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literaryavenger · 10 months ago

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Can I be him?

Summary: When Bucky finds something of yours, he hopes against hope that you feel the same way about him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language cause it's me. Fluff. A lot of angst. Idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts, both reader and Bucky. No use of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: It’s 3am where I live, so… Happy 107th Birthday to my favorite Supersoldier! Today I’m posting 2 Bucky fics because my baby deserves it, this one and another one sometime around the afternoon. Hope someone likes it! Thank you to my angels @ordelixx and @mrsbuckybarnes1917 that gave me so many ideas that helped me finish this. I love you🖤

Masterlist

Being an Avenger is not easy.

The long missions, the intense training, the weight of the world on your shoulders…

Everybody on the team has a different way to unwind after a mission: Steve draws, Clint and Natasha compete doing target practice, Thor sleeps, Sam plays video games, Bucky takes motorcycle rides, Tony and Bruce work on side projects in their lab, Loki reads, Peter does his homework and Wanda cooks with Vision.

For you, it’s going to the rose garden behind the Compound.

It’s a bit of a sanctuary for you, Tony allowed you to put tall hedges of roses with a gazebo-like structure in the middle of them facing the lake, only it’s entirely made of vines.

You made it yourself, that’s your power: you can manipulate anything plant-related.

Everytime you finish a mission the team splits up as soon as the debriefing is over and you walk straight here.

You sit on the bench, also made of vines, take out your diary and start writing.

You write about everything, from details of missions to your feelings about the team. From things you did that you don’t want to forget to things that you want to do after you’re not so tired anymore.

The hedges hide you from view and the only thing you can see when you’re here is the lake.

Sometimes, after a particular difficult mission, you don’t even write. You just sit there and look out into the water, the sunshine or moonlight shining down on you, and you feel at peace.

It helps that nobody else ever comes here. The team understands it’s your safe space, and the agents are mostly scared of your powers ever since you grew a giant carnivorous plant and it bit an agent that squeezed your ass during training.

The agent got both taken to the medbay and suspended on the same day, and you got the thanks of about a dozen girls that had the same problem with the same asshole.

You walk out of the conference room, the debriefing of the team’s latest mission just wrapped up, and like usual everyone scatters to their own after-mission ritual.

Today, though, you can’t concentrate on anything.

Your feet take you to the rose garden by reflex, but your brain doesn’t even register you’re there until you sit on the bench.

Today’s mission took a lot out of you, not just because of the amount of magic you had to use to get everyone out safely, but also because it was your fault the team was in so much danger in the first place.

You fucked up your task, Natasha had to step in and save your ass, moving away from her post and making her late for her own task and that derailed the entire mission.

At the end, you had to use your powers to take out the hundreds of Hydra agents at the same time, which is no small feat and made you almost pass out.

Everybody told you on the way home not to worry, the mission was successfully accomplished and everyone made it out safely, but you know that if it wasn’t for your screw up the team would’ve gotten in and out of base without so much as a scratch.

Nobody had fatal injuries, thank God, but Sam got shot in the leg, Clint got stabbed and everyone else had various degrees of injuries because Hydra got the jump on the team.

Because of me.

That was all you kept thinking about. Your brain had a field day making up all kinds of scenarios where your mistake cost someone’s life, a few of them even had the entire team dying because of your stupidity.

You were so caught up in your head that you didn’t even notice someone following you to the rose garden.

Not that you ever do.

If there’s one thing Bucky Barnes knows how to do, is move around undetected. He’s a master assassin, he was trained for this for over 50 years, he knows how to be a shadow.

Except now he uses his skills for good during missions and, occasionally, to follow you.

Not in a creepy way, of course, just to check on you. At least that’s the excuse he always uses so he won’t have to admit to himself that what he does is, indeed, a little creepy.

But he can’t help himself, Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that he was fucked.

The moment you walked into the room to meet the team his heart was yours. You stole it with one simple smile, with one look of your beautiful eyes.

You introduced yourself and shook hands with everyone, but when you looked at Bucky he felt like a light came on and it was just you two.

You shook his hand and he felt like he had to take it off and give it to you, it was yours now. His hand, his arm, his leg, his head, his heart, his soul. Everything he is was now yours, he just knew it.

Then you said his name and he could’ve died right there and then. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and it was barely two syllables. Every word you said, every laugh and sound that came out of your pretty mouth, Bucky felt like it was all for him. Nobody else mattered.

Bucky knew then he was in love.

But he didn’t know how to approach you. You were like a fairy, like a princess. Growing flowers, always smiling, baking, growing everyone’s favorite flowers and always willing to help, like growing Aloe when Wanda burned herself cooking, or Chamomile to help with Tony’s anxiety, or Valerian roots whenever someone was feeling down.

You were like sunshine and he was terrified he’d kill your light. But he’d be damned if he’d let the world kill it either, he’d protect you with his life.

So he took to following you, making sure you were safe from a distance.

But it’s not like he never talked to you, the more time you spent with the team the more comfortable Bucky got around you and eventually you became friends.

Bucky knew you could take care of yourself, you were one of the strongest members of the team, but he didn’t like it when you were in your rose garden by yourself. The tall hedges made it impossible to see incoming danger, so he kept an eye on you just to be sure.

For his own piece of mind. And you never saw him.

That was Bucky’s actual way to unwind after a mission.

He’d tell everybody he was going for a ride on his bike, but he’d drive it through the woods around the compound and to the other side of the lake where he’d have a perfect view of you without you knowing.

Deep down he knew it was a little creepy, he could just ask you if he could join you, but he felt like you needed your time alone without anyone else around, and he knew if he asked you, you’d say yes no matter what you were feeling, because that’s just the kind of person you are.

So Bucky watched you from afar, always careful not to be seen. He watched you write for hours, it relaxed him to see your beautiful face so concentrated.

Sometimes you’d laugh quietly at what you were writing and those were the only times Bucky was grateful for the supersoldier serum that allowed him to hear such a beautiful sound even with so much distance between you.

But it was torture for him when he knew you had a bad day. Sometimes you’d hug your knees and cry, Bucky could tell how much you’d need a hug, and it killed him that he couldn’t just walk up to you and hug you.

Everytime he sees you cry his heart breaks a little and he always tries to make you feel better when you walk back inside. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, he just tries to make you laugh. But all he wanted to do was dry your tears.

You did notice Bucky always seemed to act a little goofy when you're feeling down, like he somehow knew, but you never thought much of it.

You knew he was a very observant person, so you assumed he just saw your mood through your behavior better than most.

Bucky loves hanging out with you, even if it’s just as friends. You make fun of him like with everyone else, you don’t treat him like could explode at any moment, never walking on eggshells around him like most people do.

You’ve never been afraid of him, and he’s glad that you don’t treat him like glass. You treat him like everyone else, and it makes him feel normal.

Everytime time he hangs out with you, you take him back to a time where he was unbroken. You make him feel alive again.

And he falls more in love with you by the second because of it. You’re all he wants, he wants to have you and kiss your lips and never let anyone hurt you. That’s all he can think about, but he knows that’s not gonna happen.

He heard you talk to Natasha and Wanda, heard that there’s someone you’d gone on a few dates with. But Bucky knows that guy doesn’t deserve you, nobody does.

Even Bucky himself doesn’t deserve you, you’re too pure for anyone in this world, but if there’s someone that has any chance of making you happy, Bucky prays to God that that someone is him.

Bucky knows today’s mission shook you deeply. He knows you blame yourself, and no amount of reassurance will make you believe that everything is okay.

So today, for the first time, Bucky actually follows you. He can see your unfocused eyes even as you walk and he wants to be near you, just in case.

He almost walks to you when you curl up on the bench and start sobbing quietly, but he holds back not wanting to startle or upset you further.

He just listens to your soft cries until you stop and compose yourself. You sigh and get up, walking back to the Compound to take a much needed relaxing shower.

But you’re still so much in your own head that you don’t even notice you left your diary on the bench in the gazebo.

Bucky did notice, though.

He’s tempted to call after you and tell you, but something deep down tells him not to. He waits until you’re gone and then walks to the bench, picking up your diary and opening it.

He doesn’t know why, he knows it’s wrong, these are your private thoughts, but he’s just drawn to it for some reason.

When he starts reading he notices you don’t mention any specific names, which makes sense because only you read it, you know who you’re writing about. He reads a page here and there, reading about your missions or lazy days.

He reads about some memories with the team you wrote about, some he remembers and others he probably wasn’t there for, but seeing all these memories from your point of view does something to him.

It makes him feel connected to you, makes him feel like he’s reading your heart and soul, because he kind of is. Then he reads something that captures his attention completely.

You write about eyes blue like the ocean and just as troubled, about a smile that could light up the world. You write about someone with a complicated past that never lost his spark, never lost his love for life.

A man that went through hell, and never once took it out on the world. A man that didn’t ever blame the world, even when he had every right to, choosing instead to protect it.

You filled pages and pages with everything you admire about this man, everything you love about him that you know he hates.

And Bucky feels like every word you wrote, you wrote for him. But could this be him? Could he be the one you talk about in all your stories?

He wants to. He wants this to be him. He prays you’re talking about him. He wishes this could be him… Who is he kidding?

Of course it’s not me.

It’s probably the guy you’ve been dating. Yeah, that’s it. You’re in love with that guy, that much is clear.

Bucky gets to the page where you write about your dates with the guy, but he can’t read them.

He closes the diary, not knowing that you compared your date to Bucky every step of the way. Not knowing that you granted the guy a second date just to be sure he couldn’t compare to Bucky, and went on a third date at a coffee shop just to let him down gently.

Bucky didn’t read how you know he’s the one for you, he didn’t read his own name written in your handwriting, the only name in your whole diary because he’s the only person you never want to forget, even though you know you never will.

But Bucky didn’t read that.

He puts your diary back where it was on the bench and, with his heart broken and his hope that one day you could be his lost, he goes back inside and to his room.

It’s only when you go back to the rose garden after your shower that you notice you left your diary there, but don’t think much of it. Nobody ever comes here anyway, as far as you know.

After finding out you’re in love with someone else, Bucky can’t stop himself from acting differently towards you, which you don’t fail to notice.

It’s not like he’s mean, but your interactions get shorter, like he tries his best to end the conversation quickly.

He no longer sits close to you, no longer tries to make you laugh when you’re feeling down, doesn’t hang out with you as much during your down time and if he does, it’s never just the two of you anymore.

It’s silly to say, but you miss him.

Bucky knows he’s been distancing himself, he knows you’ve noticed and he can see it’s affecting you, but he’s doing this to protect himself.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you present your boyfriend to the team, the man you’re in love with and he doesn’t want it to hurt more than necessary.

You decide not to push Bucky, knowing he has his reasons to pull away from you. Maybe he’s just trying to deal with all the stress the team’s been under and you don’t want to add any more to that, so you let him be.

A few weeks later the team’s on their sixth mission in just as many days and everyone is exhausted. You’ve been taking down Hydra base after Hydra base, because waiting too long meant losing your chance to shut down their operations for good before they got the opportunity to leave.

You’ve been dividing in smaller teams to take down the bases while still giving the team a chance to recuperate, but this last one was the biggest and required the whole team together, which sucked for you because you were in the last team with Steve and Bucky that took down a base just yesterday, so the three of you got barely a few hours of sleep while you flew to the last base.

You’ve cleared the base, all that’s left is the agents in the courtyard who are really going down fighting. The whole team is outside now, the Hydra agents giving you a hell of a fight. You’re using your magic against your better judgment, giant vines coming out of your arms like whips, covered in poisonous thorns. One touch of that and anyone would go down immediately, everyone except you.

Or at least that’s what you think.

As you’re fighting you can see an agent trying to sneak up on Bucky who’s fighting near you, so you quickly take care of it for him.

Bucky turns around and sees the agent down and then looks at you with that charming smile you fell in love with and winks at you. “Thank you, doll.”

That’s the friendliest Bucky’s been towards you in weeks and you can’t help but smile back with a small blush.

You can see the last agent standing coming at you from your peripheral vision and you quickly whip him with a vine, taking him down as soon as you can so you can turn back to look at Bucky, still smiling at you.

Bucky’s smile drops quickly, though, as he sees your face draining of any color. You barely have the time to register the sting of your own thorn on your arm that you’re already falling to the ground.

Bucky tries to catch you, but he gets thrown back by your magic that goes into defense mode, creating a wall of thorns to protect your now unconscious body.

The team doesn't know what to do, none of them know enough about plants to be sure that these thorns wouldn’t just kill them all.

The only one that would know that is you, the person that’s passed out, or worse, trapped in the midst of a cocoon of thorns.

“Okay, we need to find a safe way to-” Steve starts but cuts himself off almost immediately. “What are you doing?!”

Bucky doesn’t even turn around to answer, too intent on breaking the thorns around you with his metal arm, not caring that the thorns are ripping his clothes and scratching his face, all he can think about is getting to you.

He finally manages to get through to you, but nobody can follow because your magic regrows the thorns Bucky broke, trapping him with you inside the cocoon.

But Bucky doesn’t care, his eyes never leaving your face as he kneels behind you, running a finger softly along your cheek and shivering when he feels your skin is cold as ice.

His mind goes to the worst possibility, that there’s nothing he can do, but his brain gives him some hope reasoning that your magic wouldn’t be working if you were dead.

Right?

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels the thorns around you vibrate, he takes you in his arms and shields you with his body from whatever is about to happen.

But the only thing that happens is the shade cast by the thorns gets replaced by sunlight. Bucky looks up and realizes Wanda used her magic to lift the thorn cocoon.

“You couldn’t have done that before?!” Bucky barks at Wanda with a glare while carefully picking you up to take you to the Quinjet.

“She’s not the dumbass that threw himself headfirst in a mess of thorns without even considering another course of action!” Natasha came in Wanda’s defense, though she seemed more amused at Bucky’s antics than annoyed.

As the team heads back home in the jet, Bruce examines you and lets the team know you’re still alive but in a sort of coma.

Their relief is cut short when Bruce makes it known that he has no idea when, or if, you’ll wake up.

As soon as the Quinjet lands you’re taken to the medbay and hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated.

Bucky holds your hand through it all, staying all night next to you just in case you wake up. He didn’t want you to be freaked out and alone, he wanted to be the first person to see your beautiful eyes open.

When morning comes, though, you’re still unconscious, but Bucky doesn’t lose hope. You probably need a good sleep.

That’s what he tells himself for two, three, four days.

That’s what he keeps telling himself for a week, two weeks. Never once leaving your side, not eating unless Steve brings him food and makes sure he eats before leaving, and using the bathroom of your room in the medbay.

He barely sleeps and, when he does, he dreams of you.

Everyone was getting worried about him, he refused to leave your side until one day Steve came into your room to tell Bucky there was something wrong with your rose garden.

Bucky was torn between staying with you and seeing what Steve was talking about, but decided that it would kill you if something happened to your roses so he had to make sure everything was okay when you woke up.

Because you’re going to wake up.

Bucky follows Steve to your rose garden, and his eyes widen in horror as soon as he sees it. The roses, the hedges, the vines.

Everything is dying.

Bucky’s heart breaks, only one thought in his mind. If your plants are dying, does that mean you’re slowly dying too?

No. That’s unacceptable. You’re not gonna die, not if Bucky has anything to do with it.

He takes it upon himself to take care of your garden, watering it and doing everything he can to keep the roses and vines alive, fooling himself into believing that this will keep you alive.

He stays on the gazebo day and night, sleeping on the bench, spending every waking moment trying to keep a hold of even the smallest part of you.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

Bucky loses track of how many days he’s been in your garden, sleeping maybe an hour at a time here and there, watering the roses every few hours and crying the rest of the time.

After all it’s his fault, if he hadn’t distracted you none of this would’ve happened. You’d be in your beautiful garden, probably with your boyfriend, and the only broken thing would be Bucky’s heart.

That he could’ve lived with.

But how can he live with the knowledge that he caused your end? That he killed your light? That he killed his sunshine, his hope, the love of his life? He can’t live with that.

Not that he has to.

While Bucky’s spiraling while surrounded by dying roses, inside your room in the medbay you’re finally waking up after almost a month.

You open your eyes slowly, looking around you at the hospital-like room. There’s nobody around and, as you look at the window, you can see it’s really late at night.

You sit up and try to make sense of what happened while rubbing your eyes. The last thing you remember is Bucky’s bright smile, and then nothing.

You look down at your arm and see an IV, which you take out while frowning. How long have you been sleeping?

You carefully get off the bed and make your way outside to your rose garden, just to be sure everything’s okay. It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop you anyway.

When you get close, the moonlight shines on the hedges and you gasp at what you see. Your beautiful roses withering away, the gazebo made of vines dying too.

But the most confusing thing is the sobs coming from the bench, although no one’s sitting on it.

You get closer and see Bucky sitting in front of the bench while hugging his knees and crying softly. You frown and get a little closer before stopping, not wanting to startle him.

“Bucky…” You say quietly and his head snaps up, his eyes instantly meeting yours.

For a moment it feels like he’s trying to decide if you’re real, he reaches out and you extend your hand to take his. That seems to convince him and he gasps.

“Doll…” His voice is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thinks if he makes too much noise you’ll disappear.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him while getting a little closer to him, concern clear in your every feature.

It’s only when you get closer that you see his face full of cuts and you frown. Those are not just any scratches, it’s clear to you that they were made by thorns. “D-did… Did I do this to you?”

You’re kneeling in front of him now, one hand still in his one the other comes up to trace the cuts in his face softly, but he takes your hand in his and kisses your palm.

“I’m okay…” He reassures you.

Just then he realizes, you’re fussing over him when you’re the one that’s been in a coma for a month. “Are you okay? How long have you been awake?”

“I… I just woke up.” You tell him honestly, then look around at the dying roses and vines before looking back at him. “What happened to me?”

“You got stung by one of your poisonous thorns.” He says quietly, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin while he refuses to let go of you. “You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

“A month?!” You’re shocked at the news, not knowing what to say or do, so you just stay there while letting the information sink in. The silence is broken by Bucky after a minute.

“I’m sorry about your roses… I tried to keep them alive, but…” He looks around with a hopeless expression. “I failed you.”

Your heart breaks a little. Does he really think he failed you?

You take a deep breath, then close your eyes and when you open them again a second later everything’s back to normal. The roses are as beautiful as ever, the gazebo just as majestic. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Bucky looks around in awe when he feels you take his chin and you make him look at you.

“You could never fail me.” You say firmly, wanting him to understand you mean it. You look at the cuts around his face and you can’t help the guilt and pain that you feel deep within you. “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” It’s like Bucky can read your thoughts, he knows all you can see are your faults, and he wants you to know he doesn’t blame you for anything. “You weren’t even conscious. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never wanted to be one of the people that hurt you…” Your voice is a whisper as a tear escapes you. “The world hurt you so much already… I never wanted to be part of that. You don’t deserve it.”

Bucky frowns. He feels like he’s heard those words, but where? No, he didn’t hear them. He read them. He read them in your diary, where you wrote about the man you’re in love with. Could it be possible?

Could I be him?

“It’s me…” He says lower than a whisper, his eyes locked on yours, and it’s your time to be confused now.

“What?” You ask him with a frown while wiping your cheeks.

“It’s me you’re in love with.” His voice is a little louder, but firm. He’s not asking you, he’s making a statement.

Your eyes widen in surprise, you almost take your hands away from his but his hold prevents you from doing that.

“I-I… What?” Is all you can bring yourself to say, confused as to why he’s so sure of it. Are you really that transparent?

“I read your diary…” Bucky says, guilt written all over his face, but at least he’s owning up to it. “You wrote about the man you love… and you wrote the same thing you just told me. It’s me, isn’t it? You love me back?” His voice is more hopeful now, his confident demeanor weavering.

“You… You read my diary?” You say, your mind still playing catch up.

It’s only a moment later that you register the ‘love me back’ and you don’t give him a chance to apologize or justify himself before you’re speaking again. “You love me?!”

Bucky hesitates a moment but nods firmly. “I love you, doll. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.”

You feel like someone punched you and all the air has left your body. You have no idea what to say, so you don’t say anything.

Instead you lean in and kiss him.

Bucky wastes no time kissing you back, but a thought pops into his mind and he reluctantly pulls back. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You frown again, having no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” Bucky feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he pulls you to straddle him. “What about the guy you went on a few dates with?”

You narrow your eyes at him but decide to table the conversation about how he knows that for another time, so you smile at him and decide to just be honest with him.

“Do you honestly think that anyone could ever measure up to you? Because if you do, you’re an idiot.” Bucky grins and kisses you again.

Maybe he is an idiot. But when he’s the idiot you’re in love with, how much of an idiot can he really be?

It looks like he can be him after all.

2K notes · View notes

kooyabooya · 4 months ago

Text

SECRETS & SPELLS

m reader x kazuha ; sakura // 14k words

“Really,” and you’re saying this with the most unimpressed look on your face, knowing Sakura’s bullshit could never get to you that easily, “And here I thought we had something special going on between us,” you tell her with a gesture of a hand, signifying the rapport.

She laughs at that, because deep down you’ll put up with her antics in the end either way. Whether it would be spilling a few drinks down her throat or splitting her open until the crack of dawn breaks into the horizon, you’ll get the last say before she does. Always.

“Do tell,” says Sakura, “Besides, you’ve got my number on speed dial.”

It’s actually a pretty funny thing how the sacred law of attraction works in these kinds of scenarios; at least, that’s what you’ve learned when Sakura barged into your life from completely out of nowhere. This might come off as unexpected: you’re the TA for one of the design courses, and Sakura happened to be one of the top students in the class with the highest probability to break through into the fashion industry come post-grad.

And at every turn since the beginning of the semester, she has managed to impress you amazingly.

Everything’s all lighthearted at the first meeting - the usual buzz about this stellar connection you have with Sakura - and she feels the same sentiment. The feedback is subtle; the compliments start to pile on one another; you’re noticing features in her appearance that might be falling into the obvious scope of things, but you take note of them either way.

Wasn’t that long until you’ve mustered up the courage to treat her out after she came to you for additional advice and pointers and such from one of her personal projects. Although the first date was an absolute train wreck to your standards, she was willing enough to come back around for more.

One meeting happens again, and another.

Then the next one.

And the next one.

The weeks start to mesh together aside from all the usual routines and responsibilities filling up your schedule and calendar. But you’ve managed to set time aside whenever possible because that’s all part of having fun with someone like her. And sure, you’re waiting for that Friday to hit every time because it relieves you of anything for a short period; it’s also safe to say that you’re not the only one.

So you learn a lot of things about Sakura. More ways than you would like.

And it’s not even worth blaming the lowered inhibitions due to the alcohol. A test drive of sorts, the natural course of thoughts coming out from your brain and channeling that to your words and actions whenever you’re around her, there’s that appreciation in the honesty - wondering where has this girl been all your life?

Because Sakura falls in a lot of ways. Ways that you would never have expected:

“For one thing,” you’re telling her while being roped deeper into the club by her hand, “I don’t think the number 1-800-hot-n-fun was a viable one to go with, by the way.” She twists her head around once getting past the foyer, opening up from the inside to scattered crowds spaced away from the dance floor. As expected for a Friday night to no surprise - the thrumming of your eardrums in response to the overpowering bass proving a clear struggle in terms of discernibility.

“Do I have to remind you again?” Sakura tells you, loosening the grip as you’ve managed to get in close proximity, unfazed when your body is practically on top of hers, passing through the crowd, “We’re doing that thing with Miss ‘you - know - who’. Unless you’re asking me to just leave your ass back in the apartment, but oh wait - you're already here with me as it is.”

“Sure.” And that’s how things like these usually go with her: you’ll be doing one thing, then the familiar contact on your phone pops up on your lockscreen. Some days you’d drop whatever you were doing in a heartbeat - if it was willing to kill time or procrastinate, she’d know your answer already. “Drop the code name. You’re not being really inconspicuous with-”

“Kazuha? But it fits the profile perfectly!” She’s beaming, exchanging a few glances with some regulars hovering outside the dance floor, her face lighting up with wide eyes andan open an open mouth.

“But seriously,” you say, and with as much sarcasm that you could pull out of your ass, “I thought that was a one-time thing with her.” Sakura rolls her eyes, spearheading to one of the booths on the far end of the dance floor, secluded in a suspicious corner where no one else would end up unless being escorted off with enough shots in their system to do so in the first place.

And you learn - with Sakura, nothing is ever a one time thing with her. Ever. She brought you into a trap, the kind where you couldn’t even get out of if you tried.

Like all necessary cues for an entrance, this one doesn’t really have a notable introduction since you’re the one that’s interested without actually saying it explicitly. The lone girl sitting in the booth catches your eye, spacing out with the colorful floating lights occasionally hitting her face as she appears to be breaking a sweat despite her stoic expression.

She looks nervous, probably flustered at the fact that she’s even in the dance club considering how flushed her face looks without the color. You look over to Sakura, to which she smiles with her eyes, already feeling the stage being set for what’s to come.

“You sure you want to leave this as a one - off?” She asks, combing down some of her hair while waving at the girl in the booth. “Think of this as a chance to redeem yourself with her - her - I mean, me.”

“Not everything has to be about you. Acting as the lynchpin when you also want to join in on the fun as well.”

Sakura nicks her head, that prying grin coming at the corner where you can’t see it up front. She studies your features, the way your face crinkles at every remark or sly comeback that leaves her lips, priming those synapses ready and raring for how she wants this night to go. “That’s exactly what’s going to happen. It worked last time, and it’ll work again.”

With all thoughts considered, it all leads to one inevitable conclusion:

“I’d love for you to work her over again, like you did before,” she husks, lazily placing her lips along the line of your jaw. The nerve ends down your neck and spine tingling at the contact as your feet move along with hers, approaching closer to the lone girl waiting at the table, locking irises and noticing her pulled lip. “And just for your information, she’s so into you.”

“Are you sure it’s not the other way around with him?” Kazuha butts in, sliding over a subtle appetizer of some casual chips and assorted dips; the duo of Arnold Palmers is also quick to follow soon after. “I mean, you’re the one who likes to kiss everybody, Sakura.”

“Not true,” she rebukes. “But I-”

“If you want to test that theory,” you’re telling the both of them, smiling with eyes trained alternating on looks, sipping a bit of the beverage down, “I think both of you would be convinced to take this somewhere that allows more misbehavior to happen.”

It’s not that you’re not able to remember the events of last night. It’s the fact that you can’t remember what took place last night at all.

Though your memory starts to stir back to normal at the floating pair of lips hovering over and around your face in the late morning going into the afternoon.

You’re squinting from the overbearing light that breaks through the curtains and and the ambient sounds of traffic in the distance from the open window. There’s also the realization that the mobility in your body is severely hammered, and with good reason.

A look up past the sheets, and it’s a body pressed next to yours, sprawled with an arm and leg thrown over your thigh and stomach, still trying to be mindful in care not to wake you. She looks up at you with doe eyes before fluttering them shut and nestling deeper into the side of your chest, rubbing her hand across the more she gets comfortable.

“About time you woke up,” she mumbles, giggling at you, plopping your head back onto the pillow. “I was wondering if you were actually dead or something, not that I would be worried of course.”

“And if I was?” The question alone is alone is rhetorical as it sounds, blinking up towards the ceiling while adjusting your body meshed into the mattress and in between the sheets, “I feel like you could’ve put in a little more effort to, well, bring me back to life.”

This girl then sits up, lets the comforter trickle down to her waist, exposing her breasts; the marks still apparent from the night prior, serving to be a good kickstarter for your memory now that most of the alcohol should’ve subsided by now. “Maybe I should’ve put more effort into that, the same way that you handled us,” she tells you, “God, you really don’t remember anything from last night, do you?”

“Sakura,” you say, and you’re calling her out with a soft laugh bubbling beneath your stomach.. “I’d hate to be honest with you, but I can’t even remember the amount of drinks we had at the place. That’s how you know it’s bad if you were in my shoes.”

“But you were still sober enough to dick me down after a long week?”

You don’t give an answer to Sakura’s question, but the way her actions do the talking should already say enough: placing kisses on your shoulder, shuffling herself closer to you, hand slithering to a certain spot where it’s also jogging your memory.

“Sweetie,” you tell her, a dragged - out sigh leaving your lips once Sakura’s practiced fingers start to touch down around your half-hardened cock. “You wouldn’t mind helping me remember what we did last night, right?”

Well, of course, she’d say, but instead she laces that phrase in the form of a kiss. Knowing her, she’d be willing to assist in whatever it is that you do. A transactional service: you do one thing for her and she’d do the same. And the repayment could really come in a handful of methods, but this one usually takes top of the list.

“I don’t,” Sakura answers, giggling softly when you’re trying to push for more, leaning your head to meet her lips, her pulling away just to play a little tease. “As much as I would love to help you, I can’t be the only one to do all the work around here. It tarnishes your gentlemanly appearance, but that’s what I think.”

You pull one of her legs up, shifting her closer to you when she has her lips working you again, hand twisting deliberately around your cock. The pace alone is strategic and slow, but very well practiced and methodical, licking up her palm to ensure she’s soaking up the sensitive surface in every spot possible.

She also takes the hint with the sliding hand up her waist, straddling over your thighs to where you’re almost pinned against the headboard, grip still apparent around your shaft, keeping steady the more she scooches her hips up beneath your groin. You get lost in the valley of her waist, the defined abs well deserved from the hard work in the gym, the gaze she possesses with those lovely, messy locks in her hair, the pure seductiveness with her hand grazing her breast. You’re being pulled back in with another intoxicating kiss, filled with so much care and and love, and all of that to be replaced with undesirable lust that seems to entrap both of you like the heavenly light breaking through the thin curtains in your room.

The taste, the scent of her - still present from last night’s tales - are another reminder and trick for your mind to work around against the lingering after effects of the alcohol.

“Is it working?” She asks, holding herself just above your length with hands fast around your neck, “Or do you still need some help getting your memory up to speed?”

Sakura then reaches over to the nightstand, a Polaroid captured in between her pointer and middle finger, eyes slanted along with her face, watching you examine the picture in the small snapshot. Another fragment is obtained through this, internalizing the appearance of her marked - up body sprawled up on the same bed you’re lying in, with another body next to her but the face isn’t shown.

Just as you’re about to say your answer, she catches you by surprise, the press of her lips on you again, hips jumping up in impulse when her pussy settles on top of the underside of your shaft, hands naturally trained to her hips as the slow pecks eventually become more inviting, passionate.

Maybe the home remedies would’ve been a sufficient option to cure your hangover, but with Sakura, she herself is the best kind of morning after pill that you’ll take the chance over if the opportunity presents itself like it has right now. Her kisses become more intoxicating, hoping that you’ll want her in the same fashion that she’s emitting - a being that’s blessed with a wanting so addicting, it’s impossible to think twice about it. Your mouth makes its way down the fine column of her throat and then to her chest, marking up the same spots as you did the night before, tugging onto one of her stiff nipples with your teeth.

The grip in your hair with her fingers starts to become tighter, forcing her body onto you more. She holds you there, cheek pressed to the crown of your head, the moans proving to be positive feedback for you, grinding her hips slightly over your cock, making your grasp more protective of her, as if you didn’t want her to leave your presence whatsoever.

She captures your lips again, hands now on both ends of your face, humming in approval when yours find their way to her ass, clawing your fingertips on the soft skin, setting the tempo of how her pussy lips glide across your cock, bathing it in her slick, and a small feeling of what’s to come in the passing minutes. Her teeth clash with yours on accident, laughing as she scaffolds her kisses down to your cheek, to the pulsepoint, on your trap, biting lightly as a proud badge of honor. Pulling away, she bites her lip, placing another kiss before pressing you back to the wall.

“Saku,” you sputter, gasping out when her hips slide forward, pressing herself down on your cock that tenses all of the muscles in your legs, straightening them out beneath the sheets for a moment. “Fuck, you–”

“Shh,” she says, finger on your lips.. “It’s helping a lot, right?” Her hand sliding down your chest, nails grazing across your skin riddled with goosebumps, probably because of how cold the room has gotten but at the same time how the heat between your two continues to build up. “I gave you two hints already, so do what you will with that.”

“I think it is coming together,” you say, puppy dog eyes in amazement with how Sakura keeps your chin tilted up while the movement of her hips hypnotizes you. “But seriously, holy fuck, I-”

Sakura pays no attention to your spills of cutoff praise, a moan from her lips and yours let out in unison when she rubs her clit right at the tip, hunching her back over, your face getting caught between the figurative net that is her tits, drawing another mark with your teeth and soothing it after with the flat plane of your tongue.

If she’s not careful, this right amount of pressure from her pussy over your aching cock might spell disaster for you before even getting started with resuming last night's activities. Her body is already becoming a live wire to feed off on; the taste and how responsive she’s been so far, you’ll play into it for as long as she allows it.

Luckily, she knows your body well enough as hers, stopping herself as she scooches down. The trail of kisses coming back with the first couple scattering their way down from your lips, cheeks, and neck, now down to the chest. Every touch of her lips across the canvas of your body only sends your mind deeper into that endless barrel of delusion and madness from the fantasies you’ve discovered with Sakura.

It might also be worth mentioning how she substituted her pussy for her hand again, dainty fingers well placed around your shaft again, pulling it upwards as she buries herself beneath the sheets, lips now planting kisses at the hip and down to the thigh, then turning her attention to your twitching cock.

You could feel the muscles in your ass clench underneath her body, watching with the comforter raised up to hide her from the open doorway, focused on how her breath grazes along your underside, carefully working her way up to place a chaste kiss to your tip, her tongue getting the first tastes of her favorite snack, swallowing the head first.

She then inches down a bit, pulling herself up and out, tongue swirling and well trained. The feeling settles in static breaths, watching her be grateful for the reward she’s worked hard for in the short span of time. Her head lowers for another second, you lift your hips up to meet in the middle for her, and she stares at you with glossy eyes.

The comforter gets lowered as your hands find themselves onon Sakura’s wrists.

“Saku,” you groan automatically. Sakura’s eyes flutter in approval when she slides her puckered lips further down your length. The tiny press of her perfect lips, her tongue again slathering up the underside again, tracing a vein.

Her hand finds itself at the base, building up a rhythm in her bobs that you’re all too familiar with. Tongue and the opening past her mouth and into the throat, moving in every move imaginable that she knows that you love and like.

And it’s also this double-edged sword - a blessing or curse on her terms, how the vibrations coming from her vocal cords wrap around your cock whilst in her mouth, letting you know how ravishing you are for her cravings.

“Keep the comforter over me.” Sakura commands, purring. Mixing in the swiping of her tongue as well as the erotic kisses she’s spoiling your cock with. Her head goes sideways, treating to one side of the base, dipping down to take one of your balls in her mouth. She’s also aware of how much you like your blowjobs to be wet, so it’s no surprise when she spits all over your cock, ensuring that no spot was left untouched with her saliva.

You do as she says, letting your hands rest beneath the sheets along with Sakura; the view of the room now opened up past the obstruction, watching as the small bump between your legs indicated Sakura’s head, slowly feeling her head working her way down your cock, gasping when you feel the tip of her nose meet your stomach.

She laughs with a mouthful of cock in her mouth still when she hears the sound of the back of your head hitting the wall, gripping the fuck out of her wrist on your leg to let her know that she’s doing wonders - in addition to the tension in your hips, bucking as she’s putting enough effort to take all of you down her throat, shifting her head side by side with the small chokes minimized with the comforter over her.

The pace comes back, but this time with more variety. A hand is wrapped around your shaft, holding it in one spot while her mouth takes you right at the half, gagging as the suction deepens. She’s managed to have your cock slicked up enough to where her fingers are easy to swivel around, doubling down on the stimulation.

Sakura isn’t one to really be forward when it comes to 'relieving your stress’, but with the amount of practice that she’s had from past experiences,, that thread of thoughts continues to open different avenues to sit on a balcony and ponder on. Earlier this week she felt compelled to have you bust all over her face because of how hot you looked while doing a virtual meeting on the couch; you’re picturing the image in your head - how she looks so good with your lips on you, so practiced, mouth pressuring all the right spots and tongue slicing through a vein and maybe lower.

“Baby, baby, holy shit,” you’re moaning out again, getting a response from Sakura’s filled-up mouth, picturing the furrowed eyebrows and half-lidded eyes beneath the sheets. She moves your hands up from her wrists and into her hair, prompting you to shove the best inches down into her throat, much to the point where you’re nearly sitting upright to do so.

This isn’t something to think too hard about: thrusting your hips into Sakura’s face in the morning - into that sweet heat of her mouth, how her nails are creating crevices in your skin, relaxing her mouth and throat enough to stuff nearly all of your length to that one hole of hers. You know that she could go on with this for as long as you’d like, instinctively helping her part a few stray fringes in her hair without even being able to see it. She’s sometimes worried if you’re hurting yourself with every deepthroat she does to you, assuring that having no gag reflex makes these bits in the whole experience a whole lot more pleasurable.

“Mmph.”

“This fucking mouth of yours, Saku,” you mumble, not paying any care to the increased volume of gags or the purring vibration of her open mouth creating this vacuum within your stomach - since the addicting suction and clench were about to send you into oblivion.

“Mmmmph…”

“God,“ you choke out. One thing you don’t want to accept to yourself or to anyone, for that matter: this was the best fucking way to wake up.

“So fucking good,” she mumbles.

Another thing you’d hate to admit sometimes is the fact that even though you've been restricted from seeing Sakura take in your cock so well underneath the sheets, that’s traded in for how fast you could feel yourself coming undone again. That sense of pride also put you in jeopardy because every lick, plunge, and slip of your length into her mouth was another step in the pattern in transition to holding herself steady. It also doesn’t help that she tilts her head up, poking the head of your cock on the inside of her cheek, swiping the tongue at the underside, and seriously, this woman.

The eerie ringing between your ears starts to pop up randomly, your body getting riddled with every overstimulating feeling being thrown right at it. The slickness in her mouth, the grip around the root becoming too tight, the gags becoming intense - your mouth is hanging low as your eyes begin to roll up to the back of your head. She doesn’t plan on playing it safe, and the edge is rapidly getting to you; it’s too fast, too soon, okay, oh fuck, oh fuck.

“Saki!” a voice calls out past the open door leading into the hallway. “Where the fuck are you?” Shit, the tone sounds awfully familiar, and you also notice the trail of clothes along the floor. Another fragment from last night flashes in your brain; though, you’re trying to keep focus while Sakura’s heat surrounds your cock as you hear the sound of feet scraping along the hardwood floor.

“Saki, I-” The second girl stops short past the door, phone in her hand and hair tousled, but still presentable. She’s wearing your dress shirt from the night before, unbuttoned and parted perfectly enough to where you could see the inner curve of her tits - her long, creamy thighs stand out to you, making your lowered jaw salivate when she cocks her head to the right out of curiosity, hands behind her back with her tongue buried behind her bottom lip. “Well, what do we have here?”

How could you forget? The additional set of clothes on the floor? The lady next to Sakura’s ruined body covered with cum on the Polaroid photo?

Kazuha. Who else but Kazuha?

“Good morning,” you greet, paying no attention to your hands as they appear to be all over the place before settling themselves above the sheets, just adjacent to the subtle bump where Sakura’s bobbing head was located. “I was wondering where you went off to.”

“I couldn’t really sleep, so I thought it would be a good idea to whip up some food to kill time,” says Kazuha, biting her lip at the sight of your hand resting above the oddly shaped form between your legs and underneath the sheets. “You wouldn’t mind if I asked: Where the heck is Saki?”

“Well,” you try to say, pretending to be oblivious while the heat of Sakura’s mouth trails your mind off into dreamland. “I’ll give it to you straight; she’s not here.”

“Uh huh,” Kazuha breathes, unamused. “Really though, where did she go?” She asks, raising herself up on her tiptoes, slowly migrating closer to the edge of the mattress, noticing the heels hanging out of the edge. “I could’ve sworn she was next to you when I woke up.”

“She was,” you reply, keeping that sly smile from breaking out in the frame of your face. “I don’t know if you checked the bathroom if she’s there, but that’s one place to start looking if you ask me.”

Kazuha pays no attention to your answer, only keeping her eyes fixed on the pair of feet at the edge of the matter, palming an area for what appears to be Sakura’s calf, which makes her stop her controlled bobbing around your cock for a moment, stunned at the sudden press of Kazuha’s hand pulling her head back off of your soaked shaft, gulping because she knows that she got caught.

A look under the sheets, and Kazuha laughs, locking eyes with you while the offering of a sheepish grin is all that you could give her. “Really?” she asks, examining beneath the white layer to only see Sakura laying on her stomach, bare ass between your legs while you eventually call the act off, lifting off the sheets to give Kazuha a better look at Sakura’s head buried between your thighs, hand still well gripped into the threads of her hair. “If you guys are going to start the fun without me, then don’t even bother hiding it.”

“We weren't hiding anything at all,” teases Sakura, dipping her head down your cock again that makes you clench at the feeling of her throat.

“Pretty much seems that way to me.” Kazuha retorts.

“Who was the one who woke up early again?”

“Don’t I have a say in this?” You inquire, combing Sakura’s messy hair down while she moves her wrist around your length to occupy herself, causing you to shudder at the delicate touch. “I mean, Jesus, I guess Saku here couldn’t really help herself to me.”

“She’s the worst.” Kazuha declares, slipping out of your dress shirt, now left with nothing but those lacy black pants she slipped on.

“He worked you over; let me remind you,” Sakura replies, bearing a smug grin when she looks over towards you. “You finished on her back, and before that, you finished on me twice.”

The corner of your eye picks up on Kazuha getting back on the bed, shuffling with her knees as she approaches closer to you. You remember again that she’s relatively well known in your circle of friends, considering the fact that she’s one of the four girls that you’re relatively affiliated with around campus. She’s only a year younger than you, but good friends with Sakura (obviously); and there’s also the duo of Chaewon and Yunjin, the pair of them also crazy in their own rights, respectively.

“Your point being?” The question gets both of their attention, exchanging looks when Kazuha finally reaches to you, guiding your hand to her waist and around her back, Sakura placing neat kisses across your obliques, cock still welded to her hand and stroking gently.

“I guess the golden question should be asked again,” says Sakura, bending her neck down to lightly tap the tip of your cock to her pouty lips. “Where do you think you’ll finish today? On our face? Down our throats? Our backs? Or maybe…”

“Maybe…” Kazuha teases, lifting her hands with yours up to her face, rubbing the pad of your thumb across her bottom lips, lightly sucking on it that’s insanely hypnotic. “Maybe he could finish inside us?”

(Sakura and Kazuha: birds of a feather. You can’t fathom with the fact sometimes that they’ll act like angels, dress like crazy, and only have you around to tug the clothes off of them, as they’re babbling listlessly about how you’ll pin one of them down (or both) on the carpet, make paintings with your tongue all over their bodies; the taste of each more exquisite in every round you take them on, fucking them on any article of furniture within reach. )

Kazuha’s not even remotely close to you. You and her are just surface-level friends at best. Heck, she’s only a mere acquaintance in the swing of things, if you want to read deeper into the personal analysis of each other. The only line of connection you have with her is through Sakura. And from the last outing being a solid first impression for all parties involved, you’d laugh to yourself at times because Kazuha could never have enough of you and Sakura.

“Kazuha, sweetie,” Sakura purrs, pulling her head up with a string of spit still attached to her chin. “You’ve had your fill with him already, literally.” And as she says that, you feel all of the muscles and bones in your body practically melt through the mattress beneath you from the overall presence and weight that these two women have. These two perfect dolls - imagining how their bodies will bend and crumple when you bury your cock inside both of them, shutting one up with the other’s cunt over their mouth. Sakura’s mouth has already made you want to test that edge, and with Kazuha’s?

“I think we should let him decide who to dump his cum into, no?” Sakura suggests soon after pulling Kazuha’s body next to hers, allowing you to admire the live Renaissance painting taking place before you. She then pats Kazuha’s shoulders twice, much like something straight out of practice: Kazuha quick to get on top of your waist while Sakura scooches down to hold your cock tried and true back into her mouth, the pleasure instantaneous as Kazuha’s lips find yours for the first time today.

Kazuha’s arms slither over the bridge of your collarbones, letting you indulge in her perky tits, trying to keep your focus on her while Sakura begins to up the ante again in scarfing up your cock.

“I wanted you all to myself when I woke up first,” Kazuha says, tangling her fingers in your hair, softly moaning when you’re leaving sporadic marks all over her tits, capturing your lips again as you involuntary groan into her mouth, to which she receives it incredibly well. “But you were sleeping so soundly, I decided to leave you be.”

You’re also wondering about the different things you had on your to-do list in your phone. Out of all times, why in the hell were you thinking about that now? You’ve got your personal love interest inhaling your cock by the second, with another friend in your arms who’s willing to be your personal fuckbuddy just for the sake of it.

Kazuha’s features break a bit when you’ve got your lips catered to the stiff buts of her nipples, hands wandering across that toned back of hers, tracing the shoulder blades while the grasp in your fingers starts to crunch at the fine skin.

“I think,” she husks, listening to the occasional gags Sakura’s doing on your cock continuously. “Maybe you’ve been wanting my mouth for a bit too now, huh?”

(Well, yeah. I mean-)

Kazuha quickly takes the hint right out of your mind, mirroring the same pathway of kisses that Sakura did not long ago, the same waves of pleasure mixed in with the return of goosebumps spreading across your body, hands still unsure where they play as they’re suspended in the air, giving way as Sakura slips your cock out of her mouth, twisting at the crown once Kazuha meets in the middle.

The gaze they give you, from the both of them, exchanging glances with each other because these two share a brain cell together - that’s the simple assessment to observe when you’re left speechless.

Thank God you cleared your morning from whatever schedule that was initially planned, because it wouldn’t have led to having these two in your bed wanting all of you.

“Do I still have a say in this?’ You attempt to ask, studying how their eyes are full of infectious lust, the creeping grin spreading across their lips. “To be fair, I think I also need to get some morning stretching in before getting on with the morning.”

“Oh, you’ll get your stretching in.” Sakura muses.

“You won’t be saying anything from this point on,” declares Kazuha.

No point in arguing against the pair; the verdict has already been decided.

Sakura slides her hands up across your chest, laying you back down while Kazuha shuffles down to the original spot where Sakura was occupying, eyes drawn to the peek of Kazuha’s tongue on your cock, switching in between kisses and licks.

A difference between Kazuha and Sakura when it came to blowing you: Sakura knew the different kinds of tricks from experimenting in the past couple months - what worked and what didn’t. Kazuha, on the other hand, was just yearning for the taste of you in her mouth, sealing her lips with the right press, eager to pick up where Sakura left off. It shouldn’t be making you feel like putty, but that’s exactly the case when she bottoms your cock out, clenching her throat that makes you twitch at the hip joints.

Sakura gets a hand around your length, tethering you to one angle, Kazuha dipping down with just her mouth, with every bob up being met with a palm twisting around your shaft. The sounds that rumble from deep within your chest are enough proof that the thin walls surrounding you three won’t be quiet for any longer.

Though your muscles could only stay tense for so long due to the fascinating clench, with Sakura joining back in on the fun that makes you fall slack to the mattress. She’s picking back up with kisses in certain areas of your groin where Kazuha has only glossed over, tongue well working up the seam of your balls, popping on in her mouth while Kazuha’s face is perpendicular, shifting up the side as if she’s playing the flute.

Her brows furrow for a bit when she puts the head of your cock past her pretty lips, hollowing her cheeks for a moment, swirling the tongue right underneath the tip, enough for you to tense up your length in her mouth, and you’re met with wide eyes, feeling the small release of cum onto her tongue. Kazuha then slips you out for a second, licking her lips as you’re putting everything into your body to not bust this early.

“I think he’s had enough of me, Saki. What do you think?” Kazuha observes, “Do you want more of him again?”

“Is that even supposed to be a question? Let me remind you who’s the sluttiest between the two of us.” Sakura grits, voice laced with a firm determination, as her eyes are now filled with fire building deep within the corneas.

You might be fucked here. But hey, that’s all part of the fun with these two. Remember?

Not that it was any sort of competition, so to speak, but with how they synergize together, the movements of their mouths all over their shaft, guiding one’s mouth over your cock, taking turns, whispering these sweet instructions of ‘hold here’ and ‘right there, baby,’ and even ‘god, spit all over his cock, baby. You know he likes it wet,’ it’s impossible for you to stand tall, the assault on your shaft turning into a monumental task from here on out.

Sakura asserts herself over Kazuha, fingers fast around the base, lowering her jaw enough so that the speed of the bobbing can be much quicker, and it is. Judging from how loudly you ground for the both of them to hear, Kazuha’s hands find themselves on the back of Sakura’s head, grabbing handfuls of hair as she guides her down again, making her swallow you. All of you. Until you could feel the vibrations of her hums rattling down your length and into your lower body.

Kazuha whispers into Sakura’s ear, too difficult to hear since the whines drown out the continuous gagging she’s proffering over your cock, putting her at the base for what feels like an eternity. One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. She’s still holding you down with the tightness of her throat, the urge to put your hand over Kazuha’s, prolonging the unbelievable sensation, and three taps to your hip signal that Kazuha’s had enough.

She pulls her head back up, coughing; these destroyed attempts at sobs breaking through the air. You’re left gasping, pressing the back of your head into the pillow beneath you as they both tend to your soaked cock, looking back up as they move in unison for a moment, then switching off different places around the underside while the moans just keep on coming. Hands are also fast to comb back the light obsidian and honey golden locks, not wanting to ruin their flow when they meet to kiss with your cock caught in between the crossfire.

“You girls are something else,” you husk, ears filled with the sounds of their giggles as they both continue with their makeout session, alternating with mouths and occasionally your cock still in both of their hands. The wet kisses being shared were an absolutely wonderful sight to see, and though you forget that you could also have fun for yourself, taking the liberty to press both of their lovely lips on the sides of your shaft, laughing and moaning up and over the length while you just watch. And you keep watching, feeling the puffed-up chest of yours almost rise to where your chin’s at, sucking your gut inwards as your hips do the familiar motion of raising themselves upwards to the both of them.

“He’s ready for us, hmm?” Sakura asks, wiping a patch of drool away from her chin. “Kazu, you get to ride him first. I’ve got to make sure he’s well rewarded for his patience, okay?”

Kazuha nods, watching as she primes herself, touching her slick folds as Sakura shuffles herself up past your chest, getting her thighs buried into your armpits, her pussy hovering right over your face, not wanting to wait another second as you pull her hips down, moaning into her core as Kazuha teases her walls with the head of your cock just for good measure.

“Don’t, fuck, please." Sakura pleads, taken by shock when your tongue swipes up her pussy lips, taking in the sweetness while making note of how slick she’s gotten for you. The pads of your fingers grip on her legs a bit tighter, her nose shifted up to rub her clit slightly, and she yelps. Kazuha laughs right behind her, sinking her warmth over your shaft, eliciting a moan that gets transferred into Sakura’s leaking hole, licking up the folds when Kazuha finally settles your cock into her.

“Shit!”

Sakura clutches her fingers into your hair, moaning to no avail as you quench that thirst you’ve been searching for this entire morning, and she starts to grind her pussy lips across your face, rolling slowly as your mouth hangs open, letting the sounds of rapture spill out of her mouth with every lick you do to her.

“You’re so good,” Sakura moans out, feeling the latch of your lips onto the nub, flattening out your tongue again across her folds, earning another moan in approval. You smile against her hips when your ears are filled with the endless phrases of cursing that you’ve heard way too often, but it never gets old. Ever. “Why are you so... so fucking good at this?”

So you try to speak, but all that’s said is buried underneath the drain of her pussy, moaning out as a proper response as Kazuha picks up her pace in riding your cock, feeling the clash of her hips with yours, bottoming out your length that makes you lock your knees to ensure that the lower half of your body is stable enough for her frame.

Kazuha increases the chances, setting her legs up in a squatting position, keeping herself upright with just her hands on your waist, letting her face onto Sakura’s sweaty back. She lets herself float over you for a minute, taking the chance to catch her breath while you begin to piston her pussy, thrusting upwards. You’re met with a low groan spilled out of Kazuha’s lips in response to your action, only to be drowned out when she lowers her hips to meet with yours, the primal slaps filling up the room and bouncing around the walls.

The inevitability of cumming a full-fledged broken dam into Kazuha’s cunt was a thought filling your mind, but you try to not think too much about it; Sakura’s pussy was still a thing to deal with, maintaining your pace with every lick you do to her clit.

Effort was everything; that was something to keep in mind when it comes to fucking Sakura. She loves it when you get so into it just like her, because you too can’t get enough of ruining this perfect girl every chance you get. Kazuha was also on the same boat, and by how your thighs continue to shake at the weight of her hips coming down on you again and again, it’s impossible to ignore how good she is too - keep it coming, Sakura’s telling you, in the lovely sounds filling up your ears coming from her and Kauhza. You’re fucking me so good, baby. I love it when your cock throbs inside me. Please give it to me. I know you want to.

Kazuha knows you’re close, and Sakura’s not far off in the lost rails of rhythm. Her pussy is flooding on your face, the please becoming more erratic and desparte.

“God, I’m going - I'm going.”

The words coming out of you are buried underneath Sakura’s thighs.

"Fuck, I can’t with your fucking-ah!”

Kazuha does one drive back down your length, and then one more for good measure. Sakura’s hips tremble over your face, quivering and hips trembling as you drag her pussy right across your tongue. Your arms latch somewhere above Sakura’s ass, matching her clutches with the digits buried in your locks, a fire lit under your chest as Kazuha’s cunt grips you like a knot - the heat from their bodies and yours submerging you as if you were in lava. Kazuha bucks forward, face hitting Sakura’s back, holding herself up with her hands as the pounds from thrusting upwards become increasingly unstable, her ravine of a pussy getting you closer and closer to that edge while you can’t even think straight.

A swipe up the tongue on Sakura’s folds. Then three more, nibbling on her clitoral area as her thighs start to press inward from both sides of your head. She keeps grinding, dragging her swollen lips across the ridges of your face, mewling with a hand on the headboard, giggling as she mirrors the movements from grinding on your cock earlier.

Kazuha slams her hips down, and not in a nice fashion since, well, fuck, legitimately, her cunt seizes your cock, smearing her sweet juices all over the rough bits, a vein that’s concealed with her walls, keening when she feels the swollen head shoved up inside her twitch that really makes her feel like mash. Her nails are ripping apart the skin on your stomach, searching for a hold to grab on to. It’s all futile when your body’s elevated to a temperature where there’s glistening sweat all over - her hands slip off and land on the cushions, priming the angle where you’ve hit before, fucking her deeper. She hisses when your balls lightly tap the pucker of her ass, just a bit, but that turns her on so much more.

“This cunt,” you mumble out, mouth still full of Sakura’s pussy, “Kazu, I can’t, babe. Your pussy is unreal.”

“Okay,” Sakura flatly says, “fuck.” And Kazuha just laughs, fluttering her eyes shut when you’ve latched onto the lower part of her thighs. “Keep working on him, Zu. You know he loves your pussy that much, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes, God.”

“Cum inside her.” Sakura instructs, and it’s a bid that you had no second thought of doing. “How nice of her to be your little personal fuckdoll, hm? To just handle her in ways that you want her to, nice and sticky and all fucked out, because you know she’ll come back for more, baby.”

The next move she does is so calculated, you can’t even tell or determine if she did it on the fly: placing Kazuha’s chin on the small divot in her collarbone, the image of her closed eyes, the frizzes in her wavy hair slightly covering part of her face, shaken because of how your hips drive upwards into her. And Sakura just does the simple motion of putting her palm on the side of her face, parting her mouth open while you can only watch with your eyes since the lower half of your face is still attached to Sakura’s pussy.

“Saku,” a frail call in the last seconds, “She feels so good.”

“Fuck your cum into her, baby,” Sakura growls again, clawing the sides of your head as she ruts her hips deeper into your mouth. “That’s the only thing that matters. Until she’s full with the fucking thickness of it.”

You managed to fuck Kazuha through her climax a minute or two ago, and now she’s repaying you by fiddling through yours.

It’s an unraveling feeling when you push past that brink, filling up her tiny cunt with cum, molding her fuckhole to every detail of your member. And she’s mouthing, Sakura’s expression filled with glee, saying, Aw baby, god, yes, would you look at her? She loves it when you fuck a nice load into her, fresh and hot, and-

“Christ,” you grit out, hoarsely, letting the pulses channel out of your body, Dick still grinding the deepest parts of her stomach, cum splattering every spot to be left untouched inside. The throbs are still happening, but with every hold you have, your cock starts to die out in the heat of her hips.

The senses are all over the place when Kazuha slips her pussy off of your cum-soaked cock, Sakura’s hips now hovering above your face, shifting off when you still see the constellations flash in your eyes, vision blurring and deblurring to the image of Kazuha paying no attention to Sakura’s state, sloppily placing her lips with hers again, rough.

These two kiss like friends, maybe friends who have had a little bit too much to drink in order for them to act like this. They’ve done this with Yunjin and Chaewon for sure, based on the stories that you’ve heard. With or without the alcohol, they both show this kind of affection because it's natural, watching as Sakuraa’s hands find Kazuha’s head, Kazuha slithering her arms behind Sakura’s back, letting the passion take over both of their bodies. They both take the time to indulge in each other's features: hands wandering, mouths on nipples, gripping necks and pulling waists closer, Sakura teasing Kazuha’s well-worked cunt, a fingertip soaked with a bit of your cum, licking it cleanly off her fingers.

And the hums. The fucking hums that these two are spilling out. You’re basically drooling when they pick up where they left off with the kissing, paying no attention to you as your hand starts to slowly slide over your cock, palming it before your fingers start to wrap around the length one by one. You’re equally fucked just like them, but there’s no problem with that.

Both of them take as much time as they needed - tender lips and tongues canvassing every part of their exposed bodies, eyes recording every second of this account - in hopes that you can play this back in your mind as Kazuha smiles with full delight to match your expression, drinking in the sight of the show presented right on your lap.

“I think Saku’s ready for you,” Kazuha hushes, lightly dragging her fingertips across the taut line of Sakura’s abs, resting on the underside of her breast, like a showoman who is trying to entice like she’s selling the latest model of a car. Her hand then goes down to Sakura’s clitoral area, rubbing it in circles when the mountains of pillows and sheets are unearthed from the mattress, ruffling and crumpling with the movements of their legs and feet, being pulled by your hand to the edge of the bed. “She made a mess all over your face, didn’t she? Now you’ve got to pay her back.”

You’ve gotten out of bed in a heartbeat multiple times before. One morning was because you were late to class; the other time was to follow the view of Sakura’s bare ass tiptoeing into the kitchen for another meal before starting the day - and here you were, with a rearranged order in what probably feels like slow motion but one constant movement throughout, hand never leaving the meat and bone of Sakura’s ankle, assisting Kazuha by reeling Sakura, who’s shying away, but this is exactly what she wants.

“Our little baby of a whore is deprived of a thick cock filling up her guts,” Kazuha sighs, expression a bit fatigued with the way she’s still coming down from her high. “So do you think you can do me a favor? Stuff up her cunt nice and tuck first, then ruin her after. How does that sound?”

You try to answer, at least, taken aback when Kazuha’s got her long fingers along the line of your hardening shaft and Sakura’s spreading her legs wider and wider. She’s holding you close. Closer. Aiming - tried and practiced - towards the heat of Sakura’s. It’s a hook, line, and sinker when the head of your cockparts her walls, slippery and still leaking, feeling every nerve ending in her hips trickle a thousand volts inside.

“Make her beg for it. I think you’ll be able to fuck her filthy with how she’s wanting to cum for you.” Kazuha’s tone drops down low, almost agitated. “This is payback for what she did to me last time, so I’ll let you be the judge.”

And when the opportunity presents itself for you to determine that said call, it’s never a clear answer from the start if you’re willing to be honest with yourself. The one of many tricks Sakura has on her exposed sleeve, enchanting you with a heavy desire - the kind of want that could never be fully fulfilled. And, even in the days where it does feel like that, it doesn’t even come close to satisfying you.

When you lock eyes with her, wide open to match with her parted mouth, bottoming her all the way with your cock tapping to that spot that has her keening, holding back her sigh as your groin meets the underside of her thighs.

“Feel good, baby?” You ask Sakura, relieved at how she’s come to grips around your shaft burying inside her, head tilting back, clutching on to Kazuha’s forearm as your fingers find their place along her thighs. “Hm,” you assess soon after, inching your cock past the halfway point, “sure looks like it does.”

Sakura’s mouth wobbles, gasping, her eyes draw shut, and her face flushes pink. She takes in your cock so well, the slipping slick of her thighs sounding off this noise of pure squelching; her whole upper body moves up in reaction; stomach bucking, chest puffing up to the open air, pushing in the deep area that has you speechless.

The bottom palm of her hand grazes your groin, adjusting to how your cock molds around her cunt, hands shifting to the underside of the knees, using the rising octaves in her moans to indicate that she’s receptive and expressive in approval. Amidst the growing chaos the lower half of your body is going through, Kazuha takes liberty in massaging Sakura’s breasts, rubbing her stomach as it bloats from the air being exhaled in whines and expletives.

“Ugh, fuck, you." She’s blabbering at this point.

And there’s you, finding your rhythm, your groove, enjoying the way her soft skin maps out across your rough and grainy fingers, how it sinks in so smoothly - much closer to melting, it seems - something of that degree.

“-mhm,” and there’s the “can’t baby, ah, ngh-” with more of, “-dick feels so good.” It’ll fall between the cracks, piercing deep, pulling out and sliding it across her folds just to play as a tease, because she deserves it without any reason, penetrating back in to pick up right where you left off.

Sakura’s body is that one journey that you can never get tired of looking at. How her thighs are just immaculately perfect, that waist offering up those sets of abs on a pedestal, the way her tits rebound on the upstroke when you’ve got past the spot of bottoming her out - where your cockhead grips at the soft spot where it’s been at multiple times, squeezing and swallowing and resting where it should belong in every case with her.

Kazuha shifts her body from the side of Sakura, getting lower to rest her head right above her waist, a trail of kisses circling over her stomach and belly button, getting caught in the throes of pleasure when you realize that Sakura’s got two fingers inside Kazuha, helping her treat herself and assisting the self-induced action.

“God, Saki, look at him all fucked out in your pussy, huh?” Kazuha bites down in an area on her waist just above her cunt, nose brushing down lower to her clit, hand curling around to the bottom of her inner thighs, keeping it out of your way. “She wraps you so well, doesn’t she? Finally getting fucked again after last night?”

“Don’t you know it,” you answer, and there’s no other need to spiel something that’s already been known; Sakura can make you shut the fuck up with her mouth, her cunt, and the way that she talks pure sex. You love how she’s nothing more than mush and warmth. A fine tapestry that’s meant to stay untouched, but you’ll tear all the edges down where the seams have already been shredded.

You get thrown off when Sakura’s pussycle clenches at the hilt, where the contraction captures the air bubbling in your lungs, turning the legs into jelly, and the bobble forward into her lying body on the mattress only punctuates without saying a word. Kazuha laughs at the sudden change in weight on her head, causing you to stand back up with your knees to the bed holding you up, drawing away as Kazuha gazes at your silken cock, soaked with Sakura, lightly teasing when you’re pushing the tip in and out for good measure.

Kazuha rises from her bent state, lazily putting her lips on yours as the pace slows a bit in the lower half of you - darting your cock in with one firm stroke. Hard. The strokes themselves are now more impactful, and ripping, the snap is becoming more assertive. “Fuck, sir, fucking,” Sakura cries out, the coil of her cunt tying you in. Kazuha sets herself back to where she was, resting her cheek on her waist as every entry with your cock, body bouncing on the soaked sheets from all the sweat and leaking slick coming out.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, ah.”

Sakura’s hands hold at her thighs, gyrating upwards at every point where your cock buries at the deepest depth, swelling at the unimaginable clench to where she mewls, wailing but cute at how she’s tuckered out.

“Goodness gracious,’ You spit out, in a half-sob, the moans and utterances and simple replies to Kazuha’s endless mumbling, repeating in one same fashion or the other. “You’re so-so fucking wet, and for what? God-”

“Look at what you did to her,” Kazuha tuts, biting on the inside of her thigh, and Sakura basically yelps. A mix of pain and pleasure, the best of both worlds. You tug yourself out of her cunt, slapping the swollen cockhead on the nub of her clit, sighing at the way she shudders. “Do you think she deserves to finally let go?’

The responses that pass through your lips are just staggered breaths, tumbling down as the slaps start to line up with your heartbeat. A fine point in pace, your internal metronome that only leads to the dwindling doom of your thick cock thrusting Sakura’s tight pussy.

“Love it,” Sakura mutters, head fallen to the provided pillow courtesy of Kazuha; she’s sobbing. “Love your cock, so fucking much.”

“Mhm honey,” and the pet names in themselves are just the ad-libs thrown into the mix, with the right touch of pheromones and increase of dopamine being shot up to the brain. “Get it in there nice and deep; I want her to own it, feel it, because this cock is all hers.”

“-god.”

The riled-up exhale comes in reflection of the ecstasy, every bit of praise coming from Kazuha’s lips playing hand-in-hand with Sakura’s moans filling your ears.

“Think you can hold out a bit longer, Saki? Kazuha croons, head turned the opposite way as she admires the sucked-out gaze Sakura wears on her face, meeting your eyes again. “I’m doing you a favor since he fucked my brains out last time, so be thankful. You greedy bitch.”

“Shut your fucking-ugh.”

“Don’t even think about keeping it in,” Kazuha doubles down, dragging her nails across Sakura’s inner thigh, forcing her legs wide open once more, almost as if she’s doing the splits across the length of the mattress. “He’s so perfect for you, hitting all of the right spots and all the right places? In that creaming pussy of yours? How his fucking fat cock splits you up into oblivion? Come on now, just-”

“My fucking god,” you blurt out, in complete shock at the words that were spilling out of Kazuha’s mouth like emptying an open bucket full of water. “You are a piece of work.”

Kazuha just laughs, taking the compliment to heart, with some mischief still showing with her closed eyelids. Sakura whines, going silent, shaking as your fingers bruise the same spots where the grip on her waist was first.

The lust starts to boil to a point where nothing else is given a second though, and it’s been that way for a while now, fueled with a hunger that could replace the morning cup of coffee with ease, watching as your cock vanishes into Sakura’s pussy, the moans hitting similar notes that are now just echoes of the night prior.

“Ah, uh, almost there." Sakura, once forward in her advances, now reduced to simple begs and pleads, the gaze half-lidded, back arching off the rumples in the sheets. She’s so fucking wet for you, and that’s another mental note that’s circling back in your head for probably the tenth time this morning so far, and might worth mentioning that it’s still in the fucking morning.

“Oh? Make her do it, babe.” Kazuha orders the go-ahead, a hand - well, actually, both hands full of Sakura’s breasts, claiming it as hers. “I think she’s willing to be killed while being split open.”

You’re paying zero attention to the words - grunting and passing air - as the piledriving only seems to be the sole constant that your mind and body seem to be focusing on.

It’s a bit disorienting how your vision blacks out before coming back with color, the mind playing tricks as if you were getting your head dunked underwater and pulled back up, gasping for air. The thrusting never stops, with every fiber in your body, pooling it into fucking Sakura’s open cunt in the best way possible. Her hips are past the breaking point, grinding up against yours. She’s wailing, towards hyperventilation, eyes rolling upward to the back of her head, mouthing, close. You can easily tell, I’m so fucking close for you. Keep ramming your dick into me.

“Saki,” now you’re saying the other nickname, and Kazuha grins, finally having her moment. “Fuck, baby-”

Sakura looks away as Kazuha looks up, chin lightly tapping your hips - the devilish smile she possesses - it’s a rare occurrence, but that look could haunt you in your dreams: “Use her pussy, fuck everything up inside of her, I don’t care. Get her creaming all over you. I want to hear her screaming.”

And Sakura fucking screeches. The better sound to wake up to rather than the annoying alarms on your phone.

She holds still, every part of her body tensing - knees locking, toes curling, back arching and unarching - as Kazuha holds her down. The noises she’s making are loud enough to slip through the thin walls, and you can guess another complaint from the neighbors would be on the cards. Kazuha takes liberty into treating a barrage of kisses across Sakura’s body, you trying to drag your cock a little bit in, barely managing to drag yourself out. A brief effect from the aftershocks: her midsection freezing as the clamp around your cock starts to subside.

Sakura whimpers with closed lips, shuddering when you finally slide out of her properly-fucked cunt, leaning down to kiss and kiss and kiss, dick taking the fresh, cold air as it rests along the bottom portion of her waist. Your hands get on her neck, helping her up with the arch in her back, hot and slicked and sweaty. Kazuha gives you two some space, playing as the makeshift crane to pull Sakura away from the clutches of your hands and lips, face racked in disappointment when Kazuha looks at you, smiling, tending to the mess that’s reforming in her arms.

Kazuha then moves across the bed with her knees, a change in guard from Sakura to her when her body crashes into yours, the press of her lips good enough for you to fall on your back as the arms and chest eventually come into their own, molding with the canvas of your skin to mesh. She’s literally perfect for you - the way she wants more of you - in the taste of your lips, how your fingers explore every area of the framework that’s tensing and relaxing, reaching for spots that get her riled up in every way imaginable.

You kiss and lick and grab wherever you can. A hand palming the firm skin of her ass, soft and plump. The hickeys and other various bite marks are an earned badge of honor for Kazuha to be proud of, her nails digging into the skin where your shoulders are as the grip on her ass-cheeks starts to become more and more possessive, slapping it as her forehead accidentally clatters yours.

“Such a klutz,” she assesses, landing a loose kiss on the bottom of your chin. “Still able to think straight after fucking Saki relentlessly?”

“What do you think?” You rebuke, dazed, as Kazuha gets a finger on a strand of your hair at the front, mimicking her messy bedhead bangs.

“I mean,” she slips her tongue across your bottom lip, biting along the patch of few hairs, pulling her head back when she notices that your hands have never left the curve of her ass. “I think you’ve got more to offer, and here’s a bonus: there’s one hole that you haven’t filled yet.”

It’s the most simple movement she could do, with any intent that she wanted to fabricate behind it. She turns around, swaying her ass from the left side as she’s on her hands and knees on the bed, stretching as far as she could possibly get them to reach. The arch starts to form along the fine lines of muscle displayed on her back, arms out straight as her legs find a proper foothold, spreading themselves for you to fill in the space.

Your hands have never been quick to get themselves on something that you want, and this was the only exception; it’s appalling how easy the soft skin wraps around the underside of your fingers, picturing the look on her hidden face where you can only see the back of her head: in her lidded eyes, the swollen lip being captured between her teeth, the mumbling of insistence when all you’re just doing is feeling her out, resting your dick above her unfathomable cheeks, grazing the underside in the small divot at the middle, pressing them closer together, her hips reeling back and into your thighs, the listless moan spilling out of your mouth when the friction tightens at the belly of your cock.

In fact, that’s the only thing you keep your focus on, not paying any sort of attention to Sakura when she shuffles out from beneath Kazuha’s lowered and bent body, doing this sort of army crawl to the nightstand for a certain thing. You’ve seen the arsenal that she has in that drawer, and some of the items were actually put to use in the last outing with Sakura and Kazuha. The instinctual thing that you do also is lean over to Kazuha’s backside and get one side of your face nestled into her as your hands wrap their way around her stomach, holding her close.

Not much is said aside from the shaky exhales and whines, filled in with the occasional smacks of your lips across skin. Until-

“My turn to watch,” announces Sakura, a slim bottle in her hand, wrapped with those long, dainty fingers of hers.

You blink once, and she’s on the edge where the nightstand is. You blink again, and she’s already made her way back to you, cap opened with the noise similar to an obvious crack of a stick, like breaking the silence in a quiet forest.

Sakura’s hands become slick, as if her hand were made of the smooth liquid itself. The grip she has on you is breathlessly attractive: palm sliding across the length, strategizing the strokes at every curve and pull while she’s kissing you.

“Do you have any idea how long she’s been wanting this?” Sakura questions, implicating you as she slaps your cock along Kazuha’s ass. “You’ve told me before: she’s made for you.”

Utterly speechless is what you are, but maybe you should say something to-

“Gotta fuck her sensless,” Sakura suggests, head perpendicular to yours while the cock in her hands starts to graze the surface of her ass, nudging the opening by just a teeny bit, a small preview of what’s to unfold. “That’s what she wants. What she needs. Isn’t that right, Zuha?”

“Mhm.” Kazuha hums in agreement, a throaty moan to follow after Sakura gets both hands full of her ass, spreading her open. “All of it,” Kazuha murmurs, chest pulled inwards when you start to descend; the more you fall, the more faster the air expels out of her chest, with a shout thrown in - a last resort call of your name: “fuck, I, hngh, god.”

You hold for a moment, pussy leaking by the second as she’s taking you fully, expanding to compensate for the girth. An enchanted feeling washes over your body, grabbing to whatever you can of Kazuha’s ass - holding, a still in this moment of time - and this was the only grace period you’ve given her much more than yourself, head falling back because her hips do this movement in your hands, and

“For fuck’s sake,” you spit, because the suffocating tightness and heat surrounding your cock is one to be unbearable. The pins and needles of pleasure prick all over your nerves as the fine weight of Kazuha’s ass takes you in and out, until you’ve retreated from the impending chamber, pausing as your cock twitches.

Then you drop the pin inside her, all the way.

“Fuck!” Kazuha gasps, sewing her eyes shut. Her hands start to grip the sheets.

There isn’t much time after for her to get used to this, as you start to drive into her more, fucking out every cry that you could suck out of her lips. Her ass does this little ripple effect with every slam, making her feel the thickness where it hurts, hugging your cock in all directions. It’s a gradual push from here on out, building your sense of rhythm again, just like how she was riding you earlier.

“Finally,” Sakura breathes, kissing Kazuha’s ass cheek, getting her fingers buried on the curve, kneading, showing, and biting.

The thrusts keep coming. One stroke and the next. Each one after is harder than the last. Your eyes are locked onto Sakura’s side profile, watching your cock disappear in the valley of Kazuha’s ass with every passing movement. Kazuha herself looks over her shoulder, a hand out reaching for something, maybe her thigh, hoping to spread herself even wider so that it’ll be easier for you to stretch her tight hole out. You could feel that she wants more, throwing her ass back to match her strokes with yours, the slaps becoming louder and louder, similar to the moans.

“So fucking tight,” you grit, your vision loosing sharpness at the top layers. Sakura’s smiling into Kazuha’s sweaty skin. “Like, nobody else could have this but me. Shit-”

“It’s not every day that you’re gaping a pretty girl’s ass.” Sakura says it excitedly, her head rocking along with the movement of Kazuha’s body in every slam. “Fucking her hole and opening up just for you. God, Kazu, can you believe this? He’s taking you so fucking well; I love the way he just fucks you, like that’s the only thing he’s meant to do. Just drop your pants whenever, and he’ll just take you right then and there- get you craving - over and over and over again, and it could be everything, if you just let him.”

Kazuha claws deeper into the bedsheets, nearly tearing the fabric, Sakura’s face on Kazuha’s ass-cheek, closing her eyes to feel the motion more.

Every inch of her body is washed with bliss, curdling in the layers beneath the skin, a form of want that could only, truly, be achieved by you.

“Baby,” Sakura’s calling out to you this time, face flustered when you realize that she’s got a hand magnetized to the heat between her legs; fingers in its own cyclone, a paradigm of its own when she’s screwing in two, no-three digits inside her cunt, parting her folds in an identical fashion the way that your cock rips open Kazuha’s ass and fucking the lights out of her since that’s the primary reason why she’s connected to you, and Sakura even sit back and watch this unfold in front of her eyes, bear witness to you fucking her friend with every matching heartbeat to the claps, “She could be a heartbreaker for you, and you could fuck her ego until she finally knows her place, like the motherfucking slut that she is.”

There’s no sense of control left in your bones anymore. All you just do is let Sakura’s words fill your ears as your fingers dig deeper into the firm cheeks of Kazuha, the warm embrace of oil trickling down the plugged-up, puckered ass as your cock picks up the dripping remnants.

“I-” is what you make of a poor attempt from Kazuha, the vowel replaced with a flat-out gasp, since the irreplaceable feeling of power goes a little bit over the top of your head, a firm thrust to send the message instead as the fucked-out girl at the front of your thighs tumbles out a voice that’s wheezing and whining in croaks. “Fuck. Yes, fuck, fuck, babe.”

Sakura doesn’t really say many words to you soon after, just mouthing yours, yours. She’s so yours. And even if you could describe the surreal feeling of bending a beautiful girl over across the canvas of your mattress and sheets, there’d probably be nothing else left to say from you. She’s just urging you to keep on trucking Kazuha’s ass, demanding that you’d fuck her until the wheelchair sitting in the dark corner of your closet proved to be a viable solution for her poor legs - when there’s all but that satiated with the proper fucking you’ve delivered.

“Aw, you like it when she’s all fucked out for you, huh?” Sakura keeps on talking, smiling her heart away, paying no attention to the obscene sounds that Kazuha keeps letting out. You try to come up with a response to Sakura, but you’re lost at the letters caught in the back of your tongue, watching as Kazuha’s beautiful ass envelops all of your cock, balls lightly tapping her cunt when you’ve got it down to the hilt. The moans hit a hitch at the throat, only for it to be drowned out with the unrelenting thrusts into her tight ass and flushing your thighs with hers.

A snap from one slow hit. Then another. You keep fucking in, one hand alternating between from the rounded end of Kazuha’s waist to her ass-cheek and the other buried into the messy locks of Sakura’s, holding her head in place as the grip around your cock burns across the surface, not failling to keep the pace consistent as it increases the more Kazuha’s walls smother your cock with ease.

“-perfect,” Kazuha manages to say, the syllables tumbling on top of each other as her whines do this staccato format the more your thrusts chop up the sound. You’re driving your hips so up to the frontside that the ripples start to catch Sakura’s cheek, who’s still laughing when she hears Kazuha try to speak, fucked at the cock stabbing inside her for all that it’s worth. “Stretching me so good, baby, you’ve got it, yes, right there,” and that’s when you see her head fall to the pillow, screaming with all her might when you’ve brought her to the point which-

“Don’t you dare fucking hide from me.” Sakura scowls, fist full of Kazuha’s hair, forcing her up. The arch in her back is deeper than before, giving you a little more space for you to take inside her ass, inching deeper. This wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t for the wetness and pulsing throbs your cock emits when you bury yourself in, holding as the grip from her tight ass is something straight out of a mythical creation. “I want him to hear you. Use you. Lower your head again, and I swear to fuck-“

This happens on impulse, or maybe this was the one thought sitting in the back of your mind that couldn’t rest there any longer, pulling your cock out of Kazuha’s ass, finger, and thumb quickly to be wrapped around the base. You’ve got Sakura’s head in your hand still, dragging her across the dune of Kazuha’s cheek, closer to the head of your cock, and she takes the hint fully, lowering her jaw until her teeth pass the head, enveloping you, eyes fluttering shut, and humming out of surprise.

“You talk too much,” you’re saying to Sakura, mouthful of your cock, tongue slipping and pulling with her head in the ways that she knows you’ve ascended from before. “I thought I had you up on the ropes earlier; guess I didn’t do much, but we can fix that later.” It’s incredibly difficult for you to not lose your insanity, transitioning from Kazuha’s tight ass and into the addicting heat of Sakura’s mouth, taking you past the halfway mark, head dipping past her soft palette and into the hollow of her throat, cheeks puffing and coughing up spit to soak the areas already covered from the wetness in Kazuha’s ass. “Fucking-”

Sakura’s sharp inhale for air sends you in check, as her welled-up eyes watch your cock sink back into Kazuha’s ass, face crinkling when the tightness is a little hard to break into before you’re sliding back in and out with ease.

So it just flows the way it goes. A turn-taking kind of structure you’ve established. You thrust inside Kazuha’s tight ass for a few strokes, pull yourself out, and nestle your cock into those pretty lips of Sakura’s. The pair of them humming in approval and giggling under their breaths as you take the fun for yourself, using one hole after the other. Kazuha’s face is riddled with sweat, the hot pink shade running across her cheeks. Sakura’s is also the same, welled-up tears as she holds herself down the hard line of your cock.

These sluts. Your sluts. Many would’ve wished to be in your shoes. But you’re the lucky pick among the both of them.

“My good girls,” you mumble, groaning as you up the takes in one tight ass and one pretty fucking mouth. “Could die like this every day, using you two like this. A fucking dream.”

Sakura guides you back into the rim of Kazuha’s ass, hand posing as the makeshift pipe when your cockhead nudges back into her, groaning like crazy to the added pressure of her fingers and palm. Your body twinges a bit, gradually building up the slaps with every follow-through more quickly than the previous hit.

“My, fuck- holy fuck-”

“What’s the matter?” Sakura’s fast to assess the condition as Kazuha’s moans start to bounce around in every wall and corner in the room, watching as you keep fucking yourself into Kazuha and her ass, “Too much to handle? Oh god, you’re about to bust, aren’t you? Kazuha look, he’s going to cum again soon for you, baby.”

You could probably hear the sirens calling within your head. Kazuha’s hips are moving on their own and not in line with yours. Tensing, tensing, then relaxing, and it flip-flops. You can see in the muscles and how they sort of cramp up per se, how her moans are a lot more vocal as to earlier, when you feel down her cunt and be surprised how she’s oozing in your fingers, her ass clenching around your cock, clinging.

And the brain overload to not blow it makes you pull out, flicking your cock up in the air as you watch the arch in Kazuha’s back deepen. Sakura’s got a palm full of the oil, slathering it nicely - hand coiling you where it feels right.

“One more push,” Sakura pleads, resting her head down the midline of Kazuha’s back, both hands on her ass, spreading her open for you, “please, just for us.”

So.

You do as Sakura says, pressing your cockhead back into the soft coil of muscle, Kazuha’s body greatly accepting you - grabbing and stretching and inviting all of you. She’s buried her head back into the cushion, muffling the pained whines, pulling to the right so that the breathing is a bit easier to tolerate, and the rush soon after is a spell of your own.

Sakura’s hands hold firm on the plush of her ass, pulling outward and pressing inward when you’ve sheathed yourself, the vice ten times tighter than what it already is. Kazuha’s ass clutches around the head of your cock, and with every pound that you dish out to her, the more audible the clashes of skin are. Your upper body is starting to buck forward, the lower half losing composure in the routine that it built for itself, Kazuha’s mouth is parted open just like Sakura's - mouthing - keep going, yes, fuck my ass, just like that, god, your cock, just need you to-

“Babes, I’m going-”

That’s really all you say when you’re revealing your cock away from her ass, cumming all over her uncontrollably.

Shots of white are painted over porcelain. Spent, slick, and messy porcelain. You’re trying to readjust the grip around your cock, pointing your tip inside the open hole of Kazuha, shooting a measly two or three spurts, hips trembling as she gets help from Sakura to hold her ass open for you.

Sakura, unfortunately, gets caught in the crossfire. Earring a few scattered streams of your release all over her face, some in her mouth, and plenty into her hair.

“Mmmm,” breathes Sakura, tongue running across both upper and lower profiles of her lips, hooking the taste of you on her buds. Kazuha still has her face down, buried in the sheets, ass up, as she could legitimately not move a single muscle in her body after being wrecked for god knows how long. She’s softly sobbing into the pillowcase; bruises spread out across her skin, visible red prints highlighted on her cheeks, but she’s managed to calm down. The breathing is starting to stabilize. “Look at that: two loads from you this morning. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Should’ve came inside my ass.” Kazuha suggests, finally letting her frame fall to the side as you and Sakura both observe the obvious drip of cum oozing out of her. “This doesn’t technically count, but I want a do-over.”

You and Sakura both exchange this look with a singular eyebrow, a dragged-out grin soon to follow. “Such a slut for you.” Sakura observes.

“That isn’t really new news to anyone.”

Some hours later, things get slow. It’s the weekend, or the weekday? You’re too lost to put that setting back in your head, primarily because:

“Can you guys keep it down?” Sakura asks loudly, not willing to turn her head around away from the TV when you bend your knees a bit and slip inside Kazuha’s cunt against the kitchen counter, hiking up one of your borrowed shirts you gave her to reveal the handprint still apparent on her ass. “I can’t watch the movie if I hear two horny rabbits getting it on behind me.”

“Fuck you,” Kazuha rasps, mewling when you’ve buried yourself deep to the cornerstone of your cock. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have said no to getting some seconds.” She’s dipping her head down, hiding her face in the wavy locks of her hair, but you can tell her lips are parted when you’ve got a hand to her neck, pulling to flush her backside with your front. “God, yes-”

“Don’t expect an apology from me,” you’re calling out to Sakura, who took it upon herself to finally twist and see you staring, the pumps inside Kazuha relaxed, and its own thing happening. And Kazuha’s not even moaning yet. “You only have to blame yourself for bringing a physical version of Aphrodite to the place.“

Sakura rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to the television. “That’s her little secret. I guess. And it’s not my fault that you fall for it every time.”

The thing is, there isn’t really a secret to be said amongst the three of you. You’ve mapped them out to their little glances - the one quirk that gets them both going for something to follow. Dumb it down to a simple phone call or maybe a cantation laced in the words they whisper into your ear. Sakura’s right: you will fall for it.

Every. Single. Time.

#le sserafim smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #sakura smut #kazuha smut #le sserafim sakura #le sserafim kazuha #kpop x male reader

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haikyu-mp4 · 17 days ago

Text

Much more serious

“Did you hear about Kita?? He is getting married with his childhood best friend…” – @ennoshitas-princess for my Gossip Event.

word count; 501 – f!reader

Kita wasn’t sure where he was going, but he had excused himself from his wedding party and did not want to go outside where his relatives and yours were scattered about at every turn. He wasn’t thinking twice when he opened a door decorated with a large pink bow, only to hear your wedding party squeal in panic. They all gathered around you, hiding you from his view.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, in Kita’s eyes, he got a glimpse of you in your perfect wedding dress. It was almost exactly what you had described that you wanted before going dress shopping, but he thought it looked like you ended up with more details than planned. Perhaps they were pearls? He couldn’t decide before instinctively squeezing his eyes shut and turning away.

“My apologies, my love.” Your wedding party all turned to you with adoring gazes, all insanely happy for you to marry this man, who had known you longer than any of them.

“Shin, what are you doing here?” you asked, then whispered to your friends and pointed a thumb over your shoulder for them to give you two a moment.

“I was looking for… I don’t even know.” Kita shook his head, cheeks warm with his love for you. “Can you believe we’re getting married?”

You giggled, making your way over to him. He had his back to you, so you put your arms around his shoulders. Lovingly, you let your hands roam over him, adjusting his bowtie and overall soothing him the best you could. “Getting cold feet, darling?”

“Not at all,” he responded quickly, assuredly. “But I’m getting the feeling that this is much more serious than the weddings we put on when we were ten.”

Laughing even louder, breaking the soft bubble you had, you had to turn away from him so as to not take away his hearing. “You’re much taller than you were back then.”

Kita laughed too, but much more softly, as usual. “You aren’t.”

Laughing with him like this was exactly what you needed right now, only minutes before you were supposed to meet him at the end of the aisle. “Perhaps it’s time we make it official.”

Kita didn’t answer right away, rather taking a second to lean back against you, letting you support him. What a great metaphor. “I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

“Babe, you’ve been calling me your wife for months.”

“Your name will be Kita after today. We’ll have the same last name. Maybe I could even pick up your packages at the post office. Yes, I’m her husband.”

Your peace ended as your bridesmaids knocked on the door, one of them sticking their head inside to see if you were ready. They led Kita outside with his eyes closed and you promised to meet him there. To say “I do” for the final time, after practising since you were young and so in love with your neighbour Kita Shinsuke, now to be your lawfully wedded husband.

masterlist

#The Gossip Event #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #fanfiction #haikyu #hq #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyu fluff #shinsuke kita x reader #shinsuke kita #kita shinsuke #kita fluff #kita #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #kita x you

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stevesgother · 1 month ago

Text

Little Red Lighthouse - S.H

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings - exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, idiots in love, so much pining, cursing, alcohol & drug use, mental health themes

WC - 1.3k

AN - this was originally gonna be a super long oneshot, but in typical emma fashion I'm making it into another mini series

Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics <3

The Alcott. That was your favorite bar in Hawkins; and it was all you could think about sitting outside this shitty bar in Chicago. A mere few hours from home, and yet entirely too far. Just having finished school; it was an education completely orchestrated by your parents. A college you didn’t want to attend, a degree you had no enthusiasm for.

This was how you seemed to be spending most of your days post-undergrad: sulking and ruminating. Everything you could’ve had, but don’t.

–

“Steve, this is insane. That’s like a 15 foot drop!”

You say as you peer over the bridge, shivering slightly in just your underclothes. It was only the cusp of Spring, the weather in Indiana hardly what you would consider “warm”.

“Oh c’mon. You said you would!” He barked a laugh.

“I told my mother that if you jumped off a bridge that I would too as a hypothetical.” You deadpan, even though a smile still tugs the corners of your mouth.

He looked lovely, always did. Moles adorning his cheeks, scattering their way down his back and into his boxers where your vision couldn’t reach. He shot you a grin only reserved for you.

“3..2..1 JUMP!”

“Wait!-”

Steve gripped your hand, pulling you down with him into the icy water below the bridge. Unable to decipher if the sinking feeling in your gut was from the rapid fall of his skin on yours. The shock of the bitterly cold water knocked the wind out of you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His smile gleaming at you. Water dripped from his eyelashes, beading on the apples of his cheeks.

“It’s freezing!” you gasp as you surface. He starts to grip your shoulders in his warm hands, then pauses. A sudden nervousness settled and he was staring. You nervously wondered if there was something else in the water with you both. He never broke his stare. Your best friend for a million lifetimes, beautiful as ever. Looking at you as if you hung the moon just for him.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

–

When Steve finally peeled open his eyes and glanced at the blinking red of the alarm clock it read ‘3:00 PM’. His breath tasted of stale liquor as he slowly rose from his unmade bed. Skull pounding, he blindly reached for the painkillers he had made a habit of keeping on his nightstand, for afternoons like this.

Your old friend group planned a ‘welcome home’ party in anticipation for your return to Hawkins. Where you had gone to college out of state and made a new life for yourself, Steve hadn’t seemed to be able to keep his ahead above the violent current that was the trauma he endured here, in your hometown.

As you rested on the train back to Indiana, walkman in hand, you felt an air of nausea.You had started to regret leaving your car at your parents house 4 years ago; unsure whether the knot you felt in your gut was the result of motion sickness, or the thought of having to face him again.

Admittedly you were excited to see your friends again. You hadn’t come home for Christmas, for Thanksgiving, not even for summer breaks – always opting to stay as far away from that living nightmare as possible. You told yourself little lies. That it wasn’t because Steve Harrington still resided there, and with him, everything you lost. Everything you know you can never get back.

The air in Steve’s office was stiff and smelled of stale coffee. Robin sits in a less than lady-like position across from him in a chair unofficially designated for her. A plaque that reads “Chief” sat crooked between them from where Robin had set down the paper bag containing their lunch.

“You’re going to have to face her at some point, Steve.” Her voice snaps him out of his dissociative state.

“Yeah, I got it.” He sighs irritably, all traces of enthusiasm drained from his tone.

“I’m just saying,” she starts, “it's been four years. I’m sure she’s moved on, man. No bad blood.” It’s meant to be reassuring, but she doesn’t understand that that's entirely the problem. He gives her a skeptical stare. “Look, we’ll all be there. You have a ton of buffer people. Just stop by for a few minutes? For me?” The childish pout she gives in an attempt to guilt-trip is enough to push him over the edge.

“Rob- okay, fine. Stop making that face. For an hour. Not a second longer.” He points a finger at her, not unkindly.

–

As your car crunches over the gravel in the parking lot of Robin’s apartment complex, you can’t help but notice it’s already filled with cars despite you being perfectly on time. All the windows you knew belonged to her unit were lit a glowing yellow behind sheer curtains, allowing you glimpses of mingling silhouettes. You wonder briefly if this was intentional, or if in your never-ending brain fog, you managed to jumble the times.

A quick glance around the lot reveals that your friends still have the same cars they did all those years ago. Jonathan’s Ford LTD, Nancy’s Volkswagen Cabrio, and an achingly familiar maroon BMW 733i. Your heart jumps to your throat when you see it, accompanied by a sharp twist of betrayal in your chest as you don’t recall Robin ever mentioning he would be here. You suppose you can’t blame her.

You stop to take several deep breaths at the front door. You can hear the bass of an old, classic tune bumping inside and you try to time your breathing with it. In three, hold three, out three, and repeat. You raise your fist to knock before thinking it silly, so you just give the knob a tentative twist and walk in.

The room erupts in ‘Hey!’’s and ‘There she is!’’s. It’s a relief to realize they don’t hate your guts, even though they’ve always made it clear that they don’t. A nauseating guilt settles over you as you’re reminded of how long you’ve left them with barely any word from you at all– the pain of this town and everything that happened in it just too much to bear; even if they were your best friends.

Back then, talking to them sounded like long, mucousy vines that strangled and trapped. It sounded like the bitter cold and emptiness of your hometown mirrored just beneath your feet. It sounded like watching chunks of flesh be ripped from the stomach of the boy you loved. It sounded like his screams for your help and you just couldn’t– you needed time.

Now though, as they wrap you in hugs and you smell the homey scent of your best friends apartment, it feels less like then and more like now. Over Nancy’s shoulder, slightly obscured by her usually wild curls, you catch the eye of the one person not dogpiling you, and fight the grimace threatening to surface. You don’t hate Steve, not by any sense of the word– you just can’t look at his stupid, beautiful face without remembering what you did to him.

When everyone disperses, satisfied with their greetings, you can really take in Steve’s appearance in front of you. The years haven’t been unkind to him, but he looks tired. Day old, maybe two, stubble shadows his usually bright face. He fills out the red sweater and light wash Levi’s he wears nicely. You think he’ll always have that boyish Harrington charm, but he looks more like a man than when you left him.

You walk towards him hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

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midorisplash · 1 year ago

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“You should get off my lap.”

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: You’re one of the triplets childhood best friends. One night you call Matt tipsy to pick you up from a party.

Warnings: Mention of alcohol, kissing, dry humping, C*m in underwear.

A/n: I wasn’t gonna post this but I wrote it so might as well! I hope you like it.

You sloppy walked into Matt’s room one hand on his wall sliding it off to plop onto his bed. Matt sighed walking in behind you and closing his door, his hands flying up to his face. “Oh my gosh y/n…You’re to much.” He mumbled walking to his bed and sitting down with his back on his headboread. You swayed back and forth then pouted “Sorry Matt.” You whined looking at him. Matt was ready for bed when you had called him to pick you up. He didn't wanna get up, but he'd never let you drive intoxicated.

He nodded with a exhale but smiled. “It's fine..Are you tired yet? Wanna go to sleep?” You nodded slowly and examined Matt as he laid on his bed. You noticed how his hair is fluffy from laying around. How his tattoo scattered arms looked more toned then usual. How his hands looked softer than expected, soft enough for you to wanna reach out and hold them. The way his sweatpants fit him perfectly. “Okay? You should lay down if your tired then” He spoke patting the bed next to him slightly. You didn’t reply just looking at him your eyebrows drawing together as your head tilted. “Y/n! What are you staring at?” He questioned. You blinked then starting laughing yourself. “Sorry Matt. You look hotter usually tonight.” Matt chuckled rolling his eyes. “Really? I think your saying that cause you where drinking.” You shock your head “No it's not that cause you always look hot, you just look hotter tonight. Well, Mabye it is that actually.” You giggled quickly and turned to face him. You thought for a moment before pull yourself more onto the bed then without warning straddled his lap .

He gasped his hand flying up as he looked around and then at you. “O-oh y/n.. I don’t know..” He mumbled a smile forming on your face as you noticed his cheeks slowly turning more pink. “You don’t know what? Is this not okay? I’ll get off.” “I don’t know..I mean I was just talking..it’s okay. So um are you ready to sleep?” He spoke then cleared his throat. You shrugged. “I’ll sleep if you’re ready to sleep.” “i-I am. Yeah..” He stayed quiet after speaking bringing his hands together and playing with his thumbs. You honestly don’t know why you even got on his lap, he just looks hot and your tipsy and wanted to mess with him. He always get flustered and nervous anytime you flirt with him or do things to him like this as a joke. “Y/n I think you should get off my lap.” He murmured looking up at you. “Huh? Why?” You pouted pushing a hair behind your ear instinctively pushing your hips back, your breath hitching when rubbed against what felt like a lump.

His hand quickly rushed to you hips holding you in place. “Don’t move too much y/n.” He spoke staring into your eyes. You blinked and tilted your head you couldn’t help pushing your hips back once to see what he was so scared about, rubbing against the lump once more. His legs bent squeezing your hips. “Y/n! Come on.” He pleaded. “Please don’t move.” it didn’t take you long to realize the lump was him getting hard, your eyes widened with a big smile. “Oh You’re getting hard aren’t you!” You spoke pointing a accusing finger into his chest. “No! Ew don’t say that! ” He exclaimed swallowing and looking down avoiding your eyes. You moved your hips back again earning a nervous mewl from him as he tried to hold your hips tighter in place. “Oh my gosh, Matt you’re hard!” You gushed. Matt panicked knowing it was too late to hide now finally looking up at you his eyes wide. “Y/n please don’t ever speak of this! I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it! Please don’t tell my brothers.” He whined.

You laughed at his pleas covering your mouth. Matt couldn’t help but smile faintly at your laughing. “Y/n seriously! It’s not funny. This is embarrassing!” “Matt, Matt, calm down it’s okay.” You spoke with a smile patting his chest. He sighed and looked at you. “Really? But I got hard from you just sitting on my lap..” He replied in a whine. “Yeah, I don’t care. I’m just glad I got to make a hot guy hard tonight.” He smiled at your stupid response rolling his eyes. Your laughter settled down and you both stayed in silence for a while looking at each other before his hand went to push hair out of your face. “I think I wanna kiss you.” He finally spoke looking at your lips. “I think you should do it.” Matt licked his lip immediately grabbing the back of your head and gently pulling you into a kiss.

The kiss slowly became more heated Matt thrusting up into your clothed cunt as you held yourself down against him. You pulled away to kiss down his neck sucking on the space under his ear. “Y/n..” He moaned his stomach clenching. Your sucked until a hickey formed kissing his jaw back up to his lips the make out continuing . Matt’s legs didn’t stop twitching trying to keep steady pace humping up against you. He tried holding the kiss but pulled away letting his head fall onto his pillow moaning into the air with his eyes closed. You smiled at him enjoying himself and leaned down nibbling on his ear lobe then kissed back to his neck licking and sucking at it. His eyes squeezed shut tightly for a moment before trying to calm down, he felt that familiar feeling of the knot in his belly tightening. “Oh my gosh.” He whimpered quietly his nails now dig into your hips as he stopped his thrusting.

“What’s wrong Matt?” You whispered into his ear. You knew he had to be close so you started moving your hips rolling them against his twitching boner. “It’s N-nothing. Oh my gosh…” He moaned quietly squeezing his eyes tightly shut again. “Then why did you stop moving?” “Cause y/n… I’ll cum, and I will if you keep moving.” He whispered opening his eyes to look at you. You smiled “In your pants Matt? What if I wanted it in my mouth? You’re so embarrassing.” You joked and giggled. He nodded quickly his eyes brows knitting together. “I know.. Y/n..” He held onto you tightly. “Look into my eyes Matt, I wanna see your face when you cum.” You whispered leaning down and licking his lips rubbing back and forth against him until you felt his twitching get rapid. “Oh fuck…oh fuck…I’m cumming.” He tried to murmur looking into your eyes as you sat up to get a better view. The knot in his stomach snapped erupting a big groan of relief from him releasing into his boxers. His eyes rolled back instinctively as he came so he closed him them. You watched his legs squirm around the bed, his hands griping onto you tightly switching from your hips your waist. “Wow.” You awed putting a hand to his neck rubbing the side gently to help soothe him. He started panted quietly and opened his eyes slowly looking at you his pupils big and black taking up his whole eye. “That’s so e-embarrassing..” He whimpered still coming down until he just relaxed his hands falling from you waist to bed. You pushed yourself down onto his legs and saw the wet spot he left on his sweatpants. You smiled looking back at his face . He sat up on his elbows and looked at you as you both couldn’t help start laughing at the situation.

“I won’t tell anyone this happened if you don’t.” You spoke. “Deal.” He smiled and sighed letting his body plop back onto the bed.

#dom!reader #sub!Sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic

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rose24207 · 1 month ago

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Family Business

Summary: An evening where Lando and his wife recognise themselves in their children.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, fluff

TW: None

A/N: I have like so many stories in my drafts and just post them because why not? English is not my first language! I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Should I make a series out of this?

Masterlist

The grand villa was alive with laughter and warmth, an unusual sight for a house belonging to one of the most feared mafia families in Europe.

Lando Norris, heir to the Norris empire, sat at the head of the massive dining table, a glass of red wine in hand. The glow of the chandelier above reflected in his sharp eyes, but there was a softness to him tonight.

To his left sat you, his wife, the polar opposite of his ruthless world.

Where he ruled with strategy and precision, you led with compassion and kindness. You had a unique ability to bring light to the dark corners of his life, and tonight was no exception.

You were serving dessert yourself, much to the dismay of the staff.

“Madam, please,” Maria, the head of the kitchen, protested. “This is our job.”

“Oh, nonsense,” you said with a warm smile, placing a plate of chocolate cake in front of one of the guards. “You all work so hard. Let me treat you for once.”

Lando watched you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. The hardened men who feared his orders like gospel melted under your kindness, mumbling grateful thanks as you handed out plates.

Across the table, your children were mid-debate.

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Amelia, your ten-year-old daughter, argued, her small hands slamming the table for emphasis. “Papa’s the coolest. He’s strong, and smart, and everyone listens to him. I’m gonna be just like him!”

Lando smirked at that, leaning back in his chair. “Is that so, Amelia?”

“Yup!” She nodded confidently, her dark curls bouncing. “I’ll run the family business one day. Better than you, even.”

“Ambitious,” Lando said, raising his glass in mock salute. “I like it.”

Your eight-year-old son, Jacob, rolled his eyes. “You’re all so dramatic. Mama’s the best. She’s nice to everyone, and she doesn’t yell like Papa.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I don’t yell.”

“You yelled at Uncle Carlos last week,” Jacob pointed out.

“That was a strategic discussion,” Lando replied, struggling to keep a straight face.

You laughed, shaking your head as you returned to your seat. “Jacob’s right. You do yell.”

Amelia crossed her arms, glaring at her brother. “You’re too soft, Jacob. How are you supposed to run the business if you can’t even scare anyone?”

“I don’t want to run the business,” Jacob said matter-of-factly, stabbing his fork into his cake. “I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

“A vet?” Amelia wrinkled her nose. “That’s boring.”

“Amelia,” you chided gently. “It’s not boring if it’s what Jacob wants. Besides, being kind is just as important as being strong.”

Amelia huffed, but your words sank in.

Lando observed the exchange quietly, marveling at the balance you brought to their lives.

Later that evening, after the kids had gone to bed, you and Lando sat on the terrace overlooking the gardens. The night air was cool, and the stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds.

“She’s got your fire, that one,” you said, leaning against Lando’s shoulder.

“And he’s got your heart,” Lando replied, lacing his fingers with yours. “We’re raising a mini us, you know.”

You laughed softly. “Is that a good thing?”

Lando kissed the top of your head. “The best thing.”

For a moment, the world outside the villa—his world of deals, betrayals, and shadows—felt far away.

Here, with you, with his children, he was simply Lando. A man who had everything he’d ever wanted, and more than he thought he deserved.

As the staff cleared the dining room below, they whispered among themselves, as they always did.

About how Mr. Norris was terrifying, yes, but also fiercely devoted to his wife.

About how Madam Norris made their lives better with her warmth and generosity.

About how the children were growing into reflections of their parents—Amelia, bold and determined, and Jacob, gentle and kind.

It wasn’t a typical mafia family, no. But it was theirs. And that was more than enough.

Thank you for reading!

#lando x reader #lando x you #lando imagine #lando norris #mafia!lando #f1 mafia au #f1 x reader #f1 #dad!lando #fluff

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rindreamery · 1 month ago

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HIIIII NISHIIII congrats on 300 u deserve this and sm more!! i can’t wait to see ur continued growth!! 💗💗 it was so difficult choosing what combos i wanted for ur event but i think i got it now 😆😆

can i order a sweet oliver aiku with playing with their hair + best friends to lovers? (i’m in dire need of aiku fluff it’s killing me) thanks in advance!

— koryyy 💌

ORDER 2: READY TO GO !

aiku + sweet + playing with their hair + best friends to lovers w.c. 1.1k+

note. thank you so much kory !! and so true, oliver fans are in a drought 😩✋ i check his tag every day for fics and die a little when no new ones are posted <//3 this has a TWINGE of angst (it's aiku man), but i swear they're both in love and i swear aiku can acknowledge his feelings (also this was way longer than intended T^T)

interested in more? check out the lounge !

you were aiku’s favorite person, but he would never admit that out loud.

he would never admit that, when he has a bad day, you’re the first person he thinks of when he wants comfort. it’s not the idea of going home, because he’d rather be anywhere but, and not the idea of hitting someone up to forget his stresses. nothing else but you; being near you, being in your presence, that lifts the imaginary weight off his shoulders. you were his comfort.

and usually before he even realizes it, he’s at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell, holding a bag of your favorite food so you would let him in.

that’s how you find yourself, sitting on the edge of the couch, with aiku’s much larger body wedged between your legs as he sits on the floor in front of you. (he insisted, not letting you sit too far from him because it “defeated the purpose of hanging out.” and somehow, that translated as violating your personal space. but you don’t push him off.)

the television across the room has some random video he’d put on, there are boxes of takeout scattered all over the coffee table to the side, and it’s mostly silent between the two of you minus the small talk. it’s his little relaxation ritual that he’d managed to drag you into, once again.

you glance up momentarily to watch the screen, and you don’t know why you bother to check. it’s always the same video; a timelapse of the city skyline, the mix of flashing lights brightening up the otherwise dark room, and the light and ambient music attached to the video playing from the speakers fills the room. it’s relaxing— boring, but relaxing.

your hands are on your lap beside where his head lies, fingers tapping absentmindedly to some random tune in your head. he frowns to himself, at this— your hands are not where they’re supposed to be right now. so awkwardly, he reaches behind himself, his hands patting your legs, on a mission to find your hands until they’re completely enveloped in his own.

your skin feels soft against his calloused touch. aiku contemplates intertwining his fingers between yours, to squeeze his fingers between the spaces of your own, but he fights against his own impulses. even though being close to you feels right, but he keeps that thought to himself. instead, he brings your hands into his hair instead, “here,” and holds it there.

(you’re glad he can’t see the gentle smile that you fail to fight back.)

he must've had a bad day, you conclude. but you don’t pry, and you don’t try to worm your way into his mind. “have you ever considered cutting your hair?” you ask instead, an attempt at distracting him from his own thoughts.

he hums, as if contemplating his answer.

your fingers are playing with the strands of green at the ends of his hair, twirling the somewhat damaged locks between your fingers, tugging and pulling occasionally. the rhythmic motion lulls him into an almost sleepy state, and he wants nothing more than to melt into it— you. he sighs at the feeling of your fingers, he’s leaning his head back deeper into your touch, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut.

“do you want me to cut my hair?” he answers back with another question after a beat of silence, and you pause to think. your fingers stop, and he huffs audibly, tugging at your hands to continue playing with his hair. his hands trail up until they’re firmly wrapped around your wrist, not willing to let you go, keeping you close to him.

you don’t comment on it, on the way he’s being clingy with you right now. you try not to pay attention to the way your heart beats rapidly against your ribs, or the way you start thinking about how this isn’t normal at all. even for how touchy he could become at times.

so you divert.

“why does my opinion matter?” you shoot back honestly, with no malice, and it seems neither of your questions will be answered by one another at this point. “it’s your hair, y’know.”

“because,” and his voice trails off. i want to look good for you? no— i care what you think of me? he shoves those thoughts deep into the back of his mind, and goes for an answer he always gives you. playful and deflecting. “you have an eye for making me look good for the ladies.” mentally, he winces.

“right,” you snort at his words, lightly shoving his head, but he stays in place. you ignore the sting at the implications, eyes leaving his face and traveling up to look at the television screen instead. you miss the way his eyes flit open to peek at you, trying to get a read on the look on your face. “you do look good like this. your hair is just a bit damaged, but do what you want to do.”

what do you want me to do, though? he asks in his mind, with an emphasis on "you." i want to know what you think of me. yet he can never bring himself to tell you what he’s really thinking of, so he chooses to stay quiet instead.

the conversation is practically over. they always fall short in moments like these, and you try to embrace the somewhat tense silence that now falls between the two of you. it’s unfamiliar, like you’re both itching to fill the space with meaningless conversation.

it doesn’t last long because he breaks the silence, almost immediately.

he's softly guiding one of your hands out of his hair towards him, and he presses his lips against the softness of your palm. it catches you by surprise, and you stiffen at the contact.

“i didn’t actually mean that. i don’t care what other women think of me,” and you're starting to wonder if this is all just a hallucination. his voice is muffled, mumbling the words into your skin, like he wants to drown out what he’s saying. his voice is almost inaudible. like he doesn’t want you to hear him, but wants you to feel his words instead. “i only care about what you think.”

it feels as if your heart has stopped and your head starts to spin. (for a second, you forget to breathe.)

you gulp, and your hands feel frozen against his lips, unsure of what to do next. it's all too intimate, and you don't know how to wrap your head around it. it doesn't help when there are waves of anxiety and butterflies crashing over and over in your stomach.

“do you…” you test the waters, but the question drifts away. you don’t know how to respond, because a part of you wonders if he even realizes the insinuation behind his words. “what do you mean?”

aiku can’t find it in him to unwrap himself from you, to turn around and look you in the eyes to say what’s been in his mind all this time. he can't bring himself to say, "i love you," so fearlessly. so he buries his lips into your skin once again, he drags and mumbles his words, confessing in the quietest way he could. “you're my favorite person.”

from the way your fingers start to caress the sides of his jaw, he can only hope you understood what his heart has been trying to say.

#blue lock #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #ᯓ★ nishi's dessert lounge .ᐟ

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

End Game 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: get ready for the hate.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The tunnel lights up ahead of you, revealing the cubic rock walls as you plant torches in your stead. The eerie soundtrack of night time and the ominous groan of zombies looming somewhere in the cave have you uptight. Silently, you press on, digging and mining mindlessly, fingers mashing the buttons on your controller.

“Hey, where are you?” Jacob’s voice startles you.

You nearly forgot you’re playing co-op. You sniff and shake your head, cursing aloud as your shock has you succumbing to the arrow of a sneaky skeleton. You sigh as your possessions scatter and you spawn back in your bed.

“Back home,” you say glumly, “just ate it.”

“Ah, damn,” his deep voice rolls in your noise-cancelling headset, “sorry, hope that wasn’t me.”

“No, I wasn’t paying attention,” you hum and sigh.

“Ah,” he accepts and lets silence linger before he clicks his tongue, “what’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you put the controller down, your avatar sitting on the geometric bed, “I just...” you stretch your neck and massage your scalp around the thick band of the headset, “got a lot on my mind.”

“Right. I thought you were all done exams,” he says.

“I am, but... packing. Going home. I called my old boss and turns out I’m not gonna have a job this summer. Gotta start over,” you yawn and rub your eyes, “what about you? Final exam tomorrow?”

“Uh... yeah,” he hesitates as if he forgot. You do wonder why he isn’t cramming right now. You could never play minecraft all night the day before a final. “Easy stuff. I’m not worried.”

You scoff. You wish you could say the same. All you’ve done is worry those last two weeks. Exams, getting home, getting a job. Your grandmother won’t very happy to find out you’ll be slumming it for a while. At least you tucked away some money through the semester.

“Hey, if you need a few bucks...” Jacob offers.

“What? Are you crazy? No way,” you exclaim, “really, no, I couldn’t. I’ll be fine. I just... I hate looking for jobs. You know how it is. Friggin awkward.”

“It’s not a big deal. My dad sent me my birthday money so...”

“Uh uh,” you deny him again, “that’s way too much. I couldn’t-- we haven’t even met.”

“Mm, yeah, about that,” he exhales into his microphone, “I, uh, got an extra ticket to this Con. I figured out that’s it like the midway point between us so...”

“A con? Oh, wow--”

“Yeah, but I get that it would be expensive so maybe I could pay for your trip?”

“Jacob,” you wiggle the controller restlessly, “I can't accept that. It’s so nice but... it’s a lot.”

“I wouldn’t offer it was too much,” his voice is soft, meek, and defeated. You feel bad but you would feel worse taking advantage of his kindness. “We’ve been talking all year. I just figured it would be a good chance to meet up. It would be in public and something we both like so...”

You scratch your neck as it speckles with heat. You don’t know what’s more insulting; yes or no.

“Can I think about it?” You ask thinly.

The line is quiet. You look at the screen and it goes dim from your idling. You hit the analog stick and fix your headphones.

“Jacob?” You murmur.

“Sure, think about it,” he says, his voice raspy and rocky. It’s strange. You’ve seen him in pictures and his voice doesn’t really match his appearance. He sounds a lot older than he looks. “It’s next month so lots of time.”

“I’m sorry,” you cringe. “I just wouldn’t want to waste your money.”

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be a waste,” he insists, “this last year has sucked. So much. You got me through it all.” His microphone scuffs, “studying, exams, all that stuff. It’s tough making new friends. Seems like everyone here knows each other from high school.”

“Yeah, totally,” you agree.

You’re not exactly the most popular person. You have people you know in each class but not too many friends you hang out with outside the lecture hall or library. So far, not too many people want to spend hours mining digital gold or racing cartoon characters around a rainbow track.

“Well, you should probably get some sleep,” you yawn, “you got your big exam and... I gotta keep packing. Gotta catch the greyhound tomorrow night.”

“Sure, uh, yeah, right,” his disappointment is potent, “hey, will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you made it.” He snorts, “god, I sound like my dad right now.”

“Oh, of course,” you chirp back, “I’ll try to remember. Might be late.”

“That’s fine. Just as long as you let me know.”

“Don’t worry about me,” you assure him, “not ‘til I have to face my grandma. Ha.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, “well... er...”

“Good night,” you finish for him, “let me know how the exam goes too.”

“Will do,” his timbre gets even lower, “night.”

You sign off and shut down the console. Another yawn flows through you and waters in your eyes. You should sleep, you got a long day waiting for you, but you know it won’t be easy. Not with so much on your mind, not least of all, Jacob’s invitation.

🎮

You text Jacob as you get on the bus, to make sure he doesn’t worry. It’s so sweet that he does, even some of your girlfriends don’t bother that much. Not that you mind the ‘hey, bitch’ Janet sends you every now and again to make sure you’re still alive.

You fall asleep on the bus. You’ve never been one to sleep while travelling but you’re exhausted from a night of anxious tossing and turning. After spending all day packing up the last of your things and scouring your dorm room, you’re beat to hell.

It’s midnight as you get to your grandmother’s house. She’s up reading another Stephen King classic in her rocking chair. She’s always been a night owl and a voracious book hound. She grumbles at you but doesn’t bother to ask how your trip was.

“Hey, grandma,” you hike up your bag and smile.

She growls again, eyes not leaving the page. You should know better by now not to interrupt her. You shoulder on and head down to the spare room where you spent most of your high-school career. You shut the door gently as the old hardwood floors creak with your weight and you drop your bag on the squeaky bed.

You fish out your phone and plug it in as the battery flashes red with only two percent left. You leave it on the night table and stretch out, not bothering to change out of your hoodie and jeans. It’s not long before you descend back into the same dreams that marked your journey home.

You wake up to buzzing. Your phone shakes the nightstand, rattling it against the bed frame. You groan and roll onto your side, reaching blindly for offending object. You hit the side button to dismiss the call.

You blink away the bleariness and focus on the screen. Along with the missed call are several text messages. You squint as you expand the notifications. Jacob! You forgot to message.

‘Hey, you home?’

‘Checking in. Must be busy getting settled in. Just let me know when you’re safe.’

‘Not meaning to be weird but everything okay?’

‘Please answer me. I’m worried.’

You drag your thumb around the keyboard, letting it predict your words; ‘sorry! I was so tired. Home now and safe 😊'

Three dots pop up then swoop away. You frown as the same thing happens several times before a response appears.

‘Was really worried. Thanks for finally answering. Been up all night.’

You’re stunned by the terse response. Yeah, you forgot to answer but he doesn’t need to worry that much. You frown and shift onto your side.

‘Srry again. Tired. Talk in morning. Night.’

You turn your phone on silent and plug it back into the cord. You do feel bad but you’re too exhausted to let it keep you up. Besides, you need your sleep. You have lots of job hunting to do in the morning. Not to mention, your grandmother to face.

🎮

You let Jacob cool down after your return home. Rather, he doesn’t text and you’re too distracted to do the same. As much as you’d like to sit around and game, your grandmother was as disappointed as you expected with your employment status, even when you gave her the money you had left in your emergency fund.

After a week, you finally get a bite. It’s nothing special. There’s a seasonal ice cream shop in a booth shaped like a vanilla cone that needs a cashier on weeknights. It’s less than full time hours but it’s better than nothing. It will be strange working with high school juniors but you can’t afford to be picky.

‘Game tonight?’ The text interrupts your first shift. You don’t have a chance to answer as a family approaches the window to order.

You get them the soft serve and take their payment, bidding them a good evening with their vanilla points already drooping in the summer heat. You glance around at the mostly empty picnic tables. Soccer practice will end soon and you’ll be overloaded with eight-year-olds.

‘Srry. New job. 1st shift. Maybe tmrw.’

‘New job? Congrats. Why didn’t you tell me?’

You sigh.

‘Time got ahead of me.’

‘Same. Catch up tomorrow then. Minecraft?’

‘Sure. Tmrw.’

You slip your phone away. A mother and daughter approach and ask for a sundae and a banana split. As much as you love ice cream, working with it hasn’t tested your cravings very much. In fact, you might be falling out of love with it. The smell of vanilla and overly sweetened strawberries is kind of gross when it’s all you breathe.

As you watch the happy customers walk away, you smile. Maybe it will be good to get some mining done. It will take your mind off of everything else. Hell, it might even make you feel like you’re doing something useful.

🎮

“Shit, oh, sorry,” Jacob corrects himself. You always think it's kind of funny how he doesn’t like to swear. “My diamond armor.”

“Oh no,” you utter, “where are you? I’ll grab your stuff.”

He gives his coordinates and you turn around, leaping over the green blocks to make your way there. Despite your reticence at the beginning, you’re feeling better about the session. He wasn’t as tense as he seemed in his texts.

“So, uh, did you think about the con?” Jacob asks.

“The con? I almost forgot. When is it?”

He gives the dates and you hum. Your chest flutters at the thought still. You’re not stupid. Meeting people IRL is not like online, no matter how many hours you’ve mined together. As much as you enjoy chatting with Jacob, you don’t know about meeting up.

“I get it if you can’t get the time off but my offer still stands to cover the trip. If you wanna stay the night, I’ll even get an airBnB.”

“Oh, wow, that’s a lot. I’m working now. I could put in,” you offer.

“Is that a yes?” He asks hopefully.

“I don’t know... I mean, I’ll have to look into it,” you say evasively. “Talk to my boss and grandma and all that.”

“Right, right,” he tries to sound unbothered, “makes sense. Of course, no pressure. How about I send you the ticket either way? Haven’t got anyone else to bite.”

“Oh, well, hold off, I wouldn’t want to take it and not use it,” you collect his weapons and armor from the ground in the game.

It’s silent as you focus on getting every little thing.

“Sorry, did I freak you out?” He asks, “I’m really not trying to pressure you, just got excited thinking about it.”

“I know, Jacob, it’s not that, it’s just... a lot.”

“Totally get it,” he intones, “let me know whenever you got an answer. Uh, where are you? I’m tryna find you.”

“Just stay there, I'll come back to the house,” you assure him, happy to focus on the game instead.

Still, you can’t entirely lose yourself in it. You’re sure he’s a nice guy. From pictures, he’s less than scary, and he’s never been anything but friendly. It’s not like the other dudes you meet online who jump to asking about your bra size and all that. It just isn’t smart.

Well, maybe if you don’t show up alone. You know what con he’s talking about and Kara from Econ lives near there. You could probably convince her to meet up. Hm, that might work.

Just like you told him, you’ll have to think about it.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #end game #series #defending jacob

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kvroomi · 11 days ago

Text

the twelve days of christmas (kuroo’s ver)

summary: the twelve days leading up to christmas with kuroo and the different ways he shows you his love each time.

listening to: anything - adrienne lenker

tags: kuroo x fem!reader, domestic fluff, minor swearing, reader’s first language is english, reader has hair

author note: IM SO LATE I KNOW, but a massive late merry christmas to all who celebrate! hoping everyone is doing well these winter or summer holidays and spending time with/doing who/what you all love the most. wishing everyone well into this coming new year! may 2025 bring you wealth and good health ❤️‍🩹

i giggled to myself too many times while writing this it’s embarrassing i seriously think this is the cutest thing i’ve ever posted. also just wanted to share that the second i started writing for the final day (day 12), it turned 11:11 and i think that’s a sign

on the first day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—a single christmas ornament personalised with your initials. his fingers held the small box in a way that was both cautious and arrogant—a perfect portrayal of his well-known charm. his frame leaned against the doorway to your apartment, his cheeks flushed from the december cold and the faintest smirk decorating his lips.

you were seated on the couch, your hands curled around a mug of tea. though you loved winter, it just happened to be one of those evenings where the world outside felt grey and cold. you supposed your long day was partly to blame, though you’d almost immediately forgotten about it the second you stepped inside, because there he was; he who was always warm and always golden.

“on the first day of christmas,” he began dramatically, “your loving boyfriend gifted to thee…” trailing off, he held the box aloft like it was the climax of some grand performance.

you raised an eyebrow, unimpressed though very amused. “is it socks? please tell me it’s socks. i feel like i’ve been dropping very unsubtle hints.”

your own interest had piqued just from your rambles alone, your mind unconsciously racking through endless possibilities of what could be in the box. now your body has shifted from casually leaned up on the back of the couch to sitting at the edge, eager to find out what gift awaited you.

“socks?” kuroo scoffed, shutting the door behind him with his foot. “do i look like the kind of guy who gives socks on day one? socks are at least day four material.”

“ah, my mistake.” you purse your lips in apology before taking a sip of your tea and watching as he sat beside you, his knee brushing against yours.

“wait, hold on.there’s more gifts coming?” you whipped your head towards his in realisation.

kuroo smelled faintly of pine. whether from a nearby tree lot or just because he insisted on using a “woodsy” cologne, you couldn’t tell. he simply shrugged sheepishly in response and you gave a wearisome huff.

“alright well… go on then, magician. what’s in the box?”

with a theatrical wave, kuroo opened the lid. inside was a single christmas ornament: shiny and delicate, etched with your initials in exquisite gold lettering. it caught the dim light of your living room and scattered it like tiny stars.

you stared at it for a moment, caught off guard by how sweet it was—intimate, even. it wasn’t that kuroo was incapable of romance. he was, in his own teasing way… but this felt different. it felt a lot more thoughtful.

“an ornament,” you said finally, reaching out to touch it. “wow... this is… weirdly adorable. are you feeling okay?”

“don’t ruin it,” he hushed pretending to be offended, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “i thought we’d start a tradition. every year, one new ornament. you know, build up a collection. by the time we’re old and grey, we’ll have a whole tree full of memories. romantic, right?” he winked playfully.

you blinked, caught between laughter and something warmer and deeper. “that’s actually—wow. that’s disgustingly sweet, tetsu.”

“i’m just full of surprises, babe.” his hand dipped gently into the box and handed you the ornament, fingers lingering against yours. “just don’t get too used to it because tomorrow’s gift is going to be hilariously impractical.”

you turned the ornament over in your hand, the gold initials shining faintly. “okay… i just can’t get over how my initials are way prettier than yours? if this tradition continues, i fear we might need to just skip out on an ornament with your name so the tree stays pretty.”

“pffft, it’s not my fault you’ve got better branding,” he grinned as he draped an arm over your shoulder. “if it makes you feel better, next year i’ll go full kuroo—big and bold. i’m thinking something shiny and impossible to ignore. perhaps an ornament shaped like my face instead?”

you laughed, leaning into him. “i’d hang it front and center, right where everyone could see it.”

his smile softened. “great. that’s where i’d want it to be.”

you stayed like that for a while, his hand tracing slow circles on your shoulder. outside, the world was cold and distant, but thanks to kuroo, it felt like the season itself was bright, and full of beginnings.

on the second day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—two matching christmas mugs lined with photos from your recent photobooth trip. kuroo lied yesterday when he said today’s gift was going to be “hilariously impractical” but he wouldn’t tell you until you found out yourself. the box was suspiciously light when he handed it to you, his grin giving away both everything and nothing at all. he’d ambushed you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you prepped your nightly tea with a knowing look.

it was day two of his so-called “twelve days of christmas” series, and if yesterday’s ornament hadn’t been both weirdly heartwarming, you might have been more cautious. but this was kuroo—the fun was in the gamble.

“i know you’re dying to see what’s inside,” he urged, the teasing lilt in his voice as familiar as his cologne. “guess. it’s the perfect gift for someone like you.”

“someone like me?” you narrowed your eyes, glancing between him and the box. “what’s that supposed to mean? should i be insulted?”

he placed his chin between his index finger and thumb, thoughtfully. “hmmm… insulted, no. concerned, maybe. thrilled? definitely.”

you scowled at him before turning to open the box slowly, drawing it out just to see him fidget. inside was a white mug—unassuming, plain, even. too plain for kuroo. you turned to him, mug in one hand and the other on your hip.

“wow,” you deadpanned. “a mug. revolutionary. thank you tetsuro for single-handedly redefining the art of gift giving.”

“ah-ah.” he wagged a finger in front of your face, grabbing the mug before you could set it down along with the other mugs in your extensive collection. “this isn’t just a mug. this is a magic mug.”

you blinked. once. twice. and three times before stuttering out a “sorry?”

he sauntered to the kettle, pouring hot water into the cup with the flair of a magician revealing the final act. you watched almost agonisingly slowly, as the heat spread and the surface began to change. the once white mug was now fading to colour. your breath hitched as the image emerged: a photo from your last impulsive photo booth trip.

there you were, mid-laugh with your face tilted toward his. his grin was wide and toothy, hand half-raised as if mid-gesture. the next frame showed your cheeks puffed in anger, while kuroo looked genuinely alarmed with one hand outstretched as if apologizing. and the cherry on top of the final frame? pure love—his chin buried in your shoulder with your hands on either side of his cheeks, squishing his face into something utterly ridiculous.

you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, warm and unfiltered. “oh my god, this is what you chose?”

“what can i say?” he pushed himself back against the counter, watching your reaction with a soft sort of pride. “i’m a sucker for authenticity and you look adorable in that last one.”

“adorable?!” another laugh bubbled from you as you gestured wildly at the cup, now fully transformed. “i look like i’m wrestling you into submission!”

“exactly,” he uttered, completely serious. “it’s very ‘us.’”

half-exasperated, half-melting under the sheer absurdity of it all, you replied. “i’m going to use this in every meeting i have. i’ll be sipping from this in front of clients and coworkers.”

he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “perfect. let the world know you’re stuck with me.”

cue the classic eye roll. the warmth in his voice, the way he let his fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm—it disarmed you, as it always did.

“well,” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, “i guuuueeeesss i do need a mug for tea.”

“that’s the spirit.” he picked up his own matching mug, the photo identical but reversed. “and now, when we’re apart, you can look at me squished like a pancake and remember how much you love me.”

for the third time, you couldn’t help but laugh again, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

his voice dipped low as he kissed your temple, “here you are loving me anyway.”

and he was right. of course he was right.

on the third day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—three of his favourite, special, christmas recipes. he arrived at your door with a snow-dusted grin and a peculiar sort of confidence—though that was nothing out of the blue. he held a single envelope; it was a little worn around the edges, with your name scribbled across the front in his messy, self-assured handwriting. no grand box like the past two days, no wrapping paper, and no telltale jingles of something extravagant. all that was held between his fingers was the envelope.

“is this a love letter?” you asked, pulling him inside by the sleeve of his coat to stop the cold from clinging to his cheeks. his cheeks were a warm shade of pink and had you had stared at them any longer than you already had, you would’ve kept him outside just so you could stare at how soft he looked for even longer. “because i gotta say, day three seems a little early for declarations of undying devotion.”

“ha ha, not a love letter,” he responded sarcastically, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his coat. he stood in the middle of your walkway with his hands on his hips, watching you with that unshakable kuroo observation. “though if you want one i could probably draft something up. i’d write about your eyes, your laugh, and the way you snore when you’re—”

a single flick to his forehead to stop him before he could finish, and he lets out a laugh, all mischief and charm.

“okaaay, what’s in the envelope, then?” you asked, shaking it lightly as you moved toward the kitchen. naturally, kuroo followed like he belonged in your space.

“three gifts in one,” he announces, tapping the counter. “an entrée, a main course, and a dessert—recipes straight from the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic.”

you nodded, taking in what he said and ending it with a shrug. “the kuroo tetsuro vault of holiday magic? huh, sounds legit.”

“oh, it’s legit,” kuroo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “these are the recipes that made my grandma call me her favourite. this—” he jabs at the envelope in your hand before continuing, “—holds recipes my teammates still beg me to make whenever i’m back home. they’re recipes that are, dare i say, iconic.”

you opened the envelope, pulling out three sheets of paper each written in his handwriting, complete with small drawings in the margins.

as your fingers traced the edges of the paper, the room shifted. the glow of the kitchen lights softened, the air thick with something quiet and familiar. you’d awaited a playful gesture—a joke gift wrapped in kuroo’s usual brand of teasing. perhaps something loud and irreverent to match the way he filled a room, but this? this was different.

the ink on the pages flowed sweetly from one side to the other—slightly smudged in places. you knew it spoke of hours spent leaning over a counter, a pen in his hand and you in his mind. each word carried a history with memories of family kitchens—laughter echoing through the years, a tradition he was choosing to share with you. it was so intimate in a way that pressed against the deepest crevices of your heart, unexpected and unspoken. it was like being handed the key to a door you hadn’t realized you’d been standing in front of.

all you could do was glance up at him, your voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you hadn’t yet let go. “this feels… so personal,” was all you could squeeze out, quieter than you meant to.

kuroo who was against the counter, watched with an expression that was almost unreadable, his usual smirk replaced with a smile. “it is,” was all he said, and the weight of those words settled over you like snow on the branches outside.

it wasn’t just recipes. it wasn’t just a gift. it was a glimpse into the places he didn’t offer easily to the world—the spaces he reserved for family, for love, for you. the realisation unfurled slowly like the first bloom of warmth on a winter morning.

“hey,” he murmured whilst stepping closer, his hand brushing against yours as he gently laid the pages down onto the kitchen counter. “don’t overthink it. i just wanted to give you something real. something that… feels like home.”

you glanced down at the pages. the first was for an appetizer: roasted chestnut and butternut squash soup. there were notes about how the squash needed to be caramelised just right, along with a drawing of a smiling chestnut wearing a christmas hat.

the second was the main dish: honey-glazed ham with a cranberry-orange reduction. beneath the instructions he’d written, ‘if this doesn’t make you swoon, i’m giving up on holidays forever.’

the third was dessert, of course. written in black ink was his family’s secret recipe for gingerbread cookies with notes on how to make them crispy on the edges but soft in the middle. there was a poorly sketched gingerbread man doing a backflip in the corner.

“tetsuro,” you whispered reading through them, the thoughtfulness sinking in. “these are actually amazing.”

“of course they are,” he responds, moving to stand behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder as he peered at the recipes. “but they’re not just recipes. they’re invitations.”

“invitations?”

he tilted his head slightly, his hair brushing against your cheek. “to make them. together. think of it as a bonding exercise. or a relationship test. can we survive one kitchen, one oven, and three recipes without a holiday meltdown? high stakes, i know.”

now you really couldn’t hold back the laugh. folding the papers back into the envelope you continued, “so, what happens if we pass this ‘test’? what’s the reward?”

he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice warm and teasing. “you get to keep me, obviously. and maybe some awesome leftovers.”

you turn to face him, envelope in hand. your chest settles with the same feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with the kitchen. “you know,” you lean in slightly, “for a guy who smuggles his personality in through bad puns and bad jokes, you’re actually kind of romantic.”

“kind of?” he echoed, feigning offense. “i just handed you the culinary equivalent of my heart, and i get “kind of” romantic?”

you kissed him, cutting off his fake tirade. your hands find their way to his collar and when you pulled back, his grin was smug but softer, like he’d just won something only the two of you could understand.

“now, which recipe do we ruin first?”

on the fourth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—four candles, each paired with a scent from a particular memory you had through every season that year. the snow on his shoes had melted into slush by the time kuroo had arrived home from work, boots squeaking on the wooden floors as he entered your apartment. dropping his scarf onto your chair and his coat on another, he finally let himself fall on the armrest of your couch. low and behold, balancing on his leg was yet another box, significantly larger that the past two he had gifted you already.

“are you here to redecorate or ruin our furniture?” you asked, looking up from your laptop as you glared at the wet spots forming around your couch.

“i bring gifts,” he announced proudly like a dramatic oracle. “four of them, actually. one for every season.”

you hummed. “wait! let me guess, a pinecone for winter, a seashell for summer, a pile of wet leaves for autumn—”

“wow. you really have not been giving me any credit, even after yesterday’s absolute banger of a gift!” kuroo interrupted while you snorted next to him, watching as he scooted closer to you on the couch and handed you the box. “this, my love, is the culmination of hours of research, consideration, and—you’ll be surprised to hear—minimal swearing.”

you sat up intrigued, raising an eyebrow and peeled the lid off. nestled inside were four candles, each carefully labeled with a card on top in his handwriting which had looked like it had been scrawled by a caffeinated bird—you found it so endearing

“spring: cherry blossoms and rain-soaked pavement,” you read aloud, pulling the first candle out.

“‘cause of the park!” kuroo winked at you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “y’know, when we tried to have a picnic but you spent half the time yelling at me to stop stepping in the puddles?”

“tried is the keyword there,” you retorted wittily, though your lips curved into a frown at the memory. “and you splashed mud on my shoes.”

“you mean i decorated your shoes,” he shot back without missing a beat.

the summer candle came next, and the scent of salty air and something faintly fruity filled your nostrils. you froze.

“the beach,” it was such a distinct memory for both you and kuroo, “the one with the frisbee game…”

“where i heroically rescued it from that evil seagull,” he finished, and when you looked up towards him, his grin was unapologetic.

“you ate shit running away afterwards.”

“unnecessary details, babe,” he shook his head, waving a dismissive hand.

autumn smelled like spiced cider and faint traces of smoke, the memory wrapped around you like a worn flannel—cool nights, warm hands, and kuroo pointing at the sky with wild confidence as he made up constellations.

“that one’s kuroo’s cluster,” he’d sleepily said that night, pointing to a random spot in the sky. “because it looks like it forgot what it was doing halfway through.”

that candle earned a spot on the coffee table.

finally, winter. the label read ‘evergreen and vanilla latte’ and as soon as the wick was lit, the room was filled with something achingly familiar. the scent of him—of mornings spent curled up together with his laughter spilling into your coffee like the easiest thing in the world.

you didn’t speak for a moment; you didn’t trust your voice. instead, you reached for the winter candle again, holding it like it might explain something to you if you focused hard enough.

“i thought they might be nice to have around,” kuroo added, his tone quieter now as he watched you with that expression he wore when he thought you weren’t paying attention. “like, if i’m not here or something. you’d still… have the moments. or the scents. or—okay, i’m bad at explaining this.”

“you’re not,” this time you were the one to interrupt him—though your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly at the edges.

his grin usual returned, soft and crooked. “you’re not gonna cry, are you? i don’t have tissues on me.”

you snorted, swiping at your eyes before any tears could fall. “i’m just impressed. you managed to make yet another gift that’s thoughtful and functional. what’s next? a calendar with all the dates we’ve argued circled in red?”

“now there’s an idea,” he laughed—big, loud, and very kuroo. resting an arm along the back of the couch, he sighs. “but that’s for next year. for now, you just get the candles. and me, obviously.”

“ how lucky i am,” you mocked, though when he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours, the words fell into the warm silence between you.

“you are, actually,” his voice was low and teasing, “because i really am as great as i smell.”

for once, you didn’t argue.

on the fifth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—five flowers all wrapped up in a bouquet he designed himself. it was just after sundown when kuroo was unlocking the door and stepping inside of your home. the paper he held was crinkled in his grip while the flowers peeked out at odd angles, a mix of bold colors and delicate whites. you cocked a brow at him, eyes wandering and questioning

“is this day five?” you gestured to the bouquet. “don’t get me wrong, i’m so grateful… but what’s the theme here, tetsuro? did you run out of budget or is this an act of minimalism?”

his grin was slow and easy, the kind that always seemed to have a secret tucked behind it. you learned to accept it. he laughed, stepping past you and into your apartment, leaving the cold trailing behind. “i may have argued with the florist over ribbon choices—but that’s besides the point.”

“wha—” he handed you the bouquet with a seductive wink. as you took it, you noticed the odd composition—a single red tulip, a deep purple iris, a white daisy, a bright yellow sunflower, and a pale pink rose.

“five flowers for five things,” stepping back to watch your expression, he continued, “each one is for something i love about you.”

and just when you thought it wasn’t possible for kuroo to surprise you anymore than he already did, you were proven wrong again. stilling, you let yourself feel the weight of his words as they settled into tge tips of your fingers. “you made this?”

“mmm, well i designed it,” he corrected, the smugness now tempered by something a little more humble. “technically i only arranged it. poured my soul into it though. the tulip’s for how bold you are. you’ve got this way of standing out even when you think you’re blending in. it’s infuriating, honestly.”

you ran your fingers over the tulip’s petals, and his voice softened as he pointed to the next.

“the iris is for how much smarter you are than me.” there was no bite in his tone. “don’t get a big head about it, i still beat you at trivia night last month.” you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already moving on.

“the daisy? for how annoyingly kind you are. to me, to strangers, to stray cats in alleyways. you make everyone feel like they matter.”

your throat tightened as his fingers brushed over the edge of the sunflower.

“this one’s for how much light you bring into my life. it’s cheesy as hell, trust me i know, but…” all he offered was a shrug, his grin faltering for a split moment. “i mean it.”

he hadn’t looked up at you yet, still in a dream state as he gazed at the last flower. pausing at the rose, his hand dropped back to his side. his pitch lower, more intimate, when he said, “and the rose is for how much i love you. no explanation needed for that one.”

the only sound you could hear was the faint of the bouquet as you shifted it in your hands. for a moment, all the teasing and the wit and the usual sharpness between you dissolved into something quieter—something raw and real.

“tetsu,” you said softly, but you couldn’t find the words to follow.

if there was one thing you loved more than his gifts, it was his dorky lopsided grin. “i told myself i wouldn’t get all sappy,” he scratched the back of his neck. “but you know how i get around flowers. turns me into a total poet.”

“not a very good one,” if there was one thing you could manage while holding back tears, it was witty retorts to kuroo’s words.

“yikes,” he feigned hurt, but his smile didn’t falter. “so, do you like it? orrrr should i just stick to chocolates next year?”

you looked down at the bouquet. gazing at every colour, at the thought he’d put into every flower, every scent, every message hidden in their petals—your heart ached with the weight of it.

“i love it,” you whimpered, your voice trembling just enough for him to catch it. “i love you.”

his smile softened, his hand reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face. “good,” his voice was warm. “because i’ve got seven more days of this, and i’m not letting you return a single gift.”

on the sixth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—six different ways to say “i love you” in different languages. kuroo waltzed into your living room on the sixth day of his increasingly elaborate holiday gifting holding a small stack of cue cards in one hand and an overly confident grin on his face.

“alright,” he began, dropping onto the couch beside you, “today’s gift is educational: a little bit of culture, a little bit of romance.”

setting your mug of tea down in interest, you were skeptical—like always. “if this ends with me being serenaded in bad french, i’m locking you out.”

he loudly gasped in offense, clutching the cue cards to his chest. “excuse me? my french is impeccable.”

“your french is embarrassing.”

ignoring you, he flipped the first card toward you, reading it aloud. in his handwriting were the words, je t’aime.

“see? classic,” his accent was questionable at best. “it’s romantic, it’s timeless. and you can’t deny that it sounds a little better than just ‘i love you.’”

“except when you say it like that,” you teased.

he pretends to be unfazed, choking back a laugh and your playful jab. he revealed the next card: ich liebe dich.

“this one’s german. it’s efficient and to the point like a well-engineered car,” he said, adding a dramatic comparison. “say it back. come on. ich liebe dich.”

“i’m not repeating that.”

“coward,” he muttered, flipping to the third card: ti amo.

“now, this one is for when i’m feeding you pasta,” he gestures extravagantly. “picture it: candlelit dinner, spaghetti, me leaning over the table like i’m straight out of an old Italian film. “ti amo.”.”

you snorted. “more like you spilling marinara sauce on your shirt.”

“uncultured,” he sighed, shaking his head.

the next card read, saranghae. he held it up with a bit more reverence.

“this one’s korean,” he explained. “it’s sweet, right? got a nice rhythm. saranghae.” there was a pause, almost in quiet contemplation, before kuroo then added slyly, “you’re swooning right now, i can tell.”

“oh, absolutely. weak in the knees,” you said straight faced.

“perfect. that’s the goal.”

the fifth card: te quiero.

“spanish. it means ‘i love you,’ but it’s also like, ‘i care about you.’ multifaceted. practical and emotional,” he said, tapping his temple like it was a genius move.

you smiled, “are you planning to take me on a multilingual tour of love, or are we stopping here?”

“patience, my love,” and kuroo flipped to the final card. aloha wau iā ʻoe.

“that’s hawaiian,” he said, his tone softer now. “it’s not just ‘i love you.’ it’s… bigger than that. like, ‘i carry you with me.’”

he grinned, setting the cards aside. “see? i’m not just a pretty face.”

“you’re insane,” you shook your head, your voice betraying the warmth blooming in your chest and the small smile that lingered across your lips.

“and yet,” he teased, leaning closer, “you’re still here. must be the german.”

“definitely not.”

on the seventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—seven handmade coupons for morning coffees made by yours truly, (kuroo). you woke up to the sound of him humming in the kitchen, the smell of coffee curling through the air and gently rolling you awake. when you stumbled into the room (still half-asleep), he greeted you with a little stack of paper slips tied together with string.

“good morning, sleeping beauty,” he pushed a warm cup of coffee into your hands. “your seventh gift awaits.”

you squinted at him and then at the handmade coupons he held out. each one had “one homemade morning coffee” written across it.

“coupons?” you questioned flatly.

“not just coupons,” he quickly answered, moving to send a flick to your forehead. “these are artisanal. limited edition. handcrafted with love.”

“they look like they were crafted by a toddler.”

“ouch,” he whined, clutching his chest as though wounded. “but fine, let’s break it down. seven coffees for each day of the week, exactly how you like them. frothy milk, not too hot. just a dash of cinnamon, because i know you pretend not to like it but secretly, you love it.”

he had read you to filth. “and what happens after i use up all seven?”

“oh, you’ll be addicted by then,” he replied with a charismatic wink. “i’m just playing the long game.”

toying with the crumpled paper and inspecting them more closely, you notice one of them had an additional note scribbled in the corner: bonus: i’ll even let you take the last sip of my coffee ;)

you shook your head in disbelief. this was so unlike kuroo. with furrowed brows, you turned to him, “you hate sharing coffee.”

“uh, correction: i hate sharing coffee with other people. with you, it’s an act of love.”

“and when can i actually make good with these?” you asked, tucking the coupons into your pocket.

“whenever you demand it,” he bowed, “i’m at your service always—currently a barista for hire. oh but i must say, full disclosure, my latte art is limited to blobs.”

“blobs?”

“abstract hearts,” he clarified with a grin. “call it modern—trendy, if you will”

kuroo’s coffee was as much of an experience as it was a drink. the surface of the latte was crowned with an ambitious attempt at foam art—what could generously be described as a heart. a faint dusting of cinnamon kissed the frothy top, swirling faintly as the steam rose.

it definitely wasn’t perfect, but it was him—warm, unpolished, and just a little disordered. you could already imagine it in your head, the endearing way he would’ve tilted his head, squinting at the cup like an artist critiquing his own masterpiece.

you laughed, shaking your head at the thought. kuroo must’ve thought you were laughing at his response because he was quick to be defensive.

“hey, all hearts are beautiful,” his arms were sternly crossed against his chest as he stared down at you. “besides, you drink it—not frame it.”

so with a nod, you sipped the coffee in your hands. to no one’s surprise—he’d made it perfectly, nailing everything down to the faint sprinkle of cinnamon you always pretended not to want.

“okay,” you clapped both your hands together enthusiastically, setting the mug down and pushing all the coupons into your pocket. “you’re on the clock for the rest of the week. let’s see if you can actually make seven cups as good as this one.”

kuroo smirked, holding the cup up like it was his greatest triumph. “challenge accepted. but don’t get used to this level of service. i’m not planning on opening a café any time soon.”

you feigned a groan of anguish, already mourning the image you had of him in an apron with his name embroidered across the front in your head.

“oh, you’re definitely opening a café,” you teased. “i’m making it my eighth gift request.”

“dream big, babe,” he laughed, sending a pinch to your cheek before walking towards to living room. “for now, enjoy the best coffee in town, made by the best boyfriend in the world.”

it was silly and over-the-top. yet, as you watched him carefully pour milk into another mug for himself, you couldn’t help but smile into your own coffee; there might be something dangerously romantic about a man who knows your drink order better than you do.

on the eighth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eight slices of your favourite pizza. the pizza box was waiting for you on the counter unwrapped. the unmistakable aroma of your favorite pizza in the air—an irresistible invitation. kuroo, sitting at the dining table, watched you approach it with an excited smile.

“eight slices,” he gestured grandly as he stood up, both hands present the box to you. “one for each day of christmas so far. thoughtful, isn’t it?” he pretended to flick back a long piece of hair in an attempt of confidence.

“you know i’ll eat this entire thing in one sitting,” you felt like you could cry from happiness, already reaching for the lid.

“exactly.” he tapped his temple. “a gift that vanishes is a gift you can’t overthink. i’m saving you from existential dread.”

you laughed, thanking him as you opened the box. there it was: your favorite pizza, glistening like a treasure chest filled with molten gold and perfectly crisp toppings. the ultimate kicker? each slice had been marked with a sharpie inside the box.

“tetsuro… what are these labels?”

“guided eating,” he straightened up.

sure enough, written beside each slice in his looping handwriting were notes:

slice 1: for courage, because braving multiple years with me deserves a medal.

slice 2: for patience, because i’m pretty sure i’m still not folding the laundry right and you fix it every time without any complaint.

slice 3: for joy, because watching you smile is better than any christmas lights.

slice 4: for forgiveness (in advance), for what i might say during monopoly later.

slice 5: for luck, because you’ll need it to beat me at monopoly later.

slice 6: for love, because i can’t put that in words so i’ll give you pizza.

slice 7: for adventure, in case you want to try pineapple on your pizza next time.

slice 8: for tomorrow, unless you eat this one too. which honestly, i think you should.

you couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or throttle him for being such an over-the-top sap.

“this is such an odd gift, tetsu!,” you couldn’t stop laughing, though your eyes stung and your chest ached in that intimate, tender way he always managed to conjure.

“oddly perfect?” he sheepishly replied, grabbing a slice and handing it to you. “come on. start with courage.”

immediately you took a bite and sighed. it was exactly as good as you remembered. somehow knowing he’d gone through the trouble of this strange display made it even better.

“you’re quite weird,” you said, wiping your lips with a napkin.

“oh come on, you love me,” he bumped his hip with yours.

you glanced at the box and then at him. you thought about how much of yourself he’d somehow folded into this simple, silly gift—your personality and your habits.

“i do,” you admitted, because how could you not?

as you grabbed the next slice: patience—you decided that eight slices of pizza might just be the most romantic thing you’d ever been given.

on the ninth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—nine random, sweet text messages that pop up randomly throughout the day. the first one buzzed into your phone just as you were pulling on your coat, the frosted morning sunlight bleeding through the blinds.

tetsu: on the 9th day of christmas my true love gave 2 me

tetsu: one notification 2 make u smile.

tetsu: good morning, 2 my favourite person ever.

it was simple and playful—and it did its job. you did smile. giddily tugging your scarf tighter against the chill, you headed out the door.

the second one came while you were waiting for your coffee, a notification cutting through the quiet of the café.

tetsu: if i were a latte, i’d want 2 b the one in ur hand rn

tetsu: u always pick the good ones

you almost rolled your eyes but found yourself chuckling into your sleeve. he had a knack for being perfectly timed and charming simultaneously.

by the third, you realised this wasn’t a coincidence. he was going to send you nine, sweet, little messages throughout today.

tetsu: just saw a dog wearing a little sweater and thought of u

tetsu: not sure why

tetsu: both equally adorable.

it hit your phone as you walked past a store display of knitted scarves, the kind you knew he’d wrinkle his nose at and insist were “over-engineered neck warmers.” you texted back a sarcastic ‘wow, smooth’ and almost swore you could hear his laughter from wherever he was.

the fourth through sixth arrived like little spoonfuls of sugar in your coffee, scattered throughout your day.

#4 tetsu: if i told u i missed u, would u roll ur eyes or tell me 2 hurry home?

tetsu: asking 4 science

#5 tetsu: totally random fact

tetsu: u’re the best person i know

tetsu: not random enough?

tetsu: fine. penguins have knees

#6 tetsu: it’s scientifically proven that texting u makes me 87% happier

tetsu: i just ran the numbers

by the seventh text, you were incredibly flustered. not because they were overly romantic (he always balanced it with his wit), but because they were clever, thoughtful, and wholly attuned to you in a way that felt almost unfair.

the eighth came as you were locking up for the evening, fumbling with your keys.

tetsu: i’d offer 2 carry the world for u but u’re doing a pretty good job carrying it urself

tetsu: don’t work 2 hard

it was such a simple set of words, but it hit you in a way none of the others had. its tenderness slipped through your defenses. naturally, you stopped—fingers tightening around your phone wondering how someone could make you feel so seen from miles away.

the ninth and final message arrived when you were home. you were peeling off your layers and finally sinking into the couch when you felt the vibration in your pant pocket.

tetsu: if love was measured in words then nine texts wouldn’t come close

tetsu: but hey, it’s a start

tetsu: c u soon

the doorbell rang almost immediately after and you couldn’t help but giggle as you opened it to find him standing there with snow in his hair, a grin on his face, and two cardboard cups of steaming hot chocolate in his hands.

“nine texts weren’t enough,” he said with a shrug. “thought i’d deliver the tenth in person.”

you let him in with a kiss. still laughing, you decided that no matter how odd or cheesy his efforts were, you wouldn’t choose to have him any other way.

on the tenth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten silly little drawings of you. the tenth day of christmas came as quickly as the past couple days had. after dinner had been packed away—dishes done and table cleaned, you and kuroo sat across each other at the dinner table with bowls of ice cream in front of you. it was then that from under the table, kuroo pulled out and handed you a mismatched stack of papers tied together with a velvet ribbon that looked suspiciously too elegant for something he’d own. you gave him a look, one eyebrow arched. “did you steal this ribbon from one of my gifts?”

“i repurposed it!” he defended, nudging the stack closer to you from across the table with his spoon and air of mock grandeur. “quick! my magnum opus awaits.”

you untied the ribbon, and the first thing you saw was a piece of cardboard with what appeared to be a stick figure rendition of you sitting cross-legged on a couch. above it were the words, “my muse, lost in thought (translation: watching trashy reality tv)”.

“what the—?” you interrupted yourself trying to suppress a laugh as you turned to the next page. a receipt from your local grocery store confused you, but once you flipped to the back, you saw it. kuroo had sketched a profile view of you mid-yawn, the exaggerated swoop of your hair curling over your head like a wave.

“it’s art, obviously,” he chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to get a closer look. “it’s called ‘ten views of my love in her natural habitat.’”

“oh my god, you’re impossible,” there was a familiar warmth growing in your chest—one you had been feeling every day this week.

you flipped through the rest:

a coffee sleeve: sketched was you, deep in concentration with a mug in your hand, sitting on the couch with the caption, “she said she wasn’t a morning person, but look at her with that coffee. magnificent.”

the back of a to-do list: sketched was you, mid-argument with your stick-figure arms dramatically flailing with the caption, “terrorising me because i forgot to do the laundry (but she’s right).”

a post-it note: sketched was you, reading a book with the words “too pretty to be distracted” written at the top in kuroo’s terrible handwriting.

by the sixth drawing, it was on the back of an old takeout menu—you stopped trying to hide your grin. “you’re actually pretty talented, you know that?”

“ridiculously talented,” he grinned back. “and ridiculously smitten.”

the seventh was your face, exaggerated into cartoonish proportions and drawn on a torn piece of fabric. the caption read, “she said i couldn’t draw so i gave her big eyes. now she’s anime”

by the time you reached the tenth which was a hasty sketch of your hand holding his, drawn on a napkin from your favourite restaurant—you felt the laugh catch in your throat. beneath the image, he’d written: “a masterpiece: her, letting me love her.”

“it’s dumb, i know,” kuroo slowly started, suddenly shy and scratching the back of his neck. “but i seriously couldn’t help it. i see you everywhere—on receipts, on napkins, in coffee sleeves. you’re just…always there.”

“it’s not dumb,” you said quietly, holding the napkin like it was something precious.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you leaned into the chair, kuroo’s head resting atop your own and the stack of silly little drawings sitting in your lap as you went through everything again—your ice creams long forgotten as they melted under the light of the kitchen.

on the eleventh day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—eleven “i’ll do it” moments. he appeared in your doorway that saturday morning, sleeves rolled up and hair a little disheveled. there was an air of martyrdom with his presence so exaggerated you almost thought violins were to start playing.

“i’ll do it,” he announced, almost parallel to delivering the opening line of a shakespearean tragedy.

you looked up from your laptop, alarmed “do what?”

“whatever it is! dishes, laundry, taking out the trash, assembling that ridiculously complicated shelf you bought because it “might come in handy.” ” he punctuated the last word with air quotes, tone laced with theatrical suffering. “today, i am your humble servant. point, and i’ll fix.”

you guessed your skepticism must have obviously plastered over your face because he was quick to add, “no catch, promise.” he held his pinky finger up, “it’s my eleventh gift to you—eleven ‘i’ll do it’s.’��

leaning back with your arms crossed, you gently nudged your laptop aside. “this feels suspicious.”

“suspiciously romantic,” strolling into the room and perching on the end of your bed, he continued. “think about it. eleven acts of selfless service—that’s love language gold.”

“this feels morally wrong,” you both laughed.

kuroo stood abruptly, gesturing to the room like he was on a game show. “okay, quick demo. that pile of laundry in the corner? i’ll fold it. the trash bag sitting by the door? out it goes. oh! and because i’m feeling generous…” he paused dramatically, turning to you with a grin. “…i’ll even organize the pantry.”

you swear your jaw dropped so hard it hit the ground. “no… the pantry? seriously?”

“the pantry,” he repeated solemnly much like a knight vowing to slay a dragon. “i know how much it bothers you when the bowls in there aren’t lined up in order of size. don’t think i haven’t noticed.”

you felt equal parts amused and touched as he grabbed the laundry basket and made good on his first “i’ll do it.” kuroo knew you well enough to know that you’d recognise this wasn’t just about chores. he knew you knew that was his way of showing you he saw all the little things—your frustration at the overflowing trash, or your quiet sigh when you couldn’t find your favourite tea.

by the time he had reached the third task which happened to be untangling the mess of cords behind the tv—you were leaning against the doorway, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“you know,” you began quietly, “you could’ve just gotten me something easy… like socks.”

“i know i said socks were day four material, but they don’t say ‘i love you,’” he didn’t look up as he wrestled with a particularly stubborn cord. “this does.”

and somehow, amidst the clatter of pots being reorganized and the triumphant “got it!” when he finally untangled the cords—you felt a quiet, glowing gratitude. love wasn’t always grand gestures or elaborate gifts. sometimes it was just someone rolling up their sleeves and saying, “i’ll do it.”

on the twelfth day of christmas, kuroo gave to you:

—ten handwritten love letters, a diamond ring, and a promise of an eternity together. you were both walking home from a dinner out, the snow nipping at your nose in the late night. kuroo had insisted you both went for a stroll around your local park before returning home. as you both sat on a bench under a lamppost to take in the coldness of night, he handed you an envelope so unassuming that for a brief moment, you thought he might’ve brought you a pack of gum. the paper was a little wrinkled, and the whole thing seemed as if it had been wrapped in a rush. yet like all his other gifts, it was unmistakably kuroo—disorderly in execution and precise in intention.

he stood up and rocking on his heels, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets nervously. “open it.”

you cocked your head at him, confused and caught off guard by his sudden change in behaviour. “you’re really leaning into this whole romantic streak, huh?”

“leaning into it?” pitch rising as he parroted, mock offended. “i practically invented romance.”

“pfft—” you snorted, “—and humility, clearly.”

and then he was back as quickly as he was gone, grinning sharp and bright. though there was something else beneath it—a quiet flicker of nerves, but it was small enough for you to dismiss it. it was strange the way he wasn’t rushing you or teasing like he usually did. but you tugged the envelope open all the same, your hands suddenly clammy as you unfolded the paper and lifted the top open.

inside nestled neatly were folded sheets of paper. you could tell that one was numbered, the familiar slope of his handwriting filling the margins in messy loops. you tilted your head.

“love letters,” he replied, as if reading your thoughts.

“love letters?” you repeated it like it was a foreign concept.

there it was, that familiar feeling of your chest tightening as you pulled out the first letter. the paper felt heavier than it should have—like it was carrying the weight of something unspoken. you unfolded it carefully, your eyes scanning the page.

the first letter was a story written in his usual casual, boyish tone. it recounted the first time he realised he was in love with you. not in some grand, sweeping moment but in the tranquil stillness of a rainy afternoon 4 years ago when you’d fallen asleep on his grandma’s couch, clutching a bowl of popcorn like it was a lifeline.

the second letter was an apology for the moments he’d been too stubborn or too sharp-tongued—for every time he made you feel anything less than adored.

the third unraveled you entirely.

“if I could give you my eyes for a day, you’d see the world exactly as it is. beautiful, messy—and always better when you’re in it.”

you swallowed hard and set the letter aside. each one felt like a little piece of him, stitched together in ways he rarely allowed himself to be seen. by the time you reached the ninth letter, you were dizzy from it all, vision blurry and nose running.

the ninth letter was the shortest, just two words in his handwriting, “almost there.”

the tenth letter you found written inside the envelope, barely visible unless you were looking for it. it read:

“you’ve always had this way of holding the universe together without even realizing it. let me hold something for you in return.”

you hesitated upon finishing, fingers brushing the edge of the paper and heart thundering in your chest. looking up, you were confused when kuroo was not standing in front of you. it was then that you felt it, the feeling of knowing something impossibly sweet and devastatingly clever was present.

so you turned around, the paper slipping from your hands.

kuroo kneeled there, uncharacteristically still. between his two calloused fingers was an open box, and inside a delicate ring. the usual grin he had was gone now, replaced by something softer and steadier.

“i didn’t write this one,” he confessed quietly, looking away embarrassed. “because i wanted to say it out loud.”

he whispered your name, soft and certain like it was a promise in itself.

and just like that, the world shifted, tilting slightly off its axis as it stopped spinning.

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