#yna.writes

[chosobaby]

sakusa kiyoomi doesn’t believe that you’re his ‘first love’. he’s never dated anyone before you, never even gotten close to holding hands with another, but still, he would never consider you his ‘first love’.

it nearly broke your heart when he mentioned it, casually bringing it up while making dinner together after announcing your engagement to his teammates. you had genuinely thought he was about to break up with you.

“they were all talking about how great it is that i’m marrying my first love,” he said, “but i think they’re wrong; you’re not my first love.”

you didn’t know how to react, all words had gotten stuck in your throat. hands freezing midair, nearly dropping the wooden spoon you were holding, your eyes shot to him in worry.

“not because you’re not the first person i have ever loved,” he continued, cupping your face with his right hand after letting a fond chuckle leave his lips, “but because you’re the only person i’ll ever love. saying you’re my first love implies someone will come after — but that will never happen.”

his free hand took the spoon that had almost slipped as he brought his lips to yours. the soft, loving smile that graced his lips as you parted reminded you that he’s yours and will always and forever be.

“my only love,” kiyoomi whispered, making you fall in love with him all over again.

[chosobaby]

nsfw / fem!reader

sakusa kiyoomi always thinks you look pretty.

you look pretty in the morning. it’s still dark, blackout curtains blocking the sun from letting its fingers seep through any cracks, and his arm is hooked around your waist. your hair is a mess while your lips are slightly pouting. your eyes begin to flutter open and a grin spreads across your face as he brings a hand up to brush your cheek. kiyoomi thinks you’re really pretty.

you also look pretty in the afternoon. blossoms of white drift across the sky and a gentle breeze blows your hair back. your hand is in his as you give him such a sweet smile while you talk about your day; it makes him feel warm on the inside. kiyoomi still thinks look really pretty.

but he thinks you look the prettiest in the evening — when you’re underneath him and letting out equally pretty noises.

his right hand is wrapped around your neck, the left planted next to your head, and your legs are wrapped around his slim, naked waist.

“you’re so pretty,” he says, “so fucking pretty,” while his hips continue to pound into you and tears spill down your cheeks. he shifts the hand choking you to drag his thumb down your bottom lip. shades of lilac and wisteria begin to bloom on your collarbones.

“ki-kiyoomi,” you moan as your hands reach to cup his face.

his dark, wide eyes stare into yours. “yeah, pretty?”

“you’re so, so pretty too — my pretty, pretty angel.”

you barely get the words out, and your eyes roll all the way back as it hits you. your toes curl and you throw your head backward, arms immediately taking their place around his shoulders.

he ignores the way your nails dig into his skin, leaving his back with long streaks of rosy hues. and he ignores the way he desperately needs to cum, because all his senses can do is focus on your pretty sounds, your pretty face, your pretty tits, your pretty everything.

yeah, kiyoomi thinks you’re the prettiest.

[chosobaby]

despite playing volleyball for over a dozen years, sakusa kiyoomi now thinks the sport is too dreadful for him to play.

it’s not that his team had lost their winning streak or that he no longer finds joy in the sport. no, he just abhors the fact that he’s required to remove his wedding ring.

“i hate this horrible rule… no, i loathe it! yeah— wait! abhor! i absolutely abhor this horrible rule!” kiyoomi drunkenly exclaimed while on your honeymoon after you mentioned he’d have to remove his ring during practices and matches.

with his head on your lap and your fingers in his hair, he mumbled, “fuck the volleyball gods.” and you couldn’t help but agree as you watched his fluttering eyelids and soft little grin.

and so every morning, just before he steps out the door for volleyball practice, he’ll plant a kiss against your forehead, on your nose, and on your lips. he’ll take your left hand and bring it towards his face, and his eyes will shine a bit brighter seeing your ring, a reminder and a signification that he’s yours and you’re his.

then, he’ll press a kiss right atop the band wrapped snuggly around your ring finger. he’ll cup your face, allowing you to feel to cool metal from his ring on your skin, and mutter a soft i love you, showing you the smile kiyoomi reserved just for you.

…so maybe, you can forgive the volleyball gods and this horrible rule just a teensy tiny bit.

[chosobaby]

nsfw,, minors do not interact / gn!reader

he has such a tiny waist; you can’t help but wrap your arms around him every chance you get — and he absolutely loves it.

he loves when your arms wrap around his waist from behind while he cooks breakfast. he loves the feeling of your cold hands creeping up from under his shirt, and the little, almost inaudible exhale that leaves your lips.

he loves when your arms wrap around his waist from the side when he changes clothes. he loves how you feel on his bare skin, the warmth of skin on skin, unbeknownst to you, making him want you more.

he loves when your arms wrap around his waist at his front when you hug him at the door before he goes. he loves how you tightly squeeze his middle, hoping you can get him to stay.

and maybe he will stay, because the sultry way you say please just can’t get him to step any further. so he takes you right there, your back pressed against the door and your legs around his oh so tiny waist <3

KAMO CHOSO, geto suguru, fushiguro toji, nanami kento, kamo noritoshi, SUNA RINTARO, sakusa kiyoomi, tsukishima kei, kozume kenma, kageyama tobio, miya osamu

[chosobaby]

he isn’t really sure of many things, but one thing denji is definitely sure of is that you’re pretty… really pretty. and it isn’t just because of how you looked physically, but because of how, in denji’s terms, you just do everything so prettily.

yeah, denji isn’t the best with words.

( he didn’t even think ‘prettily’ was a real word until you taught him about adverbs; now he uses it all the time. )

he thinks it’s funny how you don’t notice him noticing you: his bewitched stare when you prettily walked towards him, his enchanted smile when you prettily explained things, and his rosy cheeks when you prettily smiled at him.

however, he’s kind of grateful you don’t notice, because his tongue somehow ties itself into a complicated, intricate knot when you’re around.

( you’re just too pretty; he can’t function. )

but you do notice, of course you do, because denji is denji: the denji that dazedly stares at you prettily, the denji that smiles with his pointy teeth prettily, and the denji that blushes a pretty pink so prettily.

so until denji notices that you notice him noticing you, you’ll continue to wait for him, wait until he gathers enough confidence to ask you out.

( and when he does, you’ll tell denji you think he does everything just as prettily as you do. )

[chosobaby]

he doesn’t hate his birthday, nor does he love it. it’s just another day; sakusa kiyoomi never really felt the need to look forward to it. but you do — you always do, because his existence, according to you, is something worth celebrating.

so he pretends to stay asleep when he feels you move out of his arms fifteen minutes before midnight. he pretends not to hear you shuffle to the kitchen. he pretends not to hear you whisper a quiet shit! as you drop what he correctly assumes is a fork with a ‘msby #15’ engraved on it.

he pretends not to hear the bedroom door creak open, and he pretends not to hear you shift next to his side of the bed while you wait for midnight. he pretends to have just woken up when you tap his shoulder and cup his cheek —

and kiyoomi pretends the smile on his face isn’t that big when he sees you grinning down at him, a plate with a singular slice of cake with one yellow candle in your hand, as you softly say happy birthday, my love.

sakusa kiyoomi says he doesn’t look forward to his birthday, but he actually does, because it’s the saccharine smile on your face that you show only to him every year on the twentieth of march that makes his existence worth celebrating.

[chosobaby]

nsfw / fem!reader

surprisingly, miya atsumu knows how to not be loud; you used to think you were the quiet one in the relationship.

during movies, he’d usually lean over to tell you how he knows that actress from somewhere, a finger pointing at the screen, and the entire cinema would hear. back in college, you’d be whispering about a professor that annoyed you, and when he’d answer you, he’d speak loud enough for the whole room to know.

when he’s on the court during a game, he’d announce his team’s next strategy like it was a public service announcement. he’d laugh so proudly after too, and the pleading looks you’d get from sakusa to get your man to shut up would make him laugh even harder.

so you couldn’t believe it when you found out that miya atsumu knew how to stay quiet — well, it was really him finding out that you could be louder than him, because how could he believe it when his meek and quiet little girlfriend could moan so loud for the whole city to hear?

he’s pounding into you from behind, your hips slowly being mottled with shades of purple and yellow from the strong grip his fingers had on them, and you’re so loud; he’s already gagged you with your soiled panties and shoved your head down into the pillow, but still, you’re so fucking loud.

“be quiet for me, princess,” his voice quietly rasped, right hand squeezing your bruised hip as a warning. “don’t want the neighbors hearing how needy you are — just me, yeah? only your tsumu can hear.”

he thinks he hears a muffled yeah amongst the unintelligible babbles and groans, but he still grabs you by your hair and pulls your head back to his shoulder. his right arm wraps around your waist, pinning his chest to your back, and his left hand releases your hair to throw your panties out of your mouth before wrapping around your neck. his hips continue to piston in and out of you and he’s sure you’d collapse without his hold from how much your legs are shaking.

“you gonna stay quiet for me now?” he chuckles, right hand dipping down to play with your clit.

and as soon as you’re about to say that you can’t, your climax hits you out of nowhere. your eyes squeeze shut and tears drip down your face while your mouth opens in a silent scream.

“so good for me, baby,” he groans, watching how good you look when you cum, “so fucking good.”

but he doesn’t stop, and he continues hit that spot with every thrust, fingers unceasing in its movements.

“stay quiet for me a little more, princess? i’m not done.”

[chosobaby]

the word ‘blunt’ takes the half-human form known as choso. he speaks his mind with not a single fuck to give about how other people, bar his brothers, would take it. he’s firm in his beliefs; he likes to think he’s headstrong and never ever falters.

but choso finds himself weak and speechless when he has you beneath him, undeniably drunk on the otherworldly being that is you.

his arms are hooked around your thighs and his face buried in your pussy; he drinks you up, devours you whole. he laps up your slick like it’s nectar, like it’s an irresistibly saccharine syrup that is dripping just for him. his nose nudges your twitching clit and his large hands stay anchored on your hips. your heels dig into his back, and you moan and whine and whimper and—

“want you inside,” you cry.

but choso wants to make you finish. he wants to make your toes curl, to see your back arch, to watch your eyes roll to the back of your head. he wants to hear you chant his name over and over again: choso, choso, choso, choso—

“want you inside now, please,” you sob again, “please, choso, please.”

choso is weak, his mind malleable to your mindless words.

“of course, my love,” he says, panting and out of breath.

choso brings himself up towards you, his lips sealing themselves against yours while his palms cradles your cheeks like you’re a fragile, priceless piece. he drags a hand down to line himself up with you, running his head up and down along your slit. you whine into his mouth, and choso can’t get enough.

“anything for you.”