♥︎ ┊what Can I Do For You?

That’s the thing about a/b/o; it’s such a good vehicle for certain kinks. I’m just going to go with the first half of the list and say Tsukkiyama… any of: 6, 11, 14, 19 or 28.

Any, some, all or none! Up to you!

All of your fics are great!

This is exactly my thought. I picked two of the ones you sent from the prompt list, feel free to send more if you want!

6. Alpha voice 14. Claim fuck

Here’s the ao3 link 

- MINORS DNI -

Tsukishima Kei is not prone to letting his emotions or his instincts get the best of him. It’s tiring, and just not worth it most of the time. Often, this isn’t an issue; he doesn’t feel anything too strongly, and he’s not exactly eager to get into just any omega’s pants, so even when an omega goes into heat in public he’s able to keep a level head. He doesn’t feel that primal urge inside himself to claim, to mate- 

Or, at least, for the most part. It’s becoming more of an issue lately, and it’s frustrating. He doesn’t know what it is, but lately whenever he finds himself out with friends, he’s just the slightest bit annoyed, just a little more prone to snapping back. He chalks it up to just having outgrown the idea of going out every weekend now that he’s an adult with a job, and yet whenever a certain childhood friend of his asks him to come out he does without hesitation. 

...Which leads to his other issue. 

Yamaguchi Tadashi has always been a soft spot for Kei, he’s always wanted to protect him- ever since they first became friends in elementary school. Now that they’ve long since graduated highschool, and recently college, however, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that Kei’s soft spot for Tadashi is more than he lets on. And Tadashi has always been naïve, but it’s never been more aggravating to get him out of the situations he manages to get himself in when he’s a little tipsy. And Yamaguchi likes to let loose on the weekends. 

And letting loose he is. 

Kei hadn’t even wanted to go out tonight. He was barely leaving the museum when his phone rang, the caller ID reading Kuroo’s phone number, and he’d immediately rejected the call. However, not even two seconds later he received a text with the simple words: “We have freckles with us already so you might as well just come over now instead of fighting it.” So he did. And that familiar annoyance and quick temper has returned, only fueled by the loud music bumping in the over-crowded club that Bokuto and Kuroo dragged his omega to-

There it is again. Yamaguchi isn’t his. He isn’t Kei’s, and he knows this. Even still, in his head, he calls him that. He doesn’t know when he that started, just that he never stopped, and he doesn’t see any harm in it; after all, anyone who’s spent more than a few hours with them can clearly see Kei’s laid his claim on Yamaguchi even if he hasn’t actually marked him. Or even tried to court him. His influence is all over, however, from the clothes Kei buys him just so he can scent them before he gifts them to the fading hickeys Yamaguchi asks Kei to give him before they go out to deter alphas from hitting on him when they’re clubbing. 

Even still, those only seem to work if the other person knows them, and isn’t some stranger in the club. To strangers, Kei’s scent and the hickeys he peppers on Yamaguchi’s neck are just hints of a promiscuous omega, a tease who gets busy with more than one person in one night- and they tend to get angry when their advances are rejected by a “slut.” 

Kei doesn’t know when he lost Yamaguchi, just that he’s been increasingly more annoyed by his other friends as they progressively get drunker. And so he does what he usually does when he gets fed up with them: goes to find Yamaguchi so he can leave. It takes a long moment to find him, and when he does, he doesn’t like what he finds. 

He can’t hear over the music and the loud conversations surrounding them, but he can see the snarl on the alpha’s face as he leans far too close to Yamaguchi. The omega -his omega- is leaning as far away as he can, but his back is pressed against the wall with nowhere else to go. It takes three seconds to get from the bar to where they are, just in time for the alpha to reach a hand up Yamaguchi’s skirt and promptly get punched in the jaw by Yamaguchi. Immediately the area around them clears around them so Kei can step in between them. 

“You bit-” 

The alpha goes to punch back, but freezes when he sees Kei standing there. “You’d really punch an omega that just hit you so hard you had those cartoon birds flying around your head? That’s kind of pathetic, man.” 

“Who are you, this little slut’s babysitter? Why don’t you tell ‘im to-” 

“I’d stop right there, or I’ll let him loose on you again. Do you want an omega to knock you out?” 

The alpha growls, but he backs off, flicking them off once more before he disappears into the crowd. Kei turns to Yamaguchi as the people immediately around them dissolve back into the club mentality, ignoring the two as soon as the drama is over. When Kei turns around, Yamaguchi’s fist is still clenched, skirt ridden up just the slightest, and he’s shaking. 

“Yamaguchi, let’s go.” 

“What? I- I’m fine, Tsukki. Let’s just go find the others,” 

“I just left them, I was coming to find you anyway.” 

“But I wanna stay,” 

“And get groped by some stranger again? I don’t think so.” Kei says. 

Yamaguchi huffs. “Come on Tsukki, please? I barely have a buzz, I-” 

“And if you get any drunker, you’re gonna get taken advantage of by some random alpha.” 

“And what if I want that?” 

“I- What?” Kei’s eyes narrow and he glares at Yamaguchi, stepping closer to him. “You’re okay with just anyone taking you home? What if one of them marks you? What if they get you pregnant?” 

Yamaguchi crosses his arms and glares right back. “And what if they do? It’s not like you are.” 

Something in Kei snaps then, and he growls, taking Yamaguchi by the wrist and pulling him against his chest. He isn’t one to use his alpha status above an omega, but he can’t help himself as he commands Yamaguchi with his alpha voice, “We’re leaving. Now.” 

Yamaguchi doesn’t protest as Kei drags him out of the club, and Kei ignores the whoops and hollers from a drunk Bokuto and Kuroo, both of whom are trying to reign in a drunk Hinata before he climbs onto the bar and shows all of Sendai the dance moves he’d learned in Brazil. Once out of the club, his senses sharpen and he feels a bit better, but anger still boils in his chest as he drags Yamaguchi down the street and to the closest train station. After swiping their metro cards he takes Yamaguchi and pins him against the wall, kissing him roughly while they wait for their train. 

“Is this what you wanted? Attention from me? Is that why you wore this little number and went off and almost got yourself groped in the club by whoever you could get to touch you so I would get jealous?” 

“M- Maybe,” Yamaguchi murmurs against Kei’s lips, gasping when Kei’s knee slips between his thighs, arms hiding him from the rest of the underground station. “I was tired of your fucking pretending like there isn’t something between us, so I figured I’d give you a push. Is that so wrong?” 

“It is when my omega is backed into a corner with a hand up his skirt by someone that’s not me.” 

“So you admit I’m yours?” 

“Of fucking course you are! When have you ever not been?” Yamaguchi swallows thickly, his wide-eyed gaze looking at Kei like he hung the goddamn moon, and Kei growls. “As soon as we get back to my place I’m fucking you so goddamn hard and you’re getting a bond mark right,” he nips at the junction of Yamaguchi’s neck and shoulder, “There. Understand? No one is going to mistake you for single after this.” 

“Y- Yes, alpha.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.” They continue to kiss while they wait, and once again when their train arrives. Once they reach their stop, Kei’s hand once again finds Yamaguchi’s wrist and he pulls him along, feeling a little guilty when he sees it’s bright red from being grabbed so roughly; it’ll definitely bruise before the night is over. He doesn’t have time to feel guilty, however, because Yamaguchi’s hand slips into Kei’s front pants pocket and pulls his keys out of it, unlocking his apartment and pushing him inside. Kei grins, pulling Yamaguchi by his collar into a kiss as they scramble to take their shoes off while still kissing. “Feisty now, huh?” 

“Just impatient. I’ve been waiting for this moment since we were seventeen.” 

Kei groans against Tadashi’s lips. “You mean I could’ve been fucking you since second year? That was six years ago,” 

“I didn’t think you liked me back until, like, six months ago Tsukki! And I thought you would make the first move, since you’re an alpha.” 

“You know I’m just as stubborn as you, did you really think I’d give up my pride and confess?” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re stupid. Now are you going to claim me or not?” 

“You don’t have to ask twice,” Now out of their shoes, Kei lifts Tadashi and carries him down the hall to his bedroom. He has half the mind to fuck him right on the floor in the genkan, but he at least has the sense to make sure Yamaguchi is comfortable while he fucks his brains out. Once in his bedroom, he drops Yamaguchi on the bed, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Yamaguchi pulls away just the slightest to pull his top off, wiggling out of his skirt while Kei shucks off his own shirt and begins undoing the buttons on his slacks. He growls when he sees Yamaguchi’s nearly naked form underneath him, the light pink boxer briefs damp and tenting his dick. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, you know that?” 

“That’s coming from you? You’re a literal god, Kei.” 

Something about Yamaguchi calling him by his given name screams to the primal side inside of Kei. Nipping at his lips, Kei’s hands find Yamaguchi’s hips and pulls them flush against his. “You’re so fucking hot. I’m going to make sure the only think you can say is my name.” 

“Yes, please.” Yamaguchi whispers. Resisting the urge to rip Yamaguchi’s underwear, he slides it off as quickly and as gracelessly as possible, losing his cool immediately when the scent of slick unhidden by clothing hits his nose. He pulls away to get a good look at Yamaguchi totally naked, now, and he growls. 

“You’re dripping. Have you been slicked up the whole way home, or did I just work you up in the few minutes we’ve been back home?” 

“Th- The first option,” 

"Well I’m going to treat you so good, don’t you worry. I know I could probably slip right in with how wet you are right now, but I’m gonna prep you, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

One of Kei’s hands spreads Yamaguchi’s thighs, the other moving to tease at his rim. Yamaguchi whines, his knees trying to close, and Kei nips at his jaw, keeping his legs spread with a firm grip. “Don’t hide yourself. I’m going to be seeing a while lot of you, so there’s no point in being shy.” 

Whimpering, Tadashi nods slowly, and relaxes somewhat as Kei slips two fingers inside of his hole. Kei’s fingers are long and slim, and slip inside easily, slick coating them immediately. He probably didn’t even need to prepare the omega, because he’s reacting so well to Kei’s touch and opening up with little prodding; his little cock sits rock-hard and dripping, untouched, and Kei’s own cock twitches at the sight of the man in front of him. Yamaguchi gasps when Kei’s fingers shift inside of him and Kei grins, dragging his fingers over the same spot. He revels in the way Yamaguchi moans and whines, rolling his hips to get more stimulation. 

“Fuck, Kei...N- Need you, now. Please. Please,” 

Suddenly Kei’s confidence wanes and he hesitates, looking down at Yamaguchi. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tadashi.” 

Yamaguchi groans. “I can take it, Tsukki. Come on, fuck me.” 

“Right. Right, I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to claim you. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

Kei slides his fingers out of Yamaguchi’s hole, positioning his member and pushing inside. As soon as the tip slips in he groans, pleasure overtaking him as he bottoms out with one quick thrust that brings out a loud cry from the omega underneath him. He growls, connecting their lips once more, as he fucks into Yamaguchi roughly. His hands wander Yamaguchi’s body, the omega reacting to his touch so well, his back arching off the bed. Kei sucks in every little sound, every little tightening around his cock, quickly losing control of himself. 

“Fuck, Tadashi...You’re mine. I’m not going to let anyone touch you ever again, you’re mine and only mine, you understand?” 

Yamaguchi keens, a shiver running down his spine, and nods. His hands, tangled in Kei’s hair, grips tighter with every thrust. 

“If any other alpha even looks at you after this, I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

“Possessive of me already? You haven’t even- hn, you haven’t even marked me yet.” 

“If you want to rush me, Tadashi, I can gladly make you cum faster, but I quite like this pace more,” Kei growls, thrusting harder, and he hears Yamaguchi’s breath hitch. 

“F- Fuck, please, Kei, faster. Please. ‘m so close, so ready, plea-” Yamaguchi gasps, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and Kei grins. He nips at Yamaguchi’s neck, right where he’s preparing to mark him, and reaches a hand down to stroke Yamaguchi’s dick. Yamaguchi reacts to the touch with a shout that will more than likely get Kei a noise complaint from his neighbors, but he doesn’t care one bit. Kei’s own orgasm builds closer and closer as he continues fucking into Yamaguchi ruthlessly, and he knows Yamaguchi is close by how much he starts to tighten around his cock. 

“Tadashi...Tadashi, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby,” He pants, “You’re going to be full of my pups soon enough. I’m going to claim you and get you pregnant as soon as possible, so everyone knows you’re mine. You’re mine, hear that? Mine.” 

“Fuck, Kei..! Please, please, ‘m coming, claim me alpha, ple- agh!” 

Kei wastes no time in biting down on the junction of Yamaguchi’s neck and shoulder, claiming the omega as he comes. As his teeth sink into flesh, Kei’s own orgasm spills inside of Yamaguchi and he thrusts one final time as his knot swells and locks them together. An indescribable pleasure washes over him as he feels the mating bond form between them. Once they’ve both finished, Kei collapses on top of Yamaguchi, both of them panting breathlessly. 

In the morning, Kei will likely be embarrassed about letting his inner alpha out like this, but for now, he allows himself to feel the bliss of a fresh bond with the man he loves. 

A star gaze night with your bestest friend

a bit dirty - ch6

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch6 [masterlist]

// a really great idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ~ 7392 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, squirting, sex in a bed!!, a lot of feelings and love!!!!, intimacy in more than just the bedroom fr, names names names pet names a million pet names, oral f!receiving, afab she/her pronouns

tori talks: oh good god guys we're finally here. thanks to everyone who is going to read this last chapter even though it literally took me over 6 months to write it. i hope you enjoy it and i'm glad it's over and that it happened. ily all. hope u enjoy. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you’re not sure you’d admit it to anyone, but walking into osamu’s apartment for the first time feels like coming home after a long day at work. you can see yourself here, more than you can in your own apartment or your childhood home. you feel just a little bit more like yourself, shoulders relaxing in a way that you didn’t think they needed to, breath a tiny fraction steadier. you’re not sure you’ve felt this comfortable in a really long time. 

you don’t have to ask him where to put your shoes or where to hang your jacket, and he doesn’t take them from you either. he doesn’t put them away for you or tell you to hang them on the hangers in the empty closet down the hall. 

when he unlocks his door and pushes inside, you mimic his motions, placing your shoes gingerly on the rack to the right of the closet between his white sneakers and black work shoes, hanging your jacket on the empty hooks above the spot where you've just retired your shoes. 

stepping deeper into his apartment, he offers a small, “so, welcome,” he says, gesturing to the living room, one hand softly wrapped around yours as he tugs you along. stepping past the barrier of the front door, further into osamu’s space, you don’t feel like a guest here. you just feel like you belong.

“oh my god, it’s so clean in here,” you say, a few paces ahead of him now, but he refuses to break contact, to let go of your fingertips so he walks quickly along with you. 

“well, yea, i’m not really ever home,” he explains, shrugging, as you walk around his living room eyes stopping at the neatly organized coffee table with cork coasters and a yellow hard-covered book titled this book will make you kinder, at the photos on his wall of him and his brother and him and his restaurant and him and suna, at the plants in the window sill and the dustless, dirtless ledge beneath them. 

you shake your head, “no, that’s not true. you come home after work and you’re here before you leave for work, and i’m sure you’re super busy leaving in the morning and super tired when you come home at night, so it’s really impressive that it’s really clean.”

he lets out a half-laugh, a breathy light scoff in the place of a real response. you turn around, looking at him directly with a mischievous look on your face, “unless you cleaned your apartment just for me tonight?”

osamu’s quiet, a very telling silence, a wordless admittance. “oh my god!” you say, hands on your hip, and the slight hold that he has on your fingertips isn’t broken yet, his hand now pressed against your side, fingers curling around your hip as he pulls you a little closer.  

“okay!” he admits, “so i am pretty tidy anyways, but there may have been a few dishes in the sink and the bed might not have been made and the couch cushions didn’t look that good before but-”

you shake your head, clicking your tongue, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you tease, “how presumptuous of you that i would come back here after our date?” 

“i didn’t think we’d just fuck in the bathroom again, baby, what was i supposed to do, you literally said-” he says, trying to explain himself, unstoppable smile on his face as he pulls you even closer to him.

“do you think i’m that kinda girl? to just fuck you on the first date?” you ask, palm flat against his chest now, the other hand snaking up to lazily drape around his neck.

he shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you tight around your arms and shoulders, holding you in place as he laughs so deep that it sends tingles and shivers down your spine and skin. “you’re very funny, y’know that?” he asks, squishing you against his chest as he presses kiss after kiss into the top of your head. 

“you made the bed? fixed the couch cushions? samu, i mean, really, what did you think was going to happen tonight?” you giggle, emphasizing every other word dramatically as you squirm in his tight grasp.

“i mean,” he says, leaning back to look at the warmth on your face, the fluster that lies with it, “you are here, aren’t you? i couldn’t have been that wrong if the cleaning paid off.”

you giggle harder now, leaning up and pressing a kiss into wherever you can reach in his strong hold. “i sure am,” you agree. he loosens his grip, hand falling down your arm to thread his fingers with yours again. he pecks a small kiss against your lips and then your cheek. 

“you sure are,” he says, warmly. 

you really could’ve stayed in the middle of his living room forever surrounded by couches and books on shelves and an impressive entertainment system. you didn’t need any of it either, didn’t need a place to sit or things to keep you busy, you’d be really happy just staring at osamu for the rest of time, at hearing him laugh, at feeling his pulse in your palm.  

“can i getcha a drink?” he asks, pulling you out of this mellow, love-struck state in the name of hospitality. 

“only if i can come with you,” you say, looking over his shoulder into the kitchen. your motivation is 70% wanting to stay with osamu and 30% wanting to see what his kitchen looks like: what kind of mugs he has, where he keeps his silverware, if his knives and pans are on display or tucked away in cabinets.

“clingy,” he teases, smile huge because there wasn’t any way that he was leaving you alone for even a second. 

“fine! i'll stay in here,” you pout. 

he doesn’t respond, only laughs and pulls you by the hand, “come on, pretty.”

you don’t protest anymore, following along happily into the kitchen, forcing yourself to sit on the barstool in front of the bar rather than snoop in his cupboards and drawers. he’s hesitant to let his touch fall from yours, to let go of the contact he has on your hand and your hip, but he does, presses a small kiss into the side of your head, and walks deeper into his kitchen.

from here you can see the kettle on the counter and the knives on a metallic strip above the black countertop. the pans are nowhere to be seen. they must be hidden away somewhere safe. you don’t say anything and neither does he as he pulls wine glasses and mugs and cups out of the cupboard and places them on the countertop in front of you. 

and you still don’t feel like a guest. 

it feels like osamu getting you a drink is because he loves you, like you could get up and get your own if you wanted to, like you already knew where the tea bags were and the spoons and the shelf that the sugar resided, like next time you would return the favor, let him sit down for a minute while you made the two of you tea or poured another glass of wine. 

“what’s it gonna be?” he asks, gesturing to your choices on the bar in front of you.

“y’know you could’ve just asked me that before pulling out all the cups?” you tease, eyes moving from cup to mug to wine glass. 

he shrugs, “not as visual.”

“what are you in the mood for?” you ask, reaching to pick up the mug, black ceramic with a gray stripe along the base. you turn it over in your hand, running your fingers along the matte texture. yeah, this feels like a mug osamu would own. 

“anything, really,” he says, smiling before the rest of the flirt even comes out of his mouth, “as long as i’m drinking it with you on my couch, i will be very happy.”

you roll your eyes. it’s really unfair how predictable, yet how adorable, he is when it comes to things like that. “alright, how about wine now, tea later?” you ask.

he rests both of his hands on the edge of the counter for a moment, nodding as he does, removing the cups from the counter and pushing the mugs towards the tea kettle. “sounds like a plan, angel,” he says, disappearing behind the pantry door and coming back with a bottle of wine. 

he doesn’t recork the wine or put the bottle back, leaves it exactly where he sets it on the counter in a rush to just drink wine on his couch with you. he carries your glass for you as he guides you back to the couch. 

sitting on the plush, perfectly set cushions, tucking yourself into the corner against the arm rest, osamu pressed up against you, pulling your legs over the tops of his, his hand resting comfortably on your calf, you’re not sure you’ll ever really be ready to go back to your own cold, lonely apartment. when you close your eyes, you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now. 

your first glass of wine isn’t even finished before he interrupts your current conversation of favorite movies and media with a stupidly cute, nervous question, “so, can i ask you now?” 

you want to be stunned or at least fake it, but you can only lean closer into him, setting your wine glass down on the coaster on the coffee table to wrap both of your arms around his bicep. “ask me what?” you tease.

he shakes his head, “y’know that night i thought you were so out of my league.”

you lean backwards, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “no fucking way.”

“swear,” he laughs, leaning forward to set his glass down next to yours, “and i was out of my depth, had no idea what i was doing, just couldn’t stop staring at you-”

“oh, i know,” you say, recalling his smitten, lingering stare so perfectly that your face feels warm, “every time i would look over in your direction you would be looking at me like this.” you mimic your recollection as best as you can.

he puts his face in his hands. “that’s so embarrassing,” he says, and it’s muffled by his palms. you wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling them away from his face and kissing the backs of them.

“no, no, it was cute,” you say, but he still groans. you continue, “samu, i was into it, obviously.”

he explains further, “sumu was like shoving me over there so blatantly that i almost didn’t go over there.” he shakes his head at the memory, at the alternate universe where his stupid brother alone failed to start the best chain of events of his life. “and then omi leaned over to me and was like, ‘i'll distract your dumbass brother, go have a good night, you deserve it.’” 

“remind me to thank him then,” you say, softly, shifting against the couch to lean against his shoulder instead of the armrest. 

“will do,” he says, smile in his voice as he snakes his arm around your waist, hand resting on the side of your thigh. “i’ve thanked him plenty for both of us, but it might mean more coming from a new mouth.”

“you just say the most romantic things like it’s nothing,” you say.

“i don’t try,” he admits, “just hard not to be romantic when i’m with you.” he reaches across you with his other arm, pulls you further into his lap until both of your knees are on either side of his thighs and you’re facing him. “sorry,” he mumbles, “wanted to look at ya.”

“you’ve gotta be doing this on purpose,” you whisper. 

his fingers scrape against the tops of your tights before rooting on your hips. he shakes his head. “it’s all you, really,” he whispers back. “these thoughts just come into my mind and i say them. love you so much, you make it easy.”

you’re very grateful for this position because it’s effortless to lean down and crash your lips into his, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss, to feel his chest lift to kiss you harder. he tastes like expensive wine and a little bit like you still and you might cry, he’s just really perfect. 

he places his hand on your shoulder, holds you in place as he leans back into the couch. the pout is already forming on your lip, so he runs his thumb across it gently. “will you be mine?” he asks, adding before you’ve even answered, “let me love you with labels.”

“oh my god, samu, you’re going to kill me, y’know that?” you say, hands cupping both of his cheeks before kissing him sweetly. “how do you expect me to keep up with this?”

“just say yes,” he says, quickly, “that’s enough for me.”

“of course,” you say, forehead resting gently against his, kiss placed on his nose and then the high of his cheekbone. you repeat it again just in case he missed it the first time, “of course.”

“i’m sorry that i didn’t make this happen sooner,” he says, soft sigh accompanying his remorseful tone.

“stop that,” you hush him.

“i mean it,” he says, sitting up into you a bit more, “if i would’ve figured my shit out sooner, we could’ve been doing this for months.”

“yeah, but you don’t know if everything would’ve turned out the same way,” you say, bringing your hands up into his hair, “if that would’ve been too soon or if we needed to go through all we went through to be as strong as we are now, there’s no way to know, really.”

he smiles at you, not opening his mouth to say anything, just soaking in the moment, humming at your astute thought. you continue, “i guess i just mean that, yea, getting more time with you would’ve been great, but we can’t do anything about that. so i’m just really glad to be with you now, here, drinking wine and sitting in your lap and kissing you.”

“and you say i’m the romantic,” he murmurs, kissing you once more. 

“you are,” you argue. 

/\ /\ /\

neither of you even finish your first glass of wine. even if you had, there was no way the two of you were untangling from each other and making your way into the kitchen for another, not in the middle of unimportance conversations about your thoughts on christmas lights or osamu’s thoughts on the type of pet he’d like to have one day. 

but as the hours tick on, as the clock hands droop lower and lower, osamu knows that you need some sort of transition period to staying the night. “cup of tea before we go to bed?” he asks, head resting against the back cushion of the couch staring into your eyes with as much love as he can.

“are you being presumptuous again, samu?” you tease, but your eyelids are getting heavier and you can’t put a lot of effort into the taunting. 

“i’m sorry, princess, do you want to stay the night?” he asks, gut-wrenchingly sincere. 

“i would really love that, yea,” you say, flustered in the backfiring of your banter, “and tea sounds really nice too.” 

he nods, once, short and happy, ready to move you off of his lap to go get the two of you a final drink before bed, but you get off of him first. “i’ll get it,” you offer, waiting with bated breath for him to fight you on it or to be weirded out by the forwardness of raiding his kitchen to feel the domesticity a little harder.  

he doesn’t protest at all, lets the smitten, lingering stare last for a few moments before saying, “only if i can come with you.”

before you’ve made it to the kitchen with osamu in tow, he stops you, plants in place in front of the hallway to his bedroom, and nods towards it. “but first, can we get you into some comfier clothes?” he asks. “nighttime tea tastes better when you’re in comfy clothes,” he reasons. you can’t disagree. 

you follow him down the hall to his room. you don’t get a good look at his plainly decorated room or the nicely made bed as you wait in the doorway. he returns quickly with a t-shirt of his. “you can change in the bathroom across the hall if you want,” he offers.

“you know you were inside of me in a fancy restaurant bathroom hours ago, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, pushing past him into his room and taking off all of your date clothes. osamu folds them neatly as you set them on the bed. when he picks up your torn tights, he can’t hold back his small laugh. 

“oh yea, so funny,” you joke, “you can probably throw those away.”

“but they’re perfectly good for having sex in public bathrooms,” he jokes back. 

you pull his shirt over your head, soft cotton taking the place of going out clothes and the difference is already lulling you to sleep. you’re determined to make osamu tea, but you can’t promise most of the cup won’t go cold on the counter.

it doesn’t take long for osamu to be on you, arms wrapped around your waist, hands roaming over your body, “you look so good right now.”

“shut up,” you say, pushing him away with the least amount of resolve anyone has ever had, “imagine how i feel looking at you wearing stuff like this.”

“you look better in it than i do,” he says, shaking his head. 

“not possible,” you say back.

he leans down to kiss you once before reluctantly pulling away, walking back over to his dresser to change into comfier clothes as well. if you weren’t so stupidly tired, seeing osamu shirtless and in super casual sweatpants would’ve been the perfect catalyst for your first night together having sex in a bed.

tea. sleep. tea. sleep. tea. sleep. you remind yourself.

“c’mon, angel,” he coaxes, pulling you by your hand back down the hallway and into the kitchen. he leans against the countertop, doesn’t say another word or try to make you tea despite your earlier statement. 

you start the kettle with the push of a button, pull the mugs from across the counter in front of you. you pluck two tea bags from the glass jar where they live. you have to open a few cupboards before finding the spoons, but the sugar is right where you think it will be. 

“i think knowing that you take sugar in your tea is both the most surprising thing and also somehow completely aligns with who you are,” you reason, pouring the gently boiling water over the tea bags. by the time you finish your sentence, you’ve noticed the enamored look on his face, but you don’t have time to comment on it as he replies. 

“that’s because you know me really well,” he says, nodding, loving smile still lingering. you put half of a spoonful of sugar into the cup, stir until it dissolves and then slid it against the countertop to him. he wraps his fingers around the warm cup, brings it to his lips, blows on it gently as if that’s going to do anything at all, and then takes the smallest sip. “perfect.”

you lean against the edge of the counter, holding the mug in your hands, waiting for the air to cool down the steaming beverage. “i think i’d be really okay with ending every single day of my life just like this,” you admit. if his eyes go wide or he recoils even the smallest percentage, you’ll blame it on the eventful day and the exhaustion that’s quickly overcoming you, but they don’t. his features soften, hand reaches across the counter to rub the back of your hand. 

“me too,” he reciprocates. “you’ll have to stay over more often,” he doubles down. 

“what?” you ask, taking a sip of your tea. you can feel the warmth hit your stomach. “have dinner ready for you when you come home and spend your nights off intertwined on the couch?” everything that you’re saying is getting closer and closer to practically asking to move in, but osamu doesn’t seem to mind. 

“exactly that,” he murmurs, “you’ll have to see if you like my bed first, though, before you resign yourself to coming over every night.”

“every night?” you ask, cheeky smile the only form of teasing that you’re giving right now, “maybe we should go check it out then.” you take one more sip of your tea and then set the cup down on the counter. osamu doesn’t even do that, pulls you away from behind the counter and down the hall. 

you climb into his bed, under his covers without asking or another mention. osamu joins you, climbing into the other side, and the two of you don’t waste a single second, curling up against each other, limbs lazily tangling, pressing up against one another as close as you possibly can. 

“the first time we’re in a bed together and we’re not even having sex,” he says, softly, reaching over and turning off his bedside light. it takes a few moments for your eyes to get adjusted, to make out the shapes of his face in the dark. 

“crazy, right?” you ask, smiling as you snuggling into his chest impossibly closer. 

“i like this though,” he admits, traces his fingers up and down your arms, “just being in bed with you, falling asleep with you, means i get to wake up with you.”

you hum at his voice, soft and deep, and the darkness looks the same as it does with shut eyes, but you’re trying your best to not let the sleep take you that fast. “can you keep me awake?” you ask.

“you’re literally falling asleep as we speak,” he says, your eyelids fluttering shut as if to make a point. you shake your head, but you don’t say anything else. “why do you want me to keep you awake, babygirl?”

“cause i wanna be in this moment a little while longer,” you reason, breath taking over your voice as the darkness and warmth pull you into a comforting hug.

“we’ll have plenty of time for moments like this later,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “plenty of time, so go to sleep, angel.”

you’re not even embarrassed at how quickly you listen to him.

/\ /\ /\

if last night wasn’t enough to convince you that you were exactly where you needed to be for the rest of your life, waking up in osamu’s arms definitely was. they’re strong around you, wrapped tightly around your waist, nose nuzzled into the back of your neck, legs intertwined with yours. 

you’re incredibly surprised that you’ve woken up first, but the second that you start to stir, osamu’s grip loosens, and his head peaks over your shoulder and he places a small kiss on your cheek. “mornin’,” he says, raspy as he talks off the sleep. 

you turn in his arms, laying flat on your back so you can look at him directly. “good morning,” you say back, lifting your head to kiss him. “very good morning,” you say again. 

“cute,” he murmurs against your lips, “stupidly cute.” you reach your arms up, draping them over his neck loosely to pull him down into you. “do you want breakfast or something?” he asks.

you shake your head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “no,” you say, “well, maybe later? i think right now i just want, y’know, this.” you gesture with a small nod not really towards anything in particular, just to the situation.

he laughs, kissing the side of your face, “alright, this it is.”

you don’t say much else. nor does he. it’s all stolen kisses and roaming touches and silent exchanges. you don’t feel the need to talk, don’t have much to say, you’re communicating just fine without them. 

every touch is getting needier, every kiss is getting longer, sloppier, more desperate, and the only thing that you’ve been able to think about for the last hour is all of the promises that have been made to you about after date things. 

it doesn’t help that he’s on top of you now, tops of his thighs resting between your legs, hands on either side of your waist just looking at you like that. the first thing you say in over an hour is, “what, samu?”  

he laughs, pushing his fingertips up your body, under the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and up until your entire stomach is exposed. “god, you’re so hot,” he says, grabbing onto your waist to pull you closer to him. 

“samu,” you whine. 

“what, doll? it’s true,” he says, pushing your shirt up even further now, tits on display so pretty that you can feel him begin to grow hard against your inner thigh. “so pretty,” he murmurs. he tugs your shirt off, tosses it to the side with no regard for the tidiness of his room anymore. 

you’ve really never been this exposed before when you’ve had sex with osamu, always an article of clothes on, but now the only thing stopping you from being completely naked is the thin fabric of your panties and osamu’s fingers are already hooked in the waistband. you don’t protest as he drags them down your thighs, picks up your legs and rests them on his shoulder as he does. 

he presses a kiss into the side of your leg, slowly drops them back around him. your stomach is in knots, can barely breathe with the way that he’s looking at you, eyes traveling down your body so slowly that you can see each point that they linger a second longer.

“fuck, you look good,” osamu says, leaning down to kiss your shoulders, your collarbones, your chest.

“shut up,” you murmur, fingers threading into his hair, scratching against the back of his head as he scrapes his teeth against your sensitive skin.

“no, i’m serious,” he says, leaning back, “you’re so fucking pretty, gorgeous actually.”

“ew, shut up,” you push him away jokingly, gently, “or i’m not going to let you fuck me unless we’re fully clothed ever again,” you joke.

he laughs against your neck, breath and vibrations tickling the wet skin. every single kiss feels personal, hand-crafted and perfectly thought of just for you. the placement is direct and purposeful and you can feel his love in every single one. 

“god, i’m going to take my time with you,” he says, pulling away again. you can feel the blush blooming under your skin, warming up every inch of you, igniting fires in your stomach.

“first time that we have a lot of it,” you joke, coaxing him back up to your lips. “and first time that i don’t have to be situated on a sink or the floor.”

“so you’ll be perfectly comfortable,” he says, kisses trailing between your tits and down your stomach, “while i eat you all morning long.”

“samu,” you say, crook of your elbow rising up to your face to hide behind it. he reaches up, pulls it away from your face. 

“don’t hide from me, doll, look so cute like that,” he says, laying between your thighs, pushing them open with familiar hands. you give in to the gentle pressure so easily that you swear you hear the faintest laugh coming from Osamu, but the light kisses peppering your thighs that follow gain your focus instantly. 

it should feel agonizing, the way he takes his time dragging his lips across every part of the skin between your legs, kissing and biting lightly. but the longer he’s there the more laughter flutters through your chest, the more your cheeks flush, the more loved you feel. you bring your hands to his face as he rests his head against your knee cupping one under his jaw and using the other to push his hair back a little. 

“make me feel so pretty, samu,” you mumble. he makes no attempt to answer, just holds your gaze with loving eyes as he brings himself to ghost near your already soaked pussy, the feeling his breath overwhelming any of your other senses. 

“just want you to see yourself through my eyes, princess.” the end of his sentence comes with a long, slow swipe of his tongue against your hyper sensitive clit and it feels good to finally not worry about who can hear you. 

you dig your head back into the pillow, hair already a mess after a perfectly restful night’s sleep. you can feel his eyes burning into you, even if you can’t see them, even if your focus is really anywhere but the agonizing feather-like touches between your legs.  

it’s a shame, you think, but only for a moment, that his mouth is so busy that you can’t hear him call you pretty names or poke fun at you for whining so much. only for a moment. 

if there’s one thing that osamu cannot be called it’s all-or-nothing. osamu doesn’t do all-or-nothing; he does slowly, consistently, comfortably, and then all. this is no exception. he runs his tongue between your puffy lips, smears your juices all over your sensitive pussy with the tip, and then he eats you- not like a man-starved, but like a man who he gets to indulge in his favorite dessert. 

his fingertips are digging into the fat of your hips, palms pressing to keep you in place, to keep you from squirming, and it’s working. he lets you scratch your nails into his hair, down the back of his neck, resting on the tops of his shoulders. you don’t guide him, don’t buck your hips impatiently, you don’t need to. if he isn’t lapping exactly where you want him to, you know he will be soon, you know it’s deliberate, you know that he knows what’s best for you even if you have to wait for it. 

you’re not sure you know how many times you come on his tongue, how many are attributed to just his tongue and how many are attributed to the noises that he’s making, the grunts that are coming from his throat, the mumbled praises that he’s whispering against your soaked folds, the squeaking of the mattress from the soft grinding that he’s doing against the blankets. 

without a watch, you’d have claimed you were there for hours, all morning, just like he said. you’re not sure if he would’ve stopped either, if you hadn’t sat up on your forearm, somehow more out of breath than he was, and tugged on his hair. “samu, baby,” you whine. 

you can’t help it, the even-more-breathless-breathlessness that hits you when he looks into your eyes, bottom of his face soaked with you, licks his lips, wipes the rest of it with his palm, and crawls slowly up to meet you. he kisses you hard, as hard as you’ll let him, and then he kisses you again, and then he kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, then your neck, mumbles against your skin, “what do you want now, bunny?” he’ll give you anything. “i’ll give you anything.” you know that he will. 

the opportunities are endless. the world is your oyster. anything that you ask for, he will give you, and it will be wrapped with neat paper and a pretty bow with a handwritten note several miles long. you swallow, eyes searching his face for nothing in particular, just because he’s pretty and because he’s yours. 

“i don’t think i have anything to ask for, because you’re already mine,” you whisper.

his face lights up, skin hot and flushed on the highs of his cheeks and traveling down his neck and chest. for a second it looks like he short-circuits, like you’ve broken him just by telling him the truth, and then, in a second, the world catches back up to him. 

he shakes his head slowly and then you’re on top of him, sat with both legs on either sides of his, strong hands steadying you before you can even clock that you need to be steadied. “you’re really asking for it, huh?” he asks, and now you’re feeling warm.

“i- what are you talking about, samu,” you say, eyebrows furrowed. you can feel his hips- and yourself- lift off the bed as the fabric between the backs of your thighs and the tops of his is replaced with soft skin. you yelp softly as you’re lowered back down, hands on your inner thighs pushing you back just enough for his cock to rest between them. 

you’re soaking wet, making a mess between your lips and on the insides of your legs and now all over his hard cock, slowly pushing through your pressed together thighs. he brings his hips off the bed, steady thrusts rocking the mattress ever so slightly, both his hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs. he clicks his tongue, “saying shit like that, angel, you know i’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“samu,” you repeat, breathless. “what ar-.”

he cuts you off, sliding his thumb from the tip of his cock to the base, his leaking head slipping between your messy lips until it’s teasing your hole. “sound so in love with me, baby, need to fucking feel you around me so fucking bad right now,” he breathes, sharp inhale punctuating his sentence as he pulls you by your hips until you’re fully seated on his cock. 

you don’t know if the warmth is coming from the blush or touch of his skin or the desire that’s burning in your core, but it’s there, and before you can even fully register what he’s saying, he’s honest-to-god whimpering, spouting more lovey bullshit, “god, it’s like falling in love with you made you fit even more perfectly around me.” he lifts you slightly, fingers digging into your hips as he lets you slowly fall back down onto his cock. 

he tilts his head into the pillow, but immediately picks it back up, locking eyes with you before letting his gaze fall down your body, like he can’t believe you really exist, like he can’t believe he let himself relax into a position where he couldn’t see you at all times, like he “can’t believe you’re fucking real,” he grunts, “and that you’re all fucking mine.”

“osamu, if you don’t knock it off,” you say. you’re only half-joking. you’re not sure that you could take him talking to you like this for much longer. you feel so full, every part of you feels so full. you slide your hands down his chest, palm against his rapidly beating heart acting as leverage as you start moving in time with him.

you close your eyes, partially to focus on the parts of you that are on fire right now, and partially so that you don’t have to keep looking at how much osamu is looking at you. he can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“can’t help it, pretty, not when i get to savor it like this,” he says, brings his chest up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you securely to him. he kisses the side of your face, whispers in your ear, “not when i finally get to fuck you in my bed and tell you that i love you and see you- all of you.” 

“are you trying to make me cry or something?” you ask, placing both of your hands on either side of his face, forcing his attention on just your eyes and the hints of shyness strewn all over your face. 

a slight smirk is followed by raised eyebrows and a tiny kiss to the temple. osamu flips you over, lying you gently on your back while you’re still fully encompassing him. “that can be arranged, puppy,” he says, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders and chest. he slams his hips into you and you can’t help the pleasured, high-pitched moan that comes as a result. in fact, you can’t help the ones that come one after another after another as he keeps snapping his hips, insides of your thighs growing raw from the impact.

you’re babbling at this point, a symphony of half-finished words and tiny whimpers, and when a single tear breaks free of your blurred waterline, osamu can’t hold back. “fuck, holy fuck, babygirl, you sound so good, don’t stop, princess, keep making those cute fucking noises, fuck, sound so good.” 

you shake your head no and hope that he understands what it means, that you won’t stop as long as he doesn’t. you’ll cry and scream and make cute little noises for him forever if he never pulls out of you. 

you’ve always known that fucking in bathrooms has been disadvantageous, you just couldn’t pinpoint it, not when it always felt so good anyway. you never thought the space bothered you or the hard, cold various materials of sinks or the fact that people were often only a door away; you never thought any of that mattered until now, now when you can cry for him and feel the softness of the blankets beneath you and the plushness of the pillow behind your head.

“baby,” you cry, “i’m- you’re gonna- fuck, i love you so much. i’m-.” you throw your head back, you can’t finish your half-constructed sentence before osamu is fucking you faster, harder, wrapping an arm around your lower back and lifting you up the slightest bit to angle you perfectly. your hand moves on instinct, reaches down between your legs and circles your throbbing clit for only a second before you’re squirting all over him, a release of pressure drenching him as you gasp for air, drawing in enough breath to cry out his name.

you place your hand on his lower abs, eyes closing softly to center yourself. you could’ve passed out right here, slept for a million years, and you’re not sure you would’ve completely recovered. your body is shaking, throat is sore, and when you open your eyes, osamu is looking at you with such adoration and awe that you’re certain you’ve missed something. 

“the first time we’re not in a fucking bathroom and you fucking make me squirt,” you mumble, shaking your head, “what are we going to do with you?” you ask, removing your hand from his stomach, silently letting him know you’ve recovered enough for him to keep going. 

“i don’t care,” he says, kissing your jaw, “i don’t care what you do with me for the rest of my life, that was the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen.”

“you made a mess,” you tease.

“i made a mess?” he asks.

you nod. 

he breathes a laugh before accepting responsibility, “i made a mess,” he confirms. 

“so you’ve gotta do one thing for me,” you say, circling your hips, matching his lazy thrusts as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“anything,” he says. and you know that he means it. 

you use your loose grip around his neck to coax him closer to you, your lips now pressed against his ear. “need you to make a mess inside of me, samu, please,” you say, low enough to send shivers down his spine from the tone alone. his hips stutter. he wants to regain composure, to not give in to blowing his load deep inside of you just from you saying his name and asking him nicely, he really wants to savor it and last a little bit longer. 

but you’re so wet. you’re drenched, but you’re still so tight and sucking him in so nicely, perfectly sculpted for him, gummy walls still clenching and fluttering from your orgasm, and you kiss the skin right below his ear and you say, “please, i’ve been waiting for it ever since i fucking met you, please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

and he can’t. 

he wouldn’t.

he doesn’t.

he snaps his hips forwards, pressing himself flush against the insides of your thighs and releases deep inside of you. you can feel his cock pulse with each stream, feel yourself getting fuller and fuller and fuller with each throb and accompanying grunt. you can’t get enough. you don’t want it to ever stop, but it does. he keeps himself deep inside of you for a moment, not wanting to lose the feeling just as much as you don’t. 

when he starts to get soft, he pulls out, come dripping out of your hole and onto the blankets below just adding to the mess the two of you have created in the span of a few hours. he doesn’t exactly know where to go, what to do. the two of you could’ve passed out just like this, intertwined together and had the most incredible sleep of your entire life, if it weren’t for the huge mess beneath you. 

“what now?” you mumble, not moving. 

you feel osamu flop next to you. you’re not sure if he’s avoided the mess or if he’s embraced it. part of you wants to stand up and apologize and start throwing his bedspread in the washer, but that part of you isn’t winning, not today. if that part of osamu exists, it’s not winning either. he wraps his arms around your waist, rests his head on your chest, pulls you into him. 

“are we just going to lay in this?” you say, laughing. it sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth, but you’re sure it wouldn’t take much convincing for you to not have to move from this very spot. osamu doesn’t answer you, but you feel him unwrap from your body and then get off the bed. you go to sit up, but you don’t make it that far, opening your eyes as osamu pulls the blankets out from under you and throws them in a heap in the corner of his tidy room. he opens the closet door and comes back with a spare, small, but clean blanket. 

he reassumes his position on the now-much-more-acceptable bed, throwing the blanket overtop of you and him and cuddling into your side. “is that better?” he asks, but he doesn’t really expect a response. your small smile and content hum is all he needs. 

after only a few moments, recuperated by a clean blanket and strong arms, your body is ready to move onto the next thing, ready to get up and start making breakfast or start kissing him again or start getting ready for work despite how long you have until your shift. your skin is antsy, pulse is quickening. there are a trillion things in your head that you want to do with osamu, plenty of dull activities that seem like they’ll be much better with him by your side. you want to see them. you want to do them.

osamu shifts and pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head. “love you, angel,” he murmurs into your hair. “love you so much,” he says again. you feel calmer now, the most at ease you’ve ever been, because you know that there’ll be time for all of that, plenty of time, hours and hours of time to do all of the things that you want to do with osamu, more time than you know what to do with, you just know it.

for now, all you have to do is lay here, in bed, surrounded by warmth in more ways that you thought were possible, maybe let sleep take you again or stay awake in these passing moments, it doesn’t really matter. your exhale is steady, matches with his. you close your eyes and you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now. 

you look happy there. 

you look really happy there.

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♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

tori talks more: i do not know if i'll be around to write more to be honest with you. like i probably will at some point, but who knows. maybe when the new movie comes out. maybe ill do a jjk pivot bc i just finished it. feel free to scream in my inbox abt it or this or whatever. ily all and im so glad i could finally finish this. <3 :)

Hey I haven't written fanfic in about four years and this is the first time I've ever left my OG fandom. Have a Tsukishima x Yamaguchi confession.

x

"Can we talk?"

The walk home in silence has been painfully awkward. Silence isn't unusual from Tsukishima after a long day of school and practice, but for him to force himself one step ahead of Yamaguchi and to ignore every word he tries to say, that's beyond unusual. That's wrong.

"Tsukki, seriously," he begs, jumping ahead of his friend, landing squarely in his path. "Stop."

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, side-steps and continues.

"Tsukki!" he yells, disrupting the quiet evening. "Stop!"

"What?! What could you possibly want to talk about right now?" Tsukishima asks, spinning around. "Because as far as I'm concerned we've got nothing to talk about, Yamaguchi."

"Nothing? You're not gonna talk about how you've been ignoring me all day and how you've been cruel to Shoyo at practice since you found out we've been studying together? What is up with you?!"

"Me?! What's up with you picking him all of a sudden? Do you think you can just replace me, is that it?" Tsukishima lurches forward, making Yamaguchi step back in tandem. "You've been sooo focused on Hinata recently that you're just gonna throw me to the side like nothing? Like you don't care at all about what I want?"

"What are you even talking about?! We're just studying!"

"When you're supposed to be with me! We walk home together every day, we go to practice together, we hang out sometimes and you've been canceling on me. Am I replaceable to you, is that it? You think I'll just back down and let him have you?"

"Tsukki!" Yamaguchi gasps as his back hits the wall of the building they stopped beside. He looks into his best friend's bewildered eyes and has never seen so much anger, so much anguish directed at him before.

"Shoyo's my friend. He just needed some help studying. You're not being replaced. You're my best friend--"

"Don't say we're just fucking friends!" Tsukishima's voice tears out of him. He slams a fist against the wall beside Yamaguchi's head. "Don't! We're more than that and you know it." He raises his other arm to box Yamaguchi in. His heart is pounding, the blood rushing in his ears nearly deafening him to the sound of Yamaguchi's gasp and indignant stuttering.

Tsukishima takes a moment to gather his thoughts, to steady his breath and return to his level-headed self.

"Don't think I would let you go that easily," he mumbles.

"I-I really... Tsukki, I didn't know..."

"Bullshit," he tsks. "Bullshit... How long has it been since we've just been friends? How long since you started coming to me for comfort? Not just protection from playground bullies, but for crying on my shoulder, and laying your head in my lap while we watch movies? How many times have we held hands on that stretch of road where the streetlights are out so no one can see us? How long since we started spending holidays together? Look me in the eyes and tell me how many days its been since we kissed on Christmas Eve, because I know you know."

Tears prick at Yamaguchi's eyes. His already racing heart refuses to slow down, and the adrenaline coursing through his system makes his hands and voice shake.

"It's been... One hundred and eight..." he says, eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed to meet Tsukishima's golden eyes.

A smile quirks at the corner of Tsukishima's mouth.

"It's been a hundred and eight days since we've kissed and you've not brought it up once or asked me for another. Why's that?"

"You haven't either..."

"I thought I didn't need to. I thought you knew how I felt about you. It's been only you for years. I thought you knew."

"But you never said!" His tone is accusatory as he finally meets Tsukishima's gaze.

"It wasn't a thing we did," Tsukishima chuckles. "I've always known about your feelings. I can see how you feel when you look at me, and lately you've been looking differently. You've been spending more time with Hinata and lighting up when you talk about him and I don't like it. That look's for me, isn't it?"

"It's different," Yamaguchi admits. "For Shoyo we really are just friends. It's nice to have someone who's as happy as I am, you know...? Not that you're not happy--!"

Tsukishima laughs. He leans in close enough to feel the body heat radiate between them.

"My happy is different than your happy. My happy is much quieter, more 'I'm content walking home with my love,' and less 'I'm jumping twice my height because someone gave me some free juice.'"

Yamaguchi laughs, his nerves finally cooling down. Tsukishima smiles, leans in, noses at Yamaguchi's cheek.

"Say we're not just friends."

"We're not."

"And what are we?"

"I-I don't know..."

"You don't? I thought it was obvious." Tsukishima grazes his lips against Yamaguchi's jaw.

"Tell me and we'll be it," Yamaguchi says, reaching his arms up to wrap around Tsukishima's waist.

"Best friends... Partners in crime... Boyfriends."

"Yes. Yes, yes, all of it."

Tsukishima raises his head so he's face to face with Yamaguchi, a soft smile etched into his usually stoic face. He leans in for a kiss that Yamaguchi meets half-way.

Tsukkiyama x Girlfriend 💗💋

Somewhere in my notes in the last few days I saw someone add some tags that I’ve been thinking about ever since. I wish I could find them again (or that I’d just saved their post at the time) because I think they made a lot of sense.

They were talking about how fanfic is becoming more and more mainstream while still remaining largely transgressive. It’s such an interesting dichotomy to think about!

On the one hand, you have sites like AO3 and realities like widespread high speed internet access being more and more accessible to larger and larger groups of people. This makes it incredibly easy for anyone at all to find and read fanfic.

On the other hand, you have the roots of fanfic. It was born out of marginalized groups such as women, people of colour, and members of the queer community deciding to take the stories that had been aimed at a largely male, white, heterosexual audience and inverting them into something they could enjoy and relate to. To this day, fanfic is a place where people write the kinds of stories that don’t get made into movies and TV shows. The kinds of stories that don’t get published or end up on the New York Times bestseller list.

Fanfic used to be written and shared in secret. People used to hide it. People still do hide the fact that they read or write it. But it’s becoming something that more and more people are becoming more and more aware of.

So now there’s a spotlight starting to shine on fanfic. People who aren’t looking for transgressive works are finding them where they always were. People who think the status quo is fine are getting upset when they enter a place where the status quo is constantly being upended.

The tags on that post that I can’t find made the point that popular media is curated and sanitized and stripped of most of its controversy in order to appeal to the widest possible audience. But that also makes that audience expect all media to be curated and sanitized in the same way. When they encounter the messy, controversial, ugly, radical, difficult things that people write in fanfic, they’re unprepared.

Fanfic isn’t big media. Fanfic authors aren’t being edited and filtered and polished - and nor are their works. The clash between the expectations of people new to fanfic and accustomed to popular media and the realities of what fanfic is and what it’s being written for - that’s part of this struggle that fandom is going through right now. It’s been going on since the beginning of course, but it’s getting louder every year.

I’m still thinking my way through this, but it really does make a lot of sense to me. If those were your tags, please let me know so I can credit you with the ideas at the core of this post.

And if you have any ideas for how we as fans can better introduce the newbies to the culture and expectations in fandom, I’d love to hear it. The better we can guide people into our space, the better they’ll fit in when they join it.

yamaguchi: Tsukki and i got married!!

kageyama: don’t share your personal problems with everyone.

Todays Tsukki and Yams: his little gremlin snicker is my everything actually

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

by GoandSeek

the title is very dramatic. the fic is, i think, less dramatic.

❁❁❁

“I’m glad it was you,” Yamaguchi would tell him later, moving his supplies into the tent they would share with other pairs of their ranking. “The other shieldmen scare me.”

Tsukishima spoke quietly, “Do I not scare you?”

“No,” Yamaguchi smiled, and the line of gold that ran from his jaw moved with the motion, “Why would you?”

Words: 2453, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Yamaguchi Tadashi is really cool.

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima Akiteru

Relationships: Tsukishima Kei & Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, kind of, War, Tsukishima Kei & Yamaguchi Tadashi Friendship, Spear and Shield, i don’t really know how to tag this, Dramatic title