Oikawa and Iwaizumi deserved to win. You are here with your best friends, treating their broken hearts and bruises they got on their last match. Oikawa is burying his face in your neck, sobbing his heart out. Iwaizumi is between your legs as you put on the medical cream on his bruised back. He is clenching his jaw too hard and you are worried it may break anytime. They always overdue it, pushing themselves to the point they almost get unconscious, but always showing their best to everyone, because they are best and deserve much more than losing like this. You comfort them the best you can that night, It's good that they are staying over in your house. They need comfort and rest. after all they are not robots. You three snuggle with each other too tired to do anything else.
(Every night was filled with promises and dreams that you three talked about every time. three smiles shone the whole room. But this horrible day broke it.)
Oikawa quickly falls asleep as Iwaizumi is still awake. After a few quiet minutes, he breaks down in your arms as you kiss his forehead and murmur sweet words. He slowly gives himself to slumber after listening your soft voice. You are as broken-hearted as them, because you know, they deserved to went to nationals even just once.
author’s note. i contemplated publishing this, it’s been sitting in my drafts for a month :/
navigation. main menu, hq menu.
— SAKUSA KIYOOMI.
sakusa was a very private person. so, dating him came with the fact that he had boundaries. and his career wasn’t easy on you either, because he preferred to keep your relationship private.
you weren’t the type of person to argue with that. in fact, even you preferred it this way. it would be way easier if the two of you were hidden away from the crazy fans and the invasive media. so you went along with it. you’ve known kiyoomi since college; you’ve adjusted to his mannerisms, his quirks, his ups and downs—everything, really. he couldn’t be more grateful to you.
but everything came crippling down when you thought that it had been too long since the two of you started going out. that maybe, just maybe, you and kiyoomi could still lead a private life if he just announced to his fans that he has a significant other—just mentioning it, or posting a story on his instagram or any other social media. the first time you had brought it up, he’d dismissed it lightly. you’d tried again and again, but he just wouldn’t budge.
just like today. but something was off about today as well. you hadn’t exactly had a good day at work, and neither had he. but you approached the argument either way, even though you probably shouldn’t have.
“we’re happy, aren’t we?” he asks in a taunting way, “why do we need to tell the whole world we’re together if we’re content.”
“omi,” you take in a sharp breath, “we have been together for eight months. eight. that’s more than half a year.”
“yeah, so?” he raises an eyebrow, shrugging. you hate the way he’s so dismissive whenever the two of you come to a disagreement. while you’re usually level-headed, you tended to have a complete change in personality when you were arguing with someone. just like today.
“do you- oh my god, kiyoomi!” you huff, “i’ve been nothing but patient for the past seven months, but this is a limit that you’re crossing. i thought that after so much time you would be comfortable but no-”
“this is getting annoying,” he sighs, “why are you acting out like this? everything was fine until last month.”
“because,” you grit your teeth, “i don’t wanna be some secret fling anymore. if you can’t take responsibility then i don’t want to be a part of whatever this is.”
“you do realize you’re behaving just like nami, right? that nagging pain in my ass who kept telling me to make our relationship official even though we dated for only two months.
“w-what?”
“what else do you think?” he taunts. you can tell he’s lost his cool but the things he’s saying pricks at your heart. it hurts. it hurts so much that you don’t know how tears start flowing down from your eyes. sakusa isn’t looking at you, he’s pouring himself a glass of water in the open kitchen while you look at his back in disbelief from the living room. you wipe at your cheeks and when your boyfriend finally turns around is when he realizes how badly he’s screwed up.
“[y/n]-”
“save it, you jerk,” you spat, “go find another pain in the ass to sleep next to tonight, i’m going over to atsumu’s.”
sakusa’s eyes widen in fear, he keeps the half-empty glass on the counter haphazardly, following after you like a lost puppy until you slam the door on his face. he flinches, breathing unevenly and irrational thoughts racing in his brain.
“i’m sorry,” he says, leaning his forehead against the white door, “that was a jerk move.”
he hears shuffling on the inside—it felt like you were sliding your back down on the door. he heard a few sniffs, and guilt ate away at him. he didn’t mean to hurt you at all, but the words came out on their own. maybe it had been the swarm of fans outside the gym today because of hinata’s birthday that ticked him off. or the fact that one of his tires punctured on the way back home from work. he doesn’t know why all of this happened, but he wants to go back to how the two of you would be in the bathroom applying lotions and creams to your faces before going to bed. you would make jokes saying that kiyoomi looks like a ghost and he would say that you don’t look too different either. sometimes he’d poke your waist before leaving the bathroom just to see how you’d react. sometimes he’d kiss the top of your head and immediately make a yucky expression because some of the lotion got onto his lips and made his whole mouth taste like bitter, soapy flowers.
he doesn’t get a reply from you. but he still stands there, waiting for you to open the door or give him an earful.
and after around fifteen minutes, you do come back out. but with a bag filled with some essentials, and a mask covering your face. sakusa’s eyes perk up, “where are you going?”
“move,” you seethe, “i’m going to atsumu’s for the night.”
“i can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking his head and trying to cup your cheeks. you take a step back from him, and his heart breaks. he tries to look into your eyes but you’re looking everywhere but at his own.
“well excuse me if i don’t wanna be a pain in someone’s ass,” you mock, “now, move.”
“i didn’t mean it,” he cries. his eyes are red, and he looks miserable. you roll your eyes, even though you want to believe him, “omi, i’ve known you for five years. you say shit you mean when you’re angry.”
“i wasn’t angry,” he reasons, “i’ve had a bad day, and i know that doesn’t excuse anything but you’re not like her. i’m so sorry. you didn’t deserve it. i don’t deserve you.”
“look, kiyoomi,” you sigh, “figure it out, okay? i don’t wanna be treated like crap. i’m leaving for now, but i’ll come back later.”
“[y/n]-”
“no, omi,” you say, walking away from him, “i said, figure it out. i’ll be back tomorrow night. until then, sort your thoughts out. okay?”
you turn, walking towards the door and opening it. you glanced back one last time to say goodbye when you catch a glimpse of his face.
“please don’t leave me,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. your eyes soften, “i’m not leaving you, dummy. i’m just goin’ over to atsumu’s to cool off for the night. i’ll be back tomorrow. till then, just. reflect, or something.”
“o-oh. um, okay. uh, can i ask you a question before you leave?”
you nod, humming as you grip your bag tightly. his voice is quiet, “are we gonna be okay?”
“i don’t know, omi. i don’t know. but we can try.”
Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)
*GIFs not mine*
A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!
Word count: 1968
Tooru Oikawa:
“I’m totally and completely over you.”
That’s how the message starts.
Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance.
And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes.
All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet.
You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting.
But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle.
“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.”
You suck in a breath.
“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”
His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.
“I want you back.”
He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead.
“I need you back.”
More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing.
You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek.
Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was.
“I didn’t know…”
A shaky breath. You hold yours in return.
“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”
He swallows thickly.
“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.
“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”
He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache.
Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time.
“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”
“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow.
Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.
He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?
“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull.
Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears.
But it’s him and he was yours and you were his.
Were.
You were his.
You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb.
Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it.
“I need to see you.”
He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face.
“I need to go see you, I—I have to.”
He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.
You should probably think he’s wrong.
You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do.
Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.
“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”
Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys.
Then the sound of a door slamming.
His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.
A car engine revving.
“I need to see you.”
And the voicemail ends.
_________________________
Satori Tendou:
The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief.
“Is that what we’re doing now?”
He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond.
“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”
A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it.
“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”
He sighs.
“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker.
“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”
Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg.
And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something.
When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months.
You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day.
Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went.
He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done.
“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke.
You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon.
No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking.
“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”
He breathes a ghost of a laugh.
“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”
You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time.
“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue.
“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”
You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself.
“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled.
“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”
Tendou soughs.
“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”
✧ tough guy iwaizumi hajime who ends up falling for his best friend’s cute little sister
✧ genre/tw fluff ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ (nsfw at the end ⚠︎)
✧ word count 857
all three of you grow up together, with you being two years younger than tooru. oikawa is always doting on you, treating you like a doll. despite the very little age gap, no matter how old you get, he’s always referring to you as his baby sister. oikawa spoils you rotten. one look from those big brown eyes you both share, but look a lot cuter on you for some reason, and oikawa can’t help but to give you whatever you ask for.
in the beginning, iwaizumi is almost like your other, more responsible big brother when things go wrong. you’re always trying to tag along with your older brother and his friend, which is a recipe for disaster sometimes.
when you inevitably take a spill, and bump your knees, tooru is rolling on the ground, shouting out against the heavens for forsaking you. how could the higher powers let you just fall to the ground like that?? but iwaizumi is is silently wiping off the pebbles from your knee with his little hands, blowing cool air to help assuage your pain. without a word, he carries you back home.
eventually you learn to stop tagging along so much. you can only handle so much pain and embarrassment. other than those moments, iwaizumi and you never really spend that much time together. for the rest of your childhood, you’re more acquaintances than anything else.
but at some point, after oikawa desperately begs you to join the boys volleyball team as it’s manager (“its the only time we’ll be together in high school, you wouldn’t ruthlessly deny your precious and loving and dashing and charming big brother this chance, would you???”), iwaizumi begins to notice you again. but this time, you’re a lot more grown up than you were before. seems like good looks run in the family.
but he’s not the only one that notices. in the same sense that oikawa seems to have the student body under his spell, it seems you do as well, and without even trying.
you’ve had a sheltered childhood that you mostly spent in doors, so you’re shyer than most people. and your brother enables you with his doting behaviour.
iwaizumi finds himself frequently getting jealous at the basket of love letters and confectionery that you have to empty out of your locker and lug home every night. iwaizumi finds that his hands begin to ache after a while bc he clenches them so hard whenever he sees another person confessing to you. and he waits with baited breath to see their disappointed faces as they walk away—an indication that you turned them down again in the way that you always shyly do; an indication that he might still have a chance, yet.
in an effort to put the moves on you, iwaizumi is constantly performing little acts of service for you. he goes out with you to the fountains to refill the water bottles so that you have some company, and so that you won’t have to carry anything heavy—that should be his job, after all. in the most cliche move ever, when an errant ball goes flying right in your direction, iwaizumi coolly catches it with one hand before it can bounce off of your head, making sure to ask you if you’re okay after. he stays behind to help you sweep the floors after practice, striking up a conversation with you. when oikawa stays behind to practice his spikes, iwaizumi walks alone with you home, making sure to keep you away from the side of the sidewalk that’s closest to the road. iwa also makes sure to put your back against the wall of the train while standing in front of you, keeping you safe from any wandering hands.
eventually, he even starts buying your favourite milk drink from the vending machine, and brings it to you while he visits your classroom, the place where you normally eat your lunch. he sits, and eats with you (to which oikawa complains vehemently bc “why would you just sit in a different spot than we normally do without telling me?? you left me all alone!!")
iwaizumi’s actions don’t go unnoticed. you start to fall for it.
when you two eventually start to date, oikawa is whining and complaining that you two are both stealing each other away from him (there’s also relentless teasing on oikawa’s end bc “iwa-chan, isn’t funny that you fell in love with someone that looks just like me?? are you secretly gay and actually just in love with me :3 ??”)
but what’s really the kick in the back for oikawa is the moment he runs up to his precious little sister’s room to check and see what she wants for dinner. but upon opening the door, he finds both his best friend (who, of which, he didn’t even know was over their place at the moment) on top of his “adorable baby sister who can do absolutely no wrong”; the two of them are naked from the waist down, in the throes of passion.
he falls to his knees, asking god to strike him dead, right then and there.
synopsis: the relationship you and your four best friends shared had always been looked upon with scrutiny. after a reunion and a little bit of liquid courage, you realise the suspicion wasn’t all that unfounded.
tags: AFAB FEM reader x seijoh 4 (Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro), best friends to lovers, M/M and F/M action (we all fucking each other, it do be gay folks), oral sex (m!receiving & f!receiving), fingering (vaginal), 69 position, dry humping, group sex (fivesome), vaginal penetration, masturbation, handjobs, alcohol (they’re only slightly tipsy), protected sex, after care, fluff and smut, polygamous vibes (nothing about this screams casual lol), affectionate petnames (baby, pretty girl, good girl, angel)
wc: 5k
It's been a long time since the five of you have been together in one place. Naturally you'd seen all four of them on separate occasions, sometimes meeting up with Issei and Takahiro for a meal, or visiting Hajime and Tooru when they were home for the new year. But this weekend you were all finally in the same country, same prefecture, same bar, for the first time in years, and you could feel something inside you become whole again.
Truthfully you hadn’t realised just how much you’d missed it; the light hearted banter and the laughter, how loving and playful and handsy you all were with each other. The friendship you shared with these boys was something you'd be hard pressed to find anywhere else. It was special, and you savoured every moment you had with them.
The night itself had been fun, a large majority of it spent catching each other up on things you’d already said through text, talking so much you’d barely even touched your drinks. You hardly wanted it to end, your heart aching at the thought of having to part with them again.
“Fucker gets prettier every time I see him,” Hajime mutters offhandedly, drink held loosely in his hand, staring off in the direction that Oikawa had walked to order another drink, having finally finished his first. You grin, feeling a little predacious.
“And your biceps get bigger every time I see you,” you reply, arms crossed over the table surface and leaning closer so he can hear you over the distant music, “you don’t see me complaining”.
His eyes meet yours heavily, the pull of a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he flexes the arm holding up his glass. A little tipsy and unashamedly he asks, “want to feel ‘em?”
“You’re an idiot,” you snort. He laughs along with you, the years and distance haven’t changed your friendship at all. It’s every bit as easy as it used to be.
“That a no?”
“You know it isn’t,” you grumble, scooting around the booth and sidling up against him, resting your cheek against his thick shoulder and wrapping your hand around his bicep. At least attempting to, the muscle too dense and built for you to encircle with one hand.
“Hey, I want to feel Hajime up too!”
You hear a distinct and recognisable whine of complaint. Oikawa appears back at the head of the table with a new cocktail in his hand, bottom lip shining and jutted into a pout that you’ve seen many times before it no longer works on you.
Maybe if Iwaizumi was still a teenage boy he would’ve spluttered in embarrassment and told Tooru to get lost, but now he wordlessly offers his other arm to his best friend and the brunette lights up.
“Man, you three got friendly while we were gone, huh?” Hanamaki grins, throwing himself back against the cushions of the booth, Issei joining him with four new drinks between his large hands. You let your stare linger on them for a moment, maybe a little too aroused by the rings adorning his fingers. A drink slides in front of you and you catch Issei’s knowing gaze. Caught.
“Are we finally acknowledging how obscene Iwaizumi’s arms are?” Makki drawls, reaching for his own drink, shaking his wrist out as he does to reposition the watch locked around his forearm.
“Actually we were talking about how pretty Tooru is,” you say with faux nonchalance, dutifully ignoring Hajime’s quick glare. Issei notices and bites back a laugh of his own. Oikawa’s face pinkens and he tilts his head toward the two of you coyly, “you think I’m pretty?”
“We already know you’re pretty, we’ve been subjected to it our whole lives,” Makki groans in protest. “Everyone wanted to fuck you, let someone else have a turn!”
Oikawa latches onto the admission tightly, teeth bared as he grins. “Everyone?” He lilts, eyes narrowing and his expression smug like he thinks he’s won the argument but Takahiro huffs, completely unperturbed and confesses loud and clear:
“Yes, everyone”. The us included goes unsaid.
You watch on as Tooru’s expression morphs into surprise, suddenly becoming very interested in his hands and unable to make eye contact. Issei finally lets himself chuckle unrestrained.
“The great Oikawa Tooru rendered speechless by jobless Hanamaki Takahiro—”
You press your face further into Hajime’s bicep to hide your amusement, feeling him shake with laughter as Makki interrupts Matsukawa with the swipe of his hand in offense.
“Well, it wasn’t just me,” Oikawa cuts in and clears his throat, spinning his cocktail glass in the puddle of condensation that had formed beneath it. He glances at you, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip and leaving a shine behind it.
“It was you, too,” he clarifies. Under their rapt attention the booth feels much smaller, and the heat simmering under your skin can no longer be entirely blamed on the alcohol, especially not as they all murmur in unanimously in agreement.
“I remember the first and second years following you around like a puppy,” Makki muses to the group, an endeared smile on his face as he recalls the memory, “even Kentaro. Remember when he got hit in the face by a serve because he was staring at you?”
“The only puppies I remember following me are you four,” you deflect hastily, swallowing the saliva pooling beneath your tongue, “you shitheads never left me alone”.
“That's cause if we did someone would come snatch you away from us,” Tooru chimes playfully, stretching his hand out to poke the swell of your cheek. You hope he can't feel how hot it is.
“So you all just wanted me to yourselves, is that it?” you reply in jest, but something far hungrier settles behind Oikawa’s eyes, as if you were cornered prey.
“Why do you think we scared away all your little boyfriends?” Hajime adds, though he has the decency to appear somewhat embarrassed about it, gaze flickering between the glasses settled infront of him.
“None of ‘em were good enough for you”.
“Oh, but you all were?” they collectively seem to restrain a smirk at the incredulity in your voice, pitched and flustered by the onslaught of attention.
“Of course,” Takahiro sighs theatrically, leaning his upper body across the table surface towards you, “I would treat you right”.
Oikawa rolls his eyes, cocking his head in a mocking manner. “And who’s paying for her dinner? Your mother’s pocket money?”
“Fuck you, Oikawa!”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
The tension does not settle, but it no longer feels suffocating, eased by their familiar banter. Again, for what may be the hundredth time that evening, your stomach is tight with laughter. The knowledge that they all want you gradually settles into your thoughts, clicking into place as you accept it.
“Maybe you’re not entirely wrong,” you confess aloud after another short sip of your sake, warm and fond, "no one makes me happier than you four idiots. I’m surprised it wasn’t obvious”.
“People spread all sorts of rumours about the five of us back in high school”.
“Like what?” Hajime asks lowly, but as you turn to answer him Matsukawa's voice cuts into the conversation.
“They all thought we were fucking each other”.
The silence that then descends upon the booth isn’t awkward or uncomfortable, rather it’s heavy, magnetic. Anticipatory. It only worsens as it stretches, nobody bothering to speak up in denial.
While the rumour may have had no truth to it, you couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t thought about it.
"Well, I wouldn't be opposed..." Hanamaki eventually mutters with his gaze pointedly averted to the ceiling. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, silently agreeing with the sentiment, an outlandish suggestion waiting on the tip of your tongue.
Between the five of you, it was clear you were thinking the same thing.
“Are we genuinely all considering this?” Issei asks dubiously.
“Isn’t it kind of unbalanced?” Hajime grimaces, his gaze falling to where you're seated beside him, “and it’s an uneven number—”
“Hajime, are you seriously thinking about the logistics of our possible fivesome right now?” Oikawa grins, pink cheeked and tipsy, “you’re so cute”.
“Speaking of logistics,” Makki interrupts with arms stretched up over his head with a satisfying click, the hem of his shirt lifting to reveal his soft stomach, “who the hell has a bed big enough for all of us?”
You still. That’s where you would come in. It wasn't often that you spoiled yourself, but your bed was your favourite place, emperor sized and taking up most of the room — weighted and heated blankets galore. It could probably fit four men over six foot tall.
Probably.
“My place might work?”
That's how you find yourself sitting anxiously in the middle of your bed, the familiar covers thick and comfortable beneath your knees. The mattress dips, then you feel the heat of another body close behind you, following you toward the headboard.
Getting here had been a quick affair, money thrown onto the table and an uber already waiting. But now you're restless and waiting, the boys busy arguing under their breath about who should go where. Impatient, you pull your shirt over your head and cast it aside, taking note of the suspicious silence that befell the room, and reach to unhook the clasp of your bra. Practiced and easy, the straps slip into the crook of your arms and the cups fall forward, revealing your breasts.
“Fuck,” a chorus of rough voices, all of them thick with want and all of it for you. The sheets shift, and then a large tan hand is pressing you down into the pillows.
“What’re you doing?”
“What I want,” Issei hums, kneeling between your legs to lean toward your exposed chest, eyes looking to you for permission. You nod sharply, and the corner of his lips quirk up at your eagerness.
“Just go with it, and don’t think so much,” he mutters offhandedly over his shoulder to the others before taking your nipple into his mouth. You inhale sharply, spine bowing to press into the touch.
“Shit, okay,” Hajime grunts, approaching the bed. With more tenderness that necessary, he turns your face with both hands cradling your cheeks and kisses you. Hesitant at first, his lips are gentle and reassuring, growing fervent as you respond with enthusiasm. He licks into your mouth, tongue languidly circling your own, a hand slipping down the side of your throat so his thumb can brush over your pulse. It’s unbearably fast.
Another warm body falls to the right of yours, ears pricking to the recognisable sound of tongues and teeth meeting. A familiar ache of arousal pulses between your legs at the sound of Tooru’s distinct whimper, plucked skilfully from the back of his throat. You feel pulled in every direction, overwhelmed, struggling to focus your attention on Hajime as Issei's hand begins to massage firm circles into your inner thigh. Your breath hitches as it slides closer to your pussy.
Hajime notices and pulls away from you momentarily, a string of spit hanging between the two of you, peering over to where you suspect Oikawa is laid. You swallow thickly as his eyes glaze over, struck by the sight, and you find yourself wanting to look too.
You empathise with his reaction, throbbing as you take in the image of Oikawa pinned under Hanamaki, engaged in a wet kiss as their hips roll in synchrony. It's an awful push and pull, aroused yet find yourself frustrated, wanting to touch them, touch all of them, and not being able to.
Takahiro catches your stare in his peripheral through half lidded eyes and smirks knowingly, stretching himself across Tooru to get to you. Unexpectedly, his arm passes over you, hand cupping the back of Hajime’s neck and pulling him down until the three of your mouths meet in the middle. It’s hot, clumsy and wet, your jaw falling slack as Issei strokes his fingers across your pussy. Hiro exhales a laugh at your whine.
"Keep touchin' her like that".
Warm hands roam the length of your body, barely cognisant of who they might belong to, startled by a hot breath against your clothed pussy. You turn away from the kiss to collect yourself and find you’re nose to nose with Tooru, flushed a beautiful red and watching you unblinkingly, like he’s scared he might miss something. You tilt your chin forward to kiss him, too, because it hardly seems fair that you haven’t yet. Gently sucking his lower lip between your teeth, you taste a faint hint of strawberry from his flavoured chapstick and feel yourself smile. It’s sweet, like him, and his lips are devastatingly soft. Pillowy, plump in a way that makes you want to take a bite out of them.
There's the hard press of a cock against your hip, accompanied by a choked moan that you’re sure belongs to Hajime. There's the rough murmur of Takahiro's name, followed by a quiet breath of laughter from between your legs. Issei begins to pull down your underwear from beneath your skirt, nuzzling his mouth into the plush of your thigh and leaving behind a path of kisses to the inside of your knee.
“Fuck, look at you,” he rasps, throwing your pants to the other side of the bed, reverent as he parts your legs. His exclamation draws the attention of Hanamaki, who immediately leans back to catch a glimpse of your pussy.
“She’s so wet already,” he murmurs, and Issei hums in agreement, thumbs sliding back down your thighs to gently pull your lips apart. Takahiro reaches down, his long nimble fingers stroking through your folds, collecting your slick and pausing over your clit to massage tight circles against you.
“You’re all still too dressed right now,” you whine in complaint, keenly aware of your vulnerability being the only one in the room without clothes on. They’re all hasty to appease you, movements endearingly clumsy as they tug the material of their shirts and pants off, kicking them off the side of your bed and barely giving you time to consider the mess they’re making.
Oikawa remains at your side, pawing at you, nails leaving small crescent moon indents along your hips and waist, kneading his fingers into the meat of your ass like he's mapping out your body for himself. For those few moments you guiltily forget that the others are with you, and you’re drawn into a bubble in which only you and Tooru exist, his fingers careful as they outline your cunt and slowly press into you.
Brows drawn and jaw slack, body curling into the touch, open mouths pressed together and panting. Blindly you search his body, fist circling his cock in return, thumb swiping through the pre-cum leaking from his slit. With bangs stuck to his forehead and cheeks doused in pink, Oikawa swipes his tongue lazily along the middle of yours, spit falling from the corner of his mouth. Around you the mattress rests uneven, dipped beneath the wait of the three men looming over you, fucking their hands as Tooru fucks you on his fingers. It's voyeuristic, salacious, and dirtier than anything you've ever done.
“God,” Hajime growls, rough hand curling under your knee and folding it against your chest to broaden their view. Heat shoots through you, an imposing and familiar tightening in your lower stomach, your grip on his cock tightening instinctively while Oikawa moans wanton into the crook of your neck.
Right there. His touch curls upwards towards your belly, and you fight weakly against Hajime’s hold to press your thighs together, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you near your peak.
“Gonna cum,” you whimper, back arching and rolling weakly into the thrusts of his fingers. There is a moment of suspension before you feel yourself tipping over the edge, hips canting up and the muscles of your legs seizing, an embarrassing cry catching in your throat.
“That’s it pretty girl,” Hajime’s voice murmurs from above you. A gentle movement across your cheeks to brush your hair from your face, your leg released from his hold as you’re being turned onto your side, Tooru's fingers sliding carefully out of your pussy.
Hajime shapes his body around yours from behind, caging you against his chest, his cock sliding easily through your wet folds. “Is this ok? Can I fuck you?” he asks, trembling like a man restrained, waiting diligently for your consent. With that you reach over your shoulder to thread through his hair, cupping the back of his neck in reassurance.
You nod.
“We should use condoms,” he stammers at the last second, desperately trying to remain responsible, biting his cheek when his cock catches on your entrance. You’d almost forgotten about using them yourself. Issei is the closest so you point toward your bedside table, the box sitting in the pull out drawer.
Once he has rolled the condom on, Hajime reaches down to guide his cock between your legs. You stretch readily around him as he sheaths himself inside of you, grunts muffled against your shoulder and hips slow, soft pecks left at the nape of your neck.
Tooru scoots closer to your front in a bid for your attention, sandwiching you between their firm bodies and slotting your lips together in a desperate kiss. His is hand now fisted around his own cock, stroking himself languidly and twisting his wrist as you still recover from your first orgasm. Still wanting to make him feel good, your fingers cascade down his lean chest to his nipples, and his hips jerk upwards when you pinch them.
“Hiro? ‘Sei?” You mumble against Tooru's mouth, worried about their absence, wanting to make sure everyone was okay and still with you. Wanting them to feel wanted.
“We’re here baby,” Issei reassures you warmly from somewhere in the room, then moving around the mattress to seat himself behind Tooru's head by the bedframe. While Hajime fucks into you with long, purposeful strokes, Hanamaki busies himself by lapping messily at your clit, completely unperturbed by the passing of Iwaizumi’s cock, his other hand resting idly on Oikawa’s calf.
Issei spreads his thighs and positions himself over you and Tooru, knees sinking into the pillows by the headboard. His cock hangs heavy and twitching with impatience, so you tilt your chin up from the kiss to welcome him into your mouth.
“That’s it baby,” he groans, the tip hitting the back of your throat. You clench unceremoniously at the praise and Hajme hisses, his thrusts quickening and chasing the sensation. Overwhelmed, your other hand flies to tightly grip Takahiro's hair in a pathetic attempt to ground yourself and he groans, fingers digging into the smooth skin of Tooru’s leg as he eventually comes up for air. He's a mess, chin and cheeks slick with spit.
A thumb soon replaces his tongue on your clit and Hiro turns his attention to groping at Oikawa’s defined glutes, fingers inconspicuously disappearing behind the curve of his ass, cock red and throbbing against the pale freckled skin of his thigh. You stare with hunger, debauched and lost in your attempt to suck Issei’s cock, as Makki leans his head up toward Issei to silently ask for a kiss.
The room fills with hot pants, the sharp slap of skin and a cacophony of groans. You’re completely encaged from all sides, the large built bodies of your friends weighted and unrelenting. There’s an air of desperation between the five of you that’s hard to ignore, clearly influencing each other’s actions, frantic and wanting. Oikawa’s breathing hitches, a feeble whimper tumbling from his lips, brows creased and his fist speeding up around his cock. He’s close, you realise.
Your childhood best friend is about to cum all over you while the other is fucking you from behind.
“Figures he’d be pretty even when he cums,” Hajime rasps, bucking into you at the sound, forcing your mouth further down Issei’s cock. You gag helplessly around him and Tooru laughs, the sound cut off by a sharp intake of breath, his entire body seizing as he cums against the soft skin of your stomach.
Issei pays you a small mercy then, shifting his hips away, thick cock leaving your mouth drenched in spit. In that same moment, Tooru recovers and takes a hold of Hajime’s chin, pulling him over your shoulder into a lewd open mouthed kiss. It tips Hajime over the edge, has him driving his cock into your pussy without thought, the crude slapping of skin reverberating in your ears as Hiro tries to synchronize the speed of his thumb over your clit with each thrusts.
When Hajime cums his entire body quakes, cursing tumbling into Oikawa’s mouth as his feet kick out across the covers.
Your orgasm washes over you much more abruptly than the first. You feel yourself bearing down around Hajime’s softening cock, vision flashing black as your eyes squeeze shut. “Haji-” you gasp, his name caught in your throat, sore and wrecked. A hand threads through your hair as you ride it out, another pair of lips to your ear whispering sweet nothings, an arm around your waist caressing the small of your back. You’d never felt more held than in this moment.
“How many times do you think you can cum?” Oikawa wonders aloud, nosing affectionately against your temple, “it’d be fun to find out”.
“Are you trying to kill me?” you groan feebly, wincing at the sensation of Hajime pulling out of you, littering kisses of apology along the curve of your shoulder before moving to get off the bed and dispose of the condom.
Takahiro is quick to claim the vacant spot, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “I wanna know too,” he grins mirthfully. Issei remains seated at the headboard, languidly stroking his cock with eyes settled on you.
“Think you can take one more?” Hiro asks, his question genuine, an air of concern about it. They’re worried about pushing your limits. It’s sweet, but it’s not necessary.
“How do you want me?” is your soft response, determined to see this through, to satiate their curiosity. Issei finally moves at that, lifting himself off the pillows and making his way to the foot of the bed.
“Hiro, c’mere,” Issei says with a slight air of authority, and you notice that he’s holding another condom packet between his fingers. Takahiro glares petulantly but complies, shuffling to the end of the bed as he’s told to. Issei then directs him to lie on his back with his head pointed toward the end of the mattress rather than the headboard.
“Now you,” he signals with the nod of his head, a gentle smile resting on his lips that's betrayed by the predacious glimmer in his eyes. Tooru helps you up and you crawl over to them on all fours, ignoring Hanamaki’s playful whistle.
“Sit on his face with your back to me and suck his cock, can y’do that for me?”
You huff at the instructions, covering for the fact that his condescending tone shoots right through your body, pussy already aching. Hiro has no complaints, eagerly lifting his upper half off the sheets to meet you with his tongue before you’ve even taken a seat, and you whine at the sensitivity.
Leaning forward onto your forearms you take Takahiro's cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, tense as it passes teasingly over his frenulum. You’re rewarded with a rough groan against your pussy, the sound vibrating sweetly against your clit.
“That’s it angel,” Tooru praises, laid on his front watching you take Takahiro down your throat, gagging around him as you feel the tip of Issei's cock slide through your folds. As he presses into you he takes two handfuls of your ass, rocking you back down onto his length, the weight of your body pressing Hanamaki into the sheets.
Any concerns of suffocating him are quickly placated, Hanamaki's hips jolting upwards in pleasure as he drags the flat of his tongue over your clit, tilting his head back further to lap at the underside of Issei's cock.
He's a little bigger than Hajime. The stretch is apparent, a gentle sting but not uncomfortable. It’s as if your entire body is alight, reactive to the smallest touch, accompanied by the weightless swoop in your stomach. Each pass of Hiro’s tongue draws you closer to the edge, body winding tighter around the drag of Issei’s cock, his fingers bruising against your hips.
“Not gonna last long,” Issei pants, the words strained. Hanamaki murmurs in agreement, and you feel him throbbing heavily on the flat of your tongue. You’re holding yourself up with shear determination alone, arms trembling and threatening to give way, when a hand enters your field of vision.
“I’ll help you out, ‘kay?” Tooru smirks, clasping around the lower half of Hiro’s length. With a particularly powerful thrust from Issei, you let yourself collapse against Hiro’s thigh, watching as he fucks Oikawa's fist. You hear his uncharacteristic growl, cock pulsing as he begins to cum, spilling over onto his navel.
With Issei still holding your hips up the change in position has his cock repeatedly kissing your sweet spot. Hiro is quick to collect himself, tensing his tongue and flicking it rapidly over your clit, the pace continuing even through his own orgasm.
You're left squirming with your thighs clamped either side of his head. “Fuck, I’m already—” the warning is interrupted by your own drawn out moan, back arching up obscenely and an unforgiving grip on the sheets. Your third orgasm ripples through you, intense and unending, the pleasure ebbing through you in its aftershocks. A string of disjointed curses fall from Matsukawa's mouth with a final jerk of his hips, pulling you firmly against his pelvis, keeping his cock nestled inside you as he cums. He continues to undulate his hips even as he softens, and you cry weakly at how raw you feel.
You feel yourself clench around the emptiness as he eventually slides himself out of your pussy, begging him to stay. Gathering the little strength you have left, you roll yourself off of Takahiro's stomach, snorting at his dramatic inhale of breath. If you still had feeling in your arms you'd swat at him.
Issei bows to press a kiss to your cheek, leaving a hushed murmur of 'good girl' before going to dispose of the condom, Hanamaki following him into the bathroom soon after. Hajime appears at the edge of the bed in his boxers with a pint glass of water and a damp rag in his grasp. He hands the cloth to Tooru and he uses it to wipe down your stomach, apologising quietly for the mess he made, completely lacking in sincerity judging by the pleased grin on his face. Indulging yourself, you allow Hajime to tilt your chin up and help you with taking a drink, the cool liquid like balm against the rawness of your throat. He clicks his tongue.
“We got too carried away,” he murmurs, the guilt clear in his tone.
“I’m fine, Haji,” you reply. The rasp to your voice doesn’t help to convince him, but the tension in his shoulders bleeds out at the knowledge that you weren't upset.
“Post-coital cuddles are in order!” Takahiro calls out as he returns from the bathroom, still naked as the day he was born, cock soft and swaying between his thighs. Tooru glares in his direction, completely affronted.
“I never want to hear you say that again,” he grimaces. Hajime snorts in amusement, kneeling back on the bed and wrapping a strong arm around your stomach, lifting you against his chest much like he had before and sinking into the pillows resting by the headboard. You turn to tuck your face into his collar,
“Make room for us,” Hiro complains, pressing himself up against your side and latching around your middle. Issei joins without comment while Hajime extends an arm to Tooru in invitation, which he accepts with enthusiasm.
They all make sure to have a hand on some part of you, Issei rubbing your back and Hajime affectionally playing with your hair. Sleep is calling to you, but there’s the lingering of anxiety of everything left unsaid, of all the lines you'd crossed.
As if he can sense your anxiety, Oikawa squashes his cheek comically against Hajime's bicep, looking every bit exhausted as you feel. "We should do that all the time," he mumbles.
You grin, happiness and satisfaction seeping into your bones, surrounded by the men you care for the most. “Yeah,” you slur, eyes falling shut, “we should…”
warnings: 18+ MDNI, poly, implied masturbation, implied sex(? I think), idk how to tag so lmk if there's anything else
contains: fem reader, seijoh 4 x reader (but mostly Matsukawa x reader and Hanamaki x reader)
wc: 1.2 k
a/n: I feel like there's not enough seijoh 4 fics out there so I decided to write one myself lol. This is my first fic so if anyone likes this I'll finish this and try to post more. Just ask and I'll lyk if I can do it!
Living in an apartment with four other boys never left your days feeling dull. Although you were all in your 20’s and supposedly more mature than your younger selves, they were still boys.
They would each find ways to somehow piss you off, whether consciously or not. Dirty laundry in the living room, a bag of chips left open on the counter, or the loud moans of a random girl spilling through the crack in their bedroom door. These things wouldn’t typically leave you feeling so annoyed, but hearing a repeating “Yes Oikawa!” at 3 AM– the night before your abnormal psychology midterm may I add– was seriously starting to test your patience.
Before you knew it, you found your feet gliding stomping down the hallway towards the brunette’s room, unknowingly drawing the other three to peek out from their own doors.
“I SWEAR TO GOD TOORU. IF SHE DOESN’T SHUT UP YOU WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN.” You emphasized your threat by loudly pounding your fist on his door, then swiftly retreating back to your room, slamming your door for good measure. You put your earbuds back in and tried to focus on the music that filled your ears.
Thankfully, you eventually drifted to sleep, but the groggy feeling you had the next morning did not dissipate, even with the large coffee you had made. After fumbling with your keys for what seemed like forever, you were met with the faces of your roommates, all waiting to greet you. They each gave you a warm smile, which normally would brighten your mood a bit, but the sight of Tooru’s face made a frown appear on your face. Without a word, you disappeared into your room and threw yourself onto the bed, hoping to catch up on some sleep.
“What did I do?” Hajime immediately slapped the back of Tooru’s head in response. “You idiot! She had an exam today and you haven’t even apologized for keeping her up!” Hajime clicked his tongue in annoyance at his best friend. Tooru rubbed the back of his head to soothe the pain. “Well how do I make her forgive me? I didn’t know she had an exam!”
Hajime merely shook his head, “Figure it out.” he said before going to check on you. As he opened your door, he found you– jeans and all – laying face-down on your bed. A groan of acknowledgement came from your figure, causing Hajime to let out a breathy laugh. “You okay?”
“Headache.” Was all you managed to say before beckoning him to lay with you. He obliged, letting you roll over before laying on top of your half-made bed with you. He adjusted you both so your head would be comfortably caged in his arms, while you curled into his warmth.
“It’s alright, just get some sleep. I’ll stay with you, baby.” There it was. That nickname he gave you. It always put a smile on your face, this time no different, as you drifted off with your lips sleepily curled up at the corners.
While, yes, they were annoying at times, one could argue that they had a soft spot for you. They would often lay with you if they knew you wanted the company, just as Hajime was doing. When a boy would break your heart, you would find one of them waiting outside of your lecture hall with a bouquet of daffodils, ready to take you out to eat or to a club. With them, you never needed to watch cringey rom-coms while incessantly crying. They distracted you from the heartache, until it eventually melted away. And those nicknames, god, those nicknames. You were sure that they meant nothing, but the way that they locked eyes with you as they uttered ‘Princess’ or ‘Darling’ made your heart stop in ways that felt more than platonic. Sometimes, when you touched yourself in the dead of the night, you found yourself imagining them saying it, driving you to your climax. But you would never admit that to any of them. Just as they wouldn’t admit that you would sometimes let your moans get loud enough for them to hear, driving them to let their hands wander down beyond the waistbands of their boxers. They quickly chased their high, knowing that without the sweet noises of your pleasure seeping through the thin walls, they would be left unsatiated.
You awoke to the delicious smell of food wafting in from the kitchen. After stretching a bit, you opened your eyes to find Hajime no longer next to you. You followed the smell into the main area of your apartment, finding the boys sitting at the kitchen counter chatting while Tooru stood with a pink apron on.
Your small laugh caused them all to turn their heads to wear you stood, a smile appearing on each of their faces. You walked up to them and put your hands on the counter, surveying the mess left on top of it.
“I made you your favorite! And before you say anything, I was just about to clean up.” That drew another giggle to fall from your lips. You mumbled out a ‘You better.” as Tooru wrapped his arms around your form. “I’m sorry for keeping you up last night, please forgive me?”
“ Fine, just buy a gag for the next time you wanna bring one of them home.” The four laughed while you began to set the table.
After dinner, Tooru told you to put on a movie while the rest of them did the dishes and grabbed something sweet to snack on. You opted to take a quick shower before doing so and changed into a comfortable tank top and shorts. As you plopped down on the couch and simply chose to re-watch The Hunger Games, Hiro and Issei sat down on either side of you. Issei guided you between his legs, allowing your head to lay on his chest, as Hiro moved your legs into his lap. Hiro draped a blanket over your form, as you gave him a small smile of thankfulness. Soon after, Hajime and Tooru sat in the smaller armchairs and started the movie.
You’ve seen this movie a million times, after all it was your favorite. But as you watched Katniss tie herself to a tree in an attempt to get some sleep, you began to grow bored. You shifted from your position, fidgeting in hopes of becoming comfortable again. “Sit still, pretty girl. I wanna know what happens next.” You heard Issei whisper into your ear. You freeze. For some reason, the mixture of the hot breath that you felt on your neck and the raspiness of his voice made your stomach form a knot. But it wasn’t until you felt Hiro’s hand start to slowly travel up the length of your leg that you finally realized what you were feeling. You felt hot, making you squirm even more. Issei’s arm snaked around your middle, holding you in place. “I said sit still. We’ll give you a reward if you’re good.” Suddenly it felt like your senses were heightened. The feeling of Issei’s arm and Hiro’s wandering hands made your breathing come to a halt. Is this a dream?
Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)
*GIFs not mine*
A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!
Word count: 1968
Tooru Oikawa:
“I’m totally and completely over you.”
That’s how the message starts.
Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance.
And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes.
All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet.
You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting.
But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle.
“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.”
You suck in a breath.
“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”
His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.
“I want you back.”
He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead.
“I need you back.”
More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing.
You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek.
Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was.
“I didn’t know…”
A shaky breath. You hold yours in return.
“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”
He swallows thickly.
“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.
“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”
He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache.
Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time.
“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”
“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow.
Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.
He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?
“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull.
Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears.
But it’s him and he was yours and you were his.
Were.
You were his.
You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb.
Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it.
“I need to see you.”
He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face.
“I need to go see you, I—I have to.”
He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.
You should probably think he’s wrong.
You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do.
Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.
“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”
Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys.
Then the sound of a door slamming.
His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.
A car engine revving.
“I need to see you.”
And the voicemail ends.
_________________________
Satori Tendou:
The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief.
“Is that what we’re doing now?”
He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond.
“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”
A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it.
“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”
He sighs.
“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker.
“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”
Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg.
And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something.
When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months.
You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day.
Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went.
He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done.
“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke.
You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon.
No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking.
“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”
He breathes a ghost of a laugh.
“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”
You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time.
“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue.
“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”
You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself.
“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled.
“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”
Tendou soughs.
“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”
a/n : surprise 👁👁 i just had to because when this song was released, this idea was all i could think of 😩 (dw this o&e oikawa au has a happy ending i'm just too lazy to write it HHHH) um yeah pls accept this offer of my return-ish here 🫶
☀︎ MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY — angst (shocking i know 👀), loss of virginity, pregnancy (not super explicit and detailed but still not meant for below eighteen). 519 words. (really just testing if i still got it tbh)
oceans and engines was made for you and oikawa tooru as he was about to leave you and everything behind for argentina.
it was the song that was playing in the background, where it was just the two of you and no one else mattered—pretty big feat for sendai international airport that carries the weight of thousands of footsteps on the daily.
two things were very blurry that day—both yours and oikawa’s eyes that were caused by the tears and the whole ordeal of walking him to the entrance of the departure area, him leaving you with one last salty kiss as he walked away from you and what you had, his back ramrod straight as he dragged his feet through the doors.
you could feel him returning everything to you in that kiss. all the memories, pain, laughter, kisses—his love.
your last night together was as cliché as it can get to any two eighteen year olds who have to end their relationship—not because they want to but because distance and uncertainty required you to.
memories of his lips tracing over every inch of your skin, deft fingers holding you as if you were the one leaving him for a country across the globe, leaving him for a future he wasn’t—isn’t a part of.
it was bittersweet, in all honesty. the sharing of two bodies, all entangled in between the sheets as you held on to his shoulders, pulling him towards you, for him to melt into your body so he wouldn’t leave, leave you and everything that was ever familiar—safe—to him.
but you’re brought back to reality when he thrusts one last time, his groan lost to your lips as his hands squeeze yours so hard that you whimper both from the pain and pleasure, legs squeezing his lithe waist as you orgasm around him.
the tears cascading down your cheeks are hot, as hot as his cum that’s filling you up. but the thrilling sensation of being careless isn’t enough to deter you both from knowing that this is the first and last time that you’ll be doing this—basking in each other’s love and pain and wonder.
not when he reluctantly pulls away, not when he cleans and wipes you down, not when he’s kissing your thighs and belly with a gentleness that’s only meant for you, and certainly not when you see his silhouette disappear amongst the throng of nameless people.
you’re only deterred by what you and oikawa have done when the answer is given to you in two weeks, in the form of two glaring red lines, and the sense of dread as the sky practically falls over your head and entire being as you slowly sit yourself to the floor, the feeling of the cold bathroom tiles being the only thing piercing through the numbness coursing through your body.
when both of you said that you’ll always be a part of each other, you didn’t think that fate would play her sick and twisted game—weaving yours and oikawa’s threads so tight and coiled that the end is the same as the beginning.
feel good - sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader
sakusa tells you he's never had a blowjob before so you decide to make him feel good.
18+ NSFW CONTENT
“Wait, you’re serious?!”
That reaction was expected; Kiyoomi had already practiced, and rehearsed his explanation in his head countless times as to why he’s never made a girl cum before and always refused blowjobs.
“You’ve never made a girl finish?” You watch as he shrugs his shoulders, mumbling something about it not being a big deal, and leans forward to grab another beer, cracking it open easily and downs it, hoping to get drunk enough to not remember this conversation in the morning.
“Kiyoomi! Don’t just drink your problems away!” He dodges your hand reaching for his beer can, swatting you away casually.
“I’m not doing that.” He takes another swig, and you scoff, moving back to your spot on the couch.
“And you’ve never had a blowjob? Why?”
“It’s not that big of a deal. Just don’t see the appeal of it.”
“Appeal of what? Pleasure? You know it feels good, right?”
He gives you a sidelong glance, finishing up the rest of his drink then tossing the can onto the table. You slide up a little closer, your knee brushing against his thigh. “You don’t wanna feel good, Omi?”
Kiyoomi hates the way you say his name, the way you give it a little kick that runs straight to his cock. He hates the way you look up at him as you ask if he wants to feel good.
“Personal space.” His thigh, built from years of training, muscle firm and thick, knudges against your knee with enough force to push you back, giving him back the pleasant space between you both.
It doesn’t help much, though, as the scent of your perfume and shampoo still lingers.
“ Omi, please. I want to make you feel good. I want your first ever blowjob—”
Sakusa sighs, rubbing an agitated hand across his forehead. “Don’t call it that.”
“That’s what it is!” You flap your arms in the air. “What should I call it instead? Sucky fucky? Mouth to dick resuscitation? Dick in—”
One second you were running your mouth, the next your mouth was occupied with his tongue, licking into you with such fervor. Your eyes squeeze shut when you come to the realisation that this is real, this is happening.
His warm, calloused hands hold a tight grip on your face as you shift forward, reclosing the space between you both. You topple on top of him when he roughly grabs your hips, tugging you on top of him.
“W—wait, wait—” You hold your breath for a second when he parts away from you, watching the line of spit trailing from your mouth to his snap.
“What?” He sounds breathless, irritated, hands tugging at the zipper on your shorts, eager to rip it off your body now that he’s in the mood.
It’s weird seeing him like this. Kiyoomi is a classified neat freak, always smoothening the creases on his shirt, never liking things out of place, angrily wiping the spit off his face when Atsumu sprays it, rather than saying it.
“Why won’t this come off?” You giggle at his impatience, grabbing his wrists and relishing in the confused look on his face as you manevour yourself atop of him.
“ I wanted to make you feel good. Remember?” Your voice sounds sweet, syrupy, beside his ear, slowly trailing your lips down the side of his cheek. “You gonna let me?”
His adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, sucking in a long, winded inhale as his eyes dart over your face, testing his patience, his resilience when you sink your teeth into your bottom lip.
“Hurry up. Before I change my mind.”
You roll your eyes playfully, reaching inside to pull his cock out. It was thick in your hand, long and flushed from base to tip. The sparkle in your eyes at his go-to sends a tingle coursing through him, the shimmy of your hips as you tug his shorts down. “Gonna make you feel so good, Omi.”
“Stop talking.” He exhales at the feeling of your tongue tracing shapes onto the outline of his cock, evident and thick through his boxers. Sakusa watches you with hooded eyes, shoulders tensing when you fist at his cock, dragging your hand up slowly, then back down.
You shift a little closer, resting your thumb on the top of his shaft, cautiously bracing your hands along his thigh, wetting your lips with your tongue.
When your lips were slick with spit, you inch forward, engulfing the tip of his cock into your hot mouth. He groans unexpectedly, not expecting the sudden warmth to surround his cock.
“Oh fuck —” It shouldn’t turn you on this much hearing him so breathless when you haven’t even done anything yet. Mouth full of cock, unable to speak, you hide your retort on your tongue, sliding your tongue languidly down his shaft.
He throws his head back, giving you a delicious view of his throat, saliva pooling in your mouth with the urge to bite at it. After a couple moments of staring at the sweat sliding from his jaw, you tap at his thigh to grab his attention. “Keep your eyes on me, Omi.”
Your words are muffled, and watered down by the amount of saliva in your mouth, pulling away to let it fall onto the tip before sucking it back into your mouth.
He’s struggling to focus on anything but the feeling of your mouth teasing gently at his cock, and internally thanks you for bringing this topic up because damn, he was missing out. He understands now; understands why whenever Atsumu meets a pretty girl with nice lips— his words, not Kiyoomi’s— he’s taking her upstairs for some fun.
The sight of you makes his cock twitch, accompanied by the moan you let out once you feel it. It’s getting messier, his heavy breathing is getting louder. Saliva pooling from your mouth drips down, and he’s catching it using the tip of his thumb, his mind a nest of fog and haze as he tries to focus on the warm suction of your mouth.
“Shit.”
His hips jerk forward and you choke, your tight throat convulsing around his tip, and he would feel bad at how the sound of you choking turned him on more, had him wanting to tangle his fingers in your hair and push you down to slip himself further inside your tight throat. He would feel bad about that, if it wasn’t for your body rising, hips shimmying from side to side as you brace your hands on his hips for leverage, taking his cock deeper in your mouth.
He’s so thick inside you, your jaw aches, and your eyes are pooling with tears, but you’re desperate to hear that noise once more, that choked off moan he let out when he let his guard down.
He watches with focused eyes as the tears gather at the corner of your eyes, watches the way they threaten to fall as you suck a little harder at his cock.
“You’re so fucking pretty.” He can’t help himself, and you freeze when you hear it, giving your jaw a temporary lunch break, flicking your eyes up to him. The sight of him is gorgeous; his lips are parted slightly, broad chest expanding and deflating as he struggles to catch his breath.
The only time you’ve seen him this breathless is after a long day of practice.
You forget where you are and what you’re doing, mouth vibrating around his cock as you try to call him pretty too. He groans, a low sound that sends a tingle straight down to your legs, fighting back the urge to touch yourself.
He watches as you swallow him back down, as you peek up at him through your lashes, as you hold the heated eye contact for a moment before closing your eyes, focusing on pushing him closer to his peak.
He wants to be louder, wants you to let him know how good you feel, how warm your mouth is, but it’s like he’s tongue tied, only making subtle grunts when he slips too far down your throat.
You moan around his cock, back arching in a way that he can see the long slope of your body, hands tingling with the urge to fuck you into the couch.
There’s a ticklish feeling down by his balls and he jerks his eyes away from your body, down to your hands. You tug gently, rolling them between your soft fingertips.
“Fuc—fuck—” He stutters out, hips thrusting forward one time more, burying himself in the heat of your mouth, hot cum spilling out beyond his control.
Your cheeks hollow as you suck the rest of his cum from his tip, humming to lure the rest out. His hands tangle in your hair and he’s pulling you off his cock with a gasp.
Your hands fly to your throat, massaging it from the outside to ease the burn, and he watches, breathlessly panting, as you compose yourself.
“So—” You cough, and he notices how hoarse your voice is. “Feel good?”
He could lie; could keep his ego and watch you frown and attempt to suck him off again because you’re you, and you never back down from a challenge.
When he’s silent, the frown on your lips play anyway, and as you inch forward, he shifts back, until you’re on top of him, caging him in with your arms beside his head.
He meets you halfway when you lean down, capturing your lips together in a heated kiss. He can taste himself on your tongue and despite how disgusting that makes him feel, the twitch of his cock tells a different story. He’s licking into your mouth, eager to drive the taste of him away, now desperate to taste you.
With a push, your back hits the couch gently, and you bite at your lip as he flips the position, caging you in this time. You smile up at him, hands sliding along the length of his arms to tangle behind his neck. “You never answered my question, Omi.”
“Shut up.” Your grin grows, inching upwards to kiss him, your lips brushing his cheek as he looks down to your shorts, unzipping them all the way before sliding them off. You gasp as he tugs you forward, bending down so his lips brush yours. “Lemme make you feel good.”
time skip!Iwaizumi Hajime x afab!reader | 18+ content | 1,137 words | established relationship, kinda rough sex, kind of hand fetish i guess, very mild choking. Iwaizumi finally understands your obsession with his hands.
Iwaizumi Hajime never had the largest frame in his social circle and he was well aware of that. Yeah, he was muscular with broad shoulders and it wasn’t like he was short either, but there was always someone taller or broader than him. What he did have though, was the largest and prettiest hands that you’d ever seen; something that you’d never neglected to remind him. Truth be told, the ‘big’ part was the thing you’d told him most often, but he knew you found the pretty as well.
He never really understood your obsession with his hands though. They were just hands after all. Of course, without them he wouldn’t be able to play volleyball, something he very much loved doing. So yes of course he liked them too. But it was clear to him that it was for very different reasons that you liked them. And to a very different extend. You’d always make sure to tend to his hands after a game. You played with his fingers when the two of you were hanging out, relaxing. He even noticed you taking pictures once or twice, when he’d held your hand in his.
He didn’t really understand it. At least not until the two of you started getting more intimate. That’s when he suddenly started seeing his own hands in a different light.
iwaizumi’s love language is giving you massages. it’s one of the perks of having an athletic trainer as your boyfriend, because anytime you feel even the slightest of strain in one of your muscles, he’s dropping everything to knead it out of you. you call them his ‘magic hands’ because one touch from him and your entire body feels refreshed.
he’s so tender with you, slowly rolling your ankles in his hands after a long night of wearing heels, helping you stretch in the morning and before and after working out, fiddles with your wrists when you’re cuddling him and he’s bored. “this is where you want good mobility, babe,” he tells you as-a-matter-of-factly.
you get compliments from coworkers and friends about how good your posture is and you tell them it’s because your boyfriend is so good at his job and refuses to let you sit hunched over. he sees you sitting anywhere and out of instinct his hands are on you, thumbs drawing firm circles into your shoulder blades, tapping at the space between them so that you’re pushing them back. “up straight, baby,” he whispers.
“i feel a knot in my back,” is all you have to say with a pout for him to lay you on your bed face down and within seconds he’ll find the inflammation, working his fingers against it until it’s soothed. it’s also moments like these where you see an opportunity, and your devilish mind gets thinking. “hmm, there’s another one lower,” you say.
he traces his hands down a few inches. “here?”
“lower.”
and further. “here?”
“even lower.”
it’s when his hands reach the curve of your ass that you’ll grin and tell him, “right there,” and he’ll tsk and smack his palm against it harshly.
“such a brat.”
it’s because of him that you can take him in all sorts of positions. your back arches even deeper when he’s got you on your hands and knees. his cock sends you to heaven when he’s got you folded up in a mating press or in full nelson because the newfound flexibility in your legs means they can bend as far as iwaziumi pushes them. (it also means he can fuck you in confined spaces. car/closet/bathroom quickies become a frequent thing.)
“fuck, climb on my lap, baby.” hajime mumbled breathlessly as you both parted, a string of your shared saliva briefly being the only thing connecting you two.
you obligated, throwing a thigh over his thigh and straddling him, your core hovering over his own as your hands braced themselves on his broad shoulders.
he chuckled at you, looking down disapprovingly.
“not like that, angel. like this,” his strong hands gripped your waist before pushing your hips down until they met with his own. he grinned at both the gasp of surprise that left your throat and the full feeling of your weight on him. “there, all better.”
you blushed furiously, body suddenly feeling too hot and anxious too meet his rough eyes.
“now, come here…”
one hand traveled up to your neck where he caressed the flesh tenderly with his calloused hands, rough fingers spreading across your face as his lips found your once more.
the kiss was breathtaking, iwaizumi’s lips moved with yours passionately as if he had all the practice in the world and knew every single thing about kissing your lips— as if he studied the movements of them with such concentration that he would soon nail it everytime.
his tongue slipped into your mouth, wet, adventurous and warm as if explored you curiously, like it was the first time all over again.
a small muffled moan left you as his large hand squeezed your thigh, in a way of possession and want that nearly made you take him there on your couch.
but you couldn’t, your parents would be home soon and would absolutely freak if they caught you two kissing— let alone having sex in their living room.
your father didn’t mind the kissing as much, just reminding you two to take it somewhere else next time, which you normally followed.
but they were out tonight for a friendly get together with coworkers and their significant others, not coming home till later.
you had one hour to go, and might as well made it count before your mother was not-so-politely hinting that it was time for you both to bid your goodbyes and part ways until the next day.
the ten hours apart pained you to think about, even as you had his tongue shoved in your mouth and hands in his hair.
suddenly, just as you mustered up enough courage to slip your tongue into his mouth as well, your charming boyfriend began to suckle on the muscle shamelessly, holding back the smirk that threatened to grow as you whimpered.
his hands moved from their spots, meeting on the small of your back and pushing you close against his torso.
“i want you forever.” he groaned into against your lips as the kiss slowed suddenly, your dog whimpered for attention from the other side of your bedroom door reminding the both of you just where you were.
you smiled, catching your breath as you looked at him, admiring how hot he looked when he was disheveled by you and your lips.
a/n: It’s his birthday and I wanna suck his dick <3
word count: 753
tags: pwp, oral (male receiving), praise kink, overstim, dubcon ish, multiple orgasms (male), cum eating, cumplay, spit, breeding mention
character(s): Shirabu Kenjirou (hq)
synopsis: Shirabu did so well on his med exam that he stressed all week about, so you reward him with a job well done <3
“You spent all week studying….I know you have a little more in there for me baby.”
Iwaizumi Hajime (Pornstar AU) x (VIRGIN!) Female Reader (…can you see where this is going?)
You’re broke. You’re a virgin. And somehow porn seems like the acceptable answer to deal with both.
Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.
Note: This was all a fever dream on @dymphnasprose dms. I– idk what to say, honestly.
Warnings: uh… (looks away). Oh my gosh this was NOT RESEARCHED. I do not even TRY to make this accurate. It’s just the personification of some horny thoughts about Seijoh pornstars and specifically Iwaizumi Hajime being a gentleman as he deflowers you on camera. Don’t read this if you’re easily triggered by: CORRUPTION KINK. VIRGIN READER. SEX (it’s normal sex tho). ASS PLAY. Selling the virginity? To lose it on camera? Idk how it works man. VERY UNREALISTIC porn industry depiction!!!!
Word count: 4.3k (UNBETAED. Had no time ok this needed to come OUT)
You’re broke. Oh, so broke.
Adulthood is nothing as you’ve thought, definitely not as you fantasized, and way harder to make through. Both your parents are living on their savings after being let out of their jobs and you’re drowning in debt while you try to get an education and, well, live. Even working double shifts, you’re behind on all your payments and, in the end, it has come to this.
Written for the Whorehouse Compilation [RAW DOG 1080p] (Try Not To CUM) Collab: Masterlist.
Open wide: the Doctor is IN
Shirabu Keijiro x Female Reader
Doctor Shirabu gives you a very special treatment on your first appointment.
Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.
Note: I’m sorry for being this late to the party. The cursed porn search we all have looked at least once (some… lots of times hehehe). THANKS TO @dymphnasprose for the little porn search bar i love them so much ;-; <3 My (very) late contribution to the Whorehouse Server CUMpilation. Thanks for letting me participate Miki! Doctor Shirabu is ready to see you now.
Warnings: POSSIBLE TRIGGERING CONTENT. CONSENSUAL NON-CONSENT. DOCTOR/PATIENT. MEDICAL PLAY. INAPPROPRIATE TOUCHES. WRONG GYNECOLOGICAL EXAM. Breast exam but not really. Corruption Kink. MEDICAL KINK. Use of medical equipment in inappropriate ways. ANAL PLAY. Established relationship clarified at the end: role-play. Poorly researched medical stuff. Overuse of Good Girl.
Satoru survived being severed in half thanks to Yuuta’s Reversed Curse Technique and subsequently claimed victory, but you keep reliving the moment you saw him die before your eyes. You wake up beside him one night crying from a nightmare of it, and wanting to make you feel better and remind you that he’s okay and he’s not going anywhere, he lets you take him any way you need him.
Relevant tags: AFAB reader with minimal gendered language, reader insert without using “y/n”, graphic nightmare at the beginning but it’s quick, fix-it, hurt/comfort, soft and emotional sex, handjob, fingering, Satoru’s 6-inch fingers, slow sex, praises and declarations of love, lots of kissing, love bites, riding, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, Satoru’s big cock :’) <3
Music recommended while reading: My Love (Sia), positions (Ariana Grande), Souvenir (Selena Gomez), Religion (Lana Del Rey)
A/N: no I’m absolutely not over wtf happened in ch 236 and yes I’m 100% crazy enough to still believe him when he said he’d win. He’ll win and I trust him. I have to or I’ll go crazy. Here’s this emotional smut to cope.
Read below cut:
He was winning. He was fine, he was smiling and now—
He’s not. He’s not moving, he’s not doing anything but he’s in half he’s in fucking half and there’s so much blood—
You scream. You scream but it sounds like it’s underwater and you can’t breathe, you can’t feel anything but despair and pain and dread and anger and disbelief and fucking devastation. Satoru is— he’s— oh god, he’s—
“Hey.”
You’re sobbing. Tears stream from your eyes but you can’t feel, you can’t see anything, you can’t hear, you can’t exist without him—
“Hey. Hey, hey, hey.”
That voice snaps you back to consciousness, a deep gasp from you following. Warm hands are on your shoulders, and you look up at the source, eyes landing upon Satoru’s concerned face. His beautiful, alive face. What? How?
“Hey,” he murmurs again softly, brows furrowed in worry as he rubs up and down your arm soothingly. “Shh, shh, shh…you’re okay. It was just a bad dream.”
A dream?
“No it wasn’t,” you shake your head, voice broken. The lump in your throat won’t go away as you continue to cry. “You were…you were gone and I—”
“I’m right here,” he cuts him firmly, squeezing your arm. “Look at me. I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I’m fine. Promise.”
Your eyes search his face, his body, and blindly you reach out, touching his clothed abdomen, feeling over it to make absolutely sure he’s not lying. When you feel nothing but solid, warm flesh underneath, even when you touch down to his thigh, you relax, sniffling. He’s completely intact. He’s okay.
You remember then what had happened after he had fallen. You’d gone into a panic, threw up, and blacked out after sobbing uncontrollably after tearing your eyes from the screen that displayed his lifeless body.
When you woke up, you were lying against a wall, Shoko watching over you, telling you that Yuuta managed to get ahold of him while Yuuji and Higuruma were fighting Sukuna. He’d used his Reversed Curse Technique to heal him, and he was up and fighting again, this time facing off with Kenjaku.
It was jarring to see him back alive, like you were seeing the resurrection of a god. But it was okay. He was even stronger than before, and along with the others, he was capable of defeating both of the threats.
His victory had restored balance once more.
He’d come off of that battlefield on his own two feet, sweaty, heavily banged up and exhausted, but he had a brilliant smile on his face that said everything is fine now, and he’d welcomed you into his arms without hesitation.
“Oh god,” you breathe out, “It was a dream. Thank god.”
He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in, planting a kiss on your temple.
“I told you I’d win, didn’t I?” He asks, “You gotta trust me, silly. M’ not going anywhere.”
You huff, nuzzling into his chest. “Don’t call me silly because I’m worried about you.”
He sighs softly, rubbing your back. “Fine, fine. But seriously, I’m fine. So no need to worry, okay? I’m right here, however you need me.”
He is. You can feel him in your arms, you can feel him holding you, and yet in your sleep-fogged mind, you can’t help but still retain some anxiety that you’ll wake up again and he’ll be gone for good. That you imagined all of those victories in order to cope. You need to feel more of him to confirm he’s real.
“However I need you?” You ask, drawing back to meet his eyes, gleaming in the dim lighting of the moon. He nods.
“Of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be otherwise? I’m yours to do with as you please.”
You can’t help it; his tone always brings out a special playfulness in you. “As I please? You sound so easy.”
“Easy for you,” he grins wolfishly, and you roll your eyes fondly before sobering up.
“I need more reassurance,” you tell him. “I want to feel you.”
He eyes you curiously, nodding. “Sure thing. What do you have in mind?”
You reach up to touch his face, brushing your thumb between his eyebrows to work out the furrow, then dancing it over his brow bone, then his cheekbone, and finally his lips. You pad it over the soft skin there before leaning up and kissing him, relaxing at the familiar taste of his mouth. He doesn’t hesitate to return the gesture, lips moving with yours in a combination of slow and sensual.
The hand that was resting on his jaw slowly travels down over his neck, where your thumb runs over the column gently, grazing his Adam’s apple a few times before moving on to his collarbone. You explore that spot for a few moments and then massage down his shoulder, over his pec, flattening your palm to feel the beat of his heart.
It calms you to feel that strong thump thump thump against your touch, impassioning you enough to make you deepen the kiss and slip your tongue into his protestless mouth. A soft groan sounds at the back of his throat, and that spurs you on to continue touching him, running your palm over his muscles that were once lithe, but after time spent preparing for battle while he was sealed away to occupy himself, have turned thick and solid. You ghost over the ridges of his abdomen and shiver, feeling each contour through his shirt.
It sends a wave of heat through you and your ministrations turn heavy with desire, finding the hem of his shirt, sliding your hand underneath it and massaging over the hot skin of his naked chest. He groans and guides his own hand from your waist to your ass, clad only in underwear for comfort to sleep, giving it a generous knead.
“Mmh,” you breathe into his mouth, letting him go further to grab your thigh, hooking his hand under your knee and hiking your leg up around his hip.
His tongue runs over yours dirtily as his hand slides back up to the apex of your legs, reaching around to cup your mound through the thin garment over it. His middle and ring fingers massage over that little sensitive pearl just begging to be touched, making you moan softly.
Your lust is deepening by the second and it makes you grow bolder, palm on his abdomen lowering to the front of his boxers and caressing the sizable hardness it finds there. Subconsciously you start to move your hips with his touches, kiss turning sloppy the more you pleasure each other.
The drags of his fingertips gets a little too difficult when the fabric over your core gets soaked through, so he easily amends it by slipping his fingers beneath the edge of the article, touching you without any barriers.
“Satoru,” you moan louder as he teases the swollen pearl beneath his digits. He hums in his throat, and wanting to even things out, your hand dips below his boxers, wrapping around the hard and hot erection he’s been sporting since you started kissing him.
A bead of precum at his tip makes the slide a little easier and you feel him start rocking into your hand, meeting your strokes, a breathy groan sounding from him.
He wants the upperhand, of course, so he elects to push two of his lengthy fingers into your entrance, causing you to gasp, spreading your legs wider to accommodate. The man’s digits are long enough to reach your cervix without even trying and he presses pointedly against it, wriggling the tips of his fingers against that sensitive spot teasingly.
“God, Satoru,” you mewl, touching him with more purpose, circling your thumb over his tip.
“Ngh,” he groans in response, moving his hand so that he starts finger-fucking you at a pace, the wet sounds reaching your ears along with the heavy pants from the both of you. You clench around him and he speeds up, abusing that part deep inside of you just with his hand.
You love it when he fingers you but it’s not what you want right now—not truly.
You look up at him, shuddering at the look of unbridled lust pooling in his cerulean eyes. He always gets this certain wild look that gives you goosebumps.
“Satoru,” you manage breathlessly.
“Yeah?” He asks, just as winded.
“I want you inside me. I need to feel you.”
He sucks in a breath and nods, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling his fingers out of you. He rolls to lay on his back, raising his hand up to his mouth and running his long tongue over the digits coated in your essence, a deep groan sounding after. It invigorates your desire for him and hurriedly, you remove your soaked underwear, freeing him of his own boxers afterward.
He sits up for a moment to get his shirt off, tossing it off the bed and then grabbing your hips, making you straddle his thighs. His hands hook under your shirt and you raise your arms so that he can remove it, the two of you now bare as the day you were born.
He wastes no time in kissing you again, this time more desperately, using one hand to guide your hips over his large cock, the other holding it still. He slides inside as you lower yourself, girth forcing you to stretch generously.
“Fuck,” you breathe into his mouth. You’re familiar with his impressive size by now but it never ceases to light a fire with your nerve-endings, length stuffing you full even before he’s bottomed out. You shudder and push him down to lay out on the bed, following him, breaking the kiss to bury your face in the crook of his neck. His palms grip the tops of your thighs as you lay on his chest, your skin touching everywhere. He’s so warm and sturdy beneath you, you feel like you could stay like this forever, tucked into him, split open on his dick, nestled deep inside you without any effort. You breathe in and get hit with the scent of his skin, musky and sweet in a way that’s unique only to him and completely intoxicating to you.
You push your nose more greedily into the column of his neck, moaning as he starts rolling both of your hips together slowly. Like this, his abdomen provides the perfect firm muscle to grind your swollen pearl on, heightening your pleasure.
He bends his legs to provide himself with a little barrier so that when he pushes your hips down, they don’t have anywhere to go, forcing you to take his cock deeper. It prods at your cervix and forces hot chills over your body, your hands bracing on his shoulders helplessly as he does all of the work.
You inhale deeply as he grinds up into you, walls fluttering around him, eliciting a groan from his syrupy voice.
It sends a shiver through you and wanting to chase it, you flick your tongue out over his collarbone, licking along the flesh to taste him.
“Oh,” he grunts, sucking air through his teeth as you feel him twitch inside of you. Encouraged from his response, you do it again, closing your lips around the spot and sucking. A stuttered breath is pulled from him, your hold on his arms tightening.
Like this, you just feel so safe, so content. He’s all you could ever need. Sure, he’s insufferable sometimes and his personality goes overboard naturally, but he’s never too much for you. He’s serious when he needs to he and so sincere in his sweetness, in his affection—you don’t know what you’d do without him. You thank any god that might exist along with the stars that he survived, that he prevailed and that everything is fine now. Your chest swells with all of the gratitude in the world and it spills over.
“Satoru,” you breathe, feeling tears prick at your eyes, “I love you so much.”
You feel him swallow thickly as his hands rub comfortingly up and down the expanse of your back, kisses being pressed to the top of your head.
“Me too, baby,” he replies softly, voice slightly strained with the distraction of heat around his cock. “I feel the exact same way about you.”
You sigh shakily, littering sloppy, wet kisses over his neck, starting to roll your hips in time with his.
“I’m always gonna be here,” he continues between labored pants, “You…you can’t get rid of me. Mmh—you’re stuck with me for life.”
Your kisses begin to be accompanied by involuntary whimpers, the sensation of him locked inside of you along with his smooth skin rubbing against your sensitive bud starting to overwhelm you.
“I’m gonna…h-hah…love you so much you’ll be annoyed with me,” he continues, sucking air through his teeth, “oh fuck…so glad I have you. I really am.”
You sniffle, a watery smile spreading over your lips. A few tears escape your eyes but this time they’re of joy.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” you say with your entire soul.
“Nothing can keep me down for long,” he assures you, “I promise, okay? I promise.”
You nod against his neck, moaning when he speeds up, hands controlling your movements to meet him thrust for thrust.
“Sh-shit, Satoru,” you mewl, feeling your climax start to approach. His breathing gets heavier and more ragged, chest rising and falling so prominently that it jostles you on top of him, indicating that he’s just as wrecked as you are.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he exhales thinly, “Oh shit, shit, god you’re so tight…I’m gonna…”
You choke on a gasp, eyes squeezing shut. He always rambles when he’s nearing his finish, control on his words slipping, and you think it’s the hottest thing in the world.
“Ngh,” he gasps out, guiding you faster on top of him. You clench at the feeling, nearing the peak—“oh fuck, it’s gonna, it’s—a-ah, ah, fuck…”
You feel exactly when he cums, cock twitching hard as he spills against the entrance to your womb. The feeling of release pouring coupled with his incessant grinding on your mound pushes you to climax, a full body shudder taking over you as you tighten around his member.
He groans at the feeling, giving you another spurt of release, hands moving up to hug you close, pressing his cheek to your forehead.
“That was so good,” he breathes.
You nod in agreement, kissing his neck once more.
You know this is the part where you get off of him so you can clean up to get back to sleep, but you don’t want to move at all. You’re completely sated now, and the feeling of his softening cock inside of you is comforting. Undeniable proof that he’s right here with you in the form of a dull stretch in your core.
“Let’s stay like this,” you tell him, and he chuckles softly.
“It’s just that good, isn’t it?”
You snort softly, raising up to meet his eyes. “You’re such a little shit.”
His smile is lazy and mirthful. “Ah, but I’m your little shit. By law you have to deal with me forever, sorry.”
He shrugs in a way that indicates he’s not sorry at all, and your grin widens.
“I’m happy to deal with you forever.”
His beautiful face is radiant with the next smile he gives you, and when your lips meet in a soft kiss, you realize that all of the anxiety and fear that nightmare had left you with has been melted away.
Satoru is real, and he’s okay. He really isn’t going anywhere. He’s safe and warm and set to live a long and happy life by your side.
When the kiss ends you lay back down on his chest, and he takes to drawing invisible circles over your back with his fingertips, the steadiness of his breath, the sureness of his heartbeat, and his comforting scent all lulling you to a peaceful sleep with the promise of his presence tomorrow.
___
A/N: I actually miss him so much to the point where it’s debilitating. I’m literally a widow at this point I might as well put a picture of him in a fuckin locket and wear it like he sent it in his last letter to me, like Gege u bitch that was our husband
Please don’t repost my work but feel free to reblog/share. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed :)
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