🤍🩶🖤

The moment you get your hands on something worth going after, you lose it. That's just how things are.

[ochacoca]

I NEED OIKAWA TEXTS RN

BOYFRIEND TEXTS | t. oikawa

a/n: finals are coming up soon and i just want to say again that my requests are still closed ♡(>ᴗ•) i have been getting a few and i don't mind it but i just wanted to announce it officially since i don't want to have a big pile of them when i start doing them again (i'm trying to start fulfilling the old ones now!!)

©OCHACOCA 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[ochacoca]

I NEED OIKAWA TEXTS RN

BOYFRIEND TEXTS | t. oikawa

a/n: finals are coming up soon and i just want to say again that my requests are still closed ♡(>ᴗ•) i have been getting a few and i don't mind it but i just wanted to announce it officially since i don't want to have a big pile of them when i start doing them again (i'm trying to start fulfilling the old ones now!!)

©OCHACOCA 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[capriluvr]

typing...

includes: osamu, tsukishima, bokuto, sugawara, kenma, kuroo, semi, oikawa

texts with your bf!

tags comedy, fluff

warnings none..?

a/n: a few little birdies tweeted in my ear and told me to make more hq texts. this goes out to them (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝*

↺ masterlist

[capriluvr]

typing...

includes: osamu, tsukishima, bokuto, sugawara, kenma, kuroo, semi, oikawa

texts with your bf!

tags comedy, fluff

warnings none..?

a/n: a few little birdies tweeted in my ear and told me to make more hq texts. this goes out to them (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝*

↺ masterlist

[derpygoddess36]

@derpygoddess36 | please do not plagiarise, steal, repost, or repurpose my work.

HAIKYUU CHARACTERS REACTING TO YOU NOT COMING TO SCHOOL .

now playing..

[tsumuus]

reverse "when did you get hot?" various haikyuu boys x reader

includes h. iwaizumi, i. matsukawa, a. miya, o. miya, r. suna, k. akaashi, k. bokuto, t. kuroo, k. tsukishima, and s. hinata

original "when did you get hot" post + request

a/n based on the song "when did you get hot?" by sabrina carpenter, just reversed. ive had more free time so these turned out a little longer than the original post and added a few more boys but hey whos complaining. i will try to write a part two with even more boys if yall would like, no promises tho🥀🥀🥀 God i need iwaizumi so bad (again)

You and Hajime had been inseparable since middle school, neighbors, lab partners, movie marathon buddies. He’d always thought of you as “his best friend,” the kind of person you could sit in silence with and still feel comfortable. After graduation, life split you both apart for a while, but the first real reunion came at a summer barbecue, hosted by a mutual friend.

Hajime got there early, beer in hand, already chatting with a few old teammates. He was laughing at some dumb joke Matsukawa made when he noticed you walking up the driveway. He nearly choked.

“-the hell?” Hajime muttered under his breath.

You were in a sundress, hair caught up by the evening breeze, a glassy smile lighting up your face as you waved to a few people. Hajime felt his stomach tighten in a way that startled him. He’d seen you a thousand times before, but suddenly you weren’t the same person he remembered sprawling across his couch in sweatpants during study sessions.

You spotted him almost instantly. “Haji!”

The nickname you’d always used sounded different now, and he swore his ears burned when you threw your arms around him like it was nothing.

“Hey,” Hajime said, clearing his throat, holding the beer awkwardly so he didn’t spill it down your back. “Uh- you look good.”

You laughed, pulling away. “You too. Same old Hajime.”

Same old? He was trying to reconcile that thought with the way his brain had short-circuited at the sight of you. Throughout the night, he caught himself staring too long, at your smile when you laughed too loud, at the curve of your jaw when you leaned in to tell Bokuto a story, at the way your hand brushed his arm like you always did. Only now, it felt like something.

He wasn’t subtle, apparently. Matsukawa elbowed him. “Bro, you’re ogling. Chill.”

“Shut up,” Hajime hissed, ears red.

It didn’t help that, later, you sat beside him by the firepit. “You’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”

Hajime rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like he was in high school all over again. “Yeah, yeah, I just- uh…” He swallowed, blurting before he could stop himself. “When did you get hot?”

You blinked, then broke into a laugh so genuine it made his embarrassment worse. “What? Hajime, I’ve literally been the same since forever.”

“Yeah, no-” Hajime looked at the ground, refusing to meet your eyes. “You definitely haven’t.”

And when you nudged him, teasing but warm, he knew he wasn’t imagining it. Something between you had shifted.

You and Issei had been friends since high school, the kind of easy, goofy friendship built on shared sarcasm and mutual roasting. He was the guy who’d copy your homework when he forgot his, and you were the girl who’d steal his fries at lunch like they were yours. Even after graduation, the two of you kept in touch. Group calls with the Seijoh boys, the occasional meet-up when schedules aligned, always full of laughter and playful digs.

But the day he realized something was… different? That hit him like a truck.

It happened at Makki’s small get-together. Nothing fancy, just old friends and a lot of takeout. Issei was sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone, when you walked in. No warning, no fanfare. Just you, balancing a tray of drinks, laughing at something Makki had shouted from the kitchen.

Issei’s jaw literally went slack.

You weren’t doing anything particularly dramatic. Just wearing jeans and a cropped sweater, hair falling naturally around your shoulders. But for some reason, the room tilted. He blinked a couple times, sitting up straighter without even realizing it.

“Yo, yn!” Makki cheered, and you waved, smiling so brightly it felt like the whole room shifted.

“Hey, loser,” you grinned at Issei as you plopped down beside him, shoving a drink into his hand.

He tried to play it cool, but his brain wasn’t working properly. Up close, it was worse. You smelled good. Like shampoo and something faintly sweet. And when you leaned over to grab a napkin, your sweater slipped just slightly off your shoulder. His eyes flicked there before he could stop himself.

“Dude,” Makki snorted from across the room, catching him in the act. “You’re not even subtle.”

“What- shut up,” Issei muttered, nearly choking on his drink.

You raised a brow, totally oblivious. “Subtle about what?”

“Nothing,” Issei said quickly, glaring daggers at Makki. He could feel his ears burning.

The night went on, but Issei couldn’t shake it. You’d always been cute, sure, but this was different. Every laugh from you felt sharper, every glance lingered longer than he expected. He caught himself staring more than once, only to snap his gaze away when you noticed.

By the time the group had migrated into the living room for a movie, you ended up leaning against him like you always did. Normally, it was fine, best friend behavior. But tonight? He was hyper-aware of the weight of your head on his shoulder, the warmth of your arm brushing his. His heart thudded stupidly against his ribs.

Makki, of course, wasn’t going to let it slide. Halfway through the movie, he leaned over with a smirk and whispered way too loudly, “So, yn… when did you get hot?”

You laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “What? Shut up!”

But Issei froze. Because that was exactly what he’d been thinking since you walked in.

You turned back to the screen, still chuckling, totally unaware that Issei’s world had tilted on its axis. He sat there stiff for a moment, then sighed, draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. Your head naturally settled against him, and he forced himself to look at the screen, though his thoughts were miles away.

Because he knew. He was in trouble now.

You and Atsumu had been circling each other since high school. Not in a romantic way, at least, not openly. He was Osamu’s twin, the loud one who was always in your orbit whether you liked it or not. Over the years, he became something steady: an occasional study buddy, the first to text you when something funny happened, the one who dragged you to matches and dinners even when you swore you were too tired.

By now, it was muscle memory to have him around.

So when you walked into the MSBY gym after work one evening, balancing a bag of snacks Osamu had asked you to deliver, you didn’t expect anything different. The team was already wrapping up practice, Atsumu at the center of it all, sweaty and grinning as usual.

He spotted you instantly. “Oi, yn!”

You rolled your eyes at the volume, waving halfheartedly. “Don’t yell like I’m across a stadium.”

But he was already jogging over, towel slung around his neck, hair plastered to his forehead. You shoved the bag into his hands, muttering, “Delivery from your twin.”

“Yer a lifesaver.” He peered inside, pulling out a rice ball. “’Samu sent three. He knew I’d share.”

“Would you?” you teased.

Atsumu grinned, already holding one out toward you. “Course. What kinda gentleman do ya take me for?”

You rolled your eyes again, but took it. And that was when it happened.

You’d been standing under one of the gym lights, hair catching the gold, face flushed from the lingering summer heat. When you bit into the rice ball and smiled, just a little, Atsumu’s words slipped out without thought.

“…When the hell did ya get hot?”

It came out loud. Too loud. The gym wasn’t empty enough for it to disappear unnoticed. A couple of his teammates glanced over, Bokuto actually choking on his water.

You froze mid-bite. “Excuse me?”

Atsumu blinked, like he was just realizing he’d said it out loud. His ears went red, but he laughed it off instantly, the way he always did. “Nothin’! Don’t worry about it!”

“No,” you pressed, narrowing your eyes. “What did you just say?”

He shifted on his feet, caught between retreat and bravado. For once, his usual confidence wavered. But then he smirked, trying to salvage it. “Ya heard me.”

You blinked at him, stunned into silence. He looked back at you, grin tugging at the edges of something more serious.

And for a moment, neither of you laughed.

You’d known Osamu since middle school. Back then, he was the quieter twin, less loud than Atsumu, more grounded. The one who’d share his lunch when you forgot yours, the one who’d walk you home without being asked. It was easy with him. Comfortable.

After high school, though, life pulled you all in different directions. You and Osamu still talked, but it was texts here and there, the occasional call. Which was why, when he invited you over to his place a few years later for a simple dinner, you didn’t think much of it. Just catching up with your best friend, like old times.

He opened the door with that same easy grin you remembered. “Well, look who finally decided t’show up.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m literally two minutes late.”

“Two minutes too long,” he teased, stepping aside to let you in.

His apartment smelled incredible, garlic and butter and something warm simmering on the stove. You kicked off your shoes and wandered in like you owned the place, because in some ways, it felt like you did. Osamu, moving around the kitchen in a plain t-shirt and sweats, looked entirely in his element.

You sat at the counter, chin propped in your hands, watching him cook. “You’ve gotten domestic, ‘Samu.”

He smirked, tossing you a piece of bread he’d just sliced. “And you’ve gotten picky. Still don’t like onions?”

“Nope.” You popped the bread into your mouth. “Some things never change.”

But some things did.

Osamu glanced up, mid-chop, and froze for half a second. He hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard. The kitchen light caught the curve of your face, the way your hair framed it, the easy smile tugging at your lips as you munched on his food like you had a hundred times before. But this time… something was different.

You weren’t just his best friend anymore. Not in his head.

“When did ya-” he cut himself off, biting back the words. He shook his head, turning back to the cutting board before he made a fool of himself.

You raised a brow. “When did I what?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, tossing the onions into the pan. The sizzle covered the sound of his racing heartbeat.

Dinner was good, it always was with Osamu. You laughed, caught up, teased each other over who remembered what from high school. But Osamu kept catching himself staring, at the way your lips curved around your glass, at the light in your eyes when you told him some ridiculous story. He tried to focus on his plate, but his gaze kept drifting back.

By the time you were helping him wash dishes, it slipped out.

“You know,” he said quietly, passing you a dripping plate, “when did ya get hot?”

The words hung between you, heavier than the steam rising from the sink.

You blinked, then snorted, clearly thinking he was joking. “Shut up, Osamu.”

“I mean it.” His voice was low, steady in a way that made you glance up. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

You laughed again, softer this time, shaking your head as you handed him the towel. But Osamu knew it wasn’t a joke. Not to him.

And as you brushed his shoulder on your way out of the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think, he was never going to look at you the same again.

You’d met Suna back in first year of high school, and somehow the two of you just… clicked. Maybe it was your patience with his deadpan humor, maybe it was his quiet steadiness that matched your energy in unexpected ways. Either way, by graduation you were inseparable. Best friends, no question.

Years later, not much had changed, at least, that’s what you thought. You still texted daily, still called each other when life was too much, still found excuses to hang out even when you were both busy. It was routine. Comfortable.

But for Suna, something had shifted.

It happened one evening when you’d agreed to meet him at a new ramen shop near his place. You walked in late, apologizing as you slid into the booth across from him, hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. He looked up from his phone, ready to tease you, and then stopped.

You weren’t dressed up, not really. Just a fitted top and jeans, nothing fancy. But the way the neon sign outside caught in your hair, the way you laughed as you waved for the waiter, it knocked the air out of him. He stared a second too long, phone still in his hand, before realizing he hadn’t said anything.

“What?” you asked, brows raised, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Nothing.” He went back to his phone quickly, scrolling through nonsense to cover up the way his ears burned.

Except it wasn’t nothing. The entire dinner, he couldn’t stop sneaking glances. The way you slurped your noodles and grinned at him when he rolled his eyes. The way you leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped in your hands as you told him about your week. He’d seen that expression a million times, but suddenly it felt… different.

Halfway through, you caught him staring.

“What?” you asked again, tilting your head.

Suna leaned back, chopsticks still in hand. “Just wondering when you got hot.”

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

He smirked lazily, like he hadn’t just set your brain on fire. “I mean, I don’t remember you looking like this in high school.”

You laughed nervously, tossing a napkin at him. “Shut up. I look the same.”

“Mm.” He slurped another bite of ramen, eyes sliding back to his bowl. “No, you don’t.”

The conversation moved on, or at least, you tried to move it on. Suna didn’t push, didn’t elaborate, just went back to his usual dry commentary and casual questions. But the weight of his words lingered in the air.

After dinner, when you both walked out into the night, you hugged him goodbye like always. He slipped his hands into his pockets, watching you walk toward your car. And even though his face stayed neutral, his mind was anything but.

Because for Suna, the realization wasn’t casual. He’d said it like a joke, like a tease. But the truth? He meant every word. And now, he wasn’t sure how to go back to seeing you as “just his best friend.”

Your friendship with Akaashi had always been steady. You met in high school, when you were assigned as partners for a literature project. He was quiet at first, polite and reserved, but you had a way of drawing him out. What started as study sessions turned into late-night conversations, into easy companionship that carried on well after graduation.

Years later, you were still close. Akaashi worked long hours as an editor, and you were one of the few people he made consistent time for. Coffee on Sunday mornings, quiet dinners during the week, late-night calls when one of you couldn’t sleep.

It was during one of those Sunday mornings that it hit him.

You’d chosen a new café, tucked into a corner of the city. It was small and cozy, filled with the scent of fresh pastries and the hum of quiet conversation. Akaashi arrived first, as usual, securing a table by the window. He pulled out his notebook, already jotting down a few edits he hadn’t finished the night before.

Then the bell above the door jingled, and you walked in.

His pen stalled mid-sentence.

It wasn’t that you’d changed dramatically, you wore simple clothes, hair a little messy from the breeze outside. But there was something about you in that moment, the way you pushed your sunglasses up onto your head, the smile you gave when your eyes landed on him, that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Keiji,” you greeted warmly, sliding into the seat across from him.

“yn,” he replied automatically, closing his notebook. He forced himself to look down at his coffee, but his pulse betrayed him.

As you chatted, he kept noticing things he hadn’t before. The way your laugh had deepened, richer than in high school. The way your hand brushed his when you reached for the sugar. The confidence in the way you carried yourself now, like you’d grown into someone even more magnetic than you’d been before.

Halfway through, you caught him staring.

“What is it?” you asked, tilting your head.

Akaashi blinked, shaking himself. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“You’re distracted.”

He hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. He wanted to say it. To ask the question sitting heavy on his tongue. But the words felt too blunt, too revealing for the quiet space between you.

So instead, he smiled faintly, meeting your gaze. “I was just thinking. You’ve… changed.”

You raised a brow. “Changed how?”

“Not in a bad way.” His voice was soft, deliberate. “Just… it suits you. Who you are now.”

Your cheeks warmed, though you laughed it off. “That’s a very Keiji way of putting it.”

He smiled, embarrassed, sipping his coffee to avoid saying more. But the truth lingered in his chest: he’d always known you were beautiful. He just hadn’t realized until now how much that beauty had grown with you, shaped by time and confidence.

Later, as you walked together down the street, the sunlight catching in your hair, he thought again of the words he hadn’t said. When did you get hot? It felt too shallow for what he meant.

Because for Akaashi, it wasn’t just that you were hot now. It was that he couldn’t stop seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that made him wonder if he’d been blind all these years.

You’d met Bokuto in high school through volleyball. Even though you weren’t on the team, you’d somehow gotten swept up into his orbit, his energy was magnetic, impossible to ignore. From then on, you were part of his inner circle. He was the kind of best friend who’d send you ten texts in a row just to tell you about a new training move, or show up at your house with snacks because he thought you “looked tired” that one time.

Post-graduation, you still kept up, though less often with both of you juggling new lives. Which was why the reunion at a mutual friend’s birthday party felt so special.

Bokuto spotted you across the crowded apartment almost instantly. You were laughing at something Kuroo said, leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand. And just like that, his world tilted.

He froze mid-conversation with Akaashi, blinking hard. “Huh?”

Akaashi followed his gaze, already piecing it together. “…Don’t make it weird.”

But Bokuto was already on his feet, weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission. His voice boomed above the chatter the second he reached you.

“yn!”

You turned, smiling brightly. “Hey, Bo!”

And before you could even brace yourself, he blurted, “WHEN DID YOU GET SO HOT?!”

The entire kitchen went quiet. Cups halfway to lips. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Kuroo choked on his drink, slapping his chest, while someone in the back cackled.

Your face flamed instantly. “Bokuto!”

“What?!” His golden eyes were wide, genuinely confused. “I’m just saying! You didn’t look like this in high school! You look-” he gestured vaguely at all of you, “-different! In a really good way!”

You buried your face in your hand, laughing despite the embarrassment. “You can’t just yell that across a room!”

Bokuto blinked, then lowered his voice a fraction, leaning closer like he was sharing a secret. “Okay, but seriously… when did this happen?!”

You shoved his shoulder playfully. “I’ve always looked like this. You’re just dramatic.”

He gasped, stepping back like you’d insulted him. “No way! You’ve definitely leveled up!”

Kuroo, still wheezing, muttered, “Smooth, Bokuto. Real smooth.”

But Bokuto barely noticed the teasing. He was still looking at you, head tilted like he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the shift. And for once, he didn’t feel embarrassed about blurting it out. He was too honest to hide it, too straightforward to pretend otherwise.

Later, when the crowd had moved on and the moment faded into background noise, Bokuto nudged you with his elbow while you both leaned on the balcony railing.

“Hey,” he said more softly this time. “I wasn’t kidding. You look amazing.”

Your chest warmed at the sincerity in his voice, even if his delivery earlier had been… peak Bokuto.

And as he launched into an animated story about training camp, you couldn’t help but laugh, because somehow, his lack of filter made the compliment mean even more.

You and Kuroo had been friends since your first year of high school, and he’d always been the same, clever, sharp-tongued, forever scheming. If Bokuto was the type to yell his thoughts the second he had them, Kuroo was the type to savor them, stretching them into a game.

You reconnected with him years later at a rooftop bar in Tokyo. A mutual friend had organized the meet-up, and you weren’t surprised to see Kuroo already there, leaning casually against the railing with a drink in hand, chatting with anyone who passed by. He looked comfortable, grown into his height and shoulders in a way that made him even more magnetic.

What did surprise you, though, was the way he looked at you.

You approached, waving. “Kuroo!”

His eyes flicked over you quickly, from your dress to the curve of your smile, before settling back on your face. A slow grin spread across his lips.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t yn.”

“What’s with that tone?” you asked, rolling your eyes as you reached him.

“Nothing,” he said, voice dripping with mischief. “Just… trying to figure something out.”

You frowned, leaning beside him against the railing. “Figure what out?”

He took a sip of his drink, deliberately stalling. “Hm. You look… different.”

“Different how?”

He let the silence stretch, eyes twinkling as he watched you start to squirm. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Kuroo,” you warned, narrowing your eyes.

“Relax,” he said with a chuckle, finally leaning closer. His breath brushed your ear as he murmured, “I’m just wondering when my best friend got so… distracting.”

Your face heated instantly. “What- shut up.”

He leaned back, grinning like he’d just scored match point. “Oh, so you didn’t know.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Mm, maybe.” He tilted his head, studying you with that same sly smile. “But I’m right.”

The conversation carried on, light and teasing, but you couldn’t shake the warmth in your chest. Every time he laughed, every time he threw another sly comment your way, it was like he was testing the waters. And the thing was… Kuroo never said things without meaning them.

Later, when the group had dwindled and it was just the two of you lingering at the railing, he glanced over with that infuriating smirk again.

“So,” he drawled, “are you gonna tell me your secret, or do I have to keep guessing?”

“My secret?”

“Yeah.” His eyes caught yours, sharp and unreadable. “The one where you somehow went from my scrappy little best friend to… this.”

You shook your head, laughing to cover the way your heart skipped. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe.” His grin softened into something almost fond. “But I’m not wrong.”

And just like that, the game wasn’t so much a game anymore.

It wasn’t like you and Tsukishima had the kind of childhood where you were inseparable. You weren’t glued at the hip the way Yamaguchi was with him. But you’d always been there, seated at the same lunch tables, walking home in the same direction, trading homework answers when he got too lazy to finish his own.

Over the years, that quiet rhythm stuck. Even after graduation, it never occurred to either of you to stop hanging out.

So when Yamaguchi texted both of you to meet at a café for a little reunion, it was nothing new. You showed up first, already sipping on a cold drink when Tsukishima walked in. He spotted you by the window and made his way over, that permanent disinterested look on his face.

But something stuttered in his steps.

He’d seen you plenty of times since high school, movie nights, casual dinners, the occasional volleyball game, but somehow, here under the café’s warm lights, it hit him like a delayed reaction. The way your shirt dipped just enough to reveal the delicate line of your collarbone. The way your hair framed your face differently than before. The gloss on your lips that caught the light every time you took a sip.

He actually had to look away before he sat down.

“You’re late,” you teased, nudging his shin under the table.

“Not really,” he muttered, pulling out his phone like he didn’t care. “I’m exactly on time.”

“Two minutes late,” you corrected.

He hummed. Didn’t argue. But his eyes flicked up once, just once, and he caught you laughing at something on your phone, head tilted back slightly, throat exposed.

He cursed himself for noticing.

It became a theme for the night. Yamaguchi eventually arrived, and the three of you fell into old habits: teasing, reminiscing, swapping updates about your lives. Tsukishima hardly contributed, as always, but when you laughed too loud, he found himself smirking. When you leaned forward to tell a story, his eyes trailed for longer than they should’ve.

By the time Yamaguchi excused himself to the bathroom, it was just you and Tsukishima again.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” you said, sipping your drink. “More than usual.”

He pushed his glasses up, averting his eyes. “You’re imagining it.”

You tilted your head. “Am I?”

He hesitated. Just a fraction of a second too long. And before he could stop himself, his voice slipped low, dry but too honest.

“…When did you get hot?”

Your straw clinked against the glass. “What?”

He cleared his throat, eyes fixed firmly on the condensation ring his cup left on the table. “Nothing.”

“No, no, no,” you pressed, leaning forward, grinning now. “You did not just say that to me.”

“I didn’t,” he deadpanned, still not looking at you.

“You did!”

The corner of his mouth tugged, barely. He stayed quiet, hiding behind his glass, but the tips of his ears were unmistakably red.

And you sat there, smiling like you’d just uncovered a secret he’d tried so hard to bury.

You and Hinata had been best friends since high school. Back then, you were always the one cheering him on, showing up to matches, studying with him in the library when he was too restless to sit still. He was sunshine incarnate, your partner in crime, and over the years, even as life moved forward, that bond never faded.

He’d gone pro. You’d gone on your own path. But somehow, you always circled back to each other. Calls across time zones, video chats when he was traveling for matches, spontaneous hangouts whenever he was back in town.

It felt safe. Familiar. Until one summer evening, everything changed.

You’d agreed to meet him at the beach. The two of you hadn’t seen each other in months, and Hinata had been buzzing with excitement all week. He got there first, barefoot in the sand, a volleyball tucked under his arm like always. The sky was painted orange and pink, the air warm with salt.

Then he saw you walking toward him, sandals dangling from your fingers, hair stirred by the breeze. And for the first time in his life, he forgot how to breathe.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t always been beautiful. But something about this moment, the way the fading sunlight caught on your skin, the easy smile on your face when your eyes found his, it hit him like a spike straight to the chest.

His heart thudded wildly.

You jogged the last few steps to him, grinning. “Shoyo!”

He blinked, trying to rewire his brain back to normal. “y-yn!” His voice cracked embarrassingly, and he coughed to cover it.

You laughed, tugging him into a hug. It was casual, the kind you’d shared a thousand times before, but suddenly, Hinata’s arms didn’t feel big enough to hold all the feelings surging through him.

When you pulled away, he was still staring. He couldn’t stop.

“Everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head.

Hinata scrambled, cheeks blazing. “Yeah! Totally! Uh… you just- you look…” He trailed off, words slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers.

You raised a brow, amused. “I look…?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Different. Like… wow-different.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you tugged him toward the shoreline. “You’re so weird.”

But Hinata couldn’t focus on the waves, or the volleyball game you started, or even the way the tide lapped at your ankles. All he could think about was how his best friend had somehow grown into someone so stunning it made his chest ache.

At one point, you dove for the ball, tumbling into the sand with a triumphant laugh. Hinata froze mid-step, staring. The sunlight lit you up like fire, hair messy, smile wide, cheeks flushed. His heart gave another violent kick.

“Shoyooo,” you whined playfully, holding up the ball. “Stop zoning out!”

He snapped out of it, sprinting over, but the heat in his face wasn’t from running.

Later, after the sun had dipped and you were both sitting on the sand with ice cream cones, Hinata finally cracked.

“Hey, yn?”

“Mm?” you hummed, licking a drip of chocolate from your thumb.

He hesitated, eyes on the horizon. “When… when did you get so-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I mean… you’ve always been amazing, but now it’s like-” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Ugh, I sound so dumb.”

You laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “You’re not dumb.”

Hinata peeked at you through his fingers. “It’s just… I don’t know when it happened. But I can’t stop noticing you.”

The words tumbled out, unpolished but painfully honest. His chest was heaving, like he’d just sprinted down the court.

You blinked, startled, but the warmth in your eyes softened the sharp edges of his panic.

And though you didn’t say much right then, the way you leaned your head against his shoulder as the waves crashed below told Hinata he hadn’t just imagined the shift.

For the first time, he realized things would never quite be the same between you.

[heartkaji]

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍’ 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 !

synopsis 𝜗ৎ in which the hq!! boys blow up your phone when you don’t pick up ❥ based on this tiktok trend. jjk version here

includes 𝜗ৎ kuroo, kenma, miya twins, suna rintarou, kiyoomi sakusa, akaashi keiji, bokuto koutarou, terushima yuuji

HEARTKAJI 2025. do not steal, edit, translate, or re-upload.

[makkir0ll]

between you and your husband, you were the one more…vocal about your love for him. leaving him sweet notes with doodles of the two of you in his lunch, ending all heartfelt messages with x’s, planting a big kiss on his cheek that he pretended to cringe at but in reality he looked forward to it everytime he left the house.

people would always come up to you, telling you that he doesn’t reciprocate his love with words and such and asking you how you dealt with it. truth be told it took a while for you to get used to but soon enough you began to see the signs.

it was the way that every time he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom he would tuck your feet back into bed. the way he spent a solid twenty minutes cleaning your phone screen, and with furrowed brows as he placed your new screen protector on, making sure there were no bubbles. it was when you opened his wallet that you saw all the notes you wrote him saved in one pocket of his shitty leather wallet that was begging to be put to rest. it's the way when you come home after a long night out with your friends he takes his time undressing you, removing and placing your jewelry carefully on your bedside table and making sure to gently take off your makeup and of course do your skincare routine that he has memeorized. when he goes out and he spots a little something with your favorite character on it he buys it immediately, not bothering to look at the price tag because the way your eyes would light up when he brought home the little gift was worth more than a billion dollars to him.

it was when on your third month anniversary when the two of you were still dating, while the two of you sat down on the booth next to each other at a restaurant he held your hand and squeezed it three times. signifying the words, i love you. he knew he loved you from the start but was scared it was too soon to say it and this was his silent way of telling you so. and you picked up on it quickly when he started to do it more often.

and on your wedding day, as the two of you stand in front of all your loved ones and the officiator he says the most beautiful vows ever, telling you that "if death do us part then i hope to find you in every lifetime" and once he ended with that sentence, he squeezed your hand three times. i. love. you.

you always knew your husband loved you because his actions spoke a thousand words to you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜

sigh. TSUKISHIMA FREAKING KEI!!!!!!!!, akaashi keiji (he writes notes back to you), KITA. SHINSUKE., iwaizumi hajime (30) athletic trainer, suna rintarou, USHIJIMA, kageyama tobio (squeezed your hand a lot when you started dating), MIYA OSAMU, sakusa kiyoomi, OH OH OH AONE!!,

[ronisramblings]

a/n: completely self indulgent. i keep my room freezing 24/7

thinking about haikyuu men who have a love/hate relationship with your apartment. they love it because it’s so you, but hate how cold it is.

they can never go over to yours without sweats and a hoodie, hell, they often debate bringing over their own blanket because of how cold it gets. they love having your hands on them - but only if they’ve warmed up, either by holding hands, breathing on them, or even sitting in your fingers, so when you inevitably trail you fingers under their hoodie it doesn’t feel like an icicle on their bare skin.

they’re convinced that cuddles at your house are better though. often times holding you closer than normal to try and transfer body heat, with a blanket thrown over you. your place feels more homey then their own, reminding them of their parents house on cold nights, when the tea and hot chocolate taste just a bit better due to the frigidness outside.

they refuse to let you sleep with the window open, even though you claim the cold air is good for you. they go around and close all the windows as you change into your pajamas, before locking the window in your bedroom. they watch with fondness in their gaze as you bounce over to the bed shivering slightly as you climb onto the cold sheets, and they quickly follow.

the pillows are cold, and the blankets are slowly warming you both up as he pulls you close to him. he doesn’t even mind all to much as your freezing toes find his leg as you are both drifting off to sleep. he’d never tell you that he sleeps better at your apartment. you’d be convinced that the reason is because you kept it so cold all the time.

he’s convinced it’s just you.

hinata, kiyoomi, oikawa, yamaguchi, suga, akaashi, kita, atsumu, kageyama, kenma

[m4iya]

Kenma, whose camera roll is completely full of 0.5 photos of you. Sleeping? 0.5. Eating? Yep, another one. Occasionally, you’d catch a glimpse of his lockscreen, seeing your face in a not-so flattering angle.

Bokuto, who refuses to leave you alone if he notices a slight shift in your happiness. He wants to know what put you in a sour mood so he can come up with a way to change it! But his options are quite limited, so when you feel a pair of arms wrap around you from behind and lift you up, it doesn’t take even a second for your laughter to fill his ears.

Yamaguchi, who can’t take his eyes off your birthmarks, insisting that they’re so different from his own. He sighs when you cover them up with makeup, and when you ask him what’s wrong, he pouts.

Kageyama, who secretly likes having nicknames that only you can call him by. He feels that it’s like a little code only the two of you know, so if you shout it during one of his matches, who’s going to know you're talking to him? Though, waking up to see millions of people on social media calling him ‘Tobi’ wasn’t on his bucket list.

Akaashi, who can't help smile while listening to you rant about something trivial. He'd chime in at times, saying things like; "I know right?" and, "Seriously?". If you both went out for froyo, by the end, yours would be pretty much a liquid and his would be empty.

Suna, who insists that the two of you have matching profile pictures on every platform you're both on. Whether it's a photo of the both of you split into two, or a set of matching photos you found on Pinterest, he's all about the subtle meaning behind it.

Sugawara, who absolutely refuses to let you walk home alone in the dark. Whether you were studying together at the library, or over at his place, he'd accompany you on the walk home. In the winter, he’d wrap his scarf around you, and take your gloved hand in his. It was so you didn’t get lost! Oh and the scarf? That was.. so he could see you in a crowd!

other works

[chevxyn]

INVALID CONCERNS

you telling him you’re insecure that he’s prettier than you.

/w the pretty setters squad -> sugawara, kageyama, kenma, oikawa, akaashi, atsumu, shirabu, semi, koganegawa. ( gn!reader, separated )

mature language, chatfic, crackfic, established relationship.

sugawara koushi. kageyama tobio. kenma kozume.

oikawa tooru. akaashi keiji. atsumu miya.

shirabu kenjiro. semi eita. koganegawa kanji.

©chevxyn

written as post-timeskip; this is such a random idea tbh😭😭

[haikyu-mp4]

coming home all tired from work, there was nothing like finding your husband Keiji in his home office and curling yourself around him in the most comforting squish. your eyes were already closed, sinking into his warm neck.

“mrs. Akaashi?” he asked you, and that alone made you feel all floaty.

“mhmm?”

“if I say you’re mine, does that make you feel like I’m seeing you as an object instead of a person?” Keiji asked you after planting a little kiss on your arm where it wrapped across his chest, completely serious in his questioning. you blinked for a moment before finally registering.

“uhh, not really. but if you suddenly went feral and tried to tell me what to do because you're mine, that would be pushing it,” you answered with a light chuckle.

“ahaa…” Keiji nodded as if totally understanding what you meant, before taking some notes in the open notebook beside him. “so… would you say it’s okay if it’s meant as you being my person? the one for me, as I am for you,” he asked, leaving space in the air for you to consider his wording. you tilted your head with a pleased expression, leaning forward to see his face.

“and yours as in your wife, of course. rightfully.“ you booped his nose with your finger before leaning in for a kiss. “you have such a way with words, dearest.” at this point, you were practically purring, but ended up choking on a laugh when you saw the amount of feminism-related media open on Keiji’s computer.

“Tenma is making a new character. she’s very political and it made me realise I’m not entirely educated.”

you just fell more in love with your husband every day, huh. “does this mean you’re making dinner today? challenging the gender roles one chore at a time,” you joked as if you didn’t already share all your chores evenly.

he laughed, stretching as he decided to finally clock out of work. “anything for you, my love.”

masterlist

[biggianteggplant]

PERIOD COMFORT WITH HAIKYUU MEN.

"GO AWAY, I LOOK UGLY RN."

Period Comfort With Our Haikyuu Babies

FT. Hinata, Kita, Akaashi, Goshiki, Ushijima, Kageyama, Kuroo, Bokuto, Daichi, Iwaizumi, Kyotani, Shirabu, Sakusa

HINATA SHOYO

You’d locked yourself in the bathroom nearly an hour ago.

Cramps had you doubled over, your mood was in the gutter, and you felt bloated, ugly, and irritable. The last thing you wanted was anyone seeing you like this—especially not him.

Outside the door, Shoyo Hinata paced like a worried puppy.

“Y/N…?” he called gently. “You okay in there?”

No answer.

So, he tried again. “Do you need anything? Water? Chocolate? Me to go fight your uterus?”

Still nothing.

After a moment of silence, a quiet shhfff sound slid across the bathroom floor.

You blinked, turned, and looked down near the door.

A small pack of strawberry Pocky had been pushed through the crack under the door.

“…Shoyo?”

“Just in case you’re hungry,” he replied from the other side. “And if you’re sad. You always eat Pocky when you’re sad.”

You were silent for a while—partly confused, partly touched—when another shhfff noise happened.

This time, it was…a fuzzy pair of boxers.

Steam rose from them.

“What the hell is that?” you asked, leaning toward it like it might attack.

“…I microwaved my boxers,” Hinata said proudly. “So you can wear them and feel warm!”

Your jaw dropped. “Hinata Shoyo. You microwaved your underwear—for me?!”

“YEAH! Not the ones I wore today, okay? They’re clean!! I swear! I just thought—you know—you always say warm stuff helps when it hurts so bad, so I thought…”

You couldn’t help it. A laugh burst out of you despite the dull ache in your stomach.

“…That’s the dumbest and sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you muttered.

You unlocked the door slowly, peeking out with tired eyes and a flushed face.

Hinata stood there with a lopsided smile, holding a heating pad in one hand and another snack in the other. His cheeks were just as red as yours.

“I just… wanna help,” he said sheepishly. “Even if I’m not good at it.”

You opened the door fully and pulled him into a hug.

“You’re more than good at it. You’re the best.”

And in that warm, giggly moment—with microwaved boxers, snacks on the floor, and a sunbeam of a boyfriend—you felt just a little better.

KITA SHINSUKE

Your legs are curled against your chest under a mountain of blankets. The world feels too loud, your body too heavy. Your cramps pulse like clockwork—sharp and relentless—and the heat pack isn’t helping anymore. Neither is your mood.

There’s a knock at your door. Soft. Familiar.

You groan. “Don’t come in. Go away. I look ugly right now.”

Silence. Then, the click of the door opening anyway.

You can’t bring yourself to lift your head, but you recognize his footsteps—quiet, deliberate. The scent of chamomile floats into the room before you even see him.

You peek out from the cocoon of blankets. There he is. Kita Shinsuke. Hair still perfectly combed. Hoodie sleeves pushed neatly to his elbows. Holding a mug with both hands like it’s something sacred.

“You’re not ugly,” he says plainly, like it’s just fact. “You’re in pain. That’s not the same.”

He sets the mug on your bedside table and doesn’t try to touch you. Doesn’t force anything. Just turns toward the messy basket of unfolded laundry near your desk and begins folding—slowly, methodically. Like it’s part of a quiet ritual he does just for you.

You stare, too tired to argue, too touched to say anything.

He doesn’t speak either. His movements are calm, steady. It’s like watching a warm breeze clean your room. Your shoulders start to loosen without you realizing. The throbbing in your abdomen is still there, but somehow, it’s less… sharp.

When the last shirt is folded and stacked, he walks over and sits on the edge of your bed, careful not to shift it too much. He picks up the mug again, now cooled just enough, and gently presses it into your hands. His fingers brush yours—warm, calloused, familiar.

“Drink a little. Then I’ll heat up your pad again,” he murmurs.

You do as he says, because you trust him, because his voice makes the ache in your chest ease.

As you take a slow sip, Kita leans in a little closer. His hand brushes your hair back from your forehead, so softly it makes you want to cry.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “Even when you think you’re not.”

You blink at him, stunned at the quiet certainty in his voice.

He studies your face for a moment—eyes calm, kind. Then he leans in and presses the softest kiss to your temple, lingering there for a second longer than needed. Your breath catches. It’s like everything stops—except your heartbeat, which stumbles in your chest.

You whisper, “Thank you.”

Kita smiles faintly, resting his forehead gently against yours. “Always.”

And for the first time that day, the ache doesn’t feel so heavy. Not with him here. Not when he makes even your worst moments feel worth showing up for.

AKAASHI KEIJI

You were halfway out of bed when it happened— That dreaded, telltale warmth.

Panic set in immediately. Your stomach dropped as you glanced down at the faint crimson bloom on your sheets. You scrambled to fix it, heart racing, trying to move fast, cover it up, clean it—anything before someone—

Creak.

The door opened. You froze, like a raccoon caught mid-crime. And there stood Akaashi Keiji, blinking softly at you in the doorway.

You were hunched awkwardly, half-lifting your blanket, a pillow pressed to your side, and you just… froze. Wide eyes. Stiff shoulders. Total horror.

Akaashi took one look at your face and understood.

You broke first, your voice a whisper, shaky and small. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I just—it's gross and—”

He stepped in without hesitation. “Hey,” he said gently. “It’s okay. It’s normal.”

You turned away quickly, embarrassment burning through your skin. “I just—I didn’t want you to see it.”

He sighed—not out of frustration, but with the kind of softness people use when folding origami.

“Then I’ll close my eyes while I hold you next time,” he said, only half teasing, and you hated that it made your heart stutter.

Still overwhelmed, you slipped out of the room and headed straight for the laundry area, hiding behind the washing machine like a little gremlin. You didn’t even know why—it just felt like the safest place to melt from embarrassment.

Moments later, you heard the shuffle of sheets and footsteps approaching.

Akaashi appeared around the corner with a laundry basket, wearing that same calm, unreadable face he always did—but this time, his voice was warmer than usual. “Let me clean it. You go rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he gave you that look. The one that somehow convinced Bokuto to sleep at a reasonable hour.

“You’re tired. And I know your back hurts. Please,” he added.

And you knew he wasn’t asking out of pity. He was offering care, in the quiet, thoughtful way only Akaashi Keiji could.

So you nodded, slowly, and let him take over.

Later, you found him again, curled on the couch with a blanket ready for you. A warm mug in his hands. Lo-fi playing softly in the background, paired with his voice as he read from your favorite book—his tone calm, steady, like nothing awkward had happened at all.

You sank beside him, cheeks still hot.

“Still feel gross?” he asked quietly, eyes flicking to yours.

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not as much.”

He reached out, brushing your pinky with his.

“That’s good,” he said. “Because you’re not. And I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”

GOSHIKI TSUTOMU

You were curled up in bed, hair messy, hoodie oversized, hot water bottle clutched to your stomach. The cramps were rude. The bloating was worse. And your mood? Somewhere between “burn the world down” and “cry over a kitten video.”

When your bedroom door creaked open, you groaned. “Go away. I look terrible.”

Silence. Then—

“Wha—NO YOU DON’T!!”

You blinked, startled, as Goshiki Tsutomu stumbled into your room like a panicked deer. “You’re literally glowing?? Like—like a powerful goddess or something??”

You stared at him, deadpan. He stared back, cheeks going pink like cherry blossom petals in real time.

“I mean—!” he tried again, waving his arms. “I-I just meant, you always look good! Even when you’re, y’know… fighting for your life??”

You raised an eyebrow.

He clutched a plastic bag tightly. “I brought snacks!”

Then—of course—he tripped over your laundry basket.

Half the snacks spilled out onto the floor in slow motion. A pack of gummies hit your shoe. A chocolate bar slid under your desk like it was making a break for it.

He stood frozen, mid-squat, mouth slightly open in silent horror.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. A small one at first, then a full giggle as he scrambled to collect everything, muttering apologies to both you and the snacks.

“I’m—uh—usually way cooler than this,” he said, red-faced, clutching the surviving chips to his chest like wounded soldiers. “But I just—I wanted to make you feel better, and I read that snacks and compliments help, so—”

You reached out, tugged him gently by the sleeve, and said, “Thank you, Tsutomu.”

He froze.

You gave him a tiny smile. “You're flustered, but you're sweet. And honestly, that’s way more comforting than being too smooth.”

His ears turned red. “S-Smooth is overrated anyway.”

You scooted over, patting the spot beside you. “Come sit, snack guardian.”

He sat beside you like a very nervous golden retriever, still holding the chips, trying very hard not to vibrate with excitement or accidentally touch your knee.

And despite the cramps and bloating, you couldn’t stop smiling. Because in all his awkward glory, Goshiki made you feel like a goddess—even in sweatpants and pain.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

You were flopped across the couch like a defeated warrior, wrapped in a blanket burrito with a hot compress against your stomach and a scowl on your face. Everything felt puffy. Your mood was foul. Your body felt like it was personally betraying you.

So when you heard footsteps approaching, you groaned. “I’m bloated and horrible. Don’t come near me.”

A pause.

Then, in that calm, even tone only Ushijima Wakatoshi could pull off: “Your appearance does not change how I feel about you.”

You peeked out from under your blanket.

He was standing beside you, stoic as ever, holding... a peeled orange. Perfectly sectioned. Not a bit of peel or pith in sight.

“I read that citrus is good during menstruation,” he said seriously, placing it in your hands with utmost care.

You blinked. “Wait—you peeled this?”

“Yes,” he said plainly. “With a spoon. It was... delicate work.”

Your heart did something warm and annoying.

He sat beside you then—not too close, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him. Strong. Steady. Like a mountain planted at your side.

He didn’t say much after that. Just rested a warm hand against your back, slow and grounding, like an anchor. You didn’t even have to explain how much it helped. He seemed to know, in his own quiet way.

After a while, you muttered, “You’re really not freaked out by all this?”

He looked at you, confused. “Why would I be?”

“I dunno... it’s messy. Complicated. Most guys don’t get it.”

“I don’t fully understand,” he admitted without shame. “But I understand you are in pain. And I want to help. That is enough for me.”

You just stared at him.

Because somehow, that was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to you.

He gently pushed the orange closer. “You should eat. I peeled it with precision.”

You laughed, even though it hurt a little. “You’re kind of perfect, Wakatoshi.”

He blinked slowly. “Only because I’m with you.”

And for once, the pain didn’t feel quite so heavy.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You were half-buried under a mountain of blankets, hoodie up, socks mismatched, and a microwaved heat pack balanced precariously on your stomach.

Your cramps had declared war. Your bloating was its loyal general. Your mood? Somewhere between “don’t look at me” and “don’t not look at me.”

So when the door creaked open, you groaned dramatically. “Go away. I look ugly right now.”

A pause. Then his voice—flat, mildly confused, completely Kageyama: “You’re literally just lying down.”

You peeked up. He was standing awkwardly in the doorway with a grocery bag and a furrow between his brows. Inside the bag? Snacks, bananas, a heat patch, and... chamomile tea?

You squinted. “Did you look this stuff up?”

He stepped in, muttering, “Yeah. Watched three videos. One of them had cartoons... I didn’t like it.”

Your heart did a small, ridiculous flip.

Kageyama placed the tea on the side table like it was a volleyball trophy, then sat stiffly beside you. He handed you a warm bottle of water like it was part of a ritual. He didn’t really know what to do—but he wanted to do it right. That much was obvious.

“You don’t have to stay,” you mumbled, a little shy.

He frowned. “I want to.”

You stared at him.

He stared at your blanket burrito.

Then, in a very serious voice: “If you need anything... I’ll get it. Unless it’s, like, prescription stuff. Then we need to text someone with a license.”

You bit back a laugh. “That’s... thoughtful?”

He stiffened. “I’m just trying to help. You helped me when I failed that Math test.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t bleed for five days straight.”

His face turned bright red.

There was a loud knock at the door—probably your sibling yelling about borrowing something.

Kageyama stood up like a soldier mid-war. “I’ll handle it.”

You blinked as he marched out, posture tense, voice firm as he told them, “She’s busy. Come back later.”

You heard muffled grumbling. Then silence.

When he came back in, you were smiling.

“Tobio,” you said softly.

He looked over, slightly worried. “What?”

“You’re kinda bad at this... but you’re also kinda great.”

He sat back down beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Well... yeah. I know. But I’m still gonna try.”

You leaned against him, heat pack between you, and for the first time all day, you didn’t feel quite so gross.

KUROO TETSURO

Your uterus was staging a full-blown revolution, your head was pounding, and your emotions were somewhere between burn everything and cry over nothing.

So when Kuroo Tetsurō peeked in through the door with his usual smirk, your reaction was immediate and primal.

“I feel gross, go away.”

He walked in anyway, waving a bar of chocolate like a white flag. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

You deadpan stared. He paused.

“Okay wait, don’t kill me—here’s chocolate!” He tossed it onto your bed like he was feeding a wild animal.

“I told you to go,” you gritted, grabbing the nearest pillow and launching it at him.

He ducked with a laugh, catching it midair. “Woah—projectile detected!”

“Oh, shut up with the science jokes—”

Too late.

“You know,” he said, inching closer, “your mood is just Newton’s Third Law in action: for every annoying boyfriend action, there is an equal and angry girlfriend reaction.”

You hurled a slipper next.

It missed, barely.

He gave you a look. “Did you just throw your slipper at me?”

“I’ll throw the other one too if you don’t leave me alone!”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he set the chocolate properly on your nightstand, sat beside you, and—very gently—reached for your foot.

You raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

“Massaging away the murder vibes before I die.”

You were still glaring... but you let him.

His thumbs pressed against the arch of your foot in slow, soothing circles. He was annoyingly good at it. You hated how fast the tension began to melt.

“I read that foot massages help with cramps,” he said casually, shifting a little to rub at your calf too. “Also, I like touching you. That part’s a bonus.”

You huffed, pulling the blanket over your face. “I hate you.”

He leaned down, kissing your temple through the blanket. “You’ll love me again when the serotonin from the chocolate kicks in.”

Another grumble.

Then, softly, you peeked out. “...You are good at massages.”

“I know,” he smirked. “Physics, baby.”

You smacked him lightly with the pillow again—but this time, you didn’t throw it.

BOKUTO KOUTARO

You were curled up on the couch with a heat pack, blanket hood over your head, and an expression that said: I’m done with this world.

You barely mumbled, “I look like death. Don’t look at me.”

But Bokuto was already there—wide eyes, full heart, and very little understanding of how menstrual cycles worked, but deeply trained for this exact situation.

“NOOOO, YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL EVEN WHEN YOU’RE DYING!!” he cried out dramatically, dropping to his knees beside the couch like you were in a medieval tragedy.

You groaned and smacked a pillow over your face.

Three weeks ago, he’d caught sight of a single bloodstain on your sweatpants and screamed like you’d been stabbed. “BABE?! ARE YOU BLEEDING TO DEATH?! SHOULD I CALL KUROO? OR AN AMBULANCE???”

Since then, you sat him down—twice—and gave him the “Period 101” crash course with printed infographics, diagrams, and a checklist labeled: “THINGS TO DO WHEN Y/N IS IN PAIN (DO NOT PANIC)”

And now? He was ready.

Bokuto gently removed the pillow from your face like it was sacred. “You want the raspberry tea or the mango one? You said mango last time, but you also said raspberry makes you feel loved—”

You blinked.

“I’ll bring both,” he decided, already sprinting off like he was on a game show.

He returned with both teas, a small heating pad, and a pink sticky note taped to the mug that read:

“YOU ARE BRAVE AND AMAZING AND PERIODS ARE SCARY BUT YOU’RE SCARIER 💪❤️ – BOKU ❤️”

You stared at the note.

Then at him—grinning and rocking side to side, eyes expectant.

“Okay,” you said softly. “That’s actually really cute.”

He beamed. “I FOLLOWED THE LIST!!”

You motioned him over with a little wave. He dove beside you immediately, wrapping his arms and legs around you like a large, clingy marsupial.

“I’ll cuddle the cramps out of you,” he declared. “Koala mode: activated.”

You snorted. “You’re the most chaotic comfort ever.”

“Chaotic comfort is still comfort!” he said proudly, then kissed your cheek.

You buried your face in his hoodie, finally able to laugh through the pain.

He stayed like that for hours—occasionally gasping when you shifted or winced (“is it back?! should I karate chop it??”) but never leaving your side, not even once.

DAICHI SAWAMURA

You were curled up under two blankets, hoodie hood up, hair a mess, face pale, eyes tired. Your body hurt, your emotions were a rollercoaster, and the only words that escaped your mouth when Daichi walked into the room were:

“Please, I’m a disaster. Go away.”

But instead of leaving, Daichi Sawamura knelt down beside you with that soft, impossibly patient look in his eyes and said:

“You’re my favorite disaster.”

You groaned into the pillow. “Don’t say sweet things when I look like this…”

“I said what I said,” he replied, standing to his full height like this was some kind of operation he was born for.

And maybe it was.

Five minutes later, he returned with:

Your heating pad (already warm),

A fresh glass of water,

Your meds (right on time),

A snack you didn’t even know you were craving,

And his shoulder.

“Lean on me,” he said gently, tucking himself behind you on the couch and pulling you into his side like a magnet.

You didn’t resist. Couldn’t, really.

You pressed your forehead to his chest and closed your eyes. His arm wrapped around your waist, firm but soft, grounding you even when the cramps made your breath hitch.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered.

“I’m just lying here and not crying.”

“And that’s still brave,” he said, brushing your hair back gently. “Your body’s doing a lot. You don’t have to do anything else.”

You felt yourself melt into him—like your pain got a little lighter just from being near him.

He didn’t make a big deal. He didn’t flinch. He just stayed. And that was exactly what you needed.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

You were curled up on the far end of the bed, hoodie zipped up to your nose, hot pack clutched like a lifeline. Your hair was a mess, your eyes watery, and you were pretty sure you looked like you’d fought a war and lost.

Iwaizumi knocked softly and peeked in. You turned your face away.

“Don’t look at me,” you mumbled. “I feel disgusting.”

He sighed. Not annoyed—never that—but like he was frustrated that you were hurting and blaming yourself for it.

“You’re literally sick,” he muttered, walking in without hesitation. “Let me take care of you, idiot.”

You glared at him half-heartedly from under the blanket. “Rude.”

“I said it with love,” he grumbled, setting a tray down on your nightstand. It had toast, soup, a glass of water, and your painkillers—organized like he was prepping for surgery.

Then he sat beside you and placed a hand gently on your back. You were tense—tight with pain—but his palm was warm, his fingers steady as he rubbed small circles along your spine.

“…Your uterus is a damn menace,” he muttered under his breath, like he could intimidate it into behaving.

You laughed. It was small, breathy, but real.

He looked at you, still serious. “Did you eat anything?”

You shook your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and handed you a piece of toast. “Bite. Don’t argue.”

You opened your mouth to sass him, but he beat you to it with a warning stare. You took the bite.

He gave a satisfied nod. “Good.”

You chewed slowly, his hand never leaving your back, his other hand checking your forehead like he didn’t trust you to admit if you had a fever.

He didn’t coo or fuss. He didn’t hover. He just... showed up. Knew exactly when to speak and when to just be there.

His love was the kind that made you feel safe without needing to ask. Tough in tone, soft in every action.

And when you curled into his chest later, finally full, warm, and less in pain, he kissed your hair and mumbled:

“Still beautiful. Even when you’re annoying.”

You poked his ribs.

But you were smiling.

KYOTANI KENTARO

You groaned, face buried in the pillow, your stomach twisting like it was training for a wrestling match. The cramps hit you so hard, you barely had the energy to reach for your heating pad.

Then—knock knock—your bedroom door creaked open.

“Go away,” you muttered, not even turning to look. “I look disgusting.”

Kyōtani stood there, frozen for a second. He stared at you, disheveled and clearly in pain. His ears turned a little red.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, stepping in. “You don’t.”

You peeked through one eye, just in time to see him drop a small plastic bag onto your desk like it was nothing.

Inside: your favorite chips, a pack of sour gummies, a weird milk tea you mentioned once, and—somehow—your favorite brand of pain relief patch.

You blinked.

“…You went to the store?”

He didn’t look at you. “Was already out.”

That was a lie.

You knew it.

He knew you knew it.

But neither of you said anything.

Instead, he awkwardly stood there, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, hovering like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

You groaned again as another wave of cramps hit. You clutched your stomach and curled tighter into the blankets, trying not to cry.

That did it.

Kyōtani took off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, silent but sure, like it was instinct. He didn’t say a word, just let you lean into him.

But the pain didn’t go away.

And before either of you could process what was happening, you climbed into his lap, straddling him, face buried in his chest like he was your personal heating pad. You let out a shaky breath and stayed there.

“Wha—” he froze, muscles stiff like he’d been turned to stone. “What are you doing???”

“Shhh,” you mumbled. “It hurts. You’re warm. I’m sleeping here now.”

You passed out within minutes.

He sat there, hands up like he wasn’t sure where to place them, cheeks burning, heart racing like he’d been spiked straight through the soul.

Eventually, his hands settled on your back—carefully, gently. He even leaned his chin on your head and closed his eyes.

“…Idiot,” he whispered softly, barely audible. “Don’t say you’re disgusting.”

Because even like this—messy, tired, pained—you were everything he secretly adored.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

You were bundled in a hoodie three sizes too big, hair in a messy bun, and a heating pad across your stomach like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

Your phone buzzed.

Shirabu: Outside. Open up.

You groaned. Noooo.

You shouted toward the door: "Don’t come in, I look like trash!"

But it was too late. The door opened a crack—and there he was. Backpack slung over his shoulder, hair slightly messy from rushing over, and his ever-present frown on full display.

“I’ve seen you cry over animal videos,” he said flatly. “You’re still out of my league.”

You blinked.

“…You’re annoying.”

“Good. I brought vitamins and warm towels. Don’t waste my effort.”

He walked in and started unpacking like this was a mission. You sat up a little, trying not to grimace from the cramps, pretending to scroll on your phone like you didn’t just feel like sobbing two seconds ago.

Shirabu caught the way you winced and muttered, “Tch. Idiot body. I’ll beat it up if I have to.”

You giggled at that, and he looked away, cheeks faintly pink.

When he finally sat beside you—arms crossed, like he wasn’t here for emotional support—his shoulder barely brushed yours.

And you?

You really wanted to lean on him. Just a little.

But no.

Too embarrassing.

So instead, you scooted just a tiny bit closer. Not enough to make it obvious. Just enough to feel the warmth of his sleeve.

He noticed.

He didn’t say anything, but his arms slowly, so slowly, uncrossed. One hand rested on your blanket. The other tugged you in by the hoodie strings like you were a cat being scruffed.

“…You could just say you want to be held, you know,” he muttered under his breath, placing your head gently on his shoulder.

“I don’t,” you whispered stubbornly, face already heating up.

“Sure,” he said sarcastically, wrapping an arm around you anyway. “That’s why you're basically glued to my side.”

You snorted and sank into him, pretending you were asleep so he wouldn’t tease you further.

But when he leaned down and whispered against your forehead, “Even your trash days are my favorite,” your heart skipped.

Maybe being clingy wasn’t so bad—if it was with him.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

You curled up tighter under the covers, the heating pad already losing warmth and your cramps flaring like they had a personal vendetta. The light knock at your door barely registered.

“Go away,” you groaned. “I look ugly right now.”

The door creaked open anyway.

“I don’t care how you look,” Sakusa said gently, stepping in. “I care that you’re hurting.”

You peeked out from the blanket burrito you had made yourself into. There he stood—messy curls, fresh clothes, a pink mask (was that the one with the tiny peaches?), and a tote bag full of comfort items in his hand.

“Kiyoomi…” you mumbled, embarrassed.

“I brought your favorite snacks. The heat pad. Extra pads, the tea you like, and…” He trailed off, fishing something from his bag. “…the fuzzy socks you said felt like clouds.”

Your eyes watered a little—not from the cramps this time.

He crossed the room, set the bag on your desk, and placed a perfectly folded blanket at the edge of your bed.

“You didn’t have to,” you whispered.

“I wanted to,” he replied, gently placing a hand on your forehead, mask still on. “You're always taking care of others. Let someone take care of you.”

He pulled down the mask slightly—just enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to your temple, then one to your cheek.

“Even when you feel your worst,” he murmured, “you’re still the person I love the most.”

Your face heated faster than your cramps hurt.

You tried to hide under your blanket again, but he was faster—he slipped in beside you, gently pulling you into his chest as he tucked the warm heating pad between you.

“Rest,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wrapped in Sakusa’s quiet love and warmth, even your uterus decided to calm down for once.

[evamame]

🏐 haikyuu men meeting your parents for the first time

very excited and energetic, and super loud too. does his absolute best to leave a good impression. he cracks so many jokes and does everything in his power to make your parents laugh. he’s very comfortable and talks naturally with your parents right off the bat. very expressive and open about his love for you. comes off as a handful but also really funny and super sweet.

HINATA, nishinoya, BOKUTO, atsumu, tanaka, tendo

first impression to your parents is that he’s very mature and respectful. brings a bouquet of flowers for your mom. he also makes sure to appear really put together. sprays on a bit of his fancy cologne and all. a little bit nervous on the inside, but that’s only natural. he makes sure not to show it. what he does try and show, though, is his absolute undying love for you. he really wants to earn your parent’s trust above anything else. “she’s the love of my life. i promise i’ll take great care of her, if you allow me to do so.” doesn’t this sound a bit too much like a job interview?

(makes sure he comes back to ask for permission when he puts a ring on it!!)

USHIJIMA, IWAIZUMI, sakusa, DAICHI, akaashi

swoons your parents over so hard he’s practically flirting. the type to be greeted and welcomed into your childhood home, but not without swiftly pretending to mistake your mom as your older sister when making his entrance. “y/n, is this your older sister? no? that’s your mom?! oh wow, ma’am, you look so young!” oh, how flattering this man is. gets along with your parents a little too well. they end up constantly pestering you about when he’ll be coming back to visit again. they probably like him more than you at this point.

KUROO, oikawa, OSAMU (he also brings freshly made onigiri for your parents), suna, sugawara, atsumu (felt like he kinda fit into both)

a nervous wreck. he requires a lot of reassurance in the car ride as well as the walk to the front door before hand. ends up doing just fine though, despite stumbling over his words a couple times. your parents think he’s the absolute sweetest, most innocent cutie ever. probably ends up using a lot of honorifics and formal language subconsciously out of nerves, but it just comes off as super respectful to your parents. the whole things turn out to be a win-lose situation, and he doesn’t fumble the bag as bad as he thought he would.

ASAHI, kageyama, yamaguchi (i could not think of anyone else vro. sorry.)

masterlist | taglist | tags: @scoupsworld @amaliaaliena @mires765 a/n: multis like this are kinda hard bcs i have to lump a bunch of characters in one group, so some are probably ooc. usually don’t do them for this reason but i felt like switching things up.

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[kiyuhai]

Bite !!

You have a thing. A thing for biting.  It's a love language, a habit, a lifestyle.  You aren’t exactly shy about it, but you haven’t bitten your boyfriend yet. That changes today! feat. Iwaizumi, Akaashi & Atsumu Miya

Iwaizumi Haijime

He froze in place the first time he felt your teeth sink into his skin. It wasn’t even a hard bite, just a small “nyom”, before you let go and continued on your task like you didn’t leave a bite mark on your boyfriend's bicep.

He gives you a blank look, before moving over to you. “What was that?” He asks, his arm moving to hug your waist. You shrug, “Love language.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow at you, and you miss the mischievous grin that appears on his face.

You let out a giggle. “Haji!” His mouth is on your cheeks, biting into the soft flesh and you squirm to move away from him. “Hey!!”

“What?” He grins, watching you rub at your cheeks. “You said it yourself. Love language.”

“Yeah but– Hey! Hey no!” Your protests are drowned by giggles as he pulls you closer, mouth wide as he chomps on your cheeks. Again. “Haji! Ewww-” You push his face away. “You’re slobbering on me!” 

You try to keep your lips in a firm line, only to devolve into a giggling mess as Hajime chomps on your cheek. 

Later, when you chomp on his arm again, he doesn’t freeze, instead, a smile finds its way on his lips. 

Akaashi Keiji

You didn’t bite hard. 

I mean, you leave small bites on the arms or shoulders of your friends, but when you bit Keiji, you didn’t bite deep out of slight fear of accidentally hurting the man. 

The first time you bit him, it was out of cuteness aggression and you apologized right after. He looked at you with slightly wide eyes. You apologize again, but you see him smile. “What was that for?”

You explain, shyly. Akaashi just hums, and nonchalantly goes, “... Can I bite back?”

Oh shit.

Anyways, that now ends up with the both of you biting each other.

You bite him, he bites back. It's gentle, but sometimes, both of you end up with bite marks that last for quite a while. 

Bokuto and Kuroo give both of you looks, but when they ask you just shrug and go, “Love language.”

“Uhuh. Yeah, definitely."

Atsumu Miya

He yelped. Like, jumped up and yelped kind, when he first felt you bite. 

Eyes wide, body tense like he was in a fight as you looked at you. You pause, you let go, you blink. 

Atsumu stares at you, and you stare back. “?? What the fuck?”

“Hi.” Is all you said, smiling widely.

“?? What??” 

You shrug. “Love language.”

“That doesn’t explain anything?”

You tilt your head, and despite the smile on your face, he can see the small glimpse of nervousness in it. “Do you hate it?” You pause. “I can- like- stop.”

“NO!” He clears his throat. “I mean! No! Don’t! You can bite me anywhere!” Atsumu frantically removes his shirt and you scramble, “Tsumu, you don’t have to remove your shirt??” 

It takes a while for you to get him to put his shirt back on, and you stare at him with furrowed brows. “Are you calm now??”

“Yeah.” He’s looking away from you now and you tilt your head. “So ...You don’t mind if I bite you?”

He shakes his head. "No!"

You smile. “Okay!” 

Every bite mark you leave is proudly shown off to whoever is unlucky enough to stumble upon Astumu Miya.

[4unnyr0se]

Could I ask for Akaashi, Osamu, Kenma, and Bokuto + them giving oral?

❥ til your teeth rot! | akaashi, osamu, kenma, bokuto

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader, cunnilingus (duh), praise, degrading, overstimulation, face sitting, semi-public sex, osamu's accent, kenma is v lazy, fingering

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.8k

a/n: i wrote this when i was having tummy issues so i'm sorry if its awful

got a request? my ask are open!

❥ Keiji Akaashi | Slow and steady

Akaashi eats your pussy like it’s made of glass like it could break at any moment. Every flick of his tongue, every sucking motion on your clit is calculated based on your previous reaction. Did you mewl louder when he harshly sucked on your sensitive bud? He’ll apply more pressure next time, hopefully earning another one of your adorable moans. 

Just because he was calculated to give pleasure does not mean he was inexperienced or selfish. Absolutely not. He could never dream of denying you anything you so plainly desired. All you had to was flash him those beautiful, sparking eyes of yours, and you would be on your back, legs spread, and moaning like an amateur pornstar while Akaashi made you cum for the second time that day.

He never rushes you through your orgasm, he doesn’t think that being intimate with you is some kind of game. It’s a puzzle that he simply wants to solve. His tongue is achingly slow against your folds, making the most precious moments between the two of you last longer. He is savoring each bit of your sweet nectar, and he fucking loves it. 

K-Keiji!” you sobbed, your hands flying to his neat mess of dark curls, desperate for purchase. Your legs were wrapped around his shoulders, just in case he would try to flee. Akaashi fucking loved it when you trapped him between your legs, it made him feel like the two of you were the last people on earth. “Gonna cum!”

Akaashi smiled against your folds, his tongue pausing momentarily. “I know, pretty girl. Wanna fall apart on my tongue again? I love it when you do that.” he praised, diving back to make out with your core. His tongue slipped past your entrance, the tip of the wet muscle gliding in and out with ease. His soft hands squeezed the inside of your thighs, rolling the supple and soft flesh between his fingers. 

Your head was rested on the pillow beneath you, hair growing knotted and messy whilst your thighs trembled in Akaashi’s grasp. His nose rubbed against your clit so deliciously, the additional stimulation pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm washed over you as you cried in pleasure, his name leaving your lips over and over again. Akaashi purred at the sensation of your release coating his mouth and tongue, pulling away once your high had subsided.

“Amazing job, pretty girl. You did so well for me.” he praised, wiping your slick from his chin. He leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips, lingering just long enough for you to taste your own release. “See how delicious you are, darling? So unbelievably perfect for me.”

❥ Osamu Miya | No time to lose

Osamu eats your pussy like he has somewhere to be at all times like he’s in a hurry. Being the owner of a popular rice ball spot keeps him occupied most of the time (as well as dealing with his pain-in-the-ass older brother), so when he finds a free moment to be intimate with you, he makes sure he makes himself efficient. 

Even though Osamu is the more relaxed and lazy twin, he’s never lazy in the bedroom. His usually tired and ‘over this’ attitude would melt away the second you two shared a longing kiss, his body being taken over by some kind of insatiable desire. He’s driven by his motivation to make you scream his name for the shop next to him to hear. His tongue lashes at your pussy like a man starving in the middle of a desert. 

If there’s a rare lull in customers entering and exiting his onigiri shop, he’ll change the ‘open’ sign to a ‘come back later’ sign and text you to be in the back of his shop ASAP. And, of course, you’re there in less than ten minutes, your skirt flipped up and your hands supporting your weight on the steel countertop as his tongue ravishes your cunt, drinking in your slick like honey.

“Stay fuckin’ still,” Osamu groaned into your heat, slapping the inside of your thighs. “I can’t make ya cum if yer wigglin’, sweets.” that was a lie. He was a liar. He could make you cum regardless of how much you were moving, he didn’t matter to him. But if you writhed around so much that it caused some ingredients to fall onto the floor, then it became a problem. 

“S-sorry ‘Samu! Fuck!” you moaned, your hands gripping onto the steel material of the counter for dear life as his tongue hungrily, your sweet nectar coating his tongue beautifully. It was the best alcohol he could ever wish to taste. “M’close!”

“Ya better fuckin’ be. I only got five minutes before those fuckers wonder why the shop ain’t open,” his words sent vibrations through your core, your clit painfully pulsating. The rough pad of this thumb swirled around the sensitive bud, pressing against it harshly. “Be a good girl and fuckin’ cum already, yeah? Gotta open up soon, sweets.”

Osamu finally flattened his tongue in the way that drove you over the edge, still swirling your bud with his rough thumb. “That’s it, good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, lapping up your release eagerly. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He pulled himself out from between your thighs, wiping off his chin with the backside of his hand. Osamu stood up and pecked the top of your head, playfully slapping your soaked cunt. “Get outta here, I got customers to serve.” he also had to sanitize his countertop hard. 

❥ Kenma Kozume | Suffocate him

Kenma will only eat you out if you sit on his face. Not hover, not dangle, fucking sit on it. Despite being a CEO and a popular streamer, this man is lazy as hell. Typically, you do all the work during sex. Bouncing on his cock, sucking him off, etc. But on the rare occasion Kenma wants to eat you out, you still have to pull a heavy load. He is not getting up off his ass by any means, so you might as well cooperate with him. He’s stubborn as a fucking mule.

Kenma was a selfish lover, and he didn’t want to change that. He liked being taken care of and not putting much effort into it. He’s already so successful. Why should he do more work than he already is? That’s so exhausting. But how could he refuse when his pretty girlfriend practically paws at him to help get her off? He’s lying on the bed in a minute, gesturing to you to tear off those pretty red panties and take away his ability to breathe.

“Ride my fucking face,” Kenma groans into your core, squeezing your ass with hands as your hips buck into his mouth wildly. He loved it when you got like this, so desperate and needy for his tongue. His tongue plunged into your sobbing cunt over and over again, eliciting the cutest moans from your pretty lips.

“Fuck, Kenma!” you whimpered, your hands grasping the mahogany headboard like it was the last lifeboat on board. Your ground your clit onto his nose, mewling pathetically as his tongue lashed at your most intimate parts. Kenma savored your sweet honey, adoring how it nicely coated his tongue. Maybe he should make you fit on his face more often. 

His deep brown hair stuck to his forehead, the skin slick with sweat as the tip of his tongue traced meaningless shapes on your clit, occasionally nibbling at the sensitive bud. He knew you were close. The way your entire body was shaking was a dead fucking giveaway. That, and his name practically being screamed repeatedly, was also a good sign. “Gonna cum? Do it, princess. Make a mess on me.”

And you did, your orgasm spilling all over your boyfriend’s cute face. Your writing stopped, with Kenma slapped your ass, indicating that you should get off. You sighed and chose to straddle his lap, pecking his nose gently. “Thank you, baby, that was amazing.”

“Did you think we were finished?” Kenma groaned, resting his arms behind his head. “You got me really fucking hard, princess. How about you take care of that for me, yeah?”

❥ Kotaro Bokuto | Pure addiction

Boktuo fucking loves eating you out. Whenever you mentioned that you were horny, he would drag you into his bed and plunge his face into your thighs until he got you to coat your inner thighs with your release. He could never get enough of you and how good you tasted. How you would only crave his tongue and his fingers on your most imitate parts. 

He didn’t fucking care when or where you were horny, he was more than happy to make you scream in pleasure. Whispering to him in a cafe? He locked the bathroom and had you sitting on the sick, your dress bunched up at your hips, and your stockings ripped so your soaking cunt could be displayed just for him. Woke up at two in the morning from a wet dream? No problem, he had you riding his face while he jerked his fat cock to the sounds you made. Did you also wanna suck him off? No problem, baby! You were sixty-nining until the rooster screeched. Truly, Bokuto was addicted to eating you out. 

“Why are you covering your mouth, baby? I wanna hear your moans,” Bokuto groaned into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your slick like a man gone mad. Your trembling body was pinned against the bathroom door of your favorite restaurant, your skirt pushed upwards, and your soaked panties dangled off your ankles while Bokuto whispered pure filth into your cunt. “Don't you wanna let all those people out there know how good my tongue can make you feel?”

“Ngh, we’ll get in trouble, Kotaro!” you whispered, doing your best to keep your voice at an acceptable level while your boyfriend spelled his name with your tongue, eliciting a sharp squeak in return. “F-fuck, don’t stop!”

“Yeah? You wanna cum on my face in a public bathroom, hm? God, you’re so fucking hot. How’d I get so lucky?” he purred against your clit, swirling the tip of his tongue over the throbbing bud. “You taste so fucking good, holy shit. Way better than lunch.”

His index and ring finger bullied their way inside of you, curling at the spot that made you instantly cum all over his face. He didn’t stop sucking on your folds when your orgasm hit, his fingers still scissoring deep inside of your broken cunt. Your hand slapped over your mouth, covering out your molten cries of ecstasy.

“Good fucking girl, I’m so proud of you.” Bokuto praised, licking off his tongue as he stared at your ruined state. He pulled your panties up and your dress down, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Now, do you wanna go back home and cum again, hm?

[doublasting]

sweet things haikyuu characters do ( as your bf ) . . . ♡

kōtarō bokuto . . . who asks for 5 more minutes every morning without a doubt. even if hes gotten well over his 9 hours of sleep. “lemme just stay here for a few more please..”. he keeps trying to pull your body closer to his when your already basically fusing together. 

atsumu miya . . . who constantly has a hand on you. eating dinner with friends? your hand is in his. laying on the couch and watching a movie? wrapped together in some way or another. even gross and sweaty after a game he's going to get his hands on you no matter how far away you try to get from him. 

hajime iwaizumi . . . who cant go 30 minutes w/o checking up on you. he left for work 20 minutes ago and your already getting a “feeling ok?” text. even when you're out with friends he can't help himself but ask if you're having a good time every 20 minutes. 

tetsurō kuroo . . . who is obsessed with matching with you. whether it be a profile picture or pajamas. his favorite thing to match though are his jerseys of course. when you show up to a game in one of his bright red jerseys he gets so happy he lovesss to show you off. 

keiji akaashi . . . who is probably the best letter writer in the whole world. every birthday, every anniversary and every christmas you better believe your about to get a gold star poem. it'll be filled with the things he adores about you and the things he loves doing with you.