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bookskeepers · 1 day ago

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third time's the charm ♡ chapter seven

content warnings: MDNI, bad jokes, reader rambles about neuroscience, sexism mentioned, dirty talk af, reader tries to hold a conversation during sex tho, oral (male receiving), fingering, peepee in veevee, protected, nipple play (m + f receiving), overstimulation, TICKLISH COOTER, i probably use every possible word for 'penis', not proofread

word count: can't measure on mobile so... ~3.2k? idk tbh

a/n: note to self: never write on mobile again. wtf. also the 'ticklish down there' is a self story bc when my ob gyn disinfected my hoo ha for iud insertion i told her it tickled (bc i was giggling) and she said I'm her first ticklish patient (and yes, i have also gotten ticklish during receiving oral </3)

taglist: @wakashudou @maddyb-rapps

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"Guess we're starting off with a bang, huh?"

The line catches you off-guard. After all, it's not actually related to the activities you two will be partaking in; your door did slam into the wall with how much force you used to fling it open.

After taking way too much time to process what he said, you finally break out into a fit of giggles. "Because," you begin, "we're going to have sex, but the door also whammed into the wall..."

There's a look of amusement in Tsukishima Kei's honey brown eyes as he takes a step into your dorm, closer to you. "Sure. We can say it was intentional."

You take a step back unconsciously, making room for him to pass by you into your room. Unlike last time, you forgot to clean up -- there are clothes scattered on the bed and three different textbooks opened haphazardly on the floor. Your rug is crumpled up in the corner of the room, a victim of an outrage earlier in the week at getting an annoying text from a groupmate about a project.

The minimal mess doesn't seem to bother him, though. You watch as he sets his own bag on the ground, noting to yourself that he actually brought a bag with him this time. He steps over the opened textbooks, taking care not to accidentally damage them, before he arrives at your bed. He's facing away from you, so you can't see his face, but you can hear the smirk in his voice as he picks up a particularly lacy bra that would leave nothing to the imagination if someone saw you wearing it. "Weren't gonna wear this one for tonight, huh?"

Your face begins to heat up as you rush over to his side, snatching the garment out of his hands and kicking it under the bed. "Uh, don't worry about that." Mai had decided it'd be funny to gift you the world's most revealing lingerie set (which was impressive, given the nature of lingerie) yesterday as a 'congratulations for hooking up with the same person twice' gift. You had opened the box and thrown it at her in shock. She had thrown it back, and it stayed on your bed where Tsukishima found it.

He watches you with a bemused expression before leaning back on your bed as if this were his dorm room, not yours. "So... what can you teach me about sex, from a neuroscience standpoint?" he asks, reaching one hand out to take your arm and pull you closer.

You stumble in the process, finding yourself flat against him with both your palms pressed firmly on his chest. "Oh!" you exclaim, face turning even redder. "Well, actually, all I really know is that women produce oxytocin when they... y'know, release, and men release dopamine, I think?" You begin to ramble, talking about the effects of these two hormones on the brain while Tsukishima watches, clearly listening to your every word.

As what was supposed to be a hook-up starts nearing closer and closer to a lecture, the blonde male holds your wrist up to his mouth, planting soft kisses on it as you continue to talk. "...so some really sexist people think that, because women release oxytocin when they orgasm and oxytocin is linked to pairbonding, promiscuous women are incapable of forming lasting relatio-- what are you doing?"

His tactic of slowly and gently placing kisses up your arm to distract you worked, as now your focus is solely on him instead of whatever neuroscience-related lectures were replaying in your head.

"Performing an experiment," he says between pecks, his voice low and sultry.

You raise a brow at him, biting the edge of your bottom lip. "Oh? And what experiment might that be?"

His other hand, the one not holding your wrist up, trails up your spine, applying a gentle pressure to get you to lean in. "Something, something, oxytocin. Can I kiss you? For experimental purposes, of course."

You close the gap between the two of you in response, contentment flooding your nervous system as your lips move against his. They're softer than you remember, smooth with the addition of chapstick. When you part for air, you feel the faint taste of vanilla.

"Sweet," you remark before he can go in for another kiss.

He pauses halfway, leaving the barest of space between you two, a slight smile on his features. Fishing through a pocket with one hand, he procures a tube of balm after a few seconds. "You like the vanilla flavor?"

You put on an expression of deep thought before shrugging. "I'm going to need a few more taste tests before I'm sure," you state, pulling him in for another kiss.

It doesn't take long for you to melt into him once more, that awkward tension usually involved with kissing a stranger long gone, since you've already, y'know, had sex with him.

Gone is the shaky, hesitant individual from last time. You're more confident in your movements with him, wasting no time in running your hands under the edge of his tee, the hem riding up as your hands go higher and higher. As your fingertips reach his pecs, you take a second to pinch and squeeze lightly at his nipples and you relish the groan he releases into your mouth as a result.

"God, I forgot how good that feels," he whispers, acting as if it hadn't been more than a week since the original hookup. "Do it again," he says as he lifts you up and places you on the bed before taking his shirt off, exposing his nipples to the cold air.

You don't respond verbally, instead opting to take one of the peaks into your mouth. You give it a good suck before gently nipping at it, causing Tsukishima to entangle his fingers in your hair and let out a small noise. Heat begins pooling between your legs in earnest as you continue to lavish his chest with attention, eventually switching from one nip to the other, one of your hands pulling and tweaking at the one that isn't in your mouth.

After a few more moments of this, he places his arms on your shoulders and you stop. His face is bright red and he's panting, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "Is that what it feels like when I do the same to you?" he asks in a husky tone, moving his hands from your shoulders to the hem of your shirt. "Because I'm about to do that to you. I missed them."

There's an edge of playfulness in his voice hiding the twinge of sincerity as he pulls your shirt over your head, once again taking the time to visually appreciate the way your chest looks in your bra. "I like this color on you," he says before he pushes you back rather harshly.

You lay flat on the mattress with a squeak as he hovers above you, one knee on the bed and the other leg straight. "Like this sight, too," he adds as he lowers his head to your chest, his tongue flicking over a clothed nipple. The wet feeling combined with the friction of the bra material against your sensitive flesh makes your back arch ever so slightly into him, and you can feel his grin against your skin. Tingles of electricity bloom around where his mouth and hands meet your breasts, and tiny gasps and pants leave your own mouth as he continues sucking and nipping at the flesh.

He pauses briefly. "Feeling that oxytocin rush yet, baby?"

"Definitely," you breathe out as your back arches up against him when his fingers press against your clothed core. "You could probably make it really rush, if you tried hard enough."

"Don't worry." He sits up, hands leaving your chest to start working on your bottoms. "I fully intend to."

You lift your hips into the air to help in his quest, watching the lust practically cloud his gaze when he succeeds in removing both your pants and undies in one fell swoop. "Shit," he murmurs, running his thumb through your folds. You shiver at the contact. "Good thing I didn't get a chance to eat dinner."

You lift your head off the mattress to stare him down, a look of shock on your face. "What?"

He laughs, now using his middle and ring finger to slide up and down between your southern lips. "Now I get to fully enjoy this feast."

Without giving you time to retort, he prods his fingers at your entrance and presses his tongue flat against your clit, causing you to cry out and arch your back. He wastes no time in attaching his lips to the sensitive bud as his fingers begin pistoning in and out of you at a relentless pace. He's far more ruthless this time, seeming to have figured out what you like from the previous hookup alone.

The sounds of your moans and his slurps fill the air, until he abruptly pulls away from your vag. "No conversation this time?" he asks, his tone almost pouty.

"Oh, I can talk if you want," you offer. He nods before delving back in, and your body shudders at the contact. "So... did you... you know that the clitoris is -- ohmygod, right there, pleasepleaseplease -- a bundle of really sensitive ner-- haaa -- nerves? And when you s-- just like that, you're doing it so good, don't stop -- when you suck on it, it feels fucking phenomenal?"

He hums against your cunt, sending vibrations straight to your brain. You continue to babble, occasionally interruptimg yourself to praise him. Your fingers find their way to his hair again, scritching at the scalp gently.

Unlike last time, where he managed to tear an orgasm out of you, you find the stimulation to start to be overwhelming. Your thighs are spasming and trying to clench shut around his head. A brief glance downwards reveals that one of his hands are unaccounted for, and suddenly you can hear the faint thwapthwapthwap of skin against skin underneath the cacophony of your moans -- is he jacking off?

Your body struggles against him and you find tears forming in your eyes from how the situation has suddenly become too much. He shifts his mouth against you and the pleasurable feeling vanishes; it's replaced by the sensation of being tickled. You push his head away, breaking out into giggles. "Stop, please stop," you manage to choke out.

And just like that, he stops. "Everything okay?" he asks, lifting his head from between your legs. His ears are red from where your thighs applied unnecessary pressure, and the lower half of his face is shiny with your fluids.

"Yeah, it was..." you start, chest heaving. "Just getting to be too much..." You sit up, scooting away from the edge and patting the bed next to you. "Besides, don't you think it's your turn to feel good?"

He raises an eyebrow at you before settling on the bed next to you. "Giving you attention is all I need to feel good," he murmurs, cupping your cheek with one hand and placing his thumb on your lower lip.

You press a soft kiss to the pad of his finger, before noticing that his pants are just gone. His cock rests against his lower stomach, the tip angrily red and leaking. "When did you take your pants off?"

"When I was eating you out," he responds in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm pretty nifty with one hand."

You adjust your position so you're straddling Tsukishima, smiling devilihsly at him. "Oh, I've definitely been on the receiving end of nifty," you confirm.

"You sure you're good to continue?" he asks, concern evident in his tone. Both his hands come to rest on your waist. "I'm okay with stopping, you know. Don't push yourself if you don't want to."

Those sparks that flew when you had kissed him a week ago are flying again and wreaking havoc in your stomach. The tender concern in his tone, despite the two of you barely knowing each other beyond the confines of your dorm, has you blushing bright pink. Oh God, is that what the bare minimum does to you now? "Yeah, I'm fine," you insist, leaning in closer. "I just get ticklish down there sometimes."

He's leaning in closer too, but he stops when you say that. "...Your cooch is ticklish?" he asks, flabbergasted.

"Uh, yeah? Sometimes?"

"That's a first, I think. That, and trying to hold a conversation while receiving oral."

"Hey, you told me to talk!"

"Guilty," he says, laughing before he finally closes the distance between you two. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you melt against him.

You don't get carried away, however, and before long you gently push him until his back is against the mattress and he has a look of curiosity in his eyes. You plant soft kisses trailing down his body, taking the time to nip at each of his nipples again, before you go past his navel, past his happy trail.

The curious look in his eyes is replaced with excitement as you place a soft kiss on the tip of his dick, licking your lips to remove the precum that had landed on them. It's salty and bitter, not that you expected otherwise.

"Normally I eat pineapple before a hookup," he states, "but you said you're allergic last time, so I didn't wanna risk it... in case... the pineapple got into my sperm, or something."

You gaze at him from beneath your lashes, ass in the air as you press your face to the base of his penis. "How considerate," you say right before licking a long stripe up.

His hips jerk upwards, throwing you temporarily off balance before you fix your stance. You take the mushroom-esque head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and revelling in his quiet gasps as you take more of him in your mouth.

His hands find your hair, entangling themselves in your locks, but he doesn't push down. Once again, you are blown away by Tsukishima Kei doing the bare minimum (not forcing you to deepthroat his dong). You can feel the appendage hardening even more in your mouth as you bob up and down, and opening your eyes reveals Tsukishima's thighs shaking with constraint -- perhaps restraining himself from thrusting. His head is thrown back against the pillows, and the quiet noises emanating from him are almost drowned out by the wet noises from your throat. You hope your brain is recording those noises of his, because they are divine.

You gag as you accidentally take too much of him at once, and he instantly lifts your head off his penis. "Don't choke, baby," he says in a mock-scolding tone.

"I'm fine, I can keep going," you retort, removing his hands from your hair with your own and beginning to reassume your position.

He shifts so he's sitting on his knees, pulling his lower half away from you. "As much as I loved you giving me head, that's not what I meant when I say 'I wanna be inside you.'"

"When did you say--" you begin, but he cuts you off by manhandling your position until you're laying on your back, legs spread, with him between them.

"Just now, I think," he says as he leans over the edge of the bed, gripping one of your thighs for support as he rustles through something on the floor. Within a few seconds, he straightens up and reveals the purplish-black packaging of a condom. He tears it with ease and slides it onto his leaking shaft.

"You're a Skyn guy?" you ask as he lines his dick up with your entrance.

He makes eye contact with you, a question in his gaze. You nod and gasp as he begins to push in. "Skyn's great. I feel everything."

"R-really?" you manage, "I feel like everyone prefers... prefers... Durex?"

"Nah, they haven't tried Skyn then." He, yet again, doesn't give you a chance to respond before pushing the rest of himself in. "God, I forgot how fucking tight you are."

You can't bring yourself to babble anything out, too lost in the delicious stretch and pleasure he's dragging in and out of your walls. His pace is fast, but not ruthless -- his tip kisses your cervix each time, but doesn't smash into it. He leans over you as he thrusts, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder so he can get in deeper. You raise your head so your lips can meet.

The kiss is fiery and full of passion and groans as he speeds up his pace, his hips snapping against yours. "Fuck," he moans into your mouth, breaking the contact to rest his forehead against yours.

"You must... be in peak physical condition," you manage to say between gasps.

"I play volleyball," he responds as he wastes no time in flipping you over so he's railing into you from behind.

"Y-you do!?" you exclaim.

He lets out a breathy laugh. "Baby, I'm on the Sendai Frogs."

"What's that?"

His next thrust is a little harsher than before, ripping a moan from your throat and causing your head to fall into the pillows. "Shit, sorry." He places a hand on your back and draws soothing circles with his fingertips, a complete opposite to the fucking he's giving you. "It's a volleyball team."

"I got that, but... Oh my fucking God, Tsukishima," you pant out. "I can't... can't fucking talk when you're railing me so good."

Your words of praise seem to spur him on because the soothing circles stop, instead replaced by the feeling of his chest pressing to your back. "Yeah? I'm fucking you good?" he asks in a low, sultry tone.

"So... so good, please don't stop."

He keeps his pace up until it begins to grow jerky and erratic. "Shit, I'm gonna cum," he whispers against the back of your neck.

"For me? Cum for me?" you ask in an innocent tone, despite the act you're engaging in.

He groans against your skin, and you feel his fingers dig into the soft skin just above your hips. "Fuck, yeah, baby, I'll cum for you."

His pace slows as he spills into the condom, and you wonder if he thanks whoever invented contraceptives whenever he finishes inside. Soon, it stops completely and he flops onto you, flattening you against the bed. "That was phenomenal."

You squeak from beneath him, his weight simultaneously comforting and a little bit suffocating. "Tsukishima... can't move!"

He laughs and gets off you, once again sorting through your stuff to find proper aftercare tools. "Sorry."

You feel the soft towel against your inner thighs as he cleans you up, before the material of your underwear slides up your legs. "I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow," you groan, feeling that familiar soreness begin to sprout between your legs.

"My fault," he replies drily. You watch as he procures fresh underwear from his backpack -- an overnight bag? -- and puts it on. He walks over to the bed after doing so. "Scoot."

"Telling me to scoot in my own room should be criminal," you grumble before scooting over. He gets in the bed beside you, laying on his back. It doesn't take him much effort to move you around so your head is on his chest and your body is draped over his. He traces shapes on your skin again, and you listen to his heartbeat. "Wanna stay the night?" you offer after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"That'd be awesome," is what you hear as your eyes begin to flutter shut, despite the lamp next to your bed still being on. The room plunges into darkness as Tsukishima turns it off, however, and the last thing you note is him saying, "Goodnight princess."

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bookskeepers · 30 days ago

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it's simple, you think. after all, it has to be simple -- the way he controls his body, his movements, his form with so much precision. the way he vaults into the air, one arm up, tilting wherever the ball is. the way the smirk appears on his features when he spikes yet another one of the opponent's returns, the way he glances at where you're seated in the audience to make sure you witnessed his scoring.

your loving boyfriend, number 12 on the MSBY Jackals, makes volleyball look so easy. so easy, in fact, that you begin to think that maybe volleyball isn't that hard; that it's a sport anyone could be good at. even you!

it's this thought process that leads to your post-game activity: you and bokuto, squaring up against each other on opposite sides of a practice court, him holding the yellow-and-blue striped ball under one arm.

"i'll go easy on you," he promises, his voice carrying easily over the distance. you can still see the faint sheen of sweat from his game, and you wonder if perhaps this is unfair to him since he's probably tired out from his match.

your eyes follow his figure as he backs away until he's standing outside of the court lines. they follow as he tosses the ball up, backing up a few steps before running forward with a majestic leap and hitting it with what you think is all the power in his body.

it moves so fast you barely have time to lift your hands in front of your face, to protect your nose from the impact. the ball slams against your palms, leaving them red and stinging as it falls to the ground. you faintly hear bokuto's "oh no!" in the background accompanied by the patter of feet as he runs over to you.

"are you okay?!" he asks, panic evident in his tone as he takes your hands in his, inspecting your facial features for any sign of damage.

your face is fine, luckily saved by your instinct of covering it with your hands. the same can't be said for your faithful shields, though -- they're bright red, and even bokuto's gentle caress makes you wince.

"i accidentally did not go easy on you," bokuto confesses in a whisper. "i put 100% instead of, like, 25%! oh no, oh no, what if your hands are broken? what if you never want to play volleyball again?"

"ko," you manage to say between his constant concerned babble. "i'll be fine, i'll ice them at home."

he seems to calm slightly at this, before looking at you with tear-filled eyes. "but will you still want to try to play volleyball again? it made me so happy when you asked, because i really love volleyball and playing with you is a really fun concept, because i love you, and i love sharing the things i love with the people i love and--"

you silence his chatter with a soft kiss. "of course we can try playing volleyball again. i've got the best mentor in the world for it, right?"

bokuto's cheeks are dusted with a light pink as a smile breaks out on his features, replacing his previous look of worry and concern. "right!"

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bookskeepers · 5 months ago

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third time's the charm ♡ chapter five

content warnings: light, awkward, both of them don't really know how to talk to people, reader makes a tiktok reference, abs, bra mentioned, no nsfw, tsukishima might be ooc sorry lol

word count: 1,646

a/n: i am running out of gifs. also sorry if my writing feels british my internal monologue is the same voice as baldur's gate 3's narrator 💔

also sorry this took so long ? it sat in my drafts for a week holy shit

taglist: @wakashudou

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Tsukishima Kei has three rules he follows when he's hooking up with someone.

1. Keep all communication to Tinder.

2. No dilly dallying.

3. Do not stay the night.

Of course, rule 2 had some exceptions -- occasionally he'd watch a movie to lead up to the act, but no more than that. He views hookups as a business transaction: get the goods and dip. Luckily, both sides (usually) benefit.

♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡*•.¸♡¸.•*♡

He hadn't intended to stay the night at all after your romp together. He meant to help you back into your underwear, maybe cuddle for a few minutes, and then leave. But with the way your head rests against his chest, and with how comfortable you look, how is he supposed to say no?

Your hair is splayed out around you, strands tickling his skin. He finds himself absentmindedly tracing patterns on your near-bare back with his fingers as he scrolls through his phone with his free hand, willing exhaustion to hit. Your dorm bed, despite being the same as literally every other dorm bed, is somehow comfier than his own. Maybe it's because he's sharing it with you, although he's not sure.

More often than once, he catches himself observing your sleeping form. Your head is on his chest, your torso turned so that your boobs are pressed against his own torso. He can feel the silky material of your bra against him, and he wonders if you're uncomfortable. It looks like the wire's digging into your skin from his vantage point. One leg overlaps his own while the other remains straight on the mattress, and the arm he can see is splayed out on his ribs. He watches as your chest rises and falls slowly, the pattern of your breathing steady in your sleep.

"You fell asleep so quickly," he mumbles out loud, impressed. Part of him thinks you're a little stupid; who would let someone they just met stay the night? And why would you fall asleep so quickly on a stranger?

Another part of him finds it endearing, though. To be instantly trusted by someone in such a vulnerable state... it's not a feeling he's used to.

None of what just happened was what he was used to.

Sex is a fickle thing, he thinks. He has his own experience with it, most of it involving smooth R&B playing in the background, the music intermingling with the sound of skin-on-skin and feminine -- and occasionally masculine -- moans. It's never been without music, and there's never been conversation when the act's actually started.

He enjoyed the conversation, though. Listening to you try to form sentences while he went down on you was erotic in its own way. Maybe it was the teasing nature of it, or the way you'd gasp and fall silent, head thrown back in pleasure, before struggling to gather your thoughts and continue.

He finds that his eyes are drifting shut despite trying to keep them open, that he's playing with something very dangerous. After all, he thinks it wouldn't be too hard to get addicted to this: laying in a twin XL-sized bed that's too small for two people with you using him as a mattress more than you're using the actual mattress. The weight of you on his body is more comfortable than he'd ever admit to anyone, and your mannerisms and personality have already been etched into his brain. You're different.

The thought snaps him out of his reverie and he physically cringes. He doesn't think you're the kind of person who'd enjoy being told, "You're not like other people." In fact, he thinks you'd probably smack him, although he doesn't know you nearly well enough to be confident in this assumption (but he's right. You would smack him, only because you take comfort in knowing there are other people who are as weird as you, if not weirder).

When his eyes open again, sunlight is streaming through the window on the far side of the room. At some point during the night, you must've gotten up to put on a shirt -- his shirt, he realizes with a jolt -- because you're no longer laying against him bare-chested, instead now clad in a loose, black tee. He fumbles around for his phone, discovering it underneath his ass. He taps on the screen a few times, watching as it lights up with a photo of him and his volleyball club from high school. The time reads 10:32am, and you're out like a light. No one ever said sex wasn't tiring, though.

His movements must be disturbing your slumber, because you shift in your sleep. One of your legs ends up fully over him while his free arm ends up trapped between your body and his. You sure know how to make yourself comfortable, he thinks.

Slowly, delicately, he extricates himself from your hold, each move calculated as not to disturb your slumber. After all, he hadn't intended to stay the night -- vague memories of the mild shock on your face after you asked makes him think you hadn't originally intended to ask, either.

He pulls his pants on before remembering that there's a bit of a dilemma. You're wearing the shirt he came with, and he half-heartedly wonders if anyone's out and about on campus on a Saturday mid-morning. It's not that he's embarrassed of how he looks, he would just much rather be able to blend into the crowd with ease. Being shirtless would prevent that, probably.

If he was wearing athletic shorts, on the other hand, he could pretend he was going on a run. Alas, he wore jeans to your dorm. It seems his options were either leave and demand you return his shirt via Tinder, or--

"Where're you going?"

Your sleep-tinged voice cuts through his thought process, and he snaps his head up to look at you. It seems his movements were not calculated enough, since you're now awake. He watches as you blink sleep from your eyes, turning onto your back to stretch your limbs out in all directions with a quiet groan. You sit up in the bed, glancing from him to the shirt you're wearing. "This isn't mine," you say at last.

He lets out a slight chuckle. "No, that's mine. You must've put it on during the night. And I was just heading out, actually."

You let out a gasp, clapping your hands over your heart. "Without even saying goodbye? How cold. How cruel, Tsukishima. I'm heartbroken." Your tone is light, teasing; he can't help but smile in response.

"You were sound asleep. I didn't wanna disturb you." His eyes trail over your body, hidden by a combination of his tee and the blanket that's draped haphazardly over your form.

You raise one eyebrow at him, a devious look in your eyes. "So you were just gonna leave my dorm without a shirt on?"

"Was hoping I could pass as someone going for a morning jog."

"In jeans?"

He falls silent at that, because how could he refute those words? You were just voicing his internal argument, anyways. He lets out a huff and sits on the edge of your bed, taking care to avoid squashing your feet under the blanket. "You have a good point," he finally mutters. He's not sure why he feels embarrassed, but he can feel the tips of his ears heat up as a blush begins to crawl down his features.

"I make those sometimes," you say. He glances at you and catches you looking away from his torso, your cheeks now dusted with the color of shame from being caught in the act. He lets out another chuckle.

"You can look, you know. It's not like I'm actively trying to hide it."

Your response to that is to fish out a pair of sunglasses from your nightside table and put them on before shifting your body to face him. You lean closer to his torso, remarking, "Sunglasses are so great because no one can tell where I'm looking," before straightening up and taking the accessory off. "Sorry. Got struck by divine inspiration for that one."

He just shakes his head, a look of feigned annoyance passing on his features, before he holds his hand out. "Can I have my shirt back now?"

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "I guess." With swift movements, his shirt is off your body and in his hand, exposing your bra -- and upper body -- to the elements. Now it's his turn to stare, and he does so without shame.

"You literally saw all of this last night," you state after a brief period of quiet. That snaps Tsukishima out of his reverie, and he puts his shirt on.

"Yeah? You saw all of this--" he gestures to his now-clothed torso, "--last night too."

"Touché."

The silence returns as he stands and shuffles about the room, seemingly aimless in his wandering. This time, it's tinged with an undercurrent of awkwardness, as if neither of you are sure about what to say next. Finally, he relents: "I'm gonna go now."

"Sounds good!" is your automatic reply, and he watches as you immediately facepalm. "Not good as in, you suck get out, good as in, go live your life, I swear."

"Haha, I got it, no worries."

And with that, he's out the door, the image of you shirtless in your own bed seared into his retinas.

Another round wouldn't hurt, right? is all he's thinking about as he walks back to his own dorm, trying to mathematically calculate how much time should pass before he reaches out to you again. Because you, as a person, seem to have him hooked with your charm and your appeal.

Besides, he's already broken one rule with you -- what's the harm in breaking the other two?

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bookskeepers · 1 month ago

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third time's the charm ♡ chapter six

content warnings: mentions of sex, bad pickup lines, some fourth-wall breaking, MDNI

word count: 1,381

a/n: it's been 5 months oops thank you all for waiting + sorry for it being short </3 it's a little filler-y

taglist: @wakashudou @maddyb-rapps

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You try to avoid being the one to text first after a hook-up, since it makes you feel pushy and bothersome. After all, both parties got what they wanted out of the encounter -- sex -- so there's no need to try and communicate again. As your luck would have it, you've rarely hooked up with the same person more than once. You weren't keen on breaking that trend.

Needless to say, you're pleasantly surprised when Tsukishima ends up reaching out a week and a half later. The Tinder notification appears when you're deep in a solo study session, eyes weary from staring at so many cramped words on a page.

Tsukishima: So. What classes are you taking this semester?

To put it simply, the question takes you by surprise. This man, who was arguably one of the best lays of your life, is expressing interest in your class schedule?

You blink at your phone a few times, certain there must be genuine confusion on your features. After all, what kind of hook-up wants to know your schedule? Isn't that strange?

Your first instinct is to text Mai, Kanji, Aone, Kosuke, or the groupchat with all five of you. But you know that'd be silly; after all, that'd be an overreaction. It was a simple question and you barely knew the guy beyond his prowess in the bedroom. Maybe he just wanted to learn more about you.

As you dwell on this, two potential responses rise up in your mind: you could bite the bullet and ask 'why,' or you could just give him an honest response without questioning it. Your initial read of Tsukishima was that he's aloof and likes to maintain distance, given the way he tried to leave your room while you were asleep. Him asking a question like this felt oddly personal.

You're so caught up with thinking of what to respond with that you eventually end up forgetting to respond altogether; it takes several hours before you remember that you didn't actually type a reply to the blonde man. After wincing in embarrassment upon realizing, you end up deciding on what you view as the less offensive of both options: answering his question without doubt.

You: hey! i'm taking mammalogy, advanced neurobio, an intro to ecology course, and a class about pharmacology. what about you?

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Forty seven minutes. That's how long it takes for Tsukishima to respond to your text. You'd expected for him to take longer; after all, he waited several hours to reply whenever you took hours to reply as well.

You waste no time in checking your phone when the notification arrives, pausing your studying once more. The bright light of the screen makes you wince a bit.

Tsukishima: Neurobiology, huh? Think you can explain the neuroscience of sex to me?

You have to reread each word over and over again before the meaning sinks in -- or, at least, what you hope the meaning is. You're not used to there being a second... session, for lack of a better term, with the same guy, even less used to the guy suggesting the second one. You can feel the blood rush to your face, certain it's tinging your cheeks pink. The heat also rushes elsewhere, more south, making you cross your legs and squirm slightly. The unexpected turn of events isn't unwelcome, though. You're pleasantly surprised that he both reached out first and cut straight to the chase. There's no need to dance around the bush when it comes to the more carnal desires of the flesh, after all.

Since Tsukishima hadn't taken forever to respond, you decide to grace him with an even quicker response. After all, why wait? You're hoping he's implying that he wants a second hook-up with you, another chance to get in your pants, and the best way to confirm is to reply.

You: oh, do you need a tutor? if so, i'm free tomorrow after 8:30pm... ;)

Satisfied with your response, you hit send and put your phone face-down on the table. You're sat at your desk for a few more minutes before deciding that you've had enough of studying -- it's 9:47pm -- and you deserve a break. You crawl into bed with a book that you bought recently, feeling a little happy about finally having the time to read it.

Unfortunately for you, however, your phone remains on your desk, just out of reach. And you become so engrossed in the novel that the vibration of a response falls on deaf ears, and you also find yourself falling asleep without a second thought after reaching the halfway point in the book at about 3:42am. There goes your sleep schedule.

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When you wake the next morning -- or afternoon, since the clock reads 1:12pm -- you curse yourself for forgetting to set an alarm before you got into bed. That's two lectures missed, so while you're mad, you also take it as a sign from some higher power that today was not a day for you to attend classes.

You change out of the clothes you slept in into something far more comfy before sitting down at your desk, checking your phone before plugging it in to charge. The Tinder notification sits proudly at the top of the list, above the automated promotional texts and email notifications. You tap on it, noting that the reply came the night before at 10:12pm, a grin spreading on your tired features as you absorb the words Tsukishima sent.

Tsukishima: Sounds good. I'll bring my already-filled-out neurobiology notebook this time.

You tap out a quick response -- perf. see you tonight! -- before letting out a deep, shaky breath. You just committed to a second hook-up with this incredibly attractive, tall, blonde man. You're not quite sure how he wasn't turned off by your incessant babbling during the act, but you're going to try and not dwell on it. After all, you're in college; pretty much everyone is looking for a quick fuck, right?

And so, your stress begins. Somehow, the thought of seeing him again wearing anything less than the perfect outfit has you sweating, even though he's already seen you naked, in pajamas, and also in his own clothing. You immediately stand up from your desk with enough force to accidentally knock the chair over, wincing at the loud bang despite it being a perfectly normal time to make accidental noise. You quickly right your chair before whizzing over to the wardrobe on the other side of the room, opening the doors wide and staring at the clothing hooks laden with garments.

It takes you several different iterations of roughly twenty three different options before you decide on fun, two-tone jeans with a top in a hue that flatters your skin tone. Simple and elegant, which should translate to "decent-looking and not a total gremlin" in other people's eyes.

Now that the outfit is out of the way, you spend the next seven hours stressing about how there's so much time left and it's crawling by so slowly until, tada, it's 8:30pm or so. Now, you spend your time stressing about when exactly he's going to get to your dorm, whether he'll text you when he's on his way, if he'll surprise you with a knock out of nowhere... It's all a very productive use of your time.

The time creeps closer to 9:00pm when the knock finally sounds -- he didn't tell you when he began his journey towards your residence -- and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Really, you shouldn't be so nervous! After all, this man has already seen you naked and decided he liked what he saw and heard enough to ask you for sexual favors again.

Sometimes you wish you phrased things better in your brain.

Deciding not to let yourself dwell in your thoughts any longer, you approach the door and take another deep breath before flinging it open with so much force it slams against the wall. Both you and the blonde jump in response, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips.

"Hey," you say, praying that your eagerness didn't leave a hole in the wall.

"Hey," he replies. "Guess we're starting off with a bang, huh?"

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