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seiwas · 11 months ago

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₊˚⊹｡ mornings don't feel the same without you | iwaizumi hajime

wc: 3.0k

summary: hajime thinks that it's been a long time coming for him to wake up with this realization.

contains: implied f!reader, lingerie, use of slut (teasingly/jokingly, not to reader), lots of suggestive stuff (touching, implied sex), so much love!!, hajime is also a wee bit sentimental here, established relationship

a/n: not a lot of plot, just a lot of love! haven’t written hajime in a while, but he’s on my mind all the time. these are the songs that inspired me: lights down low, never had you, it’s you, and forever right now.

part of how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas) + the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—good health, good job, good relationships; all on equal footing, in no particular order. The routine he’s built is deliberate and filled with purpose, a system diligently followed to keep himself running.

He firmly believes that if you want to live the life you want, you have to start with yourself. A simple choice, the first step.

And Hajime’s chosen the mornings, an old conscious effort to wake up at 6:00 on the dot now transformed into a natural rise to the softness of daylight.

You call him a creature of habit, one that leaves no day to rest, even on Valentine’s Day.

Sunlight trickles between his curtains, ripples of translucent white highlighting the tip of your nose. He sees you through a sleep haze, olive eyes blinking awake like the leaves on your bedside, ready to tickle your cheek and wave when you turn the other way.

It suits you, he thinks, to be touched by light when you don’t know it.

You’re warm under the palm of his hand, bare flesh a soft place to rest between him and your hip bone. If he focuses hard enough, he can feel the faint thump of your heartbeat, almost in tandem with the small puffs of air hitting his chin.

He sighs, the corners of his mouth curling in contentment.

A good life.

Evidence of last night is strewn across the room—the red tulips on your bedside and his slacks hanging off the bed. The shirt he’d worn lies atop the dress he slipped off you, half of your black two-piece set caught in it.

The memory replays vividly—bites to his neck down to his collarbone, a pull of his hair and his lower lip caught between yours. You handle Hajime roughly because you know he can take it, know that it gets him going the more you want him.

But with you, he takes his time—runs his fingers over every area he’s grown fond of (which is everywhere, really). He strips you down slowly, unwrapping you like a gift labeled: handle with care, open gently.

Then, he savors it—you.

The wrapper lies next to his head, half-tucked underneath his pillow, a piece of elegant black lace you know drives him crazy.

A perk of celebrating Valentine’s Day two ways is that one half belongs to him and the other to you—a team effort to make the day as special as it can be.

He shifts, hand sliding up to rest on your waist. The movement causes you to stir, digging your cheek deeper into your pillow as you scrunch your brows—a sign of you coming to wake.

Hajime immediately shuts his eyes, feigning sleep. Last night was all his—flowers, a nice dinner, and the dessert that came after it. This morning is yours, with only one instruction for him: sleep in.

How upset would you be if he ruined your surprise?

The bed dips on your side, no doubt you reaching for the bedside to check the time. Even with his eyes shut, he has your mornings memorized. A whispered ‘shit’ almost makes him break into a smile, but he reigns it in, expression neutral and breathing steady.

You move again, his hand still on your waist as you turn once more, to what he can only assume is to face him. There’s a momentary pause that makes him worry you’ve found him out, but he feels your fingertips run over the crease between his brows, smoothening it out the way you always do.

(He has a terrible habit of frowning in his sleep, he’s learned.)

It makes him nervous the longer you linger, the tips of your fingers sliding down the bridge of his nose to rest on his lips, running over it once, twice. Then you sigh, inching closer before gently nudging his nose with yours.

The small peck you land on his lips almost makes him break, but he holds it in, letting you sneak away (albeit badly) for whatever it is you’re planning for today.

(The bed dips too deeply, comforter rustling as you untangle yourself from it. You stub your toe on the edge of your bedside table and attempt to muffle an ‘ouch’, even though he can hear you—pretty clearly actually. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from chuckling.)

If it were up to him, Hajime would just keep you here, no sneaking around or stubbed toes, no surprise or anything—just you, wrapped in his arms, under his sheets.

Just as he’d promised though, he did sleep in (if an extra 20 minutes of forcing his eyes shut counts as that).

The flowers on your bedside are gone, and so is his shirt—the sheets beside him crinkled in the shape of your haste to get up from it. He yawns, running a hand through his hair to fix up the mess you made of it last night.

As part of his routine, Hajime stretches, first with his neck—side-to-side, up-and-down—then with his back, twisting left and right. Next, he changes, puts on a pair of gray sweatpants that you claim must be a staple in his wardrobe (you say he looks like he could fuck you up, its hem hanging dangerously low to reveal the grooves of that deep v-line leading to his pelvis).

After pushing aside the curtains for sunlight to stream through, he cleans the room, picking up the mess of clothes on the floor and making the bed; you usually do this, because you’re particular with the pillow placements, but he’ll take over for now.

This should buy you enough time, right? An extra 10 minutes for your planned surprise.

He takes a breath, doing one last scan of the room before stepping out.

As soon as he gets into the hallway, he smells chocolate.

Each step he takes is consciously softened as he carries his weight, carefully making his way to the sight of you, back towards him in nothing but his t-shirt hanging temptingly high to barely conceal black lace. You seem focused, entirely preoccupied with the kitchen stove.

A familiar feeling settles into his stomach, warm and soothing, one he’s been having more and more around you lately. The corner of his lips curl up.

For Hajime, the best way to start the day is with the morning light and you.

He sneaks up behind your back, peeking over your shoulder at the chocolate pancakes you seem to be slowly ladling into the pan. And just when you’ve formed a figure he can only assume is a heart, he takes a step closer, hands resting on your hips as he scrunches up the fabric between his fingers.

“Morning,” he whispers, chin resting on your shoulder as his lips brush the side of your neck, soft and ticklish; you shiver, just a little bit.

The greeting comes out rough, husky, and you lean into him, your hand coming to rest over his, hiking up your (his) shirt to reveal a slight peek at the black lace hugging the curves of your buttcheek.

“Morning.” you chuckle when you hear his breath hitch. The pancake in front of you gets flipped to the other side.

“How’s your head?” he moves to peck your temple. Hajime knows you get the worst hangovers no matter how little you have to drink, and last night was by no means little.

You groan, turning off the stove, letting the residual heat cook the pancake through.

“Terr–”

As you turn to him within his arms, you pause, blinking uncontrollably at the presence of Hajime’s bare skin in front of you. Your eyes go wide, zeroing in on the full chest beneath your palms, the cuts of his shoulders, and his arms. Oh—

“Slut.” your brows furrow, lips pouting as you stifle a smile.

Hajime laughs, olive eyes crinkling as he holds you closer, hands coming to clasp at your lower back.

“Put on a shirt, you know I can’t focus like this.”

He knows, because you say this almost every morning, every time.

“I would,” remnants of his amusement linger on his lips, hand reaching to squeeze your butt as he narrows his gaze mischievously, “but someone stole it.”

You giggle, arms coming up to wind around his neck, fingers playing with the shorter strands of his hair. Then, you tiptoe, white fuzzy slippers slotting itself between his matching green ones as you tilt your head up for a kiss.

As it is, Hajime’s liking how this surprise is going.

He leans in, eyes falling shut as he presses against you. His hand cradles your jaw, callused skin tickling you ever so slightly as he guides your head to turn the other way. Hajime can hardly stop whenever you get him started like this, your lower lip already caught between his teeth.

But you nip it, right as his other hand crawls underneath your shirt, pulling away as he tries to chase for more. The frown on his face is hard to miss.

“Gonna get dressed,” you smile amusedly, feigning innocence.

“Isn’t this already too dressed?” he raises an eyebrow, tugging at your (his) shirt. His fingers trail lower, hooking themselves into the lace of your underwear.

“Don’t be a flirt,” you scrunch your nose, “I feel gross.”

He squeezes your hip, “I’m gross too.”

You give him a look.

He gives you one back.

If Hajime had the words, he’d tell you you’re the furthest thing from gross, making him breakfast in his clothes and that pretty black number you know drives him up-the-wall crazy.

This is the stuff of his dreams.

But then you give him those eyes, and you know just as well he’s weak to that too. So he sighs, loosening his grip so you can slip away.

“I’ll make you eggs!” he calls out as you disappear into the bedroom.

Your breakfast spread for him is set up on the counter, the chocolate heart pancake on the pan the last needed addition to complete everything. It’s sweet, how you prepared a full-on chocolate feast for him: hot chocolate with chocolate heart pancakes, and butter also in the shape of a heart. The tulips he’d gotten you rest prettily inside the vase he remembers from your first anniversary pottery date.

He feels especially sentimental today taking everything in, noticing how the mug that holds your half-finished coffee matches the one that holds his hot chocolate.

In the little over two years that you’ve been together, you’ve assimilated yourself into his space so naturally that it feels like you’ve always just been here—that it feels right how all your chips fill up the entire bottom shelf of his pantry because you love snacking on them whenever, wherever.

He cracks in two eggs.

The throw on his couch matches the pillows all because of you, and bottles of your daily vitamins sit perfectly beside all his supplements in the spice-rack turned morning-essentials-rack (one of your so-called organization hacks).

The pan sizzles, edges of the eggs turning crisp—just how you like it (lately, it’s how he’s been liking it too).

When you step out of the bedroom, Hajime’s begun plating your food, pouring in another batch of coffee and preparing a bowl of fruits.

(Today, it’s strawberries—one of your favorites. He made sure to stock up on that for today.)

Hajime thinks he’s built a pretty solid life for himself—

He prides himself on his routine and the stability of his day-to-day: the mornings, with you raiding his closet and stealing his clothes; the late afternoons, when he picks you up from work and you crash his place because it’s begun to feel so much more like home.

The evenings cap the day off perfectly, with you tucked under his chin and your leg slung over his hip. It’s too warm, but you get cold easily and he doesn’t mind the warmth when you’re pressed up skin-to-skin.

And when he sees you in his sweatshirt—the one paired with the sweatpants he’s wearing right now, he smirks knowingly, setting down the utensils with a dopey smile on his face.

This is good.

—his life that you now also fit into.

“Sorry you had to prep the rest,” you pad towards the counter, taking a seat on the stool as he waves it off and sits beside you, “thank you.”

Without even a word, there’s a painkiller sitting on the palm of his hand, open and waiting for you already.

You stare at him, puppy-dog eyes and everything, pouting as your fingertips graze his, “I love you.”

He laughs, rolling his eyes jokingly as he hands you a glass of water, his cheeks already dusted peach.

Shyness still hits him when you’re so vocal like this, but Hajime has known he’s loved you since that day at some outdoor concert you dragged him into. The forecast was gloomy but you’d insisted it was an experience he shouldn’t miss, so he agreed—packed an umbrella and wore a jacket with a hood even, just in case.

But there you were, in the middle of the downpour, dancing under the rain, and when you’d beckoned him closer, you had that same look on your face.

“Love you too,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing his lips against it, “happy Valentine’s Day, babe.”

Breakfasts with the two of you are usually rushed, but work for him today isn’t until noon and you have an entire day off to pack for a two-week business trip you’re set to leave for tomorrow.

So, this is nice. You both have time.

You’re talking about all sorts of things—some work gossip, that nice old lady who lives a few units down from him; there’s the whole itinerary for your business trip too—meeting here, meeting there. An extra hour to kill to maybe sightsee. Evenings are usually free, and so on.

But as he’s chewing on half of the chocolate heart pancake, he just can’t, for the life of him, stop thinking.

The more he hears about your schedule for the upcoming weeks, the more he’s realizing that this is the longest time you’ll be apart.

And he wonders, what’s that gonna be like?

Most of your clothes will be gone from his dresser, his bathroom counter half-empty without all your skincare. No overheating at night without your arm wrapped firmly around his spine. Just one mug during breakfast, not two, and only a single pair of green fuzzy slippers pacing around the rooms.

It’ll be a little like how it was before you.

And he hates how that’s even a possibility.

He takes a sip from his mug.

“So, Oikawa’s taking me out on a date. Is that okay with you?” you lean against your palm, elbow supported on the counter.

He nods, humming as he sets down the hot chocolate.

“Hajime.” you hide your smile.

He snaps out of it, “Hm?”

“So you’re okay with me going on a date with Oikawa?”

His knee-jerk scowl is much more like it.

“That fucker asked you out?”

You laugh, shaking your head while taking his hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Just seeing if you were listening.”

A pause, then a squeeze.

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking?”

He tilts his head slightly; one look at you and you draw it all out of him. There’s something about this—breakfasts in his kitchen, with you wearing his clothes and the morning light streaming in. You share a joke or two (or five), a few teasing touches here and there, the mood relaxed and just overwhelmingly nice.

Hajime is so authentically himself when he’s with you that he doesn’t want anyone else knowing the parts of him that you do—

Everyone would be surprised to find that his typically uptight self is surprisingly funny when he’s let loose; he’s made you laugh a good number of times to prove it, too.

The boys would never let him live it down if they saw him peach-faced at the tiniest bit of your affection; and they’ll tease him for eternity if they find out that the reason he taps out so early during ‘boys’ nights’ is because he still gets so excited to cuddle in bed with you.

This is the kind of day-to-day he wants, and he knows you’re the key to all of it.

—so, Hajime chooses you, much like he’s chosen the mornings.

“Move in with me,” he tells you simply, two fields of olive green sincerity.

The words flow out of him with an intensity uninhibited, something you don’t get from him very often. Your expression shifts, breath on hold and—

“When you get back.” he follows up quickly, giving you space to consider it first, “What do you think?”

All logic is telling him he should be nervous, that this is the defining moment of another goal he’s been working his ass off to reach, but somehow, with his hand in yours, this feels easy. Comfortable in all the good ways because loving you has always been just that.

“Sex last night was that good, huh?”

And this—there’s never been a problem with this too.

He snorts, cheeks turning a deep peach.

“Just realizing that mornings don’t feel the same without you,” he admits, pulling you closer. You hop off the stool and inch closer, standing between his legs as he rests his hands on your lower back.

“Flirt.” you scrunch your nose, squeezing his waist.

You say that, but he sees how your smile reaches your eyes; how it glosses over when you catch his gaze.

“Okay, muscle boy,” your hands settle on his shoulders, fingers splayed out over every dip and curve, “better do all the moving then. Want all my stuff here by the time I get back.”

And he does—

When you get back, he’s contacted his landlord to get you on the lease. Your clothes are all in his (or now your?) apartment, some still in boxes but the essentials already organized in the closet now split to house both of your things.

There’re pieces of you everywhere now, not just touches like a person half-there. A lot of the big furniture is still at your place, but that’s really just because he wants to leave that part up to you.

—after all, it’s your home now too.

thank you notes: @augustinewrites for loving hajime as much as i do 🥹 lights down low used to be a normal soft song for me before, now it belongs to him bc of u + @soumies @mysugu bc this is kinda really so self-shippy and every time i think of seiwa i think of you both 🥺 + @ktsumu for requesting this! i know it only slightly follows the prompt but i hope you enjoy my spin on it anyway 🥺

a/n: i don't think any amount of fic can express how much i love him 🥹 but i hope this comes close 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#iwaizumi x reader #hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #iwaizumi x yn #haikyuu!! x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x yn #iwaizumi hajime x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #how to be your lover boy collab #in's and out's event

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parkerluvsu · 4 months ago

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ANGELEYES (virgin! art donaldson x fem! reader)

(my first halloween fic.. i don't have the energy to do kinktober <3)

art donaldson is a virgin. a big fat virgin. it's his biggest secret, the only person who knows about it is patrick, and he endlessly makes fun of him for it. it's hard living in the shadow of such a sex prodigy like him, patrick had been relaying stories of heavy makeout sessions and 7 minutes in heaven with random girls ever since middle school. art has been on a multitude of double dates with patrick, only for them to end with him and a girl sitting awkwardly next to him while patrick and his date messily makeout on the couch next to him.

of course art tried to mimic patrick, his smooth words and even smoother hands.. but never successfully. the longest he's ever had a girlfriend was only 5 months.. and she broke up with him on valentines day. this year was the first year he actually had a girlfriend on a semi-romantic holiday. or at least art thought it was, he remembers every year that couples in cute costumes walked by and made him want to cry. and even worse was the halloween parties, with drunk college students wearing stupid costumes and grinding on each other, leaving art to sip on a room temperature beer in the corner.

art was abruptly brought back to reality when you tapped on his shoulder, alerting him to the fact that he wasn't still in a stupid party, he was lodged in a costume store dressing room, holding on to the costumes you still wanted to try on. "what do you think?" you spin around, showing him the back of your cheesy tennis player costume. art chuckles, shaking his head, "i think it's offensive.." he jokes, of course you look cute but he can't stop himself from thinking that you'd never be able to move around a court in that stupid uniform. "hand me another one art.." he gives you the next costume, turning to face the wall while you change. "you know you can look.. right? im your girlfriend aren't i?" art blushes and he's thankful you can't see his face. "i- im just being respectful" he says, seeming genuinely concerned about offending you. you let the issue go as you zip up the costume, tapping art on the shoulder.

when you got home, you set down your costume and turned to art. "so now what are you gonna be? we should match right?" he nods shyly, not exactly knowing how to enter this unfamiliar territory. "i guess you could be a devil too and then we could match.." you look at art for inspiration, and settle on his baby blue eyes, biting your lip before getting an idea. "oh i know! you should be an angel! it'll be great!" you say, already envisioning art in a pretty white costume. art blushes, "isn't that.. like a girl costume?" he doesn't mean to offend you and it's not like he hates the idea but.. he doesn't want to embarrass himself. "no not at all! cmon art it'll be so cute.. you'll be my little angel!" you almost squeal, immediately taking out your phone to look for costumes. art nods slowly.. realizing that he doesn't really care what he dresses up as.. as long as he's yours.

art almost drops the costumes he's holding when he sees the little red skirt, tank top and horns you have on, accompanied by a pair of fluffy wings on your back. "what d'you think? it kind of looks silly don't you think?" you turn back to face art. he shakes his head silently, his eyes wide, looking you up and down. you giggle, "guess we have a winner then!". you leave the store that day with a devil costume in a bag, and art leaves with a tent in his pants.

art has never considered himself religious. he was raised to go to sunday school and church and all those other fun events, but he never believed any of it. so why did he feel so guilty when he got hot and heavy seeing you in that costume? maybe it was the fact that he was always reprimanded as a child for liking things that he shouldn't.. playing with dolls, stealing his moms clothes... and maybe even looking a little too long at girls from church. now he still felt like he could get caught any moment doing something he wasn't supposed to, even though he wasn't in that environment anymore.

you're putting on lip gloss, using your phone for a mirror when art pops out of the bathroom, having a little trouble getting the fake wings to fit though the doorframe. you put your things down, standing up to meet him, "oh art.. you look so good.. this costume is perfect for you, don't you think?" you say, looking him up and down. art blushes, trying to avoid your gaze "i- i guess so.." he says, trying to downplay the fact that he likes the costume so much. you pick up on his tone, and decide to speak up. "what? you don't like it?" he shakes his head quickly, "no.. no that's not it.. it's like the opposite.. maybe i like it a little too much" he looks away, shifting from foot to foot. you smile knowingly, not surprised that he feels this way. art let's you guide him to sit on the edge of your bed. "well, why do you like it so much?" you ask, wanting to see if he'll be honest.

.・。.・゜✭・.・。.・゜✭・.・。.・

when halloween night finally comes around, art finds himself staring in the mirror, tugging at the tight white t-shirt that came with his costume, shifting his back and shoulders to re-adjust the wings sitting heavy on his back. god.. what's patrick gonna think about this? he's probably gonna be made fun of relentlessly.. but there's a feeling in the bottom of his stomach when he looks at himself.. he can't deny that he likes what he sees. he's just nervous for you to see him too, what if you laugh? what if you think he looks silly? what if you make fun of him? all these thoughts swirl around in his head as he leaves your bathroom, stepping into your bedroom as you look up from your phone.

art mulls that over in his head, pretty.. did he feel pretty? was he pretty? he's a boy isn't he.. was he even allowed to be pretty? even with all these thoughts swirling in his head he knows the foundational truth: he likes when he say that, he likes when you call him pretty. you bring art back to reality by kissing him softly, leaning closer to him. arts tentative hands grab hold of your waist, squeezing tight when you slip your tongue into his mouth. "won't you let me take care of you art?" he nods, knowing that you saw the bulge in his pants the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.

you run your hands over arts warm skin, swinging your leg over his lap in order to straddle him. "we'll go slow, alright? don't be scared" you whisper, pressing your lips to his once again. art whines against you, his hips jerking under you even with the simple makeout session. art finds it easy to let you take the lead, you always do, in every facet of your relationship, and art likes to just turn his brain off when he's with you. he lets you run your fingers through his hair, pulling off the silly halo headband while you do. art shivers when you make your way down to his neck, sharp canine teeth poking and pulling at his skin. you pull at the hem of arts shirt, "can i take this off?" you ask, waiting for a nod before pulling it off of him, pressing your lips on his again and raking your nails down his chest, almost making him curl up on himself.

you were so warm inside, hot even, he could feel your every move from the inside, every ridge and squishy spot made him take a shuddering breath. you try to lift up again to establish a rhythm, but arts hands keep you still, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. after a few seconds, he takes his hands away, letting you start to bounce gently. his moans and whines become almost screams, "k-keep goingg please.." "y'r so warm 'nside" "never wanna stop.. wanna do this f-forever" he feels himself approaching his peak far too quick, but he cant stop, he couldn't even if he wanted to, he needs you to keep going, he needs you to touch him, he needs you to love him. you can feel art start to move his hips with you, planting his feet on the mattress and pushing up, slamming into you with the last of his strength before his whole body goes taut, shaking and shivering before you feel him cum inside you, even through the condom.

you kiss some more, before you pull away to take a breath and look at him. arts pretty pink cheeks and white wings contrast perfectly, only making your heart beat faster. "do you wanna see me?" you gesture to your chest, covered by a skimpy red tank top. art nods very quickly, almost getting dizzy. "y-yeah, yes please" he says, watching with stars in his eyes as you strip off your shirt, exposing your chest to him. art almost gasps when you take hold of his hands and place them on your boobs, letting him experiment and touch and squeeze to his hearts content, you want to giggle at his facial expressions but you don't want to make him self conscious. "c-can we keep going?" he asks, hands still on your breasts. you smile and laugh, nodding. "alright art.. can you take off your pants for me?" art almost thinks his heart stops when you ask him to do that, still getting it through his head to nod slowly. he shuffles them down his legs, his blue boxers already a little stained from the precum leaking from the makeout sessions. you shift closer to him, sitting between his spread legs. "ill be gentle okay?" you start slow, running your fingers softly over his bulge, smiling when you feel him twitch under your touch. tapping his hip to signal him to lift his hips up, art complies, suddenly feeling self conscious at the fact that no one has ever seen him like this before.. he doesn't even know what he's supposed to do, or say. you notice this of course, placing your palm on his hip, "you're doing great art" he visibly relaxes at your touch, sinking into your bed. he lets you touch him softly again, with no barrier this time, he's softer than you thought, his pretty pink head already drooling, the pronounced veins on the sides pulsing. you wish you could take a polaroid of this moment, the look of his innocent white wings contrasting from the very lewd image in front of you. art slaps a hand over his mouth, his brows furrowed, he's never had anyone else touch him here, your hand feels so much different than his own, so much softer and warmer. art has to concentrate his best on not cumming immediately, the sensation of your hand jerking him off becoming overwhelming. he has to reach down and push your hand away before he cums, wanting to save the best part for later. "i-im sorry i didn't wanna.. cum" he says, his face flushed red. you smile, understanding his predicament. "it's okay, i did the same my first time too.. do you have a condom?" art nods quickly, opening up a packet of condoms he bought a little prematurely maybe.. but he wanted to be prepared no matter what happened. art had taken a sex ed class before, but putting a condom on himself versus a banana were very different, so you had to help him roll it down his length. art does nothing but watch you throw your panties to the side, again climbing into his lap. "like i said, we'll go slow, tell me if you don't like how it feels yeah?" art agrees, placing his large hands on your hips in an attempt to prepare, but nothing could prepare him for this.

you move your hips slowly to let him cool off, before slipping off of him and settling down beside him. you take off the condom for him, cum dripping onto his stomach before you can throw it away. you place your head on arts chest, unable to resist dipping your finger into the drops of cum on his stomach, the translucent liquid almost glowing on his pale skin. you can't help the word that escapes your mouth, "angel..." you whisper against his skin, not thinking he's back to his senses yet. art perks up a little, hoping he heard what he thought he heard, "w-what?" "nothing" <3

art sighs, not even knowing why he likes it so much. "i dunno, i guess i feel.. nice in it.. like it's natural?" you nod along with his words, encouraging him to keep talking. "like when i put it on, it kind of made me get butterflies.." you nod, seeing where this was going. "you thought you looked pretty yeah? i mean i always say you look like an angel, this just proves my point" you remark, placing a gentle hand on his thigh. "yeah.. well you're right as always.."

#parkerluvsu #parker.talks #art donaldson #challengers x reader #challengers 2024 #challengers #art donaldson x reader #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #mike faist #halloween #angel boy

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teamatsumu · 1 year ago

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screenshot. (kita shinsuke x reader)

summary: your friend confesses on your behalf. for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions.

word count: 1161

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead d @priv-rose @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties @pinkiipeachiikeen @whippedbel

event masterlist

Many of Kita’s friends and volleyball teammates think he is a stickler for routine. And they are right. But Kita isn’t rigid. He isn’t unchangeable. He accepts a break in routine, takes it in stride, learns from the turning tides and comes back with a smile on his face. Why else would he be the captain of the volleyball team if he didn’t know how to assimilate with rapidly developing circumstances?

Today, he is confronted with another such change. He is staring it right in the face. For a few moments, Kita cannot fathom the sight. How can it be? A red envelope in his locker? Surely, it must not be meant for him.

His next thought is how it got there in the first place. No one besides the volleyball team is allowed in the club room. He is the one who always opens it and he is also the one who locks up every night. Did someone sneak in during practice time?

Nothing else in his locker seems out of place. Just the letter placed delicately on top of the rest of his belongings. Kita finally reaches out for it, tugging on the flap to detach it and pulling out the crisp white paper inside. Kita is halted in his tracks when he realizes that there is no writing on the paper. It’s a print-out. Of a screenshot.

He eyes the text message chain, recognising the small icons on both the sender and receiver’s text bubbles. It’s Suna, his underclassman, and he also recognises you, the manager and his long time best friend.

‘I can’t stand it anymore suna!’

‘then just tell him’

‘u know i cant’

‘thats a u problem’

The next message is long, bordering on a whole paragraph, and Kita’s eyes skim over it. For the first time in a long while, his heart skips.

‘ive known him forever rin. hes such an amazing person and my best friend but he doesn like me that way. if i tell him im just gonna lose him as a friend and id rather we be friends than nothing at all’

The punctuation is atrocious, and the grammar is slightly questionable, but Kita smiles regardless. He carefully folds the paper again, placing it inside the envelope. He closes his locker and continues his evening routine of cleaning up and locking the club room.

Over the next hour as Kita cleans, his thoughts mull over the letter he had just received. The menial nature of the tasks relaxes him, gives him time to mull over this new information. Kita realizes that maybe he isn’t as perceptive as previously thought by his friends.

How can he have not seen that look in your eyes before? Softer than anything and directed only at him, now that he thinks about it. He ponders over your words, the insecurity and negativity behind them. He has never known you to be a negative person. You are endlessly optimistic and full of energy. You are so bright that Kita loves basking in it. He has known you for a very long time, and he is almost affronted that your budding romantic feelings were hidden from him for so long. Especially when Kita has made his courting intentions for you fairly clear.

He has not directly said anything. But he doesn’t think he was ever being discreet. But maybe he has been wrong in his approach. Maybe you hooking your arm with his when you walked to school in the morning, sharing lunches every day, permanently stealing a few of his choice hoodies were all friendly gestures on your part. While Kita has interpreted the gestures as romantic, it seems you have not felt the same heat behind those actions.

Kita has always walked the same route home, sometimes with Aran, sometimes with you, and sometimes on his own. Today he takes the walk alone, but he is not bothered. He has purpose in his mind, the red envelope in his hand, and his feet carry him all the way through the winding streets until he stops at your doorstep.

He smiles at the surprise in your eyes when you receive him at the door. He nearly coos at the fuzzy slippers on your feet, huge and with bunny ears on them, making your feet look twice their usual size. You are so cute. Kita scolds himself lightly, regretting that he had wasted so much time as your friend when maybe he could have spent it with you as his romantic partner. His girlfriend.

It has a nice ring to it, Kita decides.

“Shinsuke?” Your voice breaks his train of thought. The ‘what are you doing here’ is clear in your voice. Your eyes are wide and your face is questioning. There is a tinge of worry on your face, and Kita realizes that showing up unannounced may not have been the best idea. He isn’t sure what is going on in your head, but he quickly tries to quash your worries.

“Everything is fine.” Clear, direct, to the point. It’s Kita being Kita. “I’m here about something I found in my locker while closing up.”

He holds up the red envelope, and when you stare at it in confusion, he proceeds to open it and pull out the white paper. You take it when he offers it to you, unfolding it and reading the letter. If you can call it that.

Kita watches the color drain from your face, notices how the panic overtakes your features as you recognise the conversation printed in front of you. He feels his shoulders slump a little, lamenting the fact that you are truly scared about him finding out. What do you think he will do? Has Kita truly not made his intentions for you clear enough? He cannot help but self loathe in that moment, seeing the state you were in now.

“Shin-”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“If you will allow it, I would like to take you out for dinner this weekend. Will you be free on Saturday?”

You blink once, twice. Your mouth opens and closes. Kita is acutely reminded of a fish. He tries to tamp down his smile.

“R-really?”

He merely nods.

Slowly, life reinjects into your face. You seem to age in reverse before his very eyes. Your grip on the letter crinkles the paper slightly, and Kita reaches out to gently pry it from your hands and smooth it out. He stays quiet as you process his words. He thinks of hugging you, maybe even kissing you. But stops himself. Those are moments he will reserve for after your first date, after he has properly given you the best date of your dreams. So he keeps his eyes on the letter.

“Remind me to thank Suna for this letter.” He comments. “I must say, it’s the strangest confession letter I have ever received.”

There is a pause.

“You’ve received other confession letters?!”

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