t.

Thinking of Wakatoshi Ushijima who can’t quite understand why you’re uncomfortable when he stands so close to you. He’s always creeping up behind you, unnaturally quiet for someone so large, and suddenly you’ll feel this looming, overwhelming presence behind you, his breath hitting the crown of your head and making your hair tickle your neck and throat. He’s standing nearly flush with you, his cock mere centimeters from your ass, the smell of his cologne invading every one of your senses. He’ll only stare, stonefaced when you yelp and whirl around, only swallowing when you lightly swat his chest, irritation rippling through your tone when you tell him don’t sneak up on me like that! He doesn’t mean to scare you, really, but there’s something about being so close to you that makes his heart race, and he’s heard from all his teammates in the locker rooms about how women ‘love it from behind’, and he can only assume this is what they mean. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’s convinced that with enough time, you’ll grow to enjoy him standing behind you like a shadow, breathing down your neck and audibly inhaling at the juncture of your neck – television tells him as much, so why do you always shy away when he tells you that you smell heavenly?

Thinking of Eita Semi who, despite his best efforts, can’t find it in himself to reject a band admirer when she approaches him after a show. It’s not you and he’s not initially interested in her at all, but as she stays persistent and his numerous texts to you remain unanswered, Eita finds himself noticing that you have similar lips, similar hair, similar hips. It’s not actually cheating if he pretends it’s you, right? It feels sacrilegious to touch another woman, sure, but he’s actively moaning out your name, telling her to shut up when she says something he doesn’t think you would. And it starts a troubling pattern – you won’t sleep with him and he doesn’t want to pressure you, but the sexual frustration of desperately wanting to touch you and being unable to makes him crazy, willing to do anything to get even a phantom taste of you. He’ll apologize profusely if you ever find out, getting to his knees and begging you to forgive him, claiming he did it for you, but it’s a temporary solution for now. Just until you give him a taste of what he’s been dreaming of for months.

Thinking of Satori Tendou who picked up photography as a hobby once his feelings for you formed. He’s still a bit unsure about photographing you without your consent, but then you go and do something that makes his throat dry up, his fingers unable to stay still because you’re just so damn cute and he can’t help himself. He keeps all the photos in a special box, placed neatly and gently in the corner of his closet. They’re all labeled on the back with the date, time, and location, even a few jots of what he was thinking at the time of the photo capture. They’re by and large mostly innocent, but there’s a few that he’d been rash with, snapping the photo and feeling guilt away at him. Writing down the fantasies he’d had with each time he uses the photo to masturbate had been embarrassing at first, but each time he rifles through the photos – which are perfectly pristine, not a drop of cum or even spit anywhere to be seen – he’s poring through his notes, biting his lip and curling his toes as he remembers particularly vivid fantasies, all driven forward by your smiling face or your unaware figure. And while he’ll never offer to show them to you, should you ask he’d reluctantly agree, watching with baited breath to see which ones you like – which fantasies you want to try out.

Thinking of Tsutomu Goshiki who still, even as a young adult, finds himself getting flustered when he watches porn. He’s consuming as many videos as he can find, but he often finds himself clicking off of the video almost as soon as the actual sex starts – he’s interested in the lead up, rather than the act itself. He’s diligently studying the scripts, the scenarios placed forward, the way the women seem to go crazy for a few common, simple lines. He’s noting everything down and practicing the lines, looking at himself in the mirror and adding in your name just to get used to saying it without blushing. He’s convinced that because the women in porn would like these lines, so would you – of course, you would not enjoy being told that he’s the delivery pizza guy and that you’ll need to pay with your body, but Tsutomu doesn’t quite understand that. Surely it’s real – it’s porn, and he’s sure that he’ll be able to fuck you just the way he sees on his screen. He’ll make you scream just like all the women do – he promises.

Thinking of Shinsuke Kita who will let you bathe on your own, but never alone. He’s pulling up a stool beside the bathtub before you can protest, those eyes unblinking as he gets nice and settled in. He’s smiling gently at you, asking you if the water is the right temperature, if you’d like to a use a bathbomb, if you want any help shampooing or scrubbing your body. It’s unnerving if only because the nonchalance is infuriating, but his hands stay perfectly still on his lap, palms flat against the material of his trousers. He’s visibly growing hard as you quickly wash your body, still staring, but he makes no move to act on it. It’s only once he’s watched you settle into bed, promising he’ll be up soon, that he makes his move. The water’s cold by now, but he still sinks into the porcelain with a stifled grown, letting the bath water slip past his lips and cover his face, enjoying every bit of residue of you.

Thinking of Atsumu Miya who’s notorious for PDA with you long before you’ve accepted your fate. He’s always inviting you to his games, getting you special seating so that you’re as close to the court as possible, and after each win he’s pulling you into a searing, bruising, loud kiss. It’s dramatic and it’s entirely too much, but the cameras flash and the headlines spur with details of his supposed relationship with you. It’s all for publicity, he’ll tell you, apologizing but telling you that y’understand, right? It’s for his career, he promises, to make himself look better for the media, but the way he’ll slowly pull away and whimper your name so that only you can hear isn’t quite as publicity-driven as he claims. At least, when he groans and lets his eyes flutter closed afterwards, it sure doesn’t feel that way.

Thinking of Osamu Miya who, of course, has a rather nasty habit of infusing his cooking for you with something salty, bitter, and off-white, but he’s got yet another secret hidden up his sleeve. It takes him a while to work up to coming in your food, desperation driving him mad with the urge to somehow stake a claim on you, but letting his lips pucker and spitting into the frying, sizzling meal he’s whipping up for you? Well, that’s much less sinister, isn’t it? It’s less creepy, he thinks, and it’s easier – he can spit once, twice, five times in a single dish, watching with hawk eyes when you groan and praise his cooking after the first bite. It’s a secret, and the only tell he has is that he’ll bite his lips, Adam’s apple harshly bobbing, his fist clenching and his pants getting tight because oh, you think it tastes good?

573 notes · View notes

toorusmu · 5 months ago

Text

— AFTERPARTY ! tooru oikawa

➥ pr : timeskip!oikawa x famous!fem!reader

➥ syn : waking up with a famous model in your bed after a afterparty you didn’t remember ? hell nah

➥ wc : 3.2k

➥ tw : drunk sex (no description of sex lol), suggestive talks, make out session at the end, fluffy morning, kind of a oneshot??

➥ a/n : new baby : tooru. but the matter is that I love tooru from s4 only (like the mini moment) because he is prettier in the art of the s4 (like all haikyuu characters lmao)

The bright morning light streaming through the slats of the blinds was enough to make Oikawa Tooru groan as he stirred in bed, his head pounding mercilessly. He squinted against the intrusive glow, and his hand instinctively came up to rub at his temple.

How much did I drink last night?

The pounding headache was relentless, accompanied by a haze of fragmented memories from the night before. He remembered the match—Argentina against Japan. He’d played well, as expected. The crowd had been electric, the cheers still echoing faintly in his ears. After that? The after-party. It had been a lavish celebration, as it always was when his team won a match.

He groaned again, this time shifting slightly to sit up. Something felt off. The sheets bunched uncomfortably low around his waist, and… there was a distinct chill against his skin. All of his skin. That’s when it hit him. He wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Oikawa blinked once, then twice, as the realization settled like a heavy weight in his chest. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, his stomach twisting with dread.

His breath caught in his throat.

There, lying tangled in his expensive silk sheets, was someone else. A woman. Naked.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. Long hair spilled over his pillow, framing a face that could only be described as breathtaking. Even in sleep, she radiated elegance and beauty, her features far too familiar to him.

He blinked again, harder this time, hoping he was hallucinating. But no, it was her. You. The internationally famous model. The model who had attended the match last night, who had drawn attention from everyone in the room, including him.

“The fuck did I do?” Oikawa whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing his brain to recall more of the night. Images flashed in his mind—brief but damning. He remembered you laughing, your hand brushing his as you leaned in closer. He remembered drinking, and then drinking more, the two of you at the center of the party. Dancing. Your hand in his. The way you’d looked at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and something more.

And then… nothing. A black hole of memory.

His heart raced as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to jostle you awake. His bare feet touched the cold floor, grounding him slightly as panic set in. He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, muttering under his breath, “This cannot be happening. What the hell did I do?”

He stood up, wincing as the pounding in his head intensified. The sleek, modern apartment he called home suddenly felt far too small, the walls closing in as he scrambled to piece together what had happened. His mind raced with questions.

Did we…? He glanced back at you, your bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets. The answer was obvious.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, louder this time. His hands tugged at his hair in frustration. What was supposed to be a simple celebration had somehow spiraled into this.

Oikawa moved quickly, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on with a sense of urgency. He needed to think, to figure out how to handle this before you woke up. The last thing he wanted was for the world to find out that Tooru Oikawa, Argentina’s star setter and public heartthrob, had spent the night with one of the most famous women on the planet—and couldn’t even remember how it happened.

As he reached for his sweatpants, he stole another glance at you. You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent as you shifted beneath the covers. He froze, his heart leaping into his throat. But you didn’t wake.

He let out a shaky breath. Figure this out. Damage control. His thoughts were a mess, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

All he knew was that this was a disaster waiting to happen, and he had no idea how to fix it.

The sound of running water filled the silence of the apartment as Oikawa leaned against the counter in his sleek, minimalist kitchen. A glass of cold water sat on the marble countertop next to a packet of painkillers, a necessary remedy for the throbbing in his head. His thoughts were still scattered, the events of the night before refusing to organize themselves into a coherent narrative.

How do I get through this without making things worse? He sighed, rubbing his temples.

But just as he was about to pop the medication into his mouth, a small cry from the bedroom jolted him upright.

“Ah!”

This was followed by a loud thud.

Oikawa’s eyes widened in alarm, and without a second thought, he abandoned the glass and rushed toward the sound.

Pushing open the bedroom door, he found you on the floor, tangled in a heap of silk sheets. You were rubbing your temple with one hand, clearly disoriented, while the other hand clutched the fabric tightly to your chest in an effort to cover yourself.

“Are you okay?!” Oikawa asked, rushing toward you but stopping a few steps away, suddenly unsure of how to proceed.

You blinked up at him, your expression a mix of confusion and discomfort. “What the…?” Your voice was hoarse, your gaze darting around the room. It didn’t take long for your eyes to land on him—dressed now in sweatpants and nothing on the torso, his hair still messy from sleep.

Your eyes locked. For a moment, neither of you said a word, the silence charged with unspoken questions.

Oikawa broke the stare first, clearing his throat awkwardly and running a hand through his hair. “Uh, you fell. Are you—are you hurt?”

You shook your head slowly, your fingers still pressing into your temple. “No, just… dizzy. My head is killing me.” Your voice carried a groggy edge as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. “Where am I?”

“My apartment,” he said quickly, before realizing how bad that sounded. “I mean, um, last night… we… Uh…” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his face flushing slightly.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled the sheets tighter around yourself. “Last night?”

“Yeah…” He scratched the back of his neck, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “It’s… complicated.”

You groaned softly, closing your eyes and leaning back against the bed. “Of course it is.”

Oikawa hesitated for a moment before walking over to his closet. “Uh, here,” he said, pulling out a neatly folded sweatshirt. He handed them to you, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. “You can wear these for now. I, uh, couldn’t find your dress.”

You glanced at the clothes and then back at him, one brow arching slightly. “You ‘couldn’t find’ my dress? Or did you not want to look too hard for it?”

“Hey!” he protested, holding up his hands defensively. “I swear I looked!”

You let out a soft laugh, your voice laced with amusement despite your pounding headache. “Relax, setter boy. I’m teasing.”

“Setter boy?” He blinked, surprised you recognized him despite the chaos.

You smirked faintly, accepting the clothes. “You’re Oikawa Tooru. Star setter for Argentina. Kind of hard not to know who you are.”

“Ah, well, I guess I’m famous.” He flashed a small grin despite himself, but it quickly faded when he remembered the situation. “Anyway, uh… you can change in the bathroom if you want.”

Once you were dressed in his oversized sweatshirt—which practically swallowed you—you emerged from the bathroom and followed Oikawa into the kitchen.

He gestured toward one of the high stools at the counter. “Here. Sit. I’ll get you some water and something for your head.”

You slid onto the stool, glancing around the apartment as the golden morning light poured in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The view was stunning, showcasing the bustling streets of Buenos Aires far below.

“You’ve got a nice place,” you commented, your voice light.

“Thanks,” Oikawa replied, handing you the glass of water and the painkillers. “Volleyball pays well when you’re good at it.” He gave you a playful smirk.

“Modest, aren’t you?” you teased, taking the pills and downing them with a sip of water.

“Only when it counts.”

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, the initial awkwardness melting away as you both talked. You shared fragments of last night—how you’d ended up at the match, your thoughts on the game, and your blurry memories of the after-party. Oikawa admitted he didn’t remember much either, earning a laugh from you when he sheepishly confessed to drinking far too much.

“So let me get this straight,” you said, resting your chin on your hand as you gazed at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “You invited me to the after-party, we drank way too much, and now we’re here—me in your clothes, with no idea what happened in between?”

“Pretty much,” Oikawa replied, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “I swear this isn’t how I usually spend my mornings.”

“Sure it isn’t,” you teased, your smile widening.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re awfully confident for someone who woke up in a stranger’s bed.”

“Well,” you said, leaning forward slightly, “when the stranger is as charming as you, it’s hard to complain.”

Oikawa froze for half a second, caught off guard by your boldness. His ears turned red, and he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Charming, huh? You must still be half-asleep.”

You laughed softly, enjoying how flustered he was. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just fun to mess with.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “Drink your water before you pass out again.”

The golden light bathed the two of you as the conversation continued, the tension from earlier replaced by a surprising sense of comfort.

Oikawa leaned back against the counter, watching you sip the water he’d given you. He tapped his fingers absently on the marble surface, his thoughts still a little scattered, though the easy rhythm of your conversation was helping ground him.

“So,” he started, after a brief pause. “You’re a model. Internationally famous, apparently.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What gave it away? The fact that half your team was trying to talk to me last night?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Not my fault you showed up looking like…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely in your direction. “…that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” he admitted with a small smile. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in his head, he straightened. “Wait, do you like matcha?”

The sudden change of topic caught you off guard, but you nodded. “Yeah, I love matcha. Why?”

“Perfect.” Oikawa pushed away from the counter, opening a cabinet and rummaging through its contents. “I think I have some matcha powder lying around. Someone on the team gave it to me because they thought I’d like it, but I’ve never actually bothered to make it.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You don’t know how to make matcha?”

“Is that so weird?” he asked, glancing at you with mock offense.

“Yes!” you said, laughing. “It’s not hard at all. How do you not know how to make it?”

“Look, I’ve got plenty of other talents,” he retorted, pulling out a small tin of matcha powder. “But making fancy drinks isn’t one of them. Think you can handle teaching me, Miss ‘International Model Who Knows Everything’?”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and walking over to join him at the counter. “Fine. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Oikawa stepped aside, giving you room as you inspected the tin and found the necessary tools. He watched you intently, leaning slightly against the counter as you explained each step.

“First, you need a small bowl,” you said, grabbing one from a nearby cabinet. “Then you put a teaspoon of matcha powder in it, like this.”

You demonstrated, your movements confident and precise. Oikawa’s eyes lingered on you as you worked, taking note of how focused you looked.

“Next,” you continued, “you add a little bit of hot water. Not boiling, though—it’ll ruin the flavor.”

As you poured the water, he leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Now we whisk,” you said, grabbing a small bamboo whisk. You turned to him, holding it up. “You do have one of these, right?”

Oikawa blinked at the whisk, then at you. “I mean… I guess I do?”

You laughed. “Unbelievable. Anyway, you whisk it like this.” You began whisking the mixture in quick, precise motions, creating a frothy layer on top.

Oikawa leaned closer, peering over your shoulder. “You make it look easy.”

“It is easy,” you teased, glancing at him. The proximity between the two of you was suddenly very apparent—his face was only inches from yours, his warm brown eyes locked on the bowl. Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced yourself to focus.

“Here, you try,” you said, handing him the whisk.

Oikawa took it, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He hesitated for a moment, then tried to mimic your movements.

“No, no,” you said, laughing as you reached out to guide his hand. “Like this. You need to whisk in an ‘M’ or ‘W’ motion, not just stir in circles.”

Your hands covered his as you corrected his movements, and the closeness left you both a little breathless. Oikawa cleared his throat, his cheeks warming slightly.

“See?” you said softly, glancing up at him. “Not so hard.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, looking away to hide his growing embarrassment.

Once the matcha was ready, you poured it into two mugs and handed one to him. “Alright, moment of truth. Try it.”

Oikawa hesitated, eyeing the vibrant green liquid. “It smells… earthy.”

“Just drink it,” you said, rolling your eyes.

He took a sip, his expression instantly shifting from curiosity to regret. “Oh. Oh no.”

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your drink. “You hate it?”

“It tastes like grass!” he exclaimed, setting the mug down and sticking out his tongue dramatically. “How do people drink this stuff?”

“Not everyone has the palate of a five-year-old,” you teased, still laughing. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well, I’m not acquiring it anytime soon,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

You smiled, leaning against the counter. “At least you tried. That’s something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Next time, I’m teaching you something. Something that doesn’t taste like… whatever that was.”

“Deal,” you said, raising your mug in a mock toast. “But I’m still counting this as a win.”

The playful banter between the two of you continued as you lingered in the kitchen, the golden morning light washing over the space and reflecting off the sleek countertops. Oikawa leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, shaking his head as he watched you sip your matcha with an expression of triumph.

“You’re way too smug about this,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Well, someone has to be,” you teased, taking another sip and setting the mug down. “I mean, you’re the one who didn’t even know how to whisk properly. That’s basic stuff, setter boy.”

Oikawa let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “I’m a volleyball player, not a barista. Cut me some slack, Miss Perfect.”

“Perfect?” you repeated with a smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant to be—” he started, but stopped when he saw your grin widen. He huffed. “Fine, it was a compliment. Don’t let it go to your head.”

You laughed, stepping closer to him as you leaned against the counter. “Too late.”

Oikawa shook his head in mock exasperation but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. The conversation felt effortless, the awkwardness from earlier replaced by a surprising sense of comfort.

As the laughter died down, you reached for the mug of matcha again, only for your fingers to brush against his. Oikawa had moved at the same time, intending to push the mug further aside, and the sudden contact startled both of you.

“Ah—sorry,” you said, pulling your hand back.

“No, it’s fine,” Oikawa replied, his voice quieter now.

You both froze, the playful atmosphere shifting into something else entirely. You were suddenly acutely aware of how close you were—close enough to see the golden light catch the warm brown in his eyes, close enough to feel the faint heat radiating from him.

Neither of you moved, and neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, charged with an unspoken tension.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but the distance between your faces vanished in an instant. Before you could second-guess it, your lips brushed against his, soft and tentative.

Oikawa stiffened for a fraction of a second, clearly caught off guard, but then his body relaxed, and he leaned in further, pressing his lips more firmly to yours.

The kiss was hesitant at first, like neither of you could quite believe it was happening. But as the seconds passed, it deepened, the tentative nature giving way to something more passionate. His hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head slightly to deepen the angle.

Your fingers curled into the muscles of his toned torso, pulling him closer as his lips moved against yours. His other hand found your waist, the touch gentle but firm as he pulled you flush against him. The heat between you was undeniable now, your breaths mingling as the kiss grew more heated, more desperate.

Your back pressed against the counter as Oikawa crowded closer, one hand braced against the marble to steady himself. The other remained on your waist, his fingers curling slightly as if he were afraid you might pull away.

But you didn’t. If anything, you leaned into him more, your hands moving to tangle in his hair. He let out a soft, almost surprised sound against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening in response.

Time seemed to blur as the kiss turned into a full-blown makeout session, the golden morning light casting everything in a dreamlike glow. The taste of matcha lingered faintly on your lips, but it was quickly forgotten as Oikawa consumed your attention entirely.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice slightly breathless, “that… wasn’t in the plan.”

Oikawa let out a soft laugh, his lips curling into a small, lopsided grin. “Yeah, definitely not.”

He kisses you again.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his. “But you’re not complaining, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “In fact, I think I could get *kiss* used to this.”

Your lips quirked up into a playful smile. “Careful, setter boy. You’re starting to sound smitten.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, surprising even himself with his honesty.

The golden light continued to spill into the room as the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, the rest of the world forgotten for the moment.

tag : @haechansbbg

252 notes · View notes