imagine: whiny!kenma jerking off to you over the phone
and you're supposed to be 'just friends'
warnings. explicit nsfw. minors DNI
details. fem!reader / one-sided masturbation / phone sex / kenma is noisy / needy!kenma / switchy!kenma / friends to ? / guy friend needs to tell you something trope / 900 words / left open for future potential
Tired eyes glaze past red numbers, mocking you, on your PC. It's the dead of night, but you can't sleep, so you try your luck with a call. Kenma would be the only other lunatic up at this hour.
Your fingers adjust your mic and you settle, head tilted on your knee at the screen, "Hop on."
"Ugh-hh- fuck," It sounds like he's rolling over, cursing at you.
"Ohhh..." You believe it's the noise of him waking up, and you quickly mourn the loss of a good game, "Shoot. My bad, didn't mean to wake you--"
"M-mnh..!"
Your mouth hung open- stuck on the last word that never makes it past your teeth.
"Hh-sh-it--," He hisses.
Some unintelligible words are soft and slurry, and you can hear only some rustling of sheets against the receiver.
The first flashy thought that struck you was nasty. Was he-? No, you felt a pang of guilt for even starting to think of him like that. Nonono, Kenma didn't do that kind of thing. Kuroo would think it was funny to answer the phone while jerking off, but Kenma wasn't so impish.
Your fingers pinch your mic away from your mouth-- eyes screwed shut with a shaky exhale. It only now occurred to you that he was capable of naughty things. It was a silly oversight in retrospect. He was of the same demographic as the rest of his rowdy, often vulgar, team.
You still don't want to believe it. It's silly, familiar Kenma. He sat in this chair more than you. He preferred your set-up over his own and how your folks left you alone.
Some very brief, inconsequential memories seeped in from the back of your head. The weight and warmth of an arm, often forgotten around your shoulders. His chin atop your head while he helped you get through a level. A few extra seconds of a strong hug before he leaves.
Touching you wasn't a rare occurrence, but you were content believing that it was how he communicated when he used so little of his words.
A terribly pornographic giggle does you in.
You glance helplessly about your room. It's undisturbed, same as it was moments before, but you are in a very different space.
Sure, he's cute and cuddly and chummy, but that wasn't sufficient protection against this. He was a fully fleshed out human being with urges just like you. Possibly more of them, and worse. You bit your tongue.
"H-haha-- (Y/n), it's soo early."
He sniffles, another heavy sigh laced with a groan.
You're barely able to keep a squeak down. Your head pounded with dirty thoughts. Your face was hot, but you didn't want to move your headset to cool down because- well, the sound was so clear. It felt like he was right next to you. And you were still reeling in a blossoming discovery that you liked it.
He continued shifting and moving around on the other side. Despite practically knowing, you don't hang up. You cling to the possibility that either 1) that's just his sleepy voice, or 2) he wanted you to stay.
You swallow the wobble in the voice, "Are you... okay?"
"Mmmmhm..."
He doesn't sound sober.
But he isn't drunk. Not in the literal sense of the word-- he was drunk on something. Dreamy, unusual, and tough to figure out behind a phone.
Kenma dopamine-maxxed like this once he couldn't take shouldering the lie anymore. When he needed a total reset before he saw you next, especially when he planned to be near you for long periods of time.
A necessary hour-long indulgence of edging and denial all to rewire his brain, so he could come to you agreeable and dull. His imagination needed to be totally fried to talk to you, snuggled close and friendly.
You weren't supposed to be on tonight.
He wasn't supposed to answer.
You watched your avatar respawn and die in the same spot 12 times with wide and glassy eyes. You attempted to move it only once. The tiny thing continued to explode endlessly in silence.
You sigh, "Ohh-kay... well, um-"
He still strokes his cock, shameless, at your spiraling. You generally weren't so mousy but he doesn't mind.
"I'll let you go back to sleep. I'm- I'm so-rry for waking you up," You barely finish your crackly sentence, all but a whisper left in your lungs, "I-i'll see if... Kuro's... on."
His close-mouthed chuckle forces you to bite the back of your knuckles. He was loving this addictive and selfish desire to keep making you squirm.
"Mm'not sleeping."
You weren't clueless, but acting like it was easier for you than totally 'owning it.'
"What-," Your baited breath was not enough to fuel a full reply, "What are you doing, Kemma?"
"G-od--,"
He sputters at that nickname out of your mouth; his breathing sudden, and harsh.
"Sh-it, please-pl-ease," He gasps, the rest of his words low and gravelly, "Just stay on the phone."
"Oka-y," You tell yourself, mostly, behind your palm.
He laid his phone on his tacky chest so that he didn't have to hold it and reached for something else. He was forced to rotate between stroking himself a few times and having to let go, too close after 30 minutes of 'sweating this one out.'
His voice became slightly muffled, behind a shirt he stole from you, weeks ago.
"Y'can- ahh, mn- hang up'when-ever y'want..."
"But- h-ahh, yeah...I-I've been-," He couldn't get through more than a short breaths worth of words at any given time.
"Jerking it to this picture of you-- hahaa-Ha," His laughter sounded pained; it was as whiny as his other words, but a sign that he was unable to take himself seriously.
You, too, burst into a flurry of chuckles at his shameless admission. The picture you sent him earlier was for your snap streak. It had maybe an eighth of your face in it.
Your thumb hovered over the End Call button.
Things could get real messy between you. Your heart ached for the death of a simple friendship. A growing heat between your legs put up one hell of a struggle with your conscience. Sleep deprivation wasn't helping you make smart decisions, either.
You bit your thumb, eyes closing once again at the route you chose.
"Well, how close are you?"
links: my masterlist. more haikyuu. my side. my inbox.
notes. inspo was 'teenage soldier' by 2hollis (strooong recommend for the whiny vocal intro. i mean, it's basically softcore porn)
details. fem!reader / bokuto's sister!reader / manager!reader / pining!akaashi / kuroo thirst / yearning / him-watching-you-watch-him trope / intelligent but clueless reader / debaucherous opportunity / love triangle / 1.5k words / future parts so reply to get notifs
links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my inbox. part one here.
The sky was a light, flat gray. The bus was running 20 minutes behind schedule.
If your team had insisted on Yamagata, this would've taken all day and you would've missed your check-in. Tokigawa had plenty of great spots, was leagues closer to home, with better and safer amenities. It was about to be a more enjoyable experience, but nobody appreciated you for it. There was backlash in the chat for a day after you officially switched the plan.
"Chilly, huh?" Bokuto acknowledged your shivering.
The first thing you woke up to this morning was a weather advisory. Wind gusts were strong, temps were well below freezing for many weeks, and although there wasn't any precipitation forecasted, that could change.
His gloved paws rubbed together, eyes narrowed at the wind, but his smile had not disappeared for a week. It was rare that he rode a manic high this long.
He explored your deep frown. Your tinged skin and cracked lips. The constant sniffle.
The trip wasn't happening without you. Akaashi, too, but he didn't need the consolation.
"Thank you," He draped a heavy arm over your back and squeezed you by the middle.
It caught you off guard and you sideways-stumbled into him. He was warm, so you didn't detest the affection. You put a hand under his heavy jacket and fixed your scarf over your nose.
You were going to kill him if you got sick.
The sigh of a bus rounding the corner was your signal to get ready to receive Nekoma's team. You withdrew, but he didn't get the message until you removed him.
"Bok'to!! My man!"
"Hey, hey, hey!!!"
Kuroo was the first one off. He jumped from the last step to ram into his second-best buddy.
There was a total uproar of excitement, and big, strong, swatting of arms on backs as the teams clashed together on the sidewalk. As Nekoma poured out of the doors, they looked nearly complete.
You thought, as you backed away towards the safety of a bench, you heard their Captain mention something about how Kenma would 'never in a million years' willingly sleep outside, on his own time.
"How you doing, man?" Kuroo embraced Akaashi, rough and strong.
God, you really did pride yourself on being original. Somebody who thought situations, places, and people through and reached your own conclusions about everything.
Having a big fat crush on Tokyo's most eligible bachelor was about as special as white bread.
So -yes- it ate you right up that the sight of his dark, messy hair over the group made you hold yourself a little tighter.
His eyes; Sleepy, yet sneaky-looking because he always wore that cocky smirk with it. To be born with a face like that was a gift and a curse, for sure. You wondered throughout your numerous practice games together, just how many girls had their hearts broken by him?
Those very eyes spotted you, unengaged and patiently keeping watch for the next bus you would all take together.
You pretended not to notice him approach.
"Hiya," A greeting, smooth and perfect and friendly, reserved just for you.
He always leaned down with his hands behind his back to deliver it.
"Hello," You said softly. Perhaps a touch too soft this time.
Having to speak to Kuroo was a weekly occurrence. You often followed the exact same script. It was the sole reason you could muster the courage to exchange any words, at all.
Things were different here. It wasn't a gym. It wasn't your home. There were many people moving about.
"Hm?" His palm cupped his ear and he leaned even closer.
He knew what you said. You always only said hello.
Hesitant, and jerky, and a bit awkward, you told him hi again. It was a battle between bees and butterflies in your chest-- racking your body with adrenaline.
You stared too long at his big, stupid hand and once you glanced at his face, you found something new to like about it. He had a crooked tooth. One of his canines jutted further than the rest.
Kuroo straightened, hands deep in his pockets as he sighed, "Youuuu gonna have some fun with us this weekend?"
"I'm only here to make sure nobody gets hurt."
Nobody was very clearly one person. He followed your eyeline.
Bokuto was bouncing around, happily speaking to six people at once, getting all of his catching up done faster than anyone could keep up. At least he wasn't running into the road.
"I know he's your little brother- but maybe Akaashi could... I dunno, take over?"
You felt your face getting warmer, and the way you stiffened up at his considerate suggestion gave a lot away.
"Don't you two kinda parent him together, anyway?" He prodded.
"No-," You retorted too quickly, "Akaashi and I aren't--,"
How immensely you wanted to finish telling him that you were not dating Akaashi. It wouldn't be possible, because their giant first-year approached to speak to him.
Instantly, he became a bit skittish, at your presence there. He didn't see you earlier.
Haiba backed into somebody on his team- receiving a push in return- and was unsure of what to say or do, specifically with his hands.
Kuroo scoffed, tilting his chin, "You good, Lev?"
It's tough knowing what to do with yourself when being wholly, totally, stared down. You stuffed your hands into your puffy jacket pockets and looked away.
Somebody behind him snickered, "Dude, relax."
Kuroo seethed, an irritated wrinkle in his nose, and excused himself to figure out what was wrong with him. You barely caught the quiet, demanding: 'The hell do you need?' as he walked him off.
The next bus was rolling up, and everyone was celebrating that they no longer had to stand in the cold. As if, that wasn't what they signed up to do for multiple days.
Akaashi approached in time to notice and fill the space so you didn't have to stand, or sit, for that matter, alone.
"He better not be like that for the entire weekend."
His threats were pretty cute. You giggled at his attitude.
"M'serious, that was weird," He shrugged, legitimately peeved that you were laughing at him, "He's got sisters, so I thought he'd be okay."
From the sound of it, the number loading this last bus was intentionally crafted. Did he kick specific people out, somehow? It wasn't impossible, or even a stretch, to believe.
Two days ago, you had almost backed out because you called the Nekoma manager to ask what she intended on bringing. This is how you discovered you were the only girl attending. She was in the group chat after all, so you assumed she would go.
The only person to sit with was Akaashi. Not a bad choice, but if you wanted to get out of your comfort zone...
You gave a glance at the back, where Kuroo had taken a seat with your brother. His face was motivation enough to grit through this.
"It's going to be fine," You reassured, however useless.
His nostrils flared, a frown set across his face. It clearly wasn't the only thing bothering him.
As you settled into the seat next to him, bags between your feet, you waited long enough for the bus doors to close and for the wheels to begin rolling, to pry.
You dipped your head closer, "What's up."
Only his eyes moved. His chin was still canted to the window, watching dead branches scratch at frosty glass.
You nudged his leg with yours. The offense always more effective at getting him to talk. It killed your pride that he told more of his deepest secrets, fears, hopes and dreams to your brother, but Akaashi needed a push you didn't automatically provide.
"Is it about the trip?"
"Yeah."
There was this hesitancy to the answer. You leaned, pressed, against his shoulder-- but he shrunk, letting your weight move him. Not the same as he was with Bokuto.
"Second thoughts?" It sounded an ounce too hopeful. Not bothered enough, on his behalf.
"No," Right away, he defended his stance, "We need it."
You were at a loss again- disgruntled and quiet not because you wanted to be, but because you weren't sure how to respond to him. There was this growing suspicion in you that he wanted comfort.
Except, you weren't used to comforting people who acted like they didn't want it.
Three weeks ago, Akaashi received an acceptance letter from the university you had been an early admittance to. You would soon see him around campus, a familiar face through all the uncertainty and excitement of your own journeys. It was cause for celebration in its own right. Things were just starting-- but not without the price of transformation. This year had to end. You had to say goodbye to everything you were comfortable with, all the company you enjoyed, the roles you played.
Akaashi began acting different.
More specifically, he started listening to your brother. Quoting him. Allowing every little thing he said feel profound and important.
It wasn't impossible for Bokuto to have great ideas, but it was rare. You thought his friend understood that almost as much as you did.
So- whatever- this camping situation meant that they had done some corroboration. No big deal; it gave you had less work to do, since Akaashi naturally carried the responsibility of his own actions.
Rental tents. Curating a standardized packing list so even the most idiotic of the teams could have everything they needed. Ensuring that there was signal. A fire pit. Firewood. Showers.
And the food. So- much- food.
Three days and two nights.
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♡ notes: finally found the angle. i've got the whole story in my head. i just need to type it out now. also i'm getting sick
YOU CANT JUST SAY YOU HAVE A TSUKKI FIC THEN LEAVE US STARVING PLEASEEEE
tsukishima loves torturing you
enemies to lovers trope - tsukki x reader
Ი𐑼 pre note. LMFAO i was cooking nonnie!!!! cookin!! this many words takes time lol i hope you like reading as much i liked writing it
warnings. explicit nsfw. minors DNI
content. 5.6k words || rough sex || college au || touch starved!tsukki || overstim || early orgasms || missionary and prone bone || light choking || fem!recieving oral || tsukki is a munch || late communication || sweet!loser has had enough trope || rly good arguments || good girl isn't a saint || mean guy is a loser || enemies to lovers trope || lying and red flag behavior || goofy yams appearance
He fucks his hand to the thought of you for four nights leading up to his game. It isn't the first time he's done it, but the consistency is heavily fueled by recent events. The stuttering, the stumbling, the adorable uncertainty about him, the three consecutive times you check him out after he gives you little more than a handful of words.
You like him. That's a pornographic concept for somebody starved of affection. So, no, he doesn't last longer than a couple minutes.
Seeing you in class again doesn't add or subtract anything from the fantasy-- and that's the weird part. You must have been perfect that day. Maybe it was the little streak of pen on your face, the mark of himself visible on you.
You carry an obvious awareness of what he did to you for the remainder of the week. He's back to being staunchly ignored. He's a menace with that clickity-clackity pen but you're prepared with earbuds. His teasing grants zero reaction beyond some tension in your shoulder blades. You pack your things quicker than he can rise, flying out the door before he can get the satisfaction of watching, for any longer.
That's the beauty of it, though. You don't ask him to apologize.
It's why when he catches you, in the stands, Thursday evening, he sucks his teeth and doesn't acknowledge you right away.
He has the entire game to think about why you might have shown up.
His uniform fits him better than the usual baggy attire he sports to your 8 a.m. It's actually the first thing you notice; his broad shoulders and the way his back fills out the number on his jersey. He moves with ease; quickly, though- with explosive athleticism you wouldn't have been able to imagine him with on your own. In class, he seemed part-snail how little he moved, how slow his swagger was between the desks even when he was late.
Though you stare at him hard, you lose sight of him often because you're never looking at his number. It's 17, you learn, after nearly twenty minutes of studying how his body moves.
Eye-candy aside, the game lasts much longer than you're prepared for. They go to full sets, and everybody clearly knows the rules better than you do. You aren't sitting in a group, you're stuck on the end of the bleachers, holding yourself, and flinching every time the crowd erupts. The thought to leave crosses your mind many times.
And yet, you are steadfast at your post. You don't take the opportunity for one sole reason.
He needs to pay.
You wondered why the invite felt so exclusive for a while. It felt unnatural for that boy to invite anyone anywhere-- let alone just a classmate he liked to tease. You soon found that his kindness, indeed, was too good to be true. Your hopes had been raised and sufficiently smashed back down in a million pieces. You discovered the streak of ink across your face when you stopped by the restroom after your third class.
It took every bone in your body to keep yourself from screaming when you realized you walked around campus like that all morning- and it was his fault.
After sitting on it for a day, muted rage eventually stirred up a sick, unshakable, feeling of responsibility. You had allowed yourself believe he might have been a nice, maybe misunderstood, guy all along- and there you were, suffering for it.
You still are, seated, over it and over him, while everybody else raises to their feet to clap for their Sendai Frogs' victory.
There you remain until the crowd has dwindled to a few stragglers. Some workers with brooms and trash bags pass you, sparing unsure looks. You tap your fingers, legs crossed, chin up. You know that he saw you. You're not going to come groveling to him, beyond entertaining the offer to come here.
It takes far too long. You're tired, it's way past your bedtime, and you cancelled some plans for this, so a storm was ready for when he comes dawdling up the metal stairs.
Tsukishima has his hands in his pockets, a towel draped over his shoulder, and slides on instead of athletic shoes. He's still flushed, but not out of breath. You hate how hot he is-- and hesitate when you notice he's got different glasses on. You look at him. He looks back at you. You squint at him. He squints back at you.
A big, tired sigh-groan makes you tighten.
"Iiii thought you were mad at me-?" He jeers, leaning back on the railing with a nonchalant sniff. He crosses his feet and finds more interest in sliding his shoe on and off than your stiff, unrelenting stare.
"What would I be mad at you for?"
He blinks and tilts his head back at the speed, the efficiency, and clear animosity in your query.
"Jesus."
He clears his throat at your frown, unable to bounce anything off of you, and a little cornered despite the gigantic gymnasium that houses you both. Instead of answering your question, he tries to steer you away from the very reason you tolerated this night.
"Did you like the game?"
Your words are lightning fast. Zippy and hard. His linger, slow, lacking in apology and soaked in sarcasm.
"Why would you do something like that?"
"Hmm-mm-mm... Whyyy would I do something like that...?"
"Yes. Tell me why."
"Tch... Tch... Tch... I don't know? Maybe- ohhh, yeah-! Because it was funny? Christ."
"That kind of thing is funny to you?"
"Hm. What kind of thing are we talking about?"
"Hurting other people is funny to you?"
"Mmmnever said that."
"You hurt me. Many times. Because you thought it was funny."
"I'm so sorry that you feel that way."
The oh-so-done-with-this attitude he has is, truly, bad enough. But the tiny smile he wears through your back-and-forth, like he can't be bothered to even view your anger as real, is worse. You uncross your legs. Your hands grip the edge of the metal bench so tight your knuckles lighten.
"It was just a joke," He swats off your sincerity, all your emotion, like a pesky gnat.
You stand up and snap, really snap at him. You shout, "You made me look like an idiot!"
"Lighten up!" He laughs, exhausted, a hand slipping through his salty, wet locks. Hours after a tough game, days after late-night fantasizing, months of repressing a crush, and years of building destructive emotional habits wracked up to come out in a tired, too-casual confession.
"Damn, (Y/n)-! I was fucking flirting with you!"
A breath of air fills your lungs. You notice it, how breathing makes you pause, and you realize that you're standing pretty close to him. Like you would, or even could, fight him. He finds a similar pause and swallows the lump in his throat. The immediate weight of regret weighs his head down. He would've rather taken the punch than admit that, in hindsight.
He slides a hand down his jaw and sighs. Then, you watch him wipe his face with his towel and readjust against the railing.
It's clearly your turn to speak.
"I didn't... uh," You wipe your sweaty palms on your pant legs- heartbeat feeling a little weak in your chest. "Yeah, I didn't gather that. From, y'know. The way you are."
He doesn't look at you, but snorts, and chortles, at your particular phrasing. His laugh is terribly cute. You can really see how tired he is when you choose to lean on the railing next to him, instead.
"Thank you. Really, thank you for that, Aristotle."
"Fuck you," You chuckle, tired too.
He glances down to you with raised brows. There's almost a smile.
"Oh, yeah?"
It's no effort, really. He doesn't try to make you blush, but it happens anyway.
You don't take the bait because you're better than that.
"They're about to close," Tsukishima sighs.
He motions to the more anxious-looking workers, idling at the exits for the two of you to be done with your lovers' quarrel. You jump, wincing at how inconsiderate such a thing was.
You walk with him, a little behind, because you don't know your way around. You give the employees enough apology nods along the way to make up for his refusal to do the same. He leads you to an offshoot section, near the locker rooms, and close to an exit. You're at ease because you think this might be where you parked your car.
"We can keep talking, if you wanna-," He glances around your face, pausing, so he can savor the reaction for the rest of his offer, "Go back to my place."
You're nothing if not polite.
"Um..."
A little breath fills you up, and you look away as you consider the suggestion. He watches with a smirk as color tinges your features, and your hands don't know where to go. Such a pretty girl, with no idea what to do with yourself. He wants to be your dirty little mistake badly. He wants it to be weird next week.
"Actually-,"
He cuts your thinking, your almost-no maybe-yes off, with a very unconvincing recollection. He jerks his thumb to the locker rooms and says, "I need to shower first. Before we go."
"-Wait for me."
It's not a question because he already knows that you will. Before he abandons you to wait again, alone in the hallway, he leaves you with a quick peck to the temple and a cheeky, "Come join me if you get bored."
Your skin tingles in the aftermath of his kiss. You touch where he held your chin, then where his lips were, and stand still in shock. You look back, but he's already out of sight.
He calls out, a bit echo-y off the locker room tiles, "Or don't! It's whatever."
Of course you don't.
But, when he said 'his place' you thought he wouldn't be in student housing. Not that you could judge; that's what you were used to. He was living in a slightly better accommodations, but still has a bunkmate. It's much like your own dorm room, but a little off, uncanny, and he can tell you aren't digging the threat of an extra person.
"He's working tonight," He throws a nod to the bottom bed.
You lean against a desk, dizzy, and unsure if saying yes was the smart move.
You don't know what to call him. He feels familiar, but just short of comforting, in this foreign room. The scale of its -his- newness weighs on you, multiplied by the fact that you had been in new places all evening. You had been so angry about how he treated you for so long because you cared- but now that's resolved, kind of, so what is there left to address?
He isn't going to guide you. You grasp, desperately, at nothing.
"You..." You feel his pressure right away and know you won't be articulate, "Said... that- you were- um... flirting. This whole time."
His duffel bag thumps onto the floor, across the room.
"Yeah."
A missed beat. You meet his eyes, briefly, but shrink at the thought of his offer at the gym. As he nears you, your heart squeezes in anticipation, "Wh-y-?"
"Because you're cute, sweetheart," A chill whisper ghosts past your cheek. Bordering on condescending. He puts two hands on either side of you.
Bad news. Bad news. Bad news. He's a walking red flag, you remind yourself. You've never met anyone so downright mean in all your years-- but, did his actions signify that he was totally irredeemable?
You couldn't get behind that type of black and white thinking, as you spare a wide-eyed glance at his hungry face. He is deceivingly pretty.
He leans down to keep you pinned into the desk- you hope, but aren't sure, that it belongs to him. You shiver at his words, brace against his hold, and shy away from that sharp gaze. He's so impatient.
It begs the question- one that keeps racing through your mind- Could this be the only way he shows affection?
You have a feeling that if you pull away, he'll never reach for you again. That, if you don't look at him right, it's going to be over.
So, out of curiosity, and in your best attempt to be kind, you relax. Your muscles stop fighting his grip. You press into his front and meet his hard-working expression with a softer, easier one. You trust your gut one last time and pray he doesn't make you regret it.
You whisper back, "You think I'm cute?"
Tsukishima's attention is stolen by the way you feel against him. Skin on skin. Cloth on skin. Cloth on cloth, fingers edged under his shirt collar. The weight, the warmth, of your tummy on his. His palms just keep you there, no longer rushed in his pulling, and his jaw twitches at how you search him so openly.
"Tsk."
His false disinterest might have discouraged you, had he not been sporting a generous erection that he kept firm between your bodies.
You repeat, eyes unwavering, noting his sudden flightiness, "You think I'm cute?"
It cracks his thin confidence. He looks down and away, wincing, at your parting thighs. You're soft- sooo soft.
He's breathing harder than you, holding you firmer, lost for fractions of a snotty response. You're distracting. He can't think beyond how good you feel.
Then, your fingers splay up into his fluffy blond hair. He takes a big, loud inhale through his nose at the sensation and sigh-laughs the breath back out. You bite your lip, captured, by how much he enjoys it, and dip forward to try and look him in the eye.
"Because..." You find his eyes for a fleeting moment, "I think you're a little more than cute."
"Hm-mmn."
He pushes his head into your grasp, seething, at your nails, and the way your thighs squeeze him. So, he was proving to be all talk and zero bite. You enjoy the way he holds you in his gaze, how he ruts against you like he's never had pussy before.
You grip the roots of his hair, and smile, a bit giddy with power, "Why'd you take me back to your place if we're just going to talk?"
He laughs. His eyes roll back to life with a sobered groan, "Ohh, yeah. Y'got me."
His tone freezes you. It weakens your grip. You're shocked by how quick he can shake off your touch. It doesn't happen without effort, but he can. And that makes you a little embarrassed that you believed, even for a second, that he was an amateur.
Because he knows how to touch you. His fingers pry from the desk to find your hips. He wedges strong thumbs into the crease of your thighs and rocks you forward, making you grip onto his shoulders with a startled sound. You have to wrap your legs around him. He takes a breath and envelops you in his arms. His lips meet the side of your neck.
"Mm-ch--, That's better, yeah?"
You sigh at the mark he surely has left and the fact that you fell for another one of his tricks. You're getting pushed off-balance, but held, hugged, closer, where he wants you.
"Or..." He slips the bra strap off of your shoulder and pulls the hem of your shirt down, "Did you like me more when you thought you were in charge?"
The muddy mix of pain and pleasure from his rough kisses confuses your opinion of him. You gasp at his teeth, squirm at his roaming hands.
"I don't know if I even like you."
He's quick to respond. Just like your argument back at the gym.
"We've got all night for you to figure it out."
Now that you're visibly his- he takes your chin between his fingers. You wear a pout he knows wouldn't be as adorable if it wasn't so unmistakably yours.
You lean in first and kiss him, like you're not conflicted. Sweet, gentle, and forgiving; how he knows you to be. You want him to return your patience and understanding.
It's not his style.
He hums against your mouth, deepening, prying open, what little you give him. When he rocks his hips against you, you knock over a cup of pencils in the process of finding a better leveraged place for your palm.
"Shit," His snicker brings you apart for a moment as he cranes to watch a few clatter onto the floor.
"You should pick that up before he gets back."
You scoff at him. So this isn't his desk. His smile would also indicate that he was waiting for something snarky in return.
"I thought you said we had all night."
He seethes, rubs your thighs, and replays the last minute in his head, "Did I?"
"You did."
A rare moment of sincerity raises his brows- a nod, and he remembers aloud, "That's right. I did."
His hands run up to the waistband of your pants and he starts toying with the button, the zipper- his tongue wets his bottom lip.
"I lied."
You don't inch away from his touch or interrupt how he starts to unclothe you. He's testing the waters and you want to show him you can be calm. You can get down.
"He does work tonight," He reaffirms, with a soft peck to your temple, "But he'll be back around midnight."
That was a huge cushion of time. You share a look of understanding first, then a greedier, faster kiss.
He hums at the feeling of your skin as he dives his hands down your clothes to massage at your hips. The way he moves your body for you screams that he's already been fucking you in his mind for a long time.
"Mm," You twist your head away from his bombardment of kisses, so he directs them down the curve of your neck, "We should hurry, then."
Tsukishima pulls his shirt off the second you're done telling him yes. You grin at the sight and join him, rushing a trail of messy kisses and scratches down his body. As he pulls his last pant leg free from his foot, he throws an arm to the ceiling.
The top bunk? You blink.
You crane to take a better look at his bed and strip a little slower. You eye his bulge, but stay thinking about the weight limit on these beds. The rules in your room dictated that the smallest roommate gets the top bunk. It was safer and easier that way.
You summit the thing regardless, grateful that you know the trick of how to get up on your own-- because he doesn't have the ladder attachment that comes with the bed.
"Is your roommate taller than you?"
The way he climbs up after you is practiced, and reminiscent of how well he moved during that game. You want to tell him, somehow, that you thought he was really sexy, how he played tonight-- but you shake the desire off. There's no way he would let you compliment him without tearing you down.
"No."
He doesn't ask why, but you see that he's shuffling through all the possibilities as to why you'd be thinking about his roomie.
"Then-," You shift, hand on the ceiling, and pluck a pillow from under your back, "Why did you take the top bunk?"
"Because I wanted the top bunk." He answers.
His simple phrasing gives you enough insight to how he generally is. A casual bully to not just you, but anyone that can tolerate him. His body takes up so much barely-there space above you. The air gets heavy, sweeter, but thicker- and you hold your breath.
"Don't look at me like that," A hand slips between your closed knees, ultra gentle, but daunting in its bigness.
You shudder and let him part your thighs.
"Like wh-at?"
"Liiiiike," He sinks into the prone, breath hot but his mouth hotter as he licks a stripe up your clothed cunt. His fingertips hook under your panties, "I'm gonna eat you alive."
His cruel sense of humor doesn't make you laugh, but it does turn you on.
"You're-ha-h, not funny-," You struggle and sigh, trembly, as he pushes them to the side instead of wasting time to pull them off.
He's patient and slow for a while. He listens. He adjusts, when you flinch- he learns your body and studies you, like a game.
Long fingers bring you forward into his mouth. You keep your hands on top of his, heart fluttering at the sensation of his knuckles and the strength of grip.
You worry that you're not necessarily fresh- your morning shower was 7? hours ago. You are not shaved. It takes a minute, or ten of them, to relax.
"Mnn-hh," Open-mouthed, dripping with clear from the chin, he orders, "You a robot, or what? Pull my hair. Do something."
He's the most sour you've ever heard him get. You gasp at a bite to the plush of your trembly thigh.
"Ow-! You-h-Ah,"
He groans against your pussy, tongue swirling, messy, around your swollen clit since that's how you like it, apparently. Your expression of discomfort weighs on him, so he repeats slower.
"Gimme somethin' or I'll keep doin' it." Harsh. Muffled. But inarguably enthusiastic.
You've been vocal. He's just greedy and wants you to be his thoroughly broken-in good girl.
The problem is that you aren't. You're no wide-eyed virgin saint. And he's not the secretly-sweet ready-to-be-changed guy you want, either. He likes how mean he is. It's practiced. You're just each other's folly for now, and that has to be enough for the night.
Thankfully, any pretty boy willing to go that hard for you can get it.
You arch into him, hands slipping through his damp locks, a broken giggle on your tongue at the ridiculousness you've both tripped and fallen down into.
He likes biting you. You find this out the hard way. When you don't pull hard enough, or when you fuck his name up.
"Just-," He struggles to get his shins out of the bottom of the wood frame, because what you didn't get to see was half of his legs dangling from the bed. "Call me Tsukki." He's so long and lanky it's impossible to keep the grin off of your face, even more impressive that you manage not to laugh until he's back on top of you.
His glasses are foggy. You chortle at him.
"Tsukki, you- shoul-d-- hahaa-," You giggle at his deadpan expression, and fail to tease him because, again, he looks so silly.
When you're done, he slides them off of his face with one hand. He reaches above you, and tenderly places his glasses on one of the wooden bed posts.
You stare at them for seconds after he's done setting them aside. This might have added to how strong of an effect his new face gives you. Now, that was a volleyball player. He squints at you, amusement twitching up his lips, at how you flex against him. His bare, amber eyes are so severe and you can't seem to catch your breath.
"What?"
"N-othing," You wince at your voice crack.
He laughs at you and frees you both of the last of your clothes. Once again, it cannot be overstated how pretty his laugh is, even when it's at your expense.
He is all-too aware of why your thighs squeeze him harder, why your chest is rising and falling uneven, why your face is getting hotter. He's slow, and drunk on your slickness coating his cock, "Mm... Do I look... different?"
"Just a little bit better?" His teeth make an appearance this time as he slides his arms under the pillow, closer, looking down at you, "Ohh, c'mon, y'can't talk to me? Don't wanna laugh?"
"You're- ah, an asshole," You sigh, shaky, and needy at how he lines himself up with you.
His kisses are rough and ruttish on the side of your face now that there's nothing in the way. He shushes you, too, as if he hasn't dismissed you enough.
"Fu-ck," He's vocal as he buries himself into you, denying you space, denying you air, or humility, "Mmhh-ah,"
His hand takes the whole lower half of your face and twists it up, away, as he soaks up your gasping. He can feel that you're able to take him already, he can hear you love it-- inflating his ego, and of course, he can't let that go unspoken for.
"Feels good, yeah?" He taunts against your ear, cock jammed against your cervix.
He feels like the kind of hook-up you won't ever forget. So heavy as he weighs you down, grabbing you, holding you, needing you despite knowing next to nothing about you. His hands are sampling every inch of your sticky skin. He's rough and not so calculated anymore. You laugh, a breathless version of one, at least, and return what strength you could afford.
"You're- so- h-ah, cute," You admit between gasps, brows squeezed together, fingers buried in his fluffy blond hair.
He tries to roll his eyes, but it just doesn't work. His head is heavy in the crook of your shoulder, his sounds exaggerated because they're immediately in the shell of your ear.
Fullness- real, and slick, and burning hot, fills you: He utters broken and whiny phrases of how perfect you are, every time he bottoms out, and soon he's wrapping his arms around you again.
He never struck you as a hugger, not on the first night, and certainly not a clingy one at that.
"Mnh!" You squeak at his biting, nails digging lines down his broad back.
You think about how good he looked in his jersey again. It was practically foreplay. What was his number? Maybe you could look pictures up online.
"H-ah...Y-our g-ame--,"
Your words fail you again and you can feel his lips turn into that shitty smirk against yours.
You groan, frustrated, and lock your ankles around him. He's deeper, and it's wetter, it's louder. You think about who might live on the other side of the wall.
"Mn-nh!!" He pants, brow furrowed, at the gesture, "Careful...fuck, hah..."
Did 'careful' mean he was close? You don't have time to get proud about it because he's already pulling out and catching his breath, collecting his senses again.
"Turn around."
You breathe in tandem for a moment. At first, you don't move, because there is simply no room for traditional doggy. And, he looks like he belongs in a magazine, all twisted and muscled in the dim light with a bouncy, slick cock.
Then you remember there are variations.
You're stuffed with him already. You gasp and your pussy flexes hard around him as he reaches around to hold your neck.
"This okay?"
"Don't squeeze."
You hesitate before adding an ultra-soft, "Please."
He kisses the back of your head and readjusts his grip, substantially lighter.
Okay, maybe you do want him to squeeze. You don't test it, though - you don't know him. And you can't, because he's fucking all the words out of you again.
"Ah-h-!" You whine into his pillow- legs trembling- full body getting wrecked as he pushes his hips into yours.
You whine his nickname; easy consonants that spill pretty, quieted, against his bedsheets. The bed is not sturdy, you notice, as you egg him on with very little effort.
His lips are on your shoulder as he mutters, mostly to himself, "Yeah. Should've fucked you sooner."
You feel it running down your thighs, the sweat and juice all mixed together - it burns against the bites he left on you. There's one that probably won't heal for weeks, long after he's done with you.
He fucks you until you're a babbling, incoherent mess. He entertains you, too, teasing and picking apart your sounds.
"I know, ohh, I know," His groans and sighs fall over your skin, inspire a deeper arch in your spine, relax you and ease your fussing.
You're not typically so easy, but he's kept you on your toes for more surprising twists than an premature orgasm. You're full of him, crying, whining, and clawing at his sheets that smelled just like him as you cum hard, way too early.
"Fuuck, yeah. Good girl," His eyes are wide with surprise behind you.
You can't see it. You could've maybe deduced it from his tone, but can't hear him through the milky high you're swimming in. "You okay?" Is a bit facetious, at first.
It's for the best.
This was lovely, but you can't help but get lost in the emptiness the refractory period leaves you with.
Salt burns your eyes. He's still a bully. You had been so vulnerable, and for what? He lies, at almost every opportunity, until he's caught. He's insensitive. You weren't looking for one night stands anymore, but he has to make you bring the list back out.
You feel a hand zip off your neck, and all of his weight shifting after he pulls out.
"Hey," Tsukishima cranes to look at you, wetting his pillow with overstimulated tears, and you sniffle, confused, at the panic written all over him, "Are you okay?"
"Mhm," You blink the sting away but remain still, heavy, and a little sad, but you can't remember why.
He lightly strokes some hair from your face, "Was it the choking? Was it too hard?"
"No..."
'No,' Ghosts past his lips, and he's trying to think of what else he could've done to upset you. His shoulders droop a bit when he's got a long list of qualifying actions.
Could it be that he's actually fretting over you? He sells it well, thoroughly disheveled, because his hair has dried oddly and it's obvious he can't see well. You learn that every second you choose to not speak slowly, incrementally, kills him.
He is ultra-weary by the time you have a blanket wrapped around you and a bottle of water in your hand.
You didn't want his compassion to end. You liked holding him in limbo. If this was his punishment for months of torment, it was -overall- a miniscule price to pay.
Sitting on the edge of his mattress, your feet automatically swing back and forth. You take in the volleyball posters on every wall as he gets dressed, fails to find his fallen glasses, and cleans up most of his roommate's pencils you spilled earlier. You have a quiet sip of cold water and smell a fistful of his blanket. You glance to an empty spot on the wooden bedframe.
"I like your room." You break your silence with a hoarse, tiny declaration.
Tsukishima stills. He has to be very intentional about not sounding like a dick, for once. He slowly drops the last pencil in and adjusts the cup to where he thinks it was, "Yeah?"
From this angle, you notice he's still fully hard and struggle not to look a second time.
"Tsukki?"
That tone you take on beckons him toward you. It's honied, and domestic, and makes his guilt feel a like a ton that he drags behind him. He only has himself to blame for getting so attached.
You reach for him and take his face in your palms. He looks up at you, searching as hard as he can with blurry vision.
"I'm okay. I promise."
Absentminded swinging stills at his touch.
"And...sorry you didn't get yours," You're not really sorry, but you desperately want to address his situation downstairs, and overstay your welcome, if you can.
His head rests heavy on your bare thighs with a pained grin.
"I mean," His grip slides up the outside of your thigh, eyes following, as he fights the desire to be truthful. He grimaces through it for you, "I came in the shower before this, so..."
"At the gym?"
"...Yeah."
The two of your share a chuckle; yours is amused, his is late and stilted. His head gets weightier as he nuzzles his face between your thighs, sucking slow kisses on top of the old bitemarks. You sip on your water, lids low, and part your legs for him.
Seething, his hands make quick work of your modesty cover as he starts to lap, apologetic, at you.
There's a loud ch-thunk of a door lock being opened, followed quick by it sliding open.
It shoots a shared flinch through both of you. He only has time to smooth your blanket back down and wipe his chin before his roommate comes in.
"Yo," He announces himself, then looks up, "Ohh, shit."
He puts your little scene together quick by the amount of skin showing and the position. You stiffen with chills and pull the fuzziness tighter. Your stomach sinks with disbelief that it's already midnight.
In one smooth motion, he covers his eyes, catches the door before it even has a chance to close, and turns back into the hallway.
You can both hear him check his phone with a quiet Fuck just outside the door. Tsukishima's phone buzzes in his pocket with a storm of late texts.
He sighs. His face finds your lap again as he thinks about what he wants to do.
"I can go-"
"What? No," He looks up only to cut you off hard, absent-minded, deep in thought.
He's got the plan mapped out in the next few seconds, but is slow to part from your legs, groaning, "You have to get dressed, though. He's a total virgin." He sucks his teeth and adds, "Obviously."
You shift, giddy with excitement, at the invitation to stay.
Ი𐑼 post note. honestly @polodetti major shout out i wouldn't have finished this if you hadn't requested. guys. i didn't know i was capable of doing full fics anymore. also? rarely do i find i have brainrot of one particular character. hope you enjoy the latest tsukki posting!!!
i kate!! i absolutely love your work and i have a request or thing idk this is my first time asking
ive had this idea stuck in my head like nsfw or sfw works both ways so the ideas like haikyuu characters (any) showering with reader for the first time (very scary ik)
haikyuu showering headcanons (nsfw)
helloooo nonnie! killer request, i started with a spicy sentence and then realized i could do categories. then i could honor the 'any' (which i love doing) anyways ty for the great req!!
links. my masterlist. my long haikyuu. my short haikyuu. requests open.
starts off as intimate, but cannot be trusted.
ATSUMU, bokuto, kenma, KYOUTANI, tsukki, nishinoya, oikawa, kuroo
"jesus, let's just fuck-- u-ghh-!" how could he possibly think about bathing? why would he? hot, slippery bodies slammed against each other, huffing in steam and licking up salty sweat and calling each others names out into an echoing chamber? how slick and sweet you were for him, how he had to support your weak and malleable body as he rams his insatiable hard-on into you? and when things seem like they've started to become civilized, it takes very little time for him to rinse you off, kiss you your owed affirmations, and warm you nice and slow into another -softer- round.
"need some help, babygirl?" he adjusts the shower head for you. his hands are sturdy and kneading your plush hips- a wordless request, a saucy gesture that tingles all down the side of your spine. he washes your hair, keeping his firm cock muscled against the small of your back. he knows your knots and your soft spots- the little places to spend extra care washing, that make you gasp and curl your fingers up against the tiled walls. it's only natural, then, that you start to beg for more.
extra -- silly, clumsy, nervous, or just plain rational?
LEV, yamaguchi, kageyama, ASAHI, aone, tendou
he's worried about the water pressure and the space. the fact that you love it scalding hot and he doesn't want his skin burnt clean off. the height difference. what if you slip and fall? "how about we take this- a-ah-h," he clings to the glass as you take him in your hand, impatient and needy for all of it, never as worried with the specifics as he is, "to the bedroo-m?" a whine clips his useless suggestion. he knows he's not going anywhere. not until you've milked him dry, or the water gets cold.
notes. kuroo once again could've been anywhere. if i missed your fav, lmk! i love replies and conversation! so please feel free to share your opinions!
thoughts on haikyuu guys with very Promiscuously presenting reader who is secretly inexperienced ❓🤔
accidentally running through the whole team
p.1 slutty virgin!reader x miya twins, suna, aran, and kita (at least)
Ი𐑼 pre note. shoutout anon for this dope req. not exactly sure what to title this
warnings. implicit nsfw. alcohol usage. worse to follow. minors DNI
content. 1.8k wc || college au || mainly kita x reader here || "softcore porn with overarching plot" || part one of many || heavy thirst || a night out || non-respectful petting and looking || mr. perfect meets ms. trouble || poly themes || flirting + manipulation || secretly inexperienced!reader || downward spiral story
links. PART TWO HERE. || reply to be added to taglist for future parts!
Your predicament didn't start off with any ill intention.
You don't think things like this all the way through; at least, not in the traditional sense. You think about how things will feel and operate on sensations-- you go with the flow when some guys from the Kansai region hit you up. You wanna know what they thought about you, test how worked up you can get them, and egg each one on to get some dick pics. You liked to compare.
A little tease, exchange a photo or two, then block. No harm done, right?
It's always worked out in your favor, so you have no reason to panic when you spot five familiar faces on the overhead screen. High-definition does them all a type of justice shitty cameras, amateur angles, and bad lighting couldn't.
Your girl friend, on the hunt alongside you tonight at this local volleyball meet, feels you stiffen. You side-eye her, quieter than usual, until she forces you to speak.
"So... I think I know, like," You bite your lip and gawk at those handsome twins on the megascreen. One had a bigger dick than the other, if your memory was serving you right.
"Two?" You try to lie but find it a damn near sinful act under her eyes, "five, Five- of those guys from the Inarizaki team."
She puffs out a serious sigh.
"Girl..."
"They know each otherrr!" You brush it off, but fix your top, and mumble the rest, "So what?"
She gives you a tiny whatever and you can't get mad, because she sticks by your side. You'd be a lost cause and a loose cannon by your lonesome.
"You worry me, sometimes." She mutters to herself when she figures you're not listening.
It's an educated guess at its core, but it is true. You cock your head, deep in thought, at how Suna Rintarou wears a permanent pout-- it's not a bedroom thing, his face just looks like that. How Kita Shinsuke takes a lot of the guesswork out of why he texted you like a businessman over Snapchat- the guy practically is one. How Miya Osamu is bulkier than Miya Atsumu, like he stole more nutrients in the womb and it's followed them both till adulthood. How Ojiro Aran looks nowhere near as sugary-sweet as he was over text, with such a strong RBF.
With each one, more adrenaline tingles down your spine, flexes your fingers, makes your mind spin with increasingly bad ideas.
The match was arbitrary against the close-up shots and announcer player-analysis. They win by a hair, but you can't be bothered to care beyond how pretty they all looked. Breathless, braindead, and exhausted.
Flushed, and bent at the hips. Hands on slutty little waists. Hands on the knees really get you, because their shoulders make giant divots that you wanna just bury your face into. Shirts that get sweat-stuck to the skin. Hand towels coming away sopping and soggy.
It's enough to fuel your overactive imagination for weeks. You won't need to get your kicks for a while by texting anybody new, and you're satisfied having gotten to watch from a safe distance while on your way out of the stadium.
"(Your full government name)?" Some maniac calls after you.
Neither name do you go by, so it makes you whip your head all the way around to catch a glimpse of who your potential hitman was. You had a lot of enemies. It's not a baseless fear. Shit, nobody but your mom called you that- and she only did it angry.
"Wow."
The whisper ghosts from Kita's-- or, shinsuke.k's lips. Puppy dog eyes trail your meticulously crafted outfit and, you realize he's just a cutie with zero malicious intent. You decide to not shut him down immediately.
"I don't mean to be forward--," He smiles, hands enunciating his words well, "Ah- but man. You are very pretty in person."
It's, like, the most genuine compliment anybody has ever given you. All you can do is smile under your palm. His good boy persona was a bit boring over text, but it has its appeal as you stand before him and get to hear every thought that crosses his mind. Unlike the players that got you three times as wet, his honesty had some vintage charm to it.
"I'd love to get to know you- I figured you've been busy, and- that's totally valid," He laughs at how you ghosted him a week ago, trying to be disarming, but it only comes across as adorably needy, "But y'know, we're actually gonna be at The Boot tonight. You should join?"
He doesn't let the invite cool off before he softens it, "If you're not a party girl, I get you. It's not my scene."
Oh, you are going. Your teeth sharpen, eyes blacken, at the sheer mention of a night out. It was going to be a total massacre of broken and bloodied hearts. You had a slew of great pickings, too. Tall, tan, handsome volleyball players that couldn't stop sending sound-on videos and ab pictures just nights ago.
"You're sure it's okay?" You turn up the sweetness for a guy like Kita. He tries to be even more gentle with his wide eyes and tiny head shakes at each new word, practically slush in your palms. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of Guys' Night, y'know?"
"Nooo," He drawls. A grin takes over his jaw at the first sight of a smile on your face. He laughs at the soonest opportunity.
"No- They'd love you."
He doesn't know how right he is.
-
Your friend grabs your wrist before you zip out of the passenger seat.
"Call me. I'm not fucking around this time."
"Okayyy!" You whine, buzzed from a shooter you snuck in your purse already, and pawing at the glass as you watch three drop-dead gorgeous guys pass by the car. You're practically shivering in anticipation.
"Got your spray? Your charger? Oh- your little bracelet! Where is it?"
Your 'little bracelet' had a tracker, an alarm, and a direct emergency services line built in to a button. It was poorly designed and you didn't want to wear it because 1) it was an ugly accessory and 2) the button felt click-y and sensitive. The last thing you wanted while grinding up on some guy at the bar was to become a homing beacon for an Earthly invasion.
You flash your bare wrist with a pretty smile, "It's right here!"
"So can you please- let- me- out!"
Her concern is flattering and reassuring, but it dulls your sparkle and makes you very sad inside. You jiggle the car handle with your body weight this time, but the child locks are still on.
"(Y/n)."
You meet her eyes, a little resentful at first, but it's incredibly shallow, so the negativity falls away almost immediately. She fixes your hair, and reminds you, forgetting to add any sternness:
"Please call me if you get into trouble."
A nod, a slow one, lets her know you understand. She unlocks the car and boom: you are released into the big, bad, wilderness.
Downtown is packed. The streets are filled with bodies on a warm Friday night and nobody bats a judgmental eye at your low-neck top and fashionable pants like they did at the game. You'd love to wear a skimpier dress, but you had no friends to keep your things safe. Your reliable habit of leaving things behind dictated that you needed pockets-- but you give a wistful sigh at a pretty girl passing by, ass on near-full display. You rub your back pockets and try to think of how to remedy this next time.
At least you could wear sneakers and dance longer. But- the desire to do so is fast and fading- because you don't spot Kita or his crew in line outside.
You are forty minutes late to when he said they would be there, but you see nothing wrong with your timing; nobody shows up on time to a college bar. The night is early-ish. You don't usually bother with that boring where-is-everybody-at stuff between 9 and 11. Everyone knows the party starts at a little before midnight.
As you join the thirty-deep line, you hug yourself and glance around wistfully. You want to drink, you want to dance, you want to check out those beautiful men. Standing against a brick wall alone is buns.
You're wondering if they've already moved on to a new bar, if unblocking and asking him would be desperate, or worse, get him too attached-- when you hear your not nickname again.
You force a smile, "Shin'!!"
"Oh my gosh- you're still in line? No wonder!"
"Yeahh," You pout, earning a friendly hug over the line tape. He smells so good that you squeeze him a little.
"Y-ou could've texted me," His voice breaks and he puffs his crisp collar. You give him a guilty smile, pretty enough to be let off the hook right away.
He guides you to the front door with a hand warming the small of your back. You get let in extra quick by a big, heavily tattooed doorman -no ID check and a smile- and can only look at Shinsuke in awe. What kind of connections did this guy have? Had you thoroughly underestimated him?
"What are you?" You giggle, "You a secret gang member or something?"
You have to squeeze by a big crowd of people at the front, and focus on keeping him in grabbing distance. You're brought closer by the loud music inside.
Shinsuke blushes at you, glancing about for his friends. "N-o, that's..." He groans, for a moment, embarrassed, and leans close to you, "That's my uncle!"
"Oh-!" You laugh. His admission makes leagues more sense, but does take away that enticing air of danger you crafted around him.
He still has a hand on your lower back when he shoots his other arm up, a face of recognition beyond the dancefloor crowd.
"'Samu!!"
"My friends are over by the bar," He shares, and dawns all of his attention back onto you, "Would you like to join?"
You love that he asks you one more time, and whatever the fuck that cologne is, because it's working hard for him.
All the excitement that had been bubbling under the surface spills out of you in an ultra-friendly chuckle.
"Is that even a question?"
Shinsuke takes a sharp inhale at the feeling of your hand in his- just to be guided easier between the gaps of the crowd- bites a sappy reply back, and pulls you towards the bar side.
Poor thing. As you find exactly who you're looking for-- one waving you in, one ordering a round of drinks, one with a solid arm around your waist, and two in a heated discussion-- you realize that you won't be calling your friend anytime soon.
links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my inbox.
taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @babybird-meena
links. part two here.
Ი𐑼 post note. i've gotten a couple suggestions to do a collecting captains series, or like running through the crew type thing before. but i like this spin on it! it keeps me from having to write constant smut when i don't want to
this was incredibly fun to write lmao, just some nasty, feel-good stuff here
warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI
details. fem!reader / established relationship / fluffy smut / whiny!kenma / cuddly!kenma / so much PDA / kuroo wants to third / tired!kenma / cuddlefucking / dacryphilia / switchy!kenma / subby!kenma / kenma begging a lot / cumming inside / f!rec oral / passionate sex / kenma loves head scratches / 2.8k words
links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN
Nekoma was walking away with a laborious and well-fought win against their last opponent of the day. It was a lengthy, painstaking endeavor to watch-- let alone to play it all. With months of experience under your belt, you were prepared for Kenma to be tired.
Yet, as he stumbled up to you, hot and wet and miserable, a shocked chuckle drifted past your lips.
"Mmnh-! Thank Goood," He moaned into the comfort of your shoulder and let himself collapse onto you.
The unbridled sound startled not only you, but got the attention of his teammates, still trying to find their partners or family in the crowded and noisy halls.
You wavered under so much weight at once and took on a staggered stance, having completely underestimated his exhaustion just by the look of him.
"C'm'over t'night-," He begged, right away.
He spared no time to talk about the game, his condition, or to say hello.
"Kenma-!"
You half-laughed at his theatrics and his desperate tone. It wasn't rare for him to be grabby or gropey after a game, but this was explicit stuff for an environment so public. He also wouldn't let up on how much he was leaning on you; although he wasn't a big guy, his dead weight wasn't something you weren't equipped to carry.
"Please b'by," He blubbered against your neck; it turned into a big, wet kiss, and a very intimate whisper, "I need t' hold you..."
A fretful sound stayed shared between you, against his shoulder, before you pushed him off to stand on his own. He quickly sunk to the floor.
"Oh my gosh-," You hauled him right back up, eyes darting around for explanation and found Kuroo, "Is he okay?"
Finally given a strong reason to tease, Kuroo shrugged, leaning closer to your height. He was inspecting him to see if he was at risk for something serious, but found nothing other than his friend's shitty stamina to blame.
Kuroo stood back up, a fake sincerity in his face and to his words, "Hm...Looks like he just needs some T&A."
"You're not helping," You snapped, adjusting under Kenma as he yawned against your hair.
He only snickered at your plight.
The team was supposed to go out for a victory meal, courtesy of their Coach, but Kenma refused to attend if you weren't invited. He refused to do a lot of things, including getting his hands off of you, even when formally told to do so. It was only because Kuroo was their Captain, and held a special fondness for the two of you, that you were vouched for and allowed to be there.
It put you in a tough position. You planned to bring it up to Kenma when he wasn't so useless.
He held you in a vice grip, all bent over, cheek atop your shoulder, the entire ride there. You were stuffed in the corner of the car, suffocated by his body, the addictive smell of his sweaty uniform under a hoodie you brought for him. He flat-ignored every single attempt to talk from the rest of the team, so you took up the mantle of answering for him, if it was needed.
"He's fine- he's just tired," Was one you found yourself repeating at least four times.
But you weren't exactly sure if that was the only thing ailing him. He wasn't usually this bad after a match.
"Carry me?" He begged.
"Baby, you know I can't do that."
He slid like a liquid out of the car, into the restaurant, onto booth seat next to you- practically on top of you. Kuroo trapped the two of you in from the outside and you were once more, squished against a wall.
His leg wrapped around yours, his head returned to your shoulder, arm around you, a groany sigh in his throat.
Kenma was usually very touchy, too touchy- in most cases- but this was a brand new extreme.
"Can we just go home?" Was a question for both you and Kuroo.
You pressed a long, loving peck to his temple, your fingers reached into his hair to scratch his scalp, reassuring.
"No, you need to eat something first."
You tried to stifle your reaction to his hands gripping the table. His eyes were scrunched tight at how fucking good that new manicure felt.
The weight of his head was crashing into your palm, something too close to a whine at the top of his throat.
Your hand was back in your own lap. He leaned towards the absence, dizzy in the aftermath.
The uncontrollable blush crept into every nook and cranny of your face and it only grew in intensity at Kuroo's curiosity and amusement.
"That feel good, buddy?"
"Shut up," Was in a strained mumble.
He accepted the bowl Kuroo built for him as an apology. He ate gradually, much slower than the rest of the team. While most of the guys worked on seconds, thirds, even fourths, Kenma was lucky to finish what he got the first time.
It was good enough.
As promised, it was straight home after the little dinner celebration. You were able to spend the night last-minute, under the excuse that it was late and you were scared of public transportation in the dark, alone.
The thought that he might feel better after a meal and a shower was proven to be just as wrong. He walked out of the bathroom in just his briefs.
Taut, toned and a little tacky to the touch. His fingers scratched at his smooth belly, like he was still hungry.
You set your phone down and slid to sit on the edge of his bed.
"D'you feel any better?"
Now that you were alone, you were much more receptive to his afflictions. He rubbed his hair partially dry, threw the towel on his gaming chair, and collapsed at your feet.
Kenma stuffed his face in your lap, arms wrapped strong around your legs. He took a sobering breath in, but it did nothing to calm himself down.
"Aaah, you smell sooo good-!" He seethed, fingers filling with your soft thighs.
Kenma's affinity for your scent rivaled that of an animal.
He stole long, messy kisses, right at the top of your thighs, spreading your legs further apart- you squirmed at the tingly sensation, but he gripped you tight.
From here, you had a nice view of his lean and chiseled back. You dragged your nails over it, slow and steady circles, as he sighed and grew heavy in your lap.
His kisses grew slower and distracted, but he didn't stop trying to nuzzle in closer to your sex.
"Missed you..." He mumbled.
His admission buzzed through your clothes, inspiring a strong twitch. He grinned.
Palms sliding under your legs, he knocked you off balance to your elbows and shuffled closer, fingers hooking to pull your clothes off until you were completely bare.
When he got this way, he never wanted to talk much. He couldn't hold a conversation for shit when he was hard, so you were limited with what you could get out of him.
If he felt fine enough for this, he must have been okay the whole time.
"So this was all you needed," You muttered to yourself, grumpy about his behavior for only a moment.
The sloppy kiss against your pussy was all the apology you needed.
You relaxed with a whine and slid back onto his sheets. The wet sounds of him eating you gave you butterflies, no matter how often he did it.
"Ooh-, fuuck," You moaned.
The way he pleased you, regardless of method, was always a slow, sleepy endeavor. He carried a kind of dirty ease about it, never struggling to meet your eyes during the raunchiest parts.
He shot his tongue out far to lap at your needy entrance, slow back up to your clit with a kiss, his stare never wavering from your face.
You sucked in a breath through your teeth, your nails back in his hair, and bucked into his strangled groan.
"Did you have some good games today?" You managed to ask, sweet, teasing him.
Your thighs flinched, a whine coming forward, at his long, "Mmmmhmn..."
Hearing him beg for your touch, your body, your attention for hours left you craving him.
You knew he had a short battery for hard work, but he was flat out pathetic all evening. You had never seen him this needy, but it was a huge turn-on.
He met your gaze, leaning hard into your hand.
"You want this pussy?" You tested the waters with a taunt.
His face washed over with complete ease, his brow twisted up tight as he lifted his head from you. You were dripping from his chin.
"Please- yesyes'ys- please--,"
You shushed him- half because it was hot, half because of his family downstairs. You pulled him up by his hair and he rubbed his throbbing erection against you with a whine.
A hot, messy kiss failed to make him quieter, but you were able to at least muffle it.
From here, you could feel how shaky his shoulders were from the demand of the day. It didn't effect how quickly he pulled his cock out and sank into you, never once parting to look or to breathe.
The stretch he gave you was just right- you arched into him, legs bringing him in further.
His sleepy, obsessed gaze only grew harder to focus on as he started to fuck you steady and fast on the edge of his mattress, like he'd been waiting to all day, fantasizing about during every break.
And you lay there, taking him so well, adoring and comforting and supportive- just as you had been, giving up your time to cheer for him at his exhausting day of matches.
"Mmh-!" You whined as he straightened back up, his thumb rolling against your clit.
He was even fucking you with eyes. He wished he could turn you out after every practice, just to blow off steam. If he had your pussy to look forward to, it might motivate him to try a little harder, like Kuroo always joked that he needed.
The glossy, loving look you wore was too much. He grew huffy, tired- closer.
"F-uck," He cried, high and shaky.
His hand squeezed the lower half of your face with varying degrees of strength, as he could manage it. The way he stared down at you was loaded and layered. Somehow mastering the look of both submission and possession.
"You're- mmnh- ahh, you're soo pretty," His eyes rolled back, welled up, another unchecked cry at the back of his throat.
Tears started rolling down his wanton expression. He let you go so he could wipe them.
"Are you- ah-mmn, Okay?"
You reached your hand out to stall his hips. Thighs tired, but squeezing on him to make it harder, but he sniffled and shook his head. He didn't stop.
"You just-," Kenma sobbed again, coming forward to hold you, not forgetting to take the back of your knees with him.
Your shuddery mewl at the motion was talked over- the use of his bodyweight and this position stretched, tightened, your sore pussy around him.
"Feel s-o good."
He shoved his face in the nook of your shoulder, the water from his hair mixing with his tears, soaking the sheets and cooling you off. The struggle in his noise was impossible to distinguish between him crying and moaning.
The lewd sounds of him bottoming out in you had you on edge for a couple of reasons; there was no way his folks couldn't hear this, or least his shitty bedframe squeaking- but he was working you so close to finishing that you didn't dare tell him to be quiet.
"Can I--ah-!" He pulled away, breathy and flushed, his tears dried against his cheeks, "Cum- inside?"
The look, coupled with his deep, rough thrusts, left you speechless. You nodded, unable to form any string of words.
Kenma was all too spoiled- you never had the resolve to deny him at this point, when he needed to cum and asked you nicely. He was so deep, he was so good to you, he begged so well, you couldn't just let him pull out.
You knew you probably shouldn't rely on a little pill to keep this from turning into a big problem, but like every other time he filled you up, it could wait to be worried about.
Right now, you couldn't get enough. You needed it all.
The rhythm of his thrusts got so hard, so fast, you couldn't believe he was acting that tired earlier. You couldn't keep your noise down, and neither could he. So he sandwiched your thighs between you and leaned, even further, to kiss you through your climax.
"Mmn-h," He dug his nails into you, another pitched cry crashing against your sore lips.
Warmth filled you up, leaving you gasping, watching his face, at all the heat he fucked into your spasming cunt.
You were squirming for a while, breath uneven, little whiny noises in his ear, at how hot and sticky and heavy it all was, dripping slow onto the sheets.
His fingers steadied you, grounded you, slow, small, gentle little circles in your hair.
He loved how undone you were, how he could fill you up with just the right amount of dumb for a while if you let him.
Kenma sucked a few bruises into your neck while he waited for you to come down, softening inside but keeping himself buried, mindlessly. He was comfortable. No need to move.
"I'm okay..." You sighed, finally verbal again- he smiled at how cute you were.
He straightened with marked effort. You shared an overstimulated wince at the consequence of the decision.
Eyes closed, you let him slowly straighten your legs back out with a trusting exhale.
"I love you," He affirmed.
It was quiet, simple, and not the first. You brushed his cheek, studying his tear streaks with your thumb as he flopped on his back, next to you. He didn't need to say it out loud for you to know.
A little peck to his chin, "I love you, too."
You stretched, standing, to go clean up and get ready for bed. When you came back from the bathroom, you expected him to be on a game, or at least catching up on his phone.
He was lying just the way you had left him, but fast asleep. Some seize-like twitching confirmed it. He was out cold.
Kenma didn't make a fuss when you had to push him 90 degrees, to get his legs on the bed, and rolled him closer to the center. He quickly fell back asleep, if he had even truly woken up for all of it.
You had just snuggled up to his warm side, falling asleep to his light snoring, when his phone began to ring.
You still answered it straight away in a knee-jerk response, but that's how you knew he was in a deep sleep. He didn't stir at all.
Eyes back on the phone, you realized it was Kuroo and went to say hello.
Your body gave a hard flinch. You didn't realize it was a FaceTime and barely had a second to pan the camera away from anything too incriminating.
He studied, squinting at what he could see. It was just your face, your messy hair, and maybe an aftersex glow, if he looked hard enough.
"Hm. Is Kemma asleep?"
"Mhm," You panned to his sleeping form next to you, not careful enough to leave your shared skin out of it.
He giggled hard at the sight, the sound of him snoring. You heard the clicking of screenshots and grinned at the future grief Kenma would give you for letting it happen. When Kuroo was done, he sucked in a breath.
"Mmm, you did all that?"
You had to take another look at the screen to understand what he meant- if he meant it like that. He sure did. That low-lidded, mischievous smirk was unmistakable.
A roll of your eyes, "What about it?"
He seethed, scanning your pretty, sleepy features. He couldn't resist. "You want me to come finish you off?"
You were too used to his flirting and boundary-ignorance at this point. The best tactic you found was to ignore him.
"Bye, Kuroo--,"
"I'm kiddiiing! Kinda- Ah-hm, You're the best, byyye!"
i would LOVE to know which haikyuu boys would be brat tamers… and perhaps their favorite kind of punishments? (overstim, spanking, denial, paddling, etc) :333
basically just an s/o who sasses them all the time, loves to tease and talk back, and loves punishment hehe :3
haikyuu brat taming headcanons (nsfw)
loved this idea! just didn't have the format for when it got requested, then it got buried. tbh kuroo was the hardest to place out of all the names!!
links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.
spoils you in and out of the bedroom. this guy has too much love in his heart to ever catch a stern tone with you, and especially doesn't like to use his strength against you. that being said-- he will hold you down after your fourth orgasm, as you squirm and tremble, cursing at him that it's too much- you can't take it- and the like. he still kisses you through it, call you his pretty girl, but it doesn't change the fact that you do need to learn some manners. you love that you can never make him upset, and learn to love his endurance, the way he grins and baby-talks you through your tears, because he finds it so cute that you always think you can get away with being such a brat. (BOKUTO, OIKAWA, kuroo, suga, nishinoya)
bondage, blindfolding, restriction. something about robbing you of a sense after you act up has no other match. you're so confident until your hands are tied, useless, behind your back or above your head. he can leave you like that for as long as it takes for you to apologize, or admit that you're wrong. it's usually paired with some type of slow, and cruel play that keeps you just stimulated enough to enjoy it, before he steals it back. it's the most absolute reminder of control and dominance; he's the type to kiss you through a long, and difficult type of tie, because you're too pretty not to taste while he's rendering your arms at your sides, or restricting how much you can breathe. probably the most patient, and twisted, form of punishment. (SHOHEI, osamu, TENDOU, kentarou, AKAASHI)
spanking, striking. loves seeing a clear print of his oversized hand across your skin. he knows you love it, too. that's why you keep pulling petty bullshit to get bent over his knee again, and again, and again. tears might be pricking your eyes, you might yelp- but you can't help but look back, a bitten back smile once the sharp pain becomes a lasting sting. you'll bite him just to get a little lovetap across your face, because you love watching his surprise shift rapidly into this possessive, corrective arousal. it gives you a sense of connection beyond what kissing, or even sex, can give. because, really, who else is going to look at you like that, all preoccupied, full of lust, but secretly attentive, after they hurt you? (DAICHI, ATSUMU, mattsun, IWA)
denial is his game. he takes his time already, keeping you on your toes, frustrated and needy-- he's ultra gentle despite his ability and disposition, never wanting to let you get a true taste of what he can give you if it isn't earned. time with him is filled with baited breath, muffled, almost-there whines, and shaky fingers that stay clenched, only to yourself. don't think he doesn't notice it, just because it isn't explicit. that's his purpose. to read you, analyze you, like a slowburn, steamy novel. he can fuck you so good, but he won't. he wants you to be desperate. be a good girl first, then he'll let you cum. (TSUKKI, suna, sakusa, KENMA, kageyama)
not much of a 'tamer.' while usually opting for a softer, guiding vibe in the bedroom, if provoked enough, he will not just roll over. when he understands what you're trying to do -get a rise out of him- he wears a stern squeeze in his brow. he's all focused on your smile, calculating, like you've just spoken another language. he wouldn't strike you, and doesn't enjoy giving verbal harassment, because when would he ever need to learn those skills? he's gigantic and intimidating. all he needs to do is remind you that you probably shouldn't be barking up the wrong tree. a big, strong hand squeezes around your throat, he finds just the right position to show you that you can't move under him, and a whisper, asking you, "what did you just say?" that's all you need to be subdued. (AONE, ASAHI, ushijima)
he would hardly know what to do with you. the idea of domination/submission, brats/brat tamers probably gets him hard, but there's not enough blood to share between his brain cells and his dick to play around with you the way that you're trying to instigate. he would need to be taught how to fill that role long before you could get what you wanted out of him. (LEV, KOGANEGAWA, hinata, yamaguchi)
notes. if the name is in caps, then i felt like their category is 100% in my brain. if the name just lowercase, then i felt like they could easily be in another one too. rlly liked writing this!
