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soft4gguk · 3 years ago

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"boyfriend of my dreams" pt. 3

Pairing: jungkook x reader

Genre: college au. pwp. smut. strangers to lovers (or are they?)

Word count: 8.6k

Warnings: . angst, angst, angst :(, oc mean agenda (pls dont give up on her yet!!!), jungkook truly best boy, oral (m. receiving), fingering, lil dry humping, protected sex!, multiple orgasms, aftercare *sobs* want him so bad y'all.

Author’s note: I loved writing this. I got so immersed in it and I couldn't stop. I love this jungkook and I love their dynamic, even if it literally pains me to write it sometimes. I listened to my ultimate sad Taylor swift songs playlist whilst writing this. and 'this love' played on loop more times than I'll admit - but you'd have to read to know just how much. thank u for being here, I appreciate it more than I'll ever be able to say. I love u guys sm. <3333 xx & loads of o's.

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

pt. 3

Jungkook’s head spins – he can quite literally feel the heaviness that comes with it, and it engulfs his entire body in that hazy feeling. His head hits the wall, eyes closing as his chest heaves, running a hand through his hair. You don’t waste any time, too desperate to feel his skin on yours, fingers skimming up his thighs. Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth as they inch closer to the waistband of his grey sweatpants. You haven’t touched him yet, so it’s unclear to you if he’s hard, but the outline of his cock through the thin material makes your mouth water. It’s when you hook your fingers inside the elastic that Jungkook’s eyes snap open, looking down at you. You’re looking at him, a darkened gaze adorning your pretty eyes and even with the slight touch of your knuckles at his hipbone, you’re driving him crazy enough to almost not question this whole thing.

Almost.

“Wait, wait…” his voice is gentle, soft.

“What?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he stopped you, or what he wants to say. All he knows is that there’s a franticness about your actions that doesn’t feel quite right to him. Like you’re running from something that would be too uncomfortable to walk on.

“Are you- is everything okay?” Is all he can muster instead.

“I was just about to give you head, and you stopped me to small talk. I think I should be asking you that.”

You get up from your kneeling position on the floor, ego clearly bruised as you cross your arms in front of your chest – an act that seems childish to Jungkook and it’s then he’s glad he stopped you.

“I’m sorry. I- fuck. I want you to- do that. Very much so. It’s just… I don’t get you, ___.”

“What do you want to get? What is there to get?” You grow exasperated, eyes avoiding his.

“I don’t know, that’s the thing. Do you want to come in?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding apologetic. His voice holds a world of patience that you could never hold, or have received, in your life. “We can talk here.”

“I don’t want to talk, to be honest. So, in that case, I better get going.” You turn around, still fighting yourself so as not to look at him. So as not to meet his eyes. it’s a combination of embarrassment and that same lingering feeling that you can’t quite put words on. That feeling you don’t intend on putting words on.

“You’re gorgeous. And funny. Even if it makes you a little mean sometimes. I’ve wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you-”

You interrupt him, your piercing gaze landing on his tender one. “When? When I was trying to fuck your best buddy?”

“No. I, uh, first saw you at a party. At Yoongi’s I’m pretty sure.”

“So, what was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“What did they say to make you want me?”

“I- it wasn’t like that.”

You’re not getting anywhere with this conversation. At least nowhere that you find useful anyways. You didn’t come here to talk about feelings, much less the root of them. You sigh, rolling your eyes and feigning defeat.

Your strategy changes.

“Listen, I came here because I owe you one.” There’s a hint of a smile playing at your lips.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he says.

“Okay, then. It’s just simple generosity. I want to fuck you. I can’t get it out of my head, so might as well get it out of my system.”

His eyes widen – it shocks him to hear you say it so bluntly like that.

“I-”

You take a step closer to him. “Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“I changed my mind. I do want to come in,” your voice is sultry and he knows you’re playing. He knows you don’t want to ‘come in’ to talk, like he propositioned the first time. He’s also aware that he should do better, stand his ground. Be smarter than this. But,

He nods.

Your lips are on his and you kiss him exactly the way he wants you to. Slow and deep, coaxing him into it before your tongue is grazing his bottom lip as he parts his mouth, granting you entrance as your tongues meet.

“This is all I could think about,” you say, lips never parting from his. Your tone is sensual and it buzzes electricity all through his body. “Ever since you left my car, all I could think about was kissing you.”

He doesn’t know if you’re being genuine. More so, he doesn’t know if it’s your heart or your body speaking. With the way your chest flushes to his, a little moan escaping your mouth at the feel of his taut muscles grazing your nipples, he figures it’s probably the latter.

“Yeah?” he says, brain too foggy with lust.

“Yeah- I want you so bad.” It’s a whisper.

“Fuck.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to him. You give a little jump, wrapping your legs around his waist, holding tightly to him, wanting to feel him everywhere. He walks backwards, his free hand squeezing your ass from underneath your skirt. It’s so short, granting him easy access as he kneads the flesh. You’re soft and plump all over and now he’s the one moaning into your mouth.

The back of his knees hit the couch and he lowers his body, sitting down with you still on top of him, straddling his lap. You let out a giggle, giddy and excited. Pleased from getting exactly what you wanted. You grind your hips tentatively against his, emitting a hiss that passes through his reddened lips. They’re so red and pretty from your kisses and bites; you let yourself stare at him, basking in the way his eyes fight to stay open. He lets you stare – he lets you look at him, cheeks flushing at your intense gaze but suddenly confident, so different like this. You circle your hips and a raspy moan leaves him, fingers digging into your hips, head hitting the back of the couch and eyes shutting close. It feels so good, even through the layers, and the mere idea of being inside you drives him wild.

“Jungkookie,” you say, voice low.

“Hm,” he says, eyes back to you.

“I’m gonna blow you now.”

“Shit,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Yeah- yes. Please.”

You palm the center of his chest, pushing him back with enough force to snap him into the moment. You make your way down, kneeling before him, sitting pretty between his legs, thighs thick and strong on your fingers and you feel your mouth water at the anticipation. Not wanting to waste any more time, your fingers hook inside the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling down. He’s not wearing anything under and you have to fight the urge not to roll your eyes – this time from pleasure, not annoyance.

His palms push into the couch, fighting his pleasure to keep his eyes open so he can take you in – take you in through every step of the way. The moment his sweatpants come past his hips, your eyes zero in on his cock. He’s big and you don’t fight it when your eyes widen at the sight of him. But beyond that, he’s hard and pretty. Probably the prettiest in your book, a vein running from base to tip, leaking a bead of precum. He hisses the moment you wrap your hand around him, so overwhelmed from the feeling it almost feels like he’s running away from you, sinking into the couch further. He feels hot and heavy in your hold and you give a tentative stroke, gaze locked on his as you let out a little scoff.

“You know, Jungkook…,” you start. “You don’t necessarily carry yourself in relation to your attributes.”

You’re using big words on him and he’d be lying if he said he was following. All he can think of is how warm and soft your hand feels wrapped around his cock, the way your lips move as you speak – red and plump, and he burns in anticipation thinking about how they’re going to look wrapped around him.

“W-what do you mean?”

You don’t answer his question right away, taking him by surprise as you lower your head and wrap your pretty lips around his tip, tongue coming out to tease his slit before circling his head, eyes never leaving him. His eyes widen for a second before his lust wins the race, tightly shutting them close as he throws his head back in pleasure with a throaty moan. You take him all the way in, a quick motion that has him hitting the back of your throat and it feels so fucking good, Jungkook swears he’ll never feel this way again. His hand wraps around your neck, looking up at you with hazy eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his teeth releasing the plumpness of his bottom lip.

You smile, pleased with yourself as you grant him pleasure, mouthful of him still as you say, “your cock is so big.”

It’s filthy. Your words, the fact that you still have him in your mouth, drool dripping down your chin and eyes watery. Your words vibrate against him and it makes his cock throb, a whine passing his lips.

“Thanks,” is all he can manage.

“You’re welcome,” you say – another lusty smile his way. You’re so pretty like this. Scratch that, you’re so pretty always, but the image before him ticks all the boxes of the most epic wet dream he’d ever had. Fuck, it’s so good he doesn’t even think his imagination ever ran this wild.

You resume, tongue traveling upwards as it follows that vein, it pulses for you, encouraging you to go lower, your throat closing around the head of his cock. His hand travels to your cheek as he moans, caressing softly – a little impatiently, like he’s trying to ground himself. Your name leaves his lips in a whisper as you continue your obliterating pace, the noises filling the space lewdly.

His head draws back and his teeth sink into the pink flesh just as your tongue licks tentatively at his frenulum, the overpowering sensations making him hiss, balls feeling heavy at the wake of his pleasure. Your eyes never leave him, catching every single face he makes, every single noise you pull out of him with ease. It’s turning you on, how receptive he is – easy and malleable in your hands. Your mouth releases him with a pop, your fist tight around his shaft as you jerk him. Your lips travel to his balls, his big round eyes widening even further as you suck one into your mouth, carefully rolling it with your tongue. He groans, hips involuntarily fucking into your hand, seeking speed. You grant it, hand going faster, your thumb teasing his slit on the upstroke.

Your tongue hits sweet spots he’d never imagine would illicit such reaction from him, let alone strip him of all inhibitions. You suck between his balls, your mouth gentle but firm as your tongue sneaks out to lick a thick stripe all the way up his shaft before you’re enclosing your lips around him once again. His balls feel tight, tummy sinking at the feeling as his legs begin to shake. You encourage this reaction by sinking your nails in his thighs, leaving a trail of red marks on his skin.

“F-fuck. Slow- slow down,” he hisses, bottom lip trembling to the rhythm of his fingers on your cheek.

“Why?” You tease, eyes feigning innocence.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep going like that- fuck,” his words drag with the way your tongue circles his tip, his gaze locked on the sensuality of the action, the way you make sure he’s watching. You look a mess, so fucked out already and he catches a tear that falls from your eyes, his thumb gentle on your skin.

“And what’s so wrong with that, Jungkookie? Hm?”

“I want to fuck you.” Not an ounce of hesitation in his voice as he keeps scanning your face, gaze dancing from your eyes to your lips, indecisive on where to look.

It makes your pussy throb, to hear him talk like that. You smirk, holding onto his thighs as you push yourself off from your kneeling position on the floor, landing right back into his lap as you straddle him once again.

“Yeah,” you sigh dreamily, searching for his lips, nails running down his scalp. “Yeah, I want you to fuck me.” Your words get lost in the kiss, but the way he touches you lets you know you’ve made yourself clear. His hands snake under the thin fabric of your top, holding onto your waist; his touch is firm yet doesn’t lack that tenderness he often holds, almost timidly making its way up. Your skin is soft under his fingers and he feels the way you shiver, goosebumps forming on your skin. His kiss only deepens, big hands gripping your waist tight, bringing you closer to him before his big hands are cupping your tits. He moans as he feels the plump flesh and the sweet sound makes you buck your hips into his.

Jungkook sighs, feeling bold enough to discard of your top, mouth dropping to your nipple. His wet tongue circling around it once before he sucks, your back arching to give him better access as your grip tightens in his hair, pulling a little, letting him know he’s making you feel good. So good.

“Get me ready,” you pant, but he seems to be too lost in his ministrations. “Get me ready for your fat cock.”

He looks back up at you, kissing you fervently, groaning against your lips as his hand travels down and under that pleated skirt that’s been driving him wild for weeks now. Maybe even months. He feels how wet you are through your panties and he doesn’t hesitate when he sneaks two of his fingers in, coating them in your slick. He teases you a little, putting pressure on your clit before he’s fucking his fingers into you. You get even tighter as you clench around them, moaning into his mouth at the stretch. It feels electric already and he hasn’t even moved. He scissors his fingers inside of you, coaxing your snug walls, getting you ready as you requested.

Your hand travels down, holding onto his wrist, stalling his move inside of you for a moment. He looks confused, gaze on yours waiting on your next move. You begin to circle your hips, small and sloppy movements over his fingers, fucking yourself on them. You sigh, closing your eyes when you feel the way he hooks his digits inside of you, immediately reaching your sweet spot.

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Jungkook’s cock jerks at the sight and you can feel it against your knuckles, hot and heavy – ready for you.

“I’m so wet, I’m making a mess.” You look down at his hand, glossy and covered in your juices the more you move around. You’re crass with your words, but he can’t help sensing a little bit of suppleness in your tone, like you’re suddenly shy even though your actions scream far from.

“Don’t care. Want you to make a mess, so fucking bad.” He groans, kissing you again – needier this time. Harsh, hungry.

“I’m gonna cum.”

He hums against your lips, his free hand coming to hold your hip, stilling your movements as he takes over once more. Fingers pushing where he knows it makes you shudder and whine into his kiss, thumb circling your clit to finish throwing you over the edge. You shake in his hold, soft moans passing your lips, your grip on his wrist tightening, nails digging on his shoulder as you come down.

“You’re so pretty.” And he wants to leave it at that, because it’s the simple truth. But he adds to the compliment, “when you cum. You’re so fucking pretty when you cum.”

You give him a little smile, it’s lazy and fucked out, your eyes glassy when you finally open them. You don’t answer, opting for kneeling over his lap, his fingers sliding out of you reluctantly, but he recovers quickly when he sees the way you take your panties off on wobbly legs, one after the other.

“Want me to keep this on?” You ask, toying with the hem of your skirt.

He sighs dreamily, boyish smile on his face as he nods. “Yeah.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, feigning annoyance when in reality, you’re loving it. Not just this little filthy exchange, but everything. The noises he makes, his touch on your skin, the words that fall from his lips as he peaks pleasure. It’s doing more to you than just getting it out of your system, and before you can dwell on that thought long enough for it to scare you, you reach for his cock.

He reaches for the brown bag he managed to throw next to him on the couch, grabbing the box of condoms you brought. It’s hard to focus on opening it with one shaky hand as you jerk him, biting your lip in anticipation. Once he finally manages, he retrieves one of the foil packages, bringing it between his teeth to rip it open. He looks down, mesmerized by the way your small hand barely wraps around him. He hisses when he feels the loss of it and you lean on his thighs to give him space, watching as he rolls the condom on.

“Come here.”

You oblige, hands landing on his shoulders as you line yourself over him, the tip of his cock accidentally nudging your clit a little, making you whine. He smiles, nudging it again, purposely this time and teasing you with it until you’re squirming and pouting, clenching around nothing. You’re wet, more than ever, but he’s big and you should’ve probably bought lube, too. Then again, you had no idea he was hiding that in his pants, it would’ve been bold of you to assume. Almost like he’s reading your mind, he lets a string of saliva drop to his fingers, bringing it down to your entrance and then coating his cock with the same two fingers and both your juices combined.

The first stretch burns, sharp and uncomfortably as his swollen tip passes through the tight ring of muscle. You both gasp, consumed in the feeling right away, almost as if the pain wasn’t there because you want more. And so, you brave it, sinking into his cock, inch by inch, mewling at the feeling, tears pricking your eyes. He can see you’re in discomfort, gently holding onto your waist so he can still you, biting his lip so hard when he feels the way you clench around him. Pushing his desire away for a second, he brings you closer to him. He cups your face with his hand, rubbing at your cheek, pecking your lips. He kisses the corner of your mouth, littering the affection all over until his lips are traveling from your jaw all the way to your neck. He kisses on that tender spot that makes you shiver; makes you feel so good and oddly comforted until all you can feel is his wet kisses on your skin.

You start to move, slowly at first as you bounce on his cock, the whimpers that pass his lips encouraging you until the pain morphs into pleasure and your body instinctively ups the pace. It’s quick, the way your desperation grows. Hands reaching out for him, sinking into his hair, his jaw, the nape of his neck. Your teeth bite into his bottom lip, strong enough to illicit a sharp hiss from him.

“Fuck, baby,” he pouts, eyes struggling to stay open. He keeps his gaze on you and it’s his dark eyes and a particular sway of your hips that has you whining in pleasure, eyes closing and mouth opening as the feeling takes over you. “Yeah, fuck. So pretty when I make you feel good.”

“It feels so good, Jungkook.” You find your words, though your head feels foggy, dizzy with the way you can feel your tummy tighten when his hands grab at your ass, squeezing some before he begins to help you move on him.

He can tell you’re close to tipping, reading your body – the way he’s literally fucking you speechless, which seems to be very contradictory to the way you usually carry yourself. Your cunt has a tight grip around his cock, and he can feel the way it pulses when you sink yourself on him to the brim. You stay there, feeling so full, head dropping to his shoulder as your hand palms your lower tummy and you swear you can feel him there.

You’ve been riding him slowly, wanting to savour him like this, but your legs feel the burn nonetheless. Not to mention the fact that you’re so overwhelmed, body on high alert, his touch leaving a trail of static behind it. And he knows – he knows because quicker than you can register his movements, he’s flipping you onto your back on the couch. His cock slips out of you and your legs close at the loss of him, making him let out a cocky chuckle. You’d retaliate, but you lose focus when he starts to remove his white oversized shirt, ogling him unapologetically. Your legs fall to your sides, opening yourself for him once again, making him grin. You’d wipe it off his face, bring your hand to your heat and make him falter, muster up a cocky remark – but your own colors fail you, and you smile at him. It’s sweet and Jungkook doesn’t miss it and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart skip inside his heaving chest. You remove your skirt and he follows its path until it hits the floor, eyes then focused on what he wants the most – right in-between your thighs.

His warm hands run over your thighs slowly and you plea, “don’t tease.”

“Would never.”

But he does. Grabbing the base of his cock, giving a shallow thrust, wetting the head of his cock before he’s playing with your clit for a moment, making you squirm until he’s fucking into you once again. He repeats this a couple of times, eyes glued to where he teases you, traveling up to see your face break in pleasure. The angle is perfect and every time he sinks into you, he hits that spot, if only for a second before he has you mewling again by circling his tip on your clit. Your head sinks into the couch, fingers playing with your nipples lazily as you focus on what he does to you.

“I could cum like this if you do it for long enough.” Your tone is airy and he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Yeah?” His finger travels down, joining his cock as he pushes his digit inside the snug space of your walls for a second, collecting your slick before coating your bundle of nerves with it. You bite on your lip, nodding at him. “You wanna?”

You shake your head, holding onto his hips. “No. I want you to fuck my brains out now. Wanna feel you even after you’re done with me.”

And fuck if that isn’t enough encouragement for him to fall onto you, making you laugh a little as his forearms land on either side of your head, promptly finding his lips and kissing him deep. He moans into the kiss in sheer anticipation, your legs circling around his waist, heels sinking into his ass as you motion for him to move.

He fucks you deep at first, testing the waters before he’s going faster – a bit harder, too, the more you moan into his ear, bury your nails down his back hard enough for him to wince in pain, pleasure, excitement even. He kisses you where he can, the crook of your neck as he breathes into it, your collarbones when desire wins and he redirects his gaze to where your bodies meet. You search for his lips and he gives them to you, sloppy and messy and wet when your tongues play with one another’s.

“Fuck- right there, right there. Please don’t stop.”

His hips are angled just right and your legs close around his waist, feeling so close to the edge you sob a little. His face comes up, missing the warmth of your neck already but it’s all worth it when his eyes meet yours, your fucked out face twisted in pleasure. You look so naughty, not an ounce of shame in the way your face depicts a perfect picture in how good he’s fucking you. In how he’s about to make you cum so hard it’s already blinding you. He wants to kiss you but he doesn’t, too enthralled to look away.

“Fuck, please cum for me. Cum all over my cock, baby. Hm?”

You can only nod, already so close and only pushed further by his words. Another sharp determined thrust and a whine hitches in your throat, tight coil exploding inside of you until your eyes are widening in pleasure, staring right into his as you come undone around him, under him, encased by him. He’s everywhere. Your body jerks in his hold, eyes finally closing as you sink deeper into the bliss, the way he moans with you as he feels you clench around him so tight sounds like music to your ears.

His own release is not far from yours, mind and movements hazy with lust as he fucks you faster, focused on chasing his high as you whisper filthy praises in his ear. You tell him how good he just made you feel, how hard his cock feels inside of you, his name leaving your lips in the most paradoxical of ways. Sounding too sweet for what follows.

“Nngh- shit, I’m cumming.” He groans, so close to your ear, sending goosebumps down your spine as you feel the way he throbs inside of you, releasing a second after.

You let him come down, wait for his breathing to get back to normal, giving yourself a moment to steady yours as well. You don’t notice the way your nails are softly caressing his back, drawing lazy patters on his flushed skin, until he shudders, a soft laugh escaping him as he says, “it tickles.”

That’s when it hits you. Your plan to touch and go crumbling to pieces the moment you realize he’s too close – that he’s been too close this whole time. Not in a physical way, but in a you’re touching more than hands can reach type of way. The kind of sex that fucks with your brain too, not just your body.

You grunt in discomfort, shoving your shoulders into his own a little. Luckily, he gets the hint.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, coming up to a stand, stretching his neck in the process. He shoots you a smile, asking you if you’re thirsty. You nod, still entranced in your own thoughts and he disappears from your line of vision.

You don’t know why, but you just lay there. You want nothing more than to pick yourself up from his couch, dress yourself and get going. You even had an exit line rehearsed that you came up with on the drive here.

“You’re welcome for those, by the way. Put them to good use.” Referring to the condoms you’d brought along with you. Fortune. It was simple, cheeky and playful. And most importantly, got the point across – this was not going to happen again. A one-time thing, something you had to get out of your system before you could go back to having normal fuck buddies, flirty relationships with your friends that escalated only when need be. Friendly sex, if you will. Jungkook is not your friend. This thought makes you wince.

When he comes back, he’s wearing sweatpants that hang too low on his hips and it takes you a while to acknowledge the fact that he’s offering you a glass of water. When you frown at the gesture, his face falls.

“I have juice if you want?”

“What? No. Water’s fine. Thank you.”

He sits down next to you, watching the way you gulp down the water in a matter of seconds. He smiles, unable to stop himself when his fingers card through your hair that’s fallen victim to your activities. He’s gentle when he unknots the mess at the back of your head. You side eye him, and though his smile drops a little, his fingers don’t.

You panic, and he can see it in your eyes, frantically searching for something around the room. You notice how tidy his place is, nicely and minimally decorated with neutral colors. It suits him in ways you can’t explain, realizing you don’t know him enough to.

“Uh, have you seen my shirt?” You ask.

He looks around for a second, shaking his head before he offers, “here, wear mine.”

You only accept because your body’s falling back into its normal temperature, the heat of the moment starting to disappear. It’s big and cozy and it smells like him and very faintly of you.

“Are you okay?”

His question throws you off, piercing eyes looking at him all of a sudden as you raise a brow. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem… distant. I mean, in comparison to-”

“Well, yeah. We were fucking. Now we’re not.”

He laughs softly, even though you didn’t mean for anything you said to sound funny. “Well, yeah. I know but- we can just… ease out of it, you know? It doesn’t have to be so abrupt…”

His hand rests on your thigh, squeezing the flesh a little as he moves closer to you. “Can I kiss you?”

You’re about to quite literally shove your hand in his face and wipe that hazy grin from his face to abruptly jank him out of that post-coital glow he seems to be sporting but you’re hesitant. And it’s in that hesitation that you decide to challenge yourself. If you can kiss Jungkook without this foreign feeling forming inside your chest then perhaps it’d go away permanently. Perhaps all you needed was to indulge in the casualty of the action – to feel pleasure as just that, nothing more.

And so, you kiss him. A pleasant surprise to say the least, making him smile lazily into the kiss. He’s not quite expecting it when you do, so the little force you put into it sends him falling back into the couch, you following after him. You let your body mold into his, the same way your lips do. You both sigh as your mouths part, his tongue licking at your bottom lip. It’s pleasurable. It feels good – kissing Jungkook feels good and there’s no ulterior motive to it. He’s just a good kisser.

But then his hand cups your face, traveling down your neck until he’s gently running his fingers through your hair, pushing it back so he can kiss down your shoulder. Soft, tender, relaxing you to the point of incoherency because you let him, smiling and giggling into it when his lips tickle your skin.

“Fuck, that was so good,” he says, throwing his head back into the soft cushion. “I don’t know if it made me sleepy or hungry, or both…” he ponders.

You smile, kissing his jaw, your tongue following your lips as they travel down his neck – mimicking his previous actions. He hums out in pleasure, looking down at you, “are you hungry?”

You look up at him, suddenly lost in his eyes, in your thoughts, in your own pleasure. A pleasure different from the way your body feels pleasure. A pleasure you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Uh…- I’m kinda… sleepy,” you confess.

He nods, huffing in agreement before he’s wrapping his arms around you, moving his body to the side a little until you’re entrapped between his embrace and the couch. Your body’s too tired to fight it, ignoring the way your brain short-circuits and it doesn’t take long for his breathing to lull you into a deep sleep.

When Jungkook wakes up, it’s dark outside. His shirt rests on top of his coffee table, neatly folded. And you’re nowhere to be found.

You’ve kept busy, inevitably so.

School work suddenly picking up, the urge to start revising for finals swarming your thoughts enough until you’re pulling all-nighters in the private study rooms at the library – isolated and focused. Even more now that it’s become dangerously easy for your thoughts to stray away from your tasks at hand and any situation you find yourself in. They stray far enough to land on him, every single time. On what you did, on how it ended.

And it’s the latter that swarms your thoughts the most, especially during the night – in bed, trying to shut your brain enough so that you’re able to fall asleep. You think of him, of the way his arms felt wrapped around yours, his chest on yours and how you counted each breath of his until they synced with yours. You think of the way your eyes fluttered open even though your body still felt tired, not quite done with sleep yet, looking up at him, a peaceful look to his face as he snored softly. You almost fought it then, too, but his snores lulled you back to sleep. An unconventional lullaby – one that often annoyed you when and if you ever found yourself sleeping next to someone. His didn’t, and on particular nights you’d confess that you wished it was that same sound that was putting you to sleep, not your fifth ASMR video.

When you woke up and the heaviness of the night surrounded your bodies, it felt like it settled inside your chest, too. You panicked, staring at him even though you couldn’t make much of his face in the darkness. You attempted to go back to sleep, unsure of the time, giving up on putting up a fight – at least in that very moment. You nuzzled your face on his chest, relishing in his warmth and he sighed, unconsciously pulling you closer. It felt so innocent, so uncorrupted – he looked for you in the deepest of sleeps and it was that notion that did it for you.

The boy was a heavy sleeper, that was for sure. He flinched at the loss of you, arms stretching around him for a brief second before falling back into deep sleep – uninterrupted.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, making you wince and taking you out of your head – out of the memories that plague it. Sydney’s calling you and when you pick up the phone, she greets you with a cheery,

“Hello, stranger of a best friend!”

You roll your eyes, but give in a moment later, offering a playful laugh. You’ll admit that being so inside your head and focusing on your responsibilities and your responsibilities only has made you quite irritable lately, and distant.

“Hey, Syd.”

“Where are you? Come hang – I’ve got snacks, buy me coffee and we’ll watch The Great British Bake-off.”

You ponder on her offer for a minute, already so used to neglecting yourself of the simple pleasures of just… hanging out with your friends. It’s only been a week of this, but the consequences are rough.

“Iced vanilla latte with caramel, extra sweet?”

“Ugh, be mine.”

You smile. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she sing-songs.

You decide to treat her real nice, passing by the packed Starbucks on campus (that’s overrated, in your opinion) and heading towards the cute little food trucks that your university brings out during the warmer months of the year. They’re slightly overpriced but worth every penny, if solely for the aesthetics. Though you will admit, the food is great. The little colourful trucks all align one next to the other – your favorite coffee place, a taco shop, ramen place and the ice cream truck last. Colorful tables scattered all across the green space, good music always playing, chill or upbeat depending on the time of day, making it all seem too good to be located in campus grounds.

You head straight for the coffee truck, the usual barista shooting you a dazzling smile the moment he spots you. You return it.

“Hey, Kian.”

“Hey, you. Long-time, no see…” He’s cute in that, ‘and he knows it’ type of way. A true charmer. He’s tried it a couple of times, with you, and Sydney… and Sumi. You respect his boldness if anything.

“Ugh, I know. I’ve been living in the library, busy bee me.”

“Been cheating on me by getting your caffeine fix from Starbucks?” He cocks a brow playfully.

“Why do you ask if the truth will hurt?”

He laughs, a little obnoxiously but he pulls it well. “The usual?”

“Yep. Iced Americano and an iced vanilla latte with a pump of caramel, make it extra-”

“Sweet, for sweet Sydney.” He winks and you nod, winking back.

You watch him work his magic, brewing the coffee as the aroma fills the air, foaming the oat milk until it’s cloudy. He makes one hell of a good coffee; you’ll give him that much. You feel giddy all of a sudden, the fresh spring air doing wonders for you already, surprised over how something so mundane as a cup of coffee and a harmless conversation with the cute barista can switch your mood for the better. You smile and Kian catches it, smiling at you for a second before he’s back to excellent coffee making.

“You’re making me nervous, ___.” He says, half playfully and half sincerely when he sees the way you eye him.

You raise your hands in defeat, laughing and turning around. “Okay, okay. I’ll just… stare at the-”

Your gaze doesn’t linger, snapping your face back at Kian faster than you can register what you just saw. He just thinks you’re being funny, laughing at the abruptness of your actions. But that doesn’t last either, temptation too strong to beat it, that curiosity that keeps landing you in trouble.

Jungkook.

He sits in one of the tables in front of the ice cream truck, sweet treat in hand that very well goes with the sweet smile he holds, nodding and cocking his head sweetly at the girl that sits right in front of him in the same bench. Their legs are at either side of it and their knees touch. You can’t see her face, but she’s holding a cone, two scoops of pistachio ice cream in it. You know because it’s your favorite. And because you’re a cone person, too. He isn’t, from the looks of it. He also likes mint choco, adding insult to injury.

The wind blows all of a sudden, in heavy contrast to the heat of the season that was in full bloom only a couple of seconds ago. His hair falls right in front of his eyes, mid ice cream bite, making him shake his head to attempt (and fail) to clear his vision. You see the way she shakes her shoulders, laughing, before her fingers gently push away the fallen strands on his forehead. He smiles through his spoon, big and toothy and sweet. It’s sweet. She’s sweet, and so is he. They’re sweet.

Your gaze must be piercing because in a matter of seconds his eyes are on yours. You divert your eyes quickly, but you can see the way his eyes go back to her, following the conversation as he nods in acknowledgement.

“Whatever,” you mumble to yourself, mostly.

Curiosity wins yet again and when you turn his way, for a brief second, he’s telling her something before both their eyes are on you. She nods at him and right on cue, he’s standing up, making his way towards you.

Kian places the two coffee cups in front of you, in perfect timing. Will you run? Absolutely. Is it childish? Absolutely. But you don’t owe him anything, really. Let alone explanations. Why even acknowledge your presence? In the middle of a date, too. How rude of him! You also know this is a lie – knowing him, he was even polite about that.

“Thank you, Ki-”

“Hey, listen… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while,” Kian begins, his words sluggish, making you anxious as you bounce in your step. “I’m in a band.”

“Oh?” You press.

“Yeah… we’re like, indie. Pretty chill. But one day… oh, man. One day we will be huge!”

“Don’t have a doubt! Godspeed, Kian.”

You’re about to turn around and, well, run. But God, and Kian, has other plans. Laughing, he says, “I’ve been meaning to invite you girls to come watch us play and stuff. That’d be dope. We have a show this Saturday and I’d really like for you to come; I’ll even sing one for you and everything.”

You’re perplexed for some reason, but agreeing is quicker than making up some lame excuse so you nod your head, “Sur-”

“Hey, ___.”

Lola called; she didn’t text. She sounded nervous and a bit on edge, stuttering a little on her words, engaging him in small talk before she managed to gather enough courage to ask him out. For ice cream, as she’d promised.

“I’m free today,” but she immediately regretted it, afraid she’d sounded too pushy. “But we can do it whenever! It doesn’t have to be today. It can be tomorrow-” pushy, again, she thought. “Or next wee-”

“Actually, today sounds nice. Been studying all day, could really use a break… you up for it?” He said, even though she’d clearly just stated she was. It made her relax and he could hear it in her voice.

“I’d love that, Jungkook.”

He knew this was going to be good for him, fresh air and a potentially nice conversation with a nice girl. She was sweet, had been texting him random sweet messages ever since their conversation in the library weeks ago. Made sure to ask about his day and got excited when he asked about hers.

They’d met outside of the library and she’d greeted him with a hug and already, it felt nice. He was glad with his decision. He’d hibernated and isolated himself, skipping Tuesday game night and only interacting with his friends during practice and in the hallways, always in a rush getting from one class to the other. He knew why, but he couldn’t quite explain it. He only knew it had a name – your name, to be more precise. But how could he explain that? How could he explain you?

You hadn’t broken Jungkook’s heart, but you sure had it confused. Lost and quite stubborn, wanting answers and refusing to let go until he got them. It wasn’t in his shy nature to insist, to seek out answers that could very well hurt him, or even tempt discomfort… but nonetheless, he wanted to know. He wanted to know why you just… left. He wanted to know why you even came in the first place. You’d been quite adamant in the soccer field, owning the place and stepping on his spirits, telling him not only would your previous exchange had to be secret but also that it wouldn’t be repeated. Then, mere days later, it wasn’t only repeated but intensified. Just adding layers to the enigma he’d build around you.

But was it him? Was it all in his head? Was he simply idealizing your actions, justifying them, even if they went strongly against your words? Was he in the wrong for second guessing when that’s all you’d left for him to do?

So, he spent his days going to class, to practice, late nights at the gym before heading for even later nights at the library. He couldn’t talk to anyone about it so he just let it eat at him from the inside out, distracting himself with whatever he could.

Lola wasn’t a distraction. She deserved better than that, so he made sure to let himself go of… the thought of you, even if for a brief ice cream run. And truth be told, it was presenting itself to be easier than he originally thought, to just enjoy and be in the moment. With her. Just her, in front of him and in his head.

“Listen, I have nothing against mint choco…,” she says, words in-between giggles as he playfully narrowed his eyes at her.

“But…?”

“But it’s more of a, ‘in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s whilst you cry your eyes out watching The Notebook even though you can’t quite relate because you’re not heartbroken enough but oh is it good to indulge’ type of way. You know?”

This makes Jungkook smile, the two of them breaking out in laughter at her rather personal confession. “Oddly enough, I know what you mean… a little.”

“Only a little?”

“Yeah, can’t speak from experience but, it sounds like it makes sense.”

“Maybe that can be our next ice cream date…” she’s shy around her words, breaking eye contact, gaze traveling down to fixate elsewhere.

“Yeah,” he says, making her look up, a smile that reaches her green eyes. “I’ll put your theory to the test…”

A gust of wind flies directly at them, her hair blowing all over the place and his bangs landing on top of his face, making her giggle at his confused expression, looking a little dumbstruck with a spoonful of ice cream sitting between his teeth. Lola thinks he’s cute – everything about him. Her fingers are a little shaky but she manages, pushing his bangs away from his forehead, big eyes coming to view once again. The tip of her finger gently grazes against his forehead and he blinks slowly. Butterflies swarm her tummy, wanting him to kiss her so bad and hopeful he just might.

His eyes seem a little lost for a second before he’s smiling at her once again. Her spirits deflate a little but she smiles back.

“Hey, uh… I see my friend,” he says, pointing at your direction. He doesn’t want to lie to her but he doesn’t let much of the truth to come out either. She turns around, eyes catching yours for a brief second before you turn around. You’re pretty and she has a feeling she’s seen you before.

“Oh…”

“Haven’t been able to reach her and there’s something I have to tell her,” that’s a lie, Jungkook doesn’t even have your number. He sees the way Lola’s face falls a little. He lies, and he hates it. “It’s no biggie, just passing a message. We’ve got friends in common. It’ll be a minute, yeah?”

She smiles again, feeling a little relieved. “Yeah, sure. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiles and she feels hopeful.

“Hey.” It’s all you say, a tight-lipped smile his way before you’re turning back to Kian, with all the intention of fleeting the scene, coffees in hand.

“So, you’ll come?” Kian asks, making Jungkook curious, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. He has no right, anyways.

“Sure. Text me the address!”

“But I don’t have your number,” he says, pouting a little obnoxiously.

“DM me on insta!”

He thinks for a second. “I don’t have that either…”

“It’s just my name!”

The second he nods, you turn around, casually walking away from the mess you found yourself in.

Jungkook speed walks a little after you, and you can feel his presence behind you.

“Hey,” he reaches for your arm, making you turn around, a scowl to your face that makes him wince a little. He takes a step back, not wanting to invade your personal space. “Uh… can we- can we talk? Please?”

You decide to play it cool. “Sure. Talk.” The smile on your face doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

And the truth is, Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to talk to you about. Since you left him that day, he’s thought about close to a million things he’d want to tell you, ask you, have you tell him, but now that you’re in front of him, kind of willing… he’s out of ideas.

So, he just opts for the easiest one. “Why did you leave… that day we- yeah.”

“Why would I have stayed?” You ask him, like it’s obvious. A little rhetorical even.

“You didn’t- I mean, if you wanted to leave, of course. You just didn’t say goodbye or anything…” his voice is calm, and this makes you even more anxious. Something that feels awfully like guilt settling right in your chest.

“You were sleeping.”

He gives you a knowing look, like both you and him know that’s not really the reason why you left, let alone the answer to his question.

“Listen, that conversation we had in the soccer field that one time… it still stands, okay? Nothing has changed.” You say.

“Only it has? You came to me. And we had sex. So… yeah, something has changed. If only the facts, but… something.”

You roll your eyes at him, crude and exasperated at this point. “Fine. We fucked. I was curious, had to burn out that curiosity. That’s all. Factual. Nothing has changed, in theory.”

“You were curious?” He says, in slight disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“I get that but,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, looking for the right words. “But I’m not just…- something that you can use to, appease your curiosity… I guess.” He’s unsure of his own words, knowing he sounds hurt and so very out of your left field because that’s what you’re used to. Bodies, not people. To appease instant gratification. And he wishes he could be just that if only to not have you look at him the way you are now, slightly regretful and shocked at his words.

“I apologize, won’t happen again – trust me.”

“No,” he reaches out for you once again when you turn to leave. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s all I wanted. Considered it done on my part. I wanted to know and now I do. And I’ve closed chapter – you should, too. It meant nothing, Jungkook.”

He can only stare at you, trying to process your words – making mental fucking laps around it as if to keep it from reaching his heart. As if to try to pretend your words don’t hurt.

You sigh. “Listen, I’m sorry. I mistook the situation, you’re not… that type of guy, and I guess I am that type of girl. If I sent mixed signals then, I hope this makes it clear. It was a mistake, so… sorry, I guess.”

When he says nothing, just gives you a weak nod, you give him another one of your characteristic smiles. Those that he often gets when he finds himself in these situations with you, this one by the far the hardest. It’s so different from the smiles you’d given him the last time it was just the two of you, alone. Fulfilling your curiosities.

But your curiosities have a name and explanation: lust. No last name, no need to elaborate.

He watches you leave, feeling like he’s just been punched in the gut.

Or the heart.

What the hell does he know, really.

I'd give jungkook one million hugs. pls :((((. im sorry kookie. I hope u guys enjoyed this!!! do let me know if u did, let's talk - I miss u a ton. love u. xxxxx <3333

★taglist★

@yoongimentita7 @lil-sracha @angelicalhoney @sfneyjsjgyjdyndhndyn @ppeachyttae @rockinpretty @mwitsmejk @bruisedscrewedandtattooed @rhaegaled @ruclements @mctete @oopsthi @ellesalazar @kpopssuregi @eonninja @cambo-backwards @jiimiinsii @jalexad @primadonnasdream @suzysuee @carolsummerlove @kokoandkookie @tbzhub @chimswae @bbtsficrecs @mschievous247

let me know if u wanna be added <3

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tojigasm · 3 years ago

Note

How would toji react if u ask him to eat u out or just ask him to do something?

Omg anon this came out a lot more fluffy than I had anticipated but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

Cw: 18+ minors dni, pussy-eating, use of the word "daddy", fingering, pussy kissing, talk of anxiety + toji being a tad bit mean

Words: 971

"I want you to eat me out..." You mumbled quietly, biting on the skin of your thumb nervously.

Toji's sitting beside you on the couch, legs thrown up onto the coffee table, a beer in his hand and the other running up and down your thigh. Turning to you, he swallows the swig of beer he'd just taken, "what was that, sweetheart?"

Visibly uncomfortable, you begin to fidget, pulling at the hem of Toji's hoodie you'd stolen earlier that week. "I want you to eat me out..." you whisper quieter this time, shifting from side to side on your legs tucked beneath you.

"Baby, you gotta speak up" he sighs, reaching over to play with the string of his stolen hoodie, tugging the fabric it gently. He knew you got nervous over small things sometimes, you'd get stuck and didn't know how to ask for help or you didn't know what you were feeling and needed Toji's comfort.

"I- I want you..." you trail off again, bringing your thumb to your mouth, Toji stops you, pulling your hand down with his own.

"Whadda' want, baby?" he pets your chin with the pad of his thumb; he knows you need the encouragement - the uncertainty seeps from you, sinking into the air - it's heavy and thick, so heavy you're nearly choking on it.

"want daddy to do somethin' fr'ya?" he purrs, leaning upwards, he places kisses up the soft collum of your throat, sucking and nipping at your skin.

"hahh..." you whine, head tilting back in submission. Toji continues to kiss up your neck, pulling you into his lap, hips grinding into his, the soaked fabric of your panties sat against the cold zipper of his jeans.

Kissing up your neck, toji pulled away, watching you chase his lips in want, "haa...haa... daddy?" You pant.

"You said you wanted me to do somethin'," he throws his hands up lazily in a 'go on' motion. "So tell me..." large hands run down the curve of your small back, squeezing at your skin.

Drawing back to rest on his knees, you bite your bottom lip, pulling and stretching the hem of his shirt. "I-..." the words were caught in your throat; threatening to choke you if you were to say them. Sighing through your nose, you covered your face with your hands, "Iwantyoutoeatmeout."

With no response, you peaked through your fingers to see Toji smiling, he looked amused, almost pleased with the idea of such a simple request causing you such struggle, but with the request came so much lewdity that it hooked your tongue.

A hand ran up and down your arm comfortingly, running down the length of your arm and down your thigh before it came to rest over your panty-covered mound. A hiss of an inhale came from Toji, cupping your heat and running his finger over the slick-soaked patch.

"All this fr'me?" He looked to you, eyes wide with faux innocence, as though he couldn't possibly believe his sweet precious girl was so easily lulled into submission, as if he hadn't molded you to react this way to his own voice, and God was it fucking invigorating. "All this fr'daddy?" His other hand squeezed your soft thigh.

You nodded, bottom lip bit between your teeth and chin wobbling, your smaller hand grasped the wrist that cupped your heat, moaning when he pulled the fabric to the side, running the rough pad of his thumb up and down your folds leisurely.

"Yeah, baby, you like that?" He groaned, circling your clit softly, "you want daddy to eat you out?"

Nodding again, you sobbed, leaning into his hold.

"I need words, sweet girl."

"Yes, please daddy, please eat me out..." your voice quieted near the end to which Toji chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek before standing up and placing you onto the leather couch.

Kneeling between your thighs, he cupped both ankles in one hand, moving your legs up to pull your panties off with the other. The movement alone made blood rush to your clit, pulsing under his finger.

"Ooo, you liked that, huh?" He smirked at you, leaning down to kiss your folds, "like when daddy manhandles you?" He sounds patronizing, voice high and whiny, like he's talking to a puppy.

Sobbing, you buck your hips lightly, Toji's hold on you pushing you back into the couch. "Shh... daddy's gotchu'." he cooes, placing your leg over his shoulder while he kneeled a knee the carpet, one leg bent to support himself.

He brought his tongue to your cunt, lapping at your slick, nose prodding the bump of your clit. "Fuck..." Toji groaned, whimpering into your pussy before attaching his mouth to your mound, sucking at your clit, keeping his dark eyes on your lidded ones.

"Daddy, plea - oh!" He hooked his finger past your folds, petting at the spongey part of your cunt.

"Oh good girl," he smiled against you, moaning as he continued to suck at your clit, "Taste so fucking delicious, sweetheart."

"Ahh...haa," you're panting and writhing on the stick leather of the couch, outstretched arms calling to him, "daddy, want you... please."

His eyes softened, taking the hand from your ankle to hold your own, squeezing your palm as he ate you out. "Mhm," he moaned, pulling away to thrust his finger in and out of your sopping cunt, "daddy's gonna add another finger, that okay?"

"Yes, daddy, please, please-"

He chuckled at your sobs, inserting another finger to curl against your walls. Pushing himself up, he bent himself over you, leg still hooked over his shoulder. "Look so pretty for me, baby," he brought his plump lips to your swollen ones, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you whine, "so pretty, and all fr'daddy, huh?" And God, you look so perfect.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji x reader #toji fic #toji smut #fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji zenin #toji zenin x reader #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro smut

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seita · 4 years ago

Text

— size kink headcanons 2 [haikyuu!!]

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴜsʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ, ᴛᴇɴᴅᴏᴜ, ᴇɪᴛᴀ, sʜɪʀᴀʙᴜ + sᴀᴋᴜsᴀ.

⇦ blog navigation.

⇦ part 1 | part 3 ⇨

»» ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ««

-ˏ͛ shiratorizawaˏ͛-

— wakatoshi ushijima.

∴ hes a big guy so ∴ as expected.... ∴ lit biggest dick of the team. ∴ but he’s actually pretty fuckin clueless about it too ∴ he isn’t actively aware there’s such thing as a size kink ∴ so he doesn’t actually have the kink ∴ but u do. so. ∴ welcome to the life ushiwaka.

“y-you’re so big toshi...” you whined, hands on his shoulders.

“i know,” he breathed, holding your hips to support you.

half his cock was buried inside of you and the stretch was aching. you could feel him reaching places no one else ever had. letting out a breath, you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as you ground your hips in a circle. he hit that glorious spot inside you and you clenched tight around him.

he groaned, eyes fixated on your cunt. the way you were stretched wide around him, not even taking his whole length yet had his cock throbbing. you were so small compared to him, so fragile. he could break you if he wanted to.

yet there you were, losing yourself on his cock, slowly easing yourself down so you could take in more of his length.

“good girl,” he whispered, moving his hand to circle your clit with his thumb until you finally bottomed out, settling in his lap. your walls seized around him and he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning when he realized you were cumming.

— satori tendou.

∴ he likes size kink mostly bc he’s a bit of a sadist ∴ like he knows you struggle to take his dick ∴ and he knows it sometimes hurts ∴ seeing that pain on your face ∴ it’s euphoric to him ∴ and boy is he evil about it ∴ his dirty talk??? foul. filthy. humiliating ∴ he could make you cry from half the shit he says ∴ lil sadistic babie

“is that your cervix?” he scoffed, looking down to where his cock was buried within your cunt, “you haven’t even taken all of me.”

“satori...” you whined, pressing your hands against his chest as he tried to press even deeper.

he clicked his tongue, “what? does that hurt?” when you nod, he just gives you a crooked grin, “poor baby. but guess what? i want you to take all of my fuckin’ cock.”

“can’t!” you cry, sending his heart fluttering. he can hear the watery undertone as he gives you a disappointed look he knows makes the sub within you crumble.

“is that so?” he sighed, slowly pulling his cock out, “guess you aren’t gonna be my good girl after all, huh? oh well. i’ll just go jerk off into the toilet or somethin’.”

you whined and throw you arms around his shoulders to pull him back to you, making him grin, “wait! i can do it!”

he grins, feeling your tears wet his skin. he pats the back of your head, slowly sinking his cock back in. he hears you hiss as he keeps going until he’s finally fully seated within you, “see? i knew you could do it. now be a good girl and let me use your little cunt how i want. maybe you’ll cum if you’re lucky because i’m not gonna be tryin’ to get you off. this is about me now, understand?”

you whimper and nod, making him smile. of course you understand, you’re his good girl in the end.

— semi eita.

∴ #2 big dick on the team boink ∴ i said what i said ∴ this guy EXUDES BDE ∴ he knows how to use it too ∴ expect praise out the ass from him while he fucks you too ∴ how proud he is of you that you took him so well ∴ he pretty your pussy looks stuffed full, stretching to accommodate his fat length.

hands holding beneath your knees keeps you spread completely open, letting him rock his cock into your pussy. he’s only halfway in, not yet giving you the rest because he knows you need to adjust.

he hums, reaching to the side to pull the bottle of lube from where it was tangled in the sheets. he pops the lid and lets some fall onto your spread folds, continuing to rock his hips to spread the lube into your little hole.

he tosses the bottle away and brings his thumb to your clit, hard and swollen from neglect. he sucks in a breath, humming as he feels you squeeze around his cock in response.

“atta girl...” he breathes, voice deep and calm, finally working a bit more of his length into you, “let me in...good girl. feel that? you’re taking me so well.”

you hiss and he pauses, retreating for a second only to slowly work that length back in. your eyes flutter, reaching down to grip his wrist where it was between your thighs. he smiles as he realizes he had stopped playing with your clit, resuming the slow, intoxicating circles he knew you loved.

“think you can take more?” he asks, breathless. you nod and he pushes a bit more into you, “look at that...you’ve almost taken all of me. you’re such a good girl for me, just a bit more.”

he feels you work to relax your walls around him so he can finally bottom out. he does so with a groan, his eyes rolling back. he pauses, letting you get used to his cock. he continues his circles on your bud until you’re contracting and cumming so prettily around him. he grins, working you through the high with whispered praises. once you come down, he gives your clit a few firm pats to your bud, grinning when your body flinches under the contact.

“here we go, pretty girl,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead, “let me make you feel good.”

— kenjiro shirabu.

∴ he’s not the biggest guy around in general ∴ he’s like the smallest on the team lmao ∴ so to have a girlfriend who is small enough to make him feel BIG??? ∴ that rlly butters his biscuit ∴ so truthfully, he never knew he had the kink until you came along ∴ but now that it’s been discovered....oh boy....get ready ∴ he’s gonna humiliate the hell out of you (not to the extent of one satori tendou) ∴ but his dirty talk is filthy too lmao

“you like taking a cock that’s too big for you?” he growled, bottoming out quickly despite your protests for him to slow down, “oh quiet down. i can feel how wet you are.”

“kenjiro...” you whined, trembling beneath your boyfriend’s frame as he grinned.

“what is it? do you want to cum?” he’ll ask, “if you cum now you’ll squirt everywhere. you know you can’t handle cumming around my cock. is that you want? to make a mess?”

“yes!” you beg, tears stinging your eyes as you nod.

he grins and starts slowly fucking you with his cock. you’re creaming all over him and it’s driving him crazy. with just a few thrusts against your sweet little spot, you’re gushing all around him and soaking his length with your cum.

“you’re so fucking messy, little whore,” he growls, “now sit there and let me use this sloppy hole how i want.”

-ˏ͛ itachiyamaˏ͛-

— kiyoomi sakusa.

∴ doesn’t know that it’s a kink that exists ∴ and truly didn’t get anything out of seeing you struggle to take his cock ∴ until you actually voiced your arousal over it ∴ and then he was like ‘ok.....i see.....i can get behind this....’ ∴ and now he rlly digs it tbh ∴ he’s a simple man, really

“too big, omi,” you cry, clinging to the sheets beneath you as he stuffs you full of his cock.

“shut up,” he snaps, continuing to sink his length into you until you reach up and press your hands against his chest to get him to stop, “hands off.”

“pl-please,” you whine, voice teary, “s-slow down.”

he shakes his head and shoves your hands away from him, pushing even more into you. you’re breathing hard but you’re soaking his cock so he knows it’s not that bad. you’re just a dramatic little crybaby and he knows that. but he also knows you’ll take what he tells you to so he continues on until he’s bottoming out.

“s-so full...you’re so deep, omi,” you babble, eyes hazy, “you fill me up so much. g-gonna make me cum s-soon.”

he scoffs, pulling back so only half his length remains before shoving that same amount back in. you squeal and shriek out his name. he grits his teeth and slaps his hand over your mouth so hard you flinch.

“fuckdolls don’t talk,” he hisses, “shut the fuck up and let me use you.”

»» ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ««

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Note

I propose slow loving sex with Gojo thank u for ur time

propose and you may receive

prince charming - gojo x reader (2.5k)

[comments and reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

warnings: afab reader, no pronouns. not sfw. minors dni! light fingering, piv sex, coming inside, soft. . . soft . . .

Most people who know Satoru Gojo would tell you that the man has two modes. Two ways of being. There is the way that he is from day to day; the laugh, the shovelling of sweets into his mouth, the constant stream of upbeat nonsense and jokes that few people are able to keep a proper track of. This is the Satoru Gojo he is with his students, you think – when the weight of being the strongest does not weigh so heavy on his shoulders.

Then, there is the Satoru Gojo in battle. There is the lift of his blindfold, the way that his blue eyes bore into his enemies – the self-assured way of talking, the ruthless precision with which he deploys his skills. This is the Satoru Gojo that does bear the weight of all of his strength; but his lips still quirk at the corners, he still cracks a joke sometimes though his tone is steely. They have shades of one another, those two personalities - but still, they are the two personalities that he chooses to show the world.

You, however, are permitted to see a different side than most people do.

You see Gojo now, with his body over yours, his soft lips brushing your jawline. You see him with his big hands, cupping your face so he has more access to your neck and your ear, the kisses coming slow and soft and relaxed. He is a large man, despite the fact that he is tall, lithe muscle as opposed to pure brawn – he cages you beneath him like he never wants you to be able to escape him.

You do not want to escape him. Not least when you finally manage to capture those lips in your own and you taste sugar on his tongue. As his teeth nip gently at your lower lip and a breathy sigh is transferred into his mouth; as his long fingers run down your body, appreciating you with a soft hum.

“I’d ask what I did to get so lucky,” he murmurs, voice low and throaty, “but I think I deserve you.”

Some things do not change; Gojo’s arrogance is always there, beneath the surface. He is lucky you find his self-confidence charming, your lips sliding into a smile as your own hands gently push up the shirt he’s wearing. His skin is warm and soft beneath it (you dread to think how expensive it was; Gojo spends money like it’s going out of style, and you have a myriad of gifts to prove it).

“You don’t shut up, do you?” You ask him, mildly, your smile not leaving your face. He laughs softly, and it feels like wind blowing through a field of flowers.

“You love me for it,” he says, all fondness, and he’s right. His shirt is parted from his top half and you admire him; unmarked skin (you suppose his technique means he’s free from the scars so many other jujutsu sorcerers learn to live with), the lean but taut muscles of his abdomen and shoulders. You run your fingers over him and he sighs, leaning into your touch like a cat. Your thumb brushes the hollow of his throat as you take a handful of his pale hair and drag him down into another kiss.

If nothing else, it occupies his mouth.

You can feel his hardness straining in his ripped jeans (pre-ripped for his convenience, with an eye-watering price tag, but even you have to admit that they make his ass look rounder and cling to his thighs and crotch in a way that makes you needy and heated if you stare for too long) as he moves his body against you, half-grinding.

You’re on the couch. You really should move to the bed – heaven knows Gojo’s is big enough for both of you – but there’s something domestic and sweet about Gojo kissing you here, amongst the remains of the sweets he’d been feeding you and with a romantic comedy neither of you are watching any more playing on the screen.

It’s so easy to feel like everything with Gojo is a life-or-death situation – to ascribe more meaning to a brush of his fingers on your shoulder or a murmur of ‘I’ll be home later tonight’ than you really need to.

This, though - this is simple, and easy. It lets you forget the world outside, just for the moments in which Gojo’s body is pressed against yours – lets you think of yourself as a normal couple.

There is nothing more romantic to you than the thought of you and Gojo being able to be just anybody.

So you spread your legs further apart so he can settle between them, sighing as his mouth moves from your own to brush kisses over your cheeks and the bridge of your nose instead.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he tells you, as he pulls back and tugs on your own shirt – you allow it to be removed, thrown onto the ground where you may never see it again. Much more interesting than the lost shirt are Gojo’s hands, large and warm, sliding up the expanse of your stomach and to your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. He undoes the catch of your bra as if the motion is as easy as breathing – and maybe to him, it is. Upon your flesh being newly bared, he sighs, leaning down to kiss the swell of the curve. To find your nipple with the warmth of his tongue and tease it to hardness as he flattens his tongue against it and laps at you, the motion sending little electric shocks of pleasure to the place between your thighs. You sigh and squirm, and he gives the hardened bud a gentle graze of his teeth as he pulls back to look at you.

The sight of his blue eyes concentrated wholly on you and all of the distilled starshine contained within always makes you lose your senses for a moment. It should be unfair, you think, for him to look like that. For those wide blue eyes to seem so innocent when you know that he is not--

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells you. You know that he’s telling you the truth; Gojo is not the kind to mince his words. His hands rest on your waist, curving down over your hips to tug at your bottoms and make short work of those too. You lift yourself slightly to allow it, Gojo wriggling so that he can get them off without ever having to really move from between your legs. The bottoms go the same way as your shirt, and you are below him now in nothing but your underwear--

Though that’s barely covering anything. Gojo sighs to see the pale white of the piece you’re wearing has gone translucent from the gush of your slick, clinging to the outline of your folds and showing him just how needy the kissing and the touching and the groping has gotten. He trails a finger down and brushes your mound through the fabric, ghosting over your clit.

“This is for me, doll?” He asks you, a smirk on his face that you want to kiss off.

“You know it is,” you breathe, lifting your hips – and the smirk softens into a smile.

“Maybe I like hearing you say it,” he murmurs, increasing the pressure of his touch so he is rubbing you through the cotton; his big fingers pressing against your clit, making your hips jerk. You don’t know if you want to jerk away from the sensation of the fabric pressing against your swollen nub, or jerk into the pressure that you want so badly – so you settle for circling your hips, panting soft little noises.

Gojo smiles at you and the expression on his face is dazzling. Your heart skips a beat; he’s so beautiful. You’re so unbelievably, amazingly lucky--

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, leaning and kissing your cheek, burying his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and lick and suck at the skin there. Your back arches as his attentions send yet more shivers down your spine, set you aflame even further. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear his face was warm – is he blushing? “If you could see yourself, you’d understand--”

“If you could see yourself,” you tell him, through the pounding need in your chest, “you’d understand exactly why I’m looking at you like that--”

“Oh, I know,” he preens, though his face is still warm. He hooks his fingers into the wet underwear and pulls them over your thighs. “I know why you’re looking at me like that! I’m gorgeous-- but . . .” He seems to stumble over his words before he manages to get a good hold on them again, before he pulls back and the flush on his cheeks is only barely there. “You don’t know how gorgeous you are, and . . .” He places a hand to his chest. Your underwear is dangling from his thumb, though you’re not entirely sure how he fully tangled you out of him in the position the two of you are still in. “It breaks my heart!”

You smile despite yourself.

“You’re being too romantic,” you tell him, though your insides are secretly all aflame and bubbling. “It’s not like you.”

“I’m wounded,” he says. One hand lands on your thigh, drawing circles and patterns on the slick skin – his middle finger gently nudges the very outside of your sex, teasing the puffy lips apart so he can brush your clit. Your gasp dies in your throat. “I’ll have you know I’m an absolute Prince Charming, baby--”

And he’s giving you that charming smile, even as that same finger presses deep inside you in one swift movement and your knuckles clench on the couch cushion. You groan aloud, lifting your hips to allow him deeper, to make you feel fuller--

Your eyelashes flutter, eyelids somewhere between open and closed, but you still see that Gojo’s own gaze is fixed on you. It’s tender. Loving. You feel strangely exposed beneath it – but at the same time, you feel warm and comfortable and right as he adds another finger and stretches you out on it, scissoring them apart. He brushes the spongy spot of your walls that always hits different and you sigh, murmuring out his name--

“Satoru,” you’re practically whining. “Satoru, faster, please—”

“Prince Satoru,” he corrects you, with a grin that’s slightly crooked to one side and more charming than it has any right to be. He pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, until they are thoroughly coated in your wetness, until the fire inside you has been suitably kindled and your breath is uneven and your face is hot – and then he pulls them out.

You don’t have time to whine.

Not with the sound of his zipper, the sound of him kicking off his expensive jeans – the heat of him settling over you on his knees and taking your hips to slide you easily onto his cock.

He groans out your name like it’s all he ever wants to say.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he says, and you reach up and grab a handful of his hair again. He lets it be pulled with only the softest sigh – lets you bend him over you so the two of you are cheek to cheek, chest to chest, so close that you can feel his heart beating. “Fuck, doll--”

He’s right. He fits inside of you like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle; warm and tight and perfect.

It’s a triumph, for Satoru Gojo to be lost for words – but he stops speaking as he fucks you slow and soft. It’s not that you and he only usually fuck hard and rough – but his job is stressful, and he is teasing and smug, and it’s more usual for you to be bent over on his bed as he pulls your hair and runs his mouth than it is for anything like this to happen.

He doesn’t seem to have any complaints about it, though – and neither do you. How can you complain when he holds you so gently? When he kisses you like he’s savouring the taste of you instead of devouring you?

He’s not speaking, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t noisy – he’s panting, groaning, moaning. He’s always loud in bed – he has almost no self-control when it comes to pleasure, you don’t think – but the noises also go right through you in only the best of ways, making you shiver and shudder. It’s unfair that his voice should sound so good. It’s unfair that he should have almost no flaws--

Some people might say his personality is a flaw, you suppose, but you unfortunately find him charming.

You wrap your legs about his waist and his cock hits deeper, brushes that same spot inside of you – but you find you do not care so much about the orgasm as you care about having Gojo in this embrace.

Not caring about it, though, doesn’t mean that is not going to happen – not with the slow thrusts of his hips, or with the sight of him with his lip bitten and his hair all mussed up from your tangling.

You’re not sure if Gojo has ever found something that he isn’t good at, and fucking you is no exception. His cock hits every spot inside of you and seems to find new nerves you didn’t know would feel so good when stimulated; your entire abdomen (hell, your entire body) feels like it’s on fire. You were slick enough before he’d entered you, but now you can feel your own arousal pooling on the couch cushions beneath you – you can hear how wet Gojo’s cock must be, on the push-pull of him fucking into you. The glide is slick and silky and searing, and your fingers flex on his back, as the tight string inside of you readies to snap.

“Sat-- I’m-- ‘m gonna--”

Your words are lost to the feel of him, to the haze that seems to descend around you whenever you and Gojo are together. You see the curve of his smile, hear him softly whisper;

“S’alright, baby--”

A stroke of his hips that has the flat plane of his pelvis pressing against your clit and you let yourself go, tumbling into the bright lights of your oblivion, your thighs tightening reflexively about him as if you want him to drown inside of you. Gojo sighs, groans, moans out your name as your cunt milks him for all he is worth, squeezing around him – and, he, too, lets go. Heat. Warmth. Gojo’s cock, twitching, heavy and perfect and right inside of you.

“I love you,” you whisper, against his collarbone, in time with the beating of his heart – and Gojo looks at you as his hips continue to roll slow and leisurely, eking out the final drops of his release as it settles inside of you like a claim, and he smiles slow and soft like honey or syrup.

“I know,” he says, quietly. “I love you too.”

He stays inside of you, on top of you, in the embrace, even as his cock begins to soften. Enjoying your warmth, your presence, your closeness.

Maybe he is a Prince Charming.

You’re not going to say that aloud to him, though.

He’d never let it go.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #writing #jjk posting #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #not sfw #jjk writing #afab reader #neutral pronouns #Anonymous

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years ago

Note

OOOOOO, I really like your writing and u asked for prompts. So, maybe u could do a really shy!reader or mute!reader with peter? I think that be cute! Or you can do it with tom since u said once that you like writing for tom more :)

secret language

Pairing: Peter Parker x Mute!Reader

Synopsis: a study in the silence that comes when two people understand each other

Masterlist

You sat alone at on a bench on your first day of kindergarten, feeling intimidated by the noise and spectacle of it all. You hugged your backpack to your chest, wishing the day could go faster so you could fo home.

Then he came up to you.

“Hi. I’m Peter.” A curly haired boy pulled the seat out next to you and sat down. You waved at Peter and put your backpack on the table, deciding to give him a chance.

“Do you have a name?” Peter asked, and you nodded your head. You took his hand and laid his palm flat, carefully writing your name with your finger.

“Wait, do it again.” Peter requested, watching your every move intently. You wrote your name again on his palm and he titled his head, staring at his hand like the word would be written there.

“Y/n?” He looked up at you once he figured it out. “Am I saying it right?”

You nodded happily and pointed to yourself before giving him a thumbs up. Peter smiled proudly and looked at his hand again.

“Do you not talk?” He wondered, making you shake your head no.

“That’s okay.” Peter shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t like to talk either.”

Peter began to swing his legs, looking around the classroom in awe before his eyes fell on Aunt May, who was talking to the teacher.

“Is your mommy still here?” He turned to you to ask. You nodded and pointed to your mom, who was laughing with one of the single dads.

“She’s pretty. Her shoes are so tall!” Peter exclaimed as he pointed at her high heels. You laughed silently, smiling to show that you agreed. Peter smiled back at you, several teeth in the front row missing. His smile faded suddenly as he looked down at his lap.

“My parents just died.” He confessed to you. “Uncle Ben said they’re in heaven. I tried to look for Heaven on the map on the subway, but I couldn’t find it. Do you know where it is?”

You shook your head and Peter sighed.

“Me either.” He said, pouring a little as he slumped in his seat. You sat in silence for a moment until you heard a little noise from Peter.

“I miss my mommy.” He said quietly, his voice sounding weak.

Your eyes filled with sympathy for Peter as you stuck your bottom lip out. Peter watched you curiously as you reached out your hand, taking his little one in your own and squeezing it three times. Peter gasped a little, looking up at you with wide eyes as you gave him a gentle smile. It reminded him of what his mother used to do when he was scared, three squeezes to say three words.

I. Love. You.

Aunt May didn’t know about their little ritual, so when Peter squeezed her hand three times as they lowered his mom into the ground, she didn’t squeeze back. It made Peter wonder if anyone would tell him they loved him in the secret language ever again. But here you were, squeezing his hand to let him know it was okay.

“Thank you.” He smiled, his eyes no longer glassy. “I love you too.”

You smiled at him and he noticed that were missing teeth too. Peter pointed to your mouth and laughed before pointing to his own. You both doubled over on the bench (I was over on the bench) in a fit of laughter, as if you had reached the very apex of comedy with missing teeth and gaps in your smiles.

You and Peter spent the day together, communicating though words written on his palm or on a piece of paper. He found it very easy to understand you, even when you didn’t speak. He liked your quiet company far better than the loud children in the class, knocking over blocks and crying over toys. You were different, and Peter liked different.

At the end of the day, Peter saw his family and grabbed your hand, running towards them with you in tow.

“Aunt May! Uncle Ben! I made a friend. She’s a mule.” Peter proudly presented you to his aunt and uncle. You smiled politely at them as they shared a confused look.

“What sweetie?” Aunt May asked as she crouched down a little. In the mean time, your mother had spotted you holding hands with Peter and made her way over.

“Mute. Y/n is a selective mute.” Your mother explained as she came up behind you. “Hi, I’m her mother.”

“Like on a remote!” Peter cheered as the adults shook hands. “Can she come over?”

“Is that alright with her mommy?” Uncle Ben looked at your mother for permission.

“Sure.” Your mother complied. “If you give her a piece of paper, she can write some words down. I’ll give you my number just in case.”

“She doesn’t need paper.” Peter shook his head. “We can already talk, look.”

Peter held you your enjoined hands and squeezed yours three times. You squeezed back, making him grin.

“See? She said she loves me.” He exclaimed, letting your hands drop back to your sides.

“That’s so cute. I was so worried about her making friends. She stopped speaking after her father passed.” Your mother quietly explained to May and Ben.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Peters parents just passed as well.” May said sympathetically while Ben watched the two of you. A complicit smile sat on his lips as he saw his nephew genuinely smile for the first time since his parents died.

“My condolences.” Your mother touched May’s arm kindly.

“Thank you.” May put her hand over your mother’s. “It’s been really difficult for him. It’s been so long since he-“

She was cut off by Peter laughing loudly at something you didn’t say, but conveyed. Tears brimmed in her eyes as you wrote something on Peter’s palm, something that made him light up like the forth of July.

“Since he’s been happy.” She finished.

“Lucky they found each other, huh?” Your mother smiled fondly as she watched you and Peter play, earning a nod from May.

And lucky you were.

Over the next few years, you and Peter developed a secret language entirely comprised of soft touches, expressive looks and squeezes. It was a dialect that only existed between the two of you, and that was how you liked it.

“Welcome, students, to your first day of high school. My name is Mrs. Ingrid, I’ll be your english teacher this year. I’d like us to go around the room and say your name and what you did this summer.”

You looked at Peter with panicked eyes as tired groans echoed around the classroom. It was your very first period of your very first day and you were already freaking out. Peter gave you a gentle smile as he reached across his desk and took your hand, giving it three solid squeezes.

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “I got you.”

“Mr. Parker.” Mrs. Ingrid said suddenly. “Since you’re talking, would you like to go first?”

“O-Okay.” Peter stuttered as he stood up from his desk. “My name is Peter Parker. This summer I watched all the Star Wars movies in a row without breaking to sleep.”

“Thank you for sharing.” She nodded curtly and turned to you, as you were seated next to Peter. “Ms. L/n, you can go next.”

“This is-“ Peter began.

“I believe she can speak for herself.” Mrs. Ingrid snapped, narrowing her eyes at Peter. You looked at Peter with eyes full of guilt as you unintentionally made him get off on the wrong foot with the teacher. You expected Peter to be scared, but his face showed that he was perfectly calm.

“Actually she can’t, ma’am.” Peter said politely. “This is Y/n L/n and she’s mute. She also spent her summer watching the Star Wars movies but she fell asleep sometime between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith.”

Surprised murmurs swept though the crowd at the mention of the word “mute”. It was something the students hadn’t been exposed to yet and you felt the individual pricks as they sunk their teeth into it. Knowing the pantomime spotlight was being shone on you, you turned to the class and gave a weak smile.

“My apologies.” Mrs. Ingrid said shortly. “I forgot we had a disabled student this year. Thank you, Peter. And welcome Y/n.”

She turned her back to the class to hide the flush of embarrassment as a student called her out, but Peter had more to say.

“It’s not a disability.” He spoke up, shrinking in his seat when everyone’s eyes went to him.

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Ingrid turned around with an unamused grin.

“Well, Y/n is mute because of an anxiety disorder.” Peter explained. “She physically has the ability to speak, but she mentally feels like she can’t. She doesn’t see it as a disability.”

“Did she tell you that?” Flash, a boy with his name stitched onto the pocket of his shirt, asked from somewhere behind the room, making the whole room laugh at you.

The whole room except Peter

Peter turned around in his seat and glared at Flash, armed and ready to defend you if needed.

“Yes, she did.” Peter stated. “She tells me everything.”

Flash snickered and rolled his eyes as Peter turned around in his seat. Other students continues to gawk at you, as if your mutism could be seen on the outside. Your face flamed red until you felt Peters hand on your shoulder, squeezing it three times to calm you down.

“I apologize, Y/n.” Mrs. Ingrid smiled at you. “Would the next student like to go?”

You walked home once the day had ended with Peter by your side, quietly thinking to yourself as he talked about his science class.

“Anyways.” He paused time catch his breath as he finished his story. “How was your day?”

You looked at him sideways before grabbing his hand and writing an “E” on his palm.

“Come on. English wasn’t that bad.” He insisted, grimacing a little when you glared at him. You made a gesture of a circle before sharply pointing at yourself.

“I know. But I bet everyone had a moment today where they felt like everyone was staring at them.” Peter tried to assure you but you rolled your eyes.

“Tomorrow will be better.” Peter said decidedly. “That Flash kid is so annoying though. How many classes do you have with him?”

You held up three fingers and Peters eyes widened in sympathy.

“Three?” He gasped. I’m so sorry. Hopefully he was just trying to show off for the first day.”

You shrugged a little and pantomimed popping your collar, to which Peter laughed.

“Right?” Peter exclaimed. “Why does he dress like a mobsters son?”

Your shoulders moved up and down as you silently laughed with him, nearing your apartment building now.

“We should do something to celebrate our first day.” Peter decided. “What do you want?”

You looked at him and raised your eyebrows, a smile appearing on his face as he caught your drift.

“You read my mind.” He sighed happily and he shifted the weight of his backpack to his other shoulder. “Coffee ice cream and Impractical Jokers it is.”

You put your hands over your heart and made a dreamy expression, to which Peter let out a groan.

“Stop it.” He laughed though a whine. “You’re the only one who thinks Sal is hot.”

You shoved him playfully as you entered the lobby of your building, making a face he knew all too well.

“I’m not having this argument with you again.” He wagged his finger in your face as he pushed the elevator button. You pouted and took his hand, writing out an expletive on his palm.

“Don’t use that tone with me young lady.” Peter feigned a gasp as he held his hand to his chest. You gave him an unamused look as he laughed at his own joke.

“Hey. “ He said suddenly as he took your hand. “Happy first day.”

You reluctantly smiled at his newfound sentimentality and squeezed his hand three times, for for each word.

“Mrs. Ingrid.” Flash’s hand shot up one November morning. “When we present the projects tomorrow, can Brian present mine?”

“No, Eugene.” She sighed, a snicker coming from the class as he used his first name. “Every student must do their own presentation.”

“Then how come Y/n doesn’t have to do one?” He asked spitefully, making everyone look at you. You looked to Peter for help, who was already turned in his seat to face Flash.

“You know why she doesn’t.” He said dully, tired of Flash’s unjustified vendetta against you.

“Well I don’t think it’s fair that she gets special treatment.” Flash short back, making some students “ooo” and agree.

“It’s not special treatment. Y/n is mute, Flash. You, on the other hand, have made it very clear that you are not.” Peter sassed, making the class laugh. Flash’s face turned red in embarrassment as he looked around the room for help.

“Selective mute.” He emphasized. “That means she can talk if she wanted to. You said so on the first day, Penis Parker.”

“It’s not like a light switch she can turn on and off, Flash. She doesn’t feel like she has a choice. Leave her alone.” Peter barked, getting up out of his seat now.

“If she wants me to leave her alone, she should tell me herself.” Flash snapped, getting up as well. You looked between the two boys with fearful eyes, tugging on Peters sleeve to get him to back down.

“What’s your problem?” Peter asked angrily. “What are you, jealous because she’s never spoken in this class yet still outperforms you?”

The class laughed at Peters insult, only making Flash angrier.

“I’d like to see how well she’d do without you as her interpreter.” He yelled as he pointed a finger at Peter.

“That’s enough.” Mrs. Ingrid slammed her hands on her desk. “Both of you, sit down. Y/n will be doing a power point presentation. End of discussion.”

“Yeah, that’s enough Eugene.” Peter hissed as he took his seat.

“That’ll be all, Peter.” Mrs. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at your best friend. “If this continues, I’ll have to request that the three of you be separated and put into different classes.”

“Why should Y/n and I be separated just because Flash is a dick?” Peter asked, eyes widened when he realized what he said. The students laughed at the sound of a curse word, even if it was one the uses on a daily. You looked at Peter scornfully and tapped his desk twice, communicating with him to calm down.

“Mr. Parker. I’ll be seeing you in detention.” Mrs. Ingrid stated. “Everyone, take out your textbooks and turn to page 117.”

You put your textbook on your desk and looked at Peter, giving him a sympathetic pout for getting him in trouble. You reached over and took his hand, squeezing it twice to apologize.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered to you. “Detention is a small price to pay for getting to call Flash a dick to his face.”

You squeezed his hand again and tilted your head to the side, making him shake his head at you.

“No, it’s not your fault.” Peter insisted.” It was mine. I interrupted the class, not you. Don’t worry about me.”

You sighed and brushed the side of your nose with your thumb, causing Peter to smile.

“I know.” He said softly. “I always worry about you too.”

You found Peter waiting for you at your locker at the end of the school day, bouncing with excitement to tell you a story from his algebra class. You listened intently as you collected your books, linking your arm through his once you were done. You walked past Mrs. Ingrids classroom and heard someone clear their throat, making you both stop in your tracks.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Parker?” She asked as she appeared in the doorway, arms folded and glasses perched on the lower part of her nose bridge.

“Shoot. I forgot I have detention.” Peter groaned before turning to you. “Do you mind waiting?”

You pointed behind you with your thumb and shrugged as Peter chewed his lip nervously.

“Are you sure? What if somebody asks you for directions?” He worried, not liking the idea of you walking home by yourself. You looked at him like he was silly and pointed your finger in both directions, signally that you could just point someone in the right direction of the asked.

“Well what if the directions are really complex?” Peter added, coming up with any excuse he could think of. You made a gesture that Mrs. Ingrid didn’t understand, but seemed to make all the sense in the world to Peter.

“You’re right. You don’t need a babysitter.” He agreed. “Do you want to meet back in my room at 4?”

You nodded and took his books from him so you could drop them off in his room.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He promised as you took his hand and squeezed it three times.

“I love you too.” He smiled, giving you three squeezes before walking in the direction of the detention room. Mrs. Ingrid watched him until he disappeared around a corner, turning to you once he was gone.

“You and Peter, are you two together?” She questioned, making you shake your head. She smiled a little, looking amused as she took off her glasses and rubbed them on her shirt.

“Someone should tell him that.” She chuckled, sliding her glasses back on her face. You put your hand over your heart and rubbed it in a circle, the first gesture Mrs. Ingrid understood.

“I see.” She nodded. “You have a nice day now, Y/n. Get home safe.”

You smiled in appreciation at her before waving goodbye, walking out the doors of the school and towards your building.

You tucked your thumbs under the straps of your backpack as you walked, taking every precaution to step over the cracks in the sidewalk as you approached them.

“Hey, Hellen Keller, wait up.”

You froze for a moment when you heard Flash’s voice behind you before quickly picking up your pace. Unfortunately, he had the same idea and ran to catch up with you, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn around when he got there.

“I was talking to you. Are you deaf too now?” He snickered devilishly as you pulled your arm out of his grasp. You kept walking, but he fell into a stride right beside you.

“So how does it work? Can you and Peter read each other’s thoughts? Does he ever think about me?” Flash batted his eyelashes but you ignored him. You swallowed nervously as you began to wish you had just waited for Peter.

“Come on, Y/n. You should take my interest in you as a compliment.” Flash smirked, making you roll your eyes. “I wanna hear you speak.”

Your unbreaking silence woke up something animalistic in Flash, making him grab both your arms and pushing you into a vacant alley. He pressed you against a wall, gripping both your arms so tight, you were sure they’d bruise.

“Didn’t you hear me? Say something.” He bellowed, getting right in your face as he screamed. You turned your face away and grimaced, fidgeting to get out of his grasp.

“Fine.” He laughed in a way that made your blood turn cold. “You don’t want to talk? Then I wanna hear you scream.”

Your eyes widened as he threw you to the ground, your body skidding on the pavement as you moved. He stalked up to you like a Brute, towering over you as you held up a hand.

“Where’s your little boyfriend now?” He asked, raising his fist above your head. A scream ripped through your throat as his fist came down, never making contact with your face. You opened your eyes slowly and saw him wiping his hands, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“That’s what I thought. See you tomorrow. Can’t wait to see your PowerPoint.” He quipped, spitting on the ground next to you before leaving. Once you were sure he was gone, you sat up. Your hands went to your elbow first, as you felt blood tricking from an open wound. It wasn’t anything serious, just a scrape and a friction burn. Your hands then traveled to your neck, fingers resting over your vocal chords. You hadn’t heard a sound come from your mouth in 10 years, not even a laugh. The scream that came from your mouth was different from screams you’d heard in movies. It was deeper and hollow, as if it came from an animal. Tears stung your eyes as you got up, body aching from hitting the ground. You looked around the corner before continuing your way home, looking over your shoulder every so often out of fear.

You cleaned your elbow up in Peters bathroom, sticking a few Paw Patrol bandaids to the cut as you waiting for him to come home. You ended up falling asleep on his bed, only waking up when he came in a quarter last five.

“Hey sleepy head. I’m sorry I’m late.” He spoke in a hushed tone as he knelt beside his bed. “Mrs. Ingrid made me write on the board 100 times like Bart Simpson. Did you get back okay?”

You nodded as you sat up, slowly opening your sleep heavy eyes. Peter smiled as he smoothed the hair that was sticking up on either side of your part, smile fading when he took a closer look at your face.

“What happened? Have you been crying?” He worried as he cupped your face, turning it slightly to get a better look. Taking a deep breath to brace for Peters reaction, you held out your arm. He caught sight of the bandaids almost instantly, looking at you in disbelief before gently examining your arm.

“Who did this to you?” He demanded as he carefully twisted your arm to see the full extent of the wound. You weakly pantomimed a popped collar, seeing the anger in Peters eyes grow as he understood.

“Fucking Flash.” He stood up abruptly and slammed his hand on his wall. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone.”

You got up and went over to him, shaking your head sympathetically.

“I did too have a choice.” He disagreed. “People skip detention all the time. How could I let this happen?” He asked, more so to himself as he sat on the bed. He put his head in his hands, hiding out of the shame he felt. You took a seat beside him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders while resting your head on his body. You tapped his leg four times, making him bring his head out of his heads to shake it.

“It is my fault.” He told you. “I provoked him in English and that’s why he went after you. I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.”

You pouted and took his chin between your fingers, squeezing his arm twice with your free hand.

“It’s not okay!” He yelled. “He’s been targeting you since day one. I bet he planned this. He’s probably been waiting to get you along. Did he hurt you anywhere else? Oh god, did he touch you?” Peter could barely see past his disgust long enough to get the words, turning a little green as the worst case scenario played in his mind. You frantically shook your head and Peter calmed down just a little.

“He’s lucky. He’d be a dead man if he did.” Peter stated assertively. You tilted your head and gave him a disapproving look that he read in seconds.

“How am I overreacting?” He asked. “You’re hurt! He hurt you! Screw this - I’m gonna kill him.” He got up again and heading towards the door. You sprung up from the bed and threw your arms around him from behind, stopping him in his tracks. You squeezed his tightly, resting your chin on his shoulder as you held him back. He struggled to break out of your grasp until he heard a strangled sound emit from your throat. As distorted and muffled as it was, Peter knew was you were trying to say.

“Stay.”

He hung his head in shame, knowing it scared you when he raised his voice. He put his hands over yours, which had been resting on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, keeping his eyes down. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I worry about you.”

You slowly withdrew your hands and turned him around, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.

“I know you don’t need me to protect you. Is it wrong that I still want too?” He smiled weakly as he leaned into your palms. You shook your head and moved your hands down to his shoulders, shrugging a little to tell him you didn’t mind.

“I’m walking you home tomorrow.” He promised as he pulled you into a hug. “And everyday for the rest of my life.”

You patted his back four times, making his body shake with laughter.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Sounds good to me too.”

You entered Peters room a little over a year later after receiving a frantic text. The text contained exactly one word, “ouchie”, and the rest was gibberish. Peters wise eyes met yours and you smiled at him, smile fading as your eyes trailed down his body. He was clad in nothing but his boxers and one single sock, glistening with sweat from head to toe. Your best friends lean and scrawny body that you has seen hundreds of times since your childhood was replaced with broad shoulders and solid muscle, features that made your face burn all the way to your ears. That wasn’t what shocked you, though. What shocked you was the series of papers, pens, shirts, and granola bars that were sticking to his body as if adhered with glue.

“Whats happening to me?” He screamed, tugging at a Nature Valley bar sticking to his nipple. You held back a laugh when you saw how scared he looked and approached him slowly like a deer in the woods. You reached out a hand but he backed away as if you might burn him.

“Don’t.” He croaked. “You’ll stick too and I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

You waved your hand in dismissal and reached out again, placing a cool hand on Peters burning cheek. His eyes shut in tranquillity as he leaned into your hand, letting your touch calm him as it had done so many times in the past.

You peeled a shirt off his shoulder and plucked a pencil off his thigh as his breathing slowed down. You cupped his face in your hands and looked at him, wordlessly asking him to tell you what happened.

“I went to Oscorp yesterday and this spider bit me and I woke up really sweaty - and I mean really sweaty - and then I got super hungry so I went ham on granola bars - and I’m talking ape shit Y/n I didn’t even chew I just went feral on those crumbly bitches - and then things kept sticking to me and I don’t know what to do and-“

You acted on a whim and pulled Peters face towards yours, kissing him firmly on the lips. The only noise in the room was the sound of pens and granola bars hitting the ground as they slowly unstuck from his body. Peter places a gentle hand on your face as he kissed you back. You pulled away, feeling his eyelashes tickle your face as his eyes fluttered open.

“And you just kissed me.” He laughed slightly, pace significantly slower now. You gave him a knowing look and shrugged a little, making him laugh.

“You’re right.” He realized. “You didn’t stick.”

You wrapped your arms around Peters neck and pressed your forehead against his, letting silence fill the room as he held you.

“I don’t know what this means. I’m…I’m scared.” He whispered as he nuzzled against you. You shook your head a little, telling him he didn’t have to be scared. Moving your head up to look at you, you took his face between your hands and kissed his lips three times in a row. After the third kiss, a cheeky smile lingered on Peters lips.

“I love you too.” He told you, grinning widely before kissing you again.

You laid on Peters chest, a few years out of college now. His shirt was riding up a little, exposing bare skin that served as your canvas. A shy smile made on a home on your face as you traced letters on his skin.

“What was that?” He asked when he felt your touch but couldn’t make out your words. “Say it again.”

You chuckled a little at his phrasing, and he did too. In accordance to his request, you wrote your sentence again, taking your time with the curve of each letter. Peter furrowed his eyebrows a little as he propped himself up on his elbows, a little annoyed with himself for not being able to decipher what you were saying. He prided himself on being fluent in your secret language, so the only possible answer was that whatever you were writing now was something you had never written before.

“Wait, do it again.” He asked, determined to crack the code. You sat up on your elbow as well, looking at him through your lashes as you traced the words again.

“I’m convinced this is gibberish.” Peter shook his head through a chuckle, looking at curiously to see if you were messing with him. You let out a tiny whine as you stuck your bottom lip out, patting his chest twice to tell him to try harder.

“Fine, fine. Try again. But go slowly.”

You sucked in a breath and held your fingernail to his skin, slowly tracing the first word.

“Will?” He asked, grinning when you nodded and continued to write.

“You?” He looked to you for confirmation. “Will you?”

You nodded again, feeling butterflies now and you moved to the next word.

“Many?” He questioned. You shook your head repeatedly, anxious for him to figure it out. You wrote it again and saw it click for him.

“Ohh. Marry.” He smiled, proud of himself for getting it. His eyes met yours and all at once, he understood why he couldn’t figure it out before.

No one fault really, you just never proposed to him before.

“Wait.” His lips curved into a smile as he cupped your chin with his hand.

“Do it again.” He asked, unable to contain his excitement as you repeated your actions.

“One more time.” He pleaded, eyes filling with tears now. “I know what it is, I just want to feel it again.”

You wrote it again, writing it on every exposed part of his body now. You proposed on his arm, his chest, his leg and his bicep, a man excited squeal leaving his throat each time you did it.

“Give me your hand.” He fully sat up now, wrapping his arms around you and taking your hand in his. He opened your hand and flattened your palm, bringing his finger to your skin.

“Y-E-S.” He spelled out loud as he wrote on your palm. “Yes. I will marry you.”

Smoothing your dress with a shaking hand, you turned to your mom for last minute adjustments before you walked down the isle. She smiled widely as she touched up your hair, handing you your bouquet once she was satisfied.

“Are you ready?” She asked. “That’s a dumb question. You’ve been ready for this since kindergarten.”

Nodding at your mothers words of encouragements, you nervously clutched your bouquet of sunflowers and roses, yours and Peters favorite flowers.

“You’re so lucky to have found each other.” Your mother smiled fondly as she dusted off your shoulders. “To understand someone the way you do, it’s rare. Your father would be proud.”

Emotion overcame you as you pulled your mother into a hug, thanking her the only way you could for getting you that far. The vamping of the organ signaled to you that it was time to go, all your nervously butterflies turning into petals of excitement. Your mother gave you an assuring smile as she slipped her hand into yours, both of you facing forward now as the doors opened.

Everyone turned to look at you, a welcome gesture this time around, as you made your way down the isle. You made eye contact with Peter, who had a hand clamped over his mouth to hide his emotions. He wiped tears from his eyes as Ned patted his back, silently willing you to come faster down the isle. In his mind, you couldn’t walk fast enough. He was not interested in spending one more minute as just your boyfriend. As you got closer to the alter, you waved at the Avengers who had put on their best suits to attend your big day.

And finally, you made your way to Peter.

You whole life had been about making your way to Peter, and now, dressed in white, you had arrived. You handed your bouquet to your mother and accepted Peters hand to help you step onto the alter. Peter sniffled a little as he took your hands in his, overwhelmed in the moment by your beauty.

The priest began to speak, but you didn’t hear much. All you could focus on was your childhood best friend, soon to be husband. Your palms sweat as the vows approached, an unfamiliar tickle resting in your throat.

“And now, the vows.” The priest handed the baton to you and Peter.

“Sunsets, flowers, and you. Three beautiful things that don’t make any noise. I believe some of the most wonderful things a human being can experience happen in silence. I believe that because of you.” Peters voice cracked momentarily. “I stand before you today as someone who is permanently subscribed to your silence. I look forward to a lifetime of knowing looks and written messages on the palm of my hand. I never knew how much could be said through three simple squeezes of my hand, but it feels like my entire life has happened since the first time you touched me and the last. Though your voice has never fallen on my ears, I’m confident I could identify it anywhere. You and I have created something incredible rare, a silence that only comes when two people truly know each other. And I know you. I am blessed to say I know you. I have never heard you speak, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear you. I hear you in the early hours of the morning when the birds begin to chirp. I hear you when the blood rushes to my face because you looked at me in a certain way. I hear you when the music swells in my favorite song, and I hear you in every beat of my heart. I won’t tell you I’ll love you until death do us part, because even the jaws of death couldn’t end my love for you. I will just find you in the next life, and the one after that. Nothing could keep me away.”

You touched delicate fingers to your under eyes as you dabbed away tears, squeezing Peters hands three times to thank him for his beautiful words. Now the spotlight had once again returned to you and this time, you were ready.

“Peter.”

Peters eyes widened in astonishment before brimming with tears as your voice fell on his ears for the very first time. It wasn’t perfect after so many years of being unused, but it was yours. That’s what made it Peter’s favorite thing in the world. He bent over and rested his forehead on your enjoyed hands, almost like he was bowing to you. He stayed there for a moment before standing up again, his face full of emotion. You knew he was composed enough for you to continue, so you did.

“I shut my mouth when I was 5 and I didn’t think I was going to open it ever again. But then I met you.” You broke into a smile. You spoke slowly, taking deep breaths every few words. “There is no other way I would want to use my voice than to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you.” You sucked in a deep breath as you got emotional. “My mom worried that I wouldn’t make any friends my first day of school, and I didn’t. I made a partner for life. It is one thing to be loved and another thing to be understood. You give me me both in three small squeezes. I love you, Peter.” You finished, punctuating your vows with three squeezes of his hands.

“I love you too.” He whispered, a steady flow of tears streaming down his face now.

“I love you more.” You said, verbally for the first time.

“Peter Parker, do you take Y/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” The priest asked.

“I do.”

“Y/n L/n, do you take Peter Parker to be your lawfully wedded husband? To cherish and honor, for better or for worse?”

“I do.”

“Oh my God.” Peter gushed, making the crowd laugh. Peter was still recovering from the fact that your first word was his name, and now you had said the two sacred words he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The priest smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”

Peter wasted no time in taking your face between his hands and kissing you, smiling with joy into the kiss as you officiated your marriage.

“You did so good baby.” He whispered against your lips as the crowd clapped for you.

“Thank you.” You giggled, proud of yourself for what you did. “I’ve been practicing with my therapist since the proposal.”

“It was amazing. That’s was the greatest surprise anyone’s ever given me. Even if it was just for today, I’m so happy I could hear your voice. I love you so much.” He told you before pulling you into a hug. You rested your head on his shoulder and held him tightly, thanking God that he came up to you that first day of kindergarten.

“I love you too.”

Tag List 🏷

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: [email protected]

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: [email protected]

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: [email protected]

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving.

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu scenarios #miya osamu imagines

1K notes · View notes

janaem · 4 years ago

Text

i like you

"man, he doesn't like me." you sighed resting your head on the palms of you hands. tears were stinging your eyes, for you felt nothing but disappointment and grief. but then again, those were the feelings that often came with having a crush.

___, your friend, cocks an eyebrow, "uhh, what the fuck? yes, he does. he just doesn't show it, give him time."

you furrowed your eyebrows, giving your friend a skeptical look, "and...how long are you gonna say this exactly? It's been years it seems..." you swallowed a lump in your throat, thinking back to all the times you've tried to catch his attention and start up conversations with him. if it was effective, you wouldn't have been stuck in this depressing mental space.

___ shrugged, "yeah, well, it does takes a while for boys to come around," they smirked looking at the teacher's whiteboard, "my ex is a perfect example."

still, a bunch of thoughts started occupying your mind as you watched the teacher project today's lesson onto the board. it's been months since you've started liking ___, and all you've ever wanted was for him to acknowledge you a little more than he did. because to you, it seemed that he has liked your first, way before you started noticing and liking him back.

the sexual tension between you two was rather noticeable. constantly catching each other's gazes in class (sometimes they would turn into staring contests), all those times where he would physically get close to you without saying a word, you would even catch him looking at you while whispering to his friends. all these things, yet neither of you had made a single move.

not like you had a problem, you enjoyed the attention he gave you. that's probably why you started crushing on him in the first place.

you've been pondering on the idea of making the first big move, but you've done that to your last crush and that steered them in the other direction. but every crush is different, maybe ___ might even admit his true feelings instead of hiding. he was sorta the type to be bold—in his own way. he made things direct, but indirect at the same time, and it kind of frustrated you, let alone disappointed you, but you were more disappointed in yourself than you were of him.

you shook off the thoughts that were constantly attacking you, and did your best to keep up with your notes.

"don't look...oh god, please don't look." you pleaded to yourself quietly, silently fighting the urge to see if your crush was looking at you. you stared blankly at you notes, head faced down to avoid any eye contact with anyone

___ was, in fact, eyeing you. watching closely as you tried to keep your composure. you sat in a slouched position, gripping your pencil, you bit your inner cheek fighting the temptation to even spare a quick glance.

"....okay, so i want everyone to come to this table for a demonstration." the teacher announced pointing at the large wooden table in the back.

the boys stood on one side while the girls were on the other side. that was until a few other students joined and mixed things up. the teacher stood at the head of the table, talking and talking away about more of today's lesson. you felt a little more better, your crush was out of your mind for now, so this time you were all ears and watching the teacher.

you weren't thinking of it, but you wish you hadn't. you spared a quick glance at ___, who was right across from you, his hand supporting him as he leaned onto the table. body slightly turned to the teacher, yet his eyes were right on you.

your stomach immediately dropped and you turned your attention back to the teacher, acting as if nothing happened.

once the bell rang, signalling the end of the school day, you immediately gathered your things.

"hey, ___, since your locker is closest to the band room, could you grab my instrument for me? I'll meet you downstairs in front of the school so we can walk together." your friend asked as you btoh exited the classroom. their locker was all the way downstairs and the band room was two stories above, exactly where your locker was.

"yeah, i'll see you later." you said turning the corner and heading up the long flights of stairs.

a part of you really dreaded this assignment because your crush also goes into the band room after school. even though he was quite popular, he was also a band kid.

once you were done packing your things, you hesitantly reached the band room door. peeking in to see no one was there, you felt a wave of relief as you entered the room.

there were stacks of instrument cases on the floor and on the shelves. how on earth were you supposed to find your friend's instrument? you couldn't possibly search the hundreds of nametags.

you decided to whip out your phone from your pocket and texted them 'where in the room do u usually put your instrument?'

meanwhile, you took a look around yourself waiting for your friend to text back. that was until the door swung open abruptly, resulting you to flinch on the stop.

you turned around to see ___ walking in, running a hand through his hair once once he saw you.

you immediately turned your attention back to the instruments. your heart pounds in your chest rapidly, as if it was about to rip out of your chest. you had to lean onto the shelf for support it was beating so fast. the pressure on your eyes was unbearable as you tried not to look at him again.

"hey, uh, are you looking for ___'s, instrument?"

you immediately snapped your neck in his direction, you honestly did not know how to act.

"yeah...you know where it is?" you felt a sudden buzz in your hand. you assumed it was your friend telling you where it was. what's it gonna hurt relying on your crush?

it's just above mine, we play the same instrument." he said tilting his head slightly in the direction of the shelf of instrument cases.

you were practically froze in your spot, not knowing if he wanted you to come closer to him. you just stood there and nodded, and ___ gave you a questioning look.

the silence was loud in the small band room, your heart beat increasing didn't seem to help.

you just couldn't look at him. you weren't sure why he was able to look at you...maybe he really doesn't like you and just sees you as a regular girl at school. well, that's how he's been treating you for the past months...so why were your expectations so high all the time when all you got was nothing?

"you don't have to get it, i'll get it myself." you said reluctantly breaking the silence. you walked over to where your crush was, the space between the two of you was very slim. you didn't think much of it as you grabbed your friend's instrument and then his from the shelf.

turning around, you felt something faintly brush against your bottom, that's when you immediately noticed that ___ was dangerously close to you. once again, the adrenaline in your stomach started up again, you awkwardly turned around, handing ___ his instrument.

__ stammered, realizing how uncomfortable you were, "oh um sorry, i didn't realize-"

"it's okay." you said starting to head towards the door.

"__, wait."

you turned around, completely stunned that he had just said your name for the first time in a long time, "yeah?" you honestly wanted to hear him say it again.

"there's uh...something i need to tell you," he set his instrument down next to his foot and dug his hands into his pocket.

"what is it?" you said inching towards him a bit. you could see ___ starting to get a bit nervous under your stare. he fidgeted in his spot, but he still managed to maintain eye contact.

__ ran his hand through his hair, "i think i like you."

'wait what!? oh my gosh this is not happening!' you said excitedly in your head, you instead furrowed your eyebrows in 'confusion,'

"elaborate." you deadpanned, crossing your arms. but in your mind, you completely understood how he felt, because that's exactly how you felt about him. you tried so hard not to run around and squeal excitedly like a maniac.

"look, i know this may sound creepy, and you may get a bit paranoid after i say this." he swallowed hard, as if there was a lump in his throat.

"no matter what i do, who i'm with, or where i am, i just can't stop thinking about you."

you forgot how to breathe at this very moment , was he just saying this? or was he being genuine? because with the way he has been acting for the past months, you didn't know what to believe anymore.

___ took a few steps towards you, "you're all i think about, you're all i ever wanna talk about."

you raised your eyebrows a bit, you've never heard something like this come out of his mouth before.

"there are so many things i want to do with you, but there are things holding me back, and i fucking hate it."

you just stood there in silence, watching as he anxiously ran his hand through his hair again, "fuck, i—no one has ever made me feel this way before."

everything seemed to move fast from there, yet it felt like it was in slow motion. wasting no time, you carelessly dropped the instrument on the floor, your body started to move on its own once you started walking up to ___, lovingly extending your arms and gave him the tightest embrace you could ever give someone.

the tension has suddenly melted away into obscurity, it was like two lost souls have been brought together after such a long time.

___ slowly snaked his arms around you, "i've been wanting to do this for a long time." he whispered, you shivered feeling his soft breath against your neck.

you didn't want to let go, and neither did he. ___ took the opportunity to kiss the part where your jaw and your ear met. you turned your head to face him. both of your faces were only inches away as ___ removed one of his arms from you to place his hand on your cheek. you closed your eyes, feeling his lips touch yours softly, pulling your body closer with his other arm.

you kissed back, deepening the kiss even more. you honestly didn't think this moment would come. you longed to stay like this forever, oh you wish you did.

you two parted for a quick second, with your eyes half lidded you saw ___ smile a bit, leaning into kiss you again. this time, the kiss was a bit rougher. ___ trailed his hand down your cheek and passed the sensitive spot of your neck. you softly gasped feeling his hand wrap around your neck, his other hand stroked your back slowly ...

suddenly, your phone buzzed, breaking the hypnosis you two were in. the two of you reluctantly parted, and you removed your arms form around ___ and reached into your pocket and took out your phone. It was a text message from your friend.

'coming down? :)' it said.

you widened your eyes in realization, "oh shit i gotta go!" you grabbed you grabbed your friend, ___'s, instrument case.

"can i at least get your number, ___?" your crush asked pulling out his phone.

"uh sure," you said pulling up your information, "here it is."

once you were finished exchanging numbers, ___ pulled you in for one last kiss. then you picked up the instrument case and dashed out the door. ___ followed soon after, but you were well down the stairs before he could see you one last time today.

you both couldn't wait to see each other the next day.

#crush x reader #crush imagines #crush scenarios #boy x girl #crush series

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mailboxmerchant · 3 years ago

Text

BAD DAY

tldr:naib is mfin horny after a match wit u bae n ur both in love with esch other and equally needy but dont knoe‼️

character: Naib Subedar - mercenary

fandom: identity V

warnings: SEX!!! who could have guessed, also rough/dom naib, swearing, power bottom(lmao)/fem reader, perhaps some masochistic type a stuff but not crazy, less goooooooo

(this is like. just horny. no thoughts. only horny)

As sweat beaded down his forehead, you watched Naib angrily smash the keys of a decoding machine. Something was up, but your teammate just never seemed to let on when something had gone wrong. This match was going fine, you had three more ciphers to go, and everyone was still up and going, only two of your teammates being injured. The hunter was struggling to find any of you, and with each of you teamed up with another to decode, you were all feeling confident in a victory to the survivors. So why was Naib so stressed?

“Hey, Naib?”

“What, y/n?”

His tone was sharp, and he snapped back instantly. Someone was clearly cranky. What did you even do?

“Are you...feeling okay? You seem...tense.” You kept your tone neutral, preventing there to be any negativity for him to react to. Before he snapped back, he missed a calibration and alerted the hunter of our position. Still not talking, Naib wrapped a braced arm around your waist and made a dive into a pile of cardboard boxes and other various recyclables. “Shut it, y/n. Hunter’s comin’.”

You went quiet, but still, his commanding attitude could be done without. You squirmed in Naib’s grip, at which he grunted, and tightened his hold on you.

He was started to really make you worry. Naib was usually a calm, collected rescuer, who often would be more reassuring when you were being hunted. You promised you’d figure all this out, just maybe after the match ended.

The danger passed, quite literally, as Hell Ember jaunted around the trash pile you were hiding in. Naib’s grip got even tighter around you as the hunter loomed closer. “N-Naib, I can’t-” Naib didn’t seem to give a damn for what you had to say as he slapped a hand over your mouth. “I said, quiet.” His tone was worsening, he was really pissed, huh?

You couldn’t deny yourself though, hearing him sound so stern and having him grab at you so suddenly really threw you off. Your ever-so-secret crush on Naib was keeping you from feeling angry about any of this, in fact, you were almost happy to be so close, even if he was being rude.

Finally though, you decided that you needed to get back to the matter at hand. Leo was gone, and Naib had to let go of you sometime. You made more of an effort to move, and Naib finally dropped you. Quickly, you jumped back on the machine as the Merc slowly crept from the box pile to return to his typing position. “You know, you could have been caught if it weren’t for me.” He sputtered, quieter than before. “Th-thank you...? God, Naib, what’s your issue today?” You spoke more questioningly than upset, hoping he wouldn’t hear the annoyed undertone in your speech. “It’s nothing you’d understand.”

Alright, you were giving up for the remainder of decoding time.

Silently, you both finished the machine, and you made a break for the opposite direction of Naib. You figured you could have some alone time to just decode, calm down, and prep for the ending leap where you’d have to play a guessing game for which gate Hell Ember would be waiting for you at.

Taking a break from running, your steps grew light as you began to pace yourself. “y/n!” As you looked through the fog, you discovered that Edgar was awaiting you with a half done machine. “Edgar! You’re here!” You made a quick greeting to the painter before getting back to business. Small talk wasn’t necessary between the two of you, as the ability to decode calmly was leaving both of your skillsets as your heartbeats became slowly more audible.

“Come on, y/n, we can finish this, just don’t look away from the calibrations. Stay focused.” Edgar gave you a light tap of the palm to your head as he smacked the sides of the cipher. Your pace increased, as did Edgar’s as you had merely a percentage left. Someone else’s machine popped off, and yours a second later.

Determined and brave, you made off like a bullet towards the southward exit gate. Sneaking around a broken pillar, you sighed at the sight of a clear gate. Edgar clearly didn’t share the idea that this was the correct gate, so you could only hope he was hiding and waiting it out to escape. Actually, it seemed like everyone picked the wrong-

*SLAM*

A large hand suddenly slapped down on the decoding pad next to yours, frightening the hell out of you. You prepared to meet your doom when you turned around, but instead met a glaring Naib. “N-Naib! Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” “Where’d you run off to earlier!? We were supposed to be decoding together.”

His tone from earlier was still present, so....clearly he was still peeved about something you did. “W-well I just thought-” “You thought nothin’, y/n. Just keep decoding.” Your crush wasn’t protecting him any more. Letting out an anxious and angry grunt, you turned back around to the coding pad, slamming the rubbery keys down as you decoded.

So that’s how it was, then, huh? Fine.

“Naib, you’re a real asshole.” You huffed as you finished the gate, and stormed out, not evening looking back to see if he OR Hell Ember were following.

Once back in the manor, you rushed back to your room, the embarrassment and guilt from your actions following you quickly after.

Keeping up the angry façade, you slammed your door behind you before running to flop on your bed. Holding your pillow close to your face, you yelled into it, hoping it was enough to choke the sound.

“Damn it, Naib...” You closed your eyes, hoping to wake up with a renewed confidence that way you wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of your words.

The sound of three loud, harsh knocks on your door awoke you from your rage nap.

“OPEN UP! COME ON, I ALREADY KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, Y/N!!”

Naib? Again? Now what...

You begrudgingly sauntered to your door, cracking it open to peek out. Only, Naib pushed right through your defenses, pushing both you and the door back. “Hey!”

Naib was more forceful than before, walking quickly in your direction, and even quicker, cornering you against your bed. You fell onto your behind as Naib gave you a harsh push. “What is all this?! You’ve been acting weird since we started decoding together in that match, and you’re totally out of line! I didn’t even...do anything...” Your words lost their force as you trailed your eyes downward. So that’s why he was all pent up.

An obvious tent in Naib’s pants was what your eyes met with, and even though your cheeks began to blush furiously, you averted your gaze and tried to pretend that you saw nothing. “J-just get out of my room.” You grumbled, no longer able to keep eye contact.

“I just came to talk, y/n, don’t throw me out.” Naib shifted his body, effectively pinning you to the plush mattress, a hand on either side of your head. You ‘hmphed’, and curtly turned your face away from him.

“D-don’t act all pissy,” he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, “you’re making it so much worse!” Your eyes still just couldn’t meet his, the heat between the both of you running down between your legs. Sliding a knee between your thighs, Naib leaned down to speak gruffly into your ear.

“This is all your fault, you know.”

“N-Naib! I-” but your words were quickly vanquished by a pair of warm, slightly chapped lips slamming down on your own. A slight graze of his teeth on your bottom lip gave you more excitement than you’d ever felt in any match, and you immediately parted your lips to feel Naib’s wet tongue slick into your mouth.

You let out a quiet noise, enough for him to notice. After what felt like an eternity (seconds) of making out, Naib pulled away to hold your face in one hand, squishing your cheeks harshly between his fingers. “So...that’s how you feel, huh?”

You were flustered, but it wasn’t going to take away what your nap earned you. “You were being so awful in that match, but I still...love you, Naib. I didn’t know when or where to tell you, but if you’re gonna do it first, then by all means...” You gestured to Naib with a smirk.

Hungrily, Naib practically shredded your clothes off, each of his hands attaching themselves to your chest as he kneaded your soft breasts between his fingers. Your quiet pants were driving him absolutely insane. He loved every little exhale that escaped your mouth, settling to nip and suck at your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Telling you how much he needed this, how long he was waiting for this, how he wanted you.

An abrupt end to the sensations in your chest were replaced by a hand sliding underneath each of your thighs. Lifting them up to his shoulders, Naib quickly unfastened his belt, a look of giddiness flashing across his smug face.

Diving his head down to meet his forehead to yours, Naib snatched your panties off in seconds, aligning himself painfully slow. As he slid his length slowly into your entrance, you dug your fingers into his hair, which was messily tied into his usual ponytail. Hissing at the feeling of you tugging his hair, Naib pushed all the way inside of you, earning a mewl of both pain and pleasure from you.

"Ah, but wait..."

You winced as Naib suddenly pulled his length out of your entrance, the emptiness being too much to bear. "I'm an asshole, aren't I?"

He was going to make you eat your words.

Almost literally.

"Get up." His harsh tone was back, but it only served to make you feel hotter than before. Giving a shy nod, you got to your knees as Naib stood at the edge of the bed.

Nervously eying him, you gaped at his length, wishing you didn't say those words before so he could drive you insane with pleasure with it.

Stupid y/n...

"Well?" Tired of waiting, Naib took his hand to the back of your head, pushing you closer to his body, your head colliding with his chest. The sudden wholesome warmth was quickly replaced as he pushed you downwards near his manhood.

You began to comply as you opened your mouth, feeling as he gave a slow first grind into your throat. You choked immediately, but didn't pull away. Not yet.

Breathing quickly through your nose, you began to suck aggressively with no warning, pulling a gasp from the previously snarky Merc.

"Ga-hah! y-y/n...." Pulling off with a 'pop', you went back down to give small kitten licks to the tip of his cock, earning little shifts of position and pants from Naib.

"Stop....stop teasin' me...." was all he could huff out. You slid the entirety of his length in and out for a quick throat fuck a few times, feeling the tears prick at your eyes. In your own way, you were making him pay for being so snide earlier. “Screw you, y/n. Have it your way.”

Your torture paid off!

Naib firmly pushed you back down on your stomach, grasping your hips and pulling you close to his own hips. Letting out a satisfied hum, you felt as Naib quickly align himself with your entrance once more.

Giving you no time to readjust again, he fully sheathed himself inside of you, your insides stretching once again to fit him inside. “Hah....shit, Naib.....” You cursed, grasping tightly onto Naib as he pushed you both down, beginning to thrust wildly in and out of you. Every pounding slammed harder against the entrance of your womb, the suction of your warm, wet insides also providing intense pleasure for Naib.

“Oh fuck, y/n, you’re...so tight...” Naib panted loudly into your ear. Neither of you were even remotely worried about the other manor residents hearing either of your moans racketing off the walls of the creaky residence.

“G-god...I c-can’t...hold on...” You whimpered pathetically as your dug your fingers into Naib’s scalp a second time. As your begging for more became louder, you felt the knot in your stomach grow larger, tighter, and more overwhelming than you’d ever felt before. You could feel Naib’s hard and precise thrusts growing sloppy, and you knew you were both getting close to climax.

“y/n....y/n....I’m gonna...” Before his sentence could even be finished, Naib’s thick cock twitched harshly inside you as you felt his hot seed pour into you. The spreading warmth was enough to send you over the edge, your juice quickly spilling out to mix with his own.

Slowly pulling out, your precious mercenary promptly collapsed on top of you, his head coincidentally landing in between your tits. You sighed hazily, riding off your previous high as you wrapped your arms around his head, and slowly letting your eyes close in exhaustion.

a/n: so sorry if theres any typos/grammar-spellin mistakes. i rushed the end bc i had this cued for FOREVER, enjoy babes <3

#identity v #idv #idv naib subedar #naib subedar #naib subedar x reader #idv x reader #identity v x reader #mercenary #idv mercenary #identity v mercenary #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic #mercenary x reader #naib x reader lemon #naib subedar smut #naib x reader smut

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