miya atsumu didn't believe in love at first sight until it happened to him.
he and osamu made it to school by the skin of their teeth, just before the physical education teacher closed the gate. the twins shared a look of relief before both grabbed each other by the collar.
"ya almost made us late, 'tsumu," osamu snarled, shaking atsumu's collar.
atsuma sneered, "hah?! don't pin this on me, 'samu! yer the one who wouldn't stop hoggin' breakfast!"
"that's 'cuz ya keep eatin' my share, dumbass!"
"yer share?! ma said that plate was f'me!"
before their argument could escalate, a startled shout intervened. atsumu snapped his head towards the gate, seeing you run while fixing your blazer. you were loudly begging the teacher to open the gates for you, but he just shook his head and pointed at his watch, indicating that you were far too late and have to be noted as such.
"damn, sucks to be her," osamu muttered, pushing atsumu away from him. "if ya didn't take yer fat ass outta kitchen, we'd probably be with her by now."
atsumu felt his temple throb the more he listen to his twin. he was about to retort, maybe even call osamu the fat ass twin by how much he eats and demands another serving, but his voice died in his throat as he watched you effortlessly jump over the gates by scaling the walls and gaining momentum via a kick. his eyes never left your flying figure as you landed a few feet away from him.
you squatted when your feet touched the ground, an exhilarated smile spreading on your lips as you congratulated yourself for a job well done. the teacher's mouth hung open, looking back and forth from the gate—which was around six feet tall or more. he groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he instructed you towards the faculty room. the smile on your face immediately vanished, replaced by a cute pout.
"woah," atsumu managed to breath out, heart racing as the scene of you jumping replayed in his mind again and again. he'd never seen anyone jump that high before nor anyone who managed to jump over the school gate that gracefully. his heart thumped against his chest, faint red spreading on his neck, cheeks, and ears as he watched you get scolded by the teacher.
when you noticed a pair of twins watching your scolding, you whined in embarrassment. as the teacher guided you towards tne entrance, you sent a small wave them.
atsumu choked on his spit when you waved at him. he pointed at himself, blinking rapidly, then waved back excitedly. he was unaware of the shaky smile on his lips nor the prominent blush coating his face.
"yer red as a tomato, 'tsumu," osamu cackled, silently taking photos of his twin as backmail material. "don't tell me ya fell in love with that girl!"
atsumu immediately jumped on osamu, shaking his shoulders. "the hell're ya sayin', 'samu?! yer seein' things 'cuz ya ate too much octo sausages earlier!"
"hah?! don't drag ma's octo sausages into this, 'tsumu! just admit ya finally have a crush on a girl!"
"shut yer trap!"
"both of you, go to yer classes already!" a passing teacher snapped at them.
the twins paused and made themselves presentable, nodding. they sneered each other as they finally entered their school building, changing into their indoor shoes.
as atsumu walked towards his classroom, he couldn't help but wish that you were his classmate... not that he'd admit it out loud, though.
Dating needy MSBY!Atsumu, Sakusa, Bokuto, and Hinata (separate)
contains: yummy MSBY men being utterly obsessed with you and driving you insane in the best ways. f!reader. NSFW HCs, all 18+ smut under the cut! Atsumu will cry if you ever leave him. Kiyoomi is the man of your dreams and idc what anyone says, when he eats it, he does it nasty style. Bokuto is big and feral, and he loves you, send tweet. Hinata’s dick has you under spells.
wc: 5.5k total
Slutty, very in love!Atsumu who truly just loves when you take care of him all the time, in all ways possible.
He was lucky enough to find himself the nicest girl alive, who didn’t mind how much he wanted to hoard all of her attention. It was his dream come true.
He loved how much you cared for him, how easy it seemed to be for you to support him in all the ways that were important to him from day one.
The sweet sticky notes you leave out on the counter on the days you’ll know he’ll be home before you, all the meals you make for him without a care for his pickyness, waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to go with him to the gym when he complained in bed to you about feeling unmotivated, boasting to everyone who’d listen about your superstar athlete of a man, going to every game you’re able to make it to and let him go on and on about all the cool things he wanted to recap once you were on the drive back.
Every bit of your relationship was something straight out of his best fantasies.
He’s terrified of the idea of ever losing you. You were perfect. He loved feeling confident in your love for him, and while all the little things you did served well to reassure him, sex had to be one of the easiest, and quickest ways to make him feel secure in his place in your life.
He was a cocky attention slut at heart, especially for you. If he wanted a reminder that he was still the absolute best in the eyes of his sweet girl, he knew exactly what he needed to do to get it.
He was the type to come back after a long day of training—drained out of his mind and feeling like he wasn’t doing his best for some stupid reason—and treat himself to your boundless affections to get out of his worries.
And what he meant by that was practically mounting you the second he came back home, still sweaty and in his training clothes, having rushed over the moment they were done.
All he needed to perk himself back up was have you drooling over him, saying things like “Fuck, Tsumu you’re so big.”, “You’re so strong.”, “You fuck me so good, please don’t stop.” While he all but ruined you right there on the entryway floor, because he couldn’t make it past your sweet voice welcoming him back without fishing his dick out of his pants.
He made the discovery of his little preference a bit before you started living with him.
The two of you had a pretty heavy argument a few days before you were going to officially move in. It was smoothed out shortly after it happened and you had reassured him no longer being upset the next morning. Despite that, there was something about him still so saddened that he made you upset. He felt like such an idiot, almost ruining his own shot at a wonderful life with you.
He knew you weren’t angry anymore, and you promised him you’d still be bringing your stuff over next week, but there was still something nagging him deep down and it just wouldn’t stop.
Atsumu truly cared about what you thought of him, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if those thoughts were to ever be negative.
The day after the argument, you found him waiting at your job's reception area when your lunch break started. You were whisked away as soon as he spotted you, and treated to a nice little restaurant close by.
He spent most of the lunch repeating apologies for the night before that you took more than gladly, chuckling to yourself at how remorseful he was over something that had undoubtedly been a rather small rock in the road.
“Tsumu, I told you I forgive you. We were both being stupid, there’s no need to apologize anymore.” You reassured him once more, smiling as he took your hand in his across the table.
“I know, I know. I’ll stop it. But couldja swear again ya still love me?” He looked at you with sad puppy dog eyes, and it took everything in you not to laugh.
“I swear to God, I still love you and I’ll never stop.”
“Alright, I’ll calm down now… I’ll calm down some.”
After a nice hour of cheering you and himself up, Atsumu took you back to work; but not before pulling you to the backseat of his car, begging for your praise while pounding you relentlessly in some lonely spot on the back of your office’s parking lot.
Atsumu knew he could’ve waited until you were back home, but he desperately needed to have absolute acceptance to his apologies; and something he’d never doubt to be truthful was the sounds of your wet pussy swallowing his dick whole, accompanied by the feeling of your beautifully manicured hands clinging to his back.
He was more talkative then than he had been any other time you had sex with him, which is an insane feat for Atsumu.
He had you on your back against the plush leather seats, his hands firmly grasping your hips to keep you from squirming away from his deep, oppressive thrusts while he buried his face on your neck.
“M making ya feel good?—don’t run from it, c’mon—No one else could make you feel like this.” He sounded completely wrecked against you, breathy, desperate voice muffled against you, vying for your praise by making you see stars. “No one else can give this perfect pussy what it needs. Ain’t that right, sweet girl?”
He had to bite down on your shoulder to keep himself from moaning loud enough for the entire lot to hear, leg muscles taut and twitching as he felt his high approaching when you started crying out his name, telling him he’s the only one who can fuck you that good.
“Just me. That’s right, baby.” He thrusted in you erratically, arms sliding under you to wrap firmly around your back, arching it just right to pound you at a better angle, dragging his swollen tip against that sweet spot to make you come undone with him. “Tell me ya love me, please ‘m so close—”
Atsumu had gone back home feeling so giddy and relieved, the most stupid lovesick smile stuck on his face the entire afternoon, and still there when he picked you up from work. You had to bribe him so he’d wait until you made it to your house to throw himself at you again.
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Domineering, devoted!Sakusa who had the world’s most patient princess for a partner.
He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to date; he had all his problems with people, he was far too blunt—the warmth and tenderness he now treated you with was completely nonexistent when you first met—he was far too focused in his career and often consumed by it, and yet you didn’t seem to care about any of it.
You treated his filterless honesty as an endearing thing. You admired his dedication and often reassured him of not being bothered by it, as long as he still gave you attention when he was home. You adapted to all his hygienic routines when you moved in with him as if you had been following them your whole life, never judging him for how thorough he was about some things, only chuckling to yourself at certain rules while nodding along.
You were never upset at how quickly he liked leaving parties and events, you didn’t mind how he reserved most of his affection for behind closed doors, you gladly took the smallest bits of PDA he was okay with providing—like holding your wrist while you walked, sitting close enough your knees touched, or keeping a hand on your lower back whenever he deemed it appropriate—all because you knew when you got back home, you’d get all of him, unfiltered, and obsessed.
He was very appreciative of every compromise you made, everything you sacrificed, everything you agreed to; and he went out of his way to show it, wanting to make sure you’d never wake up one day upset about the life you were having with him.
Kiyoomi treated you like something worth caring for at all times, the apple of his eye. When he was home, you could completely forget about touching a single kitchen utensil, he would make anything you pleased and would only let you sit on one of the stools and eye him up.
He made an effort to indulge you in every single request, no matter how big or small, just as long as it didn’t threaten your well-being.
And God forbid you even thought of using your own money for any frivolous purchases your heart desired. He’d let you spend down to his last cent if you so wished; though thankfully for you both, you weren’t keen on bankruptcy.
In general, Kiyoomi was very hands-on when it came to caring for you. In every single way. He enjoyed showing you how truly devoted he was to reciprocating the kindness you graced him with, it was no one’s fault some of his preferred methods for it fell along indecent lines.
It could have to do with the fact that he often worried his lack of affection in public could ever become a problem for you, so he made sure to be all over you the second you were alone.
He took giving you all of him behind closed doors very seriously.
It would start as soon as he was back, immediately at ease at the perfectly pristine penthouse, taking off his shoes, his mask, and setting down everything in their respective places before he made his way to wherever you were.
Some days he’d be slower in his approach, when he found you already unwinding from your own responsibilities.
He’d take your hand, giving it a chaste kiss while pulling you against him, asking you to join him in the shower. He’d start subtle, sweet. Helping you wash your hair, kissing and caressing every inch of your body he could manage to get at while the water remained warm. But before you knew it, soft massages and whispered compliments would end in you stuck between him and the tiled wall, his name leaving your lips like a prayer, while he thoroughly and efficiently showed you how much he loved you.
“Doing so good for me, need you to give me another one before you can take this cock.” Making your knees weak by sucking along your neck, his thumb pressed against your clit while three fingers shove into your gummy walls relentlessly.
And best believe he’d be nowhere near done until you were completely dumb and spent after cumming for the umpteenth time.
After it all ended, he’d carefully dry you down before carrying you to bed while asking what you wanted for dinner, kissing your forehead in the softest way possible, as if he hadn’t rearranged your guts to the point of madness just two minutes ago.
Other times he’d throw subtlety and patience out the window, on the days where he’d find you in the middle of some work task or house chore you still needed to get through, not in the mood to wait until you were done.
He enjoyed it a little too much when he caught you like that, too busy drying off dishes to notice the way he eyed you up when he stepped into the kitchen.
You’d be none the wiser, melting as he pressed a kiss to your temple, arms wrapping around your waist from behind. He’d ask how your day was while peppering the side of your face with more innocent kisses.
“I went to get those new sweet potato treats you said you wanted us to try.”
“You did?” He smiled against your cheek, giving another kiss to it before moving down to your jaw
“Yeah, it took a bit too long to find them. It was a restock day at the store you told me about. There were boxes everywhere with the wrong labels piled on every aisle.”
“You had to be glad I wasn’t there.” He mumbled against your neck, breathing in the soft scent of your body wash still present on your skin.
His hands slowly made their way to your sweatpants, undoing the strings before sliding his hand down your front. “Keep talking.”
He chuckled to himself when you started stuttering out your words, already too excited when the only thing he had done so far was drag his finger along your clothed slit.
“Was just saying it took me a whileee—Kiyoomi!” You squealed in surprise when he yanked down your sweatpants and underwear, a large palm coming to your lower back to make you bend against the counter before you could say anything else.
“I’m listening. It took you a long time because it was such a mess.” He repeated, gaze now stuck between your thighs. He sank down to his knees behind you, nudging you to spread your legs with a simple pat to your inner thigh. “But you still did it, because it was for me. Is that not it?”
“Of course. You—You were so excited hearing about them I wanted to—shit.” You did your best to keep your legs apart when his open palms went up your thighs, all the way until they were on each side of your already willing pussy, one of his thumbs came up to draw tight slow circles on your clit, making you clutch the edge of the countertop, your hole clenching around nothing, all for him to watch.
“You wanted to do something nice for me.” He finished for you, smirking to himself at the soft sounds he was dragging out of you.
“Ye—Yes!”
“Like the perfect girl you are. Always making me happy.” His thumb briefly dipped into your entrance, slowly thrusting in once to slick it up before dragging it back down to keep making you squirm with perfectly measured rubs to your twitching clit.
“I try my best.”
“Do I always make you happy too?” His thumb pressed tighter against you, his other hand trailing up your ass to grope the plush skin, pulling to spread your pussy wider, every bit of wetness dripping out on display for his eyes only.
“Of course, Omi—haah fuck—You make me so happy, baby.”
“Don’t mind if I make sure that’s true, do you? If I make sure you’re happy with me?” Warm breath ghosted over your skin when he leaned closer, waiting for that weak, whimpered agreement to come out of your pretty lips.
“Please do.”
“Thank you, princess.”
Next thing heard in the quiet, cold kitchen would be the completely depraved sound of Kiyoomi spitting on your pussy and subsequently the pathetic whimper that tore out of your throat when his tongue dragged a long, slooww swipe along your slit before burying his face in.
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Obsessed and freaky, but adorable!Bokuto who just loved being with you too much! He is a true believer that if you love someone you will want to live in their skin. And god knows he would if he could.
Ever since you first started dating you had grown accustomed to the feel of Bokuto’s heavy, warm, strong body around you. There was never a time the two of you were out together where he didn’t touch you in some way; hands intertwined together, an arm thrown over your shoulders, a hand on your waist, or even his fingers holding to the belt loops of your jeans, anything he could manage to make you feel close to him.
And as your relationship grew, so did his displays of affection.
At some point he stopped caring about where you were or who was around, if he wanted to feel you flush against him, he would make it happen.
He’d sit you down on his lap while he chatted along with his teammates, be it at your house, theirs, even at bars. If you needed to stand for whatever reason, he’d sit right next to you, hands wrapped around your waist or one of your thighs, with his face resting on your side.
His touch tended to turn towards slightly inappropriate, but it was an accident more often than not. It was slightly automatic, if you will.
If you wore a nicely snug top, he couldn’t help but sneak in a squeeze or two when he saw it, no matter where the two of you were.
One time you came to pick him up from training because his car was getting fixed and you made the mistake of wearing a dangerously showy neckline; he practically jumped upon seeing you, like every other time, but instead of engulfing you in his usual bear hug, he picked you up by wrapping his arms under your butt so you’d be higher than him, burying his face in your cleavage in the process.
A loud “You look so good, baby! I missed you!” coming out muffled from where his face stationed itself. Too caught up in you to pay attention to the whistles and laughs from his friends.
You had a stern talk with him about PDA after that, one that truly just went in one ear and out the other because his attention was solely on how good you looked that day. He only nodded along with a dumb smile, muttering small apologies while his hands slid up under your shirt, fondling your breasts through your bra while trying his best to actually hear the words coming out of your mouth.
Bokuto never meant to be perverted per se, he was just insufferably oblivious to how the lines between his affections and his horniness seemed to blur together. And when he noticed, he couldn't care less.
He just loved touching you, and you can’t blame him for loving his fiancée oh so much!
He’d be the clingiest after long days at work. Hours of running drills, practicing spikes, and lifting weights wasn’t necessarily something that made him want to run back home. He loved it all; what he hated was the days where it all mixed with a dozen other things he had to do—new uniform fittings, preps for press before the next game, meetings about the next tournament and what they all needed to focus on, and a quick drink with his teammates before heading out—making him leave early in the morning while you were still asleep, and return far too late (8:15pm) when you must’ve been done with work and everything you had to do ages ago.
He felt so sad when he thought about all the time you spent on your own—you were fine, his suffering was completely made up—all alone, without his hugs, his kisses, his tickles, the sporadic lick to your face you claimed to hate but he was sure you loved. It must be so terrible for you!
Late nights like that he’d find you laying on the couch, legs sprawled, hair messy splayed out on the cushion behind you, slowly flipping through the pages of whatever book you were currently obsessing over, and he’d be unable to help himself.
Dropping his gym bag on the floor, phone on the coffee table, and throwing himself at you. He smelt like a mix of sweat, his cologne, and whatever drink he quickly dawned before coming back to you.
“Kotaro, baby.” He’d hum in response, carefully closing your book and putting it aside before smushing his face in your chest, warm hands sliding up your sides from under your thin top. “You’re crushing me.”
“‘M sorry. I missed you though.” He’d make no effort to move at first, keeping his whole body weight on you and only letting up after hearing you say you missed him too.
Then he perked up, pushing himself up on one of his elbows to keep some weight off you while his other hand came up to your face, brushing away loose strands of hair before kissing your nose “How much did you miss me?”
“A lot.”
“What’s a lot?” He’d ask, making you chuckle when he tried to bite back a smile, this was a serious matter only. “A lot like you were counting the seconds until my return just now or a lot like you couldn't stop crying the moment you got home and realized I wasn’t back yet?”
“You’re never gonna believe me, Ko. I did both things.”
“I knew it.”
You laughed when he started attacking you with kisses, having given him the answer he needed. Of course you missed him to the point of tears, just like he missed you!
He covered your face in small quick smooches before finally bringing his lips to yours.
One thing about Bokuto is that he didn’t care for giving you short, sweet pecks when he felt clingy like this. He kissed you the way you’d expect of someone like him, completely overpowering, all-consuming, and as passionate as everything else he did.
The kind of kisses that took your breath away and made you too distracted to notice his hands already working your clothes off, pulling down the straps of your tank top and dragging it down enough to free your tits, rough hands groping shamelessly.
He’d break away only to fully take the top off and pick you up to switch your positions, sitting down and plopping you on his lap, so you'd straddle him.
If you tried to stop him—why would you do such a thing—the only thing you’d get out of him would be his hands firmly digging on your hips, helping you slowly roll them against him, his hardening bulge perfectly pressed against you.
“Baby, give Ko a second, yeah?” The words came out rasped, shooing off any more attempts at slowing him down. “Just need a minute.” He’d murmur before bringing you forward with another mean roll of your hips so your tits were right on his face, slowly licking around one of your perked buds when he leaned in before fully taking your nipple in his mouth.
His warm tongue sucked eagerly while one of his hands came up to grope your other breast, rolling the neglected peak between his index and thumb.
His fingers dug on your skin while he slobbered over your tits, moving from one to the other; he switched between sucking on them and leaving hickeys around the soft skin, moving up to your neck every so often to do the same thing. Sharp canines dragged along your pulse point, a silent, exciting threat keeping you pliant above him while his hips bucked up with every new grind of yours, precum already leaking past his underwear.
And don’t even get him started on how it was when he had to travel. Away games when you were too full with work to come with? His own personal hell. And yours too. It’s like he knew just how terrible he was going to be when he came back that he had to make sure you were just as bad as him by then.
He’d call you first thing in the morning, saying he hopes you had the best day ever, telling you how he misses you so much it makes him want to throw himself at the ocean—even though it has only been one night—how he can’t wait to be back home and cuddle with you all weekend long. All tooth rotting cuteness that was only bound to crumble the longer he went on without you.
That same day you could count on those kind of messages to start flooding in the moment your lunch break started.
“Hey baby!!!”
“Have you been thinking about me? I’ve been thinking about you”
“Miss that pretty face and your sweet pussy”
“And your tits!”
“Think you could send me a picture? I only have old ones, and I marked you up so pretty yesterday, I wanna see that again”
He holds off on just that at first, keeping you eager for his return over texts, teasing compliments, obscene comments, and maybe one or two pictures of his dick straining in his boxers.
Then on the last night before he returned, like clockwork, you’d get a call once you were already cozy under the sheets, some time after he texted you goodnight.
Low, breathy. “Hey, baby. Weren’t sleeping yet, were you?,” coming out from the other line, followed by the unmistakable sound of him stroking himself, hard. Small groans leaving his lips, not caring to pretend. “I miss you so much, angel. You have no idea.”
“Can’t even wait to come back tomorrow, Ko. You’re so needy.” You chuckled lightly, though your words came out strained, he sounded so goddamn good.
“All for you.” He rasped out, his breathing ragged as he picked up the speed, every word out of his mouth growing progressively nastier the closer he got. “Gonna make you feel so good tomorrow, make you sit on my face and ride it til you’re tapping out.”
“Fuck, I wish I was there with you.”
“Wouldn’t have to use my hand if I was laying there next to you, would be using you instead. And you’d love it, right baby? You love taking this fat cock in that cute little pussy of yours.”
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Irresistible, proud owner of a hypno dick!Hinata who wasn’t needy at all, at least he didn’t think so.
He met you shortly after coming back from Brazil, and like most of his infatuations, his feelings for you hit him hard and all at once. He made no effort to hide or downplay being interested in you.
He got your number the day you met without a second thought. He asked you out on a date after only two days of talking, and he was the perfect gentleman all around from the start.
He never hid how excited he was to be with you, bringing you gorgeous flowers every day he saw you, a different kind each time so that you’d have a unique bouquet at home. He kept an extra umbrella with him on rainy days because you always forgot yours. For the first few dates he asked for permission to kiss before dropping you off at home, blushing every time you said yes. He invited you to all his games, even practice ones, always running to you at the end, sweaty and adrenaline-filled asking you if you saw that really cool block he made near the end, it was very cool, wasn’t it? Do you think he’s cool? Please say yes.
He was sweet in a way that made it impossible for you not to swoon, and that continued on far past the first dates. Once your relationship was more serious, and you moved in together, you could’ve sworn Hinata became ten times more affectionate than he already was, and even more excited to be near you, if that was even possible.
He was stoked about every step of the process. Unpacking both of your things in the new apartment was to him of equal excitement to being at an amusement park for the first time when you’re young; every time he set one of his things next to yours he’d turn to you to boast about it. “Look! That’s your toothbrush, next to mine. Isn’t that nice?”
Hinata didn’t think he was needy, because he didn’t have to be. He was just so goddamn cute you couldn’t not throw yourself at him.
Every stupidly sweet sentence, every content sigh thrown your way, every surprise hug he pulled you into that made you melt against his embrace, everything about him was enough to make you pull him in for delirious kisses that almost always ended in something way beyond just kissing.
Now, he wasn’t completely unaware. He knew you had the softest spot for him and he did take advantage of it sometimes. He just loved the fact that you only needed the smallest of encouragement to ask him for more, it made him feel wanted, and desired. He loved that.
And so, whenever he did feel particularly mushy, and like he wanted every part of you to himself as soon as possible, he would take out all the little tricks that worked perfectly to get you under him.
Lingering for a little too long in the bathroom while you were showering to ‘look for something’ and talking about how glad he was he got off early that day because he was so spent and couldn’t wait to come back and see your pretty smile, how much he really wanted to kiss you, until you'd break and ask him to join you, his clothes already discarded long before you even made the offer.
Bringing you to join him on the couch when you came back from work on his days off, helping you rid of your shoes and tenderly pulling your feet to his lap, massaging them while letting you know he already ordered your favorite food, and had a nice movie picked out for the two of you to watch. He’d slowly massage up your legs until his hands were dragging along your inner thighs with just the right amount of pressure, bottom lip stuck between his teeth in restraint while he patiently waited for you to plead him to go higher.
Or his favorite, whenever you were out on the town with him. He was always happy whenever you agreed to come out with him and his friend group, the sight of you, his absolute treasure, mingling with those he loved most like you had known them all your life. It brought a sweet, fluttery ache to his heart that made him need to have you, all of you, quickly, please.
So he’d give you that look that never failed to butter you up, the world’s most lovesick ‘I can’t believe it’s you who hangs the stars in the sky’ kind of look.
“Stop that.” You warned him, yet still pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Already knowing all too well where this was headed.
“Stop what?” He wrapped an arm around your waist, brought you to his side to kiss you back, a small innocent peck on your lips.
“We can’t leave yet, it’s still early.”
“I didn’t say we had to leave, we could just sneak away. For a moment?” He pouted, a plea that only lasted another second before he laughed at the glare you threw his way. “I’ll be good, I just want to feel you. I love you so much.”
You rolled your eyes, pursing your lips together to keep from smiling at how terribly sweet he sounded. “Just for a moment, and we’re not fucking.”
Whoever Hinata swore on when he agreed to that last part must be confused as to why they’re suddenly coughing, because that promise only lasted about five minutes.
One, two, three kisses and you were already on top of him on the passenger seat of your car, panties thrown somewhere in the backseat and two of his fingers knuckle deep in your pussy while you made quick work of undoing his jeans.
“Can I be inside you now, pretty?”
You weakly shook your head, hand wrapping around him, using the precum dripping down his tip to stroke him out in that teasingly delicious way he loved. “We have—oh just like that—have to be quick, baby. They’re waiting.”
“We’ll be back after I feel you make a mess on my dick. How’s that?”
You wanted to smack the eager grin on his face, he knew as much. But he also knew you were too down bad for him to refuse.
The second you nodded he pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the loss of contact.
He brought them down to his dick, smearing your wetness around it while you positioned yourself above the tip. He could only thank God the parking lot was deserted because the sounds that came out of both of you the moment you sank down on him were straight up pornographic.
Anyone who had the displeasure of hearing the two of you would’ve thought you’re fucking for the very first time after not seeing each other for years. But that's just how Shoyo was when it came to you, a completely desperate, yearning freak.
“So fucking good, you’re so perfect for me, pretty.” His hands went under your skirt, fingers digging on your ass to hold you in place while thrusting up into you like a fleshlight, the squelching sound of you creaming around him while you cried out his name being like music to his ears, the sweetest melody in the world.
He leaned up to capture your lips in his, sweet incoherent nothings muffled through the kiss. “All mine, all for me.” It was all completely uncoordinated yet oh so good the way he was hitting it just right, pussydrunk out of his mind and still so in tune with giving you exactly what you needed. “My perfect girl, love you so much, so so much.”
ᝰ.ᐟ the two of you are private not secret, but when the media starts to speculate that the two of you are no longer together, neither of you are too happy. the best way to get everyone to stop with the breakup rumors? posting something a little bit nasty to the feed to satiate everyone's curiosity. (fem!reader)
featuring tobio kageyama, atsumu miya, tetsurou kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima, tooru oikawa, rintarou suna
content contains breeding kink (atsumu, wakatoshi), pregnant reader (wakatoshi), famous!reader (changes depending on scenario), creampie (tetsurou), hatefucking (not really, you + kuroo just like to antagonize each other but the attraction is there), scratches on his back (tobio), hickeys (tooru), wet n messy (rintarou), possessive!character x possessive!reader (the two of you are obsessed with each other ok), social media references lol
author's notes i'm definitely doing a blue lock version, i'm just seeing if this is a popular premise lol <3 based off this original concept !! these are just silly little drabbles for me to warm up to the idea of writing again haha
౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA
your fans are speculating: that you and kageyama have broken up. fans are recording footage from you on your latest tour and claim that you're "clearly disassociating" and "somewhere else mentally" when it comes to singing your iconic love songs. you and kageyama have always kept your relationship private because he's not a very open person to begin with, and you don't want to give the media more material to misconstrue. you know that kageyama hates when some random person will annotate your verses on genius lyrics and try to make the claim that your innocent metaphor is you wanting to jump ship and leave kageyama. and you hate how it's your own fans who are making wild accusations of you no longer being with the man all your love songs are about.
you posted: kageyama, with his back turned to the camera so all that fills your camera is the surprisingly broad expanse of his muscular back and shoulders. he's not even flexing, and it's obvious that he's a world-class athlete. he's facing the closet, trying to find a shirt to put on, and it would be a semi-innocent photo, the pinterest-perfect photo inspo for every private not secret relationship out there, except for the fact that there are clearly faint, red lines — scratches — running down his back. you caption the photo with a "monday morning 🤍" (your insane fans spam the comment section to exclaim how they knew you two were still a thing... and to speculate that this photo is somehow an easter egg for an upcoming song/album. well, they're right: you two will always be a thing, and tobio dicked you down so good last night that you could write him a whole album.)
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"fuck," the word slips through his gritted teeth, and you can tell that your tobio is still upset about how your fans seem divided. half of them claim no one could ever make them hate tobio (you find those fans to be absolutely adorable), and the other half...
well, the other half are making slideshow posts to audios that go "some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world" and the ones that seem to go viral are always the ones that feature you and tobio.
"not hidin' you away." he mutters, never slowing down his thrusts. he admires the expression on your face as he fucks into you, his ego pleased with how receptive you are to his every movement. he has you speared on his cock, your tight little cunt full of him, your eyes getting so adorably teared-up because he's just a little bit too much for you to handle. tobio isn't good with words; he thinks you're the most beautiful girl to exist, but he can't verbalize it. so he just takes in your sweet, fucked-out face, the reaction only he's capable of drawing from you, and it all gets so overwhelming for him.
he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash as he continues to bully his cock into your soaked pussy. "why's it bad if i want to keep you all to myself?" he's practically whining, and you think this would be so cute if only you weren't currently chasing after your release. or rather, tobio's forcing you to cum, whether you want to or not. it's not like you can stop him; tobio devotes himself to always ensuring that you finish before him. he likes the satisfaction of knowing only he can take care of you, and he especially likes the way his cock looks with you creaming all over it.
when he gets like this, all you can do is cling to him, your arms wrapped around his muscular build. when he gets rough with his thrusts, when his body gets just the slightest bit sweaty from the exertion (evidence of just how much work he puts into fucking you), you have to dig your manicured nails (the set he paid for) into the skin of his toned back. otherwise, you'd lose your grip, and your hands would slip off.
tobio relishes the slight stinging pain of your nails scratching down his skin. but the scratches aren't enough. he needs to make you cum. when you get so caught up in your climax, you start clawing at him as you lose control. he loves the scratches you leave on him; it's proof that he's yours just as much as you are his.
౨ৎ ATSUMU MIYA
haters are saying: that you're just using atsumu for content. you're a gold digger. you're not genuine. you're not "wifey material." spectators are claiming that atsumu is playing worse than before because he's too "pussywhipped" for you. well, he likes to cheekily admit to you that he is addicted to your pussy, but they're wrong about everything else. obviously. however, the haters are feeling very vindicated whenever they see atsumu hasn't been posting you as much. (you're traveling for a new vlog series on your page, but no one knows.)
he posted: a mirror selfie. which isn't breaking news. atsumu miya always breaks the internet when he posts a mirror selfie because the only thing worse than a hot guy is a hot guy who knows he's hot. no one is a stranger to the sight of a post-workout, sweaty, shirtless atsumu, who flaunts his tight abs and muscular thighs with a steamy mirror selfie. but this photo? this one is going triple platinum. it's going down in history. this selfie is taken in dim lighting; the curtains in the background are drawn shut, he's got one hand gripping his phone (making the phone look tiny in his big hand), and he's got one arm wrapped around you. it's not an innocent hug, though. he's cupping your ass, and the phone in front of his face does nothing to shield his satisfied smirk. you're clad in nothing but lacy lingerie from a designer who loves to sponsor you, and you're clinging to his side, almost like you can't even stand without his support. it's clear that the two of you definitely were... appreciating the work your favorite designer put in when they created that lacy set.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"what do you think?" you're smiling at him, knowing damn well what he's thinking.
atsumu looks up at you, reflexively licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you wearing a new set of lingerie that you just got delivered. it leaves little room for imagination, and the material looks so delicate, atsumu is already thinking about how he'll have to apologize to the designer for ripping it off of you.
"i think I'm the luckiest man alive right now." atsumu is shameless in the way he's admiring you, the way the setting sun still peeks through the curtains, enveloping your body in a delicious golden glow as you inch closer and closer to him.
in a matter of seconds, he's pulling you on top of him, placing wet, sloppy kisses over any centimeter of your skin he can reach. when you make a move to slip off the panties, he protests.
"leave 'em on f'me, baby. please?"
he fucks you with you still wearing the lingerie set. your breasts are spilling out of the bra, and all he did was move your panties to the side so he could stretch you out with his cock.
"fuckin' idiots, tellin' me you're not good enough to marry. i'll show 'em what a good girl you are, right? gonna put a ring on your finger, and make you my wife." he's fucking his cock into you, making sure that your cute cunt knows who it belongs to. "gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. no one's gonna say shit about our family, huh? 'cause i won't let 'em."
your cunt clenches up so nicely with every comment he makes that atsumu knows he has to make all those pussydrunk promises come true.
౨ৎ TETSUROU KUROO
the tabloids are posting: paparazzi photos of you — the socialite daughter of the man who owns the msby black jackals, and jva's promotion division's golden boy, tetsurou kuroo. it's late at night, and the two of you are clearly leaving a party celebrating the success of another eventful volleyball season. you're wearing the iconic ysl heels with a black mini-dress that honestly should be called a micro-dress. your hair is a mess, you're walking like your knees are struggling not to wobble, and walking three steps behind you despite his longer stride is kuroo; his tie is crooked, his cheeks are flushed, and he has a grin that says something like i just fucked one of the richest bratty heiresses in japan, and i left her wanting more. the amount of blind items that are allegedly alluding to you and kuroo are being spread all over tiktok. one reads, "this sports club heiress was seen exiting a party with this semi-known marketing mastermind who works in the sports industry. apparently, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and no one can recall seeing them together during the party; everyone only caught glimpses of them running away from the festivities together."
you posted: a photo slideshow on instagram of your absolutely iconic outfit from the party, only these photos were clearly taken before the party. your hair is done, your makeup is perfect, and your caption states don't believe everything you read. the last slide is a screenshot of an online headline speculating about your "new man" with a photo of a grinning kuroo from that night. the reason why this makes everyone go insane is because you're no stranger to a scandal — this is, however, the first time you've ever addressed a headline.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"hurry up," you hiss, your eyes darting from left to right as you make sure no one is nowhere near the secluded corridor kuroo somehow managed to find.
"y'know, i thought girls were supposed to like guys who don't blow their loads prematurely." even when he's bullying his cock into your slicked up cunt, savoring the way your sensitive walls are clenching around his dick, tetsurou has a very annoying habit of still sounding entirely in control. for someone who can't keep his hands to himself when it comes to you, he's irritatingly great at playing nonchalant.
but he's just a man, after all. he might tower over you, his large body shielding you from any prying eyes, and he might know your body so well that he can bring you to completion twice (once with his fingers curling against that special spot of yours, and another one so rudely wrung out from you when he slid his cock in your orgasm-recovering, overly sensitive pussy) in just the fifteen minutes he's been toying with you tonight, but you know that he must be feeling something. you saw him shift his pants the moment his eyes met yours from across the room, when his eyes travelled down your body and followed the way your dress emphasized the curvatures of your body.
"if you don't finish right now, i'm not going to let you cum inside." you threaten him, trying to steady your voice as you bite back a moan. it'd be a major issue if the two of you got caught, with the volleyball association's golden boy being buried balls-deep inside a sports team owner's bratty daughter.
with every sharp snap of his hips, kuroo is only forcing more slick to come gushing out of your pussy. he can't even take the time to admire the white ring you left around his cock; he's too focused on chasing after his release because he didn't get to where he's at by not being opportunistic.
"if i cum inside, you have to keep it in your panties the whole night. you wouldn't want that, would you?" he sounds a little breathless now, his pace quickening as his thrusts get sloppier. he's smiling at you, that damn annoying smile that makes you want to roll your eyes or insult him. but your body betrays you. his grin only widens when your pussy tightens up at the idea of having his cum soaking in your panties while you interact with people at this party. a dirty little secret shared only between you two.
he lets out a breathy chuckle at your body's betrayal. "okay, princess. since you want it so badly, i guess i better give it to you."
you could practically cum again the minute you feel the warmth of him finishing inside of you. you're a spoiled brat who gets what she wants, and while you refuse to admit it, you want him. all of him.
and he's going to give it to you.
౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA
the media is going crazy over: the fact that ushijima is the type of person who doesn't clarify anything because he just assumes that everyone can read his mind. he's blunt, sure, but he's not really the type who does much explaining. after the first game of the season, an interviewer asks him if he enjoyed spending the off-season with you, his girlfriend and one of the most beloved, fan-favorite WAGs of all time. ushijima stares straight into the camera as he states in his usual deep, flat rumble of a voice, "the off-season was successful, but she isn't my girlfriend anymore. thank you." and then he just walks off, like he didn't just drop the most insane piece of information ever?
he posted: a photo of an ultrasound that was clearly taken out of his wallet since it's thrown on the table in the background. he's holding it in his left hand, and the overhead lighting is reflected from the silver wedding band he's wearing. now that he's off the court, he's able to wear it. in typical ushijima fashion, there is no caption, but a picture is worth a thousand words. you're not his girlfriend. you're his wife, and soon to be mother of his child.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"mmph — 'toshi!" you squeal out, your calves burning from the stretch as your beloved wakatoshi has your legs bent and spread for him. he's just so big that you'd never be able to handle all of him, and yet, here you are, bent into a mating press every night since the two of you have gotten married. you try to beg him to slow down, but words escape you as he buries himself into your pussy, letting out a deep, guttural groan as the warmth of your cunt coats his cock. there's no better feeling than this.
even if you could request for him to slow down, it wouldn't have mattered or made much of a difference. your husband has a one-track mind. when wakatoshi is set on a goal, it's hard to break his focus until he sees it to the end. and right now, wakatoshi's goal is to fuck a baby into you, to see you round with life because of the seeds he planted.
he's hunched over you, abs tightening and flexing with every sharp inhale of breath he takes. he's gonna fuck himself empty, going to keep filling your cunt with his seed 'til he's shooting blanks. his eyes glance at the ring he put on your finger before returning to admire your blissful expression and the way your body seems to have gone boneless from all the fucking he's had you endure.
"just a little bit longer." he manages to say, before forcing his cock in even deeper. "just have to make sure it takes."
౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA
everyone is claiming: long distance relationships never last. when oikawa makes the shocking announcement that he is no longer a japanese citizen, everyone immediately wondered what that meant for the future of your relationship. does that mean it's over? officially? if oikawa is leaving behind his hometown, then by default, is he leaving you behind too?
he posted: a photo slideshow, only most of the images were clearly taken by you. the first one is of him driving; the two of you are in his convertible, and he's wearing a white button down with most of the buttons undone. on the stark white of the shirt are kiss marks; the imprint of your lips lined with cherry-red lipstick are all over the material of his shirt and on his freshly-tanned skin. the other photos are of what you two ate for dinner, the sunset from the beach, and a selfie of you two looking more in love than ever. fans are quick to point out the massive hickey on your neck, and tooru tags you in a reply to the top comment that points it out, and he's saying "you missed a spot babe." you reply back, "i ran out of concealer because you gave me too many to cover"
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"i missed you," your boyfriend mumbles into your soft skin. tooru can get so clingy when he goes long periods without seeing you, and you indulge him because he's tooru. he's got his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck, and his breath is warm against your skin as he speaks.
"everyone is saying i'm abandoning you, but that's not true." he whines.
"i know, baby. i don't care." you laugh softly, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands of his hair. he settles into you, and it's almost sweet, until he starts nipping at your skin.
"tooru, what are you doing?" you can't find it in yourself to chastise him too harshly, but you do have to restrain yourself from pulling back.
"jus' want to show everyone that you're still my girl." he peers up at you, licking his lips. "you'll let me do that, won't you?"
tooru bites and sucks at your skin, sharp canines grazing your soft flesh. he sucks at your most sensitive areas while he works his fingers in and out of your gushing cunt. when he pulls his fingers out and holds them up, so the sunlight can shine and really highlight how much of your juices is coating his digits, he smiles. his girl gets this wet just from him marking you up?
as he sucks on his fingers, relishing in the way you taste, he can't help but be happy to know that no matter how far away the two of you are from each other (for now), you're still his girl.
౨ৎ RINTAROU SUNA
your fans are telling you: suna doesn't care about you. suna doesn't put forth any effort into your relationship. suna literally streams on twitch during the off-season yet he can't seem to ever post you?? suna doesn't deserve you. suna—
suna is a lot of things, but nothing like the deadbeat, ashamed boyfriend allegations. in fact, all your well-meaning fans are so far off on how he treats you that you and him get a good laugh from the outrageous conclusions they've jumped to.
you posted: a photo of rintarou with his head on your lap, and you've got your fingers playing with his hair. it's a sweet photo, really. except for the fact that you decided to pair it with an audio that's a snippet of a song that goes "he's so pretty when he goes down on me" and a caption that reads this song is so relatable 🤍
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
anyone who thinks rintarou is a selfish lover, a lazy lover, someone who merely tolerates you or is ashamed to be with you... they clearly don't know either of you very well.
because even when he's exhausted from practice, rintarou comes home craving you. craving your sweetness, your warmth, your love — and your pussy. he's obsessed. rintarou suna loves to eat you out, and he does it with such passion, such enthusiasm, that it's hard to refuse him, even if he's been going at it for the past hour.
your juices are leaving a stain on the bedsheets, and your slick is coating your inner thighs. it doesn't help that rintarou is messy with his technique. he needs your legs spread for him, granting him easy access for him to just dig in. he's still in his practice jersey, and when he feels your grip loosening from the strands of hair you're tugging at, he'll slow down his pace, calming down to just tiny kitten licks while he peers up at you.
your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your hips have a mind of their own as they still jut forward, as if trying to bring your cunt impossibly closer to him. no need for that, really, seeing as how he craves to bury himself in your warmth, to suck on your cute little clit and have you humming all over his tongue.
"rinnie." you whine out, still subconsciously bucking up your hips. he smiles before resuming his original ministrations, gluttonous and greedy with how sloppy and hungry he is with you. if you're still capable of talking, then you're not too fucked out to not allow him to get his fill.
It had started small, the way it always did. A sharp comment over dinner, your voice too flat when you asked if he was even listening. He’d just come back from practice, sore and distracted from a long day, his phone buzzing with messages from his teammates and coaches.The tension simmered over the silence until one wrong look, one poorly timed sigh, lit the whole room ablaze.
Now, the storm was in full swing.
“You never take me seriously. You come home, you barely speak to me about anything other than volleyball—and when I talk? You don’t even entertain what I have to say!” you snapped, arms crossed tight, nails digging into your own skin. The apartment around you felt claustrophobic—lamps casting long shadows, the faint hum of the fridge too loud in the silence between your words. “All you care about is volleyball. The cameras, the edits, the social media attention that you get from everyone other than me. I don’t even know if you see me anymore.”
Oikawa froze mid-pace, then spun back toward you, brown eyes sparking with indignation. “That is absolutely not true! Don’t you dare say that—don’t! You think this life is easy for me? You think I don’t come home aching, exhausted, with every bone in my body screaming—”
“You chose this! This is your career—you knew exactly what you signed up for!” Your voice rose, cutting sharp through his. “You chose volleyball. You chose to chase your dreams—you chose to chase something so big, something so much larger than life and now there’s no room left for me. And you act like I should just be grateful to stand in your shadow and wait my turn to be seen. All I want it so be seen by you!”
His breath hitched, fury flashing across his face. His hands went to his hair, yanking it back until it stood messily, his chest rising and falling too fast. “You think I want you in my shadow? I never wanted that, I couldn’t imagine making you feel that way. Damn it, I want you beside me—”
“Beside you?” You laughed, hollow and trembling. “No one stands beside you. Everyone in your life follows behind you or they get left behind! You take every opportunity you can to stand out, to make everything about yourself! That’s what being with you feels like.”
The silence after was brutal, heavy as lead. You could see the blow land; his jaw clenched so hard you half-expected it to crack. He turned his back for a moment, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping his voice even.
“Do you really mean that?” he said finally, his tone razor-sharp, “You don’t know me at all if that’s what you’re saying.”
Your throat tightened, but the anger pushed you forward. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t want to know you anymore.”
And that—those words, small and cruel as a knife’s edge—shattered something in him. He spun back to you, eyes blazing, tears barely restrained at the edges of his anger.
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, stepping closer. His voice shook now, less fury, more desperation. “Don’t you dare say you’re wasting your time with me. Do you have any idea what you are to me?”
“I never said that I was wasting my time—“
“That’s what it feels like, y/n!”
You opened your mouth, but before you could, he cracked wide open.
“Fine! You want to know how serious I am about you? You want proof that I see you? Then marry me. I’ll marry you right now if that’s what it takes for you to understand! And I have the ring—had it for months. It’s in the cabinet in the kitchen that you can’t reach without my help.”
The words reverberated in the room, louder than either of you intended. His hands shook, clenched tight at his sides, his chest heaving like he’d just finished a match. The bravado slipped almost instantly, leaving him looking stricken by his own admission.
“I…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I wasn’t supposed to say it like that.” He swallowed, throat bobbing as he took a step closer, softer now, the raw truth spilling out. “But I mean it. I’ve always meant it. You’re not in my shadow—you’re the only thing I can see when the lights go out. You’re the only person I want to come home to.”
For once, Oikawa Tooru looked small—no sarcastic grin, no dramatic mask, just a boy trembling in the center of your living room, confessing in the ugliest, truest way possible.
And outside, the rain tapped steady against the windowpane, the city holding its breath for whatever you would say next.
⸻
★ IWAIZUMI HAJIME
You found him in the kitchen, shoulders hunched over the counter, hands braced on either side of his phone. The glow of the screen lit his face in harsh blue, jaw tight, lips pressed into a line. He didn’t even flinch when you stepped in.
“Hajime?” you asked softly. “What’s going on?”
He locked the phone, flipped it face down like a guilty reflex. “Nah, it’s nothing. Just work shit.”
“Hmm. Just work shit,” you echoed, crossing your arms. “You’ve been saying that all week. You barely look me in the eye anymore, you stay late at practice, you’ve been coming home more tense than usual and pretend you’re fine. Don’t lie to me. Talk to me, what’s going on?”
His nostrils flared, and for a moment, he looked cornered. “I’m not lying to you. I’m just…dealing with a lot right now. I’m handling it.”
The words lit a fuse in your chest. “Handling what? Baby, you come home and don’t talk to me about anything. You don’t even come to bed. Like, am I not worth the conversation? Or do you just not trust me enough with what’s going on.”
The kitchen felt suddenly smaller, air thick with your voice bouncing off the cabinets, the fridge humming like static. He straightened, arms crossing over his chest, a wall you knew too well.
“This isn’t about trust. I just—don’t want to dump this on you, okay? You’ve got enough going on without my shit, alright?”
Your laugh came out sharp, bitter. “So you get to decide that for me?You get to carry this weight—all of it alone while I sit here wondering why the hell the man I live with feels like a stranger?”
“Baby—I’m trying to protect you!” His voice finally cracked, louder than he meant. He scrubbed a hand over his face, hair spiking from the motion. “Do you think it’s easy for me? Coming home and seeing you exhausted, stressed out, and then what—I pile my own shit on top of you? No. I won’t do that to you. It’s my job to protect you from unnecessary stress—“
You stepped forward, heart pounding, heat rising to your throat. “Protect me? I’m not some fragile thing that needs protecting, Hajime! I’m your partner. You’re supposed to come to me, you’re supposed to confide in me, you’re supposed to be honest with me. Instead, you shut me out and bottle everything up until it explodes—like this!”
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “Babe, you don’t get it.”
“No,” you shot back, tears stinging your eyes, “you don’t get it. Every time you hide something from me, it feels like you’re saying I’m not enough. Not strong enough, not trustworthy enough, not important enough for you to let me in. Do you know what that does to me?”
That one hit. His face faltered, eyes widening like you’d just torn through the armor he’d been holding together with bare hands. He took a breath, sharp and shaky, chest rising too fast.
“I—” He started, then stopped, words choking out of him like they’d been locked up too long. His voice dropped, rough and raw. “You are enough, you always have been. You’re the only one I want to lean on, the only one I want to talk to—and I have. This is just different, baby.”
Your silence was heavy, trembling, waiting as you stared at him.
“Something else is going on. Im not saying anything, but you aren’t being honest with me about something.” Your voice was stern, bordering an anger that festered in your chest.
“Fine, you really wanna know what’s been on my mind? Why I can’t fucking sleep?”
“Yes, I do.” Your arms folded over your chest, foot tapping, heart racing.
He swallowed hard, nostrils flared. “I just bought you an engagement ring.” He was visibly irritated, voice raised. “I haven’t been able to sleep all week because I’ve been thinking about proposing to you and what I’d do if you said no.”
The words shot through the tension, reckless, bare. His hands balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white, as if bracing himself against the weight of his own confession. “If you, for one second, think that I don’t trust you, you’re wrong. You’re the only person I’ve ever trusted with my entire heart. You are my better half. I just don’t know how to do this without screwing it up. But I know I want you—for the rest of my life. So if you marry me, I’ll prove it every day.”
The fight still lingered in the air, jagged and raw, but in his voice there was nothing but desperation — a vow cracked open too soon, in the middle of the mess, like it had been clawing its way out for months.
For once, Iwaizumi Hajime looked unsteady, standing in your kitchen with his heart in his hands, waiting for you to either take it or leave him undone.
⸻
★ BOKUTO KOUTARU
The slam of the front door rattled the apartment, and Bokuto’s voice followed it, already too loud for the small apartment.
“I don’t get what I did wrong!” His bag was thrown to the floor, shoes kicked off carelessly. His hair was still damp from the shower at the gym, sticking to his forehead, chest heaving from the leftover adrenaline of practice.
You stood by the couch, arms crossed, refusing to let your voice shake. “You forgot, Koutaro. Again. You promised me that you’d be there tonight.”
His face twisted, hands flying out in exasperation. “I had a last minute team dinner, there was no way out of it. We were meeting with the marketing team for our next tour!”
“This isn’t just about dinner, Koutarou. You knew that this night was important to me—you promised me you’d get out of anything related to work. This was my best presentation yet—this was my night! And you weren’t there. You didn’t even text me.”
That landed like a spike straight into his chest. He opened his mouth, closed it, then started pacing, socks squeaking against the floorboards. “I’m sorry, okay? I messed up. But do you have to make it sound like I don’t care about you? You’re everything to me!”
“Then why don’t I ever feel like it?” The words shot out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. The apartment went quiet, save for his uneven breathing and the faint hum of the streetlights outside.
Bokuto froze, shoulders sagging like you’d physically struck him. His lower lip trembled, his voice catching somewhere between anger and despair. “That’s not fair.”
“You think it’s fair for me to sit alone in a room full of people, waiting for you to show up, pretending that I’m not hurt?” Your voice cracked, eyes burning. “Sometimes you make me feel invisible, Koutarou. Like my ambition, my career, my dreams don’t matter to you. I don’t feel supported in my endeavors.”
He flinched, stumbling back like the word itself had knocked the air out of him. His hands tangled in his hair, tugging, his voice breaking apart. “You aren’t invisible to me, baby. You think I don’t see you? I see your hard work, the passion behind your work! You think I don’t—” He stopped, choking on the words, and then his whole chest heaved as they tore out of him:
“You know what? Fuck it—just marry me. ”
It came out raw, desperate, too loud. His eyes were wide and wet, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted down the court. “Marry me so you’ll never think that you don’t matter to me again. Marry me so you’ll know—every single day—that you’re the only thing I see, even when I’m a screw-up, even when I fall through, even when I’m the worst version of myself.”
The silence that followed was brutal. His hands dropped uselessly to his sides, trembling. His voice softened, cracked.
“I was gonna make it special. I bought a ring. It’s been in my gym bag for weeks because I know it’s the only place you wouldn’t find it. I wanted to wait for the right moment.” His laugh was broken, hollow. “Guess I’m not good at waiting.”
And there he was: Bokuto Koutarou, the loudest man in the room, suddenly looking small, undone, his whole heart laid bare between the broken pieces of an argument.
⸻
★ MIYA ATSUMU my baby
Your voice cracked as you shoved the door open, storming into the humid night. The slam of the door echoed down the quiet street, the sound of your footsteps slapping the pavement.
“Don’t walk away from me!” Atsumu’s voice thundered after you, raw and furious, door slamming open, chasing you down the front steps of his apartment building. His bare feet hit the concrete as he sprinted after you, hair wild, shirt twisted on his frame like he hadn’t even managed to pull it on right, his expression carved with frustration and something sharper underneath.
You spun on him under the harsh glow of the streetlight, voice breaking as you shouted, “What else am I supposed to do, Atsumu? You don’t come home, you don’t answer when I call, you act like a stranger—and now you can’t even look me in the eye when I ask where you’ve been. What am I supposed to think?”
His hands flew out, helpless, exasperated. “Not that! Damn it, baby, not that!”
“What then?!” Tears blurred your vision, hot and relentless. “Tell me, Atsumu! Because right now, it feels like you’re lying to me. It feels like you’re hiding something—or someone.”
That word hit him like a fist. His whole body snapped forward, eyes blazing, chest rising too fast. “Don’t fuckin’ say that,” he growled, low and dangerous.
“What else am I supposed to think?!”
He cracked.
The words split him open. His face twisted, anger and pain colliding, and he barked out, “I WASN’T CHEATIN’ ON YA!” his voice splitting the night wide open.
Lights flickered on in two different windows above you. Someone hissed, “Can you shut up!” from a balcony. Neither of you cared.
Atsumu’s voice shook as he pointed a finger at his chest, his whole body trembling with the force of holding himself together. “I wasn’t cheatin’ on ya babygirl, I would never do that to you! I was—I was—fuck—” He dug into his pocket, yanking something out with shaking hands. The little velvet box was so worn it looked like he’d been carrying it everywhere, squeezing it to death.
Your breath caught.
He snapped it open, ring glittering in the harsh streetlight. His knees buckled, and before you could process it, he was kneeling on the cold, wet pavement, tears streaking down his furious face.
“I was buyin’ you this!” he shouted, voice breaking ragged. “I’ve been sneakin’ off, lyin’, stressin’ myself sick ‘cause I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted the words to come out right. I wanted the moment to be beautiful—not this.” He slammed the box against his chest, laugh splintering into a sob.
The night went dead silent, except for the thrum of your pulse in your ears. You blinked, the fight stalling in your throat.
Your lips parted, words caught somewhere between disbelief and heartbreak. “You bought me a ring?”
He nodded once, quick and jerky, then dropped to one knee right there on the cracked sidewalk, under the yellow glow of the streetlamp. His hands were shaking as he pried open the box, revealing the simple, gleaming band inside. His voice cracked when he looked up at you.
“Marry me. Please. I don’t care that it’s ugly like this, in the middle of a fight, with the neighbors watchin’.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, desperate. “I can’t stand ya thinkin’ I don’t want ya, that I’d ever choose anyone else other than you. You’re it for me, y/n. Always have been. I can’t do life without ya—I won’t.”
The whole street felt like it had gone still — the air, the lights, even the rain-slick pavement underfoot. Atsumu Miya, brash and arrogant and impossible, knelt trembling before you, his messy truth finally spilling out into the night.
⸻
★ SAKUSA KIYOOMI
The silence had stretched between you for days, and now it was breaking, sharp and brittle like cracked glass. You stood in the narrow hallway of his apartment, arms crossed, jaw tight, the evening light falling across your face in harsh lines.
“You’re impossible,” you spat finally, voice shaking despite your attempt to stay calm. “I can’t—how am I supposed to be with someone who… who doesn’t even let me in?”
Sakusa leaned against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets, expression unreadable. His hair fell just enough to shadow his eyes, and you could feel the distance in him pressing against your chest. “I let you in,” he said quietly, too quietly. “You just… don’t notice.”
“Don’t notice?” You laughed bitterly. “Don’t notice? I’ve been here. I’ve tried, every day. And you… you close off. You shut me out. I don’t know what you’re thinking half the time. I feel like I’m just—waiting around for… for something.”
He said nothing at first, letting your words hit like stones. Then his voice came low, careful, controlled. “I don’t shut you out. I… I just don’t—” He paused, jaw tight. “I don’t want to make mistakes. I don’t want to—hurt you.”
Your chest ached at the quiet confession, the words crawling under your skin. “Then stop hiding. Stop treating me like I can’t handle it.”
A long silence followed. He finally pushed off the wall, stepping closer, each footfall deliberate, deliberate in the way only Sakusa’s movements could be. Your heart thumped so hard it drowned out the city sounds beyond the window.
“I wasn’t hiding from you,” he said, voice softer now, almost breaking. “I… I just—” He pulled something small from his pocket, a box, weight heavy in his hand. “I was planning something. I wanted it to be right. I wanted it to be perfect.”
You blinked, confusion cutting through the hurt. “What… what is that?”
He swallowed, eyes flicking away, then back, calm and steady. “I—” He dropped to one knee, box open, the ring catching the dim light like a secret flame. “I can’t stand holding this in anymore. I love you. I need you to know I’ve always needed you. Will you… marry me?”
The words hit harder than any argument, heavier than any silence. The hurt, the anger, the fear—they all collided with the raw honesty in his eyes. His hands shook slightly, just enough to betray the storm he kept inside.
You stared, breath caught, heart thundering, and the walls you’d both built for months cracked. “Sakusa…” you whispered.
“Say yes,” he urged quietly, voice low, almost a plea. “I can’t promise perfection. I can’t promise I’ll always know the right thing to say. But I can promise you this—I’ll never shut you out again. Not like this. Not ever.”
The city outside faded, the argument forgotten, leaving only the two of you and the weight of everything unsaid finally coming to light.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I haven’t written angst in so long lol. Also, happy to be back, my cat is doing so much better. Hopefully things stay that way. Anyway—tell me what you think and if we want a part two?
boyfriend!atsumu can’t keep his hands to himself. they’re always on you.. or in.
c/w: 1.7k, fluff, heavily suggestive !! read at your own risk :3
this thing starts with a sock. yes, your sock. which atsumu had tucked into his practice bag like a holy relic because he claimed it ‘smelled like home,’ which was just a fancy way of saying he’s a massive weirdo who can’t function if he isn’t within breathing distance of your skin cells.
being msby’s star setter apparently didn’t come with enough ego to offset the fact that he was, at his core, a cling-wrap. he loves you so much, he was colonizing your personal space. if you were a planet, atsumu was the moon, the atmosphere, and the annoying little satellites circling you 24/7.
it wasn’t just the sock though. it was the way he’d walk into the apartment after a ten-hour day of jumping and sweating, look at you sitting on the couch, and collapse onto your lap like a felled redwood tree. he merges into your very soul. and now, he’s currently trying to achieve some sort of biological symbiosis where your skin ended and his began.
“yer heart’s beating real fast,” he mumbled, his face pressed so firmly into the crook of your neck that his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “is it ‘cause i’m home? did ya miss me that much? i bet ya did. i bet ya were cryin’ at the door like a lonely puppy.”
the irony was thicker than his kansai accent. atsumu was the one who had sent forty-seven line stickers of a weeping bear while he was in the locker room. he was the one currently on top of the moon with the sheer intensity of being within grabbing range.
“‘tsum, you’re literally crushing my internal organs,” you teased, though your fingers were already tangled in those bleached-blonde locks, scratching at the scalp where the sweat had dried.
he let out a sound that was half-purr, half-whimper, a pathetic little noise that had no business coming from a man who could serve a volleyball at speeds that caused sonic booms. he shifted, crawling upward until he was straddling your lap, his massive frame dwarfing the cushions. his hands—those famous, expensive setter hands—didn’t go for your waist. no, he went straight for the hem of your shirt, slipping his palms underneath to feel the heat of your lower back. his skin was always scorching, like he was perpetually running a fever of 110 percent devotion.
“can’t help it,” he whispered, nipping at your jawline with a desperation that was frankly embarrassing for his brand deals. “i spent all day dealin’ with bokuto’s screamin’ and shō’s energy. ‘m depleted. ‘m a battery at one percent, darlin’. need ta recharge.”
he started trailing kisses up your neck, each one sounding like a suction cup. he was so needy. he wanted to consume your entire essence. he was simpy in the way a victorian poet was simpy—just absolute, unadulterated brain-rot for the person he loved.
“did ya notice the missing sock?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you with those hooded, dark eyes.
“the one you stole from the laundry basket? atsumu, that’s theft. i’m calling the police.”
“call ‘em,” he challenged, a lopsided, arrogant grin breaking through his sad puppy facade. “tell ‘em yer boyfriend is a criminal for lovin’ ya. tell ‘em he’s got a fetish for cotton blends that touch yer ankles. see if they care.”
he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. atsumu was a tactile glutton. even when he wasn’t kissing you, he had to be touching you. a toe on your foot, a finger hooked in your belt loop, his chin resting on your shoulder. he was a human ivy plant, and you were the sturdy brick wall he was intent on overtaking.
“i’m takin’ ya to the game tomorrow,” he murmured, his hands wandering lower, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your pajamas. “i want everyone to see ya. i want ‘em to know why i’m playin’ so good. ‘cause i gotta get home to this. to you.”
the devotion in his voice was enough to make your teeth ache. it was sweet, sticky, and utterly relentless. he pulled you closer, if that was even physically possible, and buried his face in your chest.
“yer so soft. why’re ya so soft? it’s unfair. i’m all muscle and angles and yer just... perfect.”
∞ྀི
the msby black jackals locker room smelled like deep heat, expensive cologne, and the lingering scent of victory. the game had ended twenty minutes ago, and while the rest of the team was busy shouting about post-game yakiniku, atsumu was a man on a mission.
he had spotted you in the stands—obviously, he’d spent half the warm-ups staring at your section until barnes told him to focus—and the moment the final whistle blew, his clingy meter had redlined.
you barely had time to step into the hallway before a large, sweaty hand shot out, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you into the darkened secondary locker room. the door slammed shut with a heavy thud!, and suddenly, you were pinned against a row of cold metal lockers.
but the lockers weren’t cold for long. atsumu was a radiator.
“missed ya,” he growled, and he didn’t wait for a reply.
his mouth crashed onto yours with the force of a man who had been wandering a desert for forty days. it wasn’t a gentle ‘hello’ kiss. it was a ‘i haven’t seen you in three hours and i’m losing my mind’ kiss. his tongue pushed past your lips with an impatient flick, demanding entry, demanding everything.
he tasted like gatorade and pure hunger. his hands were everywhere—one tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back to give him better access, the other wandering down, gripping your thigh and hitching it up around his waist.
“‘tsumu—” you gasped into his mouth, the sound immediately swallowed by another deep, wet slide of his tongue.
“shut up,” he breathed, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your lips. “just let me... god, i’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the second set. you in my jersey. lookin’ all cute. makin’ me want to jump the rails, carry ya off, and bend you over on the shower room.”
he broke the kiss only to attack your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right below your ear. he wasn’t being careful, not at all. he left a mark—a dark, blossoming hickey that screamed property of miya atsumu—and he did it with a smug little hum of satisfaction.
his hand slid under your top, lifting it with his palm hot and calloused as it cupped your chest, his thumb raking over it through the lace of your bra. you let out a sharp, jagged breath as he starts squeezing, licking, and sucking through the lace, your fingers digging into the damp fabric of his jersey. the contrast was insane—the high-octane professional athlete out on the court, and this desperate, trembling mess of a man in the dark.
his touch heavy and possessive, he wanted to feel every curve, every inch of skin he’d been deprived of during the match. his kisses moved back to your mouth, sloppier now, more frantic. you could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of the both of you making out echoing off the lockers—the slide of tongues, the hitch of your breath, the low, needy groans he kept making in the back of his throat.
he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, hard, before soothing the sting with a slow, agonizing lick. he was acting like he wanted to climb inside your ribcage.
“ya taste so good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted for air. his eyes were blown out, dark and glazed with a terrifying amount of affection. “i’m gonna go home and i’m gonna keep ya awake all night. i’m gonna kiss every single inch of ya until ya forget yer own name. ya hear me?”
you couldn’t even form a sentence. your brain was mush. atsumu took your silence as a challenge, leaning back in to suck on your pulse point, his hands firmly kneading your hips as if he were trying to mold you into a shape that fit him better.
“miya! we’re leaving! don’t tell me you’re still lookin’ for that sock!” sakusa’s muffled, disgusted voice drifted from the hallway.
atsumu stiffened, letting out a frustrated hiss. he didn’t pull away, though. instead, he pressed the tent of his shorts against you one last time, a heavy, grounding pressure that made your heart do backflips.
“i’m never lettin’ ya go,” he whispered, a promise that sounded a lot like a threat to your personal space.
he pulled back just an inch, his eyes scanning your face with a look so tender it was almost painful. he reached out, thumbing a stray drop of saliva from the corner of your mouth then putting it in his, his expression shifting from feral predator back to hopelessly devoted boyfriend in a heartbeat.
“go wait by the bus, darlin’. i’ll be out in two minutes. and if i see any guy lookin’ at that mark i just gave ya, i’m hittin’ ‘em with a jump serve.”
he gave you one last, quick peck on the nose—a jarringly wholesome contrast to the debauchery of the last five minutes—and watched you walk out with the gaze of a man who had just won the lottery and was terrified someone would steal the ticket.
atsumu was a lot of things: a champion, a twin brother, a fatty, a public figure. but mostly, he was just a guy who would happily live in your pocket if the laws of physics allowed it. and as you walked toward the bus, feeling the tingle on your lips and the weight of his mark on your neck, you knew there wasn’t a single place in the world he’d rather be than stuck to you like cosmic glue.
he was already texting you before you reached the exit.
slave: “should we try the sturdiness of every furniture again? we’re buying new furnitures with your favorite color if we stain them too much.”
n: awooga, this was kept in my drafts for my eyes only. but i reached a milestone, so there goes my selfish desires.
ps. suggestive fics are in between smut and fluff, no one can torch me for this.
