cw: joking ab breaking up, very stupid roblox games, suggestive texts from reader, tsuki being a big ole baby who misses his gf, job mention, plotting to put tsukishima in a sexy nurse costume 👅
>> sleepy, platonic dry humping with best friend!tsukishima
>> part two
>> here's part one for you!
tags: grinding (dry and wet), a "use" kink (idek what to call this??? is this considered free use????), a wittle bit of fingering, a wottle bit of fuckin, tsukki who begs :'))), 2.1k of straight up NONSENSE
you dont talk about it.
you dont talk about how, when you both wake a few hours later, tsukki just climbs out of bed and reaches into his designated section of your closet, tugging out a fresh pair of boxers and sweats. how he just silently rushes to your bathroom to shower, his ears burning red and his shoulders tense.
you dont talk about how he barely meets your eyes, how every time you look at him as he's leaving (smelling like you, but you cant think about that, too), all you hear is the sound of him grunting and swearing in your ear as he comes in his pants.
you dont talk about the bulge you can see forming in his sweats, even now, as he's grabbing his keys and wallet and muttering 'see you' before all but running from your apartment.
you dont talk about it.
you just go to work and pretend that your brain isnt empty of everything but tsukishima kei bending you in half and rutting against you until he cums. of your best friend using you and of you using him. of how much you'd loved it.
of how badly you want to do it again.
he doesnt come over again for a few days, despite usually stopping by every night to complain about work and watch your show together.
and neither of you texts or calls, despite years of your phone buzzing constantly, because hes a double-triple-quadruple texter and you're just as bad.
by the time that nearly a week has passed, youre a mess of anxiety and the looming dread that your best friend will never speak to you again.
and then he's there, at your door, with a bag of takeout and a shameful blush dusting his cheeks.
you dont know what to say, so you say nothing at all, just letting him in. he sits where he always does and pulls containers of food out — food he always gets, because he's a picky eater and because he knows your orders by heart. and then he turns on the show he always does, giving you the same look he always has when he's waiting for you to join him so he can press play.
you dont talk about it.
you just watch your show, laugh at all the right times, kick your feet up and relax into the cushions in all the right ways. and you do your best not to think about the fact that your panties are soaked, that they have been since he'd shown up at your door looking like he always does, smelling like he always does.
you do your best not to think about the fact that he's hard. that you can see the tent in his pajama pants, that you notice when he shoves a throw pillow over his lap to hide it.
that he's wearing pajamas, which means he plans on staying.
he stays until it's too late to leave — you watch the clock next to the TV, watch as it passes his usual time to pack up and go home — and then he mumbles under his breath.
"want me to sleep on the couch?"
your heart jumps, because you recognize what this is. that he's giving you one last chance to leave things here, without ever moving forward. that it would be okay if you want him to stay here tonight.
your heart jumps, because you know what it means if you say no.
you swallow and stand, stretching in a way that you hope doesn't show how shaky you are, and move down the hall, praying it looks casual.
"no, it's fine. the couch isnt comfortable, anyway."
you dont let him know that you can hear when he breathes out a quiet 'fuck' and moves through the room faster than he usually does.
you dont sleep. you just lie there, facing away from him and staring at the wall. waiting to hear his breath even out, waiting to know that hes asleep.
it never does.
every time you think he might be asleep, he shifts, and your heart flies into your throat. and you know that tricking him into thinking youre asleep wont work, because your breath keeps hitching and your heart keeps pounding so hard that theres no way he cant feel it through the mattress.
you stare at the wall until streaks of sunlight start to fall against it.
thats when his fingers brush against your back, gentle and cautious.
your skin breaks out into goosebumps wherever he touches. he takes it as permission.
when his chest presses against your back, it's with a shaky breath and trembling fingers on your waist. he doesnt ask if this is okay, and you dont tell him that it's so much more than that.
he just presses his hips against the curve of your ass, and you just gasp, because he's still hard, even after all these hours.
but you shouldnt be surprised, because youre still soaked, the desire for him feeling more and more like a craving, a desperate need.
tsukki buries his face in your hair, letting out an uneven sigh when he rolls his hips forward against your ass. you arch your back, pressing into him gently.
"fuck," he whispers, sliding his arm under and around your body and pulling you flush against him. you whimper, pushing back and enjoying the feel of him.
and then you choke out a moan, because he's slipping his other arm over your waist and shoving his hand down your pants.
"o-oh, my, god-" your voice breaks when his fingers — ice cold and trembling with nerves — push past the band of your underwear and land right where you need him, swiping one circle over your clit and then one more.
his hips jerk forward, breath heavy against your neck when he slides his fingers through your folds. "so fucking wet f'me," he groans. "just like last time."
you cant answer, too busy trying to find the breath in your lungs. hes rocking his hips the whole time, always managing to bump you forward against his fingers, stars bursting behind your eyelids whenever he pushes down on your clit.
"tsukki-"
you dont need to say anything else. he understands.
it's no more than a jagged inhale and his hand ripping out of your pants before you find yourself on your back.
your pants and his pants missing.
your underwear soaked and his boxers tented and wet with his own pre-cum.
when he grinds down on you, way less fabric between you than the first time, his moan is low and drawn out, echoing in your ears and forcing you to whimper in response.
he bends you in half again. you mewl embarrassingly loudly, the thought of being used smacking around inside your brain and setting your skin on fire.
he grunts in response. "you liked this last time, too." the shallow rut of his hips makes you bounce, and you hear when he moans in the back of his throat. your shirt is dragged up and over your chest, the hem pushed up to your lips. he doesnt tell you to bite, but you do anyway, the fabric soaked with your drool the moment you piece together that he wants to watch your tits bounce while he grinds against you.
he swears under his breath, both hands coming up to cup your breasts, his hands so big compared to yours. he kneads them under his fingers, calloused and rough, and you whine, your hips wriggling against his in response.
you dont need to tell him what you want — that this feels nice but you need him to refocus. he just gets it, either by the look in your eye or by the way your hands reach down to tug on his boxers.
when his fingers clamp down on the backs of your thighs and your knees end up closer to your face than anyone else has ever been able to get them, the shirt drops from your mouth, because youre letting out an echoing, needy sound that youve never made before.
he slams his hips down against yours, again and again and again, grunting and moaning and biting down on his bottom lip to keep the sound trapped in his throat. and then he huffs out, breath ragged, and takes in the sight of you properly.
"fuck, y/n, whats all this about?" his voice is rough, and hes sweating and flushed, and his hands are gripping your thighs tight but trembling nonetheless. "what is it, huh?"
your answer comes out in broken pieces, matching the rhythm of his hips. "us-ing-me-nngh-"
he stops. you cry out, tears pricking at your eyes. he just stares down at you, eyes wide as he examines the frustrated look on your face and the humiliated burn on your skin.
you start to cry, barely noticing when he uses one hand to brush the tears away, his thumb rough on your cheek.
you barely notice, because he covers it up by reaching down and tearing your panties off of you in one smooth motion.
you gasp when your body jostles against the mattress. you stop breathing entirely when he shoves his boxers down to his thighs.
"want me to use you?" he mutters. "okay. i'll use you."
you dont respond, just staring down at his cock and trying to process that that is never going to fit inside of you.
but he even doesnt try.
he just lines his cock up against your folds and slides through them slowly.
your head falls back and a cracked, broken moan falls past your lips. he doesnt sound much better, his breath sharp and his grunt tense in his throat.
"fuckin'-" he slides against you again, choking. you cant breathe. it's so hot and hard and nothing like anything youve ever felt before. "so fuckin' good," he breathes. "you feel so fucking good-hah-"
and then he leans forward, putting all his weight on the backs of your thighs and folding you in half, just like you like it.
his lips fall on yours like he's in love.
you kiss him back like you are, too.
the pace he finds is brutal, but he doesnt keep it for long. between kissing you and mumbling about how good you feel, his hips are unsteady.
which is exactly how the tip of his cock ends up catching on your entrance, slipping in just far enough for you to feel the stretch.
"oh-fuck-fuck-" he chokes, his eyes flying open and his hands slipping clumsily off your thighs and slamming into the mattress on either side of you. "fuck-y/n-"
your back is arched, chest pressing against his and your breath stuck in your throat. you stare up at him, unseeing, heart pounding in your ears.
"tsukki-"
he hears it again. what youre asking. but for your sake, he pretends it's his idea.
"c-can i-" he stumbles. "just a little?" he still hasnt slipped out, so he feels when you clench around his tip, dragging him in just a little more. he drops his head, groaning low and watching where your bodies meet. "fuck. fuck. i-please, y/n-" he lifts his eyes, staring down at you, his gaze wild and his arms shaking and his face radiating waves of heat. "please?"
there are more tears rolling down your cheeks, burning as they go, and you can only nod frantically. "please, tsukki. need you to-"
-use me.
he breathes out a quiet "oh, fuck," and starts to roll his hips in, soft "fuck, fuck, fuck"s falling past his lips the further in he pushes. the more he stretches you around his cock.
you're letting out embarrassing sounds, ranging from simple moans to humiliating chants of his name and the words "more" and "please" and "yes, fuck", all slurred and babbled together.
you dont even realize he's fucking you into the mattress until you hear the headboard slamming against your wall, over and over and over again. until his voice is right next to your ear, his chest pressed to yours and your thighs gripped tight in his hands.
"thank you," he grunts. "fuck, thank you. thank you."
you feel when it pushes you right over the edge, feel yourself mouth the words "yours" and "take it" and "please" against the shell of his ear, your walls squeezing tight around him as you come.
the noise he makes rumbles low in his chest and feels primal, and suddenly your headboard is hitting twice as fast and youre feeling his cock smack up against a spot you'd never realized was there.
when he comes, it's with your name on his tongue and his cock buried deep inside you, warm and pulsing and filling you just right.
you fall asleep like that, and he does, too. just like last time.
NOTE. for the resident tsukishima lover @marisolls !
“You sure you’re not drunk?”
Is like asking Tsukishima if the sky is blue.
“Tipsy.”
“Tipsy,” you repeat, snorting. “If you say so.”
“I am,” he tells you again. He doesn’t remember how many times he’s said it—
Because it’s true. He was tipsy. Not an incapable drunk. He knew his limits, and he was well aware that he’s always been lightweight, so it’s only responsible for him to just be a little drunk.
He feels your hand on his forehead, then on his cheek, probably to check his temperature. Maybe to check if he was actually still conscious and breathing. Tsukishima likes it, so he leans into your touch, murmuring something under his breath that even he did not understand.
“Hm?”
“I’m home.”
“You are,” you nod. “Did you have fun?”
He nods as well. “Been a while.”
In the in-betweens of his consciousness, Tsukishima vaguely remembers you taking off his shoes, and now you’re helping him with his tie. The one that miraculously hasn’t been made into a headband—or worse, strangled him throughout his night escapade with old friends.
He reaches up, hands fumbling with yours in an attempt to help. He wants to help.
He wants to make life easier for you with his help.
“Kei,” you scold him. “Let me do it, please?”
And—
And it’s not fair. So he says that, too.
“It’s not fair,” he huffs, relenting.
“What’s not fair?”
“That you’re taking care of me.”
He hears you laugh, and he slumps back against the couch, huffing again.
“It’s not funny,” he murmurs. “I’m serious here.”
“Well, what do you want me to do? Leave you in the izakaya while I’m peacefully sleeping without my husband beside me?”
The thought isn’t too unpleasant for Tsukishima. He’d rather have you here—at home, well-rested—instead of waiting for him
“...Maybe.”
You sigh, though there’s no particular annoyance in your next words, Tsukishima hopes.
“That’s stupid.”
And now that he’s thinking about it, yeah. Maybe that was stupid.
What kind of wife wouldn’t worry for her husband’s well-being while he was out? You’re definitely not that kind.
His glasses slide slightly down his nose, and you’re quick to fix them without asking. He feels your fingers brush his cheek once again in the process.
Tsukishima paused.
“…Hey,” he says.
“Yes?”
“You’re touching my face.”
You hum. “I am.”
He swallows. “Okay.”
You stood straighter and turned to the kitchen, probably for water—you always think ahead like that—and Tsukishima’s eyes followed you automatically. He reaches out without thinking and lightly catches the sleeve of your cardigan.
“…stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you say easily.
His grip tightens just a little. “Promise?”
He knows how he probably looks right now. His cheeks are faintly flushed and his eyes are heavy-lidded but longing. Because it’s you—and Tsukishima is ok with looking like this because it’s only for you.
“I promise.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, relieved, and lets go. “I just wanted to check.”
When you returned, you sat beside him and held the glass to his lips. “Drink.”
He obeys, because apparently drunk him is very cooperative. When he’s done, he sighs and leans sideways, his shoulder bumping into yours. He doesn’t move away—simply doesn’t want to. Instead, he adjusts until his head rests against your shoulder, then adjusts again so this time his head rests somewhat uncomfortably on your neck.
He feels you still, then relaxes, one arm coming up to steady him. “You’re very cuddly tonight,” you noted.
He made a negating sound, pressing closer to you. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“I’m only like this with you,” he says, like this is an important distinction that must be clarified immediately. “Everyone else is… a bother.”
You laughed. “I’m honored.”
…
“…did you know,” he starts, words careful despite the slur creeping in (he’s in a losing battle against sleep, but he remembers he still has to brush his teeth), “that I think about you a lot?”
“I would hope so. We’re married.”
“Yes, but—” He frowns, clearly struggling to articulate whatever he wanted to say.
His hand lifts, fingers flexing like he’s trying to grab the right words out of the air. “Like… little things. During the day. I’ll see something stupid—like a cat that looks judgmental—and I’ll think, you would laugh at that. Or when I’m annoyed, I think about how you make tea. You do that thing with the spoon.”
“The thing with the spoon?” You tilt your head, intrigued.
“You tap it twice,” he replies, nodding, very serious. “On the rim. Every time. Even when you don’t need to.”
“…I never noticed that.”
“I notice.”
He shifts on the couch, suddenly restless, hands fidgeting in your embrace. “I’m not good at saying things,” he continues, voice quieter now. “I know that. I think I sound stupid when I try. Or obvious. Or like I’m saying something everyone already knows.”
“Kei…”
“But I love you,” he blurts out, too fast, too—too not very tipsy of him. “Like—really love you. Not in the normal way. In the way where my chest feels weird when you’re tired, and I want to fix it, but I don’t know how. In the way where I want to come home faster just because I know you’re here.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“And sometimes I worry,” he admits. “That I don’t say it enough. That you’ll think I don’t feel it as much as I do.”
So this is what it felt like to hold your feelings on your sleeves and hope the other person wouldn’t turn you away because you’re too much or too little.
“Kei, I know.”
He pulls back and looks at you, startled. “You do?”
You nod. “You show it in your own way. A hundred little ways.”
His eyes sting, just a little. He blinks rapidly, scoffing weakly. Since when did he have the time to have tears glossing over his eyes?
“Wow. I’m—” He laughs once, breathy and embarrassed. “I’m way more emotional than I thought.”
“It’s kind of cute,” you tell him.
He huffs. How good you are with the words is just so… so right for him.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe.”
He hides his face on your shoulder. His voice comes muffled now. “You’re really patient with me.”
“Someone has to be.”
He knows that. That someone has to be, or else he’d maybe grow old and gray alone, with the world hating him or something.
These Haikyuu men have been secretly watching the cute sports reporter from the sidelines for a while now, always catching glimpses of her interviewing players after matches. So when he finally gets to be the one she’s interviewing? Oh, he's blushing hard.
He’s trying his absolute best to answer all her questions seriously—maintaining eye contact, throwing in a few jokes to impress her—when suddenly, bam! His rascal of a teammate dumps an entire gallon of cold water on him as part of their post-game tradition… but it splashes all over her too.
He immediately turns to his teammate like, “Are you serious right now?” before scolding them on the spot. “She’s working! What is wrong with you?” he snaps, before turning to her, flustered and apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry about that. Get her a towel. Now.”
When they bring it over, these Haikyuu men takes it himself and gently starts wiping the water from her face, mumbling something like, “You okay?” while giving her a small, nervous smile. He doesn’t even realize they’re still being filmed.
Trying to save face, he grins and says, “How about this—let me make it up to you. You can write an entire article about me… over coffee?”
Later that night, he’s sprawled out on his bed, still in his team hoodie, phone in one hand and a lazy grin on his face as he watches the viral clip of himself smiling like an idiot while gently dabbing her face with a towel for the tenth time. The comment section is wild—some are teasing, some are shipping, and some are dead serious about wanting to see them together.
Then his phone pings.
You: how about tomorrow lunch time? 😊
Hinata, Atsumu, Bokuto, Sugawara, Kageyama, Oikawa, Tsukishima (i have favoritism), Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Daichi, Tendou, Kenma, Ushijima (i have favoritism part 2), any other hq men you love
you thread your fingers through his blonde hair, laughing softly as tsukishima sucks on your neck. you’re positive there will be marks lingering for days, but you can’t bring yourself to care. if anything, it only makes you wetter.
“kei, what has gotten into you?” you ask, already knowing the answer. maybe you'd asked kuroo to be a little more flirty than usual - just to rile tsukki up, of course.
he pulls away, looking you directly in the eye. it's almost daunting, but with his pupils blown and his lips swollen, he looks absolutely delicious. “i just want everyone to know you’re mine,” he says, reaching up to unbutton your jeans. he unceremoniously yanks them down, along with your panties, and presses a kiss to your hip before ridding himself of his own bottoms.
you hum. “yours, huh? what happened to no strings attached?” you ask, spreading your legs and reaching to take his dick in your hand. carefully, you usher him closer, showing him you don’t want to wait.
“fuck that. just want you and this pretty little pussy all to myself,” he says, letting you guide him to your entrance. as he sinks into you, he groans. "shit, you feel so good.”
one negative aspect of having a professional gamer boyfriend is that on the rare occasion you want to go out to celebrate a fun holiday, he's busy streaming and can't come with you.
most of the time when he doesn't want to go out with you, after enough pleading and begging and doe-eyes, because he's whipped he'll eventually come around and the two of you actually end up having a nice time together. however, on this occasion he is shockingly firm in his notion that he cannot go out to celebrate with you, because he's already scheduled a halloween livestream for his fans.
which is annoying, but you don't worry about it too much because you know there is one tactic that you have yet to try that will undoubtably work and cause him to cancel his stream to spend time with you instead. and that is:
ragebait.
for your 'halloween costume', you didn't even need to buy anything new for it because all it consisted of was a black bra, a black miniskirt (which you cut even shorter), a cat ears headband and a clip-on cat tail, all of which you already own (unsurprisingly). then, you would draw whiskers on your face with eyeliner.
of course, this wasn't your true costume. but merely a decoy costume that you would use to elicit a reaction out of him. your plan was that, once kenma saw that you were going out in something so egregiously revealing, his protective boyfried instincts would kick in and he would insist that he comes with you to the party.
or at least, that's what you thought would happen.
in reality, when you appearing in the doorway on his bedroom, twirling and making all sorts of fuss over your 'amazing' costume, all kenma did was spare you the briefest glance and mutter, "you look nice. have fun tonight."
the doorway wasn't in view of his camera, which is why you felt comfortable doing another twirl, and trying to show off your outfit (or lack thereof) again. "i don't think you got a proper look at it the first time, kenma." you urge. surely if he wasn't freaking out by now, it was probably because he didn't see it right. "c'mon, take another look."
he sighs, and mutes his mic. this time he turns fully towards you, giving you his undivided attention and getting an unobstructed view of your skimpy costume. though, he still didn't seem bothered.
"you're a black cat, that's cute. i like your tail." he points at it, and you can't help but swoosh it around a little. "i hope you have fun tonight. sorry that i couldn't come with you." just as he is about to turn back to his stream, you interject,
"can you at least kiss me goodbye?"
he smiles warmly at you, and nods. "yeah. there's a break coming up in five minutes. i'll meet you at the door."
"okay." you murmur, defeatedly leaving the room and kicking the air as you do so. you can't believe your masterplan didn't work, and that, more importantly, he doesn't seem disturbed at all that you're going out in virtually nothing.
well, you're obviously not really going out in this; even on halloween, you'd just arrested for public indecency. but you can't let him think you were bluffing (even though you were), so you'll probably just sit in your car for a while and watch something on your phone, maybe go to a drive-thru and get a bite to eat. something like that.
dejectedly, you pad to the foyer and put your heels on. and as promised, a couple minutes later kenma joins you. he strolls up to you and pulls you in for long hug, which you reciprocate, even allowing yourself to melt into his embrace slightly. which you immediately regret when you move to give him a kiss and he jerks away.
"huh?" you splutter, staring at him with wide-eyes; a crazed expression like someone who had just been shot. "my goodbye kiss?"
kenma snickers, and nods again. "here." he says. and you're not quite sure what he means, until he gets on his knees in front of you and wraps his hands around your thighs, shuffling closer towards you so his head was right between your legs.
your thighs instinctually press shut and a flustered heat rises to your cheeks in response to his unexpected actions, "what about your stream?"
"paused it. i told them that i needed to give my girlfriend a kiss goodbye. so, let me give you a kiss." his thumbs dig into your thighs, and despite your initial confusion, you soon allow him to part your legs and duck under your skirt, where he's met with a peculiar sight.
"no panties?" he mutters while pressing kisses on the inside of your thigh. "that's risky considering how short your skirt is."
"i just— i forgot to put them on." you splutter, as if that was any more belieable than you choosing not to wear them for aesthetic purposes. regardless, that only makes it easier for his tongue to make contact with your sweet folds.
he licks and sucks at your cunt, lapping at it like a parched man until your entire pussy is glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. he pays special attention to your clit, nipping at it to tease you and and fiercely sucking it between his teeth, causing your knees to tremble at his attack on your sensitive bundle of nerves.
he spits on your hole to moisten it , yet it feels so affectionate. he does this repeatedly to prep you, and uses two fingers to push the it inside you, to ensure it fully lubricates you. yet, there's still strings of arousal and spit hanging from your hang and spilling down your thighs.
"ready, kitty?" he asks hoarsely, with his mouth still connected to your cunt, so you feel when his lips creep into a smirk at the silly nickname. "want it?"
"yeah.." you whine, feebly grasping at the edge of your skirt for an inch of solace.
"how bad? tell me how bad you want it, princess." he says, pulling his head back, out from under your skirt so he can glare at you. however, this doesn't work out in his favour, because when he sees you're glossy lip trembling and your angelic eyes gazing down at him innocently, he immediately folds.
"you're lucky you look cute as a cat. i can't make you beg for it when look so sweet." he huffs, diving back under your skirt, only so he can lick one final stripe across your cunt before plunging his tongue into your sopping hole.
you recoil at this forceful action, but he holds you firmly in place. "stay still." he commands, speaking more into your pussy than he was to you. "let me take care of you." your pussy drips around his tongue while he loses himself inside you. thrusting in and out at an erratic pace and curling in all different directions in deperate attempt to locate your gspot.
his hands caress the back of your thighs while his tongue slams into your cunt over and over, with such force that it almost splashes back in his face. "so tight.." he groans, the vibrations tickling your clit just right and ripping a shriek-like moan from you that echoed through the whole foyer. his tongue wormed around your insides, while his lips still worked on slurped up your excess and stimulating the rest of your pussy. "mpph, fuck, you taste like heaven, kitten."
you're unsure how long this went on for, but by the end of it, the coil in your stomach had been wound so tight by kenma's unabating and expert tongue abusing your gspot and his lips destroying your clit, that you were sent into the most mind-numbingly intense orgasm. your walls were spasming and your moans were so loud that they wrapped back around and bacame largely silent. and you're knees buckled under you, and kenma had to grip your waist and slowly lower you down.
"shit.." you curse, laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling as you struggle to catch your breath.
"hope you're satisfied with your goodbye kiss." kenma smirks, finally getting up from knees and heading back to his room where he was streaming, but not before giving you a peck on the cheek first.
you didn't even have the energy to leave the house after that. which upon greater consideration, you realise may have been apart of kenma's plan all along. hmph.
TSUKISHIMA 🕸 x pirate
wrapped up in your fitted corset and pirate costume, you're stood in front of the mirror, adding the finishing touches to your makeup before you're ready to head out.
just as you're adding a final dash of blood to the fake wound on your face, you can feel his unwell presense as he enters your room, without even looking away from the mirror. partially due to the frequent sniffling. although, before he fully comes in, he lingers in the doorway for a moment, crossing his arms as he gives your costume a once-over. "a pirate?" he scoffs.
"yup." you hum, refusing to pay him any attention and staying concentrated on completing your sfx makeup.
and despite noticing your deliberate attempts at ignoring him, he contiues, "not historically accurate at all." he scowls, eyes glued to your body. but that was perhaps in part due to the fact you were wearing a flowy white blouse that barely covered your ass, ripped tights and a cinched corset. of course you had other accessories too like a prop sword and a hat, but the bodice alone was enough to elicit complaints from your boyfriend. "why would swashbucklers wear corsets and heeled boots?"
very opinionated for a man burdened with the flu. you could tell he was just trying to get a reaction out of you, and your suspicion is only confirmed when you turn around and see a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. hence, you sigh and collect your stuff, preparing to leave for the party, "thanks, tsukki. i'll keep that in mind for next years costume." that amount of sarcasm was enough to amuse even tsukishima.
"hey. i just don't want you to go to that party, and everyone starts making fun of you for having a historically inaccurate costume." he places his hand on the side of your head and lovingly strokes your head with his thumb, "you don't deserve that." there was a shocking amount of sincerity in his voice for a man who was clearly joking. but for some reason this display of pity had you inwardly swooning and melting into his stupid, illness-infected hand.
"thank you, kei. but i think i'm willing to take that risk."
"suit yourself." he shrugs, shifting his hand behind your head and pushing it so he can pull you in for a hug. as you wrap your arms around each other, he says in a nasal tone, "have a good time tonight. sorry i can't come with you." then, you feel his spare hand snake down your back, until it's resting on the curve of your thigh, at the very edge of your blouse. "i'll be here when you get home."
at first you think it's sweet that you're usually standoffish boyfriend is being so affectionate. that is, until you think the hug is over but he pulls you in again. okay, maybe he just wants it extra long because you're going to be out all night, that's fair. but then after an additional thirty seconds, you try to pull away again and he just squeezes you even tighter.
that's when you realise. "you don't want me to go, do you?"
"why is your dress so short?"
"oh my god, kei!" you groan, yanking yourself away from his crossing your arms over your chest, affronted. "stop being so overbearing. you're not my parent!"
"fine. go to your stupid party." he grumbles, looking away awkwardly, "don't yell at me. i'm sick, remember?" he fake coughs twice.
such a drama queen, how do you put up with him? you ask yourself. "okay. thanks. goodbye, tsukishima." you sigh, collecting your stuff and heading towards the door. until, he interrupts one last time by calling out after you:
"wait. at least let me give you something before you go."
famous last words. now, he had you bend over the bed, with your dress hiked up and your panties pushed to side while you rammed into you from behind. his fat cock splitting your cunt open repeatedly, while your face was half-pressed into the sheets, surely smudging your makeup in the process, but were far too lost to care.
you're hole quivered around his length and you're knuckles were painted white with how hard you gripped the duvet beneath you. it was frightening how much stamina he had for someone who has been virtually bed-ridden with illness all day. it's like he managed to shake all the unwellness off himself in an instant, and is now back to drilling into you at his typical furious pace.
your walls squelched at each thrust, and your juices leaked out of your pussy, which he used as lubricant as he rubs his fingers over your clit. "oh, fuck, kei.." you groan, legs tensing as the wet friction causes electric jolts through your core. and despite this stimulation, his fierce drilling into your tight cunt never ceased for even a moment. he's adamant on keeping you stuffed. "mmph— ts— tsukki!"
"can't dress like slut and expect me not to fuck you like one." he grits, keeping an iron grip on your waist while letting his other hand freely roam your back. it would wander up and give you teasing tugs on your hair, forcing you to look up at the wall in front of you. then it would retreat downwards to grab and squeeze at fistfuls of your ass, like he owns it. "you think just cos i'm sick that i'm not gonna fill you up? please." his point is underscored by the sniff he does halfway through, due to his blocked nose.
due to his hips constantly slamming down against yours and his dick fighting against the restrictions of your tight hole, it wasn't long before he lost himself in your heat and finished inside you — no rubber so his seed was left to conjest your walls and paint your cervix.
audibly breathless, he pulls out, and you can feel the mix of liquids he left behind him drool out of your cunt. though he hastily sorts that out by fixing your panties and adjusting the fabric so it's snug against your pussy again. pleased with his work, he gives you a quick pat before collapsing down next you on the bed. you've never seen him so worn out after sex before, but you figure it's expected considering he's poorly today.
"have fun on your night out, sweetie." he snickers. if it wasn't made clear he was being condescending by your shivering, fucked-out figure on the bed, that is in no state to be going out clubbing. then, the fact he called you 'sweetie' is a dead giveaway — he typically only calls you petnames when he's being patronising.
"and sorry for messing up your makeup. but considering your costume, you'll be glad i gave you something to keep warm."
BOKUTO 🕸 x fluffy bunny
his strong arms snake around your waist as soon as you pause for one second, just to touch up your mascara in the mirror. you try to pay him little attention, as you're already in a rush, but that becomes difficult when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and you can feel him grin against you.
"aren't you just the cutest little bunny ever?" he laughs, hugging you from behind, so close that you can feel his muscled chest against your back and it's a little distracting. he continues to press open-mouthed kisses onto your neck, and for a moment you wonder whether he's already drunk from the pregame, or if he's being his normal lovey-dovey sickeningly-sweet self.
"thank you, kou. but we need to hurry." after placing your mascara back in your purse, you march straight towards the door. however, bokuto doesn't let go of your waist for some reason and ends up stumbling along behind you. "we're already running late."
bokuto finally drops the hug, but only so he can stand up and admire the sight of your ass almost peeking out of your short dress while you're bent over, scrambling to put your shoes on. he's especially excited by your fuzzy little pompom tail that was sewn onto the dress, just under the small of your back. in fact, you're whole outfit was just so cute, he could hardly bear it. those floppy rabbit ears, the sparkly makeup that makes your face glow, even the fluffy bracelets you wore.
naturally, he couldn't help but give in to his lesser urges, and reach forward to squeeze your pompom tail. it was only sewn onto your clothes so you didn't even notice, until his other hand followed suit and grabbed a fistful of your ass.
which automatically caused you perk up and gasp, "kou!" you stand up straight and instantly whip around to face him, only to be met with a his wobbly smile and prominent redish flush. yeah, he's definitely tipsy.
"c'mon! look at that tail! it's too adorable not to grab." he chuckles, making the motion with one hand, while the other trails down your leg, kneeding your thigh. "such a sweet bunny. can't believe you're all mine."
his head flops onto your shoulder but you're quick to push it upright again, so he can look you in the eyes as you declare, "thanks. but there's no time. we're already super late, bokuto, so we need to hurry. do you understand me?"
"ughh." he tosses his head back dramatically and groans, "why do you we need to go? why can't we stay home and so i can fuck my little bunny's brains out all night?" he pouts, glossy-eyed and seeming genuinely disheartened.
"do you not want to go?"
"no." he states firmly, shaking his head, and almost losing balance in the process. "i want to spend tonight with you, baby. hang and fuck like rabbits— hah, get it?"
"i do." you grimace, quickly pivoting, "but you promised kuroo that you would go to his costume dinner and you said you've been looking forward to th—"
"fuck kuroo and his costume dinner!" he yells definitively, before pulling you in my the cheeks for a dramatic yet sloppy kiss. at first you're astounded and try to say something, but then you realise there's no point in arguing with him since he seems to have made up his mind. all you can do now is enjoy your night.
your lips crash against each other, and you can feel his erection as he flagrantly grinds it against your thigh. your stomach flipped at the sensation and the reminder of just how big he was; your panties slickened in preparation to take him.
you eagerly hike up your dress and try to further close the distance between you and bokuto, but you drunkenly forgot that you were in middle of putting your heels on, so you lose balance and stumble forward in his arms. however, he ends up faling backward as a result, which you landing on top of him. thankfully he braced himself so neither of you were hurt. now you were strandling his thigh, while he's laid on his back.
after a couple of moments frantic 'you okay?'s back and forth, followed by some hearty laughter, he pulls you down to resume kissing passionately. his large hands roam your body, possessively rubbing every dip and curve, and further hiking up your skirt to reveal your dampened panties.
"shit, you're so perfect, baby." he moans, but with such an anguished undertone, it almosts sounds like he's in pain. "i need you so fucking bad. my sweet girl." while one hand tenderly cups your face, the other reaches down to free his cock, which he haphazardly manoeuvres it until the tip is rubbing against your clothed cunt.
you whine into his mouth, then clumsily tug your panites aside, relishing in how his shaft drags along your wet cunt. the friction alone drives you insane, and you let out a deep sigh of relief once he finally slips himself inside your hole and you get that lewd stretch you've been waiting for.
your knees are planted on the ground on either side of him, yet you're far too involved in the heated make-out session to bother ride him. even when you briefly tried, the alcohol immediately started to hit, making it virtually impossible to stay coordinated without fumbling or getting dizzy. thus, while you kissed, bokuto planted both hands on your ass and utilised this grip to slowly drag you up and down on his cock.
emphasis on slowly. inch by fucking inch, it drove you crazy. you'd never gone this slow with him before, usually he pounds into you like a madman but not he was letting you feel him and fully experience the friction of his dick against your walls. giving you time to get familiar with every last vein and curve.
"you comfortable, bunny?" he holds your head with both his arms, hugging you to his chest in a comforting manner, as you struggle and whine while taking his whole length. "cos i think we're going to be here all night."
ATSUMU 🕸 x cheerleader
"are you ready to g—"
atsumu barges into your room, and notices you stood in front of the mirror, fixing up your hair. you even turn to flash him a smile, yet he still looks utterly dumbfounded. then, he quickly bows his head and retreats, muttering, "sorry, i thought you were done changing."
"wait!" you call out after him, and he freezes in his tracks. confused, you clarify, "what are you talking about? i'm already dressed. plus, even if i was in the middle of changing, when has that ever stopped you in the past?"
you giggle, and you expect him to laugh at your joke too, but instead he just turns to you, wearing the most horrified expression you've ever seen. "your dressed?"
"yes."
he motions to what you're wearing. a top that was so cropped it resembled a bra, with the word 'cheer!' written across it. and a matching glittery microskirt. atsumu felt light-headed just looking at it. "that's your whole outfit?"
you tut, crossing your arms over your chest and rolling your eyes. "no, of course not."
atsumu huffs the biggest sigh of relief, practically hunching over as he does so. "good, that's what i thought. so what are you missing? a jacket? leggings? the rest of your shirt?" he throws the suggestions at you, but you think it's better if you just show him.
you shuffle over to your bed and pick up the two cheerleading pom-poms you bought, and excitedly shake them around. "these!"
atsumu's face abruptly drops into a frown. "that's it?"
"yup." you nod happily. but there's a beat of silence, during which atsumu's unusual lack of commentary — ironically — tells you everything you need to know. "what? you don't like it?"
he grimaces, opening his mouth to say something before realising that there's probably a better way he could approach this situation. "don't you think you're going to get cold in that?"
"no." you shake your head, and pout. from his demeanour alone you can tell that the problem is, you're hasty to whine, "you just don't like my costume!"
"huh? i didn't say that." he furrows his brows, cautiously edging towards you with an arms outstretched, as though he was trying to offer his scent to a volatile cat. however, in this case, he lets his fingers tap at the exposed skin of your waist, and despite your gloomy attitude, you let out the slightest 'hmph' of approval, which he takes as permission to wrap his arms fully around you.
holding you in his ridiculously warm and loving embrace, he hums, "i love your costume. wish you'd dress like this when you come and watch my matches with the jackals. looking in the audience and seeing you wearing this," he steps back and admires your outfit, squeezing your waist as he does so, "would give me some real motivation."
"the wrong kind of motivation." you tease, nudging his crotch where you can feel his length stiffening against your thigh.
he litters kisses from your collarbone up to your ear, where you can then hear him growl, "n' that's your fault for having your whole ass out." he puntuates his point by delivering a harsh slap on your cheek, and chuckling when you yelp and bounce in his arms at the impact.
there's a momentary lull, as his hand drags from your thigh, up between your legs until the pad of his finger is grazing your labia through your panties. the subtle yet perverted touch is enough to send shockwaves up your spine, and mixes with the arousal in your abdomen that was also caused by his gruff voice in your ear, "it's a shame we didn't meet in high school."
"y—you think?" is all your able to stammer out, as your panties are tugged aside and his fingers shamelessly delve between your damp folds.
"yeah. i would've loved a hot cheerleader dancing for me at all my matches." you can feel his lips pull into a smile as his daring fingerwork causes you to squirm in his arms. his middle finger would prod at your clit before two would slip into your soaked hole. they'd remain relatively stagnant at first, allowing you to adjust to it before they started to move.
"we had a cheerteam but they weren't anything like you." his hot breath burned your neck; he was so near to you, and there was no where you could go to escape. by now his fingers were rapidly pumping into your pussy, while his chest was pressed against yours and his arms are wrapped around you. even his face is slotted into the curve of your neck. you were as close as close could be.
"fuck, if you were there cheering for me though.. in this slutty little outfit." he chuckles at the comment, though his heart races at the mere thought of you as a real cheerleader for him. his eyes drifted shut and he let himself get lost in the fantasy. "god, i don't know what i'd do. probably try to get my hands on you first."
"yeah, yeah, you'd be mine. then i'd bend you over under the bleachers the first chance i got and fuck your lights out." you don't know if he realises it but the longer the rambles on, the rougher he gets with you. his fingers drill repeatedly into your wet hole like a machine, until you're emitting squelching noises with each thrust. he's got such a stern grip on you, his knuckles are white and his nails are virtually digging into your thigh. while his other hand is wrapped around the back of you, with his index and middle finger feverishly abusing your pussy while his thumb presses against your asshole, just to keep you in place.
"shit, you don't know that you're stupid costume is doing to me.." his breath his heavy, and so is yours. but in your case, it's due to the fact that his fingers are curled in such a way that he's repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, and white spots are beginning to cloud your vision as you eventually submit to your orgasm. a climax that leaves you a whiny, shivering mess in your man's arms.
"tsu—atsumu!" you cry out, being partially muffled by his chest. your hole feebly flutters around his unrelenting digits, and he shifts his spare hand up to cradle the back of your head. he kisses your earlobe and whispers, "that's it, baby. ride it out. c'mon."
once the molten grit in your stomach dies down, atsumu slides his finger out of you and you're able to catch your breath. although the orgasmic lust still lingered in your mind, it was usurped by the remaining desire to go out and party on halloween, so you find the strength to utter groggily to him, "aren't we going to go out?"
atsumu laughs and affectionately tucks a strand of your costume-wig hair behind your ear. while making eye-contact, he states bluntly, "no."
"why not?" you immediately whine in protest.
in a shockingly gentle manner, he explains, "honey, you can go out half-naked any other day of the year. but this is the only night i can fuck a cheerleader under the bleachers."
before you're able to even question what he means, he rummages around in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his car keys. flashing you a smile, he offers you his jacket, and then his hand, "hm?"
