#hq fic

[weirdergirlbrina]

Atsumu loves calling you his wife.

He’ll say it to his friends, family, complete strangers, really, anyone who’ll listen. He’s got absolutely no shame about it.

In his head, it’s bound to happen anyways, so why not start early?

One morning, you’re out on the outdoor volleyball court, huffing and puffing as you scramble after every one of his impossible hits.

An older woman passing by lets out a little, “Oh!”, as she smiles at the blonde, “That’s a lot of work this early in the morning”, she playfully says.

“Eh”, he immediately shrugs, shootin her a real charming grin, “Whatever the wife wants, right?”

The woman laughs, giving his shoulder a light pat before continuing on her walk.

You freeze for half a second. Heat rushes to your face, stomach doing a stupid little flip.

“Shut up,” you mumble, cheeks warming despite the grin tugging at your lips

He turns back to you, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Then he smiles, that soft, fond one that always catches you off guard, always melts you just a little.

“Yes, ma’am”

————————————————————————

A/N: this is so short idc loverboy atsumu needed his spotlight

[mochiqa]

𓂃⋆.˚ ( hq!! ) he catches you gushing about him ! ⤷ ゛akaashi, iwaizumi, atsumu ˎˊ˗ atsumu isn't a smooth flirt when he actually likes someone imo, repost from my old account

masterlists

────────────────── keiji akaashi

“I’ve only ever seen him in two places; in class and in the school gym. I’ve never actually interacted with him in either one,” you admit sheepishly to your friends, who are giggling and smacking you in excitement.

“No stop! We’ve talked to him before because we know Bokuto, he’s actually super sweet! He’d totally like you if he doesn’t already—if you just talk to him!”

You practically swoon at the idea, your squeals alongside the similarly high-pitched noises of your friends reverberating through the school’s backfield. Initially you had gathered after class to have snacks and talk after school, but that turned into intense fangirling and wingwoman-ing.

“He’s so cute I could just—agh,” you whine, rubbing your palms on your eyes as you pout at the near certainty of never being able to be with him. He’s so out of your league; playing for the school’s volleyball team, being friends with one of the most popular guys in school, having the calm demeanour that practically every girl looks for in a man.

Alongside the aforementioned and your lack of spatial awareness, you’re entirely oblivious to the person approaching the bench you’re sitting on, until one of your friends has to grab your face to make you stop talking - stop talking about the very person who’s now observing you curiously. You don’t take the hint until you hear Akaashi clear his throat from behind you and bend down to pick up the volleyball that landed by your feet.

“Sorry about that.”

“O-Oh,” is all he receives from you in response, to which he smiles kindly. A smile that has you inches away from bursting into tears about how much you miss someone who isn’t yours.

He eyes you once more before jogging back to the corner in which he and Bokuto appeared to be practising, your eyes following him as he did so and observing his every jog and step.

Following that interaction, your group falls silent for a few seconds, until you slam your head onto the bench table and let a muffled scream rip from your throat—enough to express your humiliation but also keep it among your friends, unlike your previous conversation.

“Kill me, I can’t ever look that man in the eyes again. Do it now, quick and painless while I’m not ripping my hair out.”

One of your friends snorts out a laugh and smacks the top of your head. “Girl, as if you could ever look that man in the eyes. Don’t worry about it, he was smiling.”

At that, your head snaps up and you launch yourself across the bench until your face is centimetres away from your friend’s. “Was he really? Don’t lie to me, I didn’t see him smiling.”

She shakes her head. “That’s because you were too busy wallowing in your self-pity and staring at us to realise. He walked off like he got the biggest birthday present of his life.”

And as told, Akaashi had jogged back to Bokuto with a massive grin, rather uncharacteristic of the man who typically—at most—cracked an amused smile. Thus, when Bokuto sees him coming back with such an expression, the ball becomes the last of his concerns. He leans over to observe Akaashi closely, humming curiously.

“Did something happen?”

“Ah, nothing really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Akaaaaashi.”

“Bokutoooo.”

The owl-like man groans and snatches the ball in mock frustration, to which Akaashi chuckles and gently pats him on the back. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to inform anyone that he’d started grinning at the mere sound of you giggling about the prospect of interacting with him.

────────────────── hajime iwaizumi

For the past ten minutes, you and your friends had entered a routine of squealing about the prospect of being Iwaizumi’s lover and shushing each other when the excitement became too loud. Eventually, it reached a point where the latter was no longer done—no one was supervising the volume of your swooning and dreaming.

“He’s so dreamy,” you sigh, resting your right cheek on your right fist.

“And jacked, I mean he could probably pick you up easily,” one of your friends comments, waggling her eyebrows and laughing at the drastic change of colour in your face.

You’ve interacted with Iwaizumi a few times, enough to classify him as a friend, but not enough that you’d expect to see him frequently or even anticipate him thinking about you. In actuality, the man doesn’t go a day without you crossing his mind, to the point where he starts questioning where the hell he developed his interest for you from. That’s not to say you’re not an intriguing person, just that he hadn’t had a serious conversation with you that wasn’t interrupted by something—whether that was the both of you needing to head to class or Oikawa yelling his name.

“I’m telling you, I’m getting taller, you asshat,” Iwaizumi grumbles to a very tired and sluggish Oikawa.

“And I’m telling you I don’t care whether that’s true or not as long as you’re still a reliable spiker.”

Iwaizumi smacks the top of his head with a passion so strong it would seem as though the two were words away from killing each other.

The two continue to walk through the school’s lengthy corridors until they approach the gym’s open doors. A message was sent out to the Seijoh team group chat, following which all that came as responses were thumbs up reactions to the message. At least they weren’t ignoring it.

As the two men walk into the gym and toss their bags in a corner, Oikawa can hear chatter and laughter from people other than him and Iwa, sufficient enough to distract him from the impending practice match. After greeting the others and agreeing on a rotation for the game, Iwaizumi’s ears perk up at the sound of his name. He knows it doesn’t come from his lot since they’re too busy stretching to care, so he’s fairly certain it’s coming from the group of girls he can see in the gym’s far other side—the spot reserved for basketball. His interest is only truly piqued when he notices your familiar face.

Though, he can’t just walk over there and question you.

Matsukawa has his hands on the ball, tossing it into the air and catching it. He’s not really paying attention to what Oikawa is babbling about behind him, so Iwaizumi seizes the opportunity and politely asks for the ball from him. Once Matsukawa hands it over with a heavy sigh prior, Iwaizumi practically launches it to the other side of the gym.

“Oikawa, you absolute trash,” Iwaizumi grumbles with faux annoyance before jogging over to get the ball, providing him with enough of a chance to get within your close proximity and overhear your conversation.

“Iwa’s so hot. I need him as mine so so bad. I die every time he talks to me.”

“That is highly concerning,” Iwaizumi intercepts into the conversation after retrieving the ball, to which you scream and slap your hands over your mouth as if you were caught leaking confidential information (which isn’t too far from the truth).

Your friends are gaping and avoiding eye contact with both you and Iwa in an attempt to appear apathetic to the whole situation, something they fail at tremendously.

“T-That was not about you,” you sputter.

Iwaizumi raises a brow and feigns consideration, though he doesn’t say anything to point out the fact that there is no other Iwaizumi in the school, let alone one that talks to you. “I’d hope not. Wouldn’t want you dead now, hm?”

And that’s all he says before flashing you a knowing smile and heading back to his group.

────────────────── atsumu miya

"His brother is so much more my type, but I definitely get why Atsumu's causing your heart-eyes," your friend snickers, nudging your shoulder a little roughly as if to knock you out of your "daze."

You glare at her lightheartedly. "Heart-eyes? No such thing, never experienced it," you object weakly, to which your friends share a knowing look.

Because heart-eyes was the exact way to describe how you looked at Atsumu. Even if it was the quickest glance, you seared the sight of him into your mind and made him your incentive for even attending school. Well, that and needing good grades.

The group of you are walking home together, an hour past school's final dismissal bell. The streets were empty aside from a few locals walking their dogs or coming back from the supermarket, and it was the main reason you liked staying after school—it meant no crowds and no rowdiness that made your head split.

Atsumu has just finished up practice and is tying his school shoes as he walks, hopping on one foot and desperately grappling with the other. He has the paper documenting next month's line-up between his lips.

Osamu deadpans at his stupidity. "So you couldn't change shoes when benched?"

Atsumu snorts. "Yeah, like that ever happened," he retorts, words mumbled from the fact that he could barely part his lips to not risk dropping the paper. "You're a sore loser."

"You're an arrogant winner."

"Still better."

It's Osamu's turn to scoff then, though there's no real malice behind it.

The two wave goodbye to Kita and the others as they go they separate ways, and once Atsumu finally ties his shoes, he lands flat on his feet and shoves the paper into his bag, sighing loudly.

"He's cute, I know... no, I'll never talk to him... out of my league," Atsumu hears, ears twitching at the intriguing snippets of conversation.

When he and Osamu turn the corner onto the main road, they see a familiar group of girls waiting for the light to turn red to cross. Osamu spares them a brief glance before sliding a pineapple bun out his bag and unwrapping it. Atsumu instinctively tunes out Osamu's chewing sounds when he sees you amongst the group, eyes lit up with something akin to excitement.

"This light always takes forever," one of your friends groans, checking the time on her phone.

You hum and nod your head in agreement, staring at the still-red pedestrian signal.

"Atsumu's playing a match next month, I think it's against Karasuno. No doubt that we're winning," the same friend mentions suddenly, glancing at you.

"Karasuno's getting good. I wouldn't underestimate them," you mumble, placing your foot forward when the pedestrian light turns green.

"Nah, we're winning for sure."

You yelp at the familiar voice and almost trip over your own feet. Managing to actually not fall flat on your face, you look over your shoulder and see the very topic of your conversation(s).

"Atsumu," you murmur idiotically, as if reunited with a past lover.

He grins at that and nods at the green signal. "This light takes forever, remember? I'd get a move on if I were you."

You raise a brow, and he pales a little.

"Not in a rude way—I don't know why I said that, I just meant we should walk now—" Atsumu's cut off by his own pained grunt when Osamu nudges him in his ribs. Compose yourself, is what Osamu was essentially communicating. You like her. She won't bite as long as you don't mess up... anymore.

"So, you were talking about the match?" The blond asks, clearing his throat as the lot of you begin crossing the street.

You purse your lips. "Yeah..."

Ten seconds pass in complete silence, nothing but the sounds of your footsteps and the low purrs of car engines reaching your ears. Until another one of your friends speaks up.

"We can leave if you guys wanna, like, kiss."

"Oh my gosh, no—" you gasp out, slapping your hands over your face.

"W-what? That's not—" Atsumu stutters, swallowing thickly to steel his voice and expression.

Osamu huffs out an almost inaudible laugh. "This guy wouldn't have it in him to kiss her before a ring."

Atsumu glares at his brother but makes no effort to deny his accusation.

[evamame]

papa?

picking up your husband iwaizumi hajime after his days work at the gym is over with your baby wrapped up on your chest. something had gone wrong with his car, resulting in it currently at the repair shop being fixed. this left you and your one year old son in charge of pick up duty. you slide open the door and step into the vast gymnasium of japan’s national men’s volleyball team, greeted with the sound of shoes squeaking on freshly polished hardwood floor and the smack of volleyballs being spiked over the net. sitting on a bench off to the side of the court is hajime, writing some type of report in a notebook with a focused expression. you walk along the sidelines to him, holding your baby’s head to shield him from any unsuspected volleyballs that may fly your way.

hajime only looks up from his work as you seat yourself next to him, typical. he’s always so focused and invested in his job. only during his work hours is he like this, though—he always makes time for his two favorite people.

hajime smiles at you and places a kiss to your temple in greeting, putting his notebook and pen off to the side before shifting in his seat to face you more directly. “hey. didn’t realize you were here.”

“must’ve lost track of time again, right?”

“as usual,” he admits a bit sheepishly, “i really need to finish filling out this sheet of supply orders for next month.”

“hmph. you have that nice smart watch but you hardly ever pay attention to when you need to clock out of work,” you gesture to the sleek black band on his wrist as you speak.

“sorry, love i—” his words are cut off by the babbling of your son, who’s stubby arms are reaching for his papa. he looks up at his dad with wide and admiring eyes, dawning the same tan skin as his father and the same deep brown color in his wispy head of hair and irises. there’s not a doubt in sight that he’s hajime’s child; he’s practically the spitting image of him.

you two can’t help but chuckle at his efforts to cling to his dad, his movements restricted by the wrap holding him close against your chest. “you wanna give papa a hug?” you coo.

the restraint doesn’t give in, and your son looks up at you with an adorably frustrated face of confusion and surprise at the spectacle. “you can’t get anywhere in this wrap, huh?” you say as you gently pull him out of the restraint, handing him off to hajime.

once your son is in hajime’s arms, it’s within an instant that he wraps his small and chubby arms around his neck. hajime holds him securely against his chest, an affectionate laugh escaping his lips at the way his baby boy looks up at him with such adoring eyes. “looks like you really missed your papa,” hajime says fondly before placing a peck to the top of his delicate head. at this, your baby giggles loudly and begins to blabber incoherent sentences, ones that hajime pretends to understand nonetheless.

“you know, once we got here, he kept asking me ‘papa?’ the whole walk from the parking lot to the entrance. i guess he recognizes this place pretty well now.”

“oh, really?” at your words he peppers kisses all along your son’s chubby cheeks, “papa missed you too. so, so much.”

and it’s not without your son first being showered with praise and love from the team that the three of you leave to go home, praise that your baby accepts with innocent giggles and lots of squirming—all from the comfort of his papa’s warm embrace. undoubtedly his favorite place to be.

masterlist | taglist | tags: @scoupsworld @amaliaaliena @mires765

a/n: iwaizumi is such a good boy dad. a little self indulgent bcs i have big baby fever.

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

[ottocre]

PROOF OF US - osamu miya

“you just happened to buy the building next to my bar? and i’m supposed to believe it’s just a coincidence?”

synopsis: after years of not seeing your ex-fiancé, he shows up at your bar, revealing that he’s bought the building next door to finally own his own restaurant.

pairing: osamu miya x gn!reader - type: smau / written - tropes: exes to lovers, business owners, second chances - warnings: alcohol use, cussing, crude jokes, references to sex - taglist: open

profiles: bar hoppers + moochers

chapters:

1 - enemy at the front gates 2 - someone’s unlucky 3 - namesake 4 - an eye for an eye 5 - mistake after mistake 6 - unlocked door

[chaepink]

Private lessons | sub!oikawa toru

wc: 2.8k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, student x teacher relationship, professor!reader, reader is in mid/late twenties and oikawa is early twenties, college au, dry humping, begging, hair pulling, praising, teasing, choking, slight edging, pet names, a few mentions of "miss" for reader however can be ignored since no body parts are mentioned

note: lets see if i can still write good

"Professor? Can you go back and repeat that?"

You sigh and without turning around to see who asked the question, you begin repeating what you've just said out loud again. After all, you know exactly who asked the stupid question: Oikawa Toru.

Sure you're fresh out of college and new to the job but you're perfectly capable of dealing with all of the situations and problems that come with teaching. Your first year teaching sub-disciplines of biology passed by perfectly normally, with you even becoming one of the favorite teachers among the students.

So you weren't concerned when your second year began and you were prepared for most of the things that you assumed would happen.

But what you weren't prepared for was to deal with Oikawa fucking Toru, a senior who you've heard from your fellow teacher friends tends to be a constant pain in the ass.

He's the typical bad student. He's always bullying kids he deems inferior to him, hangs out with the frat boys, throws parties every week if not every day, and gets into fights. All while having girls surrounding him.

Oh, and he interrupts your teaching every second he gets.

That bastard has been the main problem that has suddenly made your job unenjoyable. He's been pulling all sorts of shit like making you repeat things at least 5 times each class, whispering crude remarks about you to his friend—even though he sits in the front of the room and you can hear each one—, and throwing paper balls and airplanes around randomly just to annoy you. Overall, he's a real nuisance during class.

And you know damn well that he doesn't even need or care for the repeating from the way he smirks at you when you're done and from now he has failed most of the quizzes and tests that you've given to the class yet doesn't go to you for any help.

No matter how annoying he is in your class, you can't be bothered to report him to the head of the school, afraid it would tarnish your new reputation as a teacher. After all, you heard rumors about how he's gotten teachers fired, and knowing his parents are somewhat influential, you'd rather not find out firsthand if they're true or not. All you can do is complain about him to your friends as you wait for the school year to end. At least his class is always the last one of the day, right? Yeah right.

Now back to the present.

As you finish repeating most of the things you already went over, you ignore the gaze burning into your head and quickly post the classwork on your laptop. However, right as you open your mouth to continue teaching, the bell rings and you can't help but let your shoulders slump as you look up to the students with a forced smile.

"I just posted the homework for this lesson that's due next class so don't forget to complete it! The semester is coming to an end so final grades will be put in soon."

As they pack up and begin chatting, a few give you sympathetic smiles as they exit, knowing what you have to go through during this class.

You don't bother to pay attention to the last person in the room as they walk up to your desk, stopping right in front of you.

"Professor? I think I need more help understanding."

You pause your typing on your laptop and focus on sorting the papers on your desk instead, trying to look busy but you're just trying not to look Oikawa in the eyes.

"Yes, Oikawa? What exactly do you need help understanding? If it's something that will take a while to chat with me about then I'm afraid that it'll have to wait until tomorrow because I have a lot of work to grade."

You quickly glance up at him and see the grin on his face. It's one that you've gotten accustomed to as it usually means he has something up his sleeve.

"Well mainly about today's lesson. I don't quite get it. Perhaps I even need a private lesson, don't you think?"

Right, you forgot to mention the rather obvious flirting he does towards you. It's almost as if your first year teaching went too well that your second just had to be the exact opposite.

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes as you answer back calmly without looking at him.

"If what I notice during class is right, you haven't been paying attention much. But I'm sure if you start doing so, you'll begin understanding the lessons better."

You hear him let out a huff at your lack of attention towards him before seeing two hands being placed on either side of your laptop. You frown as your eyes immediately look up at him.

He's closer now, leaning over your desk and the grin wider now.

"Oh come on professor, a private lesson can't hurt. You'll be able to teach me so much." Teach him how to behave perhaps. "And you can do it however you want, I'm not picky." The way he looks at you as he says the last part has you questioning if he meant it in another way. Knowing him, he most likely did.

You sigh before gathering your papers and you see Oikawa's grin falter slightly.

"Oikawa, I don't think a private lesson is necessary. Nor do I think it would benefit you in any way." You're so focused on the papers that you don't hear him walk around the desk to your side until he's right beside your chair.

"Please, professor?" You jump slightly in surprise before turning your chair to face him and you remember just how tall he is. He's right in front of you now and the way he said the word "please" has you tensing. He knows what he's doing and he knows that you know.

You suddenly realize the tension in the room and clear your throat. "This is inappropriate, Oikawa. I'm your professor."

He raises an eyebrow before stepping closer and smirking.

"Inappropriate? Just what are you assuming? I'm not doing anything inappropriate." He leans down slightly and you frown. Damn him and his good looks. No wonder you see him surrounded by girls on the daily.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You know what you're doing," you say sternly and his smirk widens. Oh, you want to slap that smirk off his face so badly.

You can't help but glance back at your laptop for a second before suddenly feeling a hot breath in your ear and a presence beside you.

"Please, professor?" A shiver runs down your spine. Before you can reply, you notice his tie dangling in front of you—one that's always untucked despite the uniform policy—and you can't help but grab it and pull it down sharply. He gasps at the sudden action as he stumbles and falls to his knees in front of you. His eyes immediately widen and a faint blush appears on his face.

You can't help but be in shock as well. If someone were to walk in at this moment, they would see the infamous Oikawa Toru on his knees, a blush on his face that's growing redder by the second, in front of one of the school's most popular teachers.

Oh, the rumors.

Even on his knees, he's still tall but you swear he looks smaller from the way he looks up at you in surprise.

You're still holding onto his tie and you realize, the way you're staring down at him, tie in hand while he's on his knees staring at you with widened—awaiting?— eyes; Oikawa kinda reminds you of… a dog?

Get your mind out of the gutter, [Name], you tell yourself, yet your grip on his tie only tightens and you notice him swallow hard.

You look at his neck and realize you must've accidentally tightened the tie somehow as well, pressing it right up against his Adam's apple.

"M-Miss?" You snap out of your thoughts, both the title and the stutter catching you by surprise. Looking at Oikawa, you see he's blushing harder, fists clenched on his thighs as he continues to look up at you with that look. Shit.

Then you realize he's not moving, not getting up, not pushing you away, or yelling at you. He's not protesting it. Rather, he's deciding to stay kneeling in front of you.

Does he want this?

You swallow hard as your eyes rake over Oikawa's body and you swear you see his body shiver slightly. You were always a sucker for pretty men anyways.

However, when your eyes finally reach his lower half, you realize why he's blushing so much, or why he's avoiding your gaze suddenly. He's hard, so obviously hard.

Oikawa looks so different from his normal persona that you almost want to laugh. The cocky, annoying senior that has always pestered you in class reduced to a blushing, speechless mess in front of you with a raging boner.

"I bet this is what you wanted, right? During a private lesson?" You see him tense up before lowering his head in front of you, muttering something quietly.

"Use your words properly." You notice him staying silent and wonder if you've misread him before he suddenly speaks- no, suddenly moves.

He slowly leans forward to lay his cheek on your thigh and your breath hitches at the sight.

"I'm sorry, miss." Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Despite how one side of your mind so desperately wants to put him in his place after everything he's done, the more rational part of your mind quickly reminds you that you're his professor and he's your student. Although you're only a few years older than him, this could get you fired or worse.

He must sense your hesitation because he then gently grasps your ankle and presses your shoe against his crotch, letting out a small whimper that makes the heat inside your stomach rise.

You curse under your breath before tugging his tie again and he gasps. Feeling him start to slowly rock against your shoe, you take it back and hear him whine pathetically.

"Was this your plan all along? To rile me up so I would snap and teach you a lesson?" You feel his crotch twitch slightly.

Oikawa swallows hard before lifting his head up and nodding. "Words."

"Yes, miss." You can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

"Well," you start and you see him looking up at you awaitedly. "Perhaps I will teach you a lesson, in my own way of course, since you said you weren't picky." He blushes, remembering his previous words. You have a feeling that although he wanted you to snap, he didn't expect it to go this way.

The pressure against his crotch snaps him out of his thoughts and before his mind can process it, his body already has and you see pre cum seeping through the material of his pants. He lets out a moan at the feeling of your shoe again.

"How about, I'll ask you questions about the class material" —you see his Adam's apple bobbing— "and depending on whether you answer correctly or not, I'll either pull back my shoe or help you cum."

His breath hitches at the idea and almost immediately nods. With his brain already foggy along with the realization that you may pleasure him, he fails to remember that he hasn't been paying the best attention in your class or learned the material well.

You already feel him slightly grinding on your shoe again but you keep it there, wanting to keep on looking down at his flushed face panting near your thighs.

"What is a similarity between transcription and DNA replication?"

His eyes immediately widen in surprise and you know you've stumped him already. Although you know the rest of your classes would be able to answer it easily, his mind is already too clouded with pleasure, it's almost funny.

He stutters out some sort of half-ass response that you know is definitely wrong before you feign a disappointed sigh and pull away your shoe. Immediately he whines out in protest but a stern look from you shuts him right up.

So now he follows your orders.

"What does the shape of a protein determine?" Groaning, he lays his head back on your thigh. His grip on your ankle tightens slightly as he pouts up at you, trying to convince you to do something else. With his hair right in front of you, you suddenly grab it before yanking his head back, emitting a rather loud cry of pain from him.

"Come on, Oikawa"—he lets out a whine at the way you say his name so sternly—"I thought you wanted this? So be a good boy and answer the question. Or perhaps I should just leave you here?"

He widens his eyes before shaking his head hesitantly. "N-No, miss." Oh, the thought of you just leaving him here has his cock throbbing. He's so hard, it hurts.

You stay silent and he realizes you're still awaiting an answer from him. You swear you see the cogwheels turning in his brain, the need to cum fueling it.

"The… function?"

It comes out as more of a question than an answer but you take it anyways. The second you grind your shoe back against his already stained crotch, he humps it like a dog in heat, his groans and whimpers filling the classroom.

You ask him another question and of course, he gets it wrong, mumbling some response that had nothing to do with what you asked. However, taking pity on him, you don't pull away your shoe and he takes it as a sign to speed up. Maybe he thought he actually got it right or maybe he realized that you felt bad for him.

Your hand grips his tie again, tugging it as he lets out a small groan, his eyes rolling back in his head slightly at the pressure against his throat. So he likes getting choked?

"You know, when you're making all sorts of loud noises like that, I wouldn't be surprised if someone were to come check up on his room."

You expected him to slow down, maybe even stop at the realization. But rather he speeds up.

"Maybe you would even like that, getting caught." His cock inside his pants twitches a lot, answering your suspicions so you continue. "Imagine what they would think, seeing a big bad senior like you on his knees for a teacher, rutting against their shoe like a fucking bitch in heat."

Your language catches him off guard, the total opposite of how you act when you teach. He can't help the blush that travels down his neck or the shock of pleasure that runs through his spine or the way his dick leaks more pre-cum, trickling through his pants and onto your shoe because holy shit was that hot.

But the whole situation wouldn't happen anyway. You know for a fact that this part of the college was practically empty, even more so after the last class. But Oikawa doesn't know that and the thought of getting caught turns him on more than he would like to admit.

"M-Miss, I'm close," he murmurs into your thigh, taking no action to slow down. You raise an eyebrow. Assuming that he hooks up with girls weekly, you thought it would take him longer to cum, or perhaps this whole situation is too much for him to process clearly that he just couldn't hold it in. It's cute.

Oikawa is quick to babble out pleas to cum, his voice rising in pitch as his absolutely sinful noises become louder. Some drool escapes from the corner of his mouth and his body feels hot, tears prickling the corners of his eyes from the intensity.

His eyes roll back again and you swear his brain short circuits when you press down on his crotch, his grip on your ankle tightening even more to keep you there. Oikawa can’t even think properly anymore, he just wants to cum. "Pleasepleaseplease-"

"Go on Oikawa, since you've been such a good boy during this lesson." The praise is what gets him. He throws his head back, revealing his neck that you want to grab so badly, and lets out a cry of pleasure. Immediately you feel the wetness on your shoe and you look down to see the wet stain on his pants growing even more.

Oikawa slumps back forward onto your thighs as his humping slows down before coming to a stop. Looking up at you, his eyes are glassy and glazed over and the sight makes your heart race.

He sighs before laying his cheek on your thigh and closing his eyes, murmuring something that you almost fail to hear.

"Thank you for the private lesson, miss."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[barelyalivesstuff]

Manager-chan—⁠☆

Summary: You’re Karasuno's manager—and Oikawa can’t breath at the thought.

Warnings: fluff, Haikyuu x female reader, reader is Karasuno’s manager and ex-manager of Aoba Johsai, dramatic Oikawa and lots of fluff.

Characters: Karasuno and Aoba Johsai.

A/N: Thank you for the request dear <3.

The air smelled faintly of sweat and floor polish—as you entered the building. You adjusted your clipboard under your arm and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you followed Daichi inside, Karasuno’s black jackets shuffling behind you.

“Manager, you good?” Nishinoya grinned, bouncing on his heels. “You look nervous!”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, smiling. “It’s just…we’re up against Seijoh again.”

You didn’t mean it dramatically—but Tanaka immediately gasped.

“Again? As in…your Seijoh?!”

You winced.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“You used to manage them!” Nishinoya whisper-yelled. “You’re a traitor!”

“Former employee,” you corrected flatly.

From the court, the sound of familiar voices echoed—sharp, lively, unmistakably Oikawa

And then, a voice you’d know anywhere.

“Ehhhh?~ Is that who I think it is?”

You froze before turning.

Oikawa Tōru stood just a few meters away, tossing a ball between his hands. His brown eyes lit up like a stage light as soon as he saw you.

“[Name]-chan?! It is you!”

Several of Karasuno’s players blinked in confusion as Oikawa broke into a jog toward you, grin wide and all charm.

You didn’t even get to answer before Matsukawa called, “Don’t steal her yet, Oikawa! She’s their manager now!”

“Steal?” Tanaka repeated, stepping forward. “Over my dead body!”

Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s been five minutes…”

Oikawa stopped in front of you, hands on his hips, mock-scolding. “You really transferred and didn’t even tell us? [Name]-chan, that’s so cold of you.”

You raised a brow. “I moved houses, Oikawa. I didn’t abandon a team in the middle of nationals. And you know that.”

Iwaizumi appeared beside him—exasperated but smiling faintly. “She has a point, you know.”

“Still,” Oikawa huffed, pouting dramatically, “I can’t believe you’d go from our bright blue to—” he glanced at your new jacket, “—black and pumpkin orange.”

Before you could reply, Hinata piped up from behind, “Hey! Our colors are cool!”

Kageyama frowned. “Yeah. They’re better.”

Oikawa smirked. “Ah, Tobio-chan. Jealous that [Name]-chan used to work with me?”

Kageyama’s frown deepened instantly. “I’m not jealous.”

“Yes, you are,”

You sighed. “Can we please warm up before someone dies of embarrassment?”

Oikawa only grinned wider. “Warm-up, yes—but [Name]-chan, maybe you could come over to our side for just a minute? For old times’ sake?”

Daichi’s polite but firm tone cut in. “Sorry but she’s with us now.”

“Daichi-san,” Oikawa said, smile sweet as syrup, “surely you don’t mind a temporary loan? We raised her first after all.”

“Like I’m some kind of stray cat,” you muttered.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki leaned in from Seijoh’s bench, whispering audibly,

“Think we can still bribe her back?”

“Bring snacks. Managers love snacks.”

Meanwhile, Tanaka and Noya looked personally offended.

“She’s our manager now!” Noya barked. “You had your chance!”

As both teams started their stretches, you could feel eyes darting toward you every few seconds—Seijoh’s with nostalgic mischief, Karasuno’s with protective gaze.

Oikawa still hadn’t stopped glancing over, that teasing grin never faltering.

And honestly? You could already tell—this “practice match” was about to feel more like a tug-of-war.

The whistle blew sharp across the gym.

Both teams lined up, bowing in that crisp, practiced motion.

Oikawa speech echoed across the court.

You took your usual place off to the side with Kiyoko, clipboard in hand, already jotting down serve rotations. Everything felt normal—until it didn’t.

Because halfway through Karasuno’s first rotation, Oikawa turned his head, mid-serve, and winked at you.

The serve still went in, of course—perfect form, perfect spin, textbook Oikawa—but Kageyama’s death glare from the other side could’ve cracked the floorboards.

Kiyoko murmured quietly beside you, “He hasn’t changed, right?”

You sighed. “Not one bit.”

Daichi clapped his hands once. “Focus, everyone! Don’t let Seijoh’s rhythm get ahead!”

Hinata nodded, bouncing in place. “Right! I got it!”

And for a while, the game was tight—quick, sharp sets, both sides setting at full pace. You could tell Kageyama wanted to prove something, his tosses snappy and precise.

But Oikawa—well, Oikawa was in rare form.

Between points, he somehow always found an excuse to look over.

At one point, while wiping sweat from his face, he called out,

“[Name]-chan! Don’t you miss being on the winning side~?”

You nearly dropped your pen.

“Concentrate on your game!” you yelled back before you could stop yourself.

Karasuno’s bench immediately erupted.

Tanaka was halfway out of his seat,“THAT’S OUR MANAGER, BABY!!”

Nishinoya, loud as ever,“SHE CHOSE US, PRETTY BOY!!”

Across the net, Matsukawa and Hanamaki snickered, doing exaggerated “ooh” faces.

“Man, Oikawa, rejected in HD.”

“Iwaizumi, tell your boy to stop embarrassing us.”

Iwaizumi gave a helpless sigh. “I told him.”

Still, the game stayed tight. Oikawa’s serves tore through the air, Karasuno’s receive line trembled but held, Hinata and Kageyama slowly syncing into their rhythm.

And through it all, the Seijoh captain kept up his ridiculous running commentary.

“Your rotation’s still too slow, Tobio-chan!”

“Nice receive, bald-kun—did [Name]-chan teach you that?”

“Oh, [Name]-chan, you’re glowing as always—ah, but, blue suits you better~!”

By the fourth rally, Daichi had had enough.

He called time-out.

“Focus,” he said, voice low but firm. “Ignore them. They’re just trying to throw us off.”

You nodded, handing out towels. “He does this on purpose. He’s all talk until Iwaizumi hits him.”

That earned a small chuckle out of the team—tension cut just enough.

And sure enough, as soon as the whistle blew again, Oikawa called across, “You wound me, [Name]-chan! I’d never let Iwa-chan hit me in front of you!”

A pause. Then, from Seijoh’s bench:

“Wanna bet?” Iwaizumi muttered, cracking his knuckles.

Kiyoko, deadpan as ever, murmured, “You worked with this team?”

You sighed. “Yeah. They were worse then.”

But despite all the noise, there was an undeniable warmth threading through the chaos. The way Oikawa’s eyes softened when he glanced at you between plays—the quiet respect in Iwaizumi’s nod when he saw you cheering Karasuno—the nostalgia that sat heavy but sweet.

For all the rivalry, it wasn’t mean. It was… familiar. Like old friends arguing across a new divide.

Still, by the end of the first set, Oikawa had managed to:

piss two Karasuno first-years(Tsukishima and Hinata),

get smacked twice by Iwaizumi,

and make you yell his name across the court three separate times.

Which, in his mind, was apparently a victory.

As the set ended—Karasuno barely scraping the win—he walked past your side of the court, towel slung around his neck.

“Good work, [Name]-chan,” he said softly, the teasing gone just for a heartbeat. “Karasuno suits you. Really.”

Then, before you could reply, he grinned again—back to the Oikawa you remembered. “But don’t think I’m not trying to steal you back.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You can try.”

From behind, Tanaka yelled, “Over my dead body!”

Oikawa just waved cheerily. “Then start writing your will, #5~!”

You packed your notes, slung your bag over your shoulder, and followed your team toward the exit doors of Aoba Johsai’s gym—the place you used to walk through every day.

The second you stepped outside into the crisp air of their courtyard, you heard hurried footsteps behind you.

You didn’t even need to look.

“Oikawa,” you sighed.

He skidded to a stop beside you, slightly out of breath—probably from sprinting away from Iwaizumi’s glare.

“You really haven’t changed,” you said.

He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically.

“[Name]-chan! I came to say goodbye properly! I’m being sentimental here!”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled.

He softened at that—really softened.

“You looked good today,” he said, voice dropping into something gentler. “Black…suits you.”

For a second, his eyes flicked to the orange-black group ahead of you—the loud first-years, the dependable upperclassmen.

“You’re happy,” he said, more to himself.

“Yes, I am,” you answered honestly.

He exhaled, hands sliding into his jacket pockets.

“Well…then I won’t kidnap you.”

A small pause.

“Not today.”

You gave him a flat look. “Oikawa.”

He raised both hands. “Hey! I’m respecting boundaries!”

From the gym doors behind him, Matsukawa yelled, “Oikawa! Iwaizumi says if you don’t come now, he’s leaving you behind!”

Hanamaki added, “He also said you deserve it!”

Oikawa winced. “Ah. My tragic life.”

He took a step backward, still facing you.

“Take care, [Name]-chan. And if you ever miss us—”

“I’ll message you,” you said.

His smile widened—that bright, theatrical grin he always wore when he hid something genuine underneath.

“I was going to say “come back”, but this works too.”

He jogged back toward his team, yelling something about Iwaizumi being heartless.

As soon as he disappeared through Seijoh’s gates, a voice popped up right behind you.

“Manager!”

Tanaka.

Followed by Nishinoya.

Of course.

They each hooked an arm through yours like overexcited guard dogs.

“You’re not allowed to talk to that captain without supervision!”

“We’re officially your bodyguards now!”

“You guys weren’t even listening,” you muttered—but you were laughing.

Hinata waved both arms wildly from ahead, “Hurry up! Ukai-san said we’re stopping for juice and meat buns on the way home!”

Tsukishima teased, “How much will you eat...a ton?”

Daichi sighed, but it was the soft, patient sigh he used when he was fond despite himself.

“Come on. Let’s head back.”

Kiyoko adjusted her bag and gave you a tiny, warm smile.

“You handled everything well today.”

You felt warmth bloom beneath your ribs.

Leaving Seijoh had been hard.

But walking out of their gym now—flanked by Karasuno’s noise, their energy, their absolute dedication to claiming you as one of their own—felt…right.

Tanaka swung your arm uselessly.

“We’re your number one team now, okay?!”

Nishinoya pumped a fist.

“SEIJOH CAN’T HAVE YOU BACK!”

Kiyoko murmured, amused, “Let’s go home.”

And down the slope outside Seijoh’s campus, with the sun setting behind the buildings you used to walk through, you let their chaotic warmth pull you forward.

Yeah.

This was home now.

It's cold here.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.

Barelyalive out!

[sunarots]

how the haikyuu boys lift you

bridal style. gently sweeping their arms behind your legs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground and close to their chest. their hands keep a tight, comfortable hold on your body.

osamu. semi. daichi. meian. iwaizumi. aran. matsukawa.

the koala hug. their hands firmly on your thighs, your arms tightly around their neck to stay there. pressing his fingers into your skin in fleeting squeezes, feeling your breath against their neck.

suga. kenma. lev. ukai. kuroo. kita. hanamaki. sakusa. akaashi. takeda. kunimi.

piggyback. so excited every time you say you’re exhausted, instantly crouching before you in a silent invitation to climb on his back. arms looped around your legs to keep you there, never showing signs that he needs a break.

aone. bokuto. asahi. komori. tsukki. noya. goshiki. koganegawa. ushijima. yaku. omimi.

over-the-shoulder. finding you at the most inconvenient times, without warning grabbing your legs and hoisting you over his shoulder. pulling you from your focus to come face-to-face with his backside. hysterical laughter whilst you yell to be put down.

suna. osamu. atsumu. yamamoto. tanaka. tendou. kyotani. daisho. romero.

dirty dancing style. determined to lift you as high over his head as possible after seeing it in the movie. promising he can do it, each time managing to hold you in the air for the slightest bit longer. the proud laugh every time, convincing you to let him do it in many less than appropriate circumstances.

atsumu. oikawa. kageyama. hoshiumi. hinata. terushima.

extras::

oikawa knew instantly he could do the lift after seeing it and did it in public.

kageyama saw a clip of oikawa do it and was determined to try do it too.

hinata then saw kageyama do it and was also determined to do it.

tsukki pretends to be annoyed at you for wanting a piggyback but you have never asked for them.

[sugarwarachan]

driving you crazy

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader andy's notes: yall wanted a part 2 and here is probably the dirtiest thing i've written in a hot minute. here's part 1 if you're new. summary: being in the same phd program as tsukishima kei was already the worst, and that was before you and the snarky bastard were tasked to teach the same class together. after a late-night run-in at the library leaves you breathless, what will happen when you attend the same conference together? content warnings: SMUT, degradation, name kink, impact play, orgasm denial, brat reader, dom!tsukki word count: 2.5k art credit: @Freaka_LoonyZ on x

Neither of you mention the library. 

In fact, two entire months pass by without a word uttered about the incident, and a part of you wonders if you imagined it all along.

The only difference is that Tsukishima is now disarmingly polite; curt in his civility, even, where before he would tease, annoy, and complain to you. Now you have no one in the program to really talk to at all.

Which makes attending this stupid fucking conference with him nightmarish beyond belief. 

You hate being forced to attend events just to network; neither of you are even presenting papers. It's so infuriating that all you can think to do is excuse yourself early for the evening and return to your room.

Because the other thing that sucks about attending this conference with him? 

You’re so horny you can barely think straight. 

An hour later, you're punching pillows in frustration and throwing your vibrator across the bed.

“Fucking seriously?!?” you shriek into the pillow, kicking your feet up and down like a toddler. You feel entitled to it, honestly; not even porn helped this time, and you’re laying in the dark, unable to cum, because of one fucking make-out session in the library.

Sighing, you swing out of bed and pad into the hallway. Cleaning a sex toy is a better use of your time than lamenting the loss of your orgasm.

The bathroom door creaks open. 

Tsukishima, clad in low-slung pajama bottoms and a thin cotton shirt, steps out.

“Oh. Y/n.” His gaze drops to the rose. 

And just - stays there. 

Mortification creeps up your neck. This is hell, you decide. No one could have designed a more appropriate way to torture you.

“Are you just gonna fucking stare at me?" You inject as much casual bravado as you can into your voice. "I masturbate. Big deal.”

“Did it work?”

“Excuse me?”

He takes a step forward. It’s so reminiscent of the library that you nearly fall into the same pattern of stepping away. This time, you stand your ground.

“Did you cum?”

Oh.

You weren’t expecting that.

Heat skitters over your skin. You look up at him,  the gold of his eyes overwhelmed by the black of his pupils.

“No.”

Tsukishima smiles. “Good.”

And then his mouth slants over yours.

You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling into his hair and scraping his scalp. He cups your cheek and trails a hand down your back to press you closer. 

“Go back to your room,” he says into your mouth before pulling away completely. “I’ll be there soon.”

You wobble back to your room on shaky legs and immediately sink onto the bed. 

You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that it’s been weeks since he’s even talked to you like he used to, and now he’s kissing you like a man going off to war. 

The soft snick of the door jamb opening and closing sounds off like a bullet in the silence of your room. 

Tsukishima is always an overwhelming presence, but he takes up so much of the door frame that you can’t quite think of anything else. 

He’s so big, you think, a little stupidly, as if you’ve never noticed—and actively appreciated—how he fills out those stupid sweaters he’s always wearing. 

His eyes rake over your tank top in a way that makes your nipples tighten.

“Hi,” you say. 

“Hi yourself.”

You weren’t expecting him to move so fast, but he’s suddenly on top of you, kissing you with a burning mixture of finesse and care as his hips press you down. The hard outline of his cock bumps against your pussy, and fuck, you’re already wet, just from this. 

Why is it so good?

“I don’t know,” Tsukishima’s saying into your neck. You hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. “You drive me fucking crazy, and yet you’re the only person I think about.”

He sucks at your pulse point and rolls his hips. You fist handfuls of his hair, tugging and scratching, anything to get him closer to you. He hisses between his teeth.

“You’re always so impatient, you know that?” He taps the waistband of your sleep shorts. “Let me take these off, y/n.”

He hooks your ankles over his shoulders and lifts up your hips, coaxing your shorts off.

He smirks. “Knew you’d be naked under these.” 

“Did the failed masturbation give it away?”

He yanks you up and settles you into his lap, clothed cock slotting in between your folds. You stifle your whimper just in time.

“Just let me make you feel good, for fuck’s sake.” He grinds you down onto him, and this time the whimper falls from your lips unguarded. “Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

Your arms tighten around his neck, breath shuddering into the hollow of his throat. His hands tighten on your waist.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

He spreads your folds with his fingers.

“You don’t know?” Tsukishima lightly traces your clit. The word more is blurry in your head and before you know it, you’re saying it out loud, the ache in your pussy overwhelming, desperate to be filled.

“Please, Tsukki. Stop fucking teasing me.”

He laughs against your hair. “I’m the tease? Not the woman walking down the hallway in the tiniest pajamas I’ve ever seen holding a sex toy and telling me she hasn’t cum?”

The arm at your back tightens around your neck.

“If you don’t know why you’re being stubborn, then maybe you don’t deserve to cum, sweetheart.” He says the pet name all sickly-sweet, like he’s delivering bad news to an enemy. 

You wish it didn’t make your stomach swoop.

You wish it didn’t make you talk back against your better judgment, either.

You grip his shirt in your hands and pull his face close.

“I’m being stubborn because the last person I want to want is you, but here we are. Happy now?”

He grins. “Immensely.”

He pulls his shirt off his head and pushes you down in the same go, positioning himself in between your legs.

“Never thought I’d get you to admit that,” he says, biting the inside of your thigh. “Guess you get your reward after all.”

You’ve always noticed Tsukki’s fingers. Calloused and long, the number of times you thought they would curl into you just right bordered on the criminal. But nothing could have prepared you for how well his fingers actually spread you apart.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he breathes out, sinking two fingers into your core with ease. His other hand holds your hips down, the possessive splay over your lower belly shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. “Anyone else ever get you like this?”

You grab his wrist, pressing your hips against the heel of his palm. “You really want to talk about my other sexual partners right now?” 

“If I’m better than them, then yes,” he says, fingers moving agonizingly slow. You glance down quickly enough to catch his self-satisfied smile. “I’m competitive.”

He rubs your g spot; you immediately clamp your thighs around his hand.

“Shouldn’t you be all the more desperate to get me off, then?”

The sigh that escapes him is total frustration. “This is what I mean about being stubborn, y/n.”

Before you have time to blink, he flips you over onto your stomach and pulls you flush against his hips.

He bends over you, mouth close to your ear. “How about we strike a little bargain, huh? You say my name, and I’ll make you cum.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“Tsukishima—“

He grips your face and tilts your head back.

“Not that name, sweetheart.”

Oh the little fucker. 

“You wanna hear it so bad, make me say it.”

He lets out a low chuckle and drops your chin, palming the back of your head so you’re face-down in the mattress.

“Really?” he asks, fingers tracing along your slit. You’re embarrassingly wet, practically dripping down your thighs. His hand cracks across your ass. A moan rips through you; your hands scrabble at the sheets.

“You can never just obey, can you?”

He smacks you again, pain blossoming out from the impact and turning into pleasure.

“A simple direction, and you fight me on it. Do you get off on torturing me?”

“You know I do,” you breathe out. You wish you could see him, watch his eyes as he pulls you apart like this. All you can hear is his breathing, erratic and strained.

“Guess it’s only fair I repay the favor.”

Another slap to your ass. He’s not gentle with it, and the blinding crack of pain makes your chest go hollow. You feel dizzy, out of control.

You feel wonderful.

One more smack resounds in the air. Unbidden, you thrust your hips back at him, each slice of pain he inflicts making your pussy throb. 

“The sounds you’re making, baby. Do you have any fucking idea what you do to me?”

I’m beginning to, you think. 

You reach for his hand, wanting his fingers back inside of you, anything to stop his teasing. He just slaps your hand away and pins it behind your back, leaning down to snatch up your other wrist. He cages your arms behind you and pulls you back up against his chest. 

One hand trails down your hip, a low laugh tickling your ear when your hips push forward. 

“Eager for it, are we?”

“Fuck you.”

“Always so antagonistic,” he says before kissing the side of your neck. He almost sounds fond. 

“Do you need me to beg?”

“I already told you what I want. You just insist on not giving it to me.” He nips your ear before traveling over the nape of your neck. A broad palm holds you in place.

He just holds you there, seconds ticking by. 

If you say his name, this might end. 

And if this ends, you have no fucking clue what you’ll do. 

Your body doesn’t care about your mental struggle. You try to shift your thighs together to relieve the ache; Tsukishima tuts. 

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating—”

“Please, Kei.”

Instantly, two of his fingers slide in, the stretch so full, so good, that you nearly buckle to the bed if not for his support. 

“Was that so hard?” he coos. 

A soft cry falls from your mouth while he strokes the inside of your pussy with his long fingers. 

“That's it, baby. Ride my fingers and keep making those pretty noises for me.”

Grinding your hips against the heel of his hand, he keeps curling his fingers just the way you like, the rhythm sure and slow. You’re panting, hips chasing his fingers every time he draws them back out. 

He bends you back down, pressing his chest to your back, hips flush with your ass. He’s straining against his pajama bottoms, dick jumping against you every single time you grind back on him. “God, you little fucking tease. Greedy pussy of yours needs more than just my fingers to cum this time, doesn’t she? Where’s your rose?”

“It’s in the nightstand drawer,” you manage. 

He fumbles for it in the dark and then hands you the vibrator. 

“Keep it on your clit while I take care of you.”

When you turn it on, you bury your face into the mattress to swallow the near pornographic whine that bursts from your mouth. Tsukishima’s fingers take up the slow, sure rhythm from before as the rose’s vibrations ratchet you higher and higher. 

“Push me down,” you say. He inhales sharply. One hand settles over your shoulder blades. “Push my hips down on the bed and make me take it.”

He makes a sound that is half growl, half frustrated grunt. He complies instantly, pressing you down and kicking your hips apart so your belly is flat against the bed, vibrator driving into your clit with every thrust of his fingers.

Your knees tremble, thighs shaking as the slow curl of your orgasm unfurls in your core. 

“There it is.” His voice is rough, possessive. You’ve never heard him sound like this. “Let me hear you, baby, tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

You’re not sure what he’s hearing apart from a garbled mixture of moaning and sobbing as you drool into the sheets. He fists your hair at the root and wraps it around his wrist, pulling your head back. 

He’s so rough with you it makes your head spin. 

His broad palm collars your throat. “Say my fucking name when you cum.” 

The growl in his voice, the grip on your neck; you’re cumming before you even have time to prepare.

“Kei kei kei kei,” you wail into the sheets, pleasure rocketing over your limbs. Your vision blacks out for a moment, heart pounding in your ears. 

You've never cum like that, not in your entire life.

Tsukishima kisses the back of your neck, softly sweeping the sweaty hair at the nape. The gesture is so unbearably intimate you nearly shy away from him, but the thought blinks bright in your brain: You don’t want a repeat of last time. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, and you just nod, too exhausted for much else. He pads into the bathroom. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, plotting what to say. 

The bed dips when he returns. He hands you a washcloth, brow raised. 

“I would help, but you seem to be against that most of the time.”

You suppress your retort. He’s right; you only hate that he’s right. 

“Did you?” You trail off, gesturing limply toward his lap where his cock tents the front of his pajamas. 

Holy fuck, he’s big. 

Tsukishima just looks at you blankly. 

“What happened wasn’t transactional, y/n. I don’t need something in exchange.”

God, why are you always fucking up with him like this?

Your whole body wobbles as you sit up, tank top askew. You forgot you still had it on. 

“But if I wanted to?”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re blown back by what you see. 

Vulnerability. 

He smiles. “Then I might just be honored.”

You press your lips to his, feather-light. Somehow, the enormity of this situation feels too fragile in your hands, like one wrong move will crush the both of you. His arms tighten around you. He lifts you into his lap, hands pressing into your waist, your hips, the undersides of your breasts. 

He tastes vaguely of you. You imagine him licking the cum off his hands as he cleaned up in the bathroom and you groan against him.

“I want to make you feel good, too. Will you let me?”

aaaayyyyooooooo - perhaps some tsukki pov next? 😏 masterlist here. reblogs and comments always appreciated!! <3

bby taglist <3 @tabi-kat, @localfandomjumper