#bokuto smut

[tobio-rs]

he only cums when he sees your face.

it doesn't work when you're on all fours, or when you're sitting on him on reverse, or not even when he's spooning you. he needs to see you while he's fucking you. he needs to see the way you react when he's reaching the deepest parts of you.

sure, he likes it when you moan with his every thrust, but goddamn, you just look so beautiful laid down on your back, being the pillow princess that you are, getting what you deserve.

and he gets aggressive when you try and cover yourself with your hands. no, that's not allowed under his watch,

"let me see you, pretty angel."

it sounds like a threat. but he's just so worked up seeing you ride your high. you can't be shy around him, because he'll pin your hands down and fuck you faster, harder, deeper, rougher–

until you can't take it anymore.

you won't even see how he smirks as you try and fight his big strong hands, your eyes blurry with tears steaming down your cheeks, whining, begging him to let you cum, "c-can't take it anymore daddy please!"

so he lets you.

and you feel every vein of him inside that you're spasming around his cock, white cream spreading onto his length as he picks up the pace. and slowly, when you're eyes close shut, back arch at your release, he pulls out, pumps his cock and cums on your face.

"that's my good girl, letting me make a mess on your pretty face, yeah?"

❧ kuroo, atsumu, iwaizumi, suna, ushijima, osamu, matsukawa, bokuto, oikawa

❧ gojo, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, geto

©️ TOBIO-RS - do not copy, translate, or repost

[ushiidoll]

Haikyuu boys twitter links

contains: STRAIGHT UP PORN, timeskip! Haikyuu boys (obviously.), whimpering, pnv, doggystyle, jerking off, moaning, eating, overstimulation, humping/dry humping, size kinks, etc.

18+ warnings nsfw!!! watch at your own risk must have X account or some might not work :(

teasing atsumu while he whines and cries

Osamu is the best eater!!

yamaguchi sending you a video at home while you’re gone

Tsukishima jerking off to the thought of you in that cute outfit you wore today

Nishinoya loves any form of sexual activity. even if its your feet

Osamu + Atsumu front and back

Jerking kenma off while he’s gaming

Oikawa overstimulating you with his fingers

Kuroo letting you hump his abs

Bokuto has insane stamina AND energy..!

Ushijima fucking into you while you still have the lingerie he bought for you (Ushijima AGAIN.)

Showering with kageyama didn’t end as you were expecting it to..

Sugawara wants to give you the treatment you deserve

Dry humping Hinata til he cums :(

Morning sex with daichi before he goes patrol

Suna LOVESSSS recording you while he plunges his dick inside you 💕 (another suna video)

Aone and his size kink

Coach ukai pounding into you from behind

More characters of your choice:

Tag teaming on him>>

Him jerking off to a video of you

Helping him solve his morning wood

Eating you out <333

A/n: this is definitely a new post, i dont think ive done twitter links yet but Ive seen that it’s very popular so might as well give it a try!

Edit: fixed the unavailable videos and added more because why not lol

credits to original creators and banners!!

[schtrambotik]

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.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

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. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

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.” . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

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.”

[fayelero]

ⓘ 01. HQ BOYS AS TWITTER LINKS !

⤷ LINKS ﹫ smut ﹫

⌗ bokuto, kageyama, kuroo, kenma, atsumu, osamu, suna, iwaizumi

⚠︎ porn without plot, cunniligus, rough sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), slight public sex .ᐟ.ᐟ

bokuto kotaro

- making out after a long day

- eating you out like it’s his dinner

- taking care of you like a goddess

- taking you as he pleases

- lives to see you on top of him

- don’t even know he’s making you squirt

hajime iwaizumi

- fingering his girl and making sure she loves it

- when he has bad days, you’re the first one to know it

- late nights back shots

- how he hold your tits cause he loves them

- coming home to his sweet wife after a rough day

suna rintaro

- taking a video of you riding him so beautifully

- making sure you’re moaning loudly

- when he’s lazy

- asking videos of you when he’s far for a game

- he lives to tease you

- never finish without making you squirt

atsumu miya

- atsumu loves it rough

- cum just at the sight of you

- pics he’d keep carefully

- just the tip? nah.

- mutual masturbation

- “you’re gonna break the bed!” “we’ll get a new one”

kenma kozume

- when he’s too lazy and wants to see you do all the work beautifully

- the beautiful lace set he bought you

- you distracted him from his games

- still making you do the work

- after a long exhausting stream

- kenma is lazy but when he’s into something…

kuroo tetsuro

- autopilot is useful in his new car

- knows just how to make you see the stars

- ass guy

- red is still his favourite color

- couldn’t even wait to be in the bed

- taking you right before the shower

kageyama tobio

- always fond of his girl

- burry himself deep

- fingering while his dick is in your ass

- eating you out like it’s a competition

- the first time you did it you thought he was gentle when it came to sex

- he does so much workout for volley and this

[realcube]

— KEEP IT ON

🕸 doing it in your halloween costume

ft;; kenma, tsukishima , bokuto & atsumu

tws + tags;; oral (f! receiving), slight exhibitionism // vaginal, degradation, mentions of illness // cockwarming, intoxicated sex, impact play // fingering, slight anal

KENMA 🕸 x scary black cat

one negative aspect of having a professional gamer boyfriend is that on the rare occasion you want to go out to celebrate a fun holiday, he's busy streaming and can't come with you.

most of the time when he doesn't want to go out with you, after enough pleading and begging and doe-eyes, because he's whipped he'll eventually come around and the two of you actually end up having a nice time together. however, on this occasion he is shockingly firm in his notion that he cannot go out to celebrate with you, because he's already scheduled a halloween livestream for his fans.

which is annoying, but you don't worry about it too much because you know there is one tactic that you have yet to try that will undoubtably work and cause him to cancel his stream to spend time with you instead. and that is:

ragebait.

for your 'halloween costume', you didn't even need to buy anything new for it because all it consisted of was a black bra, a black miniskirt (which you cut even shorter), a cat ears headband and a clip-on cat tail, all of which you already own (unsurprisingly). then, you would draw whiskers on your face with eyeliner.

of course, this wasn't your true costume. but merely a decoy costume that you would use to elicit a reaction out of him. your plan was that, once kenma saw that you were going out in something so egregiously revealing, his protective boyfried instincts would kick in and he would insist that he comes with you to the party.

or at least, that's what you thought would happen.

in reality, when you appearing in the doorway on his bedroom, twirling and making all sorts of fuss over your 'amazing' costume, all kenma did was spare you the briefest glance and mutter, "you look nice. have fun tonight."

the doorway wasn't in view of his camera, which is why you felt comfortable doing another twirl, and trying to show off your outfit (or lack thereof) again. "i don't think you got a proper look at it the first time, kenma." you urge. surely if he wasn't freaking out by now, it was probably because he didn't see it right. "c'mon, take another look."

he sighs, and mutes his mic. this time he turns fully towards you, giving you his undivided attention and getting an unobstructed view of your skimpy costume. though, he still didn't seem bothered.

"you're a black cat, that's cute. i like your tail." he points at it, and you can't help but swoosh it around a little. "i hope you have fun tonight. sorry that i couldn't come with you." just as he is about to turn back to his stream, you interject,

"can you at least kiss me goodbye?"

he smiles warmly at you, and nods. "yeah. there's a break coming up in five minutes. i'll meet you at the door."

"okay." you murmur, defeatedly leaving the room and kicking the air as you do so. you can't believe your masterplan didn't work, and that, more importantly, he doesn't seem disturbed at all that you're going out in virtually nothing.

well, you're obviously not really going out in this; even on halloween, you'd just arrested for public indecency. but you can't let him think you were bluffing (even though you were), so you'll probably just sit in your car for a while and watch something on your phone, maybe go to a drive-thru and get a bite to eat. something like that.

dejectedly, you pad to the foyer and put your heels on. and as promised, a couple minutes later kenma joins you. he strolls up to you and pulls you in for long hug, which you reciprocate, even allowing yourself to melt into his embrace slightly. which you immediately regret when you move to give him a kiss and he jerks away.

"huh?" you splutter, staring at him with wide-eyes; a crazed expression like someone who had just been shot. "my goodbye kiss?"

kenma snickers, and nods again. "here." he says. and you're not quite sure what he means, until he gets on his knees in front of you and wraps his hands around your thighs, shuffling closer towards you so his head was right between your legs.

your thighs instinctually press shut and a flustered heat rises to your cheeks in response to his unexpected actions, "what about your stream?"

"paused it. i told them that i needed to give my girlfriend a kiss goodbye. so, let me give you a kiss." his thumbs dig into your thighs, and despite your initial confusion, you soon allow him to part your legs and duck under your skirt, where he's met with a peculiar sight.

"no panties?" he mutters while pressing kisses on the inside of your thigh. "that's risky considering how short your skirt is."

"i just— i forgot to put them on." you splutter, as if that was any more belieable than you choosing not to wear them for aesthetic purposes. regardless, that only makes it easier for his tongue to make contact with your sweet folds.

he licks and sucks at your cunt, lapping at it like a parched man until your entire pussy is glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. he pays special attention to your clit, nipping at it to tease you and and fiercely sucking it between his teeth, causing your knees to tremble at his attack on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

he spits on your hole to moisten it , yet it feels so affectionate. he does this repeatedly to prep you, and uses two fingers to push the it inside you, to ensure it fully lubricates you. yet, there's still strings of arousal and spit hanging from your hang and spilling down your thighs.

"ready, kitty?" he asks hoarsely, with his mouth still connected to your cunt, so you feel when his lips creep into a smirk at the silly nickname. "want it?"

"yeah.." you whine, feebly grasping at the edge of your skirt for an inch of solace.

"how bad? tell me how bad you want it, princess." he says, pulling his head back, out from under your skirt so he can glare at you. however, this doesn't work out in his favour, because when he sees you're glossy lip trembling and your angelic eyes gazing down at him innocently, he immediately folds.

"you're lucky you look cute as a cat. i can't make you beg for it when look so sweet." he huffs, diving back under your skirt, only so he can lick one final stripe across your cunt before plunging his tongue into your sopping hole.

you recoil at this forceful action, but he holds you firmly in place. "stay still." he commands, speaking more into your pussy than he was to you. "let me take care of you." your pussy drips around his tongue while he loses himself inside you. thrusting in and out at an erratic pace and curling in all different directions in deperate attempt to locate your gspot.

his hands caress the back of your thighs while his tongue slams into your cunt over and over, with such force that it almost splashes back in his face. "so tight.." he groans, the vibrations tickling your clit just right and ripping a shriek-like moan from you that echoed through the whole foyer. his tongue wormed around your insides, while his lips still worked on slurped up your excess and stimulating the rest of your pussy. "mpph, fuck, you taste like heaven, kitten."

you're unsure how long this went on for, but by the end of it, the coil in your stomach had been wound so tight by kenma's unabating and expert tongue abusing your gspot and his lips destroying your clit, that you were sent into the most mind-numbingly intense orgasm. your walls were spasming and your moans were so loud that they wrapped back around and bacame largely silent. and you're knees buckled under you, and kenma had to grip your waist and slowly lower you down.

"shit.." you curse, laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling as you struggle to catch your breath.

"hope you're satisfied with your goodbye kiss." kenma smirks, finally getting up from knees and heading back to his room where he was streaming, but not before giving you a peck on the cheek first.

you didn't even have the energy to leave the house after that. which upon greater consideration, you realise may have been apart of kenma's plan all along. hmph.

TSUKISHIMA 🕸 x pirate

wrapped up in your fitted corset and pirate costume, you're stood in front of the mirror, adding the finishing touches to your makeup before you're ready to head out.

just as you're adding a final dash of blood to the fake wound on your face, you can feel his unwell presense as he enters your room, without even looking away from the mirror. partially due to the frequent sniffling. although, before he fully comes in, he lingers in the doorway for a moment, crossing his arms as he gives your costume a once-over. "a pirate?" he scoffs.

"yup." you hum, refusing to pay him any attention and staying concentrated on completing your sfx makeup.

and despite noticing your deliberate attempts at ignoring him, he contiues, "not historically accurate at all." he scowls, eyes glued to your body. but that was perhaps in part due to the fact you were wearing a flowy white blouse that barely covered your ass, ripped tights and a cinched corset. of course you had other accessories too like a prop sword and a hat, but the bodice alone was enough to elicit complaints from your boyfriend. "why would swashbucklers wear corsets and heeled boots?"

very opinionated for a man burdened with the flu. you could tell he was just trying to get a reaction out of you, and your suspicion is only confirmed when you turn around and see a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. hence, you sigh and collect your stuff, preparing to leave for the party, "thanks, tsukki. i'll keep that in mind for next years costume." that amount of sarcasm was enough to amuse even tsukishima.

"hey. i just don't want you to go to that party, and everyone starts making fun of you for having a historically inaccurate costume." he places his hand on the side of your head and lovingly strokes your head with his thumb, "you don't deserve that." there was a shocking amount of sincerity in his voice for a man who was clearly joking. but for some reason this display of pity had you inwardly swooning and melting into his stupid, illness-infected hand.

"thank you, kei. but i think i'm willing to take that risk."

"suit yourself." he shrugs, shifting his hand behind your head and pushing it so he can pull you in for a hug. as you wrap your arms around each other, he says in a nasal tone, "have a good time tonight. sorry i can't come with you." then, you feel his spare hand snake down your back, until it's resting on the curve of your thigh, at the very edge of your blouse. "i'll be here when you get home."

at first you think it's sweet that you're usually standoffish boyfriend is being so affectionate. that is, until you think the hug is over but he pulls you in again. okay, maybe he just wants it extra long because you're going to be out all night, that's fair. but then after an additional thirty seconds, you try to pull away again and he just squeezes you even tighter.

that's when you realise. "you don't want me to go, do you?"

"why is your dress so short?"

"oh my god, kei!" you groan, yanking yourself away from his crossing your arms over your chest, affronted. "stop being so overbearing. you're not my parent!"

"fine. go to your stupid party." he grumbles, looking away awkwardly, "don't yell at me. i'm sick, remember?" he fake coughs twice.

such a drama queen, how do you put up with him? you ask yourself. "okay. thanks. goodbye, tsukishima." you sigh, collecting your stuff and heading towards the door. until, he interrupts one last time by calling out after you:

"wait. at least let me give you something before you go."

famous last words. now, he had you bend over the bed, with your dress hiked up and your panties pushed to side while you rammed into you from behind. his fat cock splitting your cunt open repeatedly, while your face was half-pressed into the sheets, surely smudging your makeup in the process, but were far too lost to care.

you're hole quivered around his length and you're knuckles were painted white with how hard you gripped the duvet beneath you. it was frightening how much stamina he had for someone who has been virtually bed-ridden with illness all day. it's like he managed to shake all the unwellness off himself in an instant, and is now back to drilling into you at his typical furious pace.

your walls squelched at each thrust, and your juices leaked out of your pussy, which he used as lubricant as he rubs his fingers over your clit. "oh, fuck, kei.." you groan, legs tensing as the wet friction causes electric jolts through your core. and despite this stimulation, his fierce drilling into your tight cunt never ceased for even a moment. he's adamant on keeping you stuffed. "mmph— ts— tsukki!"

"can't dress like slut and expect me not to fuck you like one." he grits, keeping an iron grip on your waist while letting his other hand freely roam your back. it would wander up and give you teasing tugs on your hair, forcing you to look up at the wall in front of you. then it would retreat downwards to grab and squeeze at fistfuls of your ass, like he owns it. "you think just cos i'm sick that i'm not gonna fill you up? please." his point is underscored by the sniff he does halfway through, due to his blocked nose.

due to his hips constantly slamming down against yours and his dick fighting against the restrictions of your tight hole, it wasn't long before he lost himself in your heat and finished inside you — no rubber so his seed was left to conjest your walls and paint your cervix.

audibly breathless, he pulls out, and you can feel the mix of liquids he left behind him drool out of your cunt. though he hastily sorts that out by fixing your panties and adjusting the fabric so it's snug against your pussy again. pleased with his work, he gives you a quick pat before collapsing down next you on the bed. you've never seen him so worn out after sex before, but you figure it's expected considering he's poorly today.

"have fun on your night out, sweetie." he snickers. if it wasn't made clear he was being condescending by your shivering, fucked-out figure on the bed, that is in no state to be going out clubbing. then, the fact he called you 'sweetie' is a dead giveaway — he typically only calls you petnames when he's being patronising.

"and sorry for messing up your makeup. but considering your costume, you'll be glad i gave you something to keep warm."

BOKUTO 🕸 x fluffy bunny

his strong arms snake around your waist as soon as you pause for one second, just to touch up your mascara in the mirror. you try to pay him little attention, as you're already in a rush, but that becomes difficult when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and you can feel him grin against you.

"aren't you just the cutest little bunny ever?" he laughs, hugging you from behind, so close that you can feel his muscled chest against your back and it's a little distracting. he continues to press open-mouthed kisses onto your neck, and for a moment you wonder whether he's already drunk from the pregame, or if he's being his normal lovey-dovey sickeningly-sweet self.

"thank you, kou. but we need to hurry." after placing your mascara back in your purse, you march straight towards the door. however, bokuto doesn't let go of your waist for some reason and ends up stumbling along behind you. "we're already running late."

bokuto finally drops the hug, but only so he can stand up and admire the sight of your ass almost peeking out of your short dress while you're bent over, scrambling to put your shoes on. he's especially excited by your fuzzy little pompom tail that was sewn onto the dress, just under the small of your back. in fact, you're whole outfit was just so cute, he could hardly bear it. those floppy rabbit ears, the sparkly makeup that makes your face glow, even the fluffy bracelets you wore.

naturally, he couldn't help but give in to his lesser urges, and reach forward to squeeze your pompom tail. it was only sewn onto your clothes so you didn't even notice, until his other hand followed suit and grabbed a fistful of your ass.

which automatically caused you perk up and gasp, "kou!" you stand up straight and instantly whip around to face him, only to be met with a his wobbly smile and prominent redish flush. yeah, he's definitely tipsy.

"c'mon! look at that tail! it's too adorable not to grab." he chuckles, making the motion with one hand, while the other trails down your leg, kneeding your thigh. "such a sweet bunny. can't believe you're all mine."

his head flops onto your shoulder but you're quick to push it upright again, so he can look you in the eyes as you declare, "thanks. but there's no time. we're already super late, bokuto, so we need to hurry. do you understand me?"

"ughh." he tosses his head back dramatically and groans, "why do you we need to go? why can't we stay home and so i can fuck my little bunny's brains out all night?" he pouts, glossy-eyed and seeming genuinely disheartened.

"do you not want to go?"

"no." he states firmly, shaking his head, and almost losing balance in the process. "i want to spend tonight with you, baby. hang and fuck like rabbits— hah, get it?"

"i do." you grimace, quickly pivoting, "but you promised kuroo that you would go to his costume dinner and you said you've been looking forward to th—"

"fuck kuroo and his costume dinner!" he yells definitively, before pulling you in my the cheeks for a dramatic yet sloppy kiss. at first you're astounded and try to say something, but then you realise there's no point in arguing with him since he seems to have made up his mind. all you can do now is enjoy your night.

your lips crash against each other, and you can feel his erection as he flagrantly grinds it against your thigh. your stomach flipped at the sensation and the reminder of just how big he was; your panties slickened in preparation to take him.

you eagerly hike up your dress and try to further close the distance between you and bokuto, but you drunkenly forgot that you were in middle of putting your heels on, so you lose balance and stumble forward in his arms. however, he ends up faling backward as a result, which you landing on top of him. thankfully he braced himself so neither of you were hurt. now you were strandling his thigh, while he's laid on his back.

after a couple of moments frantic 'you okay?'s back and forth, followed by some hearty laughter, he pulls you down to resume kissing passionately. his large hands roam your body, possessively rubbing every dip and curve, and further hiking up your skirt to reveal your dampened panties.

"shit, you're so perfect, baby." he moans, but with such an anguished undertone, it almosts sounds like he's in pain. "i need you so fucking bad. my sweet girl." while one hand tenderly cups your face, the other reaches down to free his cock, which he haphazardly manoeuvres it until the tip is rubbing against your clothed cunt.

you whine into his mouth, then clumsily tug your panites aside, relishing in how his shaft drags along your wet cunt. the friction alone drives you insane, and you let out a deep sigh of relief once he finally slips himself inside your hole and you get that lewd stretch you've been waiting for.

your knees are planted on the ground on either side of him, yet you're far too involved in the heated make-out session to bother ride him. even when you briefly tried, the alcohol immediately started to hit, making it virtually impossible to stay coordinated without fumbling or getting dizzy. thus, while you kissed, bokuto planted both hands on your ass and utilised this grip to slowly drag you up and down on his cock.

emphasis on slowly. inch by fucking inch, it drove you crazy. you'd never gone this slow with him before, usually he pounds into you like a madman but not he was letting you feel him and fully experience the friction of his dick against your walls. giving you time to get familiar with every last vein and curve.

"you comfortable, bunny?" he holds your head with both his arms, hugging you to his chest in a comforting manner, as you struggle and whine while taking his whole length. "cos i think we're going to be here all night."

ATSUMU 🕸 x cheerleader

"are you ready to g—"

atsumu barges into your room, and notices you stood in front of the mirror, fixing up your hair. you even turn to flash him a smile, yet he still looks utterly dumbfounded. then, he quickly bows his head and retreats, muttering, "sorry, i thought you were done changing."

"wait!" you call out after him, and he freezes in his tracks. confused, you clarify, "what are you talking about? i'm already dressed. plus, even if i was in the middle of changing, when has that ever stopped you in the past?"

you giggle, and you expect him to laugh at your joke too, but instead he just turns to you, wearing the most horrified expression you've ever seen. "your dressed?"

"yes."

he motions to what you're wearing. a top that was so cropped it resembled a bra, with the word 'cheer!' written across it. and a matching glittery microskirt. atsumu felt light-headed just looking at it. "that's your whole outfit?"

you tut, crossing your arms over your chest and rolling your eyes. "no, of course not."

atsumu huffs the biggest sigh of relief, practically hunching over as he does so. "good, that's what i thought. so what are you missing? a jacket? leggings? the rest of your shirt?" he throws the suggestions at you, but you think it's better if you just show him.

you shuffle over to your bed and pick up the two cheerleading pom-poms you bought, and excitedly shake them around. "these!"

atsumu's face abruptly drops into a frown. "that's it?"

"yup." you nod happily. but there's a beat of silence, during which atsumu's unusual lack of commentary — ironically — tells you everything you need to know. "what? you don't like it?"

he grimaces, opening his mouth to say something before realising that there's probably a better way he could approach this situation. "don't you think you're going to get cold in that?"

"no." you shake your head, and pout. from his demeanour alone you can tell that the problem is, you're hasty to whine, "you just don't like my costume!"

"huh? i didn't say that." he furrows his brows, cautiously edging towards you with an arms outstretched, as though he was trying to offer his scent to a volatile cat. however, in this case, he lets his fingers tap at the exposed skin of your waist, and despite your gloomy attitude, you let out the slightest 'hmph' of approval, which he takes as permission to wrap his arms fully around you.

holding you in his ridiculously warm and loving embrace, he hums, "i love your costume. wish you'd dress like this when you come and watch my matches with the jackals. looking in the audience and seeing you wearing this," he steps back and admires your outfit, squeezing your waist as he does so, "would give me some real motivation."

"the wrong kind of motivation." you tease, nudging his crotch where you can feel his length stiffening against your thigh.

he litters kisses from your collarbone up to your ear, where you can then hear him growl, "n' that's your fault for having your whole ass out." he puntuates his point by delivering a harsh slap on your cheek, and chuckling when you yelp and bounce in his arms at the impact.

there's a momentary lull, as his hand drags from your thigh, up between your legs until the pad of his finger is grazing your labia through your panties. the subtle yet perverted touch is enough to send shockwaves up your spine, and mixes with the arousal in your abdomen that was also caused by his gruff voice in your ear, "it's a shame we didn't meet in high school."

"y—you think?" is all your able to stammer out, as your panties are tugged aside and his fingers shamelessly delve between your damp folds.

"yeah. i would've loved a hot cheerleader dancing for me at all my matches." you can feel his lips pull into a smile as his daring fingerwork causes you to squirm in his arms. his middle finger would prod at your clit before two would slip into your soaked hole. they'd remain relatively stagnant at first, allowing you to adjust to it before they started to move.

"we had a cheerteam but they weren't anything like you." his hot breath burned your neck; he was so near to you, and there was no where you could go to escape. by now his fingers were rapidly pumping into your pussy, while his chest was pressed against yours and his arms are wrapped around you. even his face is slotted into the curve of your neck. you were as close as close could be.

"fuck, if you were there cheering for me though.. in this slutty little outfit." he chuckles at the comment, though his heart races at the mere thought of you as a real cheerleader for him. his eyes drifted shut and he let himself get lost in the fantasy. "god, i don't know what i'd do. probably try to get my hands on you first."

"yeah, yeah, you'd be mine. then i'd bend you over under the bleachers the first chance i got and fuck your lights out." you don't know if he realises it but the longer the rambles on, the rougher he gets with you. his fingers drill repeatedly into your wet hole like a machine, until you're emitting squelching noises with each thrust. he's got such a stern grip on you, his knuckles are white and his nails are virtually digging into your thigh. while his other hand is wrapped around the back of you, with his index and middle finger feverishly abusing your pussy while his thumb presses against your asshole, just to keep you in place.

"shit, you don't know that you're stupid costume is doing to me.." his breath his heavy, and so is yours. but in your case, it's due to the fact that his fingers are curled in such a way that he's repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, and white spots are beginning to cloud your vision as you eventually submit to your orgasm. a climax that leaves you a whiny, shivering mess in your man's arms.

"tsu—atsumu!" you cry out, being partially muffled by his chest. your hole feebly flutters around his unrelenting digits, and he shifts his spare hand up to cradle the back of your head. he kisses your earlobe and whispers, "that's it, baby. ride it out. c'mon."

once the molten grit in your stomach dies down, atsumu slides his finger out of you and you're able to catch your breath. although the orgasmic lust still lingered in your mind, it was usurped by the remaining desire to go out and party on halloween, so you find the strength to utter groggily to him, "aren't we going to go out?"

atsumu laughs and affectionately tucks a strand of your costume-wig hair behind your ear. while making eye-contact, he states bluntly, "no."

"why not?" you immediately whine in protest.

in a shockingly gentle manner, he explains, "honey, you can go out half-naked any other day of the year. but this is the only night i can fuck a cheerleader under the bleachers."

before you're able to even question what he means, he rummages around in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his car keys. flashing you a smile, he offers you his jacket, and then his hand, "hm?"

[semiloml]

cw: size kink, pussy drunk! bokuto, unprotected sex, overstimulation, manhandling, reblogs and comments are very appreciated!!<3

“Fuck—‘m sorry, baby, I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Bokuto’s voice was wrecked, his breath hot against your skin as he slammed into you, holding you down like you’d disappear if he let go.

His massive frame caged you in, thick arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you still as he fucked into you with desperate, hungry thrusts.

You were already so fucked out, legs shaking, body limp beneath him, but Bokuto—Bokuto wasn’t done.

“T-too much—‘Koutarou—!”

“Nah,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes wild, blown-out and glassy. “Feels too good, baby. So tight—fuck, I swear you’re getting tighter—”

A deep, broken moan ripped from his throat, his hips shuddering as his fat cock dragged against your sensitive walls, hitting spots so deep they made your toes curl.

“S’too big, ‘Ko—!” You sobbed, your hands gripping his biceps, fingers barely able to wrap around the thick muscle.

“You can take it,” he panted, voice dripping with something dangerously sweet. “Know you can. My good girl—always takes me so well.”

He pulled out almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, making your back arch off the bed.

“Ohhh, fuck, yeah,” Bokuto whined, his voice breaking as he ground himself deep, rolling his hips like he was trying to mold you to his shape. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so good—gonna make me cum so fast—!”

His cock throbbed inside you, his thick veins pressing against your walls, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. You felt so full, stretched to your limit, your stomach bulging just slightly from the sheer size of him.

Bokuto groaned at the sight, pressing his palm to the little bump, feeling himself inside you.

“Shit, look at that,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something almost dangerous. “Splitting you right open, huh? Fuck, baby, you were made for this dick—made for me—”

Your walls fluttered around him, and Bokuto gasped, his grip on your hips bruising.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck—don’t do that, baby, fuck, ‘m gonna cum—”

His pace stuttered, thrusts turning erratic, desperate, his breath ragged as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he moaned, his voice breaking. “Gonna make you so full—fuck, take it—take all of it—”

With a final, wrecked groan, Bokuto spilled inside you, his whole body trembling as his cock twitched, filling you with thick ropes of cum. He shuddered, pressing his face into your neck, still rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts, pushing it all deeper.

“Shit,” he panted, arms tightening around you. “Still so hard—can’t get enough—”

And with the way he was already rutting back into you, his cock twitching, aching for more—you knew he meant it.

AUTHOR‘S NOTE: BOOMSHAKALAKA THANK YOU ALL FOR THE GREAT SUPPORT

[honeyteddygrahams-blog]

HAIKYUU KINKTOBER

pls don’t read this if you don’t like porn links please know that the characters are up to age meaning they are either adults or teen ages 18-19

~ BOKUTO KOUTAROU

Cream pie

Cockwarming

Phone sex

shower sex

first time

car sex

~ AKAASHI KEIJI

Cockwarming

Phone sex

shower sex

first time

car sex

mirror

~ RINTAROU SUNA

Bondage

spanking

thigh riding

Cockwarming

punishments

Phone sex

~ ATSUMU MIYA

mutual masturbation

Cockwarming

Phone sex

shower sex

hate sex

car sex

~ OSAMU MIYA

spanking

thigh riding

Cockwarming

punishments

Phone sex

shower sex

~ KENMA KOZUME

pet play

Bondage

spanking

thigh riding

Cockwarming

punishments

~ TETSUROU KUROO

Cream pie

pet play

Bondage

spanking

thigh riding

Cockwarming

~ TOORU OIKAWA

mutual masturbation

Phone sex

shower sex

car sex

mirror

Teasing

~ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

Cream pie

spanking

punishments

Phone sex

car sex

mirror

[biggianteggplant]

Panties? Never heard of her.

Under where? Bold of you to assume there’s anything under there.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

“You’re so wrong, it's actually impressive.”

“Wrong?” you echo, raising a brow. “Me? Says the guy who thought dolphins were fish until last year.”

Tsukishima Kei glares at you from across the living room, where he’s lounging with a smug expression and crossed arms. “Mammals can swim, thank you very much. I just forgot they had lungs.”

You snort. “Sure, Einstein.”

He huffs and leans back with that patented Tsukishima arrogance, stretching his long limbs across the couch like he owns both the furniture and the air around him. “You just don’t like losing.”

You tilt your head with mock curiosity. “Oh? So you’re claiming victory now?”

He shrugs. “I mean… yeah. I won. Obviously.”

You give him one slow blink.

Then you sigh, hands up in surrender. “Fine. You win.”

He opens his mouth to deliver what is absolutely going to be a snarky remark—but you cut him off with the real kill shot.

“Want your reward?” you say casually, stepping toward him with the tiniest smirk playing at your lips. “Spoiler alert: I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

The words hang in the air for maybe half a second.

Then he chokes on literally nothing.

“I’m—” His smug smirk falters, the sharp comeback dying instantly on his tongue as his eyes scan your face. “You’re what?”

You step even closer, leaning just enough for him to catch the glint in your eyes. “You heard me.”

“Wait—wait—what?” he sputters, now sitting fully upright, glasses sliding slightly down his nose.

It is glorious.

Tsukishima Kei, king of sarcasm, emperor of smugness, is now blinking up at you like you just flipped gravity upside down. He visibly tries to remember the argument—whatever dumb topic it started from—but it’s gone. Vaporized. Erased from his neurons like you hit delete on his entire system.

You lean closer, just slightly. “Still feeling cocky?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “That’s not fair.”

You laugh. “What? You said you won. I’m just being supportive.”

He gapes for a second, then runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself—but it’s no use. His usual cool demeanor is absolutely ruined.

“You’re evil,” he mutters under his breath.

You grin and perch beside him on the couch, your voice sweet and innocent as you ask, “So? Do you want your prize or not?”

Tsukishima clears his throat, avoids your gaze for a second, then mutters, “You can’t just say that and expect me to—”

You cut him off with a whisper, right near his ear: “Kei. I’m serious.”

He turns to you slowly, cheeks slightly flushed, all smugness long abandoned in the wreckage of your sentence. You’ve never seen his expression shift this fast from cocky to completely undone.

“…What were we arguing about again?” he asks, voice low and dry.

You lean back, victorious. “Exactly.”

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

Rooftop party. Cool night air, string lights overhead, music playing low. The team mingled with drinks and snacks, while Kageyama leaned against the balcony railing—soda in hand, eyes flicking between conversations.

You spotted him from across the space.

He looked peaceful. Slightly confused. Probably thinking about milk or how weird the guacamole looked.

So naturally, you decided to mess with him.

You slid up beside him, fingers grazing his arm. He turned to you instantly, lips parting to greet you, but your lips were already close to his ear.

“Hey,” you whispered smoothly. “I feel the breeze… everywhere.”

A beat.

Another beat.

Then—

“...HUH??” he blurted, far too loudly.

A few people looked over. You waved them off with a laugh.

Kageyama was frozen. Soda in one hand, wide-eyed, staring at you like you’d just confessed to murder and expected him to help bury the body.

“Wha—You—Did you mean like… what kind of breeze??”

You stepped back, all coy innocence. “The one between buildings. Y’know. Rooftop breeze.”

His brain was breaking.

“You mean—you don’t have—?!” he sputtered, visibly spiraling. “You—are you not wearing—?!”

You just smiled. “I’m gonna go grab more chips.”

And then you walked away. Just like that.

Leaving him there, short-circuiting with a blush climbing from his neck to his ears.

From that point forward—

He was glued to you.

Followed you to the snack table. Stood behind you while you talked to Hinata. Blocked the wind when you leaned on the railing again. Offered you his jacket three times.

“Are you cold?” “Nope.” “...You sure? You seem cold. You could catch something.” “Like what, wind flu?”

He pouted, furrowing his brow in full Concerned Boyfriend™ mode.

Finally, you turned and leaned in again, lips brushing his ear.

“You’re cute when you’re panicking.”

He immediately stepped behind you, hands on your shoulders like a security guard.

“I’m not panicking,” he mumbled. “I’m monitoring the breeze.”

You died. You actually wheeze-laughed.

And for the rest of the night, Kageyama was your quiet, protective, flustered shadow.

Every time the wind blew, he was there. So was his hoodie. And his judgment.

SUGAWARA KOUSHI

The car ride was peaceful. Soft music. Sunset glow. His hand on the gear shift, occasionally brushing your thigh with that signature calm, casual affection. You were both just chatting about nothing when the light ahead turned red.

He eased to a stop. The car rumbled lightly in neutral. You turned to him, tone innocent—too innocent.

“Every bump we hit? I feel everything.”

Sugawara blinked.

“…What?”

You looked out the windshield, casual as ever. “Just saying. These leggings aren’t hiding much. And I may or may not have left a layer behind.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

Then—

“HghK–”

He coughed. Once. Twice. Choked on pure oxygen.

“…You–you’re serious?” he rasped, looking over at you like you just committed a crime of the best kind.

You turned to him, smiling sweetly. “Mhm. Just figured you should know.”

The light turned green. He didn’t move.

“Suga,” you prompted gently, amused. “It’s green.”

“...Right,” he said, brain clearly rebooting. “Green. Moving. Yup.”

He hit the gas a little too hard. The car jerked forward—right as the road dipped into one of those annoying city potholes.

You let out a soft “Oof.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Visibly.

“...You felt that one, huh?” he muttered, left eye twitching, voice low.

“Mmm,” you hummed. “Vividly.”

That was it. That was the last straw. You could feel the way he shifted gears faster than necessary, tension radiating off of him like steam off a kettle.

Then the next light turned red. He didn’t stop.

“Koushi—!”

VROOM. Straight through it.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Did you just run a red light?!”

He didn't look at you.

“I need to get us off the road before I commit a felony,” he said, very seriously.

You snorted. “A felony??”

“Premeditated murder.” He shot you a look. “Of my sanity.”

You grinned and leaned closer, whispering, “You’re doing so well, baby.”

He inhaled like he was about to pray for strength.

KUROO TETSURO

Dinner with the group was going smoothly. Laughter. Drinks. Storytime chaos. Kuroo sat beside you at the long table, arm casually slung behind your chair as he sipped on his drink, listening to Bokuto animatedly recount a gym story.

You, on the other hand, were feeling… mischievous.

Your phone lit up in your lap. You typed quickly.

YN 🧨: I’m not wearing panties. Sent.

You didn’t even look at him. Just kept sipping your iced tea like an innocent citizen.

Kuroo’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the notification and casually lifted it to read the message.

Mid-sip.

Bad idea.

He choked—visibly. A full, flustered cough-sputter combo as the drink went down the wrong pipe.

“Bro, you good?” Hinata asked from across the table, eyebrows up.

“Y-Yeah,” Kuroo wheezed, pounding his chest once. “Wrong pipe. We’re fine. I’m fine. Totally normal bodily function.”

You turned to him, eyes wide, feigning concern. “Are you okay, babe?”

He glared. Softly. “You’re going to hell,” he whispered, voice strained and slightly panicked.

You smiled sweetly and popped a piece of grilled meat into your mouth.

His knee bounced under the table like a man on the verge of snapping.

You leaned in, brushing your lips near his ear.

“Wanna guess what I am wearing?”

He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowed.

“Regret,” he muttered. “I’m wearing regret.”

Across the table, Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “You two good?”

Kuroo straightened up, clearing his throat. “Yep. Just... spicy food.”

Bokuto looked offended. “That wasn’t spicy!”

You just grinned, sipping your drink. Meanwhile, under the table, Kuroo texted back.

Kuroo 🔥: You're not walking out of this dinner.

YN 🧨: Promise?

He choked again.

KENMA KOZUME

The only light in the room came from his monitor. The clicks of his keyboard echoed rhythmically, headset snug over his ears, golden eyes flicking across the screen. He was deep in it—focused, calm, deadly accurate.

“Alright,” he muttered into his mic. “Going top lane—watch the mid push.”

You padded into the room behind him, quiet as a cat. Until you weren’t.

You slid onto his lap. No warning.

Kenma tensed just slightly, hands never leaving his keyboard. “...Hi.”

“Hi,” you said sweetly, snuggling into his chest. “Your chair’s warm.”

“...Mhm. I’ve been sitting for hours.”

You leaned in, whispered near his ear:

“So am I. No underwear, by the way.”

…

He blinked once.

Then—

“HUH—?”

BOOM. Dead. Instantly.

The kill feed lit up in bright red letters.

KOZUME was eliminated.

The Discord chat went feral.

Lev: “BRO?? YOU HAD ULT??” Yaku: “What happened???” Kenma: muted mic

You were biting your lip, trying not to cackle. His hand dropped from the mouse as he tilted his head back against the chair, eyes closed in silent internal screaming.

“You good, gamer boy?” you teased.

“...You just sabotaged an entire match,” he mumbled.

You shrugged, toying with the strings of his hoodie. “Blame the breeze. Or lack of layers.”

Kenma opened one eye to look at you. “You sat on me… in nothing??”

You nodded proudly.

“…I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

He sighed. Then leaned forward slowly, grabbed the mouse again, and switched screens.

“I’m queueing solo this time,” he muttered.

You gasped dramatically. “You’re abandoning me?!”

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m benching you before you get me banned.”

You grinned. “Aww, baby’s mad.”

“Baby’s trying to survive.”

You kissed his cheek and settled more comfortably in his lap.

He didn’t kick you off. (But his character died again two minutes later.)

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

It started innocently.

You were walking back from the team’s beach training, shoes in hand, sand sticking to your calves and sun still warm on your shoulders.

Ushijima had offered you a piggyback ride because you “looked tired.” (Read: you tripped on a rock 10 minutes ago and stubbed your toe like a warrior.)

So here you were—legs wrapped around his solid frame, hands looped around his shoulders, cheek resting on the back of his neck.

It was peaceful.

…Until you got bored.

You leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered low enough for just him to hear:

“I should’ve told you I’m not wearing anything under this… short.”

You didn’t clarify.

Not under your shorts. Not under your shirt. Just… short.

Let the man spiral. 😌

Ushijima’s footsteps faltered.

Just barely.

But for him? That was like an earthquake.

His grip under your thighs tightened—not in a rough way, just as if he was trying to make sure his brain didn’t drop you.

“…What do you mean?” he asked plainly.

You smiled innocently. “Take a guess.”

He walked in silence.

Then—you felt it: the very deliberate stumble. One step off balance. One dramatic little hitch in his stride. If you hadn’t been hanging onto his back, you’d have eaten sand.

You blinked. “Did you just… trip?”

“I adjusted,” he said stoically.

Liar.

You leaned in closer again, lips grazing his ear.

“Toshi?”

He hummed.

“I can feel your ears turning red.”

“I’m very warm,” he replied flatly.

“You’re very something,” you murmured with a grin.

He said nothing.

You could feel his jaw clenching and unclenching ever so slightly. Like he was trying to calculate whether dropping you now would be considered rude or just self-defense.

By the time you reached the tents, he was quiet, slow-moving, and very focused on staring directly ahead.

You slipped off his back, patted his shoulder, and said:

“Thanks for the ride. And the stumble.”

He finally looked down at you, eyes steady but clearly unsure if you were kidding. “You should tell me next time.”

You raised a brow. “That I’m not wearing anything?”

“That you're going to say things like that. While I’m holding you.”

You smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He opened his mouth—then closed it.

And then he walked straight into a volleyball net.

No comment.

Just vibes.

And tension.

GOSHIKI TSUTOMU

It started out innocent enough. You just needed to fix your lipstick.

The venue was loud, the bathroom dimly lit with glowing neon strips, and outside the door, music thumped through the walls from the party Goshiki had dragged you to. He’d been invited by one of the pro teams for some sort of PR event—you weren’t paying attention. Mostly, you were too distracted by how nervous he was, constantly checking if his tie was straight and if his hair was okay (it always was).

He followed you into the bathroom under the assumption it was one of those shared, single-stall types. It wasn’t.

And now here you were, in front of the mirror, casually touching up your lipstick while Goshiki leaned awkwardly against the sink beside you, trying not to look like he was on the verge of a heart attack.

He cleared his throat. “Uh… are you almost done?”

You locked eyes with him in the mirror, slow and deliberate, a glint of mischief in your expression. “Why? Nervous?”

He immediately stiffened. “N–No! I mean—yes! No—I just—we’re not really supposed to be in here together…”

You capped your lipstick, turned slightly, and rested one hand on the edge of the sink. “Tsutomu?”

“Y–Yeah?” He looked at you with the wide, frantic eyes of a man who knew something very bad was about to happen to him.

You leaned closer, eyes locked on his in the mirror, and with the most casual tone you could muster, said:

“Kinda risky not wearing underwear in a place like this, huh?”

The effect was instantaneous. He visibly short-circuited.

“W–WHAT—?!” His voice cracked like a middle school choir boy. “Y–YOU—YOU’RE NOT—?!” He took a full step away from you like your words had physically struck him. “Y/N—WHAT DO YOU MEAN—?!”

You turned slowly to face him, your lips curling in amusement. “You heard me.”

He backed into the wall like you were a predator and he was the prey. “Are you serious?!”

You tilted your head. “What do you think?”

He made a noise that couldn’t be classified in any known human language. His ears were red. His neck was red. His soulwas probably red.

“I–I–I can’t be here,” he mumbled, looking everywhere except at you. “I’m not mentally strong enough for this kind of situation—!”

You laughed. “Tsutomu, relax. I’m just messing with you.”

He paused, blinking rapidly, like you’d hit him with a bucket of cold water.

“…You’re joking?”

You shrugged with a devilish little smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?!”

The door to the bathroom suddenly opened and someone stepped in. You and Goshiki froze.

The stranger glanced at both of you, blinked, then slowly backed out and closed the door again.

You turned to Goshiki with a raised brow. “See? Risky.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

And then he muttered, hands covering his face:

“I’m going to die right here in this bathroom.”

You patted his shoulder gently. “At least you’ll die flustered and cute.”

He groaned.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

The whole team had gathered for a photo after their practice match—sweaty, loud, and mildly competitive over who got to stand in the back versus the front. You and Shirabu ended up in the middle, shoulder-to-shoulder, your arm naturally sliding around his waist.

“Alright, everyone smile!” Semi called from behind the phone.

Everyone posed.

Well, almost everyone.

You leaned in close—so close that your lips brushed Shirabu’s ear—and whispered:

“If the flash is strong enough… they might find out I’m not wearing underwear.”

…

Snap.

The photo was taken.

Shirabu looked like a man caught mid-seizure. Jaw tight. Back unnaturally straight. Arms glued to his sides like a toy soldier.

You bit your lip to keep from bursting out laughing as the group disbanded, everyone going to look at the preview.

“Oh my god, Shirabu, you look like someone just told you you failed an exam,” Goshiki laughed.

Reon blinked. “Why do you look so… tense?”

“I’m fine,” Shirabu muttered, voice a full octave higher than usual.

You floated in beside him, all fake innocence. “You sure? You look stiff.”

He gave you a look. One that screamed: You did this.

You shrugged, swaying just enough to make his eyes twitch. “I was just trying to make you smile.”

“You tried to give me a heart attack,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“Same thing,” you said sweetly.

He turned to look at the group again, brows furrowed, clearly overthinking whether the flash really had exposed anything.

“Don’t worry,” you leaned in again, smug. “I’m pretty sure your reaction was the most revealing part.”

He choked. Silently. Like a man dying with dignity.

Later, Semi uploaded the picture to the team group chat with the caption:

"Great pic! Except Shirabu looks like he’s about to report a war crime."

You: 😇 Shirabu: 🙃

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi Keiji stood quietly in the fantasy section of your favorite local bookstore, one hand delicately holding a paperback while the other adjusted his glasses. His brows were slightly furrowed as he read the blurb.

“Time portals… betrayal… a cursed blade… hmm.”

You watched him from a step behind, amused. The man could write sonnets about emotionally tortured wizards but would completely short-circuit if you sent a slightly flirty text. And yet, he was unfairly attractive in a cozy, bookish kind of way—hair slightly tousled, hoodie sleeves pushed up, expression calm and focused.

Akaashi Keiji, lover of books and calm mornings. You, lover of chaos and this very specific moment.

So you leaned in, close enough that your breath grazed his shoulder, and gently tugged the sleeve of his hoodie.

He glanced at you. “Hmm?”

You smiled sweetly. “The real plot twist?” You paused. Then, with the most casual, deadpan tone you could manage: “No panties.”

It took exactly one second for the words to register.

His eyes widened. Then blinked. Then darted down, just for a millisecond—and then immediately shot back up, as if even looking lower was a sin.

He turned bright red.

“You—” he started, then stopped. His voice cracked slightly, which made it even better. “You’re not serious.”

You tilted your head innocently. “Am I not?”

His jaw clenched, a visible effort to keep composure. He placed the fantasy book back on the shelf with an impressively controlled motion. Too controlled.

“…We’re in public,” he muttered under his breath, glancing around like someone might pop out from behind a shelf and arrest him for having a thought.

You pretended to consider that. “Mm. So?”

His eyes flicked toward the giant Romance sign overhead. You could see the internal struggle.

“I came in here for dragons,” he whispered, like he was negotiating with a hostage-taker, “not psychological warfare.”

You grinned. “You came in here with me.”

He let out a sharp breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s on me. That’s… completely on me.”

A small child ran past, holding a glittery book about unicorns. A passing couple chuckled at something in the self-help aisle. And there Akaashi stood—stoic, composed, visibly losing the battle against his own imagination.

You nudged him. “So? Still want the fantasy novel? Or are you suddenly more into… romance?”

He looked at you. Really looked. Eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, color still in his cheeks. Then, quietly:

“Romance sounds… fine.”

You smirked. “Thought so.”

BOKUTO KOUTARO

It was supposed to be wholesome.

A backyard trampoline. A sunny day. You. Him. Lighthearted jumps and laughter.

That is—until you landed weird, bounced high, and laughed, breathless.

“Whoa—okay,” you giggled, cheeks flushed as you adjusted your shirt and tried to sit. “Every jump is like Russian roulette for my dignity.”

Bokuto froze mid-bounce.

“Wait—what?”

You gave him a wicked little grin, steadying yourself on the elastic. “No underwear, Kou. One wrong bounce and someone’s gonna see the promised land.”

He landed. Hard. On his knees.

“WH—WHY WOULD YOU—WHY—”

His hands flailed, eyes wide and darting like he was scanning the skies for a satellite camera. “YOU—ARE YOU CRAZY?! THIS IS A TRAMPOLINE. TRAMP-O-LINE. THERE’S GRAVITY DEFYING PHYSICS INVOLVED—”

You bit your lip to hold in your laughter as he crawled over like some overprotective volleyball dad and gently forced you to sit. “Sit. SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW. NO MORE BOUNCING. THIS IS A SAFETY HAZARD. FOR YOU. FOR ME. FOR THE NEIGHBORHOOD.”

You blinked up at him. “So you’re saying… my dignity is a public health concern?”

“YES.” He hissed, whisper-yelling now. “I have a reputation. I can’t be the guy who got his girlfriend banned from trampolines because she—BECAUSE—”

“Because I air drop my shame?”

“STOP.”

You were wheezing. His ears were red. His entire face was red. His hair looked frazzled like even it was stressed out.

“KOU!” you mocked lightly, “You good? You look like you just got hit with a serve to the soul.”

He clutched his heart. “You can’t say things like that when I’m already airborne. My brain was three seconds from leaving my body.”

You snorted. “But wasn’t it fun?”

“…Yes. But at what cost.”

Eventually, he lay flat on the trampoline, face to the sky, muttering something about needing to pray for strength.

You just smiled, crawled over, and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll wear shorts next time,” you whispered.

He blinked up at you, dazed. “Make them tight.”

You both burst out laughing.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

You were halfway into a seated forward fold on your yoga mat, groaning at the tightness in your hamstrings. Iwaizumi knelt behind you, his strong hands gently adjusting your hips for proper posture.

“Babe, you’re rounding your back again,” he said, voice calm and patient—trainer mode activated.

“I’m trying,” you mumbled, reaching toward your toes. “I think my legs hate me.”

He chuckled, warm and low in your ear. “Nah, they’re just tight. Breathe into it, I’ve got you.”

His hands slid down to guide your waist—firm but careful, professional, respectful.

And that’s when you dropped the grenade. Calm. Casual. Deadpan:

“You’re adjusting someone who’s currently free-balling, by the way.”

Silence. A very long silence.

His hands froze. Like statue-mode froze. You could feel the moment it registered in his brain—processing… processing…

“…You’re what now?” he said, voice suspiciously high for a guy who usually sounds like a gym coach with a god complex.

You tilted your head back to look at him. “You heard me.”

His mouth opened, then shut. Then again.

“I—what—why would you—” He ran a hand down his face. “What kind of psycho tells someone that while stretching?!”

You grinned. “What kind of boyfriend positions himself directly behind their partner without checking the underwear situation first?”

His eye twitched. “Because I trusted you were decent!”

You wiggled your hips slightly, just to watch him short-circuit harder. “Define decent.”

“Y/N.”

You fully collapsed into laughter, and he got up, hands on his hips, pacing a little like a man who needed to reset his entire reality.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I was focused on helping you stretch—on spinal alignment—and you’re out here living like a menace to society.”

You sat up, still giggling. “Technically, I’m living like a menace to you.”

He looked down at you, eyes dark and full of warning.

“You better hope your legs stay tight,” he said slowly, “because when I’m done with you, you’re not walking straight for the rest of the week.”

You blinked. “…Wow. That escalated.”

He cracked his neck like a man about to go feral. “Oh, you wanna talk about escalation, free-ballin’ freak?”

KYOTANI KENTARO

It was supposed to be a chill gym session. Leg day. Headphones in. World out. Kyōtani was in his zone—hood up, jaw set, sweat dripping down his temple as he spotted you from behind while you did squats.

“Back straight,” he mumbled under his breath, watching you lower down again. “Good.”

You were focused too—or so he thought—until you paused mid-squat, tugged at the waistband of your leggings, and turned your head just slightly over your shoulder.

Voice low. Teasing.

“Wanna guess what I forgot to wear?”

He blinked.

You winked. “Here’s a hint. Starts with ‘u’ and ends with ‘nderwear.’”

The sound of his water bottle thunking to the floor was instant.

“...Huh?”

You bit your lip, standing up slowly from the squat, back arching slightly more than necessary. “Feels kinda breezy, y’know?”

Kyōtani just stared.

Not at your butt (for once). Not at your face. Just... blank. Blue screen of death. The man was buffering like a dial-up modem.

“You serious?” he muttered, throat dry.

“Deadly,” you replied innocently, grabbing your water bottle while he stood there, stock-still like a statue sculpted by pure panic and lust.

He finally dragged a hand down his face. “We’re in public.”

You leaned in, standing on tiptoes to whisper in his ear: “That’s what makes it fun.”

His jaw clenched. His fists clenched. Every single muscle in his body clenched.

“...You’re walking home,” he growled.

You blinked. “We live together—”

“Not with me.”

“But—”

“Not. With. Me.”

You smiled. “So, leg press next?”

He didn’t answer. He just walked off toward the weights section like he was about to lift an entire bench press rack into the sun.

You called after him sweetly, “Don’t forget to hydrate, babe!”

He didn’t turn around. Just raised a single middle finger in the air.

Affectionately.

KITA SHINSUKE

Kita doesn’t scare easily.

Ghosts? Zombies? Creepy kids in cornfields?

He watches them like documentaries. Calm. Straight-faced. Occasionally sipping his tea like it’s not the exorcism of someone’s soul onscreen.

You, though?

You're a menace. Not because you’re scared—but because you’re unhinged.

Another jumpscare flashes—a loud bang and a distorted figure lunging straight at the screen.

You jump and clutch his arm dramatically. “OH MY GOD—”

He glances at you. “You okay?”

You blink at him, wide-eyed.

Then, dead serious:

“That almost made me remember I’m commando.”

…

Kita Shinsuke.exe has stopped functioning.

His eyes go blank. One slow blink. Then another.

“…Pardon?”

You look over at him with mock innocence. “What?”

“Y-you… you’re…?”

You shrug. “I like to be comfy during scary movies.”

He looks at the TV. Then back at you. Then down at the shared blanket. Then back to the TV. But he's not watching it anymore. That ghost can scream all it wants—he’s fighting for his life.

“I—” he clears his throat, face doing its best to remain neutral. “You know this is a horror movie, right? Not… not thatkind of film.”

You nudge his knee with a grin. “Scares me into new awareness.”

He exhales through his nose like he’s doing deep breathing exercises. “You’re gonna send me to an early grave.”

“Want me to get up and grab us snacks? Maybe do a stretch or two—”

“NO.”

You’re dying laughing now, while he sits upright like someone just told him to recite a prayer before the next scene. His ears are turning red. His neck too. Maybe even his soul.

“Shinsuke,” you say sweetly, “you don’t seem scared anymore.”

“I’m not,” he replies, voice strained. “I’m deeply, profoundly stressed.”

You cuddle into his side, smug. “Want to switch to a romcom?”

He shakes his head. “No. I need something worse. I need psychological torment. I need something so scary it rewires my brain and makes me forget what you said.”

You: 😊 Him: 🧍‍♂️🫠

MIYA OSAMU

Osamu prided himself on two things:

His cooking.

His ability to stay calm under pressure—unlike some hot-headed twin he could name.

But right now, both of those things were hanging on by a thread.

You’d been lounging around his apartment all afternoon, half-watching TV while he moved around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed, soft humming leaving his lips as he stirred the pot of pasta.

He was in his element—focused, relaxed, domestic. He didn’t even hear you padding over behind him.

So when your arms wrapped around his waist and your cheek pressed against his back, he just let out a soft, amused exhale.

“Well hey there,” he murmured, voice low and affectionate. “What’s this for?”

You hummed, pressing a little kiss between his shoulder blades. “Just wanted a hug.”

He smiled, turning the stove knob slightly lower. “Dinner’s almost done. Ya hungry already?”

You rested your chin on his shoulder and whispered sweetly:

“You know what’s not in the oven?”

He paused, wooden spoon hovering mid-stir. “…Hm?”

“My underwear.”

There was a moment of complete silence. No sizzling. No stirring. Just Osamu.exe has stopped responding.

“…What?”

You smirked against his back. “You heard me.”

He turned just enough to look at you, eyes flicking down to your oversized shirt—and just barely refraining from verifying anything with his hands.

“Yer not serious,” he said slowly.

You gave him your most innocent look. “Am I not?”

He blinked. Then again. His ears started to go pink.

And that’s when it hit him: the smell. The pasta.

“SHIT—!”

He spun back around and scrambled to yank the pot off the stove, muttering curses under his breath. The noodles were now somewhere between mushy regret and culinary sin.

You bit back a laugh as he stared into the pot like it had personally betrayed him.

He let out a frustrated sigh, setting it in the sink. “Y’know, I take my pasta seriously.”

You leaned against the counter, smug. “I take my undergarments seriously.”

He shot you a look—part flustered, part amused, and a whole lotta dangerous.

“You wanna play that game, sweetheart?” he said, voice low now, accent curling around the syllables.

You just smiled sweetly. “Do I ever not?”

There was a pause. Then he wiped his hands on a towel, slowly. Turned toward you.

“Dinner’s postponed.”

You blinked. “Postponed? What about—”

“I’ll make ya new pasta later. Right now?” He took a deliberate step forward. “You’re goin’ in the oven instead.”

You choked on your laughter. “OSAMU—”

MIYA ATSUMU

The music was loud. The lights? Blinding. The crowd? Wild.

But nothing—nothing—could’ve prepared Miya Atsumu for you.

You were swaying beside him, eyes lit up from stage lights and bass, both hands in the air. The beat dropped, and the floor practically vibrated under your feet. Atsumu, in his element, had one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close whenever someone got too near.

Everything was perfect. His kind of chaos. Until you leaned up, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and yelled over the music—

“No panties in this crowd.”

.

He blacked out for a second.

Like—not literally—but his body paused. Mid-groove. Brain buffering. Vision dimmed.

You just leaned back like you said nothing. Bopping to the next beat, like you hadn’t just ended his life with one line.

He turned to you slowly, eyes wide, mouth parted. “HUH?”

You winked. Didn’t repeat it. Just let it marinate.

He stumbled. Actually stumbled. Missed the drop. Forgot where he was.

His hand gripped your waist tighter. “Are ya—are ya messin’ with me? Or did ya actually just say—”

You only shrugged, raising an eyebrow, lips curved like you held the world’s most dangerous secret.

“Jesus christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

The music blared on. The crowd screamed as the next verse hit. And Atsumu?

He was not okay.

He stared at you like you were made of pure sin. Like you were sent from hell just to ruin his night in the best way.

“Why would ya tell me that here? In public? In a mosh pit of people?” he yelled, exasperated—but his voice cracked.

“Just wanted to see if you’d survive the set,” you said sweetly.

Spoiler: He would not.

His ears turned red. Neck too. He adjusted his shirt for no reason—like modesty even mattered now. His eyes kept flicking down, then to the crowd, then back to you.

He leaned in close, trying to regain control. “If ya think I ain’t thinkin’ about throwin’ ya over my shoulder and leavin’ this concert right now, yer wrong.”

You grinned. “But the encore hasn’t even started.”

“Neither have I.”

You burst out laughing while he groaned into your shoulder, hiding his face, clutching you like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

For the rest of the concert, he didn’t let you out of arm’s reach. Every time you moved your hips, he nearly malfunctioned. Every time you looked at him with that grin, he almost lost the beat again.

Let’s just say… he was feral to the rhythm of regret.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

He’s lying on his bed, earbuds in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, FaceTiming you after a long day of practice.

Your voice calms him. Your laugh centers him. Your face on the screen? His favorite view.

He’s even smiling. Actual smiling. Sakusa Kiyoomi. Smiling.

You’re just talking about your day. Something about a weird barista and a pigeon that wouldn’t move from your car’s hood. He’s half-listening—more focused on the way you keep shifting on your bed, phone propped up a little low, camera angled slightly upward.

“Is your phone sliding?” he asks, adjusting his own.

You blink. “Hmm? Oh, no. I just didn’t feel like holding it up.”

He nods slowly. “Okay… just don’t drop it like last time.”

You smirk, leaning forward just a touch. “Speaking of dropping things…”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

You tilt the camera just enough—just enough to suggest more skin than fabric.

“I’d stand up, but I don’t want to flash you,” you say, voice so casual it should be illegal. Then, with a tilt of your head and an evil little smile: “I forgot underwear today.”

.

.

He stares. Blinks once.

“Wha—” Clatter.

Phone: gone. FaceTime: angled at his ceiling now. You: laughing way too hard.

“Kiyoomi???” No answer.

You hear muffled shuffling, a curse, maybe a whispered prayer. Then his face appears again, close-up and very red.

“You did that on purpose.”

You hum. “Did what?”

His hand rakes through his curls. “You’re—unbelievable.”

You grin like the devil. “You’re welcome.”

He groans, tilting his head back. “I’m never FaceTiming you without a warning label again.”

“You gonna write one for me?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Hazardous content. May cause cardiac arrest over Wi-Fi.”

You giggle. “Still love me though?”

His eyes flicker to the screen. Even flustered, his voice softens. “Unfortunately. Very much.”

.

You didn’t end the call early that night. But he did keep the phone at eye level the entire time after that.

Just in case.