APHRODITE ; Osamu X F!reader

Luca by Lorenzo Fresta

two-way street — part 2.

summary | how is suna rintarou ever going to get over you? or: having a hard time not thinking of begging you on his knees to give him a second chance. warnings | angst; fem!receiving oral; pathetic!suna/sweet talker!suna and fem!reader; mentions of weed and alcohol; second chances (except they're still stupid) word count | 3122. a/n | how to angst...? please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´- part 1 to be found: here.

“if this keeps up, yer gon’ be labeled a stalker.”

atsumu held the bills between his fingers, and suna snatched it, stuffing the money into his back pocket and the rest of the mary jane in the side pocket of his jacket, “how about minding your own business once in a while?”

“nah,” atsumu grinned, “where’s the fun in that?”

his fingers were quick in rolling the joint, crumbling the buds into a neat line before closing the paper with a swipe of his tongue. when he searched his jeans pockets for a lighter, suna’s eyes found your presence amidst the many people at the party, fitted between dancing, sweating bodies. 

the party he hadn’t wanted to stay at once he finished up his deals, but that he couldn’t help but prolong his visit more once his sweeping gaze over the masses found the light you were radiating.

so there he stood, in the shadowed corner of the room with his shady business, several couches and tables between you both, basking in your light even though he knew you didn’t like him to. he knew, he knew, and yet he stood there while the fake blonde next to him clicked his thumb against the lighter, watching you dance.

his hoodie and the jacket thrown on top of it felt heavy and too hot on his shoulders, but he didn’t bother shrugging any of it off.

because he hadn't planned to stay.

“so — “ atsumu dragged a deep breath, and that shit stank up this pathetic little corner suna rintarou was standing in, “ — what do ya say, i try my luck with’er?”

suna froze, but said nothing. maybe if he pretended that the music thrumming through the air was too loud, then he could ignore atsumu and his cocky exclamation of stupidity. 

but as blonde as atsumu was, he wasn’t as gullible.

an arm draped over suna’s shoulder, he leaned in, and smoke curled up into the air, the scent as penetrating as ever, “oi, come on, rinnie, what’s with yer stoic attitude, huh? you can hav’er right after, hn? jus’ wanna see what the fuss is all about. so, how abou—”

but atsumu asked for it. 

suna rintarou did not fight. he really didn’t. he wasn’t the type to, and punches hurt his knuckles.

if anything, he was more the underhanded type to deal with things, maybe a bit of blackmail if they wouldn’t let up, but fighting? smashing any of his body parts into somebody else for violent reasons? not really his style.

so leaving behind a doubled over blonde whose joint had fallen down from his open mouth onto the wooden floor, suna had to get out. it was hot, it was stuffy, it was so fucking unbearably close to where you were, with annoyance pumping through him at every turn because fuck— not even sending him a glance or leave any crumbs of recognition that you had seen him, that you had felt his presence in the same way that he did when he stepped into the goddamn house.

the air outside was fresh, cooling the sting on his knuckles, and he grit his teeth when he bent at the knee, sinking, leaned against a tree in the backyard of the house. the knuckle of his uninjured hand rapped against the space between his eyebrows, trying to pound back some sense back into his head. 

he should leave, ignore that atsumu would get up from the ground and would pursue you out of spite, and just go home. he may had been joking but the venomous way those words left his mouth, painting you like an usable toy, when suna couldn’t even fucking help but let you slip through his fingers, when all he wanted was to lose himself in you, keep a grasp on your essence, selfishly own all that you had to offer.

“rin?”

his head snapped up so fast, he felt his neck protest, but that didn’t matter, because—

fuck. 

the way you were rubbing your arms at the cool air, the hesitant look on your face when he had gotten so used to the look of disdain you used to send his way the past weeks, the absolute wreck that was your hair from running your hands through them while dancing. 

you were breathtaking. 

“what happened with miya?”

“nothing.”

you didn’t believe him, but that was because you knew him. you knew the way his face settled in the slightly bored expression when nothing was going on, the way his shoulders would relax because there was nothing to be tense about, the way he would roll his eyes, the sharp lines of his features laid-back.

suna rintarou looked up at you from where he was seated on the ground, and his face painted a clear picture for you. the tension in his jaw, the deep set of displeasure as his lips pressed into a thin line, the twitch of his ears whenever he lied, the red on his knuckles — he was pissed.

“it’s not nothing.”

what did you want to hear? that he couldn’t bear to hear somebody talk that way about you? as if you were dismissable? at the insult hurled your way and his? 

that he had no right to feel any way about you anymore, not when he fucked up and lost you?

you leaned forward, and a couple of strands of your hair slipped from your naked shoulder, littered in goosebumps. god, he wanted to exist within your confines.

“why do you care?” he settled on that question, a note of bitterness entering his voice, “last i checked, you were too busy dancing with some lame idiot.”

your silence was icy, and suna thought that he might be stupid. at last, your hands resumed rubbing your skin, and your voice sounded almost tired, “because you’re injured, rin. because you look like you’re gonna make some bad decisions.”

then, you huffed, just as bitter and full of resentment as he felt when he breathed next to you and could not call you his, “but i guess i’m the lame idiot here, whatever.”

you turned to leave, but movement rustling behind you and a warm hand on your legs stopped you. half-crawled, half-supported on a knee and a foot, suna rintarou’s fingers squeezed your flesh, and he looked up at you with eyes that spelt out too many hidden emotions, too many hidden desires, too many words unsaid.

“fuck, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that,” he leaned his forehead against your thigh and your leg twitched at the contact, “i’m annoyed. this shit’s annoying. i fucking miss you, and you’re dancing and you don’t care and god, i’m so fucking pissed—”

a hot kiss placed on your thigh, his hand warm; tendrils of guilty and embarrassed pleasure shooting from where he had touched you to your lower stomach. 

“rin, i don’t—”

“i can’t without you,” he murmured against your leg, hot and wet, a bite, “fuck, please. tell me you miss me just as much.”

his other hand coming up to grip the back of the leg he was leaning against shut you up, and his fingers felt so familiar, the press of the tips against your flesh, marking you in the way they used to. the trace of his lips against you spelt out a dirty secret that he kept hidden in the sleeves of his jacket, in the confines of his pants, in the innermost window of his soul.

those eyes looked at you, half his face covered by the skirt from where you were watching him, pleading, another swipe of his tongue on your skin, tasting you, asking for you to give in.

your ribcage heaved up; rin at your feet, his hands spelling out his desire, the press of his face so comfortable and everything you wanted. your chest hurt, the arousal pooling low, “i hate you.”

he couldn't help but notice that you still didn't deny him.

“i know,” another kiss, and god, he was going to make you go—, “i know, babe, i know. but i’m— crazy, i’m going crazy.”

his nose was searching, a trail he could follow with his eyes closed, leading him under your skirt with ease, tracing the edges of your panties. his groan rumbled in his chest against your leg when he found the proof that you wanted him just as much, the vibration sending shocks through you and you couldn’t help the little pant escaping your mouth.

“fuck, you don’t even know,” suna mouthed against your clothed pussy, the desperate raw edge in his voice kissing you you through the material. your legs trembled, tiny little flutters at the way suna rintarou disappeared under your skirt so naturally, the way the hood of his sweater draped over his back peeped out from underneath, his hands steading you as he licked the wetness of your panties until his saliva drenched all of it.

“r—rin,” your hands found his shoulders to support yourself on, legs spread a little further, hair tickling your innermost skin, “i hate you, a—ha-nd i hate all those s—stupid girls you had with you, an— rin.”

his finger had wrapped around your panties, pulling it to the side, mouth latched to your pussy freely now, tongue tracing your folds like he had forgotten the look of you, the feel of you under his pink muscle, all the little things that had your breath hitching, that had you moan, that had your hands grip his thick neck to press him up further.

“i hated seeing those assholes at your arm,” he snapped against you, mouth growing forceful, and two of his fingers coating themselves in your wetness, teasing you, pushing in slowly, deliberately, “what do they fucking know about what type of sounds you make, huh? how to treat you? how to love you?”

suna knew you; he knew the spot to curl his fingers against, knew the rhythm of his tongue against your clit, knew the erogenous zones to stimulate with his other hand to have you panting, knew the tell-tale sign of you coming undone underneath his touch. and with each stroke, with each kiss, with each gasp of air he forces down his throat before diving back into you, he missed you.

“i want you,” the squelch in the air was obscene, so fucking vulgar, “i need you. please.”

your nerves coiled and crashed on top of him, dissolving into an onslaught of lust, of love, of hate, of cum, of his tongue ever-lasting, of his voice begging, and had he not been holding you up, you would have lost your footing and fallen down, too.

“rin, rin, rin, rin,” name chanting, hands sweaty on his jacket, the pull of your panties, the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you through the orgasm.

“tell me,” his hips were moving against the air, desperate for reprieve, “tell me there’s no other, babe. there’s me, hn? i’ve got you.”

another orgasm was on the edge of your perception at the continuous stimulation, at the continuous plea to give suna what he had to miss out on for the past weeks. brain drunk on you, yours drunk on him, fingers slipping, “rin, there— ah, never wa—ha-as. fuck, you make m’feel soo goo—oood.”

his cock pulsated in tandem with his heart, aching, your words beelining straight down, fuelling the haze surrounding his mind. his mind couldn’t help but conjure all the times other men’s hips snapped into your heat, imagining you opening your mouth wide to fit them. it was like a disease; his thoughts revolved around you, jealousy rushing hot through his veins. 

the way his fingers turned harsh, curling deep had your nerves tingling with an excitement that you hadn’t felt in so long, and your tongue flicked out to moisten your lips. he had leaned back, face exposed to the cool air, lower half of his face glistening in the night and the soft backyard lights. he kept you in his gaze, eyes following the movement of your tongue. his other finger joined to take over the featherlight touches to your clit, so in contrast to the filthy way a third finger joined to wedge itself into your cunt. 

he huffed, “look into my eyes.”

suna's eyes were like a maze that drew you in, the way they had from the first night you had found yourself in his bed. it kept luring you in, even when he paused to stand up in one swift move, balance found quickly, chest pressed against yours, his fingers slowing down from the pace you couldn’t keep up with. so close to you, in the familiar embrace, your head came forward instinctually to rest on his shoulder. 

“eyes up. look at me,” he repeated, nudging your head with his shoulder and you lifted it slightly to recapture the storming grey. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, eyes half-lidded as he drank you in.

their usually sharp lines having softened, yet his voice remained rough, “nobody compares. you fuckin’ get that?”

his touch became more like a caress; the strokes plunging in deep but not with any less of the needy passion. it drew from you trembles, little moans meant for him, his name tumbling from your lips as you asked for another release; the brewing of feelings in your chest accompanying the heat pooling low.

suna’s head dipped low, found your sensitive skin littered with goosebumps and had his tongue brushing over your flesh to taste your scent. his teeth bit down lightly, a sharp canine digging into your skin; a certain intent behind the marking, possessive and pissed off. the pressure of his clothed cock rubbing your stomach had you clinging to him, and when you opened your mouth, amongst tiny mewls leaving your mouth, another inquiry did as well.

“w—what did a—ah-tsumu say to you?”

“who the fuck cares about that guy?”

he inhaled sharply, surprised, his teeth sinking in deeper and harder for a second, and a painful gasp escaped you. immediately, suna ripped his head back at the sound, half an apology in the depth of his eyes, half fogged confusion, a lot of annoyance.

he stilled, because why the fuck were you taking another man’s name into your mouth when he was knuckles deep inside you?

you visibly recoiled from the sharp tone and the way his fingers felt anything but nice anymore, yet when you stepped back, the inner walls of your pussy quivered at the loss, “why are you reacting like that?”

suna knew from the way your hands came up to hug yourself that you felt a little lost, and the way his pruney fingers grew cold, exposed to the air, squeezed his heart. he didn’t want to be apart from you, but when he stepped forward, you stepped back and suddenly, he thought that the jacket wasn’t enough to keep him warm anymore.

something licked at his heart; something ugly and anxious, clawing through his ribcage like something trying to escape a prison, “you don't get that it kind of wasn’t the time?” 

just stop asking. stop caring about that fucking miya guy. why are you so interested in what miya said? just sto—

“it never is the time with you,” another step back, your voice bitter and regretful, and suna had half a mind to try and step forward again, “you know, i didnt come out here to fuck around with you. i was genuinely concerned and there you go again, completely stuffing whatever fucking emotional connection i want to start.”

suna swallowed poison; tongue bitter and words even more so, “i didn't ask for your damn sympathy, alright?”

he was lying. 

sunarin was lying through his goddamn teeth. he wanted your sympathy and more. he wanted you to have the same interest, the same suffocating need for his presence the way he craved yours; so badly that he could vomit. yet you stared at him like he had never made you happy once, and drawing up the same old walls felt safe, a routine he had perfected, felt like something he couldn’t fuck up no matter how much he tried.

he didn’t want to mention atsumu, didn’t want to think that saying his name might prompt you to go look for that guy. because why wouldn’t you? 

you knew atsumu from before, doing god knows what. goddamn it, you weren’t even his.

suna wanted you for himself, wanted you to not even entertain the idea of hearing atsumu express any kind of interest, jest or not, couldn’t bear the idea that you might take the fake blonde up on his offer. 

he couldn’t. he couldn’t. 

he wanted you to never hear that name again, but he supposed that he had a funny way of expressing that. because what escaped his numb lips was not the love confession he yearned to say, but accusation after accusation. because he didn’t know and he needed to know and he couldn’t rest until he knew.

his palm hurt where his nails dug in harshly.

“if you just came out here because you’re scared for your miya fucking shitsumu, don’t bother. you already have his number, no? no need to go through me then.”

suna regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. because he did mention the guy. he did mention the number that would help you bridge the distance. did what he didn’t want to do because jealousy and sorrow and anger swirled in his chest and the gravitational pull of his heart for all negative things was too great. suna hated that he was the reason you looked like you were going to cry. 

he thought he was stupid. he was so goddamn stupid, and he wanted to get back down on his knees and ask you for forgiveness, but when he stepped forward, you took not one but two steps back. 

the silence stretched between you seemed to be more of a measurement of distance, and you were so far away.

“you’re messed up,” is what you replied, quiet, hands rubbing your arms. you wanted to turn around, wanted to leave and curl up because you felt so used, but he stood there with his stupid hoodie, with the stupid slanted eyes that always observed you so sharply, with the stupid glistening of his lips from where his mouth had met your body feverishly; and it was difficult to breathe because he was still the most beautiful guy you had ever met.

you turned around to leave and this time, sunarin didn’t stop you because maybe he did deserve to be alone.

taglist | @takes1

the dream

HOORAY I just read ur bokuto x reader p4 it was really cute :3 sorry havent updated in awhile i got busy with life… but i never forget to keep u in mind 🫶 love ur work as always, very memorable writer to me -🐈🐈‍⬛

[final] bokuto teaching inexperienced!reader

only fitting to respond to you for this last one. ughhh ilysm 🥹😭💕💕

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / first time / soft kissy missionary / safe sex / BIG praise kink!bokuto / himbo!bokuto / sweet, dumb!bokuto / inexperienced!reader / possessive!bokuto / f!rec oral / guided handjob / kuroo's sister!reader / 2.3k words / last installment

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. part one here. part two here. part three here. part four. request box

You tilted your head, eyes narrowed a little at the generous, clear bulge in his tiny shorts.

"Can I see it?"

He fisted the sheets in his excitement that you were thinking the same thing, biting his cheek so he didn't shout. Just by the obvious elation on his face, you could tell he was in the process of holding back a million bad responses.

Instead, he let his hands talk, lips crashing against yours all rough and thirsty as he pulled it out. You didn't want his kisses, though-- you grinned as you avoided what you could, so you could see.

Propped up on your elbows, you looked from his vigilant stare, trailing down his sculpted, smooth body down to his cock between your tummies.

It looked heavy.

You quickly learned that it was hot, too, as he guided your palm around it, and used your hand to pump himself. Your heart was racing- it was so weird, and you liked it so much, and he liked it even more.

Bokuto always stood by the idea that 'it always feels/tastes/sounds better when somebody else does it.' The kind of guy to only drink out of other peoples' cups, ask other people to read things out loud to him, massage a part of his shoulder he could get but won't.

While you didn't know what you were doing in the slightest, and he was controlling your pace, even the harsh grip, it still felt 40x better than all the jerking off he usually did.

His tongue got confident, and a bit curious, diving deeper past your teeth. He was just trying in whatever way he could to be inside of you. The weight of his body became more substantial.

You loved feeling his strength falter, his lust heightening, compelling him to get closer.

When he pulled away, he looked a little crazy- like he forgot to smile, or something. It was the nature of his eyes to not look very friendly, but it gave the impression that he was really holding himself back.

"Are- you okay?"

"Just-," He takes a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut for a second, like he's recalibrating, "Feels really g-ood."

He wasn't prepared in the slightest for the smile you gave him. It was sweet, and prideful, and too cute with his cock in your hand.

That tortured look was back, briefly before he shoved his face in the nook of your shoulder.

"Fuck-! I need you s-o bad," He whined, pitiful, "Are- h-ahh, you ready yet?"

You could try.

With a question like that, asked so sweet, so sugary- you hummed against his hair, not quite understanding what 'ready' meant.

You hardly noticed how he plucked a condom from his shorts, somewhere in the mess of sheets to the left of you- and slid it on between clumsy kisses. Lots of practice must've made the process second nature.

It was difficult, to say the least, adjusting to him. His eagerness was already so spoken for, and you realized too late that you probably did need more time.

Bokuto could feel it too, though.

He could hear it in the thinly-veiled fear, making your voice waver, break, as you asked him to be gentle with you.

"Even if it takes all night," He kissed your nose while you couldn't move away, "I'll wait for ya."

Rough hands, so used to force and recklessness, practiced paying attention through running smooth lines across your skin.

Those hard kisses turned softer, slower, across your jaw and down your throat. He moved at a near imperceptible pace, just to get you accustomed to all of his size.

"Sooo pretty," He whispered to himself, forehead heavy on yours as he closed his eyes, "Fuck..."

The discomfort was just starting to be overshadowed with better, pleasurable, buzz. Your legs were slowly relaxing, a jelly-like feeling that spread from your thighs, squished comfy next to his hips, down to your toes.

Bokuto was capable of deliberate and soft sex. He wasn't always an animal, and he wasn't ignorant to somebody else's needs.

He was just excitable, and stupid. But all he needed was a whisper, a hint, or a reminder sometimes.

You kissed the tip of his nose, a way of telling him you were okay. Your fingers started to rake through his spiky hair, and the little smile on your face waited for him to he open his eyes.

"Shit--," He stole another few kisses from you, "Oh, you're so- mh- you're soo cute."

Between kisses, his tongue lagged, always proceeded by a sharp sigh. Almost like he was struggling to multitask. It made you curious when it started to get more frequent.

"Sh-it--h-ahh--," His curse broke into a shocked whine-- he stalled, deep.

Your higher, cuter sound at how good it felt did nothing to help to bring him down.

You watched him bite his own wrist, a small concern furrowing his brow.

Craving more, and only knowing one way to cheer him up, you rolled your hips up and locked your ankles around him with a squeeze.

"W-ait, waitwaitwait," He seethed, "Ahh- fuck-- stop moving babygirl- stop moving."

The person he looked down at was no longer a shy little nerd, incapable of handling his flirty second nature. Your mouth was curled into a coquettish grin, your pecks soft and affectionate and too much, scattered around his face.

He had to cum so bad that he felt sick. He had to look through you- draw blood to his palm, just to clear his filthy mind.

"Do I really feel that good?" You giggled- beyond flattered by his tortured expression.

There was no beat between the end of your sentence and his hushed response, "Yes."

You knew about vague stereotypes of guys with shitty endurance. You didn't have first-hand experience until you watched his expression shift, swirling, panic and euphoria taking one another over again and again.

He 'ruined' his orgasm by keeping your needs first. He knew you couldn't take what he wanted. His body was like iron, forced motionless, like a statue, except for the rapid, uneven rise and fall of his chest.

It looked like a delicious mix of pained and sexy as he came, almost perfectly still, so he didn't hurt you.

A kind of psychotic, intrusive desire made you tense-- the curious, hungry want to get rid of the condom between you. How much better would that have felt without it?

The sheets groaned, fabric snagging and snapping, under his grip. His body was all flexed up for you to watch. You knew he was trying to keep you in mind, so you didn't try anything too cute until he started relaxing, again.

"Hm-mmph--, fuck--," He groaned, a tremble in his arms as he slowly pulled out.

His exhaustion was short-lived, only manifested in a breathiness in his chuckle.

"Good thing I brought two."

This time you saw him take out a second one- but it wasn't just two. He had a whole row of condoms in his pocket this entire time.

You giggled at how he tore the second one off. What could he have possibly been thinking to bring seven along?

Bokuto harnessed some pornstar-like efficiency, tearing the outside open and pumping the latex onto himself with no waste of energy.

"Y'know," He cocked his head to the side, silly, despite his thumb sliding over your clit, "I've never cum that fast."

"Mmn-h-- Ah- that's- that's good--," You struggled.

A useful thing to know, sure, but it's not like you really cared- he never got soft. It was a non-issue because he was still clearly up for more.

He filled you back up so easy and slow, his thumb prodding stuttery waves of pleasure where there was once pain. He watched it with an air of pride about him. He sat up straighter, focused on where he disappeared into you. He soaked in all your twitching until he got his fill.

Only when he was satisfied did he lean down to his elbows to check on you.

Your had to fill your hands with his perfect muscles, all bouncy and twitchy at how overstimulated you got him. He was huffing, swallowing his groans so he didn't look uncool-- restrained or not, he would've looked just as cute.

He just wanted to fuck you good. For you to remember it well.

"Mmnh-! You're so big-,"

Those giant, fuck-me-harder eyes kept his shoulders tight. His hand was gripping your hip like a vice and bringing you down onto him.

His cock sank deep, a grumbly sound under his quiet, breathy whining-- your breath caught, and you had the brief revelation that you had been missing out on this for so long. How long had they been friends for? Years?

You wanted to make up for all the lost time. You locked your ankles around him for the second time, your hands pulling him back so you could put some hickeys all up and down his thick neck.

Though you had some vague idea that he loved when you hugged him close, you didn't understand the depth in which it turned him on.

It was one of those quick-affirming, sweet and wordless praises that resonated so hard with Bokuto's insatiable need to be validated.

He had to ask. He wanted more, he wanted to hear you.

"That feel good?" His hand cupped your entire jaw, forcing your eyes on his, ever so focused.

Your grip on his forearm was like an ant trying to push over a tree. It would never budge. And when it didn't, it took very little time to realize you actually liked it there. Your reflex did nothing to serve you, but you kept your hand still to prod at the muscle.

The breath you took to answer him was wasted on another moan.

"Ah-h--,"

"I want ya to tell me," His insistence was daunting, but filled with need.

"I--,"

Your nails were digging into his skin, and you were gasping, trying to tell him you were close- but none of it came out properly.

It was all just improper, uncontrollable, unmasked whining.

A bit late, he was witness to your adorable realization that you were cumming. He murmured a small, infatuated, "Aww..."

His lips pressed hard to your temple, and he let you pull him in, offering only the bulk of his shoulder as consolation for his deeper thrusts. It was a taste of what he could give you if only this wasn't your first, if you had been used to him from the start.

An orgasm had never felt so filled out, before. Like it was larger than you, stronger than anything you'd be able to craft on your own, from just your fingers. It was him. His cock, but moreso was his intensity and devotion to getting you there and fucking you all the way through it.

His hand was still cupping the bottom half of your face, but not covering your mouth. God, he wanted the entire world to know how good he made you feel. Especially Kuroo. Fuck that guy for keeping you a secret.

"Good girl, ohh- you did so good," He was slowing, still seeing those last, shallower, mellow waves through with dedication, "Sound sooo pretty."

Those eyes were softer, but still eating you up, savoring you while you were all messy for him.

Were you dating, now? It felt like you had been shot forward about ten years with this guy.

A light buzzing -the muted ring of a phone- was somewhere near you, interrupting your giggly, feel-good vibe. Again, and still just as surprising, Bokuto slowly pulled out of you and made quick work of that second condom.

He patted around the sheets for the source of the sound.

"Oh!"

He let the ringing continue- he had to get his idea out immediately: "That totally reminds me! I should get you a vibrator or something."

Jaw slack, you weren't given the opportunity to respond, before he answered. You lay there, a bit shivery and empty-feeling, as he hugged your thigh over his own.

"Hellooo?"

It was quiet. There was a faint, urgent, tone on the other side.

"Ummmm..."

His fingers tapped against your skin. He was lost in deep thought of how to respond. You were glad you couldn't hear the words being spoken, because you knew it was not going to be a pleasant earful.

"Yeah-... I mean, we were just talking... and... stuff."

Bokuto got droopier. He sank, sitting on his heels, still sitting butt-naked and hugging your thigh. You squeezed one of your blankets to your chest and frowned.

"It's nothing personal, man..."

He held the phone away from his ear as he was verbally berated, a pout making his whole face look cartoonishly sad. It was difficult, on your end, to understand that he could both be super into you and want to stay friends with Tetsurou.

"Would it make it any better iiiif I told you we were dating now?"

Bokuto winced and slid his free hand back and forth over your leg as consolation, for himself.

"Yeahyeahyeah, I gotchu, yeahyeah. Okay'bye," He hung up at the soonest crafted opportunity.

"Soooo," He sighed, distraught, instantly making up any distance between you. He dropped so much weight atop your sore body and covered you like a warm, weighted blanket, that you struggled to get air in your lungs.

"He's... not... happy."

The big dummy on top of you deflated with each word in a dismal decrescendo.

You had to wriggle around to find somewhere to breath from; room for your chest to expand at least a little.

"I thought you knew that?"

Bokuto made a high humming sound, feet kicking in the air, "Mmmmmmyeahhh, kinda, but..."

You freed one arm to wrap around him, so you could play with his hair, "He can't stay mad forever. He'll see that you're not- harmful- I guess, eventually."

He let his brow relax, shoved hard into your shoulder, and took in your new comforting scent.

Part of you couldn't blame your brother for assuming the worst. It took until incredibly recently for you to understand the full scale of Bokuto's fixation.

Despite all his sad body language, he couldn't have been that worried, because he was already back to sly, tongue-centered kisses on your neck.

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Sunshine

small pregnancy mention. boyfriend!kiyoomi part III!!

There’s a feminine voice coming from the bathroom when Atsumu enters his hotel suite.

“Don’t you think you’re being just a little over dramatic?”

There’s a light sound of clanking when he sets his overnight bag to the side, water running and the sound of fizzling foam. Sakusa’s feet make shadows under the door as Atsumu creeps closer, and shallows his breathing to effectively eavesdrop.

“No.” He huffs like he’s pouting, and the voice giggles. “I’m gonna die here, you know. I hate sharing a room.”

“Mmh.” You hum. “Does that apply to me?”

“You’re different.”

Atsumu gapes a little.

There’s… no way Omi’s gone and found himself a girlfriend. No way. I mean, sure, his body’s a ten but-

“You’ll live, baby. I promise.” Your voice breaks a little from the wavering reception of the hotel suite. “Plus, Miya’s your friend. Better him than anyone else, huh?”

Sakusa huffs. “Yeah, but he’s a pig. At least Shoyo-kun knows not to leave his dirty socks laying around.”

Atsumu grins. He didn’t disagree! Before furrowing again. Wait, he calls him Shoyo-kun?

“Doesn’t that guy also stay up till like 3am? I remember you being really grumpy about that last time you shared a room.”

Wait, last season?

“Yeah.” Sakusa sighs, and there’s a rush of water that muffles him for a moment. Muted voices cottoned by white noise and Atsumu nearly starts to back away when the water finally stops.

“I miss you so much.” He hears clear as day, but even then Atsumu debates if he imagined it.

“I miss you too, Omi.” You sigh, a faint rustling hissing through his speaker. “It’s just three days. Then I’ll be all over you again.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Atsumu blows out a breath through his nose. This is definitely his girlfriend. He’s never heard Omi speak like this to anybody. - And he’s seen him with his mom before. Hearing Omi talk so sweetly almost makes him feel like his brain is making it up, and he’s all but pressing his head against the door just to be sure that this is a real thing.

“‘You eaten yet by the way? I can send you some money so you can-“

“I’ve eaten, baby, yes.” You chuckle. “What is your deal? Money’s not a love language, you know. - My friends think you’re my sugar daddy.”

“I’m a pro athlete.” He says frankly. “And I don’t like seeing you spend your hard earned cash when you could be spending mine.”

“What’ll be the point of me working then?”

“Exactly, quit your job.” And the way he says it has you full out laughing.

“You know, if you’re gonna turn me into a housewife, I’d like to see a ring first.”

Sakusa’s voice sounds muffled under a towel when he retorts. “That can be arranged.”

You guffaw this time, a little airy, a little ugly. “Yeah? Well the sooner you get home the sooner you can make an honest woman outta me. Hell, next thing I know you’ll have me barefoot and pregnant.”

“Don’t just say things like that, I can’t get off with Atsumu in the same room as me.”

“Goodbye, Kiyoomi.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” And the desperation in his friend's voice nearly inclines him to audibly scoff in disbelief. This guy’s really hooked, huh?

“Yeah, sunshine?”

“I love you.”

Atsumu starts to choke on his spit.

Laptop

Kuroo, to Kenma: If your eyes start hurting, what you've got to do is lay down, and close them for a while... now that's a sexy little maneuver that those in the medical field like to call "sleep."

i hope patroclus and achilles are juggling figs and going swimming together in the afterlife

  tough as nails ᵕ̈       boyfie!msby boys       x nail tech!gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : when you want ⋮⋮  to practice some designs ⋮⋮  and they volunteer them- ⋮⋮  selves as your test dummy !

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🥛     ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 🥛     ♡ # ~2.5𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii  ─ “ ik that ' s not really the context of the saying in the title but i couldn ' t think of anything else ! nail pics as with all my other header pics are from pinterest <3 also lmk if you want to see more characters for this prompt bc highkey i loveee looking through nail designs lol ”

︴hinata shōyō ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘° 

this is not this man's first time around some nail polish

natsu used to paint his nails all the time, so he’s so down!

big color inspo from the colors of a classic blue and yellow mikasa volleyball because of his love for the sport (obvi)

howeverrr switching out the yellow for a bit more of an orange hue to go with his hair <3

also!!! some tropical floral designs as an homage to his time in brazil

a super fun vibe for a bright and go-lucky guy :)

when you first take his hand in yours, the tips of his ears start to redden a little bit

"hey shō are your ears alright–?" [you]

"your hands are so soft." [hinata]

"okay, shō." [you] (totally not fighting back a smile)

he's held your hand countless times but for some reason this–you holding his hand so gently and focusing in on it as you start prepping his nail beds–feels so much more intimate

seeing your face as you're so focused on him and his hands makes him blush lowk but good thing you're looking down and can't see how flustered he obviously is

like for someone so talkative, he's silent and almost as attentive as you the whole time and he's not even the one doing the work

you also notice he holds his breath every time you make the nail polish make contact with his nails until you finally lift back up CUTIEEE

“love, you know you can breathe, right?” [you]

“i don’t want to mess you up though! you’re doing so great by the way, babe.” [hinata]

cups your face when his nails are finally set and dry and you can see his eyes dart between your facial features and his nails contrasting against your skin and his smile gets bigger in real time

then he gives you a biggg kiss as a thank you for your hard work

definitely goes to every one of his teammates in the msby locker room his next practice to show them the nails

on tvs, cellphones, laptops and countless other kinds of screens everywhere: the camera following the msby jackals' game whips around to land their sights on hinata shōyō.

ten seconds remain on the clock. the jackals are behind their opponents by the most miniscule handful of points. in a last-ditch effort, atsumu's in place, and in a matter of seconds hinata is already high in the air.

the ball is met with a collision from the redhead's hand and quickly surpasses any of the opposition's lines of defense. an abrasive buzzer blares throughout the area and the msby jackals all start to jump onto one another with screams and yells and high fives in celebration.

"another excellent shot by hinata! what a way for the jackals to clutch this game folks!" a commentator excitedly blabbers.

"let's take another look at that one, shall we?" another accompanying commentator beckons.

time slows on screen during the instant replay–from the moment hinata gets in front of the net, to the moment his feet leave the ground, and especially as his arm is reeled back moments before the winning shot.

the camera takes the liberty of zooming in on hinata’s hand then. it captures the precise moment when his purest love and energy for volleyball surges through his body. the unseen electricity has ricocheted throughout him to finally trail up to his fingertips, adorned with colors that showcase the blend of his identity with the same ball his skin almost adoringly caresses for a second in the eyes on the slow-mo cam footage.

blue and yellow, blue and orange side-by-side in front of thousands and millions of eyes to witness as the ninja shōyō’s manicured hand follows through and pushes that volleyball past the net to bring his team to victory.

︴sakusa kiyoomi ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘° 

as babygirl as sakusa kiyoomi is, black’s just really his vibe i think

not on like some emo shit but the black would go really well with not only his hair but his iconic beauty marks above his eye

speaking of his hair, the cyber tribal chrome kind of sitch kinda alludes to his curls :0

i mean to the rest of the world he’s this stoic and serious guy all the time

but they don't see how he looks at you while you paint the finer details on his nails

or the subtle and soft dopey smile he’s got on as he asks you in lovestruck whispers about your technique, how work's going, what materials you use, etc.

"and... what's this for now?" [sakusa]

"it's to make sure your nails stay nice and strong for whenever you hit your incredible spikes, omi." [you]

"oh, that's definitely important. wouldn't want to skip that." [sakusa] (before you laugh at his little joke and his heart skips a beat and he gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head as you continue to work)

once the nails are finished, he goes to look at them with his fingers clawed–boyishly characteristic of a dude who's never gotten his nails done like this before

you can't help but laugh and he asks what's wrong

"what do you mean i'm looking at them weird?" [sakusa]

"your hands look like when you posed with the msby jackal mascot that one time." [you]

"how else am i supposed to look at them?" [sakusa]

you demonstrate how people normally check out their nails at the salon

and then it delves into a mini hand modeling lesson and many, many, giggles between the two of you as he tries to figure it out

you end up with some new reference pics of his set for any of your future clients, what a supportive boyfriend!

a certain photo is going viral as it makes its rounds online. the photographer who took it had to have known they struck gold capturing this certain moment, and the racking number of likes and comments are only affirmations of that.

it's a professional shot of sakusa kiyoomi mid-game. late-game, actually, as its evident though the state of his appearance in the picture.

visible droplets dot his face and figure, giving his skin and curly hair a certain sheen that proves the dedication he puts into every one of the msby jackals' games. to combat the sweat that's accumulated on himself, it seems like sakusa had absentmindedly reached for the edge of his jersey to act as a substitute for a towel in that particular moment (his expression is clearly focused on nothing but what might've been happening next on the other side of the court net). the muscles that adorn his torso peek out from the action.

and on top of it all–the sweat, the abs, the way the rest of the jersey clings to the rest of his body–the subtle chrome detailing of his nails stand out where his hand tugs the fabric to wipe at the bottom of his face...

and you hadn't even really caught on to this picture online yourself. the only reason you went to look it up for yourself was because of the influx of work emails you had received since the jackals' last win.

the public was vaguely aware you specialized in cosmetics, as sakusa had alluded to now and then in press conferences and interviews. however, it wasn't really until people online started to wonder where your boyfriend got these nails from did google's reverse-image search bring them to the pictures on your profile that you and sakusa took post- his manicure.

to say your clientele grew overnight, would be quite the understatement.

︴miya atsumu ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘° 

ik the picture is a bit blurry but PLEASE stick with me here yall 🙏 HEAR ME OUT

heavy on that barbie ken atsumu sort of agenda

you ask if he had any colors in mind

and he’s like "y'know what? fuck it. go big or go home."

he knows people might shit on him for having his nails done at his next game so yeah get the most stereotypically “feminine” color you got–just to mess with whatever losers might whine about it

“but... do ya think pink would look good on me y/n?” [atsumu] (AND HE'S KIND OF SHY WHEN HE'S ASKING YOU)

"OF COURSE IT WOULD BABY??" [you]

as you're ducked down working, he misses seeing your face

so he cranes his neck and looks up at you from where his hands are

"hey baby, funny seeing you here." [atsumu]

"tsumu, stay still!" [you]

"sorry angel, just missed lookin' at ya." [atsumu]

in that position, he loves the feeling of you holding his hands and the sensation of the nail polish brush against the top of his fingers so much, that he semi-falls asleep against his forearm as you wrap up

he just feels so much at peace <3

and when you’re done he is definitely giving ken, and that his job is volleyball

and tbh i hc his hair post timeskip isn’t so much piss yellow as ppl joke it was while he was at inarizaki

but that if he stuck through with keeping it blonde for so long he eventually managed to get it professionally done, and with some GODDAMN TONER 😭

i think it’s like a brassy sort of blonde

which looks perfect as an accent to the nails

like pop off regina george!!!!

something endearing about your loving atsumu is he never fails to get you the best seats in the arena whenever you come watch the msby jackals play.

from front row, you can see everything, and in so much detail—the action, the sweat, the tears that goes into each and every matchup the team faces. truly, the experience was leagues above settling for a closer look on any big screen or arena jumbotron. everything was just so much clearer!

but most importantly, you can see your boyfriend. very clearly.

so clearly, in fact, that after a particular great serve to bokuto for a spike that earned the jackals yet another point, you have the luxury of soaking in all the glowing details of atsumu in his element.

the way he clutches his strong fists and yells with joy at the small win, a bit of pink peeking out from the insides of his palms.

how his hands clap and grasp at the hands of his teammates in quick celebratory high-fives that leave streaky blurs of pink trailing behind his excited movements.

when his hand quickly drags over his smiling and glistening face, before carding through his hair—small pink detailings disappearing and reappearing amidst the blonde strands that rest on the top of his head.

by the time all the players on the court are settled back into their places for when the moment the ball will be up in the air once again—anticipation pulsing on both sides of the net—you can even catch as atsumu quickly glances at his nails with a small, blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile.

thankfully, your top-tier seat allows you to catch it. and although he’s smiling at his hands, you know that it’s for your work and by extension, it’s all love for you in that split second before your boyfriend has to lock in again.

when the next ball is served, you find yourself almost falling out of your chair from how far you’re leaning forward to take in as much of your great view as possible.

︴bokuto kōtarō ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘° 

MISMATCH IS A MUST

you say the few designs you want to try out and ask him which one you can try on him and he just goes: ALL OF THEM!

(he knows it’ll take longer to do with all the different elements, but that just means he gets to stare at you for longer as you work)

"are you sure? i mean, do you have a color you want in particular? i can tweak them so they all have the same palette." [you]

"nope! cover me with whatever your beautiful mind is envisioning!" [bokuto] (he's jutting his fingers out in front of you and wiggling them around with the biggest grin on his face)

these nails also just fits him as a person because he’s super all over the place and spontaneous so it works it JUST WORKS OK

plus his hair’s literally greyish whitish so it’s like a perfect neutral and blank canvas to accent the color palette

it's one thing having him sit still for an extended amount of time, but having you this close? right in front of him?

how is he not supposed to give your lips a quick kiss now and then

BUT!!! he always goes to double check he didn't mess up the nails every time he pulls back

"kō, the nails are fine! you didn't even move your hands, you're just moving your head to kiss me, silly." [you]

"just making sure, babe! i know this stuff takes a lot of work. plus, i can't really think of what else is happening when i'm kissing you, really." [bokuto] (already going in for another kiss)

you can see in the corner of your eye as you work on your designs that bokuto's nose scrunches up now and then

it's because he's not used to the smell of the nail products you're using

upon completing the whole nail set, he concludes it’s legitimately one of THE COOLEST THINGS anyone’s ever fucking done for him

doesn’t stop staring at his hands in a little bit of awe even after you’re done and chilling on the living room couch, completely oblivious to what's going on on the tv in front of you two

the crowd is going absolutely ballistic. the jackals are in the lead. and your boyfriend, the bokuto kōtarō is up and about to serve.

you watch the arena's big teleprompter with the rest of the spectators as the cameras pan to bokuto.

he has that look on his face–confident and happy playing the sport that runs through his veins. his hand crashes down onto the ball once. wham!

twice. blam!

when the ball comes back up, he grips it between his hands. it's evident even through the screen how his arms tense and pulse. it's like he's revving up.

as everyone hangs off the edge of their seats and keep their eyes glued in anticipation to the broadcasting of bokuto holding that unmistakable combo of blue and yellow–it's impossible to ignore how the ends of his hands glint and reflect the bright overhead lights.

colors of all kinds twitch in excitement against the leather and the star player quickly glances down at the ball, sure, but most definitely also at the intricate art you so graciously blessed his nails with. bokuto's lips crack a smile.

then he's tossing the volleyball up. a loud and powerful smack reverberates throughout the arena. in the blink of an eye the ball whizzes past two of the opposite team's players and the crowd explodes once again as the ball is now rolling on the outskirts of the court across the net.

your boyfriend's chest swells with pride, and his carefully manicured finger darts to point over you in the stands. you cheer even louder for him as he beams a tooth-filled smile your way.

💬 kuroppiii  ─ “ oh and i forgot to point out that most of these designs are short and with minimal charms so they don't get in the way of a volleyball player ' s , well ... volleyball playing ! short nail - ers rise up ! ”

“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling”

—Oscar Wilde