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minteayoongimakesmewoozi · 10 months

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oh no..... had a thought about the au where tanjirou is giyuu and ayame is sabito.........

tanjirou and ayame face the hand oni, but they're both so unprepared for it. tanjirou's rib is broken, his forearm is probably fractured and he's been limping since they managed their escape. it's almost too dark for ayame to see where they're hiding in the cave, but she can feel the terrible tremors of the hand oni as it hunts for them.

the terrified expression on tanjirou's face is what makes her decision for her.

the hand oni said "sweet little fox".

maybe if he sees the fox mask and cloud jinbei and nothing else, then they might have a chance.

or, well, tanjirou might have a chance. urokodaki-san would be sad if he didn't return. urokodaki-san doesn't have anyone anymore.

ayame tears the jinbei off tanjirou's shoulders, replacing it with her kimono while he's still disoriented. she pulls it loose around her, then snatches the mask off his head.

"what - ayame, what - ?"

"stay here," she says quietly, her expression hidden behind the mask urokodaki-san carved for him. "i'll lead the oni away. don't make any noise, then make your way down to the wisteria trees as soon as the coast is clear."

"the mask - "

"tanjirou." her voice is solemn. "whatever happens... tell my shishou i was always grateful for everything."

she disappears from the cave before tanjirou can demand answers.

murata finds tanjirou and helps him through final selection. there is only one casualty for final selection that year.

kamado tanjirou is the water hashira, and he wears a dark blue seigaiha haori, the pattern dyed red. he's the water hashira, so no one wonders why he wears seigaiha. the charcoal half of his haori is hard to explain, but no one will ask.

when sabito is faced with the boulder, a girl in a fox mask appears before him. she holds himself the way a master swordsman does, and her strikes are swift and merciless. she knocks him out in ten seconds and doesn't bother to wait for him to wake up.

he begrudgingly admits that the way she moves is beautiful.

another girl, also with a fox mask, but with the mask resting against the side of his head, is the one who greets him when his eyes open.

"sorry about ayame-san," she says with a rueful chuckle. "she isn't very patient."

ayame-san, sabito learns early on, doesn't speak much if she can help it. she doesn't linger, even if sometimes he feels like he's being watched when he's alone. she continues to use a bokken while he wields a live sword, but it doesn't matter; she is always the one who deals out the first strike. often the last one as well.

"ayame-san doesn't want to show off too much," hikari says as she braids a flower crown. "she's a bit different from the rest of us, that's all. she doesn't stay for urokodaki-san after all."

"then who does she stay for?" asks sabito.

hikari's smile is secretive as she rests the daisy crown in her dark hair. "one of these days, you should ask her, sabito. you might be the only person she answers."

three months later, ayame stands before him with a steel katana at her hip. she draws it slowly - almost reverently. sabito notices that the curve of it is slightly different; it's steeper, the kissaki almost menacing.

"so," she says in a measured voice, "after six months, you can finally face me as a swordsman. hikari-san did well training you."

"you had just as much to do with it, ayame-san," hikari calls out from the side.

sabito snarls. it pulls the scar on his cheek, making him look more dangerous.

"today is the day i win," he declares, unsheathing his own blade.

ayame tilts her head. he wonders if her lips follow the same downward curl of her mask, or if she smirks at him like he always imagined she has.

"then you'd better hit me with everything you have, sabito."

time slows around him. his nose twitches, picking up a strange scent. it's metallic and sharp, like a freshly polished katana. it winds through the air, and he finds his blade following its arc.

for the first time since they met, his blade reaches ayame first.

there is a moment of stillness.

sabito can't believe his katana sliced downward first. her arms are still raised, and she doesn't move as her sleeves fall downwards, exposing the kumihimo cords she has wound around her left wrist.

the fox mask splits in half - sliced vertically in a perfect line. when the wood falls to her shoulders, sabito is shocked to meet shockingly blue eyes.

ayame's lips are parted in surprise. as he watches, her lips curl into a small smile. the slightest twitch of the corners of her lips is both happy and sad.

"sabito..." she murmurs.

sabito can never catch ayame's scent. for the first time, there's a hint of charcoal and something floral lingering in the air, muted by the scent of a summertime rain.

"you did great. remember what you just did, ne?" her voice lowers. "win, okay, sabito? beat that guy too."

sabito glances at hikari in disbelief. she smiles at him encouragingly.

"ayame," he hears himself say, "who do you stay for?"

surprise flits across her features.

"hey," she chuckles sadly, "next time you see tanjirou, be sure to say hi to him. he's so gloomy nowadays."

sabito glances at hikari, but she's disappeared. when he turns back to ayame, she's gone too.

the only thing left in the clearing was the boulder, sliced in half. exactly the same way he had sliced ayame's mask.

#me as a writer #mind drabbles #fog in the summertime #fits #fits au #fits ayame as sabito au #fits hashira au remix #higuchi ayame #sabito #kamado tanjirou #amano hikari #fits au headcanons #i wrote hikari as makomo first #then i remembered she's nezuko in this au #tanjirou has long hair in this au too #but fashions it in a low ponytail like ayame's #my boy has so much trauma #zenitsu is sanemi and inosuke is probably obanai in this au #might have to write this down properly

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ask-sebastian · 7 months

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👉👈

#sebastian's musical owls #edm #d.h.#new rules - dua lipa #closer - the chainsmokers/halsey #levels radio edit - avicii #cheap thrills - sia #summertime sadness (cedric gervais remix) - lana del rey/cedric gervais

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priokskfm · 6 months

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#FREEDOWNLOADS #FREEPROMO #RADIOCHART DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince - Summertime (Flow Lab Kid remix) - FREE D/L You can get the WAV file here: https://ift.tt/f9WVAt8 Скачать: https://ift.tt/quRgOlk https://ift.tt/AVYbMCH

#jazzy jeff #dj jazzy jeff #fresh prince #the fresh prince #will smith #old school hip hop #90 hip hop #jazzy jeff and the fresh prince #flow lab kid #FreeDownload #FreeTrack #summertime #DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince - Summertime (Flow Lab Kid remix) - FREE D/L Flow Lab Kid #SoundCloud

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everymanpdf · 2 years

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#death #im having a weird moment and my uber driver is cranking a remix of summertime sadness and dancing and lipsyncing. scream

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ovrarches · 2 years

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I’ll never clown anyone for their music taste bc those 15 second tiktok mashups of old pop songs can get me So Emotional

#bawling my eyes out to someone remixing a sound bite of summertime sadness

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shootwithheart · 1 month

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She was hungry for more than

Watching you unravel like a wave

Breaking

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sweetcantae · 2 years

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The Katy-Perry-Hardstyle-Remix trend on Bodybuilder Tiktok was not something I expected to see in this lifetime.

#yes I am making myself deaf listening #it reminds me of 2012 when I was in my EDM era 🥲 memories #also recommend the Summertime Sadness remix

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shawnxstyles · 1 year

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we need a remix of sunday morning except its tom eating her pussy

sunday morning (remix)

warnings: smut; (f-receiving [oral], somnophila [technically dub-con, established relationship], slight dirty talk)

note: this is more my style ;)

—

tom had woken up early this morning to go on a jog. the weather had been getting warmer and warmer, so he had to wake up earlier in the summertime. you felt his presence leave your side before the sun was bright enough to even watch him get ready. your eyes were weary and your body was sore from the aftermath of last night, so you remained asleep as he left the house.

a few hours later, tom comes back home with a few bags in his hands. after his jog, he decided to grab a few groceries that might turn into dinner later tonight. he felt sweat glazing his skin from the humidity as he packed away all of the items in the kitchen cupboard.

when he’s finished, he pads up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. he peeks at the bed and notices your still figure, peacefully asleep. a soft smile arises on his lips as he slips into the bathroom. he strips of his workout clothes and hops into the chill shower.

feeling more refreshed, a towel dangles low on his waist as he searches for some cool, comfy clothes. based on the temperature of the house, he settles on a simple pair of boxers.

tom walks over to the bed, flopping delicately on the mattress to not wake you. he slowly peels back the comforter and notices you’re not wearing any clothes.

he swears that you fall asleep in something. but as his mind wanders, he assumes you discarded your clothes because of the warm weather outside that snuck into the house. with a sly smirk rising on his face, he completely removes the blanket from your body.

tom lays you on your back from your side, hands tracing the warm, supple skin of your hips. he places gentle kisses along your torso, wet and soothing until he’s faced with your bare mound.

deliberately, he slowly spreads your legs and begins to kiss your inner thighs teasingly. his teeth lightly nibble your skin, causing your legs to twitch as you stay slumber. his hands creep their way up until they’re at your breasts, twisting and turning them softly. your nipples perk as your chest begins to heave.

tom smiles when your head tosses and your body rolls, consumed in a deep dream. with a few rough pinches to your buds, he wanders back toward your torso and in between your legs again.

this time, a trail of slick arousal is dripping down your slit. your chest rises up and down as your back begins to arch slightly. whispered mewls and moans escape under your wavering breath. tom can’t contain his smugness because he’s barely even touched you.

without any more hesitation, tom’s hands secure your thighs open and he dives straight into your cunt. wet from his touches and warm from the weather, your pussy clutches from his tongue as tom groans satisfied. his tongue sinks into your hole as he twirls the muscle around skillfully.

from the top of his eyes, tom can see how erratic your breathing has become and how your hands are gripping the bed sheets. your muffled moans have become breathier and noisier, almost as if you were awake. tom takes one of his hands and circles your throbbing clit.

as if lighting a fire, you wake up in shock, unwillingly moaning before any words could get out.

“t-tom,” your shaky, raspy voice moaned.

“yes, darling?” he pops off of you for a second, finger still rapidly rubbing your clit. “did i wake you up?”

you squeeze your eyes close, trying to focus on your words and thoughts and not the immense pleasure you’re receiving from his hands. you can’t remember a single thing you were going to say, so you give into the pleasure, and let it consume you whole.

“more,” you sigh, relaxing into the firm mattress.

“that’s my girl,” tom smirks smugly before leaning down again, resuming your high. his mouth is more desperate as he hungrily devours your cunt. his teeth nibble delicately over your nerves, causing you to shriek hoarsely into the late morning humidity.

his tongue dips in and out through your folds effortlessly as your back arches off the bed. your hair sticks to your face as sweat begins to dampen your body. your muscles begin to spasm as your high nears. tom’s rugged hands reach up to toy with your breasts again, adding more stimulation.

in an echoing moan, your orgasm rips through you until you’re coming all over his tongue. tom happily accepts your release, licking every ounce off of you. your body melts into the mattress, body perspired and sore. the bliss is overwhelming as your mind remains in a morning haze full of sex and sleep.

“mornin’, sleeping beauty,” tom crawls up the bed, brushing sweaty hair out of your face. his soft curls are damp from his shower, and probably from eating you out as well.

if there was one thing you couldn’t say enough, it would be that tom is amazing in bed. he has amazing fingers and a skillful tongue, but don’t even get you started on his cock. he could fuck you however; slow, soft, rough, hard, quick, fast—anything and you still would never get used to how mind-blowing he is.

“morning,” you reply, face flustered as you attempt to look away from him.

“no getting shy on me now,” he softly directs your face to look toward him and you do, eyes staring into each others. “there you are. how was your morning?”

“great until i was rudely awakened,” you playfully roll your eyes as tom huffs.

“rudely? i’d say that was pretty generous if you ask me.”

“sure, i don’t remember much though. seems like it was all a dream. guess you’ll have to remind me?” you blink your eyes innocently at his as his eyes blacken to a dark brown.

with no words, tom’s lips miss yours as he trails sweet kisses down your neck. your hands slowly slide up into his hair, gently lacing your fingers through the complex curls.

“when i’m done, darling, the only thing you’ll remember is my name.”

—

tags: @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland fan fics #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fics #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #anonymous request #requests

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minteayoongimakesmewoozi · 10 months

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i'm still (yes, still!) thinking about the fits hashira au remix where ayame is the sabito to tanjirou's giyuu, and...

the rengoku family.

ayame's story has always been intertwined with the rengokus, and this au is no different. we still have shinjurou, kyoujurou and senjurou, but maybe ayame's shishou is shinjurou this time.

shinjurou finds ayame not long after her entirely family is slaughtered. he isn't quite as cynical as we see him in canon, so he offers to train her. he makes her his apprentice, and she trains alongside kyoujurou in those early years.

ayame is a year older than kyoujurou, but she teasingly calls him senpai. he's been training with shishou longer than she has, after all! between her training sessions with kyoujurou under shinjurou's steadily clearing eyes and helping them look after senjurou, she finds her smile after a couple years.

sometimes she leaves to train with tanjirou - with shinjurou's and urokodaki-san's blessing, of course. kyoujurou is hard-working, but shinjurou knows the importance of constantly sparring with a peer. he still thinks his apprentice and son have no talent for swordsmanship, that they would be better off doing something else, but it eases something within him to know that kyoujurou will have ayame to look out for him.

shinjurou never imagines ayame wouldn't come back from final selection.

senjurou is the one who greets tanjirou at the entrance. it's been a week after final selection and shinjurou already has a sake bottle in hand when he stumbles out to the genkan with kyoujurou.

instead of his apprentice, it is urokodaki-san's boy standing before him. he holds out ayame's seigaiha kimono with shaking hands, tears streaming down his cheeks.

ah, shinjurou thinks. so she died after all. just as he suspected, breath of flame simply isn't powerful enough.

"i'm sorry," whispers tanjirou.

shinjurou lifts his sake jug to his lips and takes a long drag. the bitterness in his throat, he tells himself, is merely the alcohol.

kyoujurou unfreezes himself. he pulls a crying senjurou into his arms, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"how?" he asks, even if the answer is plain to see.

"there... there was an oni. i was - i was injured, and she - she protected me. she took my mask and my - and she... she protected me. she protected everyone."

"ridiculous," shinjurou growls. "utterly useless."

at her strength, she should have known better. he thought he taught her better than that, but he was wrong. he should have known better; he wasn't a teacher. the only things he could teach fell apart when it mattered most.

what good is a flame hashira when they can't even protect what matters most?

he always knew she would never become a hashira. he just never thought she would fail to become a demon slayer.

"it's my fault," tanjirou sobs.

"no." shinjurou takes another swig of bitter, bitter sake. "it was her own fault. she was weak, and now she's dead."

"chichi-ue," kyoujurou gasps, pressing senjurou's face into his shoulder to muffle his brother's sobs. "don't say that about ayame-neesan!"

"don't be absurd! she was never going to amount to anything!" of course she wasn't. she was his apprentice. "of course she died. she was merely average. stop your pathetic crying."

perhaps this will serve as a lesson to kyoujurou. he should throw away his ambition of becoming a demon slayer. just like ayame, he wouldn't even survive final selection.

shinjurou spirals.

he drinks enough to blackout when kyoujurou leaves for final selection anyway. he doesn't try to dissuade him. let him learn that lesson the hard way.

kyoujurou makes it back - alive - but shinjurou knows it must be luck. sheer, foolhardy luck. none of his students will amount to anything.

he drinks to forget, but he always remembers.

until one day he can't even fulfil his duties. kyoujurou steps up, fiercely and without hesitation. a fool.

an idiot.

(he is as much shinjurou's apprentice as ayame was.)

"how do you know that name?" kyoujurou asks.

it's another bout of luck that he survived a battle with upper three. he will never be able to use breath of flame again, but he is alive.

sake is still bitter on shinjurou's tongue.

"huh?" the peach-haired boy who headbutted him utters.

"ayame-neesan," senjurou whispers, loud enough to be heard through the paper-thin walls. "no one... we don't talk about her."

"... she was rengoku-san's apprentice, wasn't she?"

"yes, but..." kyoujurou clears his throat uncomfortably. "she died long ago. years ago. before i joined the kisatsutai."

"did... d-did kamado-san tell you?" asks senjurou.

"ha! that depressed loner? i don't think he speaks to anyone, really."

"th-then how...?"

"eto... it's difficult to explain. do you - do you believe in ghosts, rengoku-san, senjurou-san?"

ghosts. of course they exist. shinjurou is haunted every single day.

he tunes out the foolhardy boy - the one who is a descendant of breath of sun users. someone who wields such power would never understand the loss that shinjurou knows intimately.

"she told me she had a message," sabito says. "she wasn't sure if that guy ever had a chance to give it."

"kamado-san doesn't speak to us," kyoujurou says, surprisingly frustrated. "if he relayed it to chichi-ue, we were unaware."

"oh." a pause. "well, ayame told me - that is, ayame-san said she wanted her shishou to know that she was grateful for everything. she wouldn't have gotten so far if it hadn't been for everything he had taught her."

"oh." then again, in a softer voice, "oh."

"ano..." sabito is speaking again. "that guy... his haori. it's... unique."

"seigaiha. because he's the water hashira." kyoujurou makes an uncertain sound. "senjurou and i gave it to him. it was ayame-neesan's."

"ah. i see."

"he blames himself," kyoujurou continues. "no matter how much i try to talk to him, he always avoids me. i guess it'll be easier now. for him."

"ah..."

"if you have something to say to - to kamado-san, you should say it, sabito-san. if it's really true... if you can talk to ayame-neesan even now..."

"somehow," a shaky laugh, "i feel like i shouldn't tell him."

"you should try anyway," kyoujurou says bluntly. "you're his tsuguko. he'll listen to you."

"... mn."

"don't pressure him, aniue."

"but - "

"thank you for your time," sabito interjects. "i learned a lot."

senjurou gives sabito a flame-shaped tsuba.

"it isn't mine," rengoku-san assures him. "it was actually meant to be ayame-neesan's. you should use it."

sabito jolts. "me?"

"yes. i think she wants to protect you. that was the kind of person she always was."

in some ways, sabito is glad that ayame only appears intermittently. she would be embarrassed otherwise.

he thinks about their last conversation - how she said something bound her to this plane of existence. for a really long time, he thought it was guilt over how she had left things with kamado-san.

maybe that wasn't all.

senjurou fidgets with the hem of his sleeves. "she would have preferred it if you had used it, aniue..."

rengoku-san laughs. it's wheezier than his booming laughter from before, but just as boisterous. "then i would have still passed it on to sabito shounen!"

"aniue..."

rengoku-san's expression turns solemn. "the one thing ayame-neesan always hated was feeling helpless. this way, at least a part of her can still offer protection - for your hands and katana, if nothing else. take care of it, sabito shounen."

the tsuba is brand new. there isn't a single scratch on it. it hasn't seen a day of battle. only where it was kept in rengoku-san's pocket all these years.

sabito wonders what ayame might have been like, if they had a chance to meet in this living world. he can see traces of her in senjurou's kindness, in rengoku-san's beautiful arcing movements. even if death, there is still something that remains.

ayame would be embarrassed to know that.

he should tell her the next time they see each other, he thinks.

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didishawn · 1 year

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Masterlist

Masterlist 2

Football players

Pedri

Open blinds

Silent (+18)

Little Messi

Sex therapy is what works the best + Ferran Torres (+18)

World Cup

Vogue

Free day + Ferran Torres

Stress Relief + Ferran Torres (+18)

Make sure he hears you are taken (+18)

Control over you (+18)

Post match + Ferran Torres (+18) / pt 2

Thoughts about the future (+18)

4-0 + Ferran Torres (+18)

El Clásico

Cuidado con el 7 (+18)

For future use (+18)

Finally after so long (+18)

Just best friends (+18)

Locker room schemingans + Gavi (+18)

Unlocked door (+18)

Teaching lesson + Ferran (+18)

You are perfect to me (+18)

Preparation (+18)

Set fire to the rain

Campeones de la Liga (+18 imagine)

Man City #1 Fan + Kun Agüero (+18)

Milk (+18)

Under the dining table + Gavi (+18)

Ferran Torres

Summertime Fun + Gavi + Ferran (+18)

NBA Brings You Closer to Your Friend's Gf + Eric (+18)

Sex therapy is what works the best + Pedri (+18)

Free day + Pedri

Stress Relief + Pedri (+18)

Off limits (+18)

Post match + Pedri (+18) / pt 2

4-0 + Pedri (+18)

Baby fever (+18)

Rough jealousy (+18)

Number 1 Fan (+18)

On the other side of the wall (+18)

Height difference (+18)

Teaching lesson + Pedri (+18)

His way to relieve stress

Broken souls

Campeones de la Liga (+18 imagines)

Summertime Fun + Pedri + Gavi (+18)

Gavi

Dumb boy

Begging for forgiveness (Bad ending to Dumb boy +Ansu) slight nsfw

Begging for forgiveness (Good ending)

Stress Relief: the Remix + Ansu (+18)

Green is a good color when it comes to fucking (+18)

Locker room schemingans + Pedri (+18)

Red bikini (+18)

Campeones de la Liga (+18 imagines)

Under the dining table + Pedri (+18)

Summertime Fun + Pedri + Ferran (+18)

Ansu Fati

Begging for forgiveness (Part 2 of Dumb boy + Gavi) slight nsfw

Stress Relief: the Remix + Gavi (+18)

Jules Koundé

No more Muchachos (+18)

Personal model (+ 18)

Airhead (+18)

Pretty little thing (+18)

Purity ring (+18)

Campeones de la Liga (+18 imagines)

Kylian Mbappe

Celebrity crush

pt 2 (+18)

pt 3 (+18)

pt 4

pt 5 (+18)

Times like this

Paulo Dybala

Mañanas así

Alejandro Balde

Technique for success (+18)

Tired but horny (+18)

Campeones de la Liga (+18 imagines)

Golden (+18)

Last Night on Earth (+18)

Eric Garcia

What Pedri doesn't know won't hurt him (+18)

Frenkie De Jong

Date nights (+18)

NBA Brings You Closer to Your Friend's Gf + Pedri (+18)

Paradise (+18)

House of the Dragon

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Strong! reader

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Steve Harrington x Hopper! reader

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hxltic · 1 year

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REALLY? OSAMU MIYA

• fuckbuddy!Osamu

• Genre: smut to angst to fluff

• Warnings: mention of alcohol, mention of sex under the influence (nothing gruesome), female reader, wall sex, degradation, kinda rushed, mention of panic attack

🎶 I WANNA BE YOURS—ARCTIC MONKEYS (it can be the summertime sadness remix)

It started in highschool right after a party his twin hosted: the first time anything ever happened. It was a moment of vulnerability between the both of you, unwarranted and threatening to the mentality of the person you’d become once you sobered up, but it almost felt like you needed it.

You never went to anyone else after, a boyfriend nowhere in the picture. You never saw multiple people at once either. So, you weren’t necessarily just his—but you’d be damned if anyone else could fuck you the way he could that night. If he knew any better he would’ve declined you in the moment, but the way your expression held nothing but pure exhaustion and longing—like you were drowning in your own problems—diminished the small ounce of self control he had left from too much alcohol. Like he felt it was mandatory to give you what you deserved.

He couldn’t do it now though, and he knew that.

You laid in his bed, tossing and turning in the size-too-big shirt he had you in. Having just bathed you, he tried his best to ignore your porcelain figure as he stood to the side, the liquor he previously downed only amplifying his attentiveness and not making it much easier. Before you knew what you were doing you pleaded for him, just to release some pent up stress.

Tears slowly started sliding down your face. Real tears. He had never seen you like this—the always joyful and confident girl you were. He knew you got easily frustrated, but never to the extent of drinking like how you did tonight. You called his name several times. Even in your state you could tell he needed it as well.

“‘Samu please.”

As this was his last year, he was bombarded with questions relating to whether he wanted to play professionally or through college. He always thought he would. If you would’ve asked little Osamu, back in the times where he shared a hair color with Atsumu, the immediate answer would’ve been yes. Together they’d stay, within the sport they equally shared love for. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

Interviews, family, his own school—it was all too much. He had recently gotten into the culinary field once he found free time too. You always joked about how you’d be his little taste tester.

It wasn’t supposed to be taken literally.

He reached above his arms to take the simple black shirt off and to put his watch back in the drawer, having taken it off to not get it wet in the tub. He has a small couch in the corner of his room so he figured he’d just sleep there for the night.

Finished, he took whatever band was on your wrist and tied your hair up in a ponytail so it wouldn’t be in your way. His body was leaned right in front of your face as he did it, the smell of his leftover cologne seeping into your nose like pure dopamine. Soft lips pressed onto your forehead lovingly.

“Goodnight, I’ll see you in the ‘mornin.”

He said carefully. He really, really tried his best to push you away, relieved to finally sit down and dismiss whatever temptations you had him locked in; Yet before he could turn around, you softly got ahold of his hand and held it, unmoving.

“At least stay with me?” You’d whisper.

Osamu watched your eyes blink open sleepily and a single tear falls.

Jesus fucking Christ.

———

After that, it was undeniably all him.

You immediately knew once you cut the relations off for a while because of another boy. Osamu let you on your way, but he was absolutely pissed the second you left. You just thought the boy was so cute, and he fed you everything you’ve wanted to hear. Past relationships absolutely crushed you—past relationships you have yet to tell anyone but Osamu about—and he just seemed like the perfect quiet-type boy. He wasn’t very friendly to other girls and was built well.

And you were so very wrong. The quiet ones are the most terrifying. Long story short, he fucked you over, but of course you came running back to Osamu who met you with open arms. It was an argument bound to start but he pushed it aside and just let you get out whatever you needed to.

You were so glad he was mad at you actually, the tears previously streaming down your face replacing with ones of ecstasy when he propelled your body forward. Except that you couldn’t make it to the bed, so this was on the wall of his own bedroom that your arm was a barrier for your forehead while the other arm was held behind your back. Osamu grunts into your ear with his hand dug in your hair, your whines fueling his body even more. Just as they always have.

“You’ll always come back won’t ya? Yeah you will. ‘Fuckin slut. That’s because this dick will always be in that—mmgh—brain of yours.”

You loved when he was mean to you, and what could you say, you deserved it. How dare you even try somebody else?

“‘I’m sorry ‘Samu,” was all you could say. This would only anger him further, you feel his head find the crook of your neck.

“Ya had me here all alone, yer not sorry.”

You nodded your head eagerly, “missed you,” you exclaim. You wish you could prove to him the regret you felt. Even though you weren’t his girlfriend, whatever this was still felt bad. It needed to stay that way. And yet, how could you sense the slightest bit of seriousness in what he said?

“You know ya favorite pairs ‘a panties are sittin in my drawer and he’s the one ya think about? Bet ya he’s never made ya cry like I have.”

Osamu peels you off the wall. He was right. The boy made you cry out of anger and sadness at him; Osamu made you cry out of confusion and questioning yourself.

You felt like you were unloveable. Even if this wasn’t exactly true, it deterred you from a lot of people you still feel bad for to this day. Everyone you’ve rejected because of the bullshit they’d send into your messages, everyone you’ve actually liked but just couldn’t believe felt the same, everyone you’ve run away from when all they tried to do was take care of you—and yet you cried. Proof you did like them back, at least a little bit, but the proof comes too late, and even then it’s not enough to convince you to push for a relationship.

You couldn’t differentiate your own platonic feelings for romantic ones, and you hated yourself for it. You hated breaking hearts that didn’t deserve to be broken, just because in the moment you made them think you two could work, or you were bonding. You were leading them on unintentionally.

Over time you’ve come to realize you only have romantic feelings if you process you love them first, but that’s when you’re in too deep. Processing is the hard part because you want to tell yourself to let it go. Only then, if they asked you out, you’d gladly say yes.

To all the other people, it’s like you were picking favorites because usually the main rejection comeback for you is “I’m just not ready.” Which was technically true, but unintentionally a lie at the same time. To them you’re sure the sexual jokes and deep conversations you’ve had are the equivalent of dating. So when they ask, why do you back out?

You were brought to the bed, then laid out. Osamu’s body hung over you gorgeously. The man gently took it upon him to spread your legs, his whole tone and demeanor changing like you were back to day one.

“Fuck, there ya go. Open up fer me.”

You stayed quiet, your breathing almost speaking for you. His calloused, over-worked hands pressured the skin right under your knees, a dent forming around his fingertips from the plush. You both watch intently as he slips back into your body and you share a gasp. Just as the last time he went in, your head falls back and his mouth finds your ear.

One hand remains along your leg while the other came to pinch at your face. Your cheeks were being squished. He held your face firm so you couldn’t look away from him, those inescapable, glazed, hooded eyes he loved so much. Your own hands came to grab around his one, even though you didn’t try to pull it off. It was stability almost—your mouth hanging agape and tears reflecting in the darkness of his room. Being only inches apart, you have to pick an eye of his to look into with the remaining daze you call a brain. You two whisper back and forth with every slow thrust that runs through your walls like butter.

“Mmm, right there?”

“Yes—, right t-there. Pussy‘s yours ‘Samu.”

“Holy shit, yer so wet. You hear it?” You nod.

“Don’t close yer eyes, want you to see what ya do to me.”

He placed a chaste kiss on your jaw and moved to your plump lips. You almost saw it coming, and when you felt the fanned breath, you instinctively defied his past orders, closed your eyes, then turned to the side swiftly. You’d ingeniously dodged him like it didn’t happen at all.

It shattered his heart.

You had no idea how bad he wanted to kiss you. It had been established early on he couldn’t, along with limited pet names, based on the agreement. The two combined were recipes for relationship and you knew there’s absolutely no way that would’ve worked out. Regardless, it didn’t anyway.

His brows furrowed and upturned, then he sought refuge in your collarbone when his hand lowered to your neck. He continued to thrust, trying to push it off, despite the impacting silence. The tears cascading down to your breasts were warm.

Finally, with a single sound, you realized they weren’t yours. His grip gradually loosened and as his hand disconnected from you, he slowly dragged his body down your own and eventually, pulled out. Your eyes open and strain in the night, trying to make his face out, but once you do they widen and stay that way.

Pained. He looked pained and angry and your heart twisted at the sight knowing it was because of you. His head hung low and expressionless as the droplets singularly fell onto your thighs, you wanted to curl up and look away; but that’s what got you there in the first place.

Osamu was the mean one. He never cries. Ever. Whenever Atsumu (constantly) did, he was there to comfort him even with being younger by a few seconds, but he likes to consider himself the more mature sibling. He throws his head back with a heavy sigh, his hands coming up to run over his face and through his hair. You gulp, unaware of what to say.

“You didn’t miss me nearly as much as I thought ya did, did you?” He humorlessly laughs. A string struck in your body like a puppet and you push your hands behind you to lift yourself to him. You frantically come around his face to take it in your hands.

“No, no I did!- I just-“ he continues to look down. As you go on and on, he finally casts you a glance that almost verbally says “it’s okay.” He’s concluded what you could never put into words.

You never missed him, just his company.

You cracked. Immediately. In a split second the best moments with him reflected in his glossy, dead eyes and reeled through your brain: he took you to his place on your birthday and handmade you dinner when nobody else remembered; he screen-shared a movie to cheer you up over facetime that time someone close to you died; compliments were never scarce with him since he always shamelessly screenshotted your pictures; and out of everyone you’ve ever hurt, he had to be the worst. You tempted him that one night, dragged him into something he didn’t ask for, and played him and his effort like a fucking toy. You cried with him. Was it selfish for you to cry as well?

He was tired of it all. He was tired of pretending like texting you to come over was only for sex, he was tired of people taking you away from him. The mere thought of someone treating you how he does makes him physically sick, sick enough to lose sleep and have his brother come check up on him.

“I-I’m sorry Osamu, you’re not just a friend,” you cry. They were the best words for the moment you could think of. The anger he just brushed off returned and the tears that just slightly paused, resumed.

“A friend. A fucking friend,” Osamu’s eyes scanned yours. “Every single day my hatred for that fucking word grows. If I’m not a friend, what am I?” His breathing goes deep.

“You’re—“ You sniffle and let go of his face.

“—If being buried between yer thighs doesn’t make me just a friend, what does it make me?”

You retreat to your back, feeling pressured by his raising voice. He follows you the whole way down again. It’s like it’s on the tip of your tongue, an obvious answer; he knows it’s right there but refusing to come out and that’s not enough for him.

“Ya tell me what I wanna hear, then the opposite right after. What am I y/n? What are we? Please, please just keep me from running in circles, baby.” His voice cracks. It’s gotten to the point of him panicking over your face and his hand lifting yours, his eyes darting back and forth. You realize the depth of the situation. You broke him, the solid wall he built around himself crashing down into yours like dominos.

You’ve said I love you to each other many times, but before, you called it him being your best friend. Now you weren’t sure. You never realized the word “friend” was your umbrella to life, the comfortable coziness of the word hiding you from commitment. You just didn’t know how to get it across.

“I’m…I’m scared Osamu,” you sob.

“And I’ll take care of you with everything I have left. Just tell me you’ll take it ‘n it’s yours. Tell me the words I’ve been waitin to hear.”

He was so close, so very close. The man didn’t deserve you in the slightest, he was more fitted for someone who wasn’t afraid. A coward. He just fully expressed his love to you after you basically denied it. He was brave. Something you longed to be, and with him, you may have a chance. You cry softly into his shoulder as his bicep encases you and he brushes hair off your wet lashes.

“I’m sorry,” you weep. His eyelids drop in defeat, and you feel his muscled chest cave. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it before—“

You kissed whatever was closest to you softly. “—I love you.” His Adam’s apple received the gesture, and ended in him suddenly finding your lips. This time, you let him because the way his face lit up needed to be framed.

Breathless and wet, your tears merge with his unintentionally. Now, his tears were of joy, finally ridding of the confusion that has held him hostage for months. Yours were joy as well since you noticed you didn’t regret a thing about your decision. You loved him. You’d say it a million times again.

“Thank god, you finally let me love ya. I woulda done it without your permission either way.” He laughs. It was that smile you missed. The real one. You’d talk again later, but bathing comes first. Bathing after the long-forgotten sesh with your boyfriend.

©hxltic

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