Being Atsumus Pregnant Partner:

Being Atsumu’s Pregnant Partner:

YN goes into Labor

Atsumu Miya x Pregnant! GN reader

Warnings: swearing, pregnancy and a lot of stuff to do with pregnancy, mentions of throwing up and bodily fluids

***pregnancy is different for everyone and I’m basing this off my own personal experience

AN: *sigh* friends I’m having major baby fever and since I’m forever done diy-ing my own, I shall instead write about it 😌 maybe I should just get a kitten

Looking back now, it probably wasn’t the best idea to go to a professional, five set volleyball match at 39 weeks pregnant but here you were. You’d always been the devoted type, doing anything and everything you could to support your man no matter what.

Atsumu Miya wasn’t always the easiest partner to have but you loved the big dummy. He was extremely dedicated to his sport and team, which made dealing with him outside the court rather bothersome at times.

Nevertheless, you decided that you could stand just enough of him to spend your life by his side and raise a family. His brother, Osamu, asked you about a million times is you were for sure ready to raise a baby Miya. He knew exactly what it would be like because he was one.

At first you laughed it off, thinking that you had a few years of rest before the chaos would ensure but man, were you wrong. You’d become pregnant relatively quickly, making both you and Atsumu extremely excited.

However, your excitement soon dampened as you began spending most of your day hugging the porcelain thrown or downing antacids to help with the wicked indigestion that crept up your throat at every turn. Your breasts ached, your sleep suffered and the smell of nearly anything sent you running to the bathroom. Your skin broke out, hair began to shed, and most days, you felt like a Sméagol from lord of the rings, just trying to protect your unborn baby.

Atsumu had been as supportive as you imagined he’d be. This mostly meant calling Osamu to make you something to eat or google home remedies to help with your morning sickness. Osamu was also extremely excited for his little niece or nephew to make their appearance, doing whatever he could when Atsumu was gone to help you.

You’d managed to make it all the way to 39 weeks, and you were excited to finally be done. The doctor had scheduled an induction for the following week because of blood pressure issues. You weren’t exactly stoked about the idea of an induction but the fact that you’d be able to meet your baby soon was thrilling.

You waddled your way through the crowd, waving to people as you passed. Akaashi had stopped to talk with you as well as Asahi and Suga. It was nice to see everyone again even though you were exhausted.

“There they are!” Osamu yelled, waving you over to his Onigiri stand as you huffed and puffed, finally able to stop. The pressure from the baby was making it difficult to walk, your pelvis hurting as you leaned on the corner of his stand, his chuckle causing you to glare at him.

“You know you could have stayed him YN. Sumu pays for the expensive sports channels because he’s obsessed with watching replays of his games, I’m sure you’d see him on there,” Osamu joked as you motioned for a delicious looking Onigiri in the corner of the display case.

“This will probably be the last game Sumu plays in for a bit because of his paternity leave. I don’t want to miss it!”

Osamu chuckled, shaking his head as you made your way to the stairs of the bleachers. Your phone rang as you began to ascend, huffing and puffing as you walked up.

“Hello,” you answered as the noise of the locker room filled your ears.

“Hey baby! Did ya make it?” Atsumu shouted back as you finally found your spot and took a seat releasing a heavy sigh as you settled in.

“Not up as high as I normally go but my feet hurt too much to even care.”

Sumu laughed as you looked around to see the stands filled with people.

“Well just relax baby, this time next week will be in the hospital having our baby!”

You groaned just thinking about the idea of pushing out this child, knowing that the possibility of having a small baby was out of the picture.

“Yeah yeah, just make sure you win today, ok? I don’t want yo moping around the house for the next week!”

Atsumu laughed loudly as you smiled. He agreed and hung up the phone, knowing you’d be there to support him no matter what happened.

The teams took their places, and the match began without a hitch. You knew it’d be a long one by the sheer energy happening around you. Two sets had already taken place and the teams were tied. You watched as Sumu slammed a service ace right into the opposing team's court. Your man was on fire today, probably excited about everything happening around him.

The pressure of the baby on your bladder, pushed as you tried to adjust, not wanting to walk out right in the middle of Sumu’s serves. Of course, you knew his serves could go on for a while, so you finally caved, as you thought about the nearest bathroom.

Standing up, you felt a twinge hit. Your back began to radiate pain as it moved to the front of your belly. You gritted your teeth, gripping the side of the chair as you grabbed your stomach.

“Are you ok?” Someone asked as you turned to them confused and nodded. There was no way this was anything more than Braxton hick's contractions, right?

The pain subsided as you assured the person you were ok and made your way to the bathroom. In the bathroom, you noticed you had started losing the mucus plug your doctor had talked about. You knew this meant nothing and weren’t concerned as you continued to feel the baby kick in your stomach.

Washing your hands, you felt the pain against radiate from your back to your front. You had no idea how far apart these pains were as you quickly grabbed your phone and waited for the pain to subside.

Hitting the timer, you exited the bathroom and made your way back to your seat. You felt another pain hit as you quickly checked the timer.

7 minutes.

Standing on the side, you waited for the pain to pass again before ascending the stairs. At this point, you were clearly in denial that anything was happening. Surely these were only practice contractions. Your body had done them before but then again, they’d never felt quite like this.

You restarted the time as you finally sat down, trying to remain calm as you focused back on the game. A few minutes passed again before the pain started, only this time, you felt a pop, followed by a trickle of water fill your pants. You began to stand up as the pain emanated through your stomach.

“Hey Yn- YN HOLY CRAP!” You heard someone yell as Osamu came running over you to, abandoning the Onigiri in his hands to grab onto your arm and steady you.

“Samu the baby, I think the babies coming!” You whined as Osamu’s eyes widened at you, the crowd cheering as MSBY scored yet another point.

At this point, you had tears in your eyes, the pressure from the baby pushing more fluid from your body as the pain continued to radiate. You leaned hard on Samu, groaning as you tried to make it through the pain.

Osamu looked around for anyone he knew, anyone who could possibly help him get you downstairs and to the hospital. As if on cue, he looked down to see Sakusa’s eyes locked with his. He knew his best bet at this point was to try and signal to Sumu that you were in labor.

“YN’s in labor!” He mouthed as Sakusa’s eyes widened and he turned to Sumu who was in the back row. Sakusa wasn’t sure what to do as Sumu was preparing to serve yet again. He wasn’t a person to normally shout but then again, it wasn’t everyday his teammates partner was in active labor at a game.

He looked over to the coach who was now concerned about what was going on with him and why he continued to trail his eyes into the crowd. At this point, Hinata had begun to notice as well, his eyes following Sakusa’s as he saw you, bent over and holding your stomach as Osamu supported you.

“Holy crap YN’s in labor!” He shouted just as Sumu threw the ball up the serve. His eyes widened as his palm made contact with the ball.

“WHAT!?!” He bellowed, sending the ball slamming hard into the other side of the court as the whistle blew signaling the end of the set.

Atsumu quickly looked up to see Osamu helping you down the stairs as you breathed, your face contorted in pain.

“Shit Yn!” He shouted, quickly taking off into the crowd to get to you. He ran as fast as he could, dodging people left and right until he finally met you at the base of the stands.

“YN’s definitely in labor Sumu, their water broke and everything. Contractions are 7 minutes apart right now, but they are in a ton of pain,” Osamu recited as you moaned through another painful contraction, Atsumu grabbing onto your belly and helping lift it to relieve some pressure.

He hadn’t been super eager to take the birthing class suggested by your doctor, but he had to admit, the techniques were coming in handy.

“Sumu the game!” You whined as the contraction ended. Sumu shook his head vigorously before he was interrupted.

“Don’t worry about the game Yn, we will put in our sub and thanks to Sumu’s service ace, we are ahead a set,” Coach answered, coming up with Meian and Sakusa

“Just worry about having that baby Yn!” Meian chuckled as you smiled.

“Please take YN to the hospital now, do you know how unsanitary birthing a baby here would be?” Sakusa demanded as Atsumu blindly nodded and took control of you, Osamu running ahead to grab his car to help.

At the hospital, the doctor checked you before the anesthesiologist made their way to you, providing you with a moment to breathe. Osamu was waiting outside, not wanting to miss the birth of his brothers baby.

“Don’t you wanna watch the game Sumu?” You asked as your partner came beside you and grabbed your hand.

“Nah, Hinata texted me and told me we won. I’ll just watch it when we get home from the hospital. Plus, I want our baby to see how awesome I look on TV!”

You giggled, laying your head back as you rested your body. Atsumu right by your side as you entered this new stage of life together.

a bit dirty - ch3

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch3 | next (coming soon) [masterlist]

// probably a bad idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6874 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, hotel, disgustingly sweet, needy as fuck, kissing during sex, fucking your boss, names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, afab she/her pronouns

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you’d think that seeing osamu nearly every single day after the night that you fucked him in your place of work, in his restaurant, would ruin something between the two of you. 

and sure, yes, there was always, and still is, ruminating under your skin, simmering in the depths of your stomach, resting at the forefront of your mind: the memory of that night, not even the act or the desperation, but the succeeding moment where he held you in his arms, kissed the back of your neck, the point in time before you told him it was a bad idea, the one where he didn’t regret a thing and neither did you.

even the morning after that night in onigiri miya, you two joke like it never happened. well, sorta like it never happened, because when you got there a bit early, osamu was already there. he was leaving the bathroom, wiping sweat off of his forehead, mop in hand, and both of you knew exactly what he was doing. neither of you said it, but the sheepish smile that you wore and the embarrassed adjustment of his cap as he put away the cleaning supplies spoke loud enough.

and that day you moved in sync, just like always. it was busy, really busy actually, but with the two of you working together, people were sat and fed and paid and gone all with a smile on their face. it’s wordless, the way that you compliment each other. you remember the things that he forgets and he knows exactly when you need a bit of extra support. 

there’s always been an inkling of synchrony ever since you started working there, but as you learned the ropes a bit more, as you memorized the menu and fully understood the ordering system, the two of you got even more dynamic. 

part of it, maybe most of it, was the fact that you genuinely cared about this place, about osamu’s well being and success and the way that his reputation was perceived. you wanted every customer that came in to leave happy, to tell their friends about the nice girl that worked at onigiri miya and the delicious food that they had.

you became indispensable, really. 

some days it was just the two of you. on busy saturday nights that used to easily need 3 or 4 workers plus osamu running around and taking orders and clearing dishes and packing to-gos in the tiny kitchen, your team of two got along just fine. help was nice and always welcomed, but when it came down to it, osamu knew he could count on you, on just you, no matter what. 

so when he asks you if you’ll work a catering gig with him a few hours out of town over the weekend, you probably shouldn’t be surprised, but you are, not because of anything work-related or because you feel like he should ask someone more capable, but because it’s only been a few short weeks since that night in onigiri miya and despite the fact that in your work environment nothing has changed, you still find yourself terrified that you’re going to revoke your treaty of no more. 

“me?” you ask, bag on your shoulder, no longer on the clock, and a few steps from the door. he’s caught you on your way out, a casual invitation in the empty restaurant that draws you back towards the bar where he’s standing. 

“c’mon, yea, of course, who else?” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. then he explains further, “travel and stay will be paid for obviously. we’ll drive up the day before, stay the night, work the event, and then drive back that night,” he explains, leaning on the counter top, one arm over the other. he points at you to make his final sell, “and it’s overtime pay because it’s a catering event.”

truthfully, you couldn’t care less about the money, aren’t thinking about it even after he’s mentioned it, you have much more on your mind like, why me why me why me why me?

“why me?” you ask, unsure why it’s made it past the barrier of your brain and lips. it was supposed to stay trapped in your mind. you’re grateful it’s only those two words and not the full string of when we’ve literally had sex two times and it’s hard enough for me to keep my hands and mind off of you when we’re in this fucking restaurant let alone a roadtrip to another city. 

he laughs, “if i bring anyone else, i’ll actually have to bring two or three instead of just you, and then everyone needs their own hotel room, and then i have to make sure i have enough room in my car.” he waves his hand at the thought of the hassle. “easier to bring the best person than a few good people, y’know?”

their own hotel room. and now you can’t get the idea out of your head, of osamu inviting you into his hotel room, of him slipping you an extra key and asking you to spend the night with him, how he wouldn’t even have to ask for you to go back on your word so quickly, how different it would be to have sex with him in an actual bed and not on top of a sink or up against a bathroom wall.

you know it shouldn’t, but it’s only making you lean in the direction of yes even more (as if you weren’t already going to say yes just because he asked). it probably won’t even happen, isn’t even a thought on his mind. he said it himself, it was just easier to bring you.

“plus,” he tacks on, “i’d enjoy your company maybe a bit more,” he adds, “might be a bit selfish.” his smile says it all, contagious and bright as he asks, “so, whaddya say?”

“of course,” you nod, no hesitancy. 

/\ /\ /\

in the aftermath of the busyness of your last shift before you leave for the catering event, you’re smoothing out all of the details that you might need to know for the weekend. 

what the event is, anyway: some corporate business meeting something or other, he doesn’t really remember the name, he just knows how much they’re paying and what they’re paying for

the plan on how osamu is picking you up: if you just give him your address, he can just pick you up so you don’t have to make your way to him or the restaurant

what time you’re leaving: at noon, the hotel that you’re staying in is also the place that the catering event takes place in. it’s about a 4 hour drive or so.

you’re making note of all of these things in your head, nodding along to the information that he’s giving you. “so, you’ll be able to sleep in?” you ask in response to the late start time.

he stops what he’s doing, rag left on the countertop as he laughs, throws his head back and shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. if he weren’t as kind and considerate as you know he is, this could’ve come off very differently. “absolutely not,” he shakes his head, “i’ll be coming in to prep for the morning here, making sure that everything is in order for sumu to be in charge while i’m gone.” he says the last part with a shiver. 

“what? he doesn’t do a good job?” you ask, tilting your head, but you can’t hold the joke for that long, so you laugh right along with him. 

“thought you were serious for a second,” osamu says, still laughing, “shouldn’t be too bad this time ‘cause we’re not even gone for a full day, really. i’ll prep for him the morning of and close for him the night we’re back. won’t be that bad.”

“he doesn’t know how to close?” you ask, reaching out to grab the rag that osamu left on the counter while he laughed at the thought of sleeping in for once. you take over for him, wiping down the counters carefully, thoroughly. 

osamu recovers, smiles at this tiny gesture and then moves to restocking the fridge. “nuhhuh. don’t trust him with numbers and receipts, just have him throw everything in a paper bag for me to take care of when i’m back,” he calls from his crouched position on the floor. 

“y’know, i know it wouldn’t help you now, but you could probably teach me how to close if you wanted,” you offer, and he’s really grateful for the fact that you’re not able to see how much this affects him, “or open or both,” you plop the rag back into the clean water before finishing the few bar glasses in the adjacent sink, “that way you could sleep in once in awhile or not have to worry about closing all by yourself sometimes.”

he’s quiet for a second because he’s feeling a lot of feelings that have nothing to do with training you to open or to close and he’s trying his best to sort through them quickly to offer you a reply. to you, however, the silence feels like contemplation on how to tell you he doesn’t think that’d be a good idea, so you add quickly, “if- if you wanted? y’know, or if you don’t think i’m ready, i completely understand-”

“that would be really great, actually,” he cuts you off, soft and polite, “i really appreciate that.”

you’re warm now, trying to sort through a lot of feelings that are arising into your chest and your cheeks, so you just hum in response. the two of you finish your closing duties together and as you’re clocking out, you ask him one last question, “oh! last question,” you say, turning to him after you punch the buttons into the computer, “since we’re not at the restaurant, should i still wear my uniform?” 

“it’s a bit nicer of a catering event, actually,” he notes, “you could wear your uniform if you want but probably should wear something else, something a bit more professional, maybe? black pants, maybe a skir-”

“a dress?” you cut him off. 

if he says his words too fast, he’s worried that he’ll seem woefully unprofessional, but if he waits too long he’s worried that you might mistake hesitancy for reluctance. “yea,” he says, nodding, “that would be- that would be perfect,” he adds on, trying to be a bit more casual, a bit less flustered, “or whatever you wanted to wear.”

“great,” you say, nodding, “i still haven’t packed yet, so that is very helpful.” you wait a pause to see if he’ll continue the conversation, if he has anything else to say, because if he said a single other word, you’d sit right down and talk with him all night. you wait long enough and you’re somewhat grateful for his lack of response, because you need a good night’s sleep to be sharp enough for this weekend. “do you need anything else?” you ask, apron in your bag, bag on your shoulder, body towards the door.

he shakes his head, a smile on his face, “see ya tomorrow.”

“see ya tomorrow, samu,” you say, a small wave thrown as you leave the restaurant, unnecessarily giddy and very light.

/\ /\ /\

when he picks you up, you’re not prepared for how casual osamu looks, sunglasses and baggy black t-shirt as he walks around the front of his car to grab your bag. your tiny bag, your backpack. you were only going to be away for a night, you fit everything in a small black bag that you most definitely could carry, but he asks if he can put it in the back for you anyway. 

he opens the passenger door for you too, doesn’t linger around, just props it open for you to climb inside and you’re really not sure how you’re supposed to get through this car ride, let alone the better half of a weekend with just the two of you.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu teaches you all about how catering events differ from the regular restaurant. “they’re actually easier, honestly, ‘cause we’ve only gotta worry about the people in front of us, not seating or packing orders or answering the phone, just one at a time,” he says. 

on the drive to the hotel, osamu tells you all about his favorite songs, cycling through playlists and telling you why they mean so much to him. he learns about yours, not because you offer them blindly even, but because he asks, hands you his phone and tells you to play your favorite album cover to cover, we’ve got time. 

on the drive to the hotel, osamu explains the reason that he and his brother are so close, highlights moments from his childhood that he thinks contributed to who they are today, asks about your family and where you grew up, and is surprisingly good at driving while looking over at you with admiration in his eyes every other second.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu takes you to one of his favorite places to eat, hidden in a small town with a shitty parking lot, and he asks if he can order for you, recalls the time that you told him you were adventurous and not picky, but still asks you to trust him and you answer back a bit too quickly that you do. the food is simple but incredible and osamu listens to every word you have to say about it even though they maybe aren’t as concise as his and when the bill comes, he pays it in full, doesn’t listen to a single complaint that you have about splitting it or paying for your own.

on the drive to the hotel, osamu brakes a little bit too hard, reaches over and puts his hand on your thigh to warn you and your stomach has not stopped doing flips since. you have to fight yourself so hard to not put your own hand on top of it, to spread your legs a bit wider, to lean over and kiss him so hard that you cause an accident. 

on the drive to the hotel, you realize that there’s no way you make it through this weekend without doing something you should maybe regret, but don’t.

/\ /\ /\

but when you get to the hotel, osamu only asks for one key, no secret second one that he can slip you as a knowing gesture. your rooms are on opposite sides of the huge hotel, no running into each other late at night or being one wall away, and even though the two of you get dinner together after you’ve freshened up a bit, it wraps up pretty quickly.

as the two of you get up from the table, osamu reasons, “should probably call it an early night. we’re on at like 6 or something,” he says, “i’ll meet you at the bottom of the elevators at 5:55 to walk over there together?”

it’s the perfect opportunity for him to be bold or you to be outward, but you know that he’s just respecting exactly what you told him. he’s not going against your hesitant advice for last time to be the last time. he’s being perfectly attentive and a much better person than you probably would’ve been if the roles were reversed. 

“that sounds great,” you say, whining a soft question about why the conference has to start so early and he throws back a teasing quip of how you agreed to this and how business people need good breakfasts too. you walk back with him to the elevators, but you enter different ones.

and the two of you go up to your separate rooms alone.

/\ /\ /\

given that the night had to go as it did, vis-a-vi you not spending it with osamu, you’re grateful for how early you went to bed. waking up before sunrise is never fun, but you feel almost ready to accomplish a full day because you had a pretty good night’s sleep. 

you meet osamu at the bottom of the elevator promptly at 5:55am in the black dress that you mentioned in passing and your onigiri miya embroidered apron in your arms and you’re cursing yourself for not expecting this. 

all the signs were there, all of his mentions of a nicer event and nicer clothes and how of course it didn’t just apply to you. when you round the corner, you see him. hair combed neat, bangs pushed back, black collared long-sleeve button-up, and tan pleated dress pants, and you feel like you need a do-over of this morning, because how are you supposed to just not tell him how good he looks this morning and walk to work like the only thought in your head isn’t how badly you want him.

“morning,” you call out, soft so that you don’t startle osamu who is looking down at his phone, scrolling to pass the time. “have you been waiting long?” you ask.

“only a few minutes, my fault for wak-,” he starts, clicking his phone off and putting it in his pocket, and then he sees you… and then he takes a few moments to really see you, trying to cover up his wandering eyes with the rest of his stumbling sentence, “for- uh, for waking up on time, or- er- early.”

“how did you sleep?” you ask, breezing over his reaction, because if you focus on it too long you will sound the exact same way.

“good,” he nods, short response because he’s learned his lesson, “you?” he gestures towards the direction that you’re heading and starts to move, slow steps until you’re right next to him.

“not bad, pretty good,” you say, hesitating a bit because you know the connotation of your next words, but he’s looking at you patiently, genuinely listening and caring about how you slept last night and his collar is neat against his neck and if you don’t say something, he’ll never understand how sorry you are for wanting that last time to be the last time. “king bed was a bit big just for me,” you say as you approach the stand of tables and warmers and portable burners.

you step behind them, pausing to see how he’ll respond. you’re hoping for a sorry or a flirty is that so or we don’t have to check out until 3, but instead he just asks, “do you want me to do up your apron?” it’s the only time he’s asked this since your first week and you’re slightly confused until you nod yes slowly and he steps behind you, hands on your waist as he holds you still.

he pulls the apron out of your arms, smooths it over your stomach, tugs on the strings, sending you softly back into his chest. “sorry, doll,” he says against your ear, making no move to separate this contact. your eyes dart around the open hall that the stand is occupying. there isn’t a single other person here, but your heart is beating like you’re on full display. 

he runs his hands down your sides and your hips, holds the strings of your apron with one hand as the other ghosts over the tight fabric of your dress, palm kneading into your ass, sliding down the tops of the backs of your thighs. when he moves his hands, his hips replace them, pressed taut against you as he makes a pretty bow against your lower back. 

osamu pulls away from you slowly and when you turn around to face him, you can see his chest rising and falling slightly faster than before, a look on his face asking for confirmation. you put your hand on his chest, on the dull thumping beneath his sternum, “thank you, samu.”

“mornin’ rush starts at 7, so we should probably prep,” he mentions, bending over to pick up the rice cooker from under the table, conversation back to normal no matter how much you wish it wasn’t, “should be done after the lunch rush at 1:30,” he says, turning his attention to you, looking you straight in the eyes, “and i think check-out’s at 3.”

if you were trying to play coy right now, the whimper that leaves you ruins the entire facade, but you aren’t. you unabashedly need him right now, or at 1:30 whatever, and you want him to know that. “okay,” you nod, “1:30,” you repeat.

the second that you start working the morning shift, you’re moving nonstop, a constant line for most of the day. you have a few steady hours of non-stop work, and osamu is right, it is much easier. you only have to focus on one person at a time and you and osamu work just as well here under high, ballroom ceilings, serving onigiri to people in suits and blazers as you do in the small walls of onigiri miya.  

when you’re busy, it’s hard not to think only about the task at hand, at taking orders and making onigiri and politely conversing with customers. but when it slows down, when the tiny break right before 11 hits, when the late risers have finished their breakfast and the lunch cravings haven’t quite hit yet and not a single person shows up at the booth or even in the surrounding area, it’s much harder not letting your mind wander.

it’s only you and osamu, only the two of you, pressed up against each other, leaning on the back table, not saying anything, but a million things on your mind, not a single one not about him. you look over at the clock on the wall. it’s been 10 minutes since you’ve seen one other person.

“does it usually get this slow during catering events?” you ask.

“nah, but i think everyone is gone for meetings and whatever for another few hours,” he says, gesturing to the large floor sign with the schedule plastered on the front. “it’ll pick up once everything lets out at noon, but we’ve got like an hour until then.”

your eyes are up on the clock again, seconds tick, tick, ticking by, but not fast enough. 1:30 is too far away, isn’t close enough, not when there’s no one around and osamu’s side is pressed up against yours and his hand has just moved to rest against your other hip, arm across your lower back because he just wants to touch you. 

“i don’t think i can wait until 1:30,” he says, quietly and only to you, as if there were anyone else around to hear if he talked normally. you turn to him, chest against his side now and his hand moves to pull you closer, fingers spanning over your ass, gripping into the fat. 

you look up at him and you don’t even have to say it, don’t have to verbally reciprocate this impatience, he can see it on your face. you want to kiss him. he needs to kiss you. you can’t kiss here in the openness of the hall and it’s making everything have to happen much quicker. if you could kiss him now, feel his lips against yours and his hands against your body, you could’ve waited a few minutes to start undressing him, to walk back to your hotel room or find somewhere a bit more private, but without his lips on yours, you needed to get out of here right now. 

your eyes flicker to the sign, employee bathroom, and osamu follows your gaze, chest forward, immediately ready to follow you. he roots around the stand, finds a sign that says something about stepping away for a minute and puts it at the forefront of the booth and then you’re gone. he’s following you so closely, hand in your hand, rioting pulse against your own.

he barely has time to lock the door before you’re on him, pulling him, grabbing him, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt in a hurry to feel his skin in your hands, lips smashed against his as you do so and the second that they meet, all feels right in the world.

it feels like everything slows down and you let it. your heart beats a bit slower, more regular, you’re more careful with this buttons against his chest, your kiss is sweeter, softer. he’s holding your face in the palm of his hands, no tongue or teeth, just a deep kiss that has your stomach in knots, that could make you break down in tears, that could give you a toothache.

“m sorry i said,” you say against his lips and he moves to pull away but you push right back. you don’t care if he can barely hear you, you need to kiss him. you don’t want to stop kissing him. if you spent the entire hour in this bathroom just kissing him that might be satisfying enough. “sorry i said we shouldn't do this again, was really dumb,” you murmur.

he tries harder this time, pulls your face away from his, wipes the gathering tear in the outer corner of your eye, gives you a tiny peck, and then says, loud for you to hear it, “it’s alright, sweetheart, just glad to kiss ya again.” he has to wipe more tears now as they start falling down the side of your face, dripping off of your chin before he can catch them, and you don’t really know why you’re crying, you just don’t want to stop kissing him, don’t want to be without his touch or out of his grasp.

the second that his lips are back on yours, the tears cease, happy to feel him again and taste him again and you’re so slow to unbutton his shirt, but you don’t pull away until each one is open. you place both of your palms on his bare chest, slide them down the toned muscle and his abs, push your fingertips around his sides, and clasp them behind his lower back, pulling him with you until your lower back meets the counter.

he leans down, forehead against the top of your head, speaking into the tiny confines he’s created with the two of you pressed together and the boundaries of your chests. his breath is warm and his words shake you, “think i can properly taste ya now, pretty?” your knees are weak as you nod against him, whimpers plentiful as he helps you jump onto the counter and sinks onto his, perfectly level with your squeezed together thighs.

osamu places his large hands on top of your thighs, thumbs digging down against the insides to pry them open, dress riding up to your hips as he spreads your legs wide. you’re already drenched, soaking wet just from kissing him and listening to his voice and you aren’t the least bit embarrassed. he moves your panties to the side with one hand, pushes his other up your thigh, thumb following the inside until it brushes up against your cute little clit, flicking it with the pad gently. 

at the first touch, you recoil slightly, jumping at the sensation. osamu reaches up, places one hand on your hip, a tender reminder to stay put, and then he can’t help it. he leans forward quickly, tongue hanging out of his mouth, running the flat of it between your slick folds, curling his tongue to gather your juices, to taste them as they run down his throat.

the second that he tastes you, really tastes you, finally tastes you, he can’t control himself. he hooks both arms under your knees, pulling you closer, knocking you off balance slightly, back colliding with the mirror as he pulls your cunt into his mouth deeper. he’s using everything he can to taste you, to get you off, his teeth and tongue and nose and lips and you can feel every single little detail.

the noises coming from between your legs are so lewd, so vulgar, the wet slurping and heavy panting breaths every time he comes up for air. he squeezes your plush thighs against his cheeks, can’t get enough of your delicate skin and your sweet taste. he’s murmuring things into your soft pussy now and you can’t hear him, but you can feel the vibrations and if you weren’t so close to coming all over his tongue, you’d care more about messing up his hair as you thread your fingers into it, grabbing tightly onto his locks as you pull him in deeper. 

“samu,” you cry, tears starting again because the way that the tip of his tongue is prodding against your tight hole, circling around the rim, teeth scraping against your throbbing clit, mouth rubbing against your puffy lips, your core is on fire, so tight, and you’re coming all over his face, flooding and gushing, and the noises don’t stop, they get worse.

they get wetter and more intense and you’ve already come on his pretty face, but he looks up at you, mascara smudged against your cheekbones from crying two times already, and he decides that he needs to taste your come again. you’re so sensitive and he’s so good, it doesn’t take very long at all for you to be creaming all over his perfect tongue again.

“taste so fucking good, puppy,” he practically growls, low and breathless, standing up, chest sliding between your legs, “need-,” he breathes, “need to feel you all sloppy on my cock again, babygirl, yea?” you nod, reaching a hand up to rest on his chest and he leans forward for you to reach. your other hand stays gripped around the edge of the counter, bracing yourself for his thick, fat cock to split you open. 

you don’t need to watch him undo his dress pants or take himself out of his boxers. you keep your eyes on his, lift your chin up slightly because you can’t find the right words for if you don’t kiss me right now i’ll cry again. you don’t have to. he leans down, leaking cock pressed against the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips to yours, sweet and soft, back of his fingertips falling down the side of your jaw, palm resting on your collarbone as he pulls away. 

before he slips inside of you, he leans back, squeezes your legs together and rests them on one of his shoulders. he uses his hand to guide himself, rubs the underside of his head against your sloppy lips, grunting softly at how good you feel against his sensitive tip. this grunt only gets louder, deeper, more guttural as he sinks inside of you, thick cock pushing through your puffy lips and slick folds, and he turns his head, kissing the side of your calf.

he’s all the way inside of you, hips pressed against the backs of your thighs, kisses your leg again, shaky and ruined as he shudders, “fuck, bunny, missed ya, missed ya so much.” you don’t know what’s fluttering more, your tight, gummy walls around him or your flipping, empty stomach, and you don’t know how to communicate how much you missed him too. 

when you try, it comes out as, “deeper, samu, please.” it’s whiney and desperate and skips out of your tight throat, but he hears it. he understands what you mean more than you even do, spreading your legs again, letting them fall against the edge of the cold counter as he wraps his arms around your back, scooches you closer to him. your chest is pressed against his, forehead against his shoulder, his hand is on the back of your head, holding you close. he pulls you closer to him, deeper onto his cock, one hand on the small of your back, hips pressing forward to meet you. 

his hand migrates to the back of your neck, fingers twirling around locks of your hair as he stays buried deep inside of you, not moving, just feeling you surrounding him. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face deeper into the crook of yours, aching to have him impossibly closer. 

when he finally starts moving, his strokes are long and slow, pulling out so that his swollen head is the only thing inside of you and pushing back in until his hips are pressed flush against the insides of your thighs. “‘s that better, baby?” he asks into your soft skin.

“‘smuch better, thank you, samu,” you say in between soft moans and tiny sobs. “thank you,” you repeat, circling your hips, disrupting his steady rhythm because you just can’t sit still. he doesn’t mind, pulls away to watch you squirm as his cock disappears between your sticky folds.

“c’mere, doll,” he coaxes, helps you down and holds you close as he switches positions with you, his lower back on the edge of the counter, lifting one of your legs and resting your knee beside his hip and the top of the sink. “lemme fuck ya harder, okay, dove?” you whimper, nodding so hard that you make yourself dizzy, forehead falling against his shoulder again, kisses placed into his collarbones because you need your lips against some part of him. 

every time he pulls his hips back, slides his cock out of you to fuck into you again, gravity has you falling back onto his cock, harsh and sudden, filling you full every time his hips move away from you like you’re magnets. he wraps one arm around the small of your back, the other bracing the weight of the two of you with his fist gripped around the edge of the counter. 

he holds you against him and thrusting up into you is less like his cock driving up into you and more like moving you up. he can’t feel the drag of his cock parting your tight walls, but he can feel the pressure of your thighs weighing on his hips as he fucks upwards and he can hear the cute little noises you make as you fall back on his cock and he decides that he has to get you back into this position again, it’s like air to him.

“princess,” he whines, and you hum.

“babygirl,” he coos, and you hum louder this time in case he hasn’t heard you over the clapping of your sticky skin against his.

“my pretty angel,” he adores, and this time you pick your head up off of his shoulder, thread your fingers into his hair to force his attention, to show you that you’re listening really good, 

“samu, baby, what?” you ask, voice like flowing honey. you repeat yourself because it feels good leaving your lips and the smitten, blushy look that arises on osamu’s face needs to stick around a little longer, “samu, what can i do for you, baby?”

the answer is just this. he doesn’t say anything and he hopes that you understand, the only thing that he needs right now is you, is this, this slow, intimate moment where he’s looking at you and you’re looking back at him and he can hear every single time that your thighs slap against his and he can feel how warm you are and watch how pretty you are, and there’s only one thing that could make this better. you lean forward, press your lips onto his, exhale a breath against them. okay, there are two things that could make this moment better. “pretty girl, can you come for me?” he says, but that’s not quite right, so he corrects himself, “can i make you come?”

you swallow harshly before you nod, bracing yourself for the pick up in speed and force, and you’re glad that you do. when he starts to fuck into you harder, faster, not letting you fully fall back onto his cock before picking you up again. you almost fall to the floor. you’re balancing on one leg, but it’s nearly worthless, rendered jelly at this point, so you hang off of osamu’s neck. 

he doesn’t slow down with this extra weight, of your arms around his neck and of being completely responsible for you right now. really, the responsibility he’s feeling and the trust that you’re putting in him only makes him want you more. “come, puppy, lemme feel it, make a mess for me, yea?” 

the whimpers that tear from your throat fill his head so full that there isn’t much room for anything else up there, only the responsibility to hold you and the need to fuck you through it. you’re trying to get his name out of your mouth, but you can only give him broken syllables, though that’s enough for him. “s-a sa s- sam- amu-”

“i know, babygirl, i know,” he whispers, and he feels bad that he can’t give you another or wreck you even harder, god knows you’d come undone so much faster a fourth time, but he’s so close, so fucking close hearing you so ruined, feeling you dripping down his cock. 

“angel,” he says like a question, “don’t wanna make a mess on your nice black dress, doll. can i come on your pretty tongue, pumpkin?” he asks. 

“will you let me kiss you after?” you worry, the only thought that’s making you hesitate even the slightest amount. 

“oh, sweetheart, nothing could stop me,” he says, pressing a kiss into your temple before helping you to the floor. 

the tile is cold on your knees, but you only feel it for a second, the sensation lost to your brain as the only one that inhabits it now is osamu’s heavy cock on your tongue. his fingers are softly pinching your chin, thumb rubbing against your bottom lip as he pumps his fist around his cock once, a second time, and on the third stroke, his load is spilling onto your tongue. it doesn’t take him long at all, looking down at you looking up at him, heavy lashes and smeared mascara, kind eyes and swollen lips, pretty wet tongue and heaving chest.

he’s come between your thighs enough times for you to know how his release feels, slow and thick and plentiful, and on your tongue it’s no different, but you can taste it, bitter and salty but addicting, and it slides down your throat so nice that you barely have to swallow. you wrap your lips around his head, flick the tip of your tongue against his slit as one last rope coats the inside of your cheek. 

the second that he’s done, before he’s even caught his breath again, he helps you to your feet, picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist and kisses you as hard as he can. he can taste himself on your lips and it’s driving him fucking crazy because he knows you can taste yourself on his lips and he never wants either to fade. 

he can’t stop kissing you, can’t pull away from you, but neither of you can breathe. it was already hard enough recovering from something like that when you were able to catch your breath. when he finally does pull away, you can’t stop smiling. you place your palm on his cheek, gently, softly, run your thumb over his bottom lip because you know you can’t kiss him right now and this will just have to do for the moment. 

when your breathes return to normal, when the room isn’t filled with harsh claps and lewd noises and desperate moans, when even the sounds of tissues being discarded and clothes being smoothed fade, you can hear a voice outside.

“does anyone know where miya-san is? it’s nearly noon and he’s still not back.” 

the bliss dissipates quickly, bubbles of whatever feelings are floating around between the two of you are popped. the neediness has come down, your one-track minds now have more, and the moment you so badly wanted to capture in your heart forever now has a horribly tainted ending. 

there’s no mention of we shouldn't do this again as he leaves first, and maybe it's wordless, maybe it's gone unsaid, because it doesn’t need to be said. the ramifications of your actions are laid out in front of you. you have the entirety of the 5 minutes that you wait alone in the bathroom to count every single consequence of this stupid lust-driven endeavor. 

or maybe neither of you have the strength to try to stop yourself anymore. maybe it goes unsaid, because you both know that you shouldn't do it, but neither one of you is going to follow that. you already tried it once and you couldn’t even make it a few weeks, wouldn’t even have lasted this long if you were alone together like this sooner.

so why try?

you’re not exactly sure which one it is, which reason of unsaid caution you should follow the path of, but you do know that you’re going to spend every single day until then trying. you open the door to the bathroom. maybe one day you’ll figure it out.

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FORGETFUL (2.7k)

— isagi yoichi x reader

SYNOPSIS: after winning a match, the only thing isagi wants is you. though there’s a little problem…

TAGS: characters 20+, minors dni, mature content, fem!reader, established relationship, fingering(f), oral both ways, sucking his fingers, swearing, very much in love, aftercare, pro player!isagi

NOTES: meet my new boyfriend isagi yoichi.

it always took a while for the adrenaline to finally leave isagi’s veins after a match. there’s the pump of blood in his ears when he shoots the final goal, the roar of the crowd and the crushing hugs of his teammates when it all happens. it’s all so quick that when he has to recall his emotions in an interview immediately after, he’s pure ego and cockiness.

he scored because he’s the best. he won because he’s the best. what else could the answer be? especially when his gaze shifts to yours when the interviewer asks, “and what’re your plans to celebrate your win?” 

his pupils are blown out, barely any of the midnight blue of his irises to be seen. the crowd is chanting his name but he’s staring at you in the stands. his grin leans to one side and sweat drips off strands of his dark hair. he swoops it back with one hand to reveal his forehead and gives you a heart-clenching wink.

you don’t roll your eyes like you would when he flirts at home because currently, you’re in his world and he’s in his element. you’re in awe, your heart racing against your ribcage. an elated grin coats your face, paired with a little wave like he’d ever miss you in the crowd.

he leans forward into the microphone, low and flirtatious, “hopefully spend some time with my beautiful girlfriend. i think i deserve some love tonight.”

as soon as isagi kicks his hotel room door closed he’s ripping off his t-shirt in one swoop over his head and you know to do the same. it’s all a rush, a push of bodies, messy kisses, uncontrolled moans and a frenzy of hands. calloused fingertips are on your bare waist, your ass and the back of your head so your lips can meet his. you’re unhooking your bra and no coherent thoughts form as he sucks a spot on your neck. 

“all i fucking thought about was you when i scored that goal, baby. fuck the trophy,” he sloppily kisses over your chest and your hand pushes his face into you, “all i want is you.”

isagi’s touch and voice are rough, desperation finally unleashing like you’re under a time constraint. he shuffles your body with his against the wall and whines into your soft skin. you feel how eager he is against your stomach.

“wanna devour you, princess,” he breathes, fingers finding the button of your jeans and ungracefully popping them open.

“the bed, ‘ichi,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you by the ass. your legs circle his waist and a moan falls from your lips at the feeling of him against yours. there’s a harsh romanticism to it, a special type of glory where you feel like you won because he did. where he treats you like a gift with confidence that can come from succeeding when doing what you love. he got his moment to celebrate with the country earlier, you love that he always wants to spend the nights with you.

you know how he gets, his mind is on one track. kiss you till you’re senseless and fuck you till you’re begging to come. your hands smooth over his muscled shoulders, the muscles over his chest. he’s so beautiful and he’s all yours.

he plops you on his fresh white bed, causing you to bounce a little with the impact. his smile and blazed eyes make you feel everything. beautiful, loved, alive. he grunts above you, staring at your breasts and the damp spot on your underwear. isagi couldn’t have done it all without you, you make everything worth so much more, there’s so much more meaning to his actions when you’re there to look at him after. your eyes are just as blown out with bruised lips, staring up at your lover.

“s-so proud of you ‘ichi, my starboy,” you whisper and the pace slows down. he’s a fool for praise, he loves when you’re watching him and when you see him win. his breath hitches as he moves to yank off his jeans, leaving only his underwear on as he cages you in, forearms by your head.

“thanks princess, i love you,” he bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flicking over your face and body. he blissfully sighs when your hands drift over him and your arms loop around his neck. isagi’s shoulders are wide, biceps in biting distance and you get a whiff of his sea salt body wash he used back at the stadium.

“i love you too,” you hum, and he can’t help but press his lips to yours. then again and he nibbles on your bottom lip like he can’t get enough. “yoichi.”

“baby.”

“i think you deserve some love tonight.”

your words mirror his words from his interview and your boyfriend’s gaze darkens in real time.

“fuck,” he groans, resting on one arm to pull off his tight black underwear. one heavy breath leaves him when his cock slaps against his stomach and your hips jerk up so it can meet your clothed centre.

he grinds himself against you, rocking with a rhythm that makes your eyes flutter shut. he knocks your clit sweetly every time, “please ‘ichi.”

“want me in, baby?” he whispers, looking between your bodies at his weeping cock against your cute panties. you’re so familiar like he’s always known you, shaped just for him. “shit, d’you want me to fuck you?”

you release a moan in his ear, “yes, yes,” 

isagi hooks his finger in the centre of your panties, not even bothering to pull them off. he circles your clit with your thumb, using your wetness to glide across you softly. he stares at your twitching body, how your hands reach to touch him and the pretty whimpers from your lips.

“yoichi,” you plead and he laughs.

“okay baby, okay,” though it’s only when he fists his cock to position himself inside you that you remind him.

“condom, ‘ichi!”

you lift on your forearms as isagi’s eyes widen. “oh shit, can’t believe i almost forgot.” he mumbles, picking up his jeans from the ground to search for his wallet.

you’re barely paying attention to him, your hand drifting to your stomach for anything between your legs. “come on, starboy before i sort myself out.” it’s almost a threat, almost.

it’s only when a loud shit slips through do you look up at your boyfriend, completely stressed with his id cards, cash and bank cards dashed haphazardly across the bedside table. he’s raking his hands through his hair and his cock is leaking pre, leaving traces on his stomach.

“don’t tell me you don’t have one,” you whine, flinging your head back.

“i thought i… when were we together last?” 

you’d call him cute from how stressed he is if you weren’t bursting to be touched. “i dunno, i was with you in spain?”

“fuck, i didn’t get a new one,” he groans and you sit up, hands on his thighs.

“none in your suitcase?”

“nah, completely forgot.”

“guess you used all your luck for the match then, didn’t you?” you try to joke but it comes out strangled with how needy you are. as much as isagi wants to punch himself, he drops a kiss to your lips.

“i’ll go out and get some now, wait for me here pretty,” he rumbles but you shake your head.

you pull his arm so he rests on top of you again and isagi lets you. there’s nowhere he wouldn’t go for you.

“no, stay with me. we can do other things and you can get some tomorrow,” you say and interest flickers in his pupils. 

“okay,” he stuffs his head in the crook of your neck to lay kisses, “sorry babe.”

you laugh, “it’s fine, just please touch me before i explode.”

isagi shifts his focus to you completely, ignoring the stupid condom problem and the tight sensation at his lower stomach begging to be fixed. he presses a kiss into your cheek, down your chest where he bites the side of your breast to the prized space between your legs. he doesn’t think as he pulls off your underwear, throwing them in the direction of his jeans to stuff in a pocket later.

he’s fixated on your centre, how you’re so beautiful, all wet and shiny and whimpering for him. he groans before he delves in, the rumbles from his throat only heightening your pleasure. his lips wrap around your clit and your hand flies to his hair to keep him in place. 

you’re the sweetest, the sweetest nectar he’s ever tasted and he feels like he’s not even present with how softly you’re mewling his name. “ichi… oh, oh, oh,”

he slurps you up, two hands on your thighs to stop you from shuffling and twitching over him. it’s loud and messy, his spit mixed with your wetness and when your hips begin to grind on his mouth, he plunges two slender fingers inside your pussy.

your back arches off the bed in surprise and isagi grins momentarily at the sight. “c’mon princess, so pretty for me.”

he moves his fingers at the same pace he would his cock, fast yet with skill, rubbing against your softest parts and the parts that make you go crazy. he pecks around your clit, giving you little kitten licks which he knows makes your body twitch and adoring how you’re leaking up to his wrist now. you’re close, your lower stomach tightening and your thighs are beginning to clench around his head to keep him there.

“yoichi, i’m about too… oh fuck ‘ichi,” 

he loves it, his smile is wicked across his lips. “let go for me, all for me, c’mon.”

when the wire finally snaps, bursts of white hot electricity rush through your veins, shaking your body without a choice. your thighs clench mid air and isagi sucks on your clit through it all, his fingers still pumping for more. 

it all makes you feel lightheaded and sleepy so you tap his shoulder twice for him to begin to slow down. isagi stares at you like he does his trophy. glazed eyes, wandering to the sweat lining your forehead and your heaving chest. your inner thighs are all damp and so is his hand. he licks up his wrist to get more of you though stops when he stares at your parted lips.

“you okay, baby?” he whispers, kissing your thighs and the grin doesn’t slide off his face when you nod lazily.

“yeah, ‘ichi,” you reply, breathless.

he kneels on the bed, brushing his fingertips over your bottom lip. your eyes flutter open at the touch, finding him immediately. his expression is wistful and you don’t miss how hard he is against his stomach.

“taste yourself, princess. you taste like heaven,” he drawls and his chest tightens when you open your mouth for him to put his fingers inside. his eyes widen when you begin to suck, hollowed cheeks and your tongue swirling around his digits.

“fuck, not like that or i’ll come right now,” he warns and you don’t break eye contact, you suck until his eyes begin to laze and his breath weakens. 

then you pull him out by the wrist, “anything you want, starboy. you’ve been waiting for so long.”

there is some sympathy laced in your tone as you stare at your footballer and isagi looks close to begging after waiting so long. 

“c-can you hang your head off the bed? wanna be in your throat,” he rumbles, fisting his cock up and down to relieve some of the pressure. you watch the movement, his abs tensing and his thick forearms.

you hum in response, angling your body as he asked. he keeps his hand at the base of his cock as your mouth opens wide for him, and then he slowly slides in.

“shit,” he groans and you hold on to his thigh for some grounding. “oh baby, i’m gonna fuck you properly tomorrow, o-oh shit.”

he thrusts his hips as he would in your pussy, the feeling of his cock pushing down into your throat. there’s more space for him at this angle, more space for him to go further. spit builds in your mouth and being upside down makes you feel lightheaded in the best way. he smells strong, all man and the praise he sends you has your hand reaching between your legs again.

what isagi makes up for in girth he has in length. he’s everywhere, his veins imprinted along the side of your cheeks and the weight of him on your tongue. you’re drooling out the corner of your mouth and isagi can only make these animalistic grunts.

“i’m not gonna last long baby,” his voice is deep, every word from the pit of his stomach.

he eyes your throat and that’s all it takes for him to snap. he can see his length, every thrust and every gag that comes from you after it. it’s so raw and graphic and ropes of come burst down your throat. 

“m-mother… fucker,” he clenches his teeth, leaning forward over your body and he almost misses the orgasm shaking through you too as you tickle your clit.

when he’s done and you’ve swallowed all you can, you’re tapping his thigh twice for him to move. he flops beside you on the bed, pulling you up into his arms.

he’s all heavy breaths, chest heaving and his eyes are shut so he can come back to earth.

he forgets all about his win at this moment. about football, how he scored and the whirlwind after it all. all he knows is you. you smell like him and he can still taste you in his mouth. 

“i wasn’t too rough was i?” he murmurs and you kiss his jaw.

“no, perfect,” you reply and he hugs you tighter to his chest.

now this is finally when all the excitement and adrenaline from today has left isagi yoichi’s body. he’s just a bundle of limbs and muscle, yours to look after like he would for you.

it’s quiet and comfortable but when you glance up at him, you think he’s fallen asleep. 

“no, no, we gotta go shower, ‘ichi. you’re all sweaty and i’m all sticky,” you push at him to climb out of his arms but you’re left with a groaning boyfriend.

“can’t we just sleep like this? i just won a match and had the life sucked out of me,” he smiles at his own comment, “literally.”

your favourite midnight blue eyes blink up at you and you find it so hard to say no to them. especially when his hand drifts to your waist and he lays a kiss on your breast. 

“fine, then at least go under the covers and i’ll wipe down my legs.”

isagi can’t let you do that after he was the one that participated too. so he sits up, silently, kissing your lips before padding his way to the bathroom. he returns with a damp wet cloth and a clean towel to wipe you down with nothing but love and care. 

“everyone was screaming for you when you did the final goal, ‘ichi, it was insane,” you whisper, eyes nearly closing and all your words so soft. sleep was clearly catching up to you too. 

isagi smiles, nodding along, “i only heard your cute scream at the ref when that idiot fouled me.”

once he’s done, he picks you up to tuck you into the bed. it’s been a long day for you too, supporting him in the crowd and feeling everything he did. 

“shit ref,” you mumble against his bicep as he pulls you in tight. it’s a phrase he says all the time, now being said by you.

“enough football,” he sniffs, stuffing his head in your neck. he inhales your scent and he can’t think of anything better, “i love you.”

you’re barely awake, eyes shut with a ghost of a smile on the pillow, “love you too ‘ichi.”

a bit dirty - ch4

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch4 | next (coming soon) [masterlist]

// not the worst idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 9245 ᴡᴏʀᴅs (ooo, long chapter yw)

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, more bathroom fucking, casual osamu, meeting friends!~ ah! names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, this is the angst chapter, it's very small angst tho, fixes itself in the same chapter ily, developing feelings fr, afab she/her pronouns

join my taglist here!! ~~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

the chime of the entrance bell rings as osamu pushes open the front door, two brown bags of groceries in each arm as he greets you with, “can’t believe you’re here before me.”

“morning to you too,” you tease, rushing around the bar to meet him and take a bag or two from him.

“thanks,” he says as your fingers brush up against his forearm and your heart thumps a little too loud given that you literally just took groceries from him, but you’d argue that it’s not just the groceries, it’s the tone of his voice and his grateful look and the way that you swear his arm moves with your touch just to feel it a little longer.

“course,” you reply, walking back into the kitchen, osamu right behind you, and setting the bags down on the stainless steel countertop. you start pulling things out of the bag, vegetables and sauces and kitchen staples, and he starts putting them away in their respective pantry. 

“thanks for closing for me last night,” he says as he walks back over to the central table where you’re placing all of the ingredients.  

“no worries,” you say, shaking your head, “that’s why you taught me,” you reason.

“that’s true,” he replies. 

you empty the last of the bags, folding them neatly and placing them in the cupboard. “how was your brother’s anyway?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

“really fun,” osamu nods, mulling over something in his head as he continues, “it was nice to just chill on a saturday night for once.”

“i bet,” you smile, “bet you’re glad that I offered to learn to close, huh?”

“definitely glad that i trust someone else enough to close for me, yea,” he says, slightly altering the phrase for the better. 

you’ve only been closing for a handful of months now, were taught a couple of weeks after you returned from the catering event, a couple of weeks after you had sex with osamu for the third time, but on the fucking clock. meaning, it has been a handful of months and some odd weeks since you’ve mentioned anything about yours and osamu’s relationship and what the fuck the two of you are doing or not doing.

you’d think that not mentioning a boundary might be better, easier to navigate if no one has explicitly told the other that it shouldn’t be happening, but the truth is that it’s actually much more difficult. neither of you are sure where the other stands, what their feelings are on the matter, and that fact has led to a standstill. 

not for your job, of course. your job has never been better. you’re still learning every day, you and osamu are still working really well together on the shifts where you’re a team of two, you’re happily taking on more responsibilities and osamu is happily trusting you with them, you trust each other.

but the scope of your relationship, since you knew who he was, of the trust and the easy conversations, has only ever been within the boundaries of work, until he mentions, “you should come next time.”

“what? to your brother’s party?” you ask, and you’re sure you sound as in disbelief as you feel.

“it’s not really like a party,” he says, “there aren’t enough people there for it to be like a party. it’s more like just a small hang out.”

how is that better comes out more like, “then who’ll close for you?”

“we’ll just throw everything in a paper bag and deal with it the morning after,” he explains, because he’s thought about asking you and the intricacies of you saying yes before the words left his mouth, “‘ve done it plenty of times before.” you don’t answer right away, mulling over the ramifications of accompanying him to an event like this.

“if you don’t want to,” he says, and you recognize that hesitancy, the embarrassment, like he’s made a mistake by putting himself out there, by trying to progress your relationship and navigate this really weird time where the two of you don’t know what the other wants.

“no!” you say, abruptly, maybe a bit too loud, “i do! i absolutely do.”

“are ya sure? i know sumu’s a lot, but he won’t be the only one there, sakusa’ll be there and our friend, suna. they’re way more chill. not sure we could all take it if we had someone else in our group like sumu,” osamu explains and excuses all at the same time, slightly rambling, but you’re looking at him like he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

there’s no mention of aran or any other coworker you know and it’s just nailing in how much of a non-work event this is, no social safety net to catch you or to lean back on. osamu will be the only one you really know there. he looks at you, patient for an answer. 

you’ve already made up your mind, know exactly the response you’re going to give, but he just makes it even easier as he says, “i won’t leave your side, swear.”

you laugh, head falling from your spine, goofy smile, you’re sure, on your face as you nod, “then i’d be stupid not to, huh?”

/\ /\ /\

true to his word, the next time that atsumu has a small hang out, osamu invites you. he plans it all out too, schedules the two of you to work together that night, takes responsibility of driving you there and getting you home safely, double checks that you actually want to go, gives you plenty of time and a lot of grace to back out, but you don’t.  

the night of the small hang out, osamu is ready to leave onigiri miya promptly at 9pm. the checks are punched, the money is counted, and the receipts are safely stuffed in a bag for you to sort out tomorrow when you open. you change into more casual, less work uniform clothes in the bathroom, grab the bag of onigiris that osamu has packed for sakusa and suna, and then you head out.

“so which one of these friends is the one that was with you and atsumu at the club that night?” you ask as you wait for him to lock the front door. translation: which of these guys knows that we had sex in a dirty club bathroom?

“omi was there with sumu and i that night, but we’re all really close,” osamu answers, walking down the street towards his parked car. translation: they both know that we had sex in a dirty club bathroom. 

“how do you know them anyway?” you ask before offering a small thank you to osamu opening the passenger side door for you. 

“omi started as sumu’s friend, really, but then the two became inseparable, and sumu and i are practically inseparable, so, y’know,” osamu answers, “and then suna and i have been friends since high school. honestly, been the four of us for a really long time.”

“well, i’m excited to meet them,” you say very truthfully, “especially if you say that they’re more chill than atsumu,” you add, even more truthfully.

osamu laughs, “definitely,” he says, “they’ll love ya.”

the warmth rises to your cheeks, sweat to your palms, and you shift in your seat, turn your body slightly to face him just a touch more, to see the comfort in his features and the softness in his eyes. your heart a subtle drum, echoing in your ribcage, and as your fingers crawl against the center console, creep towards his resting forearm, the rumble roars reverberant.  

the tips of your fingers brush against his wrist and it’s like he’s expecting it, arm overturning, thumb brushing against your palm before threading his fingers with yours like that’s where they’re meant to be. it’s without explanation and void of any reluctance or questioning, reciprocated and assured. 

and you really wish you could make better sense of this.

/\ /\ /\

you assume that atsumu will answer the door given that it’s his place, but your assumption is wrong. when osamu knocks on the door, it takes only a few seconds for someone, you deduce suna, to answer it. he throws open the door, greets osamu with a wave and then you with nod. “yo,” he says, and then holds the door open for the two of you to step inside.

“suna,” osamu says, gesturing towards you, “this is yn.” it’s almost weird for your name to come out of his mouth. he doesn’t say it very often. sure, he does say it, but he doesn’t use it to get your attention and when he does refer to you, it’s not usually in front of you, so you don’t normally hear it. 

“nice to meetcha,” suna says, awkward smile and even more awkward body language as he steps further into atsumu’s apartment. “you work at the restaurant?” he asks, and you know that he knows the answer to that question, but he’s just trying to make polite conversation, and you do appreciate it. you nod. “cool cool,” he nods back.

you already feel like you’re failing at socializing, that osamu is regretting inviting you in the first place, but then he starts talking, conversation directed towards you. “yea, the other day at work, this weird ass guy came in and was practically hitting on you while he was ordering,” he says, practically starting a story, and it works.

“oh my gosh, yea,” you say, nodding as you follow suna into the living room, “he was ordering different dishes, but changing words in the titles to, like, make them pick up lines?”

suna laughs, furrowing his eyebrows, “how does that even work?”

“well, that’s what i was thinking, right,” you say, “but he was really creative, i don’t even remember what he was saying, all i remember was that my first thought wasn’t even oh this is weird, it was how long has he been thinking of this or is he a genius?” 

“well, what happened?” suna asks.

“i basically called samu over pretending to be confused about what he was ordering because i really wanted him to hear what-,” you say and as you’re explaining, suna walks into the kitchen. 

“keep going, i’m listening,” he calls out.

“oh, yeah, so, samu came over and the guy just starts talking completely normal again and i even tried to call him out on it, like, repeated one of what he said before back to him and-,” you say as suna returns, three beers impressively held in one hand, one in another, reaching out and offering it to you. “thanks, -and he just looked at me like i was the weird one.”

suna passes one of the remaining beers to osamu and sets another next to sakusa who is sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. “that’s insane,” he says, shaking his head, “so weird.”

“really weird,” you agree. 

“i always feel like there’s weird shit happenin’ over there at oni-,” suna says, but is cut off.

“hey! the star employee,” atsumu calls out as he enters into the living room and the loudness of his voice and the forwardness of his statement is unintentionally making you feel small very quickly. 

osamu rests his hand on your lower back, a silent signifier of the promise he made to you in the restaurant when he asked you to come, that he won’t leave your side. 

“hey atsumu,” you say, only attention given to his comment a small laugh at the end of his name, “thanks for having me.”

“i told samu that he should invite you over, hang out with you outside of work finally,” atsumu says, flopping onto the couch next to sakusa, arm flung around him, pressed up against his side, very in his space. “isn’t that right, omi?”

“the only good piece of advice i think you’ve ever given,” sakusa says, deadpanned, but the corners of his lips curl upwards when suna chokes on his drink and throws a thumbs up his way. 

“that’s a point for kiyoomi,” suna calls out, “if we’re all keeping score at home, that’s kiyoomi 162 and atsumu 1.”

atsumu sits forward, “that’s because you guys never give me well deserved points. what about the other night when i said that really funny thing and then i was like see that’s point worthy? and then you guys said-”

“not if ya ask for it,” osamu says, “that’s the most basic rule and has cost ya so many points, but ya still keep askin’ for em.”

“if he doesn’t ask for em, how’ll you guys know when he’s being funny?” you joke and the instant that it leaves your mouth, you’re so worried that it won’t land or that it’s too mean, but sakusa chuckles and suna laughs even louder than before and osamu smiles proudly. 

“that’s a point, that’s gotta be a point,” suna says, nodding, head looking back from sakusa to osamu. sakusa nods shortly and that’s enough for suna to laugh even harder. “tsumu, you’re tied for second, but she’s gonna surpass you before the night’s over i bet.”

osamu nods over to the couch as atsumu starts yelling at suna. he walks over with you and sits down next to you, arm draped over the top of the couch, just barely ghosting over your shoulders, and all you want to do is lean your weight into his side, but instead you stay upright, rigid almost as you hold the bag of onigiris in your hands. 

sakusa spots the bag as it drags on the floor, looks down at it and then raises his eyebrows at you. “you brought gifts?” he asks and you offer him the bag, leaning forward to hand it over. “thanks,” he offers, instantly rooting around to find his favorite and tearing it open.

“don’t get rice on the rug,” atsumu says, interrupting his argument with suna, clicking his tongue. 

“fuck off,” sakusa answers, biting into the onigiri again. 

“look, at least eat it over a plate,” atsumu complains, standing up and walking into the kitchen to grab a few small plates. he hands one to sakusa and another to suna, grabbing the bag from sakusa’s feet and throwing it to suna’s. 

atsumu is starting to seem less and less scary. 

/\ /\ /\

halfway through the night, atsumu is walking around picking up little pieces of trash and dishes that sakusa or suna have left, complaining loudly at every single one. “you guys are horrible guests, y’know that? ya’d think that i’d have ya over enough times and ya’d start cleaning up after yourself.”

sakusa and suna and osamu all ignore atsumu’s complaining while he’s in the living room, but the second that he disappears into the kitchen it’s more direct, “samu!!!!! come help me with the dishes,” atsumu yells. 

“dumbass, it’s your party, you clean up,” osamu yells back.

“you always help me with the dishes,” atsumu whines. 

he refuses to leave you alone. he made a promise. and you love having him here, sitting on the loveseat with you across from suna and omi, but they’re talking to you and they are, indeed, much calmer than atsumu, not that you thought he’d lie to you, and you’re enjoying your conversation a lot. “you go ahead,” you say, steady look thrown his way to prove how truthful you’re being and he hears it all loud and clear. he nods, smiling, leaving the three of you alone in the living room.

/\ /\ /\

a bit later in the night and the only two people in the living room are you and osamu, but there isn’t any space to show for it. you’re pressed up against each other, legs draped over his thighs, practically in his lap, pointing at the frames on atsumu’s walls and the photos inside of them and the stories behind them, finishing whatever number beer this is. 

you don’t even really remember getting into this position. it was either gradual enough to not notice the shift little by little or the change felt so natural there wasn’t a before and after, only a now. your spine is pressed up against the arm rest, backs of your thighs resting on the upper tops of his, your hand resting on the grasp he has on your knee, and the way that you’re pressed together isn’t even the most intimate thing about the two of you right now.

because osamu has been telling you a story for the past twenty minutes about the first year that he opened onigiri miya. you knew the jist of it, the broad strokes, the big details. you knew numbers and dates and first recipes, but hearing about his soft open and how his regulars became regulars felt much more telling. 

you didn’t know about his somewhat rocky start or the fear of taking out a loan to fund this dream of his or how terrified he is of failing to this day, but you do now. 

when he tells you, his voice is steady, genuine, and his eyes are comforting and grateful, and everything about the way that he speaks lets you know for certain that he isn’t just telling this story to everybody. as he finishes, patches up all of the gaps in the story that he skipped over and any details that he might have missed, you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his bicep. you rest your head on his shoulder, tucking your feet underneath you, knees resting on the side of his thigh, and he exhales, kisses you softly on the top of your head and says, “thanks for listenin’, angel.”

you turn to look at him, to rest your palm against his cheek, to thank him for telling you, but you don’t get that far, startled by the loud yell in the kitchen.

“you’re fucking so dumb,” suna laughs, the metalic sound of keys jingling follows, gets louder and louder until sakusa and suna and atsumu all emerge to pass through the living room to the front door. 

“idiot hosted a party and ran out of beer,” suna explains to the two of you as he pushes atsumu towards the front door, “we’re headed out for a refill. need anything?” you’re increasingly grateful that no one, not even atsumu, has made mention of how entangled the two of you are on the couch.

“are ya sure you’re okay to drive?” osamu asks, look thrown over his shoulder to atsumu.

“omi’s drivin’,” atsumu says, pressing an obnoxious kiss into the side of his cheek, “only had like 2 beers all night, first one was hours ago.”

“i’m cool,” sakusa says, nodding, and osamu doesn’t press a single second more, evidently trusting him. 

“see ya in a bit,” atsumu calls out, back towards you, waving as the door is pulled open and suna and sakusa leave in front of him. 

when the front door closes, despite the alcohol in your bloodstream clouding your thoughts a tiny bit, the realization hits both of you that you are alone, off work, not at work, and you both really love the way that the spots on your skin in contact with one another feel. you don’t say a word, let the silence settle in, too occupied with your own thoughts to try and formulate them into sentences, too worried about whatever might be going on in osamu’s head. 

his touch pulls you out of it, a gentle finger coaxing you to look up in his direction, dull nails scraping against your jaw, thumb nudging your chin, and this is the first time that a moment like this isn’t brought on the forwardness of your words. you melt against his warmth, push your cheek into his palm, turn your head and kiss his thumb. there’s no timer counting down in your head, no rushing to get this moment over with in time, even though there maybe should be some urgency, you just want to be here, present.

he moves you slowly, but confidently, reaching over to guide you by your hips until you’re seated in his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. this position is so new for the two of you, you on top, him looking up at you, the softness of cushions beneath you. 

you wrap your hands around the back of his head, thread your fingers into his hair, pull down gently on the locks until his neck is completely stretched, lips are as close to you as they can be without you having to move. he looks so pretty, waiting, expectant, patient, needy. you like this position very much. 

the slight pressure where your fists reside in his hair, this faint lost look in your eyes from having this tiny inkling of control, the weight of you in his lap, how your head tilts back as you pull his back, mirroring the motion you’re trying to achieve. you look so pretty, trying, out of your comfort zone, longing, restless. he likes this position even more.

he tugs you forward, shifts your balance, and you’re crashing into him, arm reaching out to brace yourself on the back of the loveseat, face inches from his. all he has to do to close the gap is sit up. your lips are soft, kiss is hard, and you shift your arms to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into you. 

you feel like a teenager, kissing your crush on a living room sofa, giddy and sappy and smiling as he wraps his arms around your lower back to press you closer into him. you smooth your hands down his chest, his stomach, press your fingertips into the inside of his thighs, nails scratching against the fabric of his jeans. 

“missed you a lot, samu,” you admit, forehead against his for a tiny breath break. 

“and i missed ya even more, love,” he shoots back, one peck pressed into your lips and then another. “i don’t think i can wait this long to kiss ya again.”

you shake your head against his, “please, don’t.” you kiss him again, more passionate, breathless. you need him to feel how much you need this, how badly you need for him to not leave you alone for this long again. “promise me,” you mumble against your plea. 

“promise,” he says, pulling away to look up into your eyes, “wasn’t plannin’ on it.” you claw your fingers into his thighs harder and osamu bucks his hips up into you at the touch, a soft groan leaving his chest, a knowing smile on his lips in response to your devilish one. 

“we’re right by the front door,” osamu warns, leaning into the crook of your neck, kisses placed against soft skin, fingers molding around your hips, dipping down the back of your skirt.

“you’re strong,” you reason, half-joking, “you can fix that.”

one second you are on the couch and the next second, you are not. you are in osamu’s arms, tiny squeal as he lifts you effortlessly and walks with you down the hallway. when he pushes open a door with your back and sets you down, it’s not nearly as plush as you’re anticipating it being. you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. 

“you really want to fuck in your brother’s bathroom?” you ask, curious, but impatient smile on your face.

“you really want to fuck in my brother’s bed?” he shoots back. osamu’s laugh tells you everything that you need to know, an easy nudge that just says, trust me, and you don’t have to walk down the hall and take a peek into atsumu’s bedroom or have osamu spell out all of the reasons that he thinks fucking in the guest bathroom is a better idea. 

it’s clean, really clean actually. neatly decorated, virtually untouched. small, sure, but you and samu don’t need an ocean’s worth of space, the two of you could make do in a stall. the glass of the shower is residue-less and the white solo-standing sink across from it is practically sparkling. the window is slightly cracked and the carpet on the floor in the middle of the room is soft. 

“yea,” you lean forward after a minute of surveying the area, hopping down off of the edge of the sink, “you’re right.” you rest your forearms on his shoulders, fingers clasped behind his neck, pulling him into you. 

you can’t move osamu like he can move you, not even close. you pull on his neck, one hand on his shoulder, trying as best you can to wordlessly guide him into the position that you want him to be in, but he’s too engrossed in kissing you, in feeling your soft lips and tasting you. if the roles were reversed, you’d already be turned around right now, moved with strong hands in steady positions, but you’re struggling to silently communicate that you want him to be up against the sink right now. 

“samu,” you whine against his lips, forehead pressed against his and now he’s kissing your pout, “lemme move you.”

oh my god, if he couldn’t have snapped right there, kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, fucked you until you couldn’t walk, given you everything in the entire world, every last grain of sand and drop of water, told you that he loved you or that he needed you or just that he wanted you to stick around forever. instead, he nods, can’t hide his smile as he moves in the soft direction of your pull, focuses on your gentle coaxing touch. 

he moves until the pressure stops, your hands drifting down his chest and then his sides, palms digging into his hips, driving his lower back against the sink that you were just sitting on. osamu doesn’t ask any questions, isn’t the slightest bit curious as to why you’re moving him or what you have in store. he can see it in your eyes and your assured movements, the unfolding of desires and plans, and he’s very happy to just be along for the ride.

you’re slow to lower to your knees, even slower to place your fingers on his belt, ghosting touch skimming over the leather and against the cool metal buckle. osamu is filling in everything in his head, swallows harshly before a shaky exhale, “fuck.”

you look up at him with doe-like eyes, happy for once to be the one seeing the ruin in his lust-blown eyes and the anticipation on his face. “haven’t been able to get the feeling out of my head,” you say, eye contact steady as you pull his jeans down over his thighs, watch him watch you as you inch closer to his heavy cock, jaw falling open and his eyebrows furrowing in response. “of your cock on my tongue.” his response comes in whimpers and tensing forearms and a tighter grip on the edge of the sink.

fuck, he looks so pretty waiting like this, trusting you like this, hips pressing forward the slightest fraction just to get that much closer to your lips. his lips are slightly parted, bottom one moving with every unsteady exhale, a subtle blush in the highs of his cheeks. you can’t tear your eyes away from him, not as you take his drooling head into your mouth, slide the underside of his cock against your hot tongue.

“angel, fuck,” he grunts, “mouth’s so perfect.” he wants to touch you, to grab you by your hair and sink deeper into your mouth, but your hands are soft on his hips, fingers tucked up the hem of his shirt so he can feel your nails scraping against the skin, and you’re being so slow and so caring and savoring every drop of precome and twitch of his cock. 

his knuckles are practically white, all restraint shown in the grip he has on the edge, because your mouth feels so warm and so wet and so good, but it feels even better knowing that you’re taking care of him in exactly the way you want.

you wrap your lips around his head, tongue laving over the slit and spongy tip, spit and precome gathering in your mouth, swallowing as you take more of him. your lips get tighter as you swallow, tongue slips against his length. it’s harder to focus the deeper you take him, the further his fat cock causes your jaw to open, the farther his thick head hits the back of your throat. moving your head back and forth on his throbbing cock, the image of him blurring as you move faster, but you’re determined to watch him unravel even heavier.

he’s leaving it completely up to you, the pace and the depth, and it’s so different for him to give up control and just let you do exactly what you want to him, but he misses the feeling of some part of you in his hands. it’s like you can read his mind, eyes flickering to his uneasy hands itching to feel something much more human underneath them. you slide your hands down his tense forearms, moving one to the side of your face and threading your fingers in the other. he doesn’t take advantage of this, this closeness to your mouth and your movements, only curls his dull nails against your warm skin.

you hum at the touch, vibration from your throat sending shivers up his spine, and if he watches you care for him so sweetly just another second longer he’s not going to be able to stop himself from coming down your throat. 

“sweetheart,” he mumbles, low and whiney. you hear him, but you don’t want to, too enveloped in the heft on your tongue and the fullness of your throat and the familiar taste. he mumbles again, tapping two fingers gently against your cheek to get your attention, “bunny, hey.”

the air is cool compared to your encompassing mouth and tight throat, and osamu silently curses himself for saying anything at all. “hm?” you ask, side of your palm coming up to your bottom lip to wipe away the gathering sheen. he pulls you back up to your feet, hand strong on the back of your thigh as he presses you against him, heavy cock nudging into the fabric of the skirt between your legs. 

his lips skim yours, not completely a kiss, as he speaks, “y’know what i can’t get out of my head, doll?” you shake your head, pleading eyes flickering to his lips, hanging onto every word, “how pretty you looked on top of me earlier.” the whimper this elicits from you drives osamu mad, large hand spanning your other cheek as he pulls you into a deep kiss, moving with you to the floor. 

sitting with you in his lap, one knee bracketing either side of his hips, osamu is now very grateful for the stupidly expensive, surprisingly soft rug that he failed to convince his brother not to buy. the heel of the palm of your hand on his sternum drives him down to the floor, looking even more up at you now as you circle your hips, rubbing the thin cloth of your panties against his leaking exposed cock. “like this?” you ask, breathy and somewhat timid to be in control despite the fact that osamu was patient putty in your hands mere seconds ago.

he nods, hair messy against the rug beneath him, and you can only assume that another part of your slight discomfort is that, sure, you’ve had sex with osamu in bathrooms, more times than you should’ve to be honest, but you’ve never had sex with osamu lying on a bathroom floor, and for some reason, this feels even more filthy than any times before. 

but osamu rests his hand on your thigh, pushes the fabric of your skirt up so that he can look down at the dark spot on your panties and the way they bunch and tighten as you slide your covered pussy against his throbbing length, bucks his hips up into you, lifting you off of the ground just enough to make you gasp, and yea, no, this feels incredibly right. 

you brace yourself on his sternum, lift yourself up slightly to move your panties to the side, no patience or want to climb off of him and take your panties completely off, you want him inside of you right now. “could eat you out so good like this,” osamu says, eyes drifting up your body before settling on yours. 

you shake your head. you want him inside of you right now. “next time,” you mutter, sinking down onto him slowly, inch by inch, and it just keeps fucking going. you tilt your head back, chin to the sky so that your moans have a better path to leave you. “samu, baby, fuck.”

when you’re finally seated completely on your cock, it’s like you can feel it in your stomach and in your throat, you’re so fucking full, he’s so fucking deep inside of you, you can barely fucking take it. you’re whimpering, tiny tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you babble, “fuck, i- you’re, mmm,” you shake your head, hand frantic to interlock with his as you circle your hips, not wanting to be without a single inch, “samu, fuck, so deep, you’re- i’m- i can’t- you’re so fucking deep inside of me, baby.”

he can barely take it either, so deep inside of your tight, clenching walls, completely surrounding him. every one of your tiny movements, every shift and circle and squirm, forces him to show restraint. he loves this view, this feeling, will continue to wait as you get adjusted and continue your fucked out babble no matter how badly he wants to flip you over and fuck you as hard as he can until you’re squirting all over the rug beneath you. “i know,” he chokes out, “i know, babygirl, i know.”

when you start to move, it’s nothing drastic, miniscule movements that don’t require much effort, pushing your hips forward, pulling them back, leaning towards osamu, tilting away. you can feel him move inside of you, but he stays this deep. all the while, you’re slurring nothing to him, tidbits of gratitude and cries of pet names, and if you’re this ruined already from this little, god he can’t wait until you’ve reduced yourself to tears, until he has to pick up the pieces and coax you through orgasm after orgasm. 

he presses his fingertips into the fat of your hips, helping you along, picking you up a tiny bit more every time until you’re forced to follow the motion, pushing up onto your knees and letting yourself fall back down, skin clapping harshly against the tops of his thighs. you push his shirt up, desperate to feel the tiny prickles of sweat forming on his soft stomach and his heartbeat against your palm closer. every crash back down, a tiny exhale expelled from your lungs, out your quivering lips, so fucking cute.

“goin’ so slow, angel,” he says, not an objection or an issue, tone steady and in awe, practically an admiration. you nod at his words, barely any room in your head for them amidst the so full so full so deep so fucking full and deep and so full so deep inside hes so deep inside of me im so full of him. 

your thighs are starting to shake, barely even breaking a sweat, but your core is tight and you can feel how sloppy you are around him and how all of your juices are dripping down his cock, can hear the sticky sound of slapping skin when you fall back onto him, and, “‘m so- gonna-,” you whine, “samu,” you whine louder, fat tears falling down your cheeks because you want more, need more, but you can barely even think straight, “please.”

he loves looking up at you, so pretty and needy, wouldn’t trade it for the world, so he’ll give you everything you want from down here. he drives his hips upwards, hands on your hips to move you against the weight of gravity as best he can. he’s barely even started fucking you when you tighten around him, flooding even more, soaking his cock, a throaty, “coming” matched with your eyes rolling back, fist forming around the fabric of his shirt. 

you reach out, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink, other hand plastered against the glass of the shower door as bounce up and down on his cock. your movements are unpredictable, not as steady as his thrusts nor as rhythmic, but driven by instinct and whatever you think you need right now. 

“wanna-,” osamu says, looking up at you, out of breath, pushing up the hem of your shirt to expose your stomach, “have to see your tits, pretty girl.” 

your shirt is gone, bra undone, and as you continue moving yourself up and down on his cock, you realize this is the most undressed you’ve ever been fucking osamu. you’re not sure exactly how that makes you feel, but you figure you’ll have time to deal with the feelings later, because right now, osamu can’t keep his hands off you and you’re newly exposed skin.

he’s running his hands up your sides, hands groping your bouncing tits as they follow the quick, harsh movements that osamu is causing. his thumbs flick over your nipples, fingers dig into the fat, and he really can’t believe he’s never gotten to play with your tits before. 

you can feel him everywhere, under the backs of your thighs and deep inside of you and over your chest and you’re coming again, clenching around him, grip tight around the sink as your thighs shake even harder, your movements weaker, slower, doll-like, as osamu fucks into you faster.

you’ve barely come down from your high before you’re ready to come again, thick cock splitting you open, hitting the deepest parts of you, filling you so perfectly. you’re so tight around him. you can feel every single throb, every strong pulse, and when osamu sits up, braces himself on his arm behind him, pulls your chest into his face with a gentle hand on your shoulder, you can’t help but cream all over his cock again, his name falling off of your tongue repeatedly. 

he can’t fucking take it, how tight your walls are, how creamy you’re making his cock, how sticky the tops of his thighs are. “princess,” he says, a warning, “where do you want it?” 

“on my-,” you breathe, you know exactly where you want it, “want it on my pussy.”

“fuck,” he says, shaky, “of course, baby, fuck.” he pushes forward further, creates a gap between the two of you as he leans you back, making sure that you’re able to brace yourself in the same way that he is before letting go of your lower back. he pulls out of you, thick cock resting on your sloppy pussy, hips bucking to slide the underside against your sensitive clit and soft skin.

he wraps his fist around his cock and you watch in awe, pupils wide as you stare down at his tight grip around his throbbing length, the way his thumb swipes over the head as he gets to the top. you reach forward, wrapping your own smaller hand around his cock. he’s so thick, so weighty in your hand, and every pump of his cock coaxes a throaty grunt out of osamu, eyes floating from place to place, on your cute hand around his fat cock, on your pretty tongue swiping over your bottom lip, on your bouncing tits as you stroke him faster. 

if it hadn’t been so long since he’d fucked you last, he’d have forced himself to last all night, just to watch you jerk him off all night, until your arm got so tired that he had to take over for you and all you could do was watch or use your other hand, awkward movements and slower pace, but different grip to get used to. 

another time, he thinks to himself as he thrusts up into your hand slightly, spilling over the side of your fist, thick load leaking out of the tip of his cock and onto your already messy pussy, creamy ropes landing on the insides of your thighs and on top of your pretty cunt and cute clit. you lean back, fingers still wrapped around his cock loosely as you use your other hand to smear his come between your legs, mixing his mess with yours before sticking your fingers into your mouth. 

your fingers are barely out of your mouth as osamu kisses you, hard, so hard that he nearly knocks you backwards, sitting up onto his knees to angle your head up towards him. he wants to tell you so bad, wants to say fuck it to all the voices in his head and the fear in his bones and just admit it to you. the look in your eyes when you pull away doesn’t make it any easier. 

but your hoarse voice and your giddy smile and your shy, “should probably clean up before they get back, huh?” pulls him out of it. he laughs, short and airy, presses another small peck into your lips because he can, and then helps you to your feet. 

“maybe one day we’ll be able to, like, actually clean up with a shower or something instead of just,” you gesture to the toilet paper in his hand, “this everytime.”

osamu smiles, grabbing your shirt in the corner of the room and extending it to you. “maybe that one day could-”

you didn’t hear the key in the lock or the door open, but you do hear atsumu throw his shoes against the wall and very loudly call out, “we’re baaack.” you look at osamu because you’re not sure what to do, half dressed, still a mess, rug undealt with and very loud evidence of something happening in the guest bathroom. 

“it’s so late, why are you being so loud,” suna retorts. you can hear the three sets of footsteps as they move in the opposite direction towards the living room. 

“where are they?” sakusa asks, and now you can hear the footsteps spread out, all beginning to look in different areas of the apartment, bags set down on coffee tables, doors opened. 

“how do we play this?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed, chewing on your lip thoughtfully, and osamu wants to just forget about making a smart plan and stay here and fuck you again instead or maybe just kiss you until everybody leaves or falls asleep. “samu,” you say, waving your hand in front of his face, “do you want your brother to know we had sex in his bathroom?”

no, no he most definitely does not. he shakes his head, thinking just as hard as you are on a good solution, on maybe sending you out first or walking out together quickly and hoping they don’t notice where you’ve come from or sneaking out of the window perhaps. you throw your shirt back on, straighten out your skirt, clean yourself up as best you can as osamu continues cycling through plans in his mind.

“they fuckin’ bolt?” suna asks, probably in the kitchen or atsumu’s room, you can’t quite place the footsteps. 

“maybe a good night for samu,” atsumu jokes, and you can hear the pop of a can opening and a soft oof as he throws himself onto the couch, unbothered now by wherever the two of you have gone.

“fuck off, miya,” sakusa sighs. “probably just left because they didn’t want to be around you anymore. wish i fuckin’ could.”

“another point for omi, count it,” suna says.

“what?” atsumu laughs, breezing past the taunts thrown in his direction, “i’m just sayin’ it must be nice to have an employee fuck buddy.”

your heart is thumping louder, harsher. you feel trapped in more ways than one, deeper than just not knowing how you’ll leave or get home, but in your own mind. you’re not looking at osamu now, embarrassment spreading through your entire body, showing evident on your face and in your shrinking posture. 

“you fucking serious?” suna asks, “you think they’re still…?”

“c’mon, he’s gone, fuck you think they went?” atsumu jokes, and you wish his words weren’t as firm or loud or correct. 

“i never said that,” osamu says, quietly enough to not breach the barrier of the door, “i’ve never called you that, or said anything like that, i sw-.”

“i should probably go,” you say, not hearing or not listening to whatever osamu is saying right now. it didn’t really matter what osamu said or didn’t say, it’s the perception that you didn’t want skewed in the first place, and here it was, twisted and contorted and confirming your biggest fears about falling for osamu as you did. 

“wait,” osamu says, hand reaching out to softly wrap around your wrist and as comforting as the touch is, as much as you want to melt into it or ask for more, you wriggle out of his grasp. “hey,” he says, softer now, just trying to get your attention. “how do you think you’re going to get home?” he asks.

“i’ll just get an uber or something, i don’t know,” your voice is shaky, weak, confused, hurt.

“no,” osamu says, taking a step closer to you, “no, you won’t. i’ll drive you back.” you shake your head. surviving an entire car ride with osamu after hearing whatever atsumu just said seems like an impossible feat. 

you don’t want to leave, but you don’t want to stay here. you can’t listen to another word, don’t want them to continue speaking or hear what else atsumu thinks of you. you don’t want to face them, god, you don’t want to face them, but hearing the rest of this conversation seems somehow even worse. you turn, opening the door to the bathroom, face warm and palms sweating as you take a step out into the hallway. 

osamu moves to grab your hand, to pull you back in, to just talk to you for a minute, but the second that you’re in the hallway, despite how badly you just wanted to quietly tiptoe to the front door undetected, you’re noticed. “shit,” suna says, under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to understand the gravity of the situation.

“thanks for having me,” you say, not looking at anyone, not directing the sentence towards anybody, shoes slipped on quickly, door opened quickly, and bounding down apartment stairs as you hear your name being called from behind you. 

the commotion behind you starts, an “are you fucking kidding me?” muffled by the closed door, rushed footsteps down the hall, and then the noises of the apartment becoming louder as the door is opened once more. you’re outside by the time osamu calls your name again. 

the instant breath of fresh air that fills your lungs is already calming your nerves, sending signals to your brain that it’s okay to start sobbing, the wind will dry your tears. you’re grateful that you don’t listen right away, that it takes a few seconds for your muscles to catch up with your thoughts, because the door flings open behind you, a huff of breaths following the sound of it closing, and jogging footsteps running to catch up with the distance you’ve created.

“wait,” osamu says, but you don’t stop, not sure you could even if you wanted to. you don’t know where you’re going or why you won’t just stop and talk to him, but you keep walking, one foot in front of the other down uneven pavement. “yn, wait, please,” he calls again, voice closer, projecting over urban noises and passing cars. when his fingers wrap around your wrist, the feeling of warmth and the beat of your pulse in his hand scream louder than anything you’ve heard tonight. 

you turn around and the thoughts and signals have caught up with you, blurry vision amidst a lash line of tears, and you wait. you’re grateful for the distortion, for the unclear picture of osamu standing there, face solemn and unsure how to proceed, how not to lose you, and you can’t wait anymore, “fuck, samu, what are we? what is this?”

the words are tumbling out of you now, every worry and clouded judgement from the moment you walked through the doors of onigiri miya, “fucking one time in a club before i even worked there, that’s fine,” you shake your head, pulling your wrist out of his grasp softly,  “fucking once at work after close, okay maybe less fine. fucking in a hotel bathroom in the middle of a catering shift? definitely crossing a line there.” you list off your endeavors, remembering them all perfectly well.

“now, we’ve just fucked in your brother’s bathroom, off the clock and not work related. and your brother referred to me as an employee fuck buddy,” you say, chest aching as the phrases leaves you, “i mean, am i? what is this?”

he doesn’t leave you waiting for an explanation, doesn’t speak over you, he’s kind and attentive like that. “i never called you that. i never said that about you, yn.”

“fuck, samu, it doesn’t matter,” you say, though you suppose it’s a slight lie. the weight on your shoulders and your chest is a bit lighter now, but not entirely gone, “that’s how they see me.”

“they don’t even know about any of those times after we knew each other, only the first time, only that first night,” he explains, but they’re not the right words. they’re soothing some anxieties in you, but not the right ones, but you don’t know which anxieties are the right ones. 

you close your eyes or turn your head, it doesn’t really matter, you just can’t see him. it’s dark outside and you can’t focus on much despite there not being much to focus on, and your voice snags as you say, “if i wouldn’t have made a big deal about this,” you swallow, even softer now, “would we have left that bathroom and skated around the idea of fucking each other until something snapped?” 

the tears have breached your lash line, have fallen down the inner corner, dripped off of your chin and onto your shirt below. “and what?” you laugh, “then we’d just repeat the cycle again? and then again? and i’d never be anything other than your employee fuck buddy, i mean fuck, samu, come on.” your voice is desperate now, cracking and confused, and he’s just standing there, patient and listening. 

“it’s never been about how you view me or how you feel about me,” you shrug, back of your hand smearing tears and mascara against your cheekbones. “or it has, but just,” you groan, frustrated, “i know you care about me somewhat or in cyclical doses, i’ve never doubted that, i just want to know that even though you haven’t called me that, that’s not what you think of me too?”

“of course not,” osamu says, instant and assured. he reaches out again. you let him this time, cup the side of your face, wipe the few remaining tears, pull you closer to him, but not into him, there’s a difference. he just wants you to look at him. “i’m sorry,” he says, eyes darting around your face, not knowing where to land, “i didn’t mean to make it this difficult. i was trying to be respectful and do it right and-,” he takes a deep breath, “all i want is to be with you.”

he continues on, voice soft and thick, soothing all of the right anxieties, “i’ve been thinking about you nonstop since that night at the hotel and i swear to god if we stayed another night, i would’ve spent it with you in my bed, in my arms, but we left and i didn’t- we didn’t-” he takes another deep breath, talks softer now, a tiny scoff preceding his words, “it’d be easier if i could just kiss ya right now.”

you’re nodding because he’s right and because your shoulders feel light enough for you to do that now and because everything that he’s saying is the everything you want to hear, but that’s not the reason he’s saying it. “no one’s stopping you,” you breathe.

you don’t have to meet him halfway, he comes to you. presses his lips against yours, snakes his other hand up to the other side of your face and holds you still as he takes a step into you, body close, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer if he can. 

he pulls away, breathless and the question is already leaving his lips before they’re off yours, “can i take you out?”

your first instinct is to laugh, and you do, because you know his schedule and his next planned night off. “you? get a night off?” you scoff, shaking your head, “who are you going to have close for you? me?”

he laughs, huge grin accompanying it because it’s so easy when you’re around, “no, no, i’ll figure something out,” he breathes, shaking his head harder, “it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you say yes and that i get to take you out on a date, a real date, and then we get to do real date things, and after date real date things.”

your laugh is louder now, lowering your head into his shoulder as you joke, “i don’t know if i can get the weekend off. my job’s pretty important to me.”

he kisses you again, absolutely beaming as he pulls away. “please just say yes so that i can start making plans.” when the joking fades and you’re standing there under shitty streetlight and nonexistent moonlight and you can see the seriousness in his kind eyes, you don’t want to keep fucking around, you just want to say yes.

you want to cross the boundary of hooking up and weird feelings and move forward to kissing at work and carpooling home together. you want to break this cycle and start new ones, ones with less confusion and more domesticity. you want definitions and declarations and dates and labels.

“alright, alright, yes, god,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows, waiting a beat before taking a breath and then his face into your hands to place a soft kiss onto his nose. “i would really love to go out with you finally.”

seconds pass and then minutes and osamu is just happy to be out here on the sidewalk with you in his arms kissing you every other second, and you’re just happy to finally be in a place where you don’t have to worry about the next time you get to kiss osamu again.

you’re the one that breaks the silence, a soft smile on your face unmatching the tone of your sentence, giggly and giddy and somehow just as needy. “can’t believe i’ll get to fuck you in a real bed.”

you’re expecting some form of scoff or laugh or half-joke or disbelief, but he grins at you, drags his lips against the side of your face, and says low in your ear, “i know, angel, can’t wait.”

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︴𝙎𝙥𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙮-𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚

dad! ushijima x reader

in which,, your husband wakatoshi has a sixth sense when it comes to your child

contains,, mentions of injury (there are none), uh,, falling babies??, ushijima being such a dad, c o c o m e l o n

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

it's a very slow day.

it's too cold to be outside at the moment, so you and your family settle on staying inside and staying warm without the comfort of your home. the only light on at the moment being the small lamp on the mini table by the side of your couch. you and wakatoshi are nuzzled on the couch together, you scrolling aimlessly on your phone while ushijima skims through the thin sheet of black and white newspaper. in the background you can hear the droning of cocomelon as Mrs. appleberry sings about washing her hands. or... something like that.

in between the two of you however is your 18 month old son, connie, who occasionally giggles and claps as he watches the bright colors portrayed on the television.

you would describe Connie as extremely energetic, watching as he always zooms across the house, giggling and babbling as ushijima chases him around.

this was one of those days in which the energy gets the batter of your son. he's standing on the couch, bobbing up and down on his chubby, little legs as he watches his show. you look up from your phone, pouting at how close he was to the edge of the couch.

"connie" you call out, with no response, of course.

leaning over, you gently lift up your son who's eyes were still glued to the television, sitting him down instead. you coo to him,

"gotta be careful, sweetheart. you could fall" you say, speaking in a soft tone but authoritative enough for him to give you a small coo in return. you know that trying ng to get conniento sit down was fruitless, as he prefers to stand up. you smile before leaning back against the couch, shutting your phone off before closing your eyes and resting your head against wakatoshi's shoulder. he looks up from his paper, eyes now trained on you.

"sleepy?" he questions, and you respond with a slight nod of the head. he could always tell.

"mhm... such a slow day" you yawn "just wanna nap."

"you can nap."

"I know.. but I wanna stay up with you two" you mumble, glancing up at him. your eyes had only left poor Connie for a moment as the two of you spoke. and it all happens so fast.

"well" wakatoshi starts, "I don't mind watching the—" and he pauses suddenly. within wakatoshi is a flash of realization and suddenly, for some odd reason— he's thrusting his leg out, effectively stopping poor Connie from tumbling down from his place on the couch. you yelp and throw your hand on your chest, heart racing. ushijima glances at your face, the both of your eyes widened at his reflexes before he's leaning over and picking up Connie who's eyes were still glued to the television

"hey, little one" wakatoshi mumbles, turning Connie towards him so that he faces him

"you almost got hurt. you're so full of energy, you know that? you gave me a heart attack."

" cu cu"

right. that was Connie's special way of saying "coco", which is short for "cocomelon". poor thing doesn't even know half of what's going on.

you giggle as toshi sighs, leaning over and placing Connie back on his play mat, on the floor and in front of the television before leaning back, shaking his head in the process.

"that was—" you shake your head in amusement, not being able to find the words. "how did you even do that?"

"you want the honest answer? I've got no clue" he sighs

"you're like Spider-Man"

"you think so?"

"uh, yeah!" you smile wide, laughing softly as wakatoshi's eyes peer into yours, "you were so quick and just— thank you, toshi" you mumble that last part.

"please, don't thank me." his hand slivers under the covers and entwines his fingers with yours, "I promised to protect him, afterall. it's what I'm supposed to do."

you smile, squeezing his hand all while never pulling your eyes from his. wakatoshi presses a soft kiss to your lips, and you try to push push down the smile making it's way into your face. when you pull away, you feel a tug on your pant leg. Connie is by your leg, up once again, one hand steadying himself on his feet while the other clenches and unclenches in a silent plea to be picked up.

"hi there, my little angel." you coo to him, smile wide as you lift him into your arms and on your lap. toshi scoots closer and from the corner of your eye, you can see a ghost of a smile on his face

"you bein' bad, hm? causin' such a ruckus" you baby talk him, and he only giggles in response, chubby hands resting on the sides of your face— in which you giggle back in return.

"I think he's only up here for the remote." wakatoshi chuckles, and you pout at him, averting your eyes for a second.

"he's not. he wants to be with mama, right—" you huff and stand corrected as Connie was, in fact, only reaching for the remote. of course he didn't know how to use it, but he knew that he wanted another episode of his show.

you sigh, "waka, honey?"

"already on it, love"

wakatoshi presses play on the next episode, and the three of you settle back into the couch and under the blanket. you tune out the television, going back to leaning your head against your husband's shoulder.

"still sleepy?"

"yeah..."

"that's alright, dear. rest up."

drowsiness overtakes you, and the last thing you're aware of is the giggling of your son and the soft pressure of your husband's lips against your temple.

and you finally allow yourself to fall into a peaceful slumber with the care of your husband. perhaps he has a sixth-sense for all things.

ෆ Not So Innocent

Synopsis: Sweet and innocent girls like you are his favorite thing in this wretched world.

CW: f!reader, pro-soccer player!Bachira, cunnilingus, lowkey dirty talk + corruption kink, inexperienced + implied virgin reader, car sex. This is for my beloved @sleepysnk ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

When you go out with both your friends and his, Bachira can’t help but keep his eyes on you most of the time. The pretty little skirt and crop top, coupled by that cute little soft pink makeup on your eyes, and gloss on your lips—Bachira is unable to avert his gaze, making it easy to get caught by you (and literally everyone.)

His eyes are wide, your bright smile sends shivers down his spine as you jump happily over winning some fucking game that he doesn’t even know the name of—the stupid and embarrassed look on your face as you sit and listen to everyone unabashedly talking about their sexual life. 

The hookup culture that you never wanted to participate in, and the relationships that you’re always too afraid of being in. Bachira’s eyes never leave your face, he’s scrutinizing every little detail of your cute reactions that you keep failing to hide from everyone. He keeps his gaze on you as he talks about that one time he let one of his fans suck him off in the locker room. Smirking to himself when he realized that you’re sweating from how the heat of your body was creeping up your face from all the unnecessary details he began to spill.

Damn.

Sweet and innocent girls like you are his favorite thing in this wretched world.

Bachira cackles when Isagi begs him to stop. 

Bachira doesn’t think that you’ll ever manage to get out of your comfort zone—you don’t seem bold enough for any of this. Damnit, he really wishes he could be the first to watch the way you’d cry from being pleasured by something—someone other than your pretty little fingers.

-

The next time the friend group hangs out at a club, you find yourself clinging to Bachira’s side since the others were already fucking around with other people, or too busy dancing. And you think that maybe it’s the drinks, but his hands are definitely playing with the plush of your thighs. Squeezing and pinching all that he can. 

You feel heat pooling between your legs when he places his hand on your inner thigh, letting his palm rest there as he draws circles with his thumb while chatting with Chigiri. 

“Bachira…” your voice is weak, dimmed by the loud music too, but he hears you regardless. 

“Hm?” His head turns to you, a small smile playing on his lips as your foggy eyes blink slowly at him. He leans towards you, his lips purposely brushing along your jaw before he presses them near your ear. “Do you wanna go somewhere private?” Bachira whispers.

The smile on his lips is stretched into a grin when you nod at him, eyes wide and doe—his fingers tighten to squeeze your thigh, then he taps you gently as he stands. 

You don’t expect to end up in his car, but there you were in the back seats of his SUV—kissing him desperately as your hands touch around his body, a man’s body…something you’ve never seen nude nor touched in your entire life. You are puzzled at the way you become so fucking needy, your body craved him ardently, wishing to be touched by his firm hands. 

Bachira’s pupils are dilated as his golden orbs glow brightly when he looks at you. His eyes smile with him at the way you attempt to follow his lips after the kiss is broken. “Don’t be hasty,” Bachira says. 

You are silent, peering at him and watching the way he smiles down at you as he removes his shirt. You shyly raise your hips for him to drag down your skirt along with your panties; instantly clamping your thighs to hide your most intimate part. 

“I’ll have to see what I’m feasting on, no?” Bachira’s palms grab your knees, fighting against your shyness until you let him spread you apart. 

Clenching at the cool air as it hits your dripping wetness, the back of your hand is over your mouth as you peer at Bachira. He is watching you through narrowed eyes, he blows some air on you then licks a quick stripe over your clit—giggling softly at the way your shoulders shake from shuddering, he presses a kiss to the side of your vulva, a bit close to your inner thigh. 

“Grab my hair if you need to,” is the last thing you hear before you’re struck with sparks of pleasure. Your abdomen clenches at the warmth of his wet tongue as he flicks your clit hungrily, your eyes dip behind your head and your fingers find purchase in his hair—subconsciously gripping the soft, ebony locks. 

So sweet, Bachira thinks. Fuck, you taste so good. 

You take care of your body so much, yet you never give yourself to anyone. Why are you letting him have you in the backseats of his car? Bachira wonders if you’ve ever had those nasty little thoughts about him the same way he does about you. 

The possibility of this situation happening earlier than this makes Bachira’s cock throb painfully. 

He’s thankful to taste you—to be the first one to taste you; Bachira’s tongue swirls your clit, flicks it messily between every two long stripes. He squeezes your thighs as he pushes his face deeper into your pussy. 

Your thighs tremble and your toes curl as tight as the knot in your lower belly before it snaps, causing your back to arch tight and your jaw to slack as your eyes are screwed shut when you cum over his tongue. Bachira moans as he sucks on your inner folds, collecting your juices with his tongue to swallow them and relish in the taste that lingers on his taste buds. 

“Sweet girl,” he pressed his thumbs in the plush of your ass. “How was it?” Bachira asks, hovering over your sprawled form. 

Your eyes are glossed from your tears, yet you keep them open to gaze into his darkened ones. “So…good,” you say, and it’s breathless too. 

He leans to kiss your sweetness into your mouth—letting you have a taste of yourself; Bachira thinks that maybe you’ll understand why you deserve to be licked and fucked good. 

Your arms lazily wrap around him, feeling giddy at the way he kisses your tongue, and swirls his own over yours. His hand trails between your legs, he dips a finger into you to feel how wet you are, then he adds another to stretch you a bit as he pumps them into you. 

“Bachira—”

“Say Meguru,” he murmurs into your neck. 

You hum softly, swallowing thickly as you mutter out his name, “Meguru…”

“What is it baby?”

“I haven’t…I haven’t done this before.” Your voice is timid when you speak, and the way you look at him makes his heart clench from all the wicked thoughts that simmer in his brain.

“Oh of course you haven’t,” he giggles, not caring about the offense he’s stuck you with. “Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you.” 

Your face feels hot—your body is burning hot as well, too exuberant to even speak your thoughts anymore. There is a real cock in front of you, it’s not from some porn video on your screen, and it’s not anyone else’s; it’s Bachira’s. 

Bachira Meguru, the boy you’ve crushed on since middle school, and grew up to watch him become a professional soccer player. 

Holy fuck, is all you can think of when Bachira squeezes his hard cock as he presses a thumb over the leaking tip. You part your thighs further, giving him more than enough space to settle between your legs. You think your brain has shut down the moment Bachira drags himself along your soaking folds—you feel the small bump of his protruding vein as it brushes your clit. 

“Meguru please—!” you cried, losing your (very little) self control as you held his wrist. Your cunt clenching at the sight of his sweat slicked abs and the clear precum shining on his tip. 

Bachira raises a brow, “didn’t I tell you to not be hasty?” he questions through a smile. 

When he enters you, you feel weird, there is an odd stretch that your walls aren’t used to. Not that you’re complaining, but fuck, his cock feels so good dragging along your tight walls. Your jaw is slacked from the curve of his cock as he kisses your g-spot repeatedly. 

Shit, it’s alien to you. It’s something you’ve never thought that you’ll experience, albeit all those videos that talk about how bad men are at finding your g-spot…they’ve become nothing but lies to you, because Bachira Meguru’s cock is stimulating that certain spot that has you seeing the stars inside his fucking car.

On another point of view, Bachira is so fucking sure that you’ve fucked yourself on something as big as him. To be specific, a pink jelly dildo that he always sees in those stupid porn pop us. Oh you definitely have done that, because a virgin like you wouldn’t be this good at handling cock on your first time. 

“Are you really a virgin?” He huffs out his question through his heavy breathing. 

Your gaze is weak as you struggle to hold eye contact, “I am—!” Your choked out answer is convincing, so he chortles lightly—taking your left ankle and pushing it high until your foot is on the roof. Bachira’s pounding becomes heavier, speedy as well; he brings his right hand to slap your boob, laughing at the small yelp, then he presses his thumb over your clit. He watches the way your eyes cross briefly before you screw them tightly, biting your lip as though you’d be able to muffle out your moans. 

A virgin and innocent pussy doesn’t suck cock this greedily on a first time. Maybe you’ve lost your virginity to your dildo, honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

“I wonder what toys you’re hiding.” You hear him giggle, his voice is nothing but a whisper in the back of your head as you’re too wrecked from all this warmth that’s building up in you. 

His hips snap into you harshly as he watches the way you break your back into an arch when he circles your clit. 

“Butt plugs, maybe?” He snickers, “are you even brave enough for those?” Bachira tilts his head to the side, he uses your calf to wipe the sweat from his cheek before he bites you—moaning against your leg when your pussy flutters on him, squeezing him harshly until his hips stammer with each roll.

“I have…those,” you manage to stutter out through your whimpers. “I tried—one time, it hurt so much.”

Your blurry eyes caught the manic grin on his face as he spoke, “you really are a dirty girl in secret, aren’t you?” he murmurs, there is a menacing glint in his tone. 

Bachira can’t wait to finish this round so he can go for another, and another, and another—until your body breaks from being folded into every position you never thought you'd be in. And he certainly can’t wait to teach you all the things he can do to your body.

©kenruu

If something doesn’t make sense, keep your mouth shut or I’ll blow my brains out. 😞‼️