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meowdarame · 3 years ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

series masterlist | next chapter

pairing: fwb!hajime iwaizumi x f!reader (afab!reader, she/her pronouns)

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 (𝟐𝟏). 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚, 𝐈𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞. You pique the interest of the handsome stranger at your college gym, but little does he know about your troubled past. Ever patient and ever kind, Hajime helps you pick up the broken pieces of your shattered heart, but more questions arise about the nature of your “relationship” as it blossoms— what is he to you? Is he a friend who you can call for a good time, or something more?

word count: 6.4k

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI. angst/very little to no comfort (for this chapter only). heavy, distressing, and dark content. reader discretion extremely advised. themes of SA/noncon (mentions, none during the duration of the story), PTSD, hyper-sexuality and self-blaming as a trauma response. reader tugs on their own hair as a coping mechanism. reader attends a counseling/therapy session. mentions of STD/STI testing (in the past), and mentions of food, alcohol, and exercise. some suggestive content. (please let me know if there’s anything i missed that could potentially be triggering!)

notes: 1st chapter for my iwa series. this chapter is really personal to me and mirrors my own experiences, so please be gentle with it (and me!) special thanks to @christeningsakusa for beta-reading <3

“So, see you again next week?”

While sliding your underwear over your thighs, you turn around to face the man you had just hooked up with. His dirty blonde hair is matted to his forehead and a thin sheen of sweat glistens on his skin; his chest rises and falls slightly as he tries to steady his breath. The purple LED lights in his room illuminate his face, and he stares at you with cocked eyebrows and a smug grin plastered on his face.

You shrug and nonchalantly reply, “Depends on my schedule.” As you hastily throw on your shirt and jeans, he hops out of bed and tugs his boxers back on. You make your way over to the door and kneel down to put on your shoes. While you tie them, his figure looms over you, waiting for you to finish.

“So, uh-- bye!” you say as you rise off the carpeted floor, forcing a smile and a gentle wave.

“Bye!” he starts, and he extends both of his arms to initiate a hug.

Not this fucking shit again, you sigh to yourself.

Reluctantly, you let him wrap his arms around you as yours limp awkwardly at his sides. While still holding you, he whispers in your ear.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.”

Oh, shut up.

You pull away and exit his apartment before you could catch a glimpse of his face again. You take hurried steps down his complex’s stairwell, and once you pass through the front doors of his building, your face is blasted with the hot California September air. You look up at the night sky, and where there should be stars, your eyes are met with a vast expanse of empty darkness.

Light pollution is no joke, huh? You chuckle to yourself.

And thus your ritual of regretting every decision you’ve made so far begins during your “walk of shame” back to your apartment.

I knew it was gonna be a waste of time, you sigh. ‘I had a lot of fun tonight’ headass. Of course you did! I did all the work and you just sat back and did absolutely nothing.

A group of skateboarders zoom towards you, and you move to the side to let them pass. As they whir by, their joyous laughter fills your ears.

It’s always fucking like this though— it’s almost formulaiac. I come over, we make small talk for like two minutes until he puts his hand on my inner thigh, and then we fuck. He cums in five to seven minutes TOPS, and then I quickly get changed before he kicks me out.

You open the doors of your apartment building and hear loud chattering in the lobby. There’s a group of drunk girls who most likely just got back from a frat party. Behind them are their male counterparts, and you can barely make out the Greek letters on their shirts before they all hop into the elevator. You turn to your left to head up the stairs.

Or maybe I leave before my shame can settle in.

Your steps echo through the empty stairwell, the clicking of your shoes ringing up and down the barren walls.

I know this isn’t good for me, and I know this isn’t the best way to cope, but I can’t stop.

You arrive at your floor and navigate through your building’s twisty hallways, coming to a stop in front of your door. You quickly pull your keys out of your pocket and shove them into the keyhole, rattling them a few times.

This damn key always gets stuck at the most inconvenient of times. Just let me get inside.

Suddenly, you hear a familiar voice in the distance, and your stomach drops. You fiddle with your keys even faster, heart rate increasing as the voice draws closer and closer. Finally, your doorknob turns and you swing your door open and immediately shut it, right before the person turns around the corner of your hallway.

Your hand flies to cover your mouth to silence your panting as you check through your peephole. Shutting one eye and aligning the other with the little window, you stealthily watch a couple pass by— a man with shaggy, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair has his arm wrapped around a girl who’s slurring her words and stumbling, clearly more than a few shots in. Your breath hitches when they stop right outside of your door.

Tears start to brim your eyes as he pulls out his phone. You watch as he turns to the girl— his supposed ‘conquest’ for the night— and whispers something to her. You press your ear against the thick wood of your door to hear them more clearly.

“My roommate said we can have the room all to ourselves! We’re good to go,” he says to her in a honeyed tone. She laughs as he presses a soft kiss to her temple and they continue walking past your door.

When their voices fade out, you turn around and hold your back flush against the door. Sliding down it, your skin drags along the cool wood. Once your bottom hits the ground, you pull your thighs to your chest and bury your face in between your knees. Hot tears trickle down your legs as you sob, and your dark apartment is filled with sounds of your hics and uneven breathing. A panic starts to swell in your stomach, and you grab at the nearest thing to try to steady yourself. Tangling your fingers into your hair, you tug slightly to try to relieve some of the tension that you feel in your gut, but nothing’s working. That’s when you pull out your phone and decide to phone a friend.

The call rings a few times before your ears are graced with a comforting voice. It’s your friend’s— her voice is raspy and soft as if she had just woken up, but it immediately becomes more alert when she hears you sniffling on the other end of the line.

“What’s wrong, dear? Did something happen?” she asks you, her voice dripping with concern. You hear shuffling in the background as she pulls away her covers to sit upright.

“I saw him right now. He lives in my building,” you manage to croak out. You’re trying your best to stabilize your voice, but your vocal chords are working against you; it feels like the pit in your stomach has slowly made its way up to your throat and is now choking you, depriving you of precious air.

You hear your friend gasp and immediately collect herself. “Is this your first time seeing him since… y’know?”

A weak “mhmm” is all you manage to get out, and now the pit is sitting on your tongue like a crushing weight, making it hard for you to speak. Your anxiety manifests as nausea, and you slowly start crawling your way over to the trash can in the corner of your kitchen. You collect your hair with one hand while the other presses your phone against your ear.

“Do you want me to come over and spend the night?” your friend asks softly. Even though she’s always so busy— classes, work, personal life, etcetera— she never fails to make time for you whenever you need help. She’s been there for you since your first year at UCI, and she was one of the few people to help you through the aftermath of the incident.

“No, I’m okay,” you murmur. You don’t know how you’ll ever repay her for her kindness, or if you even deserve her kindness, but you’re more than grateful that she’s there.

“Are you sure?” she replies, her voice ladled with even more concern than before. You know she doesn’t believe you, so you do your best to muster up all the strength you could gather to give a more confident response.

“Yes, I’m positive,” you say back, and even you are impressed by the reassuring tone that rolls off of your tongue. You hear your friend sigh on the other end, before bidding you farewell.

“Okay, I believe you. And don’t forget your counseling session tomorrow morning at the student health center. Make sure you don’t miss it and set several alarms so you wake up on time, okay?”

You thank her for the reminder and for calming you down before you hang up. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you pick yourself up from your floor and trudge over to your bathroom. When you turn your light on, you’re greeted with a horrific sight— your disheveled face post-anxiety attack.

Your nose is runny and mascara is smeared under your eyes and across your cheek. Drool pools out of the corners of your lips, and your whole face feels hot from the rush of blood to your head. You turn on your sink and let the water run for a few seconds, waiting for it to get warm.

Your fingers test the rushing water, and once it hits the ideal temperature, you lower your face to the sink and splash water all over your face. With closed eyes, you feel all around your counter for your bottle of face cleanser and press onto the pump, letting a few spurts of the soap spray onto your open palm. Your other hand turns off your sink and you wash your face, making sure to scrub underneath your eyes to remove the mascara stains before rinsing off the soapy bubbles and drying your face

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you drink in the new image before you. Now, your reflection is back to normal— well almost. The only evidence of your previous crying fit are your puffy and bloodshot eyes, but you figure that a good night’s rest will be enough to get rid of that.

You’re okay, you try to reassure yourself. You’ll be okay.

You let out a long sigh as you shut off your bathroom light and enter your bedroom; the twinkling lights draping down one of the walls of the room casts a soft light on everywhere it can reach. You grab a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt from your drawers and change out of your dirty clothes, tossing them into the hamper underneath your bed.

Once you crawl onto your mattress and pull your covers over you, you stare at the ceiling. Despite how many times you try, you can’t get the image of the man outside of your door out of your head— it’s branded on the frontal lobe of your brain. No matter how many times you try to forget, no matter how many bottles of cheap beer you guzzle to forget the acrid taste of his lips, no matter how many men you lie under to forget his shit-eating grin— you just can’t seem to do it.

A tear spills out of your eye and rolls down your temple, wetting your pillow underneath your head. More tears flow out and soon a pool forms on the dampened cloth. You raise your head and flip your pillow to the dry side, rolling over to press your cheek into the plush material. Shutting your eyes tightly to prevent more tears from pouring out, you drift off to sleep.

…

Whoever said that there’s no better rest than after crying yourself to sleep is a fucking liar.

The next morning, you wake up more exhausted than the night before. Light peeks through your blinds and illuminates your room, waking you up a few minutes before your alarm is scheduled to go off.

You roll out of bed and stand in front of your full length mirror. Your hair is tangled, your lips are chapped, and your throat is painfully dry— probably because you forgot to drink water after sobbing out half of your body’s water content. You reach over to your desk to grab your reusable bottle, taking a few big gulps of the cold liquid to help relieve the pain. Bringing your face closer to the reflective glass, you can’t help but notice how your eyes are still bloodshot and puffy. You groan and walk over to the mini-fridge on the other side of your bedroom, crouching down as you open the small door.

You reach inside and pull out a silver spoon from your freezer, the cold metal stinging your fingertips. You return to your mirror and watch as you bring the spoon up to your face, gently placing the rounded part of the utensil to your eye socket. You hold it there for a few seconds before removing it, checking to see if there was any improvement. There was, and now the swelling around your eyes is greatly reduced, but the red tint on your sclera is still noticeably visible.

I look like I’m high, you joke to yourself. I’ll have to put on some eye drops later.

You repeat the process with your other eye, and once you finish you toss the spoon back into your freezer. Running a hot shower in your bathroom, the warm water soothes your tired muscles. You thoroughly scrub your body with soap— your neck, your arms, your torso, your legs— but you spend extra time washing the expanse of flesh between your thighs. Your hand collects the warm water in your palm and harshly rubs the spot back and forth, meticulously cleansing the area to the best of your abilities. You know that it won’t undo or change anything, but you find yourself doing it subconsciously, almost as if it’s a reflex now.

Hopping out of the shower, you quickly pat yourself dry before throwing on some clothes. You throw your hair up into a towel to let it dry while you sip your morning coffee.

And thus your morning ritual begins. You sit at your windowsill and stare out of your window, watching people pass by underneath you. There’s a wide array of sights before you— energized people in athletic wear and headphones going on a morning jog; hungover people still wearing their beer-stained clothes from the night before, most likely starting their walk of shame home; and half-awake people still in their pajamas lazily trudging along the sidewalk, heading over to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts to grab their morning fix of caffeine.

You swallow your last sip of coffee, throw on some shoes, and head out your door. While walking through your building’s hallways, you check your watch for the time.

It’s barely 8 AM, you think to yourself, exhaling a sigh of relief. It’s too early, there’s no way he’s awake yet. I probably won’t run into him right now.

Once you exit your building without running into the man from the night before, your hurried pace starts to slow down. You make the ten minute trek across campus from your apartment to the student health center, kindly waving and greeting the people that you recognize from your classes.

Arriving at your destination, the cool air from the medical center blasts your face. Despite your school’s vain attempt to liven up the lobby with teal-colored walls, the clinic itself still feels sterile and void of life. You know that most people don’t come here on their own volition— whether they’re receiving treatment for a worsening cold, getting tested for STDs or STIs, or seeking mental health counseling— everyone waiting in the cushioned seats of the lobby doesn’t actually want to be here.

You check in with the receptionist and sit down on one of the benches and wait for your appointment. You pull out your phone and idly scroll through social media. The first story is of your friends from high school clinking shot glasses together and throwing their heads back, swallowing the hard liquor in one gulp. The second story is posted by your classmate from last semester, and it’s a graphic advertising their club’s fundraiser later this week. The final story shows someone who lived in your freshman year dorm building at a party, flashing lights shining across their carefree face.

Hearing your name being called from above you, you shove your phone back into your pocket before standing up. You follow the nurse through the hallways and into the room, fluorescent light bouncing off the white walls. You plop onto the leather couch that sits directly across from a chair made out of the same material.

The nurse turns to you before leaving and starts speaking. “A counselor will be with you shortly,” she says and then exits the room, leaving you alone.

You wait for a few minutes in tense silence. To pass time, your eyes scan around the room, reading every single infographic and painting that hangs from the walls. They land on an image of a “pain scale,” a series of happy and sad faces resting on top of a 0 to 10 scale.

Your face scrunches up as you ponder the picture before you. You’re struggling to decipher where you fit onto the scale, when the door swings open and interrupts your train of thought. You straighten up in your seat when a pretty woman in her mid-30s steps into the clinic room.

“Hi,” she says sweetly, taking a seat in the chair in front of you. She continues introducing herself, “I’ll be your counselor for today.”

You greet her and tell her your name, and she replies with a warm smile. Her fingers sift through the files on her clipboard before she speaks again. “I see this is your first time visiting the mental health department. What brings you here today?” She looks up from the page and stares at you intently, waiting for a response.

“Well,” you start. “My friends recommended that I come here for a counseling session.”

“Hmm, I see,” she looks back down at the sheet of paper, and your palms grow clammy in anticipation. Without lifting her eyes, she asks you a question in a softer tone. “It says here in your files that six months ago you went to the student health center to get tested for STDs and STIs and to ask for a birth control referral.” She lifts her face again, and her concerned expression pangs your heart. “Was that a routine check-up or something else?”

You feel the pit in your stomach reappear, and your heartbeat booms violently in your chest. Blood rushes to your head and the room grows hot; the lights feel so fucking bright as they shine into your eyes, nearly blinding you. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, and after an elongated sigh, you confess, trying to mask your fear with a seemingly indifferent tone.

“No, it wasn’t,” you reply coolly, but you can’t seem to hide the slight quivering in your voice. “I was taken advantage of six months ago, but I’m fine now. I promise.”

The counselor eyes you up and down, scanning your face for any signs of hesitancy or uncertainty. They run down your body and finally settle on your lap, where your fingers twiddle and fidget with each other.

Shit, you think to yourself. She caught my bluff.

“You know,” she whispers to you gently, almost as if she were approaching a cornered animal. “Anything you tell me here stays between you and me. I know you don’t know me and it’s hard to open up sometimes, but you have my undivided attention.” She flashes you a compassionate smile, and it causes your eyes to swell up with tears.

You take a deep inhale before starting. “I saw him last night,” your voice is shaky as you scour your brain for the right words to say. “The guy who hurt me. He was outside my door, and he was with another girl. She was clearly drunk, and I didn’t do anything to stop him.”

You’re sobbing now, and your nose is becoming stuffy. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, but you continue on. “If he did anything to her,” you croak, throat growing tight as you ramble on, “it’s my fault. It’s my fault because I didn’t intervene. It’s my fault because I didn’t report him so he could never hurt another girl again. I wanted to stop him, I really did. I wanted to open my door and yell at him to get a fucking life and stop being such a dick, but I couldn’t. I was so scared— I froze in fear behind my door.”

You look up at her, and through tear-stained eyelashes you could see that her cheery expression morphed into one of pain.

“I’m just as much to blame, and I’m no better than him. I’m weak.”

You drop your face into your palms, your hands muffling your sobs. You feel a gentle hand rub your shoulder, and you look back up at the counselor. She has the warm expression plastered onto her face again, but her eyes are solemn as she gives you advice.

“It’s not your fault. It’s entirely his.” She reaches over and grabs a box of tissues from the counter and places them onto your lap. “You’re not to blame for the harm that he does unto others.”

You nod your head as you pull out a tissue and wipe your wet face. You blow your nose to try to clear your nasal passages, but it doesn’t work. She continues with the session, maintaining her sympathetic tone.

“If you’re comfortable with sharing, why didn’t you report him? Not saying that you need to— it’s completely your decision whether you do or don’t. Your experiences are valid regardless.”

You let out a hollow chuckle before you answer. “I can’t report him,” you say dryly, your voice starting to grow louder as your frustration builds. “He’s a student athlete on a popular team here. Who would the university believe— him, a star athlete on a team that brings the university so much money, or me, a common whore who this school couldn’t give less of a shit about?”

“If I do report him, what if his team comes after me? A few of them live in my building; it’d be easy for them to pound on my door and threaten me or do even worse things. If not that, his family has money. His parents could sue me for defamation, and I don’t have that kinda money. There’s also the issue of my parents finding out, and I’d rather die than have them discover what happened to their daughter. I don’t know how they’d react— would they be heartbroken? Would they blame me? Would they ask me what I was drinking or wearing? Either way, I don’t want to find out.”

You shake your head before carrying on. “Even if I did report him and the university believed me, what punishment would he get? A slap on the wrist? Get kicked off of his team? Nothing will ever be enough.”

Tears brim your eyes once again. “Nothing will return the months of my life that I wasted, desperately trying to move on from the situation. Nothing will make me unafraid of men. I can’t pass by a group of student athletes without having panic burn through my body. They all look like him— they all have his cruel smile and it haunts me wherever I go.”

Your emotions start to spiral out of control as your inner turmoil and anger bubble in your stomach. Hot tears spill from your eyes and stream silently to the floor. Realizing that your blood is growing hot, you stand up and frantically pace around the room, trying to calm yourself down. You place your hands on top of your head and take a few deep breaths to steady your heart rate.

After a minute of pacing, you sit back down in your seat. A pained sigh slips past your lips, and you forge on. “I just don’t think there’s anything that this school or this government could do that would correct his sins against me. He didn’t just take advantage of me— he destroyed my soul. He robbed me of my bodily autonomy, my self-worth, my sense of control. How do you fix that?”

The two of you stare at each other in silence before she opens her mouth. “You can’t,” is all she replies.

You nod your head somberly. “Exactly,” you conclude gravely. “You can’t.”

The counselor takes a few seconds to collect her thoughts before continuing on. “You know, it’s really unfair how our justice system treats survivors. More often than not, people feel re-victimized and re-traumatized rather than helped by these systems. So, everything you said is completely valid, and you know what’s best for you more than anyone else.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and she adds on, “There are ways to receive closure that don’t involve the justice system at all. How do you cope with the pain that you feel? What are some things that you do?”

You take a deep breath before responding. “Honestly, I just pretend like it isn’t there. I just want things to return to normal, and I believe that if I don’t think about it, it’ll eventually go away or I’ll forget.”

Looking up at the ceiling, you let out an exasperated groan. “But, if you want specifics, I’ve been taking up a bunch of various hobbies to try to regain some semblance of normalcy. I’ve been going to the gym everyday for the past few months; I joined a few interest clubs; and I even took up some journaling. You know, anything I can do to give me some sense of control…” Your voice trails off as your gaze meets the counselor’s again.

The corners of her lips curl upward to form an enthusiastic smile. “That’s great! Those are all really healthy coping mechanisms for trying to move on from the situation, and there are other things you could do, too! Like…” Her voice fizzles out into the background as you zone out from the conversation.

Of course I only told her a half-truth, you think to yourself. I know if I told her everything I did, I would get scolded.

Little did your counselor know that for the past month since you’ve returned to campus, every weekend you would go out to a party, find some random guy, and let him take you home to have less than subpar sex. If there were no parties going on that night, you’d check your dating apps, picking one man from the vast sea of horny and disrespectful messages in your inbox. You’d head over to his place and do all the work while he sits back in utter bliss.

You know it’s not the best coping mechanism, but somehow, you can’t stop. It’s the only way that you feel in control again. “They can’t use me or take advantage of me if I let them,” was your reasoning, a bastardized reclamation of power.

They can’t rob me of my sexual autonomy if I consent first.

But deep in your heart you know it’s not true. After every disappointing session, after every failed orgasm, after every prideful expression is plastered on your “partner’s” face, you feel worse than before. You know that they treat you like a masturbatory aid— that they view you as nothing more than a cocksleeve— yet you still return to these shitty men. You still return to these men who wouldn’t give a fuck if your picture appeared on an obituary one day, because in your mind it was your twisted way of coping with the grief.

The counselor’s voice rings through your ears and brings you back to reality. “So,” she says, clapping her hands together. “That’s all the time we have today. I hope this session helped you, and if you ever want to talk again, just schedule an appointment through the student portal.”

The two of you rise to your feet and shake hands before exiting the room. You make your way over to the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror in front of you, the puffiness in your eyes has returned, and somehow your eyes are even more bloodshot than they were this morning.

You sigh to yourself. It’s a good thing I didn’t wear makeup, but I wish I brought my frozen spoon.

You turn on the faucet and cup the cold water in your palms. Oh well, this’ll have to do.

You splash the cold water in your face and dry it with a paper towel. Checking your eyes again, the swelling has gone down slightly, but you know that your metal spoon would’ve done a better job at masking the inflamation.

You exit the restroom and make your way out of the clinic, your eyes adjusting from the harsh, sterile lights in the building to the bright and sunny California daylight. You check your watch again and see that it’s almost 9:30 AM, still too early for him to be awake.

Phew, you think. I can head back now, get ready for the gym, and leave before he wakes up. By the time I’m done with my workout, he’ll be at practice so I can return home without running into him.

Admittedly, it’s embarrassing that you know his entire schedule, but it’s a measure that you have to take in order to protect yourself.

You make the journey home in ten minutes. You fill up your water bottle and change into workout appropriate attire, before heading out once again.

The campus gym is a lot closer to your apartment, about half of the distance to the student health center. In five minutes, you walk through the sliding doors of the recreation center, the filtered cold air blasting your face and giving you goosebumps. Your eyes scan the room to make sure that none of his friends are here, and relief flushes your body when you realize that you’re safe.

You plug in your earphones and hit play on a random workout playlist you curated. Energetic music blasts in your ears as you start a light jog on the treadmill.

Let’s just forget what happened earlier and try to have a good workout, alright?

Your workout runs smoothly— after your warm-up run of one mile and lifting sets, your legs start to ache and burn. Finally, it’s time for the barbell squat, your least favorite leg exercise.

You make your way over to the squat rack section of the gym, and your eyes land on a familiar face. His features are strong, typically formed into a scowl as he lifts a ridiculously heavy amount of weight. His green eyes always look so determined, and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. His arms look toned even when he’s not flexing, but when he does, you can’t help but wonder if he could crush a melon with his bare hands. But his most noticeable feature has to be his spiky dark brown hair that comically rests on the top of his head— it reminds you of a porcupine.

He’s very handsome, and it’s not just you that notices his looks. Everytime you see him there, there’s always a crowd of people gawking at him, asking him to help fix their form or help spot them. Usually, most guys would take this as an opportunity to hit on the person who asked for assistance, sometimes even getting unnecessarily handsy with them. But never this guy. He just helps them with whatever they’re doing, offers useful tips and tricks, then returns to his workout.

He’s so good looking, and because of this, you have no doubt that he has a significant other or that his phone is overflowing with random numbers that people gave to him. He doesn’t seem like the type to be a sleaze, but with a face and body like that he definitely doesn’t have trouble finding love— or a casual hookup, at least.

The first few times you went to the gym, you noticed him staring at you. Initially, you thought that there was something on your face or wrong with your form, but that suspicion subsided after it happened several more times. Now, whenever you go to the gym, you inadvertently have a stare-off with the attractive stranger, waiting to see who will crack first.

Today is no different. As you walk to the empty squat rack next to him, his eyes follow your figure while he takes a drink of water. You wrap your fingers around the cold metal bar when a wild thought flies through your mind.

Giggling to yourself over the idea, you decide to try your luck, and you turn to the hot stranger to your left and ask him a question.

“Hey,” you sweetly call out, drawing his attention away from his water bottle. “I’m gonna try adding weight today, do you mind spotting me?” You flash him a bright smile, hoping that he’ll take the bait.

He quickly nods and sets down his bottle, walking over to you. You place the appropriate plates on both sides of the barbell and wait for him to stand behind you. Once you sense his presence, he asks you a question, and you can feel his hot breath against the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine and forcing the little hairs on your skin to rise.

“Are you ready?”

To which you reply with an enthusiastic nod. “Yep!”

You duck your head under the bar and rest it on your shoulders. You lift the metal pole off of the rack and take a few steps forward, the stranger’s hands hovering around you just in case you need help. You bend your knees and drop your ass into a seated position, making sure that your back is straight. You rise up and straighten your posture, and repeat this process eight more times.

On your tenth and final squat for this set, your thighs ache from the weight. Sweat beads at your temples as you drop down, and while you slowly rise back up, you hear a deep voice from behind you.

“C’mon!” The stranger encourages you. “This is your last one for this set, then you can take a break! You’re almost there.”

Using your last bit of strength, you stand back up, and he helps you place the barbell back onto the rack. Your fingers brush against each other, and your breath hitches at the sudden contact.

“Phew!” You chant as you wipe the sweat off of your forehead with your shirt sleeve. “Thanks for that encouragement at the end, I really needed that!”

The man smiles at you, and for the first time you see his hardened expression actually soften. “No problem! Your form is really good; I’m thoroughly impressed.”

You smile back at him and point over to his rack. “It seems like you do a damn good job yourself,” you reply, referring to the multiple large plates on his barbell.

He rubs the back of his palm as his face tints pink. “Oh, it’s no biggie at all. I’ve been regularly working out since high school, and I’m a sports science major, so physical fitness is a huge part of my life.”

You nod your head in interest, before continuing on. “Anyways, I’m sorry for pulling you away from your workout. If you want, you can go back to your sets; I think I’ll be okay with mine!”

He raises a hand and shakes his head. “No, I’ll be fine. I’d rather help you and make sure that you’re safe.”

Your face grows hot at his words. You eagerly nod your head and turn back around to face the barbell. But before you can start your second set, he murmurs something in a low voice.

“But what’s a guy gotta do to get dinner and a movie with a pretty girl like you?”

You feel butterflies flutter in your stomach. Was that friendly demeanor earlier all just a façade? You ask yourself. Collecting your thoughts, you turn your head slightly to face him, your faces merely inches apart.

“Well,” you start, scrunching your nose as you stare up at the ceiling, pretending to look for an answer. “You could spot me for my next two sets. I’m free tonight after 7, if that works for you?” You innocently bat your eyelashes at him, waiting for his response.

For a split second, you swear that there’s a crack in his confidence, and his features gaze at you in a stupor, almost as if he were in shock that you actually agreed to go on a date with him. He regains his cool though and nods his head before helping you remove the bar from the rack.

At the end of your set, the two of you exchange numbers. You introduce yourself and tell him your name, and he wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts before extending it out to you.

You grab it and shake hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hajime Iwaizumi, but you can just call me Hajime.” He flashes you that killer smile one more time before you part ways.

Once you make it back to your apartment, you run a hot shower. While massaging your hair with shampoo, you think about your handsome date for tonight.

You grin when you think about his dazzling smile, but your mood soon turns sour when a realization hits you.

He’s still a guy at the end of the day, you think to yourself disappointedly. And an attractive one at that. He’s probably like every other man— they all just want one thing. Sex. And once you give it, they’ll toss you to the side.

That whole ‘dinner and a movie’ thing was probably just a ploy to get me to agree to go on a ‘date’ with him, if I can even call it that. But I know better. I know that he has no interest in getting to know me, and tonight will probably end the same way that it always does— with me walking home unsatisfied and feeling ashamed of myself.

There’s no point in getting my hopes up.

A tear rolls down your face, but you quickly wipe it away.

There’s no reason for me to be sad; that’s just how it is. We both use each other for one thing, and it’s consensual, so there’s no harm nor foul, right?

You try your best to reassure yourself, but know that it’s to no avail when another tear streams down your face.

tagging: @bxnten @ry0m3n @jiminjamms @sunat2508 @petalsrdead @crystal-lilac @devilgirlcrybabiey @ohtobiors @frenchtoastmafia @miya-dynasty @sabyss @rinsie @chaotic-fangirl-blog @semisgroupie @rueren @portfolio-of-dreams @arozaur @hyeque @momoewn @whore-for-anime @shoyouu @thathoneybee3 @smexyair @dessceased @itachislut @tokyometronetwork + want to join my taglist for this series? leave a comment below or join my general taglist here!

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rockstar-edits · 2 years ago

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"Bakugou Stimboard with themes of cooking, tea parties and explosions! With a red, orange and yellow color palette" Today's special!

/|| X X X | X X X | X X X ||\

#bakugou katsuki #MHA #my hero acedamia #boko no hero academia #stimboard #hope you enjoy!!#cooking stim #food stim #tw.food #cw.food #tea stim #explosion stim #boba tea stim #honey stim #fire stim

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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years ago

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Guys My Age

Older!Bokuto x College!Akaashi

Summary: Akaashi finds his life quite boring yet stressful with his boyfriend and classes, struggling to pay his rent on time. When Kenma suggests looking into a sugar daddy, he’s hesitant, but he soon finds himself in a sweet position.

Warnings: sugar daddy au, anxiety, mentions of food and not eating (not necessarily an eating disorder, I don’t think), mention of drugs and alcohol, abuse, mentions of insecurities, manhandling, mirror sex, blowjob, sex toys [1], fingering, lube, anal, creampie

Akaashi didn’t need to open the door to tell his boyfriend was home. The stench of weed was obvious beyond the door, making it so Akaashi had to plug his nose before even entering the apartment. Sure enough, his boyfriend, Ichiro, was lounging on the couch with some girl he’s never seen before, a bong on the coffee table between them and a blunt between her manicured fingers. Although he was surprised she’d have enough money to pay for nails, he just ignored them as they would do to him.

The apartment complex was located in a pretty shady area, meaning there was a lot more crime and a lot more drug related activity around the area. Akaashi chose it due to cheap costs on his rent, hoping it’d lessen his stress with classes and work. Even when he invited Ichiro to stay at his place, he expected some help with the finances. Instead, he worked himself ragged and retained even more stress because his boyfriend was addicted to weed.

Whether it be drugs or alcohol, Ichiro’s paycheck went towards it. Tossing a glass bottle in the recycling, Akaashi tried to clean up the kitchen a bit while he waited for the water to heat up. Ichiro also didn’t like coffee, so Akaashi’s mother bought him a Keurig to have at his apartment, so he could make single cups of coffee and not worry about extra coffee going to waste. A high pitched giggling was heard behind him, making him turn to see the girl wobbling her way into the kitchen. Finally noticing Akaashi, she seems to smile as if she’s met him before.

“Hey, there! You must be Ichiro’s friend, right?” She slurred, obviously drunk. Akaashi had to force himself to breathe in her presence, the stench of weed and alcohol stronger now that she was in the room.

“His boyfriend, yes,” he replies, then turns back around. She seems to have moved her attention elsewhere, then whines.

“Where’s my bottle?” She whines, stomping her foot like she’s a child. Akaashi rolls his eyes, pressing the buttons to make an extra strong coffee. With her in his home, he’ll need it. Her whining and calling out for her ‘bottle’ doesn’t stop, not once, while he makes a large mug of coffee. He’s leaving soon after, ignoring her completely as he goes into the bedroom. The bedroom is still close by, but he’s able to breathe a bit better and plug his earbuds in to get his work done. Taking out his laptop and stretching a bit, he gets to work.

By the time his stomach is grumbling for some food, it’s already dark out and the apartment has quieted down. Expecting the two to be passed out, Akaashi exits the bedroom to find them missing, bong and bits of weed left behind. Rolling his eyes, he goes to clean it up. The first time he cleaned it up, he decided to throw away the small bits of weed left behind and clean the bong, starting a fight with Ichiro on accident. Akaashi may be a pretty big guy, but he isn’t one for confrontation, just letting Ichiro berate and hit him for “wasting his shit” as he said. Sighing at the memory, Akaashi swiped the bits into a plastic bag and wiped the rim of the bong, putting them both in a cabinet in the kitchen. It had a lock on it, suppose to keep people out except Ichiro, but it’s been unlocked forever and he never remembers to lock it.

While cooking up a meal in the microwave and texting Kenma, Akaashi gets a notification from Ichiro.

“Don’t wait up for me! Party until late,” is what the message says, making Akaashi roll his eyes. Putting his phone down, he tries to focus on putting food in his belly and finishing his homework. He doesn’t need to worry about what his stupid boyfriend is doing; if he wants to party, smoke, and drink his life away, that’s fine. Akaashi really doesn’t want him living with him anymore, but he’s not confrontational and worries he’ll anger Ichiro again. Taking the TV dinner out of the microwave, he frowns as he mixes his food around, appetite no longer there.

The next day, Akaashi wakes up to an empty bed and an empty house, deciding to skip on breakfast as he gets ready for classes. His university is close by enough he can walk, but he needs an early start. At the university is where he met Yukie, who he shared classes in his first semester with. She’s looking to go into food business, a nutritionist, while he wants to go into literature business. Completely nothing in common, yet she’s easily become a close friend. She also happens to have a meal for Akaashi, somehow sensing he doesn’t eat breakfast most morning.

Speaking of which…

“Keiji-kun! Morning!” Yukie shouts across the campus. Akaashi turns to her, waving as she jogs his way. “I got you an extra plate,” she grins, pulling out a takeout container. Akaashi smiles, grateful, but shakes his head.

“I ate today, actually. Thanks, though,”

“Well it’s here until lunch. Wanna go to the library while waiting for class?” She points to the building where people are pouring out of, rushing to get to their class.

“We could, but I did promise professor—”

“Yeah, yeah, gotta be a good student, I get it,” she waves him off, but her smile tells him it’s in good fun. “I’ll be in the library if you need me, ‘kay?” With that, Akaashi’s waving goodbye as they part ways, his feet leading him into a different part of campus.

Did he have a professor to do work for? No, not today. Did he want to be alone so he could finish his work? Yes, he did.

The day is shorter than most, his classes ending earlier because of the break coming up in the next week. After school, he ends up meeting with Yukie and Kenma at a burger joint, finally munching on some food as he listens to Yukie’s story about the grocery store girl.

“She’s so pretty! I’m positive she flirts with me, she seems to always be there!” She explains, chomping on her burger between bites. “I just gotta ask her out,”

“Or not. She’d probably thing you’re a creep,” Kenma cringed his nose in disgust, nibbling on his nuggets. Neither him nor Akaashi have been big on eating, but Yukie loves food. Especially if it’s cheap and greasy.

“No way, didn’t you hear me? She sounds like she’s into me. I hope she is. She looks like she likes girls, at least, which means I have a chance,” she says, pounding her fist in her palm, making a declaration.

“Isn’t it rude to assume based on stereotypes?” Akaashi asks. “After all, she could just like to dress a specific way, not necessarily dressing in a way to attract other women,”

“No, I’ve seen her interact with men. She’s short with them, leaving no room for small talk. Definitely a lesbian,” Yukie practically huffs, nodding firmly before starting in her second burger. Akaashi and Kenma just look at each other and then shrug, going back to their own food. “Speaking of men, how is the love life in Kozume-land and Akaashi-land?”

“Don’t call it that,” Kenma mumbles, but his face turns red after she says so. Now it’s time for Akaashi and Yukie to look at each other, eyebrows raised as they stare at Kenma. “Why are you looking at me like I said something weird?”

“You’re red,” Akaashi bluntly says. Kenma seems to flush even more at that, shoving two nuggets in his mouth. “Kenma, please don’t choke,”

“F’s non’ y’or bus’fness,” Kenma says around a mouthful of food. Eventually, he’s swallowing the food and sipping on his drink. “That’s none of your business,” he states, more clearly.

“You have a boyfriend!” Yukie shouts, startling the men and people around her. “Or girlfriend? You don’t seem to like girls, though,” she hums in thought, finger on her chin.

“Kenma, I’ve known you since we were 5. It is kind of my business. What if he’s shady? Or she, but you’ve only really dated guys before,”

“Okay, I dated one guy. He wasn’t that great, but he got me a ticket to that one con, so I figured it was a fair trade,” Kenma crosses his arms, but a few more seconds of stares has him cracking. “Ugh, fine. But you have to not tell anyone,”

“We promise,” they both say, smiling as they hold out their pinkies. Once they’ve sworn, Kenma lets out a sigh before telling them the big deal.

“I have a sugar daddy,” he mumbles, face turning red once more. “He’s.. nice enough. I’ve been seeing him for a few months,”

“Months?” Akaashi almost shouts. Completely under his radar, but it suddenly makes sense.

“Living the high life, Kenma-kun,” Yukie giggles, clapping as Kenma hides his face. “Good job!”

“Details. Now.” Akaashi demands, making Kenma lean back in fear or surprise. Maybe both.

“Can we talk about it somewhere else? Not in public at some cheap burger joint?” He asks. A look from Yukie to Akaashi, and their both agreeing, deciding to finish their food as quickly as possible.

Once they were out of the restaurant, they kept up small talk until arriving at Akaashi’s apartment. It was still empty, thankfully, but the smell of weed was still pretty strong. “This place stinks,”

“Yeah, Ichiro’s been smoking weed recently,” which is a lie, as he’s been doing this their entire 2 year relationship. It just got hard to ignore once they began living together a year ago. “It’s.. a bit annoying,”

“A bit? Your couch reeks of it,” Kenma says, wiping the couch to make sure it isn’t dirty. Once he’s satisfied with it, and he has a glass of water, courtesy of Akaashi, he tells his friends the news. “It happened at the end of last semester. It was supposed to be a fun project, looking into companies and what made them popular, so I got this one company. Looking into it, they seemed like adult entertainment, which I thought was gross, but it turned out they were actually made famous because it’s popular for sugar babies. Long story short, that’s what happened,” he finishes. Yukie’s mouth drops open, then she sputters.

“No! That’s just the beginning! Who is it? Who did you find? Is he nice, at least?”

“I made a profile to look into the app more, since you needed one, and ended up browsing options out of curiosity. Most of them looked sleazy, actually. The most sleazy looking one, however, happened to be the first guy that DM’ed me. I used an old picture of me from my senior year in high school, so I thought this guy was a total creep. Turns out he was just looking for a date to some fancy dinner. He works with professional volleyball players and is actually kind of sweet,” he explains, face turning pink as he talks. Akaashi glares a bit, not believing the story.

“But you still have to sleep with him, don’t you? I thought you said sex was gross?” He ponders aloud, making Kenma’s face get darker.

“W-Well, um, it was ju-just lip service, you know? After we set up a schedule and whatnot, he was really respectful of not going further. Then I felt like I was ready, s-so we ended up, um,” Kenma stutters, shifting his hands in his lap and in his seat. “You know what we did. He’s not amazing at it, not like he was trying to break me, b-but he’s very goo-good with his mouth,”

Yukie whistles when he says that, making him hide his face and constant mutters of “why did I say that” over and over again. Akaashi just sighed, finding himself envious of his best friend, finding a guy that actually gives back in return. While Yukie pesters Kenma, Akaashi leaves the couch to go to the bathroom, texting Ichiro.

“Hey, you coming back tonight? I miss you,” he tells him, waiting with bated breath for a reply. Soon enough, the phone is buzzing and he goes to check.

“No, Sonya invited me to another party, so I’ll be staying the night here,” was the reply. Shutting off his phone, Akaashi goes back to his friends to see Kenma covered in a blanket while Yukie pokes him.

“What are you two doing?”

“He’s so shy, despite saying all that stuff. I just find him cute,” she smiles, dimples in her cheeks as Kenma whines from under the blanket. Yukie then turns to him, finally ceasing in her poking. “When’s your boyfriend coming back? I don’t know if he’d like us here,”

“He’s.. at a party. I don’t know when he’s coming back, actually,” Akaashi sighs, deciding to come clean. He’s been lying about how good his relationship is because it was such an interesting and good thing, in his friend’s words, so he wanted to keep the facade. However, they’re obviously having better love lives than him. “He doesn’t hang out here anymore, actually, mostly only to smoke and drink with friends, then leaves,”

“You’re still with someone like that? Keiji, you deserve better,” Yukie has a serious tone Akaashi hasn’t heard before, making his eyes widen. “Obviously he doesn’t care for you,”

“If I was with someone like that, you’d tell me to break up with him. So I’m giving you the advice you’d give me: drop him,” Kenma says, in agreement with Yukie. Akaashi just sighs, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, he’s— he can get mean when he smokes and drinks. There hasn’t been a good time, you know?” Akaashi mumbles, fiddling with his fingers. Even though they understand what he says, they don’t pry. “I’ll work myself up for it, okay?”

The next few days was Akaashi doing precisely that. Ichiro hadn’t come back, spurring Akaashi to feel confident in his decision. Packing his stuff up, Akaashi even added the drugs and alcohol in a bag for him, putting everything by the door. Yukie also ended up spending a few nights at the apartment in case of a fight, ready to defend Akaashi.

The break up was actually quite heartbreaking, but for the wrong reasons. It wasn’t tear filled and full of screaming matches, but rather just soft words and not even a goodbye. Ichiro seemed to not care, taking his stuff and leaving, while Akaashi felt like he just cut a hole inside of him. He may not have loved Ichiro anymore, but he did spend two years with him, and even his final year in high school of knowing him. Yukie and Kenma checked up on him, but they could only help a little as Akaashi stopped doing his homework and showing up to class, even skipping days at work. He only got up to go when they called him and told him he’d be fired if he didn’t start showing up. Even so, Kenma had to pitch in to help with groceries and rent a bit, but eventually decided he’s had enough.

“You need money. You need to fill emptiness in your heart. You also need to focus on school again, so the logical response is to look for a sugar daddy,” he says, making Akaashi’s profile. “Good news is I have pictures of you from our first day at college, so I can make the profile,”

“No old man wants a depressed college student,” Akaashi groans, tightly sealed inside a burrito cocoon of blankets.

“Actually, that’s what they want. Alright, done. ‘Looking for someone to treat me right, preferably someone with half a brain’,” Kenma reads off. Akaashi laughs, a short one that’s full of mock. “Oh please, you’d go brain dead with a sugar daddy that only wants sex,”

“I am not too big on sex, you know,” Akaashi grumbles, not removing himself from the burrito. Kenma just leaves him to it, moving out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, probably to make them both some coffee and lunch. Curious, Akaashi picks up his phone and looks through his profile, scoffing at how pretentious Kenma made him sound. Moving to the different options, Akaashi notices that the sugar daddies available range from late 20s to early 70s, with the creepier and more demanding profiles being from the older ones. Young and rich doesn’t equate experience, he supposes. The options were pretty small, since Akaashi was particular about the guys he was looking at. That was, until he got a notification that someone messaged him.

“Who is it?” Kenma suddenly asks, making Akaashi jump as his thoughts are interrupted.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he sighs, putting his hand on his heart. Kenma didn’t say anything, just watched as Akaashi opened the messages to see a message from someone named “Daddy Owl”. “This guy sounds like a joke,”

“I mean, the guy I met had ‘Sexy and Rich Cat’ with the little ‘&’ symbol,” Kenma drew the symbol on the air. “They’re cheesy, but rich. What did he say?”

“Um.. ‘Hey, hey, hey’,”

“That’s..it?” Kenma sighs, holding out his hand. Akaashi gives him the phone, letting him look at the profile, then put on a disgusted face. “Oh my god,”

“Is he weird? This was a bad idea—”

“He works with //my sugar daddy,” Kenma cuts him off, making Akaashi stop as he just stared. A couple beats of silence before Kenma continued. “Professional volleyball athlete, Bokuto Kōtarō. I’ve heard about him, but didn’t think he was into the sugar baby ordeal. Huh, that’s weird,”

“Bokuto Kōtarō..?” Akaashi repeats his name, thinking about it. “What do I do?”

“Well I texted back, ‘Hey there’, you know how you say it. He — wow, fast reply,” Kenma looks at the phone, Akaashi over his shoulder looking. “‘I was wondering if you were looking to spend time together on the 20, you in?’ Why the 20th?”

“Maybe he has a special event and needs a date?” Akaashi suggests, taking his phone back. “Shouldn’t I be talking to him, not you?”

“Fine. I’ll let you talk to him, but no telling him where you live. Not until you meet in person, at least,” Kenma advises.

“Meet? In person? Like before the.. sugar stuff?”

“Yeah, don’t wanna be used and disposed of like trash, do you? If he doesn’t want to meet up, it’s a red flag. If he wants to meet up and turns out to be nice, bingo. You’re free to give sugar,”

“Oh, okay. I’ll suggest it, then.” Akaashi turns back to his phone, telling Bokuto that he’s willing to hang out on the 20th, but only if they can meet beforehand. While waiting anxiously for a reply, Kenma decides to leave the bedroom, going outside the apartment to leave Akaashi to himself for a moment. When the //ding resounds in the room, Akaashi looks to see Bokuto has accepted, asking what day would be best. After setting a day, two weeks before the 20th, Akaashi finally set down his phone and practically collapsed, exhausted from such an interaction.

“So, update?” Kenma asks, reentering the apartment. When his feet pad over to Akaashi’s body, all he gets is a thumbs up. “Well, when is it?” Akaashi holds up one finger. “One day? Tomorrow?” A small shake of the head. “One week?” A nod. “Good, we’ll go shopping tomorrow. No classes, right? Need you to wear something to impress, after all.”

It all happens too fast, buying clothes and getting proper procedure from Kenma, with Yukie attending them for support. Soon enough, Akaashi is pacing as he waits for the clock to turn to the next hour, so he doesn’t get to the coffee shop too early. With it getting chillier in the day, Akaashi felt he’d be comfortable with a cream sweater and some plain black slacks, more expensive than anything he’s owned. Kenma generously bought everything, even asking his own sugar daddy for an extra allowance with no hesitation. With a nice watch on one wrist and practically a new wardrobe, Akaashi felt ready. He convinced Kenma he didn’t need any new shoes, but Kenma frowned when he saw the black converse on Akaashi’s feet. “Really?”

“They’re comfortable. I don’t know if he wants to go walking somewhere or something, plus they’re black. It fits,” he replies, checking his phone one more time. “Okay, it’s 10.”

“Call me if anything’s wrong or he seems weird. I’ll be nearby,” Kenma says. Before Akaashi can ask questions, he is pushed out his apartment and forced to walk down the steps. “Good luck,” Kenma whispers, before running back to the apartment. Well, Kenma’s running is more like fast walking. Akaashi tries to calm his nerves, forcing his feet to move in the direction of the coffee shop. He just hopes Bokuto’s nice.

Well, he’s never been one to be late. Even pushing his departure back and slowly walking to his destination, Akaashi sees nobody outside the café. He isn’t that early, so he hopes Bokuto isn’t late or worse, a no show. As he looks at his phone, looking around occasionally, he hears a boisterous voice from behind him, inside the café. “Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi!”

“I— Bokuto-san?” He asks, turning to see the man himself. His smile is so genuine, Akaashi is taken aback for a moment. “You went inside?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I decided to get here early in case they needed to clear off a table. I was just about to text you when I saw you outside. Guess we both wanted to get here early, huh?” Bokuto grins, then moves to the side, waving his hand towards the door. “The table awaits,”

“You don’t have to be so fancy and.. formal..” Akaashi mumbles, but still thanks Bokuto as he goes into the café. He’s been here before, using the free internet, access to coffee and free refills on Thursdays, and clear air to do homework often. Now, though, he almost feels embarrassed. Bokuto leads him to a table, closer to the back and away from most people. “Oh, so far away? From the windows and door?” Akaashi asks, alarm bells ringing.

“Ah, well, you mentioned you weren’t a fan of crowds on your profile, so I thought it’d be best to be away from crowds. The counter is right over there, but we can move if it’ll make you comfortable,” he suggests, pointing to the areas. Akaashi feels his face warm, finding the small consideration sweet, despite it being so small.

“N-No, that’s fine, Bokuto-san,” he says, sitting down. The spot is well lit and Akaashi is facing the counter, which he can see two baristas at now. Bokuto doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, so Akaashi sighs and tries to relax his tense muscles.

“You can just call me Bokuto, if you want. No need to be so formal, after all,” he laughs, repeating Akaashi’s words back to him. Akaashi lets himself smile a bit at that, shaking his head.

“It’s just how I am. Perhaps after I get to know you that can change,” he says, making Bokuto’s cheeks turn pink. He’s a bit confused, but can’t ask why before the waitress is taking their orders. “Oh, uh, I don’t”

“Don’t worry, get what you like! It’s my treat, after all,” Bokuto chirps, leaning back in his chair. Akaashi nods, then lists off his drink and food, deciding to try the lemon cream cake. “Oh, that sounds good! I’ll have a slice of the lemon cake, too. And a hot chocolate,” Bokuto says, and with that the waitress leaves.

“Not coffee?” Akaashi asks, a small smile. It fits, as Bokuto doesn’t seem like someone who enjoys the bitter drink.

“Ah, no. We never really drank coffee in my house growing up, so I much prefer sweet drinks. If I drink coffee, it’s full of cream and sugar, so it’s not very coffee like, I suppose,” he chuckles, then clears his throat. “Are you a fan of coffee?”

“Well, it helps keep me up when I do homework or gets me through my day. I guess you can say I’m a bit addicted,” Akaashi tries to force a small laugh, but it doesn’t seem as relaxed as Bokuto’s. Thankfully, Bokuto doesn’t point it out.

“That’s right! You mentioned being in school? What do you do? Or, I guess, what do you want to do?”

“Uh, I’m looking to go into the literature business when I graduate. I was thinking of becoming an editor or something similar,”

“Oh, so you‘re doing business classes!” Bokuto points two finger guns in his direction, smiling when Akaashi nods. “I always envied the people who went into business. So much planning ahead and thinking, it’s not really for me,”

“I’m sure studying would help, so don’t say that,”

“Well, I’m more of a people person than a knowledge person. Is that right? It sounds weird, but I’m better with interactions than just thinking,”

“Communications, then. Or a social worker?” Akaashi asks, then stops, making Bokuto raise his brows. “I’m sorry, you have a career ahead of you. There’s no need to try and bring up college stuff,”

“Well, I figured I’d start with something you’re familiar with. You’re so tense, I thought perhaps thinking of something else would help you relax a bit,” Bokuto smiles as Akaashi just stares at him. At that moment, the drinks and cake is brought out. “If you want anything else, let me know!” He chirps, then digs into his cake. Akaashi can’t help but smile, finding himself more relaxed than before.

The date is much better than Akaashi thought it’d be. His biggest worry was not being able to have similar interests, but Bokuto was interested in any topic Akaashi brought up. Even if it seemed out of his knowledge range, he made a point to listen. When Akaashi’s cup ran low, he got up to order another one, asking if he wanted anything else to eat. Akaashi’s never been a big eater, so he declined each time, even though Bokuto decided to try every option on the menu. He also shared, wanting Akaashi to at least have a taste.

When the date was over, Bokuto didn’t even let Akaashi see the check, just handed the waitress his card while they finished up their conversation.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask, why did you choose to have a date for the 20th?” Akaashi brings up. He’s been curious since the question was brought up last week.

“Oh! It’s my birthday. I usually spend it with friends, but I’m getting tired of fancy parties and going to clubs. I just wanted a nice dinner and someone to spend it with, so I thought I’d look into someone who’d be willing,” he shrugs, finishing up his hot chocolate. Akaashi nods, then decides he should probably get a present. “Oh, but if you do decide to spend the day with me, you don’t have to give me a present. After all, I supply you with goodies and money, right? You supply me with your presence,”

Akaashi finds it interesting he doesn’t say ‘body’ or anything regarding sex, but doesn’t bring it up. Maybe he doesn’t want to bring it up in public. After the waitress hands back his card, Bokuto thanks her and gets up, signifying the end of the date. Akaashi gets up as well, finding himself greedily wanting to spend more time together.

“Did you want me to walk you home? Or drive you?” Bokuto suddenly asks once they’re outside. Akaashi shakes his head, but thanks Bokuto anyways.

“I live pretty close by, so I’ll be fine,”

“Alright. If you need anything, just let me know,” he gives off finger guns, watching Akaashi walk away. It isn’t until he’s turned a corner does Bokuto finally leave, heading in the opposite direction where parked cars are. Akaashi watches him leave, then continues on his way home. Despite the lack of red flags, he can never be too safe.

When he gets back to the apartment, he finds Kenma still there, but in different attire. “Go somewhere?”

“Game shop. It’s next to the coffee shop you went to,” he replies, not missing a beat. Akaashi sighs, not surprised. “So? How’d it go?”

“He’s way too nice. I feel like there’s a catch. He was even considerate of positioning of the table,” he says. “You mentioned on my profile I don’t like crowds, so he chose a table in the back away from crowds,”

“That’s sus,”

“But then told me that it may give off bad vibes, so he also made sure we were within line sight of the counter and two baristas at a time. They would periodically check up on us, too, but that was probably because Bokuto kept ordering desserts. He has a big sweet tooth,”

“So he’s not sus, is what I’m gathering?”

“Not suspicious, for now. I don’t know, like I said,” he sits next to Kenma, kicking up his feet on the table. “Too good to be true.”

A notification alert shatters the comfortable silence, making Akaashi look at his phone. A DM from Bokuto again, as well as a deposit into his bank account. “Deposit?”

“You link your bank account to the profile if you’re a sugar baby looking for money. He and anyone else can add money whenever they like. How much did he deposit?”

There’s silence before Akaashi speaks, his eyes wide as he just looks at Kenma. “100,000¥.”

After that, Kenma and Yukie were heavily invested. Giving tips, hyping him up, telling his what he should say to Bokuto, everything. When Bokuto asked his sizes, Akaashi asked him why, even though Kenma told him it was probably for a present and he should just tell him. Sure enough, Bokuto planned on buying an outfit for the 20th, tailored to Akaashi’s figure. Then came the question for his address. Kenma was still skeptical, as was Akaashi, but he ultimately decided to place his trust in Bokuto.

A couple days later, a box with his name was delivered. In it, was a nice suit that would take Akaashi years to earn enough money to buy. The button-down shirt was white, with a black business coat and black dress pants, complete with dress shoes and even a pair of black socks. A full outfit for the special day, but under all those clothes was something else, a lingerie set made of lace. He tried on every article of clothing, finding it fit him well and snug, much better than his old baggy clothes. Even the lingerie, though it left nothing to the imagination.

The day of the date had arrived. Akaashi had dressed himself up, feeling good about himself while Kenma gave him a thumbs up. Bokuto would pick him up at 5, so when he got a knock at 4:30, he expected Bokuto. Instead, he got Ichiro, who seemed less drugged up than when they last met. “Ichiro? What are you—?”

“I’m sorry, Akaashi!” Is all he says, bowing deeply. “I haven’t been the same without you. Sleeping on strangers couches, doing nothing but smoking and drinking, I feel like I’m lost,”

“You did that here, too,” Akaashi flatly retorts, hands on his hips. “I told you. I’m tired of dealing with you. You never showed me affection in our last year, it just made sense to break up. An apology can’t change that,”

“You’re just gonna let two years go down the drain? I was your friend before we dated, can we at least stay friends?”

“No, he said he’s done with you, now leave,” Kenma says, entering Ichiro’s view. “He’s not interested, anyways,”

“Oh, is that it? You moved on so easily from me?” He then turned his tune and look at Akaashi. “You’ve been whoring yourself out, is that it?”

“No, that’s not—!”

“Don’t lie to me! You have barely even touched me in the past few months!” Getting more riled up, he steps into the apartment as Akaashi backs up, fear freezing him. Kenma tries to bring Akaashi closer to him, but Ichiro’s anger turns to him. “You’ve probably been lying to him and got him to break up with me, huh? You’ve always had a problem with me,”

“He didn’t do anything, Ichiro. He’s just my friend. Leave him out of your pathetic display of manipulation. And get out,” Akaashi sneers, moving Kenma behind him. He may not be confrontational, but he knows Kenma does even worse with these things. Ichiro seems even more angered by Akaashi’s tone, but he doesn’t get to say anything else.

“Akaashi? What’s going on?” Bokuto stands at the open door, a worried look on his face. Understandable, since he doesn’t know the situation. However, Bokuto’s presence is just fuel to a fire.

“So, this is him? The guy you’ve been fucking behind my back? Seems like a fucking joke, Keiji,”

“We’re not together anymore, Ichiro. Please leave,” Akaashi says, again. Keeping Kenma behind him, his eyes flicker to Bokuto’s, getting the message across.

“You know what-!”

“It’s time to go, Ichiro, was it? Before I call the police,” Bokuto says, grabbing his raised wrist. Bokuto is much stronger than him, but the threat of police makes him laugh.

“Police? They don’t do shit here,”

“Perhaps. But I have friends in high places. I’m sure a phone call later, you’ll be caught for domestic abuse and harassment. Your best option is to leave of your own will. Or I will drag you out,” his voice is serious, but his face is void of emotion, making him seem scarier than if he was angry. Unmoving as if he was stone, Ichiro agrees to leave, stomping his way out. Bokuto stays until he’s gone, then turns to Akaashi and Kenma. “Are you two okay?”

“Fine, thanks,” Kenma mutters, still hiding a bit behind Akaashi.

“A bit frazzled, but okay. Thanks to you,”

“Who was that guy?” Akaashi decides to explain about Ichiro, deciding Bokuto deserves to know everything, since, well, he almost saw the worst of it. “What a asshole, waltzing in here like he owns the place after all that. Should’ve dragged him out myself,” he huffs, crossing his arms. Kenma has retreated to the bedroom while Akaashi tells Bokuto the story, so it’s just the two of them. “After that, I’d be totally understandable if you don’t wanna, like, go anywhere,”

“No, no! I’m fine. I’d probably prefer it, anyways, in case he comes back,” Akaashi fiddles with his fingers at the thought. He doesn’t want to be home alone, and Kenma probably wants to go home himself.

“Are you sure? I promise I won’t be upset. The reservations can be rescheduled,”

“No, I promised to spend time with you, Bokuto-san, so that is what I will do. Just, give me time to freshen up?” Bokuto nods, letting Akaashi give himself time to calm his nerves.

Bokuto drives Akaashi to a fantastic restaurant, one of the few that are only available via reservations and everything served is expensive. It’s luxurious and spacious, making Akaashi wonder if he should even be in such a place. But Bokuto encourages him in, holding out his arm to take as the enter the building. Thankfully, nobody stares at them as they’re brought to their table. Akaashi couldn’t live with the stares of judging gazes from strangers.

“So, what’s the special occasion?” The waiter asks. Bokuto answers, of course.

“Birthday celebration. Any recommendations?”

“Strawberry champagne is highly popular for birthday celebrations, or we can serve regular champagne if you don’t like sweet drinks.” Bokuto asks for a bottle of the strawberry champagne, then asks Akaashi if he wants anything.

“No, I’m good. Just a glass of water, please,” and with that, the waiter leaves. Bokuto looks at Akaashi, no show of emotions. “Yes, Bokuto-san?”

“You sure you’re okay? I’m paying for the meal, you could have gotten anything you wanted,”

“I’m just not a fan of alcohol. Burns the throat, you know,” he explains. Bokuto doesn’t pry, but a part of Akaashi tells him Bokuto knows why. He may not have mentioned Ichiro got rowdy when he got drunk, but he did mention his abuse of alcohol.

“Also, no need to be so formal. We may not exactly be in a romantic relationship, but it’s an intimate relationship nonetheless, yes?” Bokuto holds out his hand, making Akaashi nod. “So you can call me Bokuto. Or Kōtarō, but you can save that for later,” he winks, making Akaashi’s cheeks heat up. The waiter also happened to bring the drinks at that time, taking their food orders.

Dinner, although his nerves never got quiet, was rather relaxing for Akaashi. Bokuto kept up a steady conversation as he had at the café and managed to get Akaashi thinking of topics other than his current situation. However, before dessert, Akaashi felt his stomach tighten as a woman passed by their table. Looking between the two of them, she crinkled her nose as she looked at Akaashi, but Bokuto didn’t seem to notice. He did, however, notice Akaashi’s mood drop.

“Hm? You’re fiddling, are you okay?” He asks, leaning his cheek on his hand. Akaashi drops his hands, brushing them on his napkin before wringing them.

“It’s just, uh, isn’t it weird for me to be here? Or us? Together? After all, you are older than me, so they probably think, um,” he trails off, fiddling with his fingers again.

“Worried they’ll think bad of us? Worried they’ll think you’re using me?” Bokuto hits the nail on the head, making Akaashi nod and sigh. “Keiji,” the name has his head rising, eyes wide, but listening. “The only one who’s opinion matters to you in this restaurant should be your own, and maybe mine, but you know my thoughts. I only care about your opinion, after all,”

“Really? You think so highly of my tastes?” Akaashi jokes, his smile not reaching his eyes. Bokuto then snaps his fingers, digging in his pocket for something.

“I want you to go to the bathroom and put this on while waiting for dessert. It’ll also give you time to calm your nerves,” Bokuto could read Akaashi like a book. Akaashi took the small box, nodding as he headed for the restroom.

He didn’t quite know what to expect when he opened the box, but he didn’t expect a silver butt plug with a sapphire gem on the bottom. Not real sapphire, of course, Akaashi thinks as he taps on it. In it is a tiny bottle of lube, just enough to coat the toy and, well, plug himself up. Peeling the lace off is tedious, so he just pulls the flimsy fabric to the side as he slides the cold metal inside of him. It fits snugly inside, pressing against his prostate as he redressed himself. Calming his nerves for one reason, but he’s still nervous for other reasons.

When he comes back to the table, Bokuto has a plate of cake in front of him, as well as a big cookie. “Glad you’re back! I got a special cookie! I thought we could split it together,” he smiled, a beaming smile so bright it could wash away insecurities.

“That sounds good,” he replies, setting himself down. Bokuto watches with a grin as he winces, biting his bottom lip as he seats himself comfortably. “I, ah, calmed my nerves,”

“Looks like it,” Bokuto hums, taking a bite of cake. His smile never leaves, seemingly a smile of pride. A smile that never left his face as he finished his dessert.

A calm evening made it seem like a perfect night. With the dinner over, Akaashi felt himself get nervous at the knowledge of what was to come. Even though Bokuto has shown he was nothing but a gentleman, and Kenma gave his stamp of approval, he couldn’t help the nerves. Despite the car ride not being silent, Akaashi couldn’t help but feel awkward. Bokuto seemed to sense he was nervous, being up old funny stories that had him smiling, occasionally laughing, which he was thankful for. It didn’t help that every shift Akaashi made in his seat also slightly shifted the plug. It felt weird do put it in, but as per Bokuto’s request, he did. Of course Bokuto knew about it, but it still made him feel as though he was different than he actually is.

“Alright, we’re here,” Bokuto practically sang, parking the car and turning it off as Akaashi was in awe at the size. It was no grandeur mansion, but it was large and definitely spacious, probably costing a fortune to him. Bokuto opened his car door, helping him out, even though his movements were slow. “Relax, we just got here,” he does a small laugh, shutting the door and locked it, a small chime as it successfully locked.

Entering the house made Akaashi’s heart catch in his throat, his eyes tracing over every object he saw. Although most of the stuff was something he’d probably only see in magazines, not in someone’s house. For example, a quite large statue of a great horned owl on a pedestal near the entrance. Probably made from something like marble, Akaashi thinks, letting his eyes roam as he walks. Bokuto brings him to the living room, a spacious and wide space that’s probably bigger than Akaashi’s whole apartment. “You can relax here. Do you want something to drink? Wine to make you feel better or just some water?”

The option of wine is tempting, but Akaashi knows Kenma would kill him if he had an ounce of alcohol in him tonight. After all, he skipped out on premium champagne at dinner. “No, no, I’d just like some water. Or tea, if you have it?”

“Sure! I have chamomile,” Bokuto gives Akaashi some finger guns, making him smile as he nods. Once he’s bounding off towards his kitchen, Akaashi shifts in his seat as he tries to ease his anxiety and find a comfortable position. The plug is unforgiving, continuously rubbing against Akaashi as he tries to find comfort. A small move has him letting out a low moan, hand flying to his mouth as he scans the room, listening for Bokuto. With nothing, he sighs, deciding to hold still as he looks towards a nearby hallway.

A black carpet lines the hallway, probably leading to restrooms and perhaps a bedroom. Before Akaashi can check, Bokuto is returning with a cup of tea and a glass of wine for himself. Another worry Akaashi had throughout the night, watching Bokuto drink the fruity alcohol served to him that had his cheeks pink and his smile permanent. “Chamomile, piping hot. Don’t burn yourself.”

“Ah, thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi curses himself as he uses the formal tone once more. Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind, knowing he’s trying. It is only their second date, after all, and Bokuto seems to be content with Akaashi’s presence, so hopefully it won’t be their last. He’s worried, of course, that it’ll eventually end, but he shouldn’t worry about that right now. The tea is scalding, but Akaashi finds relief in the hot liquid as it helps to immediately relieve his nerves, a gentle sigh leaving his lips.

“I’ll take it you like it? I don’t drink tea much, so you’re welcome to have any kind when you’re here,” Bokuto hums, taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe when you feel comfortable you can try the wine. Kuroo loves to buy me wine for some reason, so I have lots. I only really like a certain type, but it’s a bit sweet,” Bokuto rambles off, leaning back in the chair. He’s not close too Akaashi, but he’s close enough. Akaashi is glad for the distance, for once, finding Bokuto’s presence is a lot to handle at once. It can be warm and comforting, but it also can worsen those insecurities he buries deep inside. “Done?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you, again,”

“Don’t worry about it. I have to be a good host, no?” He chuckles, walking back into the kitchen. When he returns, he doesn’t sit in the chair again, but rather beside Akaashi on the loveseat. Crossing his legs, he puts his arm on the back of the loveseat, but still keeping a space between him and Akaashi. Whether it’s on purpose or an accident, Akaashi can’t help but overthink everything Bokuto does. “Keiji, if you’re too anxious, we don’t have to do anything, you know?”

“No, of course I know, but I’m—”

“Your shoulders are tense, your back has been rigid almost all evening. I know you mentioned having back pain when we were at the café, so I’ve been concerned.”

“I— You remembered that?” Akaashi squints, disbelieving that Bokuto would retain that information.

“Yeah, and, uh, this may be a bit embarrassing, but I actually did a bit of research on back massages. You mentioned you liked the smell of peppermint, correct?” A small nod. “I thought maybe one day I could massage the stress from your muscles. I get them all the time due to my work, so it was a bit of good information to learn.”

“Actually, I’d like that,” Akaashi then turns his body closer to Bokuto, letting their legs touch. “But today is your birthday, is it not? The whole day is supposed to be about you.” Bokuto’s hums in agreement, bringing his hand to cup Akaashi’s face. It stays there for a bit, Akaashi’s eyes fluttering as he leans into the warmth.

“Can I kiss you?” Bokuto whispers, his lips inching closer to Akaashi’s. Like it’s their first date again, Akaashi nods, meeting Bokuto’s lips with his own. It’s a kiss for lovers, one that’s deep and has Bokuto practically pushing Akaashi on the loveseat, his hand leaving the furniture to support Akaashi’s head. When Bokuto lets out a low groan from deep in his throat, Akaashi breaks the kiss as Bokuto chases his lips, stealing another kiss.

“Shouldn’t we move to the bedroom?” He whispers, pressing his forehead to Bokuto’s. “After all, you have a present to unwrap,”

That gets Bokuto moving, picking Akaashi up bridal style with ease as he takes long strides to the bedroom. It’s close enough by, a short trip and then Bokuto’s closing a door with his foot, setting Akaashi down on a large bed. The mattress is soft and moves along with his weight, a feel akin to a cloud compared to the futon he usually sleeps on at his apartment. He can’t spend too much time admiring the bed, however, as Bokuto’s eager lips claim his once more. Akaashi can’t even complain when Bokuto starts popping the buttons off of his shirt, too eager to properly discard the material. Everything Akaashi is wearing belongs to Bokuto, technically, even the blooming hickeys on his chest and stomach.

Hands trace over the white lace adorning Akaashi’s body, straps that move from front to back. Even his fingers slide under the material, rubbing against Akaashi’s hardened nipples. His lips graze over the fabric, eyes looking up to see Akaashi looking down at him. Bokuto brings Akaashi’s legs over the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of his pants as his mouth follows, pressing kisses to the growing bulge under the fabric. “A-Ah, Bokuto! Shouldn’t I—”

“Not yet, you deserve a treat for looking so fine tonight. Not to mention, you are my present, are you not?” Bokuto simply says, a low voice that has Akaashi’s face reddening more than it had been. Bokuto continues to undress Akaashi, unbuttoning the pants and unclamping the belt, sliding them off as the rest of the lingerie is revealed. The bottom half hardly covers anything, not doing such a good job in holding back Akaashi’s erection nor hiding the shiny butt plug underneath the thin fabric. Bokuto let’s put a pleased groan, fingers pressing against the toy as Akaashi moans, legs trying to close as his back arches. Even his cock twitches, desperate for attention.

He doesn’t wait long before giving it exactly that, his tongue swiping along the tip as Akaashi’s hands fly to his hair. Another deep groan as he presses kisses along the shaft, sliding his tongue over Akaashi’s balls as well. His fingers find themselves pressing against the toy until they’re pulling it out, making Akaashi whimper as he slowly removes it. He’s not empty for long, as two fingers replace the hard toy and manage to rub against any sensitive spots inside him. With the constant pressure against his prostate and Bokuto’s mouth and tongue pleasing his cock, Akaashi finds himself quickly hurling towards an orgasm.

“N— No, Kōtarō, I—” he moans, hands releasing Bokuto’s hair as his back arches, cum filling Bokuto’s mouth as he drinks it all up. Looking to Akaashi, who has tears in his eyes, Bokuto can’t help but think about how gorgeous he looks like that. “I’m sorry,”

A smack of the lips, and a show of licking his lips. Then his fingers, making Akaashi even more flustered as he watches. “What for? You’ve been edging all day for me, haven’t you? Only reasonable that I’d please you first. You’ve been such a good boy for me, haven’t you?” The pet name is almost too much, Akaashi’s cock practically springing back to life. The name combined with lidded eyes has his stomach warming.

“Well,” Akaashi licks his lips, deciding to give off a sensual smile, “I should give you the second half of your present,”

They change positions after he says that, with Bokuto on the bed as Akaashi places himself between his thighs. Bokuto, with all his strength, practically rips off his own clothes, leaving only his slacks and boxers to be removed. Akaashi takes up the responsibility of removing them, sliding the pants down first, then going to remove his boxers. However, he is only able to free Bokuto’s cock before he stops, eyes wide as he stares at his cock. It’s much bigger than anything he’s ever seen, with a girth that prevents his fingers from touching as they wrap around it. His original plan was go for a deepthroat, but now he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to fit half.

Forgoing completely removing his boxers, Akaashi focuses on his cock instead. Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind, running a hand through Akaashi’s hair as he watches. It’s pleasing to watch as Akaashi figures out what to do. Starting with basics, he lets some saliva dribble onto the tip, pressing his lips to the side as he uses his spit as lube. While one hand rubs the half he can’t put in his mouth, his other hand finds itself on Bokuto’s thigh, feeling the muscle flexing underneath as he forces his legs to stay open. Using his tongue to lick his way back to the top, Akaashi finally puts the tip in his mouth, moaning as he does. The vibrations help in pleasing Bokuto, as he throws his head back at the sensation, hand on the back of Akaashi’s head. As Akaashi takes more into his mouth, he has to stop halfway and simply bob his head, moaning as drool spills from small openings and dribbles down Bokuto’s cock.

“‘Kaashi, fuck,” Bokuto groans, hand never leaving Akaashi’s head. A small hum is all Akaashi can really say, rubbing his tongue against Bokuto’s cock and over the tip as he bobs his head on it. The spit coats his hand as he spreads it over the bit he can’t take in, but it also spills over Bokuto’s balls, with only more being adding with each moment Akaashi sucks him off. He knows he’s getting close, so Akaashi manages to take a bit more, gagging as he does, but it’s the final push for Bokuto to tip over the edge, a loud moan as he coats Akaashi’s throat in thick seed. It’s bitter and sticky, but that doesn’t stop Akaashi from lapping up any excess that escaped his mouth.

Bokuto’s practically breathless at this point, chest heaving as his hands grab Akaashi, bringing him onto his lap. “That was.. the best orgasm I have ever had,” he just says, smiling when Akaashi flushes. “Let’s see if you can top it,”

“I-I really don’t think—” Akaashi’s cut off when Bokuto pushes two fingers into him, a moan escaping as he lays his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. A small //pop is heard, making Akaashi look down to see a small bottle of lube. It looks like it’s a one time use bottle, but it’s small enough that Bokuto could grab it at any time and he wouldn’t have noticed. Bokuto slathers the cold liquid on his cock, hissing as he makes sure each bit is coated. Then, he moves to make sure Akaashi’s hole is slick enough for the least amount of pain. He hasn’t actually been fucked in so long, he’s not entirely sure how well he’ll take Bokuto, but he’s come too far to stop.

“You ready?” Bokuto asks, voice soft as he whispers into Akaashi’s ear. When Akaashi nods, fingers digging into Bokuto’s shoulders as the tip presses against him, Bokuto kisses his shoulders, easing him down. The stretch is painful and brutal, bringing tears to his eyes, but Bokuto never lets his lips leave his shoulder and neck, kisses as each inch pushes him past new limits. It’s only mere second, but it feels as though it’s an eternity before Akaashi is finally seated against Bokuto, his cock filling him up completely. “How you feelin’?”

“I’m fine. A bit— a bit full, that’s all,” he gives a short, small chuckle, shattering the quiet, romantic atmosphere. He can’t really say he’s quite experienced in this department, seeing as Ichiro only preferred blowjobs and maybe handjobs sometimes. But that’s okay, since Bokuto’s fingers are digging into his ass and lifting him up. A moan is ripped from his throat when he’s forced back down, a squelching noise accompanying him as the lube is squished together.

“Damn, I wish you could see the view,” Bokuto growls out, teeth digging into Akaashi’s neck as he moans from another thrust. Akaashi can only catch a glimpse behind him, but he finally notices the mirror on the back of the door. With wide eyes, he flushed again as he buries his face in Bokuto’s neck, only to then lose that space. Bokuto leans back, flashing a grin as he hands move from Akaashi’s ass to his thighs. Now, he’s straddling. “I’d like to see the view from here, too,”

Akaashi can’t respond, finding his mind muddled and tongue tied as his hands are guided to Bokuto’s chest, blunt fingernails scraping against skin, as Bokuto’s hands slide back to his thighs. A small roll of his hips has Bokuto sighing in approval, using his hands to help Akaashi bounce on his lap. Akaashi at least has good stamina and leg strength, able to move without a majority of Bokuto’s help. Figuring this out, Bokuto moves one of his hands to Akaashi’s cock, as it bounces with each thrust, giving it a squeeze as he pumps it. “Ah, Bokuto-san, n-not—”

“Not there? Is that what you’re going to say?” A harsh thrust up has Akaashi momentarily off balance, but he finds his rhythm again. “You’re so selfless, ‘Kaashi. Trying to give and not willing to take. It’s okay to enjoy yourself, too,” Bokuto says, nothing in his voice giving away he’s exerting energy to thrust into Akaashi and lift him up. “You’ve been like this all night,”

“I-I guess I’m just not u-used to it,” Akaashi manages to get out, albeit in between moans. A frown appears on Bokuto’s face, making Akaashi’s stomach drop as he panics. “I—”

Bokuto’s gone back to sitting up, keeping one hand on Akaashi’s back as he stops thrusting. “It’s your ex, isn’t it?” He simply asks. It’s not much of a question as it is a statement, but Akaashi’s silence and avoidant gaze gives him the answer he knew. A small growl comes from his throat, one that has Akaashi’s mind reeling and panicking, made worse when Bokuto pulls out. Akaashi, however, can’t say a word when Bokuto’s easily turning him around, making him face the mirror, then the feeling of being full comes again.

“You deserve better than that,” Bokuto’s words are similar to Kenma’s, making Akaashi’s eyes blur with tears as his legs are spread wide by Bokuto’s hands. A sudden thrust has his hands flying to the back of Bokuto’s head, digging his fingers into his scalp. “Every compliment your way is deflected because you can’t see what I see, you only see what he made you see,” Bokuto practically sneers as he mentions Ichiro’s presence. The anxiousness and fear in Akaashi’s stomach vanishes instantly when he realizes the anger isn’t towards him. “This way, you can decide with your own eyes what to see,” he finishes, eyes focusing on Akaashi’s in the mirror. With his desires laid out and his goal, he gets rougher with his fucking.

A small change of movement has Akaashi seeing stars, barely able to hold his eyes open, let alone watch himself. A firm demand has his eyes, unfocused and glazed, looking into the mirror as he can only focus on how absolutely wrecked he looks. Bokuto has moved his hands from under Akaashi’s thighs, using the bend of his elbow to bend his legs and brought them towards his shoulders. The new position leaves Akaashi gasping for air, feeling his stomach and lungs under pressure he’s never felt before. But it’s a perfect position for the moment. Bokuto has the strength and energy to thrust up into Akaashi as his arms hold his body in a single position, moving down to meet his thrusts. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, but ultimately decides to wrap them around his cock.

“//Fuck, cum for me, pretty boy,” Bokuto grins, a devilish grin that has Akaashi squeezing down on his cock as he moans, head thrown back as his cum shoots out, staining the hardwood floor and getting on some discarded clothes. A satisfied growl is heard from Bokuto, making Akaashi get weak in the knees as the thrusts get even more brutal. Sure enough, Bokuto’s forcing him all the way down as he moans, filling him up with his own hefty load of cum. A few shallow thrusts have him spending his entire load into Akaashi, the two of them moaning as he pulls out. Once removed, sticky cum oozes from Akaashi. Both are covered in a layer of sweat, exhaustion setting in heavily.

Akaashi is too spent to do much of anything, trying to catch his breath from a forceful orgasm and the rough handling. He enjoyed it, of course, but his body isn’t used to such flexibility. Bokuto is able to move much better, getting them both up and moving to the attached bathroom. Akaashi thinks he’ll prepare a bath, but instead he just sets Akaashi on the counter, getting a towel and washcloth to wet with warm water. He doesn’t seem to mind the mess that Akaashi leaks all over his floors and counter, wiping him as best he can while he uses another cloth to wipe away the sweat.

“How you feeling? Was I too rough?” Bokuto nibbles on his lower lip, looking up at Akaashi, who has mostly caught his breath back.

“A bit too rough, perhaps. I don’t think I’ll be walking tomorrow,” he laughs, but continues when Bokuto frowns. “But I liked it. I wouldn’t mind you using your strength in the future,” he smiles, happy when Bokuto’s frown falls and a smile replaces it.

“I’m so glad,” he says, releasing a heavy sigh. “I was worried I went too far, but I just—”

“I know. It’s alright, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi cuts him off, not wanting to bring up the problem. At least not while Bokuto’s wiping his seed off of Akaashi’s ass and thighs. However, Bokuto frowns again.

“No more ‘Kōtarō’? I got so excited when you called me that, I thought I’d end up spending all night buried inside you,” he practically whines. So shamelessly, in fact, that Akaashi finds himself flustered at his words. “And the way you even said it-!”

“I get it, Bokuto-san!” Akaashi covers his face, getting Bokuto to laugh. Stealing a peek, he finds Bokuto just smiling down at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re so easy to fluster that it’s cute.” Akaashi sighs, dropping his hands as Bokuto leaves him, dropping the washcloths off elsewhere. When he comes back, he’s wearing a fresh pair of boxers and some loose hanging pajama pants. In his hands, another pair of boxers and a shirt to match his pants. “I got you a wardrobe ahead of time, just in case I got too excited and ripped your clothes. I also ordered some pajamas for myself, but the shirt was a bit too tight,” he lets out a soft chuckle when he says that. “I can get you some other clothes if you want,”

“No, that’s fine. We’ll match,” Akaashi’s smile makes Bokuto perk up, making his heart hammer as he finds himself enjoying the energetic and happy Bokuto. Once he’s dressed into the boxers, a perfect fit, and wearing the shirt, he’s being carried back to the bed. Clothes are still strewn across the floor, but the mess he made has been cleaned up. Bokuto doesn’t seem like he has much more energy to spend, preferring to crawl into bed with Akaashi.

“I’m so tired, I’m skipping the gym tomorrow morning,” Bokuto groans, settling himself against Akaashi’s back. With his arm under Akaashi’s head, Akaashi rests his hand near his wrist. His other hand rests on Akaashi’s waist, rubbing in soothing circles.

“I’m not surprised. Champagne and wine will tire you out,” Akaashi’s cut off with a yawn, eyelids drooping. “The tea I had also tires people out, so I’m surprised I didn’t pass out,”

“Wine? What do you— Oh! That wasn’t wine! It was actually grape juice,” Bokuto says, making Akaashi turn to look at him. “I don’t like the taste of alcohol, usually only drinking sweet drinks that have little to not burn. The champagne was something I’ve had before, so I knew it was sweet. But it was more so an experiment, I guess? I noticed you seemed to get more tense when I ordered a bottle of champagne, so I wanted to see if you didn’t like the idea of me drinking. I’m guessing bad experiences?”

“I didn’t know you noticed,” Akaashi mumbles, still looking at Bokuto. He just shrugs in response, completely relaxed as he holds Akaashi close.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m good at reading people,” he then presses his head to Akaashi’s. “I also know you’re hesitant to tell me if you don’t like something, you fiddle with your fingers, just like how you fiddle with them when we have different tastes and interests in things,”

“Cannot believe you remember stuff from our first date,” Akaashi just says, but says nothing else. Bokuto doesn’t seem like talking much either, rubbing Akaashi’s back as they both drift off to sleep.

#Birdie’s Bokuto Week 2021 #Bokuto Week #Mr. Kōtarō #Mr. Keiji #bokuaka smut #BB.Kinky #haikyuu smut #tw.alcohol #tw.abuse #tw.drugs #tw.smoking #tw.eating #tw.food #tw.manhandling

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mrskodzuken · 2 years ago

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Now eating seafood Cup Noods (sprinkled with parmesan cheese shhh 🤫) for dinner while I’m currently 740 into my Kenma wip @northofneverland look, mom!

^ i also wanna show off my Karasuno crows Firefox browser theme but RIP lighting at night 😅

#tw.food #🐱saku.say

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sugurouge · 3 years ago

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i don't know where this is coming from but i lowkey wanna disappoint draken. like like when he'd ask something like "did you remember to eat lunch?" after a lonnggg day and you'd sheepishly reply with a "no." ahh no you can see the judgement all over his face and the disappointed sigh? nothing but sexy to me. and when you crawl into his lap, arms snaking around his neck while you pepper kisses to his cheek... whereas the man would just act all pissed and grumpy, mumbling something amongst the lines of "'s not gonna work tonight." but you both know it will work, so you giggle and hum and apologise and promise to accept his lunch box for the next day before he fucks you until you starve for dinner because of how much he has powered you out. yeah... :')

#what is this lmfao #GRUMPY PISSED DRAKEN IS JUST HOT #let the man take care of you #is all he wants😮‍💨#tw.food #i guess #❧ — x draken

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lalunanymph · 2 years ago

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lookie i made sushi bake for lunch today 😮‍💨

oops also hand reveal!!

#listen;;;;;#no listen;;;;;#i usually don’t trust viral recipes #but this;;;;#yall cali girls are on to something #my bowl was gone in 15mins #chef dawn is here among us today #tw.food #dawn.txt

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trapboysbunny · 3 years ago

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⎼ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴡᴇʟʟ; ʙʀᴀɴᴅᴏɴ

genre: fluff

cw: fear, claustrophobia, paranormal activity, awkward/compromising situations?, mentions of food, established friendship, slight ooc warning, not proofread

a/n: can be read as platonic or romantic. sorry this is kind of super late but this one shot is for @elarasstardust! hope you enjoy and that i did it justice! it’s kind of trash bc i haven’t written in a while but i really tried. i hope you like it! also please forgive any misspelling/gramma mistakes; it’s like 3am and i’m a lil tipsy :/

additionally, this one shot was inspired by the events from this video on the TFIL youtube channel

it was no secret that neither of you had really been looking forward to your overnight at the conjuring house. on the way there, crammed into the back seat of the car with corbin and evan, the two of you made a pact: the two of you were in this together. both of you being frightened easily, you promised to always stick together.

so far, you’d done a pretty good job. the two of you had stuck right with one another throughout the house tour and the entirety of the cemetery expedition, arm in arm or pinkies linked or anxiously clinging to the other’s pocket. sure, the rest of the group poled fun at the two of you every now and then for being such scaredy cats, but neither of you paid them any mind.

it had honestly been pretty smooth sailing for the first few hours; a guided tour and a spontaneous adventure that no one really wanted to participate in was pretty run of the mill for tfil. everything had actually been going really great. until elton decided that you all should play hide and clap to pass the time. “i don’t know about this one,” you laughed nervously, leaning into brandon’s side.

elton snickered, grinning at you before turning back to the camera. “and if you don’t find everyone in a five minute period,” he added, smiling giddily as the rest of the group groaned at whatever was to come. “those people who do not find everyone... will go down into the well.”

“dude,” brandon protested, squeezing you a little closer to his side.

“elton-” you began, unsure. one look from the bearded man had you snapping your mouth shut, carefully reconsidering your words. you frowned. “i didn’t sign up for this.”

“actually, you did,” elton replied lightly, turning to smile at you.

“it’ll be okay,” brandon whispered, rubbing your shoulder. “we’re in this together, remember?” something about the way he said it told you that he was saying is for your comfort in addition to his own.

after a few minutes of convincing, the group began to shake on it, officiating the deal. your turn came and elton extended his hand to you. reaching out, you hesitated, turning to brandon. are you sure? with a single nod, it had been decided. you sighed, shaking elton’s hand and pretending not to notice the way his near-sinister smile grew just the smallest bit. “fine. deal,” you agreed begrudgingly.

“pleasure doing business with you,” elton grinned before turning back to the camera to continue his explanation.

“idiot,” you grumbled, flicking brandon in the side and trying not to laugh when he hissed at the sensation. “you better win.”

⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼x⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼

a little less than two hours later, all six rounds of hide and clap were over and brandon had, unsurprisingly, not won. unfortunately, this meant that you had to find a way to throw your round as well. in the end, you played it off as carrying on a bit for too long, and thank god these boys were dense enough to believe you. now, said boys were giddily guiding the both of you down to the hole - or, rather, well - that the two of you would be staying in as punishment. “well, well, well, you two,” elton started curtly, clasping his hands together and trying not to look too proud of his pun. “get in the well.”

“haha, very funny,” brandon replied sarcastically despite the tiny smile on his face.

you and brandon shared a look, pinkies already linked. “do you want me to go in first?” you asked, taking a step forward.

brandon shook his head and huffed, letting your pinky go. you knew him well enough to recognize that he wasn’t frustrated with you, and that eased your anxiety a little. “no, i’ll go in first. that way you can get out first if you need to,” he replied breathily, beginning the process of lowering himself into the hole.

“okay.” you nodded, smiling gratefully as you moved to squat down beside the well. “it’s just a well, brandon,” you assured him. he hummed in response, lowering himself in up to his shoulders.

“yeah, a well in the basement of an extremely haunted house,” the leader of the group teased cheekily.

“elton,” you warned, and the bearded man raised his hands in defense.

turning to brandon, the two of you shared a look and took a deep breath together. “okay,” brandon mumbled, lowering himself further into the well. “it’s just a well.”

“that’s right,” you affirmed, reaching down to pat his head. once he had settled and found good footholds, he flashed an anxious smile. “you ready to come down?”

you sighed, scrunching up your nose at the thought. “ready as i’ll ever be,” you muttered, beginning to lower yourself down as well.

“c’mere, i’ve got you.” grabbing your hands, brandon helped you shimmy down into the well and settle against the wall opposite of him. once you had stopped fidgeting and he seemed satisfied with your position, brandon smiled at you. “comfy?”

you snorted at the comment. “oh, so comfy,” you teased lightly before sobering up. “yeah, i’m good, brandon. thank you.”

“no problem,” he chuckled.

both of you jumped at the sound of a board being placed over the mouth of the well. “bye guys!” elton sang as he dragged something else to rest on top of the boards.

“fuck,” brandon chanted, head leaning back against the stone.

“hey, it’s only a few minutes. you can last just a few minutes, can’t you,” you teased.

“i can, i just don’t like being down here,” he justified.

“don’t worry about it,” you whispered, messing with his beanie to distract him a little. “we’re in this together, remember?”

“i remember,” he assured you.

a strange silence settled between you both and it was only then that you noticed the position you were in. brandon was leaning against one side of the well, his footholds on the other to keep him properly balanced. you, on the other hand, were leaning on the wall across from brandon, legs splayed out aon either side of his waist while your knees and the toes of your sneakers dug into the bricks. “i’m sitting in your lap-” you blurted abruptly.

brandon laughed at the suddenness. “yeah, kind of.”

“sorry, i didn’t want to step on your toes-” you tried to explain, but he waved you off through the darkness.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“okay.” you nodded awkwardly, trying to make out his silhouette through the inky black.

“if there’s anyone in the well with brandon-” elton started asking loudly and, despite not being able to see each other through the darkness, both your heads snapped up instinctively to look at one another.

“dude, no,” brandon protested, beginning to panic a little.

“hey, no. hey, hey, hey, listen to me, dumbass,” you snapped, trying to jar him just enough to get his attention.

“what-” he blurted, confused.

good, it worked. “listen to me, okay? fuck whatever elton’s saying, just listen to me.” you cupped his face and pulled him towards you, close enough for your foreheads to almost be touching.

“o-okay,” brandon agreed, making an obvious effort to pay attention to you rather than elton.

“are you excited for breakfast in the morning?” you asked, leaning back a bit. sure, it was an odd and borderline irrelevant, but it was the first thing that came to mind and there was no room for silence between the two of you right now.

brandon made to cock his head, but the gesture was obstructed by the way you cupped his cheeks. “i mean, not really,” he answered, still confused. “it’s just gonna be a normal breakfast.”

“what if i got you whatever you wanted? you could get french toast, waffles, bacon - whatever you want,” you negotiated.

“okay, then i would be looking forward to it,” he laughed breathily.

“good.” you smiled into the darkness, pinching his cheeks playfully.

unfortunately, brandon caught the tail-end of whatever elton had chosen to say at that very moment, head snapping up and nearly headbutting you in the process. “no no no-” he started, hands coming up to grasp your forearms.

“hey, no- look at me-” this time with more care, you pulled him back down so that both of your foreheads were leaning against one another. you couldn’t lie to yourself; all the activity happening aboveground was scaring the shit out of you too. despite the circumstances, you would sure as hell put your energy into keeping brandon from freaking out.

brandon hummed shakily in response, eyes fluttering shut. trying desperately to ground himself somehow, he leaned into your touch, the only thing he could really count on right now.

“you’ve got it; you’re doing great, bran. you only have a few more minutes left - that’s practically nothing! you’re doing great,” you encouraged sweetly, trying to chip away at some of the fear hammering in brandon’s chest. “wanna take a deep breath with me?”

“yes, please,” came his reply, barely audible over the commotion occurring just a few feet above your heads.

“okay, breathe in,” you instructed, inhaling loudly through your nose. brandon followed, lungs expanding with the intake of air as his fingers tapped anxiously against your wrists. “and breathe out.” the both of you exhaled in sync, breath fanning across one another’s faces and dusting your cheeks as you realized your proximity. “okay?”

brandon nodded awkwardly against you, taking another deep breath. “okay”

there was a beat of silence before either of you spoke again, just trying to focus on breathing. then there was you, pulling him back to reality as you drew circled into his cheeks with your thumbs. he huffed out hot air through his nose, the warmth traveling all the way down to your elbows. “breakfast tomorrow, remember?” you prodded, playfulling knocking your forehead against his. “it’ll be great.”

brandon laughed to himself at that. “i’m sure it will be.”

yet another moment of silence and, regardless of everything happening around you, you were both feeling pretty content with each other. until elton decided that it would be a funny idea to stop on the boards a few feet above your heads. needless to say, you both jumped at the noise. “what the fuck, elton?!” you yelled, arms now resting on brandon’s shoulders.

“oh, y/n,” elton sang in a way that made your blood run cold.

“what?” you hollered in response, digging the toes of your shoes into the wall a little more so that you could lean up. if he was planning on torturing you more, you at least wanted to know your fate.

“i think the ghost wants to come down to meet you guys,” he cackled, the sole of his shoe blocking out the light from a few cracks in the board.

craning your neck, you leaned up as far as you could manage, listening intently to what was happening aboveground. you realized with concern that the room was completely silent save for the spirit box. and the pounding footsteps on the main floor. “oh shit-” you hissed, almost panicking.

“what?” brandon asked nervously, reaching for your arm.

“uhm.” you lowered yourself back to your previous position, trying to figure out how to explain quickly. “so, basically - don’t freak out - there are footsteps on the main floor of the house and they sound like they’re going towards the stairs to the basement-”

“what-” he blurted, straining to hear anything he could from aboveground. surely enough, he could hear footsteps approaching the staircase to the basement. “nope.”

“you wanna get out?” you asked, breath picking up. “because i don’t know about you, brandon, but i kinda wanna get out of here.”

“hell yes i wanna get out.”

“okay okay,” you muttered, leaning up again. “elton we’re ready to come out now!”

“but you guys still have a few more minutes left,” elton teased, one foot still on the board. listening closely, you could hear the spirit had begun descending the staircase, the boards rattling with every step.

“let us the fuck out of here, elton!” you yelled, leaning up and using all of your will to push the floorboard covering the mouth of the well a good foot into the air.

“okay, okay,” elton chuckled, making a vain effort to hide his wounded pride.

“jesus fuck- thanks, i guess,” you muttered, planting your palms on the rim of the well and hoisting yourself up. corbin, being the gentleman he is, moved forward to help you clamber out of the well. as soon as you were out, you turned around and helped brandon climb up as he scrambled out after you, tumbling onto the floor beside you.

elton nearly keeled over, howling in laughter as he watched the two of you lying there, panting. thankfully the footsteps had stopped, so you only had one monster to deal with.

brandon turned to you, cheeks red and sweaty from exertion. “you know, maybe i should make elton pay for my breakfast instead of you. i think he owes me for this one.”

“that’s not such a bad idea.”

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kurosukii · 2 years ago

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So pizza hut or dominos?

hmmmm dominos !! tho i don’t have it as often as pizza hut but dominos really has good pizza, like the flavor, the bread >>>>>

#tho yellow cab is an all time fav 🫣#[ 🂡 ] – jul replies #[ 🂢 ] – nonnie #tw.food

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meowdarame · 3 years ago

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𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

pairing: fwb!hajime iwaizumi x f!reader (afab!reader, she/her pronouns)

word count: 6.9k (lol)

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI!; mentions of food; protected sex; oral (m! and f!receiving); hickeys (m!receiving); squirting; cum swallowing; also some lil details in here are self-indulgent af so pls be kind :,) lmk if there’s anything that i missed!!

notes: we take a break from heavy angst themes in this chapter! it’s overall just fluffy and smutty with our beloved hajime <3 i hope you enjoy, and likes and reblogs are super appreciated! special thanks to @christeningsakusa for beta-reading again!

7 PM rolls around a lot quicker than you expect. Despite autumn quickly approaching, it’s still bright outside in Southern California. The sky is a beautiful pink and orange color, and a purple hue emerges from the eastern horizon.

All the suspicions you have of him are confirmed when he texts you his address at 5 PM. When you receive the text, you can’t help but chuckle lightly to yourself.

Of course he wants to meet at his apartment, you think upon reading the message. So predictable.

There are four cardinal pillars in the widely-practiced art of fuckboy-ism, which go as follows:

✅ Invite her over to your place.

⬛️ Order chain restaurant pizza.

⬛️ Put on a shitty Netflix original movie to play in the background while we eat.

⬛️ Once the fifteen minute mark hits, make a move to initiate sex.

⬛️ Kick her out before the movie even climaxes.

Obviously, Hajime’s already checked off the first box, and it sets the tone for the remainder of the night. It’s comforting to know that I’m not the only one that won’t be finishing tonight— the movie will be right there with me! You sardonically sigh to yourself.

Now, you stand on the sidewalk outside of his complex, waiting for him to bring you up to his apartment. His building is a lot nicer than yours— the walls are painted an earthy beige tone, with burnt orange accents on every windowsill; Spanish tiles are laid out on the roof, creating a cohesive color palette with the rest of the building; and through a metal gate, you can see a clear swimming pool and cabana adorned with white linen drapes.

You watch as your date exits his second floor apartment. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, a pair of gray sweats, and slides— a fairly casual ensemble. You examine your outfit, and a wave of embarrassment flushes over you at the realization that you may be overdressed for the event. It all subsides when you hear your name.

“Hey!” Hajime says to you as he opens the gate.

You let yourself through and smile at the man before you.

He looks at you up and down and compliments you. “Wow, you look great!” He cheers, before looking down at himself.

His ears turn red as he rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Ah, I’m sorry for looking like a mess. I just finished cooking us dinner— I hope you like tofu!”

You’re certain you have a stupefied expression on your face because he immediately tacks on, “But, if you don’t, that’s fine too! I can order us pizza!” He flashes you a wide smile in a feeble attempt to hide his nervousness.

He actually cooked dinner for us? You think to yourself, your surprise making it difficult to process what he had said. When it finally registers, your lips curl upwards into a small smile.

“No, it’s okay. I love tofu!” You reassure him, and he lets out a breath of relief.

“Phew!” He exhales, pressing his hand to his chest. “I’m glad.”

He leads you through the building’s courtyard and up the stairs.

“I used to eat these dishes all the time back in Japan, but not as often here. I don’t have much time to cook and the ingredients are harder to find. But I stumbled upon an Asian market in the area a few months ago, and I’ve been cooking more ever since!” He boasts proudly as he opens the front door to his apartment.

His living space makes yours look like a closet. It’s lively and spacious— cream colored walls are adorned with memorabilia; a teal and white couch set sits in the middle of his living room; and several physical fitness books and manga are methodically splayed out on his birch coffee table.

“Wow,” you marvel. “Your place is amazing!”

“Thanks,” Hajime gushes. “My dad wanted me to live alone this year so I could focus better on my studies. In return, he helps me pay rent.”

You set your purse down on one of his dining chairs as he continues. “But what he doesn’t know is that I still invite people over.”

You eye him curiously and his expression contorts to one of immediate regret. Backtracking his previous statement, he stammers, “Not all the time though! And it’s usually just my guy friends— they think that my apartment is the best for hosting boy’s night because it’s the biggest.” He lets out an awkward chuckle, and you can’t help but giggle at his cuteness.

“You know,” you say in between laughs. “Even if you did bring girls back home often, I wouldn’t have judged you for it.”

A smile creeps up on his face, and he nods once in acknowledgement of your reassurance. He joins you at the dinner table and pulls out a chair for you. You sit and thank him as he pushes your seat in.

He runs to the kitchen to grab your meals for tonight. When he returns with two steaming plates, the room is filled with savory aromas. He sets the two platters down on the center of the table, and you recognize the dishes as a type of fried tofu and a form of rice ball.

He distributes plates and chopsticks, and then plops down onto the chair across from you. He points at the dish with the tofu and starts explaining.

“So this is called agedashi tofu, and it’s my favorite food. It’s a popular appetizer in Japan, so I recommend that we start with that!”

His finger then hovers above the rice balls. “And this is called onigiri— it’s just a Japanese rice ball. There’s a lot of different fillings that people use to make it, but I wasn’t sure which one you liked, so I just made tuna mayo ones!”

He presses his hands together and looks up at you to indicate for you to mimic his actions. You do, and he gives thanks for the meal.

“Itadakimasu!”

He picks up one of the square tofu pieces with his chopsticks and places it on your plate. He eagerly stares at you, waiting for you to taste his creation.

You pop the cube into your mouth, and immediately, salty flavors dance on your palette. You chew the tofu, and the deep fried exterior is starkly contrasted by the soft and spongy interior. It’s absolutely delicious, and you snag another piece from the center plate.

“Hajime, that was so good!” You praise, and he smiles brightly at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies, and the two of you begin to eat.

“So, you’re from Japan?” You question in between chews.

“Yep,” he answers, covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m from a place called Miyagi; it’s a prefecture north of Tokyo.” He asks you where you’re from, and you respond.

“I’m from around here,” you respond with a slight shrug of your shoulders. “Born and raised in LA.”

Hajime’s eyes widen at your statement. “No way! That’s so cool!” He picks up one of the rice balls with his hands and takes a bite. “So does that mean you could show me all the cool SoCal sights?”

You giggle at his enthusiasm. “Well, sort of. I’m not as familiar with Orange County, but if you ever want to visit Los Angeles, I’m your go-to tour guide!”

The conversation moves on, transitioning to recollections of high school stories. Hajime tells you about his volleyball experiences— how he and his best friend Tooru had been playing since they were children; how his team never made it to Nationals, a subject that’s still touchy to him; and how his love for sports and health influenced him to majoring in sports sciences.

You grow excited at his mention of volleyball. “I used to play in high school, too! But I stopped midway through because I wanted to focus on other things.”

His green eyes gleam at you in delight. “No way!” He cheers. “We’ll definitely have to play sometime.”

Play sometime? You think to yourself. Like, ‘be in public with me and play volleyball sometime?’ You don’t have time to process your confusion though, because he quickly changes the subject.

“So,” he says as he picks up the last tofu cube and drops it on your plate. You thank him, and he continues. “What’re you majoring in?”

You cover your mouth as you chew the tofu. “Chemistry, but I’m not really sure if it’s where my heart is anymore. I mean, I used to love it a lot, but now I’m just second guessing my choices.”

Hajime’s brows furrow and he leans in, intrigued. “How come?”

“Mmm,” you place a finger to your chin while you search for the proper words to say. “It’s just really difficult, I guess. A lot of effort, and I don’t know if it’ll help me do what I actually wanna do. See, my real passion is in helping people.”

He picks up another rice ball, leaving the last one on the plate for you. “Med school?” He questions.

You tsk at the thought. “Nah,” you reply. “I mean, I’ve considered it before, but it’s just too much time and money that I quite frankly don’t have.”

He chuckles as he gets up from his seat. “That’s completely valid.” He walks into his kitchen and opens his fridge. While rummaging through it, he asks, “Do you want something to drink? Tea? Water?”

“Water’s fine! Thanks!” He returns and places a glass of water in front of you, and you take a few big gulps to help wash down the food.

Picking up the last rice ball, you continue on. “But yea, that’s something that’s been stressing me out a lot recently.” You sigh as you take a bite.

“Well,” Hajime says while bringing the glass up to his lips. “When I first realized that I’m probably never going to be playing in an official match ever again, I was devastated. But now, I’m pretty deep into my sports science courses, and I’m interning under a popular physical fitness author, and I don’t think I could be any happier. Sometimes your mind changes and shit happens, but you just gotta move forward without hesitation.”

He chugs the glass of water and places the empty cup back down on the table. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he adds on. “And if helping people is truly your passion, your heart will always find a way to implement it in anything that you do.”

You finish chewing the rice ball, and the corners of your mouth curl upwards into a smile. “Thank you for the thoughtful advice, Hajime. That made me feel a lot better.”

He smiles back at you and starts stacking the dirty dishes to place them in the sink. You help him, and after you’re done, the two of you sit on his couch.

He already surprised me by cooking dinner for us, but let’s see if he suggests the shitty Netflix original, you think.

“So,” he starts, turning to you. “I actually have the original Godzilla movie downloaded onto my laptop, and I was wondering if you’d be down to watch it.”

You blink twice at him, once again with a stupefied expression on your face. Your date grows flustered and his ears burn red.

“B-but,” he quickly adds on, stumbling through his words in an attempt to backtrack what he said. “If you don’t like horror movies or if you don’t like Godzilla, we can watch something else! Really! It’s up to you.”

You burst out into laughter. Who would’ve known that the brooding hottie at the gym had a nerdy side and is easily flustered? You ask yourself. “It’s okay, Hajime. I’d love to watch Godzilla; I’ve never seen it before actually, so it’ll be fun!” You reassure him.

You catch a glint of excitement in his green eyes as he jumps up from his seat and starts babbling. “Oh, you’re gonna love it! It’s my favorite movie ever!” He goes into his bedroom to retrieve his laptop, leaving you in his living room to examine the various pictures and memorabilia on his wall.

In the center of the room is a framed teal and white volleyball jersey, with the number ‘4’ sewn boldly on the torso. To its left, there’s an old-school polaroid photo of two handsome men— both are tall, and one has pinkish-brownish hair and the other has the most animated eyebrows you’ve ever seen. Underneath the picture, a message is written: “Iwaizumi, if you got some cute California girl friends (or friends with hot moms) send them our way!”

You giggle at the text, and your eyes continue scanning the wall.

They land on a picture of an attractive, chocolate-haired boy on a beach, and you guess that it’s his best friend Tooru. Underneath the image is a caption saying, “You should’ve gone to Argentina, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime returns with his laptop and an HDMI cord and kneels in front of his TV, plugging it in.

“So,” you giggle. “Iwa-chan?”

Hajime stops his ministrations and groans. “No, not you!” He turns and scowls, but you can tell it’s in faux irritation. “Even from ten thousand kilometers away that dumbass still finds ways to annoy the shit outta me.”

You snort at his joke, and he finishes setting up the movie. He quickly runs over to the light switch to turn off the lights, plops down on the couch next to you, and presses a button on his remote, playing the film.

Japanese characters appear on the screen with English subtitles directly beneath it. Suddenly, a loud drum sound fills the room, and you jump in your seat.

Iwaizumi chuckles, and the soft light from the screen illuminates his face, outlining the smile on his face. “Are you easily startled?” He asks quietly.

You nod your head. “Not really by images, but more so by sounds. I’m a little auditory sensitive to sudden noises.”

He gently places a hand on your knee and reassures you. “If it ever becomes too much for you, let me know and I can stop or switch the movie. Or if you want, you can hide your face in my shoulder. I promise I won’t let Godzilla get to ya!”

A surge of heat courses through your body, but that feeling disappears when he removes his hand.

So far he’s 1-2, you think to yourself. He cooked dinner for us and he’s not playing some stupid background movie, but let’s see if he hits the next mark. How long will he get through the movie before making a move?

The two of you sit in silence, watching as Godzilla destroys ships and villages. You follow the plot and absorb all the details and moral inquiries that the film poses— the most intriguing to you are the lasting negative effects of nuclear warfare. You sneak quick peeks at Hajime, and you can see that his mouth hangs open and his eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets, clearly invested in the film.

It’s well past fifteen minutes; in fact, the movie’s climax is quickly approaching. You’re partially relieved, but also extremely confused.

He hasn’t made a move yet? You ask yourself. What does this mean? Is he not tryna just fuck me? What does he want?

A loud, ominous banging noise emits from the TV speakers, startling you. The cacophonous and dissonant piano chords overwhelm you, and you cover your ears with both of your hands to muffle out the sounds. Hajime takes notice of this, and pulls your head into his shoulder. His arm is wrapped around you now, as your head and hands are cradled in between his shirt and his firm palm, effectively drowning out the sound. You stare at the screen horrified, watching the giant dinosaur demolish Tokyo Bay.

Cannons fire at Godzilla in an attempt to stop it, but to no avail. The creature easily breaks through the electric fence, and begins to emit a toxic gas from its mouth and sets fire to the buildings at its feet. The townspeople start frantically running as their city burns down in flames and their homes are reduced to rubble.

When Godzilla finally returns to the ocean, Hajime lessens his grip on your head.

“It’s okay,” he says to you softly. “The loud parts are over. You can come out now.”

You slowly lift up your head to look at him, and he smiles down at you sweetly. Your faces are so close to each other that you could feel his warm breath tickle your cheeks. A foreign yet familiar feeling bubbles in your stomach— you’re unsure of what it is, but you think it might be comfort. But before you have time to discern the feeling, before you even have time to think, your lips fly forward and press a soft kiss against his.

You pull away, breathing heavily. Once the realization settles in of what you just did, apologies start spewing from your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you stammer. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over--”

He cups your face with both of his hands and his lips crash against yours, teeth initially gritting against each other. The two of you settle down, and the kiss melts into something sweeter. Your hands grip at the cotton of his shirt as you press your body closer to his; the combined heat of your bodies makes you dizzy.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and you part your mouth granting him access. The pink muscle carefully probes the orifice, and his low groan sends shivers down your spine. His hands move down your body, fingertips ghosting your sides, and land on your hips. With a powerful tug, he pulls you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull your torso flush against his, your tits squeezed against his broad chest. His hands shuffle under the hem of your shirt, and his large palms gently knead at the flesh of your waist.

He pulls back, and through the flashing black and white lights of the TV screen, you can see that his pupils are dilated and a cute pink blush adorns his cheeks. Breathily, he whispers to you.

“Do you uh--” He asks you. “Do you wanna have sex?”

You bite your lip as a grin plasters itself onto your face. You’re absolutely thrilled that he asked you verbally for your consent, rather than just automatically assuming that you wanted to fuck. Perhaps all my preconceived notions of this guy were all misconceptions, you think to yourself.

You nod slowly and respond. “Yea, Hajime. I do.”

His hand feels around in the darkness to look for the remote. Once he finds it, he pushes a button and pauses the movie. Interlacing his fingers with yours, he leads you to his bedroom, where he gently places you on the edge of the bed. He plants a tender kiss on your lips before walking to his nightstand, turning on the lamp, and pulling a condom out of the drawer.

He returns to you and kisses you once more, this time with more passion and urgency. His teeth lightly nip at your bottom lip and you mewl into his mouth. He starts kissing down your jaw and neck, leaving a wet trail of saliva in its wake. He grabs at the hem of your shirt, tugging on it to signal for you to lift your arms up. You oblige, and he draws back and hastily pulls the shirt off of your body, exposing your bare chest to him.

His lips come into contact with your skin again, this time on the fleshy parts of your breasts. His lips suck harshly, teeth nipping at the skin, and you bury your fingers into his scalp. You’re breathing heavily at this point, your chest heaving up and down and pushing your tits deeper into his mouth.

He wraps his muscular arm around your body and pulls your hips flush against his, and you can feel the growing tent in his thin sweats. Your hand reaches down and palms him through the material, making Hajime groan into your skin.

When he’s done properly marking you, he pulls back to admire his work. Little bite marks are littered across your sensitive skin, the flesh underneath it beginning to ache. He stares at you with admiration, like you’re the most beautiful being to ever grace this planet.

His eyes meet yours, and you stare at him doe-eyed. “Can I return the favor?” you ask innocently.

He smirks at you. “Where do you wanna leave it, pretty girl?”

You languidly drag your finger up his clothed torso, and you hear his breath hitch at the action. The digit traces the ridges of his abs, the crevices of his toned muscles, until it finally comes to a stop on the side of his neck.

“Right here,” you coo, and he nods his head in approval.

You waste no time, pressing a chaste kiss on the soft skin. You kitten lick the spot a few times, before your lips encircle the flesh and start sucking harshly. Your teeth gently tug his skin, copying his method from earlier. His sweet moans fill your ears, making you more excited by the second.

When you finally pull away, a thin strand of saliva connects your lips to his neck.

“There,” you purr. “Now we’re even!”

He chuckles at your playfulness and carefully pushes your back against the bed. He gets down on his knees and pulls your hips to the edge of the bed. He lifts your legs above his shoulders and wraps his arms around the underside of your thighs, his fingertips digging into the squishy flesh. He looks up at you, his eyes nonverbally asking for confirmation.

You eagerly nod your head, the slickness in between your legs starting to grow uncomfortable. He shoves his face into your clothed cunt and takes a deep inhale of your scent. You gasp at the action, and Hajime lifts his head and smiles at you.

“Sorry babe,” he whispers. “You just smell so pretty.”

His nimble fingers wrap around the waistband of your shorts, and he pulls the garment off. His fingertips toy with your clit through your lacy panties, and you grind your pussy against him.

“Please Hajime,” you whine. “Please don’t tease.”

He rests his head against your inner thigh and gazes at you. “Anything for you, beautiful.”

He pulls the undergarment off, and you lift your hips to assist him. Once the skimpy piece of fabric slides off of your ankles, his face dives into your wet cunt and he eats you like a man starved.

He drags his tongue from your drooling hole and up to your aching clit, and his lips wrap around the puffy bud. As he sucks, the muscle flicks at the nub, making you moan his name— the sound is sweeter than honey to his ears.

His fingers run up and down your slit collecting your juices. His thick middle finger slides into your dripping hole with ease, and you throw your head back when he massages the spot that you find hard to reach.

He lets you grow used to the stretch before shoving in another digit, and you let out a high pitched squeal at the intrusion. He murmurs something against your pussy, the flesh slightly muffling his words but you can still understand what he says.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. Let me take care of you.” His statement soothes you, and your walls relax around his fingers.

He pumps into you at a languid pace, drawing cute little whines from your mouth. You feel so fucking good; your fingers pale in comparison to the euphoria Hajime is giving you right now. A heat crawls from your stomach, up your chest, and to your neck and face; a coil starts to tangle in your belly, and you know that you’re close. He knows it, too, by the way that your pussy is starting to suck him in.

His fingers pick up in tempo, now curling and scissoring inside of you at an abusing pace. His skillful tongue swirls at your clit. Your vision starts to go white, and suddenly the coil snaps as your pleasure heightens and plateaus.

He fucks you through your first orgasm, and your pelvis grinds against his face as you ride out your release. When your movements start to steady and slow, he lifts his head, chin dripping with your cum. He pulls out his fingers and admires the ring of cream that formed at the base of his knuckles. Quickly shoving the digits into his mouth, he moans around his fingers at the taste of you.

“You taste so good too, babe.” He smiles.

You smirk at him, and breathily whisper, “Awh, but you missed a spot baby.” Your palm cups his jaw and your thumb swipes his chin, and you continue. “Here, let me help you.”

You collect your juices and shove the digit into his mouth, and he obediently sucks off your finger. Your eyes lock with his, and you’re reminded of your stare-offs at the gym, waiting to see who’ll break first. He ultimately does, closing his eyes when you pull your thumb from his mouth.

Your eyes trail down his body, landing on the little dark spot that formed on his boxers. You giggle cutely and palm at his erection.

His body jolts into your touch. You coo at him, “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

He nods, and you push him back and slide off the bed, dropping onto your knees. Your fingers wrap around the waistband of his sweats, and in one swift motion you pull both his pants and boxers off down at once. His cock springs forward and slaps against this bare abdomen; you look up and are greeted with a beautiful image— he’s holding up the hem of his shirt with his teeth, his brows are furrowed as his green irises gaze at you, and his toned abs and pecs are glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

You look down and drink in the sight before you. His dick isn’t the longest, just slightly above average length, but it’s so thick with plump veins running up and down his shaft. His tip is nearly purple, tense with the lack of stimulation. He’s neatly trimmed, the little black hairs standing less than half a centimeter off of his skin. His slit is leaking heavy beads of precum, and it makes your mouth water.

You press a chaste kiss to his tip, his precum wetting your lips. You lick them and savor the slightly salty taste. You lower your face to his balls, and one hand cups them as your tongue slowly draws a straight line from his balls, up his shaft, and to his tip. The muscle swirls around his sensitive head, before you finally wrap your plush lips around it. You hollow your cheeks and start to suck, while you carefully bob your head back and forth, coaxing in more of his member into your mouth.

He’s so thick that you have to use your lips as a cushion to make sure that your teeth don’t accidentally graze him. Once you’re halfway down his shaft, you lift your eyes to look at him. He’s gazing down at you, lips wet and parted and sweat dripping down his temples. You moan at the sight, and the vibrations around his cock make him shudder at the feeling. His hand cradles the back of your head, but he’s not applying pressure. He’s very gentle with you, and it makes your heart swell in your chest.

Once your nose finally touches the prickly black hairs on his pelvis, Hajime’s thighs tense at the pleasure.

“Fuck babe,” he hisses out. “You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl.”

You pull back, your tongue dragging along one of the veins on the underside of his dick. Your hand wraps around the base of his shaft, pumping at the same speed that your mouth is bobbing at.

Hajime’s reduced down to a series of babbles and grunts, moaning a mixture of praises and curse words. But when he moans your name, the sound is so airy when it trickles off of his lips, and it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You raise your eyes again to look at him, but now his head is thrown back in pleasure. His muscles are flexed and the veins in his neck are protruding. You pull back and release his dick from your mouth, the wet member slapping loudly against his abdomen.

“Haji,” you breathily whisper. The nickname catches his attention, and his face flies down to look at you. You pout at him in faux disappointment. “Look at me, baby. Wanna see your handsome face.”

He smirks at you and swiftly reaches under your arms, pulling your body up onto the bed. You shift your head to rest on his sea of pillows, and his large figure crawls over you.

“You can get a better view of me when I fuck you, pretty girl,” he murmurs.

After discarding his shirt and tossing it to the side, he reaches over to his nightstand. He rips the wrapper with his fingers, and slides the condom over his length, the latex fitting his cock snugly.

He grabs your legs, placing one calf above his shoulder and wrapping the other around his waist. He spits into his hand, pumping slow strokes on, making his eyes flutter to the back of his head. Finally, he lines up his tip with your needy hole, and sinks the head in past the first ring of your pussy.

You slightly tense up at the stretch— you’ve never felt so good, so full before, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Hajime presses a sweet kiss to your forehead and shushes you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll go at your pace, okay?”

You nod, and he carefully inches more of himself into you. After several seconds, he’s fully sheathed into you, and the both of you moan in unison when he bottoms out.

“Shit, Haji!” You whine. “Please move. Feels so good!”

He places another kiss to your face, this time on your lips, and rocks his hips back and forth. The drag of his cock feels heavenly, each ridge of his veins making you mewl.

His thrusts start to speed up when you start begging, until he’s fucking into you at a rapid pace— his powerful hips crashing against yours. The room is filled with his low grunts, your breathy moans, and the smacking of his wet balls against your ass.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sputters out, pulling you away from your trance. You look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a smile, his pupils are the largest they’ve been all night, and his cheeks burn red in adoration. You smile back at him and grab the back of his neck with your hand, pulling him down for a heated kiss.

His arm grabs at your leg that’s wrapped around his waist, and he pulls it over his shoulder. At this new angle, he hits even deeper, but tip brushing against the ribbed spot that makes your knees weak. He maintains his fast pace, and soon you start to feel a new sensation bubbling in your stomach. The feeling is unusual, but it’s not bad. In fact, it feels fucking amazing, but you’ve never felt it before.

“Haji,” you pant out. “F-feels weird in my tummy. It’s too much!”

Hajime flashes you a comforting smile, fully understanding what you mean. He takes the calloused pad of his thumb and starts rubbing tight circles around your clit. “It’s okay babe. Relax for me and let it out.”

After a few more swipes at your sensitive nub, you come undone. Your juices squirt out, coating his abdomen with your essence and dripping onto his sheets. He moans at the sight and keeps fucking you.

Tears start streaming down your face over the intense pleasure, and the sight makes Hajime lightheaded. You know his orgasm is approaching too, from the way his pace is becoming erratic.

“Please!” You plead. “Come in my mouth!”

He wastes no time in pulling out and ripping the condom off of his shaft. He shifts his hips up your body and you lift your head, leaning your weight on your elbows. His cock hovers a few centimeters away from your parted lips, and he pumps quick strokes along his member. His balls tense, and he spills hot, sticky cum into your opened mouth.

His hips stutter as bliss overwhelms him. When the last droplet leaves his slit, you close your mouth and swallow the thick liquid. It’s a little difficult because there’s so much of it, but you power through it.

You open your mouth again and loll your tongue out, proving to him that you ingested all of it, but he smirks down at you.

“Babe, you missed a spot.” He swipes his thumb against your chin, collecting his cum that missed your mouth. He brings the digit to your lips, and you happily take it in, sucking around the thick finger and moaning.

He pulls his thumb out and cups your face with his hand, leaning over and kissing away your tears. He grabs your arm and helps you off the bed, immediately starting to take off his sheets.

Embarrassment settles in once you notice the wet spot on his linen sheets. “I’m sorry,” you start to apologize, but he turns around and pulls you into his arms to shush you.

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he murmurs, rubbing small circles into your tense shoulders. “You felt good, and that’s what happens when you feel good! Have you never done that before?”

“No,” you softly reply and Hajime kisses the crown of your head. He chuckles before letting you go to continue undressing his bed.

He leaves the room with the dirty sheets. You hear a washing machine door open in another room, and you start to search for your clothes.

Well, I guess this is my cue to leave, you sigh to yourself. Admittedly, you’re really disappointed. You’ve never felt more safe and comfortable during sex with anyone before, and knowing that this is just a one night stand makes your heart pang with pain.

But that’s just how it is, you reason.

You walk out to his dining table and grab your bag. Slinging it over your shoulder, you wait in his living room to say goodbye.

Hajime returns, and finding you fully dressed, a confused look paints his face. “Where are you going?” He asks you. “We still have to finish the rest of the movie.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. “You’re--,” you reply, voice dripping with hesitancy. “You’re not kicking me out?”

Hajime scoffs at the idea. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course not! Sit your pretty ass down on that couch and wait for me. I’m gonna throw my pants back on.”

Once he leaves, you plop onto the pillowy cushions of his couch. You’re still bewildered by his treatment.

He didn’t kick me out? Is the only thought you can form before he comes back and sits down next to you. He wraps a strong arm around you, and you lean into his bare chest. He grabs the remote and hits the center button, the conclusion of the movie playing out on the screen.

You try your best to focus on the dialogue, but it proves to be impossible— not when Hajime’s heartbeat flutters loudly in his chest. An inexplicable warm feeling blooms in your heart, and the movie finishes.

Hajime shuts off the TV and stands up to stretch his legs. He helps you rise to your feet, and you give him a shy smile.

“Thanks for tonight, Hajime,” you squeak softly. “I’ll see you around.”

You start to turn, but his voice stops you. “Wait, you’re not walking home alone.”

“What?” You ask him, puzzled.

“I said that I’m not letting you walk home alone,” he repeats, this time more assertively.

Damn, where did this feistiness come from? You think to yourself.

You shake your head and let out a chuckle. “Hajime, really. It’s fine. I’ve walked home alone several times before.”

“Don’t be a fucking dumbass,” he retorts. “It’s fine, I’m walking with you.”

His sudden brashness makes you giggle in your head. You accept the challenge, arguing back at him.

“Dumbass?!” You reply in a faux irritated tone. “Now that you’ve fucked me you think it’s okay to call me mean names?”

Hajime’s expression quickly becomes one of immense regret. His ears burn red and he starts spitting out apologies. “I’m so sorry! It just slipped out! I didn’t mean it; please don’t be mad!”

You throw your head back snort, amused at how quickly he can switch up. “I’m just fucking with you, dumbass.” You say, placing extra emphasis on the final word. “You can walk me, but put a shirt on first.”

He rubs the back of his hand with his palm and turns around to run to his room. He comes back less than a minute later, now fully-clothed and a nickel board underneath his forearm.

“Makes the journey back quicker,” he explains.

The two of you leave his complex, making sure to lock all his doors before you leave the apartment. It’s dark outside now, the hour nearing midnight, and for once the air is comfortably cool in Southern California.

The two of you make small talk about how hot it is here, and Hajime tells you about the weather back in his hometown— how the summers are so hot and humid, but during the winters it’s snowy. You grow excited at the mention of snow, explaining how the closest thing you’ll get to snow here in SoCal is a random hailstorm once a year. Once you approach your apartment building, you change the subject.

“You know,” you confess to him. “That was the most fun I’ve had during sex in a while. Actually, no. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had.”

He grins at you and replies. “Oh, does that mean I’m the best you’ve ever had?”

You gently bump into his side. “Alright now, don’t get cocky.” The two of you giggle at his joke. “But yea, you are.” You look at him, and he’s smiling at you.

“Thanks,” he says back. “And you’re the best I’ve ever had, too.” He chuckles. “Not like I have much to compare you to.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s pretty surprising. I would’ve sworn that your phone blows up with random numbers all the time,” you tease.

“Nah,” he insists. “I’m quite picky.”

“Ah, I see.”

A biker flies past the two of you, heading towards the center of campus. They’re most likely heading over to the library for a late-night cram session.

“Are you?” Hajime inquires, and you just simply shrug.

He tsks. “Damn, I’m hurt.” He places a hand to his chest, pretending to be in pain. “I see how it is.”

As you laugh at his foolishness, you reach the outside of your apartment complex. Most of the room lights are still on, but some are turned off. Your eyes scan the building’s exterior, until your eyes land on his window, and notice that they’re on. You’re really hoping that he’s the one home, and not his roommate. It’d be really awkward to have to run into him now of all times.

“Hey,” Hajime starts, interrupting your train of thought.

“Why don’t we do this again sometime? I’d really like to see you again,” he whispers, a timid smile on his lips and his cheeks dusted pink.

You blink at him a few times, trying to process what he suggested. You furrow your brows when you reach the most plausible conclusion. “Like, as friends with benefits?”

He quickly nods his head. “Uh-- sure!” He affirms, his face growing even redder. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand and continues. “Yea, if that’s what you want! I’m alright with that!”

You giggle at his shyness. He’s so cute, you think to yourself. But why’s he so embarrassed? I’m obviously not gonna judge him for asking.

“Sounds good,” you whisper. “I’ll see you around, Haji.”

You wave goodbye to each other and enter your building as he skates away. Luckily, you reach your apartment door without seeing him, and once you make it inside, you sit by your windowsill and stare out into the night.

You can see Hajime’s figure underneath the streetlights, briskly skating down the long street. You smile to yourself, thinking about the events that unfurled tonight.

Your eyes look up to the sky, and you come across an amazing discovery. The typically barren expanse of darkness now has a singular shining object in the middle of it, its light glistening and sparkling before you.

It’s most likely a plane, but you like to think that it’s a star instead.

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