#onigiri replies

[onigiriforears]

After approx. 2-3 months of studying Japanese I started to read free graded readers online and then graduated to a collection of short stories that I purchased off of Amazon. I thought that the reason I was starting to have trouble understanding sentences was because I didn't know enough vocabulary but it was because I neglected grammar completely. It was sorta drilled into my head off of Youtube creators to just study kanji, vocab and simple sentences as much as possible before even touching grammar. I feel absolutely lost, dude. I am at the 5 month mark now. I can "breeze through" kanji for the most part. (as in, I can actually retain it in a decent amount of time) I decided to study grammar about a week ago. It is SO FREAKING HARD. I don't know if there's something wrong with me or what. I don't know if it's supposed to feel like what I thought I knew is being ripped apart at the seams, stapled together, and then torn apart again....but it does.

Do you have any tips for learning grammar? Is this feeling normal? Can you tell me when the pressure in my skull will subside? I am using Bunpro's free trial but I'm unsure if this tool will actually help me. I write tons of notes to flip through but I still fail to give them the nuanced answer they're looking for. I really enjoy the setup of Bunpro and I want to like it since it's similar to WK but I'm not sure if I'm going too fast or there's a better way to learn. I stopped learning 5 new grammar points a day and started doing only 2. (I also have Genki I and watch GameGengo. He explains things in a way that's easy for my brain to understand.) Sorry for the long post but any insight would be appreciated. I'm a bit nervous asking people in the language learning community for help or insight because a lot of them treat it as a way to show how fast they learned/1-up others. Tumblr's langlearn community is a lot different with what I've seen (or maybe I'm just following the right ppl lol)

Hi! Thank you so much for waiting for this response--I'm sorry it took so long. Your message was one of the ones that popped up when they locked my ask box (they actually still haven't answered me on why it was locked so 🤷‍♀️). To make up for that, I'm gonna be longwinded because I think that this is a super valid and important question that others may also want to know the answer to!!

Pls pls PLEASE DM me if none of this is helpful or if you'd like to talk more about what you think you need help with!!

I think that sometimes when we're learning a new language that we know is so overwhelmingly different from our own language, we focus on the things that we think will be the main hinderance and sometimes we forget the key points. You might be thinking "how did I forget grammar?" but I would say don't beat yourself up about it! Many of us focus on the things that we think are our problems(--the last time I studied for the JLPT, I focused on my weak point too much and then was frustrated with myself during the exam bc I neglected the other areas.)

I don't want to lie to you and say that learning grammar is going to get easier because that's not the case for everyone. Think of learning grammar vs everything else as learning different types of math or science--have you ever had a friend that was absolutely phenomenal at algebra or calculus but couldn't do geometry? Or a friend that was wonderful lab partner in chemistry but struggled in biology? They're struggling in biology because it requires a ton of rote memorization in comparison to practical application and math that's present in chemistry and rote memorization may not necessarily be their strong point. Personally, I think that's also why a lot of us struggle with certain grammar points. There are some that just click with us immediately and then there are others that we have to see over and over and over and over and over--you get the point--just for us to find a single sentence with it that we understand. If you're math oriented, we need to figure out a way to no longer make grammar points rote memorization for you, but to turn it into a formula of some sort. I actually write my notes out in ways that are like that--I use plus signs (+) in my notes not because the textbooks use them but because my brain genuinely reads it as "noun + particle + grammar point = a sentence that makes sense" because, for me, formulas don't fail. Your weak point doesn't have to be your weakness--you can turn the weakness into a strength that works just for you.

I've been going at this for years and every single professor or Japanese friend (or even people from the discord server) I have can tell you that I've struggled with pretty much any grammar point that included ~ように--and it wasn't because I wasn't trying, but because I couldn't find myself using any sentences that with those grammar points because I found the alternatives/similar ones to make more sense. Surprisingly, it wasn't until I was reading 夜カフェ for our book club that I was actually able to start grasping the meaning (ngl, I still haven't used it myself--I'm notorious for using alternatives); I was finally witnessing it being used in a way that made sense in my brain.

The frustration you're feeling when you encounter a new grammar point or overload yourself with too many things in one go is completely normal and I promise that a ton of us in the Japanese langblr community have definitely experienced it too! It probably feels like everything you know is being ripped apart because your native language may have a SVO (subject-verb-object) format while Japanese has a SOV (subject-object-verb) format--your 1-to-1 translations for your notes may not be helpful in the beginning because you're still trying to wrap your brain around the fact that your words still need to go in another order than you're used to. And then you add the new grammar points and concepts on top of that (like particles and other things) and it can become overwhelming and frustrating. Sometimes, you're going to find some grammar points just downright annoying--especially when you find that there's no equivalency to it in your own language. But don't give up!

I know this is a super cliché thing to say, but practicing them will help. If you can, I would make note of the grammar points that you're struggling with, try to make sentences with them, and ask somebody to check them and explain exactly why (or why not) they're working and then ask them for examples because they may have an even better way of explaining it to you than what you've come up with for yourself!

I can look back at old notes and see when I wrote a sentence as an example just because a textbook/professor used it but I didn't actually understand why it worked at the time and then I can also find notes where the sentences written as examples were added once I finally found something that clicked for me.

You've already done yourself a favor by learning a lot of vocab, kana, and kanji because now you'll be able to try out an array of ways to pick up grammar instead of just a textbook. (I will make a note that if you're looking to take the JLPT, I would recommend having a list of grammar points that you would need to know for the level that you're planning on sitting for because there's no guarantee of what will or won't pop up on the test.)

Another important thing while you're practicing: be comfortable with making mistakes. We all make them, but when you're learning a new language it's important to be ready to make mistakes and to welcome them with open arms because it gives you a chance to experience and learn in real time.

ALSO: for you specifically--because you're interested in reading, you might enjoy learning grammar through tracking the different grammar points through what you're reading and using the sentences as your examples because they're all going to be cohesive. And if reading books or other things totally turn you off right now, maybe games? Animal Crossing and Pokemon are very nice games to play in Japanese for people that are just starting out! You may also enjoy using Lingo Legend--it's an JRPG language learning app that I beta tested and I think that it's a nice way to review (it has some fun incentives). I'm not a big gamer, so I struggle with learning through games, but I've been picking up a lot of grammar through reading because I focus on finding things that I'm interested in, rather than things that are "at my level." When I start a manga, I will scour a ton of websites and forums and bug a ton of people when I come across a grammar point that I can't wrap my brain around because I want to be able to understand what's going on.

We have book clubs and gamers in my discord server, as well as places for people to post what they're practicing or to ask for help. We have people of all varying levels and different skillsets that love to share their wisdom with others.

I haven't used Bunpro, but I know that @sammilearns has, so she may be able to weigh in on that! And @tokidokitokyo @nihongoseito @chouhatsumimi @kanpeki-bekki @burgeoning-ambition probably also have even more tips that me--I'm trying to tag people that I know we all learn in different ways, so their tips and tricks might be just what you need!

Please weigh in, fellow langblr members! How have you been learning grammar? Are you game-ifying it? Have you turned it into math equations? Have you managed to tie it in with your special interest? I can't wait to see what people add to this post!

[hakusins]

Are the rumours true that they took away our onigiri boycunt meal?

THEY DID !!! THEY ACTUALLY DID hang on let me pull up a pic for comparison. It was because some chinese players didn't like how suggestive it was (even though theres so many women in this gd game that has their tits out)

before, (i played on the day of launch)

after (if you played a few weeks after launch, i think it was a week or two after launch that they changed his design :(()

IM SO FUCKING MAD THEY TOOK AWAY THE ONIGIRI BOYCUNT !!!!!!! its okay the onigiri still lives on in my delulus and artwork. (please kuro games pls give it back to us)

[zantedeschia-praesul]

@kowaindar0u replied to your post “"ARUJI SOMEBODY STOLE MY ONIGIRI IT'S NOT IN THE...”:

RUDE :( (Don't worry yams aruji will try and make u some more onigiri)

​Sniff. "...can I have some with that red fish we have last time please? S-Salmon I think?"

[onigiriforears]

you might like 結婚するって、本当ですか or the 君の膵臓をたべたい manga. do you use Natively? It's pretty nice for finding suggestions bc they recently added filters for genres. If you do use it, feel free to follow me! (It doesn't give notifications if you follow someone, but if you do, send me a message on here and I'll follow you back!)

My current favorite manga is 王子様、この恋は運命ですか?. It's not seinen, but it is josei. It's got a nice pace going to it, she's a college student and (as of rn) has a good head on her shoulders. I'm reading it on cmoa.jp.

(i also want some manga recs if ppl are about to start replying bc im NOSEY and i love to add to my TBR list)

hii does anyone have any manga recommendations?? I've been really into スーパーの裏でヤニ吸うふたり and スキップとローファー and was wondering if anyone knew about other cute, more mature romance-y stories like those! if it helps I also really liked 逃げるは恥��が役に立つ and ReLIFE. I'm a huge fan of 青年 in general

[confines]

me and my grandmother and cousin are going to visit an ancient monument next week and i'm sooo excited. because of the monument, for sure, because that is fucking crazy, but also honestly because i'm going to pack lots and lots of foods and drinks and supplies and i've got the route all planned out and all possible stops along the way. idk why i'm like this but planning and executing a trip is literally about 50% of my enjoyment.

[realcube]

CONNECTED!

desc ;; how can two best friends be connected forever?

tws & tags ;; best friend ! atsumu, nsfw, food sharing, vaginal, degredation, praise, impact play, slight daddy kink, breeding kink & begging

it started with an innocent question..

you're sprawled out upon his bed, laying on your stomach and scrolling on your phone, while best friend! atsumu does the same, except he is sat with his back against the headboard, and one of his arms stretched out behind his head, drawing attention to his flexing bicep in his black MSBY t-shirt.

you've spent the majority of the day hanging out, which you rarely get to do because he's so busy with practise and his contract with the jackals. but today was like a blast from the past, as you went on a run through the neighbourhood, talked shit and played videos games for hours like you used to. now you were both tired out and waiting for your delivery from onigiri miya to arrive.

but you were feeling peckish so you had a small bag of chips with you on the bed. plucking another one from the bag, you idly took a bite, and you were about to pop the rest into your mouth until atsumu leaned forward and snatched it right out of your hand and gobbled it up himself.

you gasp in horror, " 'tsumu! gross, you realise i already bit that one?"

atsumu quirked an eyebrow, but didn't avert his gaze from his phone screen. "so?" he grumbled through a mouthful of chip.

you saw his point. the two of you have been friends for so long, since before you could even properly remember. and he's been stealing and eating your food since the very beginning — and vice versa. without a care in the world as to whether the other's saliva was on it or not. usually you're quite weary about other people's germs, but with atsumu it was different since you're so familiar with each other and you know that neither of you have any oral illnesses. so what's the big deal if you eat something that's his mouth has already been on? you've already done so hundreds of times before.

but considering the sheer length of time you've known each other, the situation sparked a query in your mind. "we must share a lot of dna, huh?" you thought aloud.

atsumu halted chewing, and hesitantly looked up at you. "... what?"

"not in a genetic way! i just mean that we've been sharing food for so long. surely some of my dna must have incorporated itself into your system by now. maybe that's why you're so good at volleyball.." you suggested.

atsumu just stared back at you, dumbfounded. while you prattle on.

"i probably don't have as much of your dna in me, since i'm not a greedy food-stealer like you are." you tried to make a comment about his thieving habits, but atsumu seemed to be focussed on the wrong parts.

"that's not fair, is it?" he purrs with a smirk.

"what's not fair?"

"that you've not got any of me in you. like you said. even when we aren't together—"

"like when you are on the other side of the country competing in volleyball tournaments!" you add.

"yeah," he replies softly, "we're not really apart; i've still got a lot of you inside me. 'cos of that chip i just ate." you nod hesitantly in agreement, since he's got a good point but you can tell by the sinister glint in his eye that he's plotting something strange.

"but," he continues, "you've not got any of me in you. so how can we be connected?"

you blink. slowly, you take a chip from the bag and hand it to him. he takes a bite then gives it back to you and allows you to finish it with a smile. as you gulp, you declare profoundly, "there! now you're a part of me too."

atsumu tilts his head in amusement, and leans forward until his lips are mere inches from yours. "i think you can do better then that."

before you can even respond, his lips come crashing down against yours, and he captures you in a heated kiss. you're stiff at first due to this unexpected behaviour from who you thought was your friend, but there's something so addicting about the way his skin feels against yours. you let him guide you and soon you're melting into his touch, allowing your lips to weave together rhythmically, a small moan even slips past your defenses and rumbles against his mouth.

your basically sucking at each other's faces like deprived animals until he yanks himself away and rasps, "want something else inside you? something you can keep, angel?"

the moments after the faintest mewl of 'yes' escapes your mouth was a blur of atsumu lunging off the bed, readying himself at the other end and flipping your skirt up to rip your panties clean off in a matter of seconds. conveniently you were already in the perfect position, laid on your stomach with your ass hanging off the bed. all he really needed to do was spread those pretty legs and fix himself between them.

he rubbed at your folds with his fingers, and relished in your growing wetness. you could hear him groaning and thankfully for him, you couldn't see his obscene expression as his pupiled were stuck to your pussy. "fuck, such a pretty girl. where've you been hiding this?" he bit his lip, the mere sight of your delicious cunt alone was enough to get his cock throbbing his pants.

with no time to waste, he unzips his fly and smears his leaking tip across your hole, lubricating it further with his own precum. then, without warning, he thrusts himself inside your tight hole and gasps at the constricting sensation of your cunt suffocating his length. "damn, knew you'd be tight but— this is— fff.. fuck." he can barely get his words out. his thoughts were scrambled by your sweet walls clamping down on him like there were trying to keep him there.

his hands held onto your waist and his fingers dug into your soft skin. looks like he was giving you scars to keep too. due to his inability to move while your pussy was gripping onto him, your were allowed some time to adjust to his absurd length.

his girth shoved at your sensitive walls and it felt like he was pushing against your stomach too. he was just too much for your insides to handle, but it's not like there was anything he could do about it. plus, it didn't help that the stretch of your cunt to accomodate him was so euphoric and overwhleming, leaving you unable to form any more than a couple of slurred sentences, " 'tsumu, you're so big.. it's too much.."

"just need to take it, baby. i know you can." he reassured you in a low voice. you've never heard him quite so hoarse before; it was only feeding the growing pool of arousal between your thighs. his dick twitched eagerly within you and as soon as he bottomed out, he began to vigoursly thrust into you. piercing into your sopping hole at a rapid speed, despite how your walls desperately clung to him.

"atsumu!" you gasp, arching your back against the mattress as your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, trying cope with the ecstasy coarsing through you from his thick girth. you weren't certain as to what was going on; a part of you still thought this was all one big overwhelming dream because of how surreal it felt.

you didn't understand what had overcome him. the two of you have been best friends since forever, and yeah, there was maybe a little bit of chemistry and flirtation before he left to join the black jackals, but any lingering feelings were shut down by the distance seperating you. never did you think he'd randomly get up and start frantically rearranging your guts on his bed. but fuck, it was a long time coming, you could feel the pent-up emotions behind each and every brutal thrust into your cunt. amplified by the lewd slapping of his balls against your sticky folds.

still, it confused you as to why he chose now to act on these feelings, and that manifesting through your feeble cries of, "why.. nghh— what're y'doing?" so weak and delicate, if it wasn't for your moans of delight and your hips instinctually rocking against his, atsumu might've thought you wanted him to stop (but that couldn't be any further from the truth.)

"sorry, (y/n).. couldn't— shit, hah, couldn't hold back anymore." he huffed out with his teeth grinding together, lips pulling into a wide smirk as he watches your tits bounce from the force of his cock. "gettin' too old for these games. and you're gettin' too hot for me to— mmph, to not do something 'bout it."

if it wasn't for the fact you were choking on your own moans from the way his length was splitting your poor pussy in half, you would've chuckled at his previous comment. you were both only in your twenties but he was claiming to be 'too old' for games.

but you kinda understood what he meant. being coy and play-flirting was cute in high school, but now it was time for you to come to terms with your feelings and act on them. you couldn't be more relieved that he took action; atsumu's dick working your needy insides was akin to receiving a long awaited massage, and finally undoing an strenuous knot that's been irrating you for ages. years, even.

"please keep going. i need you so fucking bad." you whined.

"drivin' me fucking crazy with this perfect pussy.." his jaw is clenched yet he spits onto his fingers and draws sloppy circles over your clit while he continues to ram into you. however, his pace grows sporadic and begins to faltered with each staggered breath he inhales. his eyes squeeze shut, "shit, angel, what've you done t'me? 'm close already.." his voice trails off, almost like he's losing steam until a final surge of lust-fuelled adrenaline shoots through him.

his eyes shoot open as his hips pick up the pace, piercing into your aching cunt even faster than they were previously, slamming all the way into your cervix repeatedly. "almost there. gonna fill up this little hole with all of me. that's what you want, huh?" deranged ramblings fall from his lips, while his brows are knitted together and his energy is focussed solely on ploughing into you, "you want me to leave a big mess in ya? so you keep apart of me forever. that what you want, slut? my cum dripping out of ya?"

your eyes screw shut at the intense sensation, and you bite down on the blankets in attempt to cope with it all. that is, until he delivers a harsh slap to your ass, which causes you gasp and squeal, "yes, 'tsumu! leave it inside me, please. all of it."

"you sound like such a whore." he chuckles, but only to conceal how badly that turns him on. he knows it's perverted, but there is just something so sexy about hearing his sweet friend beg for it like a desperate slut. it was humorously uncharacteristic. "ask again, baby. let me hear you, scream for daddy."

"i need you to— nghh, fuck! oh my god, i need you to cum in me. pleasee~." you pant, head spinning as he relentlessly pounds into your cunt, not faltering for even a split second. "i want you so bad.."

and that'll do it. your final breathless comment was enough to send him flying over the edge of his climax. one hand gripped your ass while the other held your thigh, and he heaved out a deep sigh as his thick load released from his tip and spurted into the safe confines of your pussy.

the warm sensation spread throughout your insides, like a sticky blanket coating your walls. it was beauitful, and there was no way he was going to let go just yet. not when your cunt was still gripping onto him; he wanted to savour it for as long as possible.

he leaned forward, and pressed gentle kisses across your spine and the nape of your neck, "you did so good.." you could feel him smile against your skin, as he whispered, "can you promise me something, doll?"

"mhm.."

"gonna keep that inside you?"

"of course." you hum, amused that he was still attached to what you were discussing earlier, "now we're connected."

"yeah." he nods, resting his head against your upper back and relaxing his frame against yours, "for a week, at least. then you'll have to visit me in osaka, and we can do this all again."

[onigiriforears]

rules: color the sentence that's true about you

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play or have played sports / i play or have played an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook and/or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have had a best friend i’ve known knew for over five years / i am an only child

I'M TAGGING: ANYONE!! I'm nosey! :)

Since today I wrote my 500th diary entry and dunno how to celebrate, I'm gonna share this tag game I found cause why not

rules: color the sentence that's true about you (I'm gonna add further personal infos like this bc i feel annoying)

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses occasionally or contacts / i have blonde hair actually ash blonde at birth but I've been dark brown for years now nobody remembers lol / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face my face often goes pout-mode tbh / i play or have played sports / i play or have played an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook and/or bake / i like writing / i like to read not since a few years sadly / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone I hope single-dates count / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

tagging (feel free to ignore): @zzzzzestforlife @gemsstudy @dreamofghosts @fluencylevelfrench @studykac @decemberafternoon @bat-the-misfit

[onigiriforears]

just looked at your blog name properly. been reading it as "onigiri fears" for ages. 😂

screaming every time i see an onigiri--my profile pic is my exposure therapy 😂

[hekateisconfused]

Started playing onigiri again after years because my orig acc was on the cyberstep servers that are no more so I'm on steam TwT

Enjoy playing again!! I'm not the best, but if you need any tips, I'll be glad to try and help! Any Onigiri talk is welcomed here :DD

[neoheros]

“morning samu!”

the bells that hang by onigiri miya’s front door ring loudly as you enter the building, the sound of your voice accompanied with a chipper smile on your face as the early morning begins.

osamu barely looks up from the counter at your arrival, not needing to see you to know that it is you, and even if he is too busy fiddling with the register, he still smiles knowing that you’re here.

not that it would be anything special if you were, you were here practically everyday at this point, it might as well be part of osamu’s morning routine to welcome you in.

not that he minds — he’d never — but not that he’d tell you that, anyway.

“good morning.” he says to you, the smile on his face obvious now as you can hear it in his voice, but he still doesn’t look up from the register, too immersed in the work to tear himself away.

“seat yourself, will ya? bit busy here at the moment.”

you shrug off your coat from your shoulders as you hear him, nodding to yourself as you pick the table you like the most, and you call out, teasing, “alright but if you ask me to serve myself too, i’ll be expecting a paycheck from you.”

you slightly hear him chuckle a bit at that, too busy to respond, but you understand anyway considering the incoming morning rush.

knowing osamu, your closest friend for years, he must be knee deep in question marks as he tries to commandeer both the cashier and the kitchen by himself, too stubborn to hire anyone else, and way too confident to ask for any bit of help.

you’ll save the scoldings you have in mind for him later.

now, you’re preoccupied.

you pull the chair on your table out for your guest this morning, a small gesture of your hand to get him to seat across from you as you make yourself comfortable, and once all that’s settled, you hand him one of the menus to choose from.

the menu isn’t complicated at all — mainly the reason you took him here — and you’re sort-of proud of yourself for bringing him here in the first place.

after all, what better first date than the restaurant you already go to every single day?

your date gives you a smile, “so, you come here often?”

from the counter afar, there’s a sound of the register suddenly closing in on itself that can be heard loudly, a loud “clang!” echoing throughout the entire building.

osamu blinks, his attention suddenly torn away from the register in front of him, confusion settling in his face as his eyebrows furrow together, his languid smile dropping slowly and he looks up — finally.

from where he stands, the first person he sees is you, you’re laughing and smiling and you’re all dressed so nicely today that it almost makes him smile — but then he sees you’re talking to someone else, someone you brought here, someone across from you, and that doesn’t make him smile at all.

��yeah, it’s my favorite restaurant.” he hears you reply, the smile in your voice evident.

and as much as osamu just loves to hear how much you like his establishment, he’d rather you say it to him and not to anyone else.

there’s a bitter taste in his mouth. he feels like he just got the wind punched out of him as he continues to stare.

did you seriously bring a guy to his restaurant for a date?

“what can i get ya this mornin’?” there’s an obvious frown sitting on osamu’s face as he stands near your table, a pad of paper in his palm as his other hand holds a pen lazily.

it took him a lot of energy to force himself away from the counter and actually walk over to you and your … date, but he figured the more he ignored you, the more likely you were gonna come after him for not … well … doing his job.

“jeez. reign it in with the joy, please.” you tease, your morning spirits undeterred by his newfound persona of he-who-hates-all-things.

osamu sighs, dramatically, and he straightens up slightly to look at you more professionally now, “i’ve got the new flavors in this morning, they’re new and experimental so you get the chance— alright, what the hell is that?”

you look down to where his pointing, an exasperated look on his face as he gestures at the very bright object you brought with you today that was just distracting enough to bring him out of his spiel, and you smile even wider— proud.

“my shoes!” you nod with excitement, grabbing them from the paperbag on the floor as you take them out to show him.

“those are shoes?” his eyebrows furrow together tightly.

“well, i broke them, that’s why they look so clanky and the steel stuff ended up hanging outside the sole part, so i was planning on fixing it today during my break time at work.”

osamu looks at you, deadpanned, “they look like they could kill somebody.”

and you scoff, “so dramatic today.”

you sneak a peek over at the other side of the table to check on your date, and your smile remains when you see him still pre-occupied with the menu, browsing his options as he gives you a small smile while he listens to the conversation.

back to osamu now, he still looks frustrated at — well, you’re not really sure at what — and there’s a deep expression that settles on his face as he looks at you like you’ve just stolen his pen.

a second passes.

“hand them over.” he suddenly tells you, a big sigh coming from him as his shoulders fall with defeat.

you turn to him, “what?”

“hand over the shoes.”

“samu, i know they look bad, but that doesn’t mean you can take them from me!”

osamu breathes in very loudly as he stares at you, his frown impossibly getting deeper the more he stays here it seems, and with another swallow of possibly his last straw, he puts the pad down.

“give me the shoes so i can fix them, you idiot.” he tells you, his tone as quiet as he can make it, and he swears, if you had not been one of his closest friends, you’d been out of your seat five minutes ago.

you cross your arms over your chest, “you know how to fix shoes?”

and he scoffs, “i don’t, but i figure my chances are better than yours.”

your expression finally breaks into a small smile, defeated, yes, but you did get out of fixing your shoes yourself, which is a win in its own case, and a scenario only possible with osamu by your side.

“you win.” you throw your hands in the air, and show him a wide grin as you hand over the shoes, “thank you very much.”

osamu takes the shoes from you and puts it at the empty table behind him, begrudged, but amused, not like he wouldn’t do anything for you anyways.

your date leans over to you slowly — an action that makes osamu want to roll his eyes all the way to the back of his head.

he gives you a smile, “you get good service here.”

and you reply back, “i know the owner.”

osamu ignores the wink you give him, and he gives you an unamused look as you grin. he shakes his head to himself and grabs the pad of paper once again before clearing his throat.

“order?”

“i’ll have two of my usual orders, and then one of each of the new flavors to go.” you tell him, proud at not having to look at the menu anymore to know what you like.

you do come here every morning after all.

osamu gives you a short nod, listing down your request, and begrudgingly, he turns to the other person at the table, “and you?”

“i’m just not sure.” your date tells him, humming to himself as he picks up the menu again. “give me a second.”

the gray haired man gives you a look; almost 10 minutes with that menu and he still hasn’t decided?

you give him an apologetic look, “oh, then, i guess hold off on mine too.”

osamu shakes his head, sighing, “i might run out of the new ones.”

and your date looks up from the menu to give you a wanton smile, “go ahead, order, i’ll be fine.”

you shake your head, polite, “no, it’s okay, i’ll wait for you. take your time.”

osamu clears his throat. adamant. “i’m almost out and i can’t make more.”

you shoot him a look. “then set some aside for me.”

and he squints his eyes. “it’s first come, first serve.”

there’s a stark frown on your face now too. your eyebrows tightly knit as you shoot the man in front of you a hard glare.

you have no idea why he’s making this morning so hard on you for no reason at all, but you’re about to say something to his remark if it weren’t for the sudden ringing on the phone that interrupted the conversation.

“i’m sorry, i might have to go.” your date intervenes suddenly, the ringing of his phone going off as he stands up and grabs his things from the table.

you look at him expectantly, “you do?”

“yes, something came up,” he tells you, apologetic and giving you a sad smile. he leans down anyway to come squeeze your hand quickly, and he says, “i’ll call you?”

you give him a small nod, “sure.”

not that you can do anything else about it, you say your goodbyes, and suddenly, not even twenty minutes in to your first date with him, he’s off and leaving.

the bells on the door ring loudly as the door closes with a slam.

your head falls on the table once he’s gone.

“well.” you grumble. “that was a bust.”

osamu puts a hand on his hip as he watches you, “ya seriously cannot be hung up like this on the world’s slowest reader.”

you lift your head up slightly to roll your eyes at him, watching him with squinted eyes as he walks away and disappears into the kitchen.

obviously, you weren’t hung up on this stupid date. you didn’t want to go on this stupid date anyway!

dating sucks. and it sucks even more when it’s forced on you last minute by a work friend who you’re definitely not talking to outside of the work place anymore.

you grumble again at the thought.

great, and you were having such a good morning too.

you let your head fall back on the table.

a minute passes in your sulking mess before you hear the sound of a plate being pushed across the table breaks you from your world of wallowing.

“here.”

osamu looks at you from the side, his gaze much softer now as he keeps his hand on his hip, and he watches as your confused look when you see him falls on the playe in front of you.

your usual order, and the new ones to go.

you look up at him, “but i thought you didn’t ring my order in?”

and osamu, defeated, rolls his eyes slightly, but you don’t miss the way his lips curl upwards even just a tiny bit.

you come in here every single day, every single morning, and order the same exact thing. rain or shine, he can also expect to greet you in as you come in those doors and greet him with that big smile you never fail to give him.

he can’t help it, it’s part of his routine now too.

atsumu keeps pestering him on hiring somebody to man the front desk so he can lessen his work load, but that would mean what? give up the chance to see you come in everyday? give up the way you say his name when you say good morning? give up your smile and your laugh and the way you tease and mock and tarry?

you’re the best part of his mornings working here, even when you’re with somebody else, you’re still the person he looks most forward to seeing every single day.

he rolls his eyes but you see him smile anyway.

“i already set these aside before you came in anyway.”

[megapteraurelia]

roommates!osasuna who, before they've agreed to share you, hear you in your room at night, soft gasps, breathy moans and their names escaping your lips as you bring yourself to the brink of insanity, and fuck, now neither of them can sleep.

suna finds himself in osamu's room not long after, his mouth full with cock. one hand of his leisurely drags across his own length, pumping himself against the scratchy sheets of osamu's that he's told him to change countless of times. now, though, it's long past the point of caring when he spills all over it, paints his name across the soft grey; osamu's neck with that one thick vein on display as his hand gripped suna's hair tightly.

suna ends up swallowing all of it.

roommates!osasuna who have incredibly soft spots that you exploit, always. osamu loves when you run your fingers through his hair, and he melts, his eyes half-lidded as they gaze at you with an intensity that you've only known him have when he concentrates on his projects, coming up with different recipes. his cheek weighs heavier in your hand as he sinks into it, and his mouth presses small little kisses on the palm of your hand.

suna is a hair width away from actually purring when you tug on his earrings, gently, just playing with them when you're cuddling. but when you tug, he freezes and his lips part slightly, a pretty little blush unfurling on his skin. his eyelashes flutter and even though he denies it, he leans into your touch a little more.

roommates!osasuna who have a group chat with you, and the things being sent there range from innocent to suggestive to downright pornographic.

day 1

has osamu send a picture of food he's cooked, telling you to come home hungry. (sometimes, though, he likes to push it a little, because then he'll send another text: "if yer good, ya get fed. if yer better, you get bent over the counter first.")

day 2

has suna send a blurry video, half naked, pulling his shorts down, revealing more and more of his dick until it cuts off right before it could spring free, captioned: "your spot's cold."

day 3

has both of them argue over who was able to please you better last night:

sunarin, "trust me, she was already shaking when i kissed her. you literally just got to the finish line."

osamu, "i'd say that too if i were you. doesn't count when i'm the one doin' all the work, huh?"

sunarin, "yeah, well, she moaned my name louder than yours."

osamu, "ya wanna weigh in, sweetheart? who made you cum harder?"

sunarin, "that's a trap, baby. don't answer that."

you shut up their pissing contest with an incoming video call and when they both accepted it, they were met with fingers deep in your glistening pussy, voice already shot from how loud you were moaning. osamu exits the call right away only to enter it again a couple minutes later, and you recognise the change of location — he's moved into the storeroom of onigiri miya, his dark cap pulled deep over his eyes, but you could see the way his teeth dug into the pillow of his lower lip, slick noises echoing through your phone as he fucks his fist.

suna's long-gone, having propped up his phone against his gym bag, head rolled back as he lets spit dribble onto his angry dick, palming himself as it sat pretty over his shorts in the empty locker room. you heard faint knocking and complaints coming through from his side, but you were sure he's locked the door on purpose, and each second, that he's not letting his teammates in, is another second that he's hastily pumping himself.

day 4

has suna sending a picture of you passed out on the couch in osamu's hoodie, "look at baby." and osamu replying with "tell 'er she's cute when she drools. also, seaweed chips?"

day 5

has osamu saving all the little voice notes you send of you laughing, of you talking about your day, and the camera roll is full with suna's cute as shit pictures of you and 'samu.

day 6

has you cry about work and how stressful it is, and osamu's the one who ends up texting you throughout it, sending you messages in quick succession, as if he hasn't a whole restaurant to run, as if he has all the time in the world to focus on you and you only.

hey. breathe f'me a sec, alright? just stop everythin' and take one good deep breath. yer doin' your best and i'm proud of you for pushin' through it. but ya don't gotta carry it all on yer own, sweetheart you come home to us tonight, yeah? we'll take care of ya. you don't hafta be strong. bein' with you makes my day easier so let me do the same f'you.

suna's not the type to text a lot when it's sentimental, but he sends you a heart, and when you come home, your favourite food's already made, a hot bath run and your favourite hoodie of suna's draped on your bed, warm from the dryer, smelling like his cologne. and when you crawl in between both of them, his fingers are right there to travel over your body in a way that grounds you, that tells you this is where you belong, this is where you are loved and doted on and safe.

day 7

has them try to annoy you, rating your reactions like it's a game on a scale from one to ten as you sit amongst friends, enduring their suggestive comments and ignoring the way they had you right in their line of sight whenever you glance down before immediately turning the phone around, a blush burning on your cheeks.

you, "can we not do this tonight. please."

osamu, "do what?"

sunarin, "she's already cracking. that's a 4/10 reaction chat"

when you glance up from your phone, rolling your eyes, osamu's pretending to sip his drink, but suna doesn't even care, staring right at you with that lazy look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked.

another notification comes through a couple of minutes later and when you open it, you choke a little on your spit, awkwardly laughing off the concern of a friend only to look at the picture again. it's a photo from under the table, osamu's hand resting on his thigh, the zipper of his pants pulled down slightly, giving the bulge slightly more room to breathe.

the caption? "thinkin' 'bout where yer mouth should be right now."

sunarin's text isn't far behind, "oh, that face. that's a solid 6.5"

osamu, "mhmm, i give it a 7. she did this cute lip biting thing."

the next ordeal you go through is when suna sends a video half an hour later, and it's just his hand under the table as his fingers imitate the movement he always fucks you with, digits scissoring and stretching out inside an invisible hole as his thumb rubs nothing but thin air. the implication has your breath hitching, your thighs tingling as you pressed them together, any reprieve, oh god.

sunarin, "8/10, she's shifting in her seat."

and osamu takes the cake, he really does, because there's an entire paragraph sitting right before you, and arousal is a familiar concept etched in your very soul as you read it, face growing hotter and hotter, heart stuttering in tandem with the rustling in your ear from how fast your blood seems to run.

gonna make that pretty little face again when we bend ya over the kitchen table later? arms pulled behind yer back, tits all over the counter. bet yer gonna cry and sob for one of us to hurry up and fuck ya already. but ya know us, sweetheart, don'tcha? we'll take our time, i wanna see ya squirm against rin's mouth be good at dinner, we can be as nasty as ya want later

you really do end up hiding your face in your hands.

a message of sunarin coming through, "9.5/10. almost there"

and almost there, you are later once the door slammed shut behind you and their hands are all over you, teeth clinking against each other in a heated kiss. you get shoved forward until your hands hit the kitchen table, tits pressed against the mahogany just like promised, breath ragged as suna tugs your pants down like a dehydrated madman searching for water.

his teeth find your wet panties, stuck to your pussy lips like a second skin and he sucks the juice out with a groan, fingers keeping your thighs spread and steady. osamu's hand is dragging across his length, his cock heavy as it rest in between your ass cheeks, tip leaking, forming a little puddle in the dip of your back.

"been dyin' to get my hands on you all night."

you taste the wood as you pant against it, hands trying to catch even a little bit of osamu, but his grip is relentless, tight on your wrists. he tuts with his tongue, the click close to your ear as he smothers you with his weight, one leg of his pushing yours further out.

"be good for rin, sweetheart, won't ya?"

how were you supposed to be good for anything when suna's mouth latches onto your clit like that? when his jaw moves hard and fast as it suckles on the swollen nub, fingers teasing the quivering hole, dipping into your heat easily, "god, you're so fucking perfect," — your legs buckling, tears pricking at your lash line, biting your lip to keep from crying out, caught between the sting of his force and the pleasure burning through your veins.

how were you supposed to be good for anything when osamu lines up behind you, hard and ready? his head nudges against suna's fingers and really, suna cannot resist, fingers pulling out to tug on osamu's dick, using your slick to coat him as he found the sensitive vein on the underside easily, thumb rubbing the reddened tip.

"ngh, sunarin, yer such, ah, a bastard."

suna spoke against your pussy, and the vibrations have you push against his mouth, "yeah, but 'samu, don't forget that i can feel you throbbing in my hand. so am i a bastard or are you moaning for me?"

osamu's rubbing against your folds, tip catching suna's mouth every so often, and how does that leave you, hm? begging on top of the table, legs trembling, only kept upright because suna likes having you sit above him, stray tears stealing themselves on the wood, as your ass pushes back against osamu's backside.

"please, p-please, fu-hah-fuck me," you mewl, over and over until at least one of them has mercy and urges osamu's dick to finally fill you. his groan when he realises how easy he slips into you is deep and loud, reverberating against you so deliciously. you're so wet, he's bottoming out before he could even register the movement of his hips, and god, the sound of his balls slapping against your drooling pussy lips is heavy, suna's wet noises of sucking on your clit even worse.

really — how were you supposed to be good for anything?

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

TAGLIST | @sodaneko @takes1 @classicalelephant @pomigranit @sugacor3 @boktuoafterdark

sorry not sorry

[kairakeiji]

kuroo has tried to confess to you twice.

the first was a mistake, a spur of the moment confession as you cried over the boy you just broke up with. the guy was an ass, he didn’t treat you right. he made you commute hours to go see him, he didn’t show up to any of your big events. he didn’t even plan any dates or ask you to hang out. kuroo confessed mid-breakdown, just days after your breakup, as he handed you a cup of coffee (your regular order, nonetheless) and tried to haul you out of your three day hibernation.

he didn’t talk to you for weeks after that, he kicks himself for it to this day.

the second confession went wrong. jealously festered in him after hearing about the date you went on as you worried about getting ghosted. you sat on the phone with him pacing back and forth in your bedroom, checking your texts over and over. and kuroo couldn’t help the way his blood boiled as you continued on and on about your date and how he paid for your meal and how he drove you home and…

“there’s someone i’m thinking of asking out,” he told you.

“you should go for it!” you obliviously replied in the mess of your anxiousness.

“it’s you.”

you froze in your tracks, as the rambles of getting ghosted turned into apologies about how you weren’t ready for a relationship and explanations he already knew, given how much you two spoke. kuroo should’ve given up, he should’ve moved on with his life and accepted that you two were friends and never anything more. he probably should’ve given you some distance, allowed himself the space to get on with his life, and hopefully find someone better.

but he’s stubborn, and frankly, he thinks he’s not going to find anyone as perfect for him as you.

so now he sits on the floor of your bedroom, an air mattress set up next to him as you shower in the bathroom. the onigiri wrappers still sat on the floor, your reward for just barely making it to the convenience store before closing. he hears your laughter in his ears, and a part of him can’t help but smile, his heart sinking slightly.

and he begins to wonder, what is he truly doing here?

a cloud of steam emerges from the bathroom.

“tetsu what time is it?” you mumble as you hang up the wet towel.

tetsu, the stupid nickname you’ve called him since you first met. It’s yours and yours alone, yet he knows you’ll never be his.

your voice sends a jolt down his spine, “somewhere close to 2:30,” he answers.

you sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “are you sleepy yet?” you mumble with a sigh.

kuroo’s heart leaps, too scared to actually take a look at you. your wet hair seeps through his shirt, but he truly doesn’t have it in him to care. “a bit, yeah,” he lies, wrapping his arms around you, something that’s become a matter of instinct in your time of friendship.

you lean in closer, eyes shut and a sigh leaves your lips. “we should sleep then, yeah?’

we. the collective we, as if you two were grouped under two letters, as if you two were together.

what was kenma calling it? a situationship?

god, kuroo hated that word. it’s not even a real word.

“we should,” he tells you, before shuffling slightly. “now are you gonna sleep here or are you actually going to get in bed?”

“in a second,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “you’re comfy.”

he laughs, “should i take that as a compliment?”

“knowing you, i thought you would.”

“then thank you,” he nods. “glad to be a pillow for you.”

you straighten up, before standing and padding to your bed. “you’re more than just that, you know?”

he quirks a brow, a smirk on his face despite the slight waiver of his voice. “oh really? what am i then?”

“an amazing friend,” you start as you shuffle into bed. “the person who accompanies me on my late night convenience store runs, the person who brags about their grades being significantly better than mine.”

“i don’t say it like that.”

“you totally do, don’t deny it.”

and he scoffs, shaking his head as his lips curve upward.

“you’re the person who was there for me when it felt like no one was, the person who’s willing to help me with anything i need. i feel so safe with you and know i can trust you, and yes, you do make a good pillow.” you sigh and kuroo meets your gaze, the way your eyes shine making his heart sink slightly. “thank you for being here.”

and his heart sinks more, “anything for you.”

you smile at him, “i’m gonna head to bed then, wake me up if you need anything. good-”

“hey can i ask you something?”

you hesitate, “yeah what is it?”

“what am i doing here?”

you blink, “what do you mean?”

“while you were in the shower, i was just thinking, i’m in the room of the person i like, and they know that i like them,” he explains. “they know i like them, yet they continue to be so nice to me and keep me in their lives even though we both know it could possibly be better if i did otherwise.” he meets your gaze, searching in your features for a semblance of an answer. “so really, why am i here?”

you shake your head, before your back hits your bed. “you’re gonna make me say it?” you mumble.

and his stomach drops. “yes, i am,” his voice becoming stern.

“it’s because,” you hesitate, hands covering your eyes. kuroo’s heartbeat thrums in his ears, careful eyes watching you frozen in bed. the air remains quiet, and all kuroo can find himself doing is watch, his third confession lingering in the tense air. maybe this one might be the last one, maybe once he hears you turn him down again, he’ll finally give up for good. they always say third time’s the charm, maybe this one will finally get your message into his brain. a sigh leaves your lips, and kuroo swears his body tenses.

“it’s because i like you.”

and kuroo blinks, “you do?”

you immediately sit up. “what do you mean i do? of course i like you.” and he just stares at you. “i never ask you to sleep over,” you explain. “i told myself that if i didn’t tell you how i felt by the end of today, i was going to drop it and never bring it up again. i told myself i would move on and never act on my feelings.” you finally meet his gaze, eyes widening when you see his jaw slack. “what,” you question, voice getting higher. “did i say something wrong?”

“i thought you were going to reject me,” he mumbles rather candidly.

“i could never,” you tell him. “i didn’t even really reject you the second time you confessed. i just said i wasn’t ready for a relationship, not that i didn’t have feelings for you.”

he blinks, “oh.”

“i thought you picked that up,” you sigh.

he runs a hand through his hair, mentally face palming, “honestly, all i remember is that you didn’t stop talking for ten minutes straight.” you sigh, “i mean, seriously, who yaps for that long?”

“someone who doesn’t know how to say yes but also say no,” you mumble.

“you could've said maybe,” he tries. “i could’ve gotten more of a hint then.”

and you can’t help but giggle, sliding off your place in bed to join him back on the floor. you meet his gaze, his eyes still full of disbelief, “tetsu, i like you.”

kuroo swears he’s dreaming for a second.

he blinks, his answer rather instant. “i like you too.”

you reach for his hand, squeezing it. “so, it’ll stick in your head,” you joke poking his head with your other hand before getting back up.

he keeps a tight grip on your hand, pulling you back to the ground. “tetsu?” his hand rests gently on your cheek as he leans forward, adrenaline coursing through him as his lips meet yours. his heart pounds, his thoughts running at a million miles a minute.

but everything seems to slow when you kiss him back, your hands reaching for his cheeks. and for the first time that night, kuroo feels his heartbeat slow.

he pulls away with a small grin. “so it’ll stick now in yours,” he mumbles.

you hesitate for a second, “you know what? i don’t think it’s sticking,” there’s a slight lilt to your voice.

“you don’t?” he questions.

“i don’t,” you nod rather proudly.

kuroo can’t help but shake his head, his grin growing wider by the second. “there’s no harm in trying again.” and this time, you’re the one to pull him in. your hand rests on the back of his neck and you can feel him smile.

third time’s the charm, they always say. luckily, this time, it worked in his favor.

haikyuu 2021/2022 renaissance era frrrr - I haven't written in so long pls be so kind with feedback she's a little rusty lol, but thank you for reading <3

[katsbakugou]

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆

— 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊'𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌, 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒀/𝒏 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒙 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚.

⋆☆　 husband!katsuki bakugo x wife!reader

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆　warning : swearing , p in v , pussy eating , blow job , fluff , comfort , MDNI ! , ( let me know if I missed anything ! )

•❣•୨୧　wc : 2.6k

-ˋˏ authors note : I have no words. Just enjoy! 😭

Katsuki had started working later hours, which meant he was coming home much later than usual. It didn’t worry Y/n too much—she knew their schedules rarely aligned. Still, Katsuki always did his best to make time for her, no matter how tough things got.

It was one of those nights—Katsuki was working late again, another shift that wouldn’t see him home until 2 a.m. His sleep schedule was wrecked, and his body screamed with fatigue, every muscle tight and worn down. Y/n could see the toll it was taking on him. Even with her own packed schedule, she gave everything she could to support him. She did whatever was in her power to ease his burden, to bring him even a small moment of peace. Katsuki stumbled through the door at 3:30 a.m., exhaustion etched into every line of his face, and his body weighed down by stress and fatigue. Y/n was still awake—she had made sure to cook something so he wouldn’t go to bed on an empty stomach. In his worn-down state, Katsuki called out, “I’m home, sweetie,” his voice heavy with pure exhaustion. “Welcome home, baby,” Y/n said softly, her voice tinged with concern. “Come eat—I made something light, easy for you to chew and digest.” With that, she turned and headed into the kitchen, the apron Katsuki had brought her from overseas. "Thank you," he says with a sigh, though his voice carries a hint of affection. "Of course, baby," Y/n replies with a warm smile as she walks over, offering him a steaming bowl of udon and a plate of onigiri. Katsuki accepts the food with a grateful nod, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Thanks for the food," he murmurs before digging in, quickly stuffing his face.

As Katsuki ate, Y/n watched him for a moment before turning to tidy up the kitchen. She glanced back occasionally, noting how his body seemed to relax with each bite of the warm udon. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she caught sight of him, completely immersed in his meal. Katsuki looked up, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. "What?" he asked, his usual stern expression in place. "Nothing," Y/n giggled, eyes lingering on the tiny bit of food clinging to the corner of his mouth. Katsuki scowled lightly, still unsure why she was laughing. "What, woman?" he asked again, voice firm but curious. "You're that hungry? What happened to the bento I made you this afternoon?" Y/n asked, stepping closer with a teasing smile. She grabbed a napkin and gently wiped the corner of his mouth. Katsuki froze, eyes locked on her as she moved. His cheeks flushed, a soft pink creeping up to the tips of his ears as he stood there, quietly flustered. "I shared some with Deku," he mumbled, glancing away. "Ahh, that explains it, hubby," Y/n chuckled. "You had a tiny piece of cilantro on the corner of your mouth, silly." She turned away, slipping off her apron with a satisfied grin. "Could’ve said something," Katsuki muttered, his tone low but clearly flustered. "And I did," she teased, tossing him a wink. "Tomorrow’s your day off, right?" Y/n asked casually as she dried the plates and set them in the dish rack.

"Yeah, but I’ve still got a ton of damn reports to finish," Katsuki grunted. "Is that so?" Y/n replied, eyeing him curiously as she noticed his body tense again. Without another word, Katsuki walked over to the sink, washing his dishes and helping her tidy up the kitchen. "Echo dropped off stacks of paperwork from today’s mission," he started, his voice low and irritated. "There was a damn terror attack later in the day. Deku, Shoto, and I had to clean up the mess. We ended up catching those idiot villains, but it was a pain in the ass." He rambled on while Y/n sat nearby, listening with a soft smile as he vented. "I’m glad my strong husband saved the day with his two best friends," she said sweetly. Katsuki let out a grunt at her words. "They're not my friends—icyhot and the damn nerd," he muttered. Y/n gave his arm a quick smack. "Hey! Speak nicely, damn it!" she scolded, hands on her hips as she gave him a pointed look. “Damn, woman—that actually hurt,” Katsuki winced, rubbing the spot on his arm where she’d smacked him, still eyeing her with a slight glare. “Deal with it, big guy,” Y/n replied with a dramatic eye roll, drying off the last dish before heading upstairs. Katsuki trailed after her, still grumbling under his breath. As she opened the door to their shared bedroom, Y/n glanced back. “How about we stay in tomorrow? Just relax and catch up with each other?” “Sounds good to me,” Katsuki replied, stepping inside. “I’ll knock out those damn reports in the morning—just need to get the stupid things signed.”

Katsuki settled onto the bed, and his eyes followed her as she began slipping out of her clothes. "I'll be right back," Y/n said as she made her way into the bathroom. A few minutes later, Katsuki followed in, grunting as he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower beside her. Y/n looked up, surprised by his sudden appearance. "Got lonely," he muttered, barely meeting her eyes as he reached for the soap and began helping her wash up. After the shower, Katsuki and Y/n began settling in for the night. "Hey, Katsu," Y/n said softly, pulling one of his shirts over her small frame, "do you ever think about having kids someday?" Katsuki slid into bed beside her after setting his alarm for 9 a.m., the soft glow of the screen fading out. "I do," he answered honestly. "But now’s probably not the right time… not with how crazy our schedules are lately." Y/n gave a small nod, understanding, as she nestled in beside him. Katsuki leaned in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to her lips, full of quiet tenderness. Y/n returned it gently.

"Mmm," Katsuki hummed, letting out a low groan as his hand squeezed her side. Y/n deepened the kiss slowly, drawn in by lust. Katsuki’s hands slowly trailed up her body, cupping her chest with a firm squeeze that drew a quiet moan from her lips. "Katsu," Y/n breathed out between moans, her voice melting into the heat of their deepening kiss. The moment grew more intense, rougher, until she found herself lying on her back beneath him. Katsuki’s lips left hers, trailing down her skin until he reached her chest. Her head tilted back, soft moans slipping past her lips as her fingers tangled in his messy ash-blonde hair. He smirked against her skin, taking in the sight of her. Katsuki’s lips trailed lower, pressing soft, lingering kisses along her stomach before moving down to her thighs. He nipped at the sensitive skin playfully, then soothed each spot with gentle kisses, working his way toward the inside of her thigh. Y/n gasped at the sensation, biting back a moan as heat rushed through her. Her breath hitched when his lips brushed more intimately against her center, sending shivers up her spine. A soft whimper escaped her when she felt his fingers slip beneath the fabric of her now-soaked panties. "Katsu…" she whispered, voice trembling with anticipation. He let out a low chuckle, rich and teasing, before pushing the fabric aside with slow intent.

Katsuki slid his middle finger between her folds, drawing out a sharp gasp from Y/n as pleasure pulsed through her. “Katsu, please…” she whimpered, voice trembling with need. He glanced up at her, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. “Please what?” he asked, eyes drinking in the sight of her unraveling. “Please touch me,” she breathed, desperate. “Mmm, I don’t know,” he teased, fingers still lazily brushing her heat. “Has my princess been good enough to deserve it?” Her hips shifted, a soft, needy cry slipping out. “Please, Katsu… I need you.” Chuckling low in his throat, Katsuki gave in. “So damn needy for me.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her soft, aching pussy, letting his mouth work its magic. Each slow lick, every teasing suck on her clit sent her spiraling, her mind slipping into bliss as his tongue pushed her closer to the edge. “Oh fuck—Katsuki,” Y/n gasped, her back arching as pleasure surged through her. Katsuki’s mouth stayed busy, lips and tongue working her over with relentless attention. A sharp moan escaped her as he slid two fingers—his middle and ring—deep inside, thrusting with an urgent rhythm that sent her senses spiraling. “Ahhh, Katsuki!” she cried out, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging gently. He let out a low groan in response, the sound vibrating against her, only driving her further toward the edge. “I’m—ahhh—coming!” Y/n screamed, the tension in her body snapping as waves of pleasure overwhelmed her. Her legs trembled, her entire body shaking with the intensity. Gasping for air, she barely noticed Katsuki rise above her, his lips finding hers, letting her taste the remnants of herself on his mouth.

"Mmmm, you taste good," Katsuki whispered, his voice low, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers brushed against her sore clit, and she winced, a mix of pleasure and pain coursing through her. It was a sensation she had come to crave. Y/n sat up, her eyes locked onto Katsuki's. She pushed him down onto the bed, the soft fabric cradling him as she lowered herself to get a better view. His grey sweats clung to him, outlining the impressive bulge that was straining against the fabric. A wicked smile spread across her face as she pulled down his sweats and boxers, revealing his cock, which sprang free, eager and ready. Y/n licked her lips, her mouth watering at the sight. She gripped onto him, her fingers wrapping around his shaft, feeling the warmth and weight of him in her hand. She leaned in, planting soft kisses along the length of his cock, teasing him with her lips. Katsuki groaned, the sound deep and primal, echoing in the quiet room. "Princess..." he breathed, his voice thick with desire. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You like that, don’t you?" Katsuki grunts, trying to figure a way to respond. His breath hitched as she continued teasing his friend. She took her time, taking every part of him as every sound that escaped his lips run LG like a choir into her ears. Katsuki's body responded to her touch. The way his hip slightly thrust upward as his tip hit the back of her throat. As she continued to suck, she could feel the twitch within him. Y/n pulled back slightly, not letting him come to finish. "Tell me what you want, Katsuki," she teased, her voice a sultry whisper.

He groaned again, his hands gripping the sheets as he fought to maintain control. "I want you to take me, princess. I want to fucking feel you." Her heart raced at his words. She positioned herself above him, her body hovering closely. With a slow, steady motion, she lowered herself onto him, feeling him fill her completely. A gasp escaped her lips as she sank down, his huge cock taking up every gap, every spot in her. Leaving no room for air. Katsuki's hands found her hips, guiding her as she began to move, and their bodies began to rock. "Fuck yes, just like that, oh shit" Katsuki grunted loudly as Y/n picked up the pace. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through her, and she could feel the way his tip was touching her uterus on repeat. Katsuki's groans filled the air, causing him to grip harder onto her sides more tightly, helping her keep in motion. "Fuck woman! You feel so good. So tight, this pussy is mines- ughhh" he gasped, his eyes rolled away. She could feel her own release approaching, the heat pooling in her core as she rode him harder, faster. "Katsuki... I’m so close," she moaned, her voice barely above a whisper. "Shit, me to princess. Just a little more, too tight," he urged, his grip on her tightening as he flipped over to be on top, taking in possession. His hips snapped into her, causing her to scream in pleasure. The two continued, Katsukithrust soon became sloppy as Y/n felt the way he was twitching inside of her. "Fuck- cum with me." Katsuki moans as ge picks up his speed. With one final thrust, they both tumbled over the edge.

"Katsuki!!" Y/n cried out, the sensation washing over her like a tidal wave, and she could feel Katsuki's release milking her insides. With every drop deepening into her core, there was nothing to be left out. Katsuki heaves as his sweaty palms let go of Y/n, pulling out of her core only for her to whine softly from the lost. As they both came down from their high, Katsuki fell down beside her as him and Y/n gaps for air. “You were a bit tight,” Katsuki teased. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” Y/n rolled her eyes, her tone playful. Katsuki chuckled softly. “I’m just messing with you,” he said, scooping her into his arms. “Maybe we should think about starting our family now. “Yeah, maybe we should,” Y/n smiled, resting her head against his bare chest. “I love you, princess,” his voice was gentle, almost vulnerable. “I love you too, Katsu,” Y/n replied with a smile. As the night settled in, the two of them drifted off to sleep, nestled in each other’s arms. Just before Katsuki succumbed to slumber, his mind wandered back to their memories. How had he gotten so lucky to have her as his wife.

[dearru]

food for thought | o.miya

-> pairings: miya osamu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: none | genre: fluff | wc: 619 | mlist

-> synopsis: your boyfriend has odd eating habits, but it’s only because he loves you so much.

“You eat like you’ve been starved.”

“Hm?” Osamu remarks, shoveling onigiri into his mouth at a speed that makes you wonder how he hasn’t choked yet. The whir of the fridge rings faintly in your ear while you watch in amusement as he barely breathes between bites. It had become almost a ritual between you and your boyfriend to order in on cozy nights like these when neither you or him had the energy to cook.

It had also become routine for Osamu to scarf his food down in seconds while you pick at yours aimlessly.

“I said you eat like you‘ve just suffered through a famine,” you laugh, heart swelling with a soft affection. “Why?”

His chewing slows as he furrows his brow in contemplation. Swallowing, he slouches back in his seat and shrugs. “Force of habit, I guess. ‘Tsumu always stole my food if I wasn’t fast enough.”

“That makes sense,” you nod, though a nagging curiosity creeps into your head, accompanied by the urge to let it spill through your mouth. You wait for a beat before giving in to the feeling. Pressing your arms against the table, you lean forward.

“I have another question.”

Snorting, he fiddles with the little food that’s left on his plate. “Can I ask what compelled ya to analyze my eatin’ habits?”

Your eyes narrow, “‘Samu…”

“My bad,” he concedes, popping the last piece of onigiri into his mouth. “What’s the question?”

You pause, gesturing to the now-empty dish in front of him, “Have you noticed that you never rush through the food I cook for you?” Tilting your head, you add, “It’s only when we go out, or when you make stuff for yourself that you eat like this.”

Osamu doesn’t answer right away. He goes quiet for a moment, but he fills the silence by tapping his chopsticks against the table. Shifting languidly, he meets your expectant gaze and sighs, breaking the still. “I guess… it’s ‘cause I want the moment to last longer.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Y’know what I mean,” he replies, voice softening.

“I don’t.”

Groaning, he sets the utensils down to fork fingers through his hair. “Usually I’m the one that cooks, so when you do it—it’s special,” he explains, his lips parting slightly like he’s trying to find the right words to articulate an intricate thought. His eyes flicker down to his plate and back up to you. “I chew slower to show my appreciation. Sorta like how yer supposed to look at paintings in museums for a long time.”

Your chest pangs with surprise at his answer, and you raise your hand to inspect your now warm cheek. Gaping at him, slack-mouthed, his words echo through your head as silence stretches between the two of you once more. Despite being together for so long, Osamu’s words still could make you feel like you were floating.

When you finally speak, you can’t help but smile. “Are you comparing my cooking to a masterpiece?”

“No,” he quips, eyes twinkling with mirth, “That’d be offensive to artists.”

You gasp, “Rude!” But there’s no real feeling behind it. Giggling, you act on impulse and shove your half-finished plate of gyoza across the table towards him.

He hums, lips twisting upwards slightly. “What’re ya givin’ me this for?” His voice holds a fondness that makes you want to swoon.

“You’re cute. That’s why.”

Cocking his head at you, he smiles in appreciation. His nose is tinted pink from the steam that remains of your leftovers, and you find it unbelievably adorable. Chopsticks reaching to finish the food you had presented to him, he pauses to look up at you, catching your gaze once more.

“I think yer cuter.”

—a/n: picture me writing this and wailing in agony bcuz that’s exactly how it happened

requested to be tagged: @sahrii @mayyhaps (who also proofread this so shoutout may) @kameyyy

[lycheeflavr]

And they were Roommates 🫐🧃

Pairing: timeskip kenma x female reader (roommates, secret identity, tiny bit of slow burn → smut) Genre: Modern AU, roommates to lovers, secret identity, smut, mutual pining, fluffy tension, emotional comfort Summary: Living with Kenma is easy — quiet mornings, shared takeout, the occasional side-glance that lingers too long. You’re just roommates. Nothing more. Except you’ve been falling for him silently, the same way you’ve been falling for your faceless gaming partner with the calm voice and comforting presence. You don’t know they’re the same person. And Kenma? He’s just as in love, just as hopelessly silent. It takes a power outage, a few candles, and one vulnerable night playing board games in the dark for everything to unravel — secrets, feelings, and eventually, clothes. word count: 9k

The apartment was quiet in the way it always was after midnight — low city noise outside, the faint hum of the fridge, the occasional creak of old floorboards. You were curled up on the couch, blanket half-draped over your legs, the TV remote idle in your hand. A video of someone playing a vintage indie game, you weren’t really watching played quietly, mostly to fill the silence.

Kenma sat at the dining table nearby, face lit only by his phone. He had just finished a stream, you could tell — his hair still a little messy from the headset, sleeves pushed up, fingers absently tapping at his screen like he was still mentally logged in. You knew his schedule by heart now. Not because you asked. Just… because you noticed.

"You done for the night?" you asked softly, not looking away from the screen.

"Mhm," he hummed, noncommittal. His voice was low, a little rough with sleep or disuse.

There was a familiar comfort to moments like this. You weren’t really friends — not in the way people talked about friendships. But you’d been roommates long enough to fall into habits. You made dinner when he forgot to eat, he brought you canned coffee when he came back from runs to the corner store. You never really pried into each other’s lives. Not directly.

But that didn’t stop you from knowing more than you were supposed to.

Especially about him.

Your eyes flicked toward his closed door down the hall. You could picture the room behind it perfectly: gaming chair, ambient lighting, that ridiculous cat-eared headset he wore when he played certain games for fun. You’d seen it. More than once. On stream.

Not that he knew.

You kept that part to yourself — how you’d stumbled onto his channel by accident a few months after moving in, and never stopped watching. Not because he was popular, though he was. But because… it was the only place he talked. Not just short replies or sleepy nods. But talked. About games, about random thoughts, about things that made him laugh quietly under his breath.

Things he didn’t say to you.

"You hungry?" he asked suddenly.

You blinked. "What?"

He glanced up, fingers still tapping. "Did you eat?"

"Yeah. You?"

He shrugged.

That meant no.

You got up with a soft sigh and padded into the kitchenette, grabbing the last two onigiri from the fridge and tossing one his way. He caught it without looking.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Don’t die," you said, half-teasing.

That got a slight curl of his lip — not quite a smile, but close enough to count. You watched him a second too long, then forced yourself to sit back down, hiding under your blanket like it could erase how warm your face suddenly felt.

Your phone chimed. You knew that sound.

A match invite.

You looked at the clock. Almost 1 a.m.

Probably from him.

Not Kenma — but the other Kenma. The one who messaged you under a different name and played co-op games with you late into the night. Who said things like “you’re easy to talk to” and “same time tomorrow?”

The one you didn’t know was him.

You picked up your phone slowly, already seeing the notification pop up.

🕹️ [OfflineButHere]: you up?

You glanced at Kenma across the room. He hadn’t moved, but something in his posture had shifted. Looser. Familiar.

You didn’t think much of it.

You should have.

Instead, you just smiled at your screen, typed always for you, and hit send.

You liked to pretend it wasn’t weird — how often he messaged, how quickly you replied, how it always felt like something tethered you together through your screens.

OfflineButHere never missed a night.

The username made you laugh the first time. A little on the nose, right? A stranger who never turned on voice chat, never talked about real life, but somehow always felt so close. He wasn’t loud. Never flirted. Just… existed beside you. Quietly. Steadily.

It was comforting.

And maybe a little intoxicating.

The game loaded in. Your character spawned just beside his, and you felt your chest ease the second you saw his familiar avatar give you that same casual crouch-hello he always did.

🕹️ OfflineButHere: you’re late 🧍‍♀️You: 1 minute late doesn’t count 🕹️ OfflineButHere: was worried

Your hands paused over the keyboard.

It was probably a joke. He did that sometimes — short, subtle things that made your stomach twist. You never called him out on it.

🧍‍♀️You: didn’t know you cared 🕹️ OfflineButHere: didn’t say I didn’t

You stared at the screen a moment too long.

Somewhere down the hall, the soft creak of your apartment’s floorboards shifted. Kenma. Moving around, probably heading to brush his teeth. You could almost imagine him now — hair pulled back lazily, face dimly lit by the same glow of a screen.

Sometimes it scared you, how similar they were.

🧍‍♀️You: you play like someone I know 🕹️ OfflineButHere: oh? 🧍‍♀️You: my roommate. kenma 🧍‍♀️You: you both like the same characters. same weird routes 🕹️ OfflineButHere: he must have good taste 🧍‍♀️You: he does 🧍‍♀️You’re cooler though 🧍‍♀️(but don’t tell him I said that)

There was a pause on his end. Longer than usual. You bit your lip, heart in your throat.

🕹️ OfflineButHere: I won’t

That was the thing about him. He didn’t flirt. But sometimes he said things like that — short, warm, real — and it left your heart lurching toward something dangerous.

"Fuck," you whispered to yourself, pushing your chair back and running a hand through your hair.

You were crushing on a stranger you played games with at 1 a.m. And you were also in love with your roommate. And you had no idea which one hurt more.

You played for an hour longer. He covered for you when you missed shots. You revived him without hesitation. It was teamwork built on weeks — months — of instinct and trust.

🧍‍♀️You: same time tomorrow? 🕹️ OfflineButHere: always for you

You stared.

Your fingers hovered, then typed something you didn’t think too hard about.

🧍‍♀️You: if you ever stream, I’d watch

No reply.

Your heart sank.

But just as you moved to log off, his name blinked back to life.

🕹️ OfflineButHere: you already do

You stared at it.

And stared.

And before you could reply — before you could even think — he was offline.

You sat back in your chair, heart pounding. Somewhere down the hall, you heard a door creak softly shut.

It’s late — too late — and the apartment is humming with a quiet kind of static. The only light comes from Kenma’s monitor in the other room, the glow of his stream casting faint shadows against the hallway wall.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-scrolling, half-listening. You’ve been waiting for offlinebuthere to log on for over an hour now. He’s usually consistent. Always there when the world goes quiet.

Then — just as you shift your weight, thinking maybe you’ll go knock on Kenma’s door and ask if he wants tea or something stupidly casual like that — everything stops.

A low click. A silence that’s too thick. The whir of the ceiling fan dies. The monitor’s light vanishes.

Darkness.

You blink. Once. Twice.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, tugging your phone out of your pocket — only to find it at 9%, with no signal.

From the hallway: “…Power’s out?” Kenma’s voice, muffled.

“Yeah,” you call back, trying to sound more annoyed than startled. “It’s not just the breaker, is it?”

A moment later, he appears in the doorway, barefoot, hair tied loosely back. His phone screen lights his face — soft, golden, shadows clinging to the edges of his features like they belong there.

He shakes his head. “Whole block’s out.”

You try not to stare. You fail a little.

“Oh,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Cool. So no WiFi, no heat, no microwave popcorn.”

Kenma looks at you for a long second, then turns on his heel.

“I’ve got candles,” he says over his shoulder.

When he returns, he’s carrying a half-melted cluster of tea lights and one fat lavender-scented thing you vaguely remember buying during a stress-fueled grocery run. He arranges them on the coffee table like it’s completely normal, like this isn’t already the most romantic lighting you’ve been in with him, ever.

“So.” He sits across from you on the floor. “Wanna play a game?”

You blink. “What kind of game?”

He raises an eyebrow and gestures to the shelf behind you — board games, card decks, a stack of unopened strategy boxes that have gathered dust.

“You’re a menace,” you say, trying not to smile. “You planned this.”

He shrugs. “I’m just adapting.”

The room feels different like this — slower. Warmer. The candles flicker against his skin and you try not to let your eyes linger on the way his fingers move, deft and careful as he opens the worn lid of some card game you don’t remember buying.

You sit across from him on the rug, knees almost brushing. His thigh rests dangerously close to yours. You swallow.

“Do I get bonus points if I win?” you ask.

Kenma doesn’t look up. “That depends.”

“On?”

He flicks his eyes up to meet yours — gold in candlelight, unreadable.

“On what you’d want the points for.”

You go still.

It’s stupid, how fast your heart picks up. How close he is. How easy it would be to lean in, just a little—

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean forward and deal the cards. Let the silence stretch. Let the candles flicker. Let yourself pretend, for now, that this is just a normal game night. And not the moment everything starts to shift.

The game stretches on, laughter light and easy now, the awkwardness melting away like wax from the candles.

You’re both sprawled on the floor, a scattered mess of cards and game pieces between you. Your hands brush once — twice — and each time your breath catches, but neither of you says a word.

You can’t remember the last time you two talked this much — or laughed, or even touched. It’s… nice. Seeing this side of Kenma almost makes you forget about your online friend, the one probably waiting for you to hop on the game. But tonight, you have to break this streak.

To be honest, this feels better — playing board games with Kenma, hearing him mutter quietly when he loses. There was that one time when he almost bad-mouthed you for winning, only to stop mid-sentence, shocked at himself. You both ended up laughing so hard your sides hurt.

That was nice.

“You want to keep playing?” Kenma asks, voice soft.

You shrug. There’s not much else to do, really — board games or sleep. And sleep feels like the biggest waste ever, especially now, when it seems like you two are finally becoming something like friends.

“I don’t know what else we could do, but… we should do this more often. Play games together, you know?” you say.

He chuckles lightly. “Is once every day not enough for you?”

His voice is low, eyes downcast, fingers fiddling nervously. You can tell he’s a little on edge.

“What do you mean?” you ask, confused. You’ve never actually played a game with him before… unless—

He looks up with a shy smile, shoulders shrugging slightly.

It clicks.

Your online friend… it’s him.

That’s why he’s always on his phone when your friend texts you. Why he never sends you an invite while streaming. Why he said you’d watched him before.

You grab a pillow and toss it at him, laughing. “I can’t believe I’ve been so oblivious!”

You throw another, and another, and for once Kenma doesn’t dodge. One or two quiet chuckles escape his lips.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to play a game with you?” you say between laughs. “I would’ve said yes! We’ve been doing this for months.”

His confession is sudden and so silly you don’t know how to react other than laughing until your belly aches.

“I didn’t know if you would have liked to,” Kenma says honestly.

You stop laughing, the air between you softening.

“You don’t have to guess,” you say gently. “You can just ask.”

He blinks, as if the idea surprises him.

For a moment, silence settles comfortably between you.

Then he says quietly, “Maybe… I will.”

Your heart does a little flip.

You glance at him, and he meets your eyes — a little less guarded than before.

No words, just a quiet understanding.

And suddenly, the night feels full of possibilities.

You lean back against the couch, the warm candlelight flickering across Kenma’s face, making his usually unreadable expression softer—almost vulnerable. A slow grin spreads across your lips, fueled by the intimate quiet between you.

“How about we make things a little more interesting?” you say, voice low but teasing. “Truth or dare.”

Kenma’s eyes flicker up, sharp but amused. He blinks slowly, like he’s weighing the idea. Then he nods, voice calm but with that hint of challenge you recognize. “Alright. But don’t expect me to go easy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply.

The first few rounds are simple—harmless questions, light dares that don’t push too far. But with each turn, the air thickens; the questions dig a little deeper, the dares inch a little closer to something unspoken.

He asks first. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you say, heart rate speeding slightly.

“What’s the last thing you thought about before falling asleep?”

You catch the glint in his eyes and hesitate, just for a second, then answer, voice barely above a whisper. “You.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond—just studies you like he’s seeing you in a new light.

“Your turn,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Dare,” Kenma replies without hesitation, eyes locked on yours.

You bite your lip, thinking carefully. “I dare you to lean in—close enough to feel my breath.”

His eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t say no.

Slowly, he shifts closer, until the space between you shrinks to nothing.

Your pulse hammers in your ears. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers as they rest just inches from yours on the couch.

He stops just shy of touching you, voice low and rough. “Enough?”

You swallow hard, the unspoken electricity crackling between you. “Not yet.”

A teasing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—rare and fleeting.

“Truth or dare?” he murmurs.

And the game continues.

You take a breath, heart pounding beneath the quiet hum of the candles. “Truth.”

Kenma’s eyes narrow, the playful glint still there but with a sharper edge. “What’s something you want, but you’re too scared to admit?”

You pause, caught off guard by the question’s weight, the sudden intimacy of it. For a moment, you consider brushing it off, but then you meet his steady gaze and decide to be honest—just enough. “I want… to stop pretending I don’t like you.”

A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face—surprise? Relief? Something softer.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back, exhaling slowly, the tension thick between you.

“Your turn,” you say, voice quieter than before.

“Dare,” he replies, eyes darkening just a little.

You smirk, feeling bold now. “I dare you to tell me one thing you’ve never said to anyone else.”

Kenma’s silence stretches, then he shifts, running a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes. Finally, he speaks, low and hesitant. “I don’t like losing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

He glances up, a ghost of a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I don’t want to lose you either.”

Your breath catches, and the distance between you feels even smaller.

Without thinking, you reach out, your fingertips brushing his arm—light, tentative. He doesn’t pull away.

“Truth or dare?” you whisper.

He smiles—a real, small smile—and says, “Truth.”

You lean closer, your voice barely audible. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Kenma’s eyes flick to your lips, then back up to your eyes, dark and searching. “I’d kiss you back.”

The words hang between you, heavy and electric.

Neither of you moves for a heartbeat.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Kenma shifts, closing the space just a little more.

But before anything else can happen, the soft chime of a notification breaks the spell.

Both of you jump, the moment broken but not forgotten.

Kenma glances at his phone, then back at you, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Looks like the game isn’t quite over.”

You grin, heart still racing. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

The glow from the candles casts flickering shadows around the room as the game’s playful tension shifts into something far heavier. Neither of you speaks for a long moment, the silence wrapping you both like a warm, electric current.

Kenma’s gaze lingers on your lips, then flicks up to meet your eyes—searching, hesitant, but undeniably drawn.

You inch closer, breath mingling, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. His hand finds yours again, this time holding on—not tentative, but sure.

The space between you collapses.

Then, slow and deliberate, his lips brush against yours.

It’s light at first—an exploration, a question.

You respond, tipping your head, deepening the kiss.

His hands move from your fingers to your waist, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough of the feeling.

Your hands thread through his hair, fingers tangling gently, careful not to rush what’s blossoming between you.

The kiss grows hungrier, more urgent, the careful teasing turning into something raw and real.

You feel the heat spreading, your body awakening under his touch—the way he cups your face, the gentle but firm pressure of his hands on your back.

When you finally break apart, breaths heavy and hearts racing, Kenma’s eyes stay locked on yours, searching.

He swallows, then murmurs softly, voice almost a whisper, “If you want… we don’t have to stop.”

His words aren’t flashy or bold, but they carry all the weight you need. The invitation is there—quiet, hesitant, honest.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Without another word, he reaches out again, hands gentle but sure, pulling you closer into the warmth of the moment.

The moment lingers between you like the last flicker of a candle flame—warm, fragile, charged. Kenma’s quiet invitation hangs in the air, and you can’t help but smile, feeling bold and nervous all at once.

“Alright,” you say, settling back against the couch, “how about one more game? Something… a little different.”

Kenma quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say no. “What did you have in mind?”

You think for a moment, then grin. “Let’s play something like truth or dare, but with a catch: every time someone refuses a dare or dodges a truth, they have to… remove an article of clothing.”

Kenma’s eyes flicker, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “A dangerous game.”

“Only if you want it to be,” you tease, letting your fingers brush lightly over his knee.

He shifts slightly, the contact sending a small pulse through your nerves. “You start.”

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

You lean in just enough to catch the scent of him—something faintly woodsy, familiar, comforting. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone about… me?”

Kenma’s gaze darkens just a bit, and he looks away for a moment, fiddling with the hem of his shirt before answering quietly. “That I watch you when you think no one is looking.”

Your breath catches.

You give him a slow, deliberate smile. “Alright, your turn.”

He considers, then says, “Dare.”

You bite your lip, heart racing. “I dare you to touch me.”

There’s a brief flicker of hesitation, then his hand moves slowly—just a ghost of a touch along your arm, tracing a delicate line that makes your skin tingle.

You shiver slightly but keep your expression neutral, making him lean in just a little more the next time, his fingers brushing lower.

The game stretches on, each round a deliciously slow peeling back of layers—both clothing and walls.

You dare him to whisper something you’d only hear in the dark.

He challenges you to tell a secret you’ve never shared.

You both dodge and comply, laughter mingling with gasps and the soft scrape of fabric sliding away.

Every glance, every touch is a conversation without words—a silent question and answer charged with meaning.

When he dares you to trace the outline of his collarbone with your fingertips, your hands tremble just enough for him to notice.

His voice drops a notch. “You’re more dangerous than I thought.”

You smile, the room suddenly smaller, the night far from over.

Kenma’s hoodie lies forgotten between the two of you. Your own shirt is tugged over one shoulder, exposing skin, but not enough to fluster you—yet. The game has slowed down now, cards scattered, your mutual competitiveness replaced by something quieter, weightier.

There’s a silence hanging over the two of you that isn't uncomfortable—just charged. You’re both watching each other a little too carefully. You shift, tug your knees up, and glance at him, catching the way his eyes flick down to your collarbone and back up again, fast—like he didn’t mean to look but couldn’t stop himself.

“So…” you start, voice lighter than you feel, “is this still just a game?”

Kenma looks at you for a long second before answering. “It was,” he murmurs, fingers curling into the fabric of the pillow in his lap. “I think it stopped being that when you laughed so hard you almost cried.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone.

“Or maybe when you figured out it was me,” he adds, quieter.

You both fall silent again. This time, the space feels different. His gaze lingers. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you—like he’s seeing you completely for the first time, like he wants to touch but won’t unless you say so.

He shifts again, just slightly closer, the faint smell of his shampoo—something clean and subtle—floating in the still air.

His voice cuts through the quiet, soft but grounding: “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

Your breath catches, and god, the way he says it—like he’s asking permission to feel something, like he’s nervous he read this wrong. There’s no pressure behind it. Just curiosity. Want.

You hesitate, not because you don’t want it, but because you do. So much more than you should. You tilt your head, eyes soft but searching. “What if I say yes?”

His mouth twitches in the smallest smile. “Then I will.”

You nod once, slowly. “Then yes.”

Kenma leans in—gentle, unrushed. He kisses you like it’s the second time, like he’s still memorizing the shape of your mouth. This kiss is deeper, longer. It lingers. It drags out like time’s paused just for the two of you. His hand comes up to your jaw, hesitant at first, but you lean into the touch and that’s enough for him to hold you closer.

You shift in place until your knees touch, and the kiss deepens again, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt instead—holding onto something, anything, to ground yourself. It’s warm and slow and burning beneath the surface. You can feel the way he’s holding back—every part of him still careful.

When you finally pull away, it’s not far. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to see the look in his eyes, his lips slightly swollen, breath uneven.

He doesn't say anything right away, and neither do you. The air is still buzzing between your mouths.

Then you smirk lightly and say, “I thought you were bad at flirting.”

“I am,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb under your lip. “But I’m good at wanting you.”

Your stomach flips at that—equal parts heat and vulnerability.

“Should we…” You glance down at the forgotten cards, at your state of half-undress. “Keep playing?”

Kenma raises a brow. “You mean, keep losing?”

You scoff, smacking his arm lightly. “I let you win.”

“You absolutely didn’t.”

You grin, reaching over for the blanket to pull it over both of your laps, now tucked in close. The tension’s still there, thick and steady, but it simmers under a new layer of comfort. Warmth. Anticipation.

You know this isn’t over. You’re not done. Not with the game, not with him, not with tonight.

And neither is he.

You’re still curled up close, knees brushing and shoulders leaning, but now there’s a noticeable shift in the air. Not just the tension — that’s been simmering for hours — but the way he looks at you. Like he’s taking mental snapshots of every breath you take.

His fingers ghost along your arm again, this time slower. Lazier. You know he’s doing it on purpose, letting his nails barely graze your skin like he’s tracing an invisible line only he can see.

“You’re staring,” you whisper, lips just barely curved into a smile.

Kenma’s eyes flicker from your mouth back to your eyes, like he’s deciding whether to respond or just keep watching you. Eventually, he leans forward again, brushing his nose against your cheek in something that feels more like a touch than a kiss.

“I like looking at you,” he murmurs. “Especially when you’re trying not to squirm.”

It’s stupid how fast your pulse jumps.

You tilt your head a bit, feigning innocence. “I’m not squirming.”

He lets out a soft laugh and presses his palm against your thigh. Not roughly, not to push — just to rest there, warm and grounding. His thumb strokes in absent circles.

“That’s because I haven’t done anything yet.”

You want to reply with something clever, but your breath catches instead. He’s so slow with you it almost hurts, like he’s making a game out of waiting. Like drawing this out is his version of winning.

His lips brush against yours again — not quite a kiss, more like a promise. “Can I kiss you again?”

You nod.

This time, it’s deeper. Slower. Your mouths move together in a rhythm that makes it hard to think, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hip, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt just slightly. His touch never pushes. He only gives you space to move into him, to invite him in.

When you shift closer, legs tangled and bodies flush, he lets out a quiet sound that vibrates right through you — almost a sigh, like this is everything he wanted and more.

And then he pulls back again. Not far. Just enough to make you chase after the kiss.

“Kenma—”

His hands slide to your waist, gripping you gently, coaxing you back onto his lap like it's nothing. Like this is just how he holds people. Like the weight of you on him is something he’s wanted all night.

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he says lowly, voice almost teasing, almost reverent.

You roll your hips slightly without thinking, and that’s the first time his control seems to falter — his breath stutters, and his hands squeeze at your hips.

“I thought you liked taking your time,” you whisper.

“I do,” he answers, voice low and a little rough now. “But you make it hard.”

His hands slide under your shirt now, all the way up your spine, like he’s mapping out each vertebrae. Every inch of him still moves with unhurried patience, but the way his eyes look at you says otherwise.

You press your lips to his again, messier this time. More desperate. And he lets you take it — lets you set the pace for a few moments before his fingers tangle in your hair and he’s kissing you back like he wants to memorize every sound you make.

When you finally break away to breathe, you rest your forehead against his. “Should we go to your room?”

Kenma tilts his head slightly. “If we go now,” he murmurs, “I’m going to take forever with you.”

You shiver.

And god, you want that.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Kenma stands up slowly, his hands still on your waist, guiding you with him. There’s something strangely tender about it — like he’s not leading you to bed for sex but for something more sacred. Or maybe it just feels that way because it’s him.

You follow him wordlessly down the short hallway to his room. You’ve seen it before, obviously — passed by it when you did laundry, or when he left his door half-open while streaming — but it feels different now. Warmer. Darker. Lit only by the candles you’d carried here from the living room.

He sits down at the edge of the bed, legs spread slightly, then looks up at you like he’s waiting.

So you climb onto his lap.

You expect him to kiss you immediately, to devour you now that you're finally alone in his room — but no. Of course not. This is Kenma. He lets his hands wander first, fingers dragging up under your shirt again, across your ribs, over the soft skin just below your bra. He’s touching you like he’s committing it to memory. Like if he doesn’t take his time, he’ll miss something important.

“Lift your arms,” he murmurs.

You do, and he peels your shirt off slowly, eyes following every inch of newly revealed skin like it’s some secret he’s finally allowed to see.

“I knew you’d look like this,” he whispers, almost to himself.

You don’t know what to say to that — but it doesn’t matter, because he’s kissing you again, soft and slow, like he’s got all the time in the world. His hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing gently, pulling you in closer so you’re seated fully against the hardness straining under his sweats. The friction pulls a soft sound from you, and he responds by rolling his hips once, deliberately.

You both shudder.

His mouth moves lower, grazing along your jaw, your neck, right down to your collarbone. When he licks a stripe there — slow, warm — you arch into him instinctively. He hums, satisfied, and does it again.

You reach for the hem of his shirt now, impatient, and he lets you pull it over his head. His body is lean and pale, just like you imagined — soft stomach, sharp collarbones, the golden tips of his hair brushing over his bare shoulders.

You run your hands over his chest, letting your fingers linger at his waist, and he gives you a breathy little laugh.

“You’re more confident than I thought you’d be,” he mutters.

“You’re even quieter than I thought you’d be,” you counter, but your voice is already husky, your body already rocking against him without meaning to.

He smirks — just barely — and leans in again. His mouth on yours is slower now, more open, his tongue teasing until you're practically trembling with want. One of his hands slips between your legs, pressing softly where you need him most — not enough to satisfy, just enough to pull another needy sound out of you.

“Please,” you whisper against his mouth.

Kenma chuckles, and it’s low, throaty, unbearably smug. “Already?”

He dips his fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts but doesn’t go further. Just strokes you over your underwear with that same lazy rhythm that’s quickly driving you insane.

“You’re really gonna make me beg for it, huh?”

His fingers pause.

Then: “Yeah.”

You groan, and he finally slips his hand under the last layer. His touch is soft — slow circles, featherlight pressure, making you grind helplessly into his palm.

“I want to take my time,” he says, watching your face like it’s the most important part of this. “You okay with that?”

You nod. “Yes. Just… don’t stop.”

He smiles — a real one this time, soft and rare — and presses a kiss just beneath your ear.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You barely hear the shift of the sheets as Kenma leans you back, easing you gently onto the mattress. He moves with that same dreamy deliberation — not because he’s unsure, but because he wants to feel every moment stretch.

His hand stays between your legs the entire time, slow and certain, fingers curling just enough to make you whimper when he finally slips one inside. You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling, head tilting back against the pillow — and he’s watching you again. Always watching.

“I like the way you sound,” he murmurs, voice low and honest.

You reach up blindly, fisting your hands into his hair, and he kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then right beneath your ear again — slow, like he knows exactly what it does to you.

“You’re so—” You try to say something, anything, but all you manage is a sigh as his second finger joins the first, coaxing you open with such care it almost hurts.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

You could cry. The way he touches you is reverent — not timid, not rushed. Just steady. Focused. Devastating. His thumb strokes you softly, dragging you closer with every breath, and he doesn’t stop — not even when your hips start stuttering, not even when you’re gasping his name.

“I’ve thought about this,” he confesses suddenly, voice quieter than ever. “So many times.”

You whine into his shoulder, flushed and shaking. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps moving inside you, achingly slow, until you’re clutching at his arm, your legs trembling.

“Because I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he finally says. “I liked talking to you. Playing with you. I didn’t want you to think I was—just trying to get this.”

You tilt your head toward him, eyes glassy, skin flushed. “Kenma…”

“I just wanted to know what it felt like to… kiss you again. Touch you.” His thumb moves again, firmer this time. “Make you feel good.”

You cry out softly, the pressure peaking in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter.

“And you do,” you breathe. “You really do.”

His forehead presses to yours, and you feel his breath hitch as your thighs tremble around him. The moment hits hard, deep — and he stays with you through it, fingers still moving, thumb guiding you through the waves until you’re breathless and blinking up at him like he’s something holy.

You expect him to stop.

He doesn’t.

He shifts only long enough to tug your shorts off, sliding them slowly down your legs like he’s unwrapping something he’s wanted forever. Then he reaches for the waistband of his own sweats, eyes flicking to yours like he’s asking permission — not because he’s unsure, but because he cares.

You nod, already pulling him back toward you. He kisses you again, slower now. Deeper. Like he’s trying to say everything without words.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks softly.

You wrap your legs around his waist in answer.

Kenma exhales through his nose, almost like he’s relieved. And when he finally pushes into you, it’s with a quiet, ragged breath that sends a full-body shiver through you both.

He’s warm, steady, intense — like everything about him has narrowed down to just this. You. The weight of his body. The way he holds you, kisses you, buries his face against your neck and whispers your name like it’s a secret he’s finally allowed to say out loud.

And still, even now, he doesn’t rush.

He rolls his hips with that same quiet patience, dragging it out, watching your face every time you whimper. His thumb brushes your cheek. His nose nudges against yours. He’s inside you like he’s still trying to memorize it all.

“Can I… kiss you again?” he whispers, almost shy now.

You pull him in wordlessly.

The kiss is longer this time. Lingering. He moans softly into your mouth as you move together — a sound so rare, so raw, that it sends another shiver down your spine.

You don’t remember how long it goes on like that — soft thrusts, shaky moans, bodies tangled in the candlelight. But eventually, you feel him tremble above you, forehead pressed to yours again, breath caught in his throat.

And then he’s whispering your name again — broken, beautiful — and you’re both falling together in the softest, warmest kind of silence.

Kenma pulls back just enough to let his lips brush against your skin, slow and tentative, like he’s afraid to shatter the fragile moment between you. His hands cup your face gently, thumbs tracing the curve of your cheekbones, anchoring himself to you. For a heartbeat, all you hear is the quiet rush of your breathing mingling.

Then, almost like a quiet confession, he lowers his head again — this time moving with a new purpose. His mouth finds your collarbone, then dips lower, lips and tongue teasing the soft skin of your ribs, tracing lazy, featherlight patterns that send shivers rippling down your spine.

You gasp softly, and your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him closer without hesitation. His hands slide down your sides, moving with a deliberate, possessive care that sets your skin on fire.

Kenma’s mouth trails lower still, finally settling between your thighs with a tenderness that makes your breath catch — and then, with a slow, careful hunger that’s almost desperate, he parts your legs wider.

His tongue flicks out, gentle at first, exploring, tasting — but beneath that softness, there’s an intensity, like he’s determined to memorize every reaction, every shiver, every little gasp.

You arch into him, breath hitching as his tongue moves with growing confidence, circling and teasing, flicking and licking in patterns designed only to please. His hands hold you steady, fingers digging into your hips, grounding you even as your body floats higher.

He takes his time, savoring every inch of you like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have — a slow, reverent worship that leaves you trembling. You can feel the tension coil tighter inside you, a knot of pleasure and need that builds and builds.

Kenma’s breath fans over your skin, ragged and warm, as he hums softly against you — a quiet, almost primal sound that sends waves of heat crashing through your body. He’s not just giving himself to you; he’s giving all of himself, every quiet, nervous fragment of desire.

His tongue strokes and flicks with such care it’s almost unbearable, and you find yourself losing track of time, lost in the pure, raw sensation of being wanted — really wanted, by someone who’s both shy and utterly devoted.

When you finally reach your peak, it crashes over you like a storm — fierce and overwhelming — and Kenma holds you through it, lips pressed to your skin, grounding you with his steady presence.

He lifts his head slowly, eyes dark and serious, breath still uneven.

“I want you to know,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, “I’ll do this — all of this — as many times as you want. As long as you want. Because you’re worth it.”

You smile, your fingers curling against his cheek, and in the quiet candlelight, it feels like the beginning of something infinite.

Your body still trembles under him, heart pounding like a wild thing as waves of pleasure slowly ebb away. But even as you start to catch your breath, you feel the ache deep inside you — that fierce, aching need for more.

You look up at Kenma, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “Then… please,” you whisper, voice shaky but desperate, “do it again.”

He catches your gaze, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something almost shy, almost unsure, before his lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “You’re… insatiable,” he murmurs, voice low and husky, like it’s both a question and a challenge.

You can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes you, fingers tangling in his hair as you urge him closer. “I don’t care. I want more. I don’t want to stop yet.”

Kenma’s eyes darken with quiet amusement — and something softer, something almost like admiration — but just when you think he’s going to dive back in, he pulls away, slow and deliberate.

Your breath hitches, heart stuttering in sudden panic. “Hey,” you protest, voice cracking, “don’t stop. Please.”

But he just chuckles, a low, teasing sound that sends heat flooding through you all over again. “Patience,” he says quietly, voice like velvet, “there’s a lot more to this than just rushing.”

His fingers trail lightly over your skin, barely touching, leaving a trail of fire where they pass. His eyes never leave yours, and the slow burn of his gaze makes your skin flush hotter than before.

You babble without thinking, words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “I’m sorry, I’m probably being annoying, I just—this feels so good, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like this before, and you’re… you’re so good at this, I don’t even know how you do it, it’s like you know exactly what I need before I even say it.”

Kenma’s lips twitch in a small, shy smile. “You’re not annoying,” he says quietly. “I like hearing it. I like knowing you’re… paying attention.”

He leans in again, brushing his lips just against your ear. “But if I keep going too fast, you’ll miss all the best parts.”

You shiver, both from his breath and from the slow, teasing way he’s dragging this out. The ache inside you grows — sweet, desperate, delicious.

Kenma’s hands settle firm and sure on your hips again. “Ready?” he asks softly, voice low and full of promise.

You nod, barely able to speak, heart racing. “Yes. Please.”

He slides down with slow, teasing movements, lips finding your skin again, slower and more deliberate this time — like a painter tracing the finest details, making sure every touch counts.

And when he finally lowers his mouth to you again, it’s with the quiet hunger of someone who wants to remember this moment forever — every shiver, every sigh, every whispered name.

You lose yourself completely, riding the slow, delicious wave he builds with patient, tender care — and even as your body trembles toward the edge, you know he’s right: the best parts are still to come.

Just when the tension coils tight and you feel yourself about to shatter, Kenma pulls back, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes meet yours, dark and shimmering with something almost vulnerable.

“Not yet,” he whispers, voice low, almost hesitant. “Can I… again? I want to feel you like that once more.”

Your heart races, a breathless ‘yes’ caught between your lips, even though your body already aches from the pleasure. You barely have the strength to speak, but the words tumble out anyway, desperate and raw.

“Please… do it again.”

Your heart pounds beneath your ribs, a wild, aching rhythm that matches his own. Your breath catches as he leans in, pressing himself against you once more. Slowly, impossibly slow, he slides inside, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch, savoring every inch as if memorizing you again.

A soft curse slips from his lips—a rough, almost surprised sound—and your fingers instinctively tighten around his arms. His hand trails upward, hesitant at first, then more certain, cupping your breast with a gentle but possessive grip. His thumb circles your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding himself together. He moves with a slow, steady rhythm, each motion careful, almost reverent, like he’s trying to burn this moment into memory.

You lean into him, matching his pace, your breaths mingling in the quiet room. The way he touches you, the soft curses he mutters when you respond just right—it’s everything you didn’t know you needed.

You gasp as he fills you again, every movement measured, tender but demanding.

He leans down to kiss you again—soft, slow, lingering—and your hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs against your lips. “Not until you’re mine.”

Your body tightens around him, breath catching as pleasure builds once more, slow and overwhelming.

When you finally come undone again, it’s with him deep inside you, holding you steady—both of you lost in the quiet, messy, beautiful moment.

“You’re killing me,” you murmur, your voice rough and breathless. “Mind if I try something?”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you reach out, hands shaking just a little with anticipation. Slowly, you take him into your mouth, careful and tender at first, your tongue tracing delicate circles, exploring with a gentle pressure that makes him shiver.

Kenma’s eyes flutter shut, a low, surprised sound escaping him. His breath hitching, fingers curling into your hair, stroking softly as he watches you with quiet disbelief.

“Fuck... you’re... so good,” he murmurs between shallow breaths, voice thick with awe. “I didn’t think anyone could… God, you’re amazing.”

You hum around him, encouraged by his praise, your movements growing more confident, more sure. You take him deeper, swirling your tongue expertly, matching the rhythm of his quiet moans. His hips shift slightly, pressing closer, seeking more.

“Keep going,” he whispers, voice trembling, fingers tightening in your hair as if holding on to you is the only thing grounding him.

With every flick, every glide, you feel the tension build—not just in him, but inside yourself. You can tell he’s close, his body tightening, breath shallow and fast.

And then, with a soft curse and a ragged groan, Kenma lets go, shuddering against you as he spills over, his pleasure washing through you like fire.

He stays still for a moment afterward, chest rising and falling, eyes warm and shining as they find yours.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says quietly, voice thick with gratitude and something deeper. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you could do that.”

The quiet hum of the city outside filters in through the window as you both lie tangled beneath the blankets, limbs entwined and skin still tingling from everything that just happened. Kenma’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, his touch feather-light, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile spell hanging between you.

You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and for the first time, words begin to surface—awkward and uncertain but necessary.

“So,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “what the fuck was that?”

Kenma exhales, a soft chuckle rumbling in his throat. “I don’t know,” he admits, fingers tightening just slightly on your skin. “I guess… that was a long time coming.”

You lift your head to look at him, catching the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah. I mean, I never thought this—us—would happen like this.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, voice low and honest. “Me neither. But… I’m glad it did.”

There’s a pause, the weight of all the things left unsaid hanging between you. Then you speak, fumbling but real. “Do you think… this changes things? Between us?”

Kenma’s gaze holds yours, steady and sure. “It changes everything,” he says quietly, “but not in a way that scares me. In a way I want to explore. Slowly.”

You smile, heart fluttering, the nervous excitement mingling with a deep sense of relief. “Slow sounds good,” you say. “Because honestly? I’m still trying to figure out what the hell just happened too.”

He laughs softly, the sound like a warm blanket wrapping around you. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

And with that, you both settle back into the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, letting the night stretch on around you—soft, honest, and full of the unspoken promise of what’s to come.

The sun creeps in slowly, casting a soft golden hue across the room. It’s quiet, except for the distant sound of birds and the occasional honk of early traffic. You wake up disoriented, warm, sore in a way that makes your breath catch, and completely enveloped in Kenma’s arms.

His breathing is even, still asleep, lashes resting delicately against his cheeks. He looks peaceful like this. Soft. You take a moment to just look at him, heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with nerves anymore.

And then, like he senses you watching him, his eyes flutter open. Still hazy with sleep, he blinks a few times before offering you the smallest, laziest smile.

“…Hey,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and warm.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Morning.”

For a beat, neither of you moves. And then—almost cautiously—Kenma brushes a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering against your skin.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice a little more serious now.

You nod. “Yeah… just processing.”

He chuckles softly. “Same.”

The silence stretches again, but it isn’t uncomfortable. There’s so much you could say. So much that still feels raw, unspoken.

“I thought this would be weird,” you admit. “I thought I’d wake up regretting it or feeling awkward or like I ruined something.”

Kenma props himself up on one elbow, his hair messy and falling into his eyes. “Do you?” he asks, voice quiet but steady.

You shake your head. “No. Not even close.”

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding. “Good. Because… I don’t either. I actually—” he pauses, searching for the words. “I liked it. All of it. But not just the sex part. Like... being with you.”

You press your forehead against his shoulder, hiding the stupid smile you can’t stop. “I liked it too. A lot.”

Kenma’s fingers start tracing slow circles on your back. “So… what now?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… was this a one-time thing? Or is this something?” His tone doesn’t change much, but you can hear it — the quiet vulnerability tucked beneath the calm. The nervous hope.

You look up, meet his eyes. “I don’t think I want it to be a one-time thing.”

A small, slow smile spreads on his lips. “Me neither.”

And just like that, something shifts — not dramatic, not explosive. Just… real. You curl back into his side, his arm around you, your fingers gently tracing along his ribs. There’s still so much to figure out, but for now, you’re warm, and you’re held, and he’s here.

“Do you think we should talk about this more later?” you murmur sleepily.

“Definitely,” he replies. “But first… maybe we sleep a bit more.”

You laugh softly, eyes already fluttering shut. “Sounds like a plan.”

And in the still morning light, with your heart a little steadier and your body sore in all the right ways, you let yourself rest. Safe. Wanted. Beginning something real.

It’s well past morning when you wake again.

The light is soft and golden, warmer now as it slips through the blinds and pools over the tangled sheets. The room smells like sleep and skin and something sacred. You’re cocooned in a nest of blankets, half buried in warmth — and him.

Kenma is curled beside you, face buried half in the pillow, half in your shoulder, mouth slightly parted, one arm heavy across your waist like he forgot to let go in his sleep. You don’t dare move.

You just watch him for a while, soaking in the details: the way his lashes cast delicate shadows over his cheeks, the faint imprint of the pillow on his skin, the smallest hint of a frown that softens when you brush your thumb along his temple.

Your heart is so full it aches.

You think about the night before — the way he held you, touched you, looked at you like there was no one else in the world. How slowly he moved, how quiet and intense he was, how careful. How absolutely undone he made you feel.

It wasn’t just sex. You both know that now.

Eventually, he stirs, blinking slowly like waking up takes real effort. His eyes find you, and he hums a low, content sound, pressing closer.

“Still here,” he murmurs.

You smile, brushing hair out of his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiles back, sleep-soft and honest. “Good.”

The morning passes in whispers and soft touches, moving only when necessary. At some point, you drag yourselves to the kitchen to eat toast half-naked and laugh quietly about nothing. You don’t talk about what it means — not yet. But the silence is different now. It’s not hiding anymore. It’s comfort.

Later in the afternoon, Kenma moves to his desk and stretches lazily, turning on his PC. You’re still draped in one of his hoodies and a pair of sleep shorts, sipping tea on his bed.

He starts to stream without much fanfare, his voice low and a little raspy as he greets chat. For a while, it’s just game sounds and his familiar quiet commentary.

Then he turns slightly, eyes flicking toward you. “Come here a sec.”

You blink. “Me?”

He nods once. “Just for a second.”

You walk over, curious, and he tugs you gently into frame — not fully, just enough that chat can see your shoulder, a glimpse of your face, his hand resting lightly on your hip.

“Chat’s been asking why I sound so smug today,” he says lazily.

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Maybe because you’re annoying?”

He grins, barely suppressing it, eyes flicking back to the screen. The chat explodes in emojis and chaotic comments, but he doesn’t care. He just leans his head briefly against your arm like it’s nothing.

“You’re cute on stream,” you murmur to him quietly.

He shrugs, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Only because you’re watching.”

authors note: yaay omg!!! I really hope ya`ll liked reading this :) I haven't really written anything in months, so excuse me if this is a bit all over the place. Also, English is not my first language, so bear with me 😭 btw requests are open just in case anyone is wondering, I am up to pretty much anything <3

[its-weeping]

𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐃𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘. | miya atsumu ˊˎ

｡⋆ .✧˚ synopsis. little boyfriend atsumu is drunk and in love.

cw. kinda suggestive, pet names (baby), fem!reader

notes. men who r clingy and all cute for their partner when they're drunk have my heart 🫶

"baby," atsumu whines, breath reeking of alcohol.

you roll your eyes in reply and refocus your attention on carrying both your weights into your shared apartment, stumbling and scrambling to reach the bedroom so you could free yourself of the parasite that is your boyfriend.

finally feeling the mattress against your back pulls a sigh out of you. but then the bed shifts, and your moment of relaxation is cut short as you realize atsumu was still wide awake.

curse osamu for calling you over to onigiri miya in the middle of the night, and curse him for not taking responsibility for his drunk brother and dumping atsumu onto you when you could've been soundly sleeping by now.

"damn you, osamu." you grumble, taking a peek at your boyfriend. he's already staring back with a slumped smirk, grip failing as he attempts closer contact.

"ya know, yer s'pretty," atsumu slurs, "mmh..soo beautiful."

you cock a brow at this, "am i now?"

"mhmm, mos'gorgeous girl 've ever seen." he coos like you're a child. you're unimpressed, evidently, but then atsumu gathers your cheeks in his hands and leans in and suddenly your poker face crumbles.

"m'wanna kiss ya baby," he whispers much too close to your lips, "can i?"

"you smell strongly of alcohol." you try to reason.

"so what?" he argues, eyes pleading desperately.

you hum, as if thinking his words over, "right.. maybe just one."

atsumu perks up and abruptly attaches his lips on yours. you settle into the kiss quickly, melting in his arms as your boyfriend manages to heave noises from you.

for someone who was hammered, atsumu still possessed so much of his strength, you think.

you're pulling away first, leaving your boyfriend pouting and wanting more. he's gently clawing at your waist and pressing his body flush against yours, needy. you call his name out, voice low in warning.

"'tsumu.."

"aw, c'mon baby jus' one more, hm? please?" he drags the last word out and you're barely able to keep yourself from giving in.

"maybe in the morning, 'tsumu, when you're not drunk."

atsumu huffs out a breath, "oh fine, wh'teva." yet doesn't do anything to protest, only snuggling up to you.

you smile at his childishness, "well– i guess in return for your patience, you can have more than just a kiss."

atsumu seems to brighten up at this and he nods his head against your chest, "deal!"

you're next to grinning at this point, god your boyfriend could be such a child.

product of its-weeping ;༊ | do not plagiarize or translate.