#hq reader insert

[rosierin]

tastes like sadness | suna rintarou

synopsis; (y/n) and suna have a heartfelt chat about her complicated relationship with atsumu

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It’s past midnight, and the apartment is quiet.

Suna hears the faint click of the balcony door behind him but doesn’t turn. From the soft shuffle of her steps, the faint scent of her shampoo, to the barely-there way she moves when the world is asleep—he knows it's her.

(Y/n) joins him without a word, settling into the chair beside his. A moment later, a warm mug is nudged into his hand.

“Chamomile,” she says lightly. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Her voice is soft, sweet, and as gentle as the night breeze that sweeps through the air. It’s silly, really—she’s barely said a word, and yet Suna finds himself fighting the urge to close his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear, just to give her a reason to say it again.

Part of him wonders what she'd think if she ever found out. If she knew about what she did to him—if she knew that the sound of her alone could knock the air right out of his chest.

He pushes down the thought and instead glances at the mug, then at her, but she’s already curled into her blanket like some sleepy little burrito. Her hair’s a bit messy. Her eyes still carry remnants of a dream she hasn’t quite left behind. He takes a sip, lets the bitterness settle on his tongue.

“Chamomile is such a sad flavour,” he murmurs.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “You think chamomile tastes like sadness?”

“A bit.”

She doesn’t argue. Just sips hers in silence, the steam curling up toward the stars. Somewhere below them, the city glimmers—wet streets, red tail lights, a puddle reflecting the glow of a corner store sign.

The silence between them stretches. It isn’t awkward, per se. It never is with her—their quiet speak fluently.

However, tonight, the silence feels... almost melancholic. Suna tries not to think about why.

“You’re up late,” she says.

“So are you.”

He doesn’t try and read her expression—not that he needs to. He knows she didn’t come out here for tea or small talk.

He's known her for so long, has had so many years to read her—learn her. By now, he knows the shape of her silences like they're his favourite song, has memorised the weight behind her all her pauses.

There’s something on her mind tonight. Something—someone—she’s been holding in all day.

And she chose him to talk to. Not because it’ll be easy, but because she knows he’ll listen.

That knowledge settles heavily in his chest, dull and quiet. He should go inside, finish that true crime video he was watching. Make some excuse. Pretend he's tired. Walk away before it hurts.

But he doesn’t.

Because Suna never takes more than she’s willing to give. And if this moment, this conversation, this ache—is all she’s offering, then he’ll take it. Even if it bruises something tender inside him.

She breaks the silence first.

“Do you think he likes me?”

Her voice is gentle, but it cleaves through him like a blade anyway. The question is more painful for him to hear than it is for her to say, though he'd never be bold enough to say that out loud.

He stares out at the buildings, eyes unfocused, his fingers tightening slightly around the mug.

“Who?” he asks, though he already knows. Of course he knows. It's a stupid reflex—deflecting.

Nonchalance, silence—they’re the greatest weapons in his arsenal. A double-edged sword, really, because when it came to her, maybe they had always been his downfall.

“You know who.”

And there it is.

He wonders for a second what it would be like to lie. To say no. To protect himself for once. But he’s never been that kind of selfish.

So he swallows and asks—the bitterness in his throat no longer from the tea—“Do you think he does?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and her voice is so unsure it makes something twist in his chest for so many different reasons. “Sometimes it feels like yes. Other times... I think I’m imagining it. Or maybe he’s just playing around. I can’t tell.”

This time, he finally looks at her. The blanket has slipped a little, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the way she’s curled in on herself like she’s afraid of the answer. Steam from her tea curls up and around her like magic. A streetlamp glows behind her, casting its light through the strands of her hair that cascade down her shoulders like a river of gold.

Angelic, he thinks. So sad, so afraid—and still, somehow, so unbearably beautiful.

He turns his gaze back to the skyline. Tries to steady his pulse.

He’s aware the second she goes back inside, she’ll keep wondering about Atsumu.

She’ll laugh at something he says. Maybe fall for him a little more.

But right now?

Right now, she’s here.

And god, it hurts.

“You shouldn’t have to guess,” he says.

That makes her pause. Her eyes flick to him, searching for something, but he doesn’t give it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“...You think I’m reading into things?”

“I think if someone wants you,” he says carefully, “they should make it obvious. Especially with you.”

Her brows furrow. “Why especially me?”

He exhales through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. The words come out before he can stop them. “Because you overthink everything. You feel everything. You’ll blame yourself if you get hurt.”

The admission hangs there between them—heavy, raw, a bit too close to the truth.

She doesn’t speak. Just holds her mug a little tighter. He hates the way the air around them feels tonight—thicker. Like maybe she’s hearing something underneath what he’s saying, has somehow managed to pick apart his brain and see through his act.

She doesn't, he realises. And he doesn't know what stings more.

“You always know what to say,” she murmurs.

Relief? Is that what he should be feeling?

He's already said so much, let words he'd only ever thought about fall from his mouth.

And still, still she doesn't know. Doesn't see it. Doesn't read between the lines of his own self-deprecating script.

Sometimes he wishes he had Atsumu's nerve. Just so he could stomp down his ugly feelings and deflect them with loud words and flirty one-liners.

But he's not that kind of person. He's not Atsumu.

He's Suna.

And Suna... loves her so much he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes.

So he forces it down, locks away his thoughts and feelings, and tosses away the key.

She's not his.

Might not ever be.

And he refuses to become someone else's problem.

It takes him a lot more effort than usual to play it off, forcing the smallest, faintest smirk before saying, “Yeah. I’m annoying like that.”

She smiles at that—soft, sleepy, affectionate—and rests her head against his shoulder without asking. She never does. And what makes him tense when others try, what makes him pull away without thinking, only makes him crumble when it’s her.

The thought tugs unpleasantly at his heartstrings. But still, he doesn’t move. Just lets her stay there, warm and oblivious, while his heart folds in on itself quietly. Gently. Like paper. Because if he shifts even a little, if he opens his mouth again, it’ll all come pouring out.

So, he takes another sip of the tea, lets the steam blur his vision, just for a moment.

“Still tastes like sadness,” he says. Whether to himself or to (y/n), even he doesn’t know.

“So cryptic,” she murmurs against him.

He huffs a quiet breath that doesn’t quite qualify as a laugh.

Their shoulders bump slightly, then settle again.

And somewhere inside, where no one can see, Suna’s heart breaks—quietly, completely, and without a sound.

[sodaneko]

SUPERNOVAE ; Sakusa x gn!reader

He trails a bunch of kisses from your collarbone up to the side of your neck, to your jaw, lingering. There’s this gentleness that’s reserved for no one but you, a side of him only you get to see. Kiyoomi loves you. He loves you more than anything, loves you like it’s breathing. 

contains: gn!reader (no pronouns used, no bodily descriptions except reader vaguely being described shorter than Kiyoomi), childhood friends to lovers, fluff, bit of a slowburn, teeny tiny bit of teenage angst, romance starts after they graduate high school, around 3 very lightly suggestive sentences, no beta we die like my sanity the moment i laid my eyes on sakusa kiyoomi for the first time

word count: 2.6k

When he turns five, Kiyoomi is told to smile for the camera. His birthday table is opulent, myriads of wrapped up gifts and a cake almost his height. He doesn’t make a wish when he blows out the candles nor does he smile for the photos no matter how much his parents or older siblings begged him to. Their large hands tugging on his face, fixing his collar, ruffling his hair–it was all too much, suffocating in a way no child should ever feel. If only he could grow up faster so he wouldn’t have to put up with their act anymore. He learned too young that it was all fake, a facade they put up, some broken play the adults have perfected over time. Once they start arguing like they always do, he quietly slips away without any of them noticing. 

There’s a small hole in the garden fence and it’s his best kept secret. It leads him to the only person he wants to see: You. 

You with your scraped knees and mismatched socks. You with the mischievous glimmer in your eyes. You with the bouquet of daisies in your tiny fist, calling out his name the moment you spot him.

Kiyoomi doesn’t smile for the camera, but he does for you. That’s something that will never change over the years. 

At the age of ten Kiyoomi and you have a matching tooth gap from when you lost your baby teeth. You told him about the tooth fairy and he informed you that’s bullshit the adults made up, which he regretted immediately because it made you cry and more than anything he hates seeing you cry. To make up for it, he put both of your teeth under his pillow because “his parents are actually richer than the tooth fairy” and bought you a cake from the pastry shop you walk by every day on your way home from school.

“But it’s your birthday, not mine,” you’d protest, half-heartedly, with one finger collecting the buttercream from the cake box already, and Kiyoomi would grab the strawberry from his slice and put it on yours because he knows they’re your favorite and maybe he wants to be your favorite, too. 

It's puppy love, so sweet and tender. He keeps feeding you strawberry shortcake while you weave daisy chains for him, and occasionally he’d grumble something under his breath but doesn’t pull his hand away when you slip a ring made from daisies on his fingers.

“Look, we match,” you’d say with a beaming smile, your tooth gap on full display. Kiyoomi still has the daisy ring from that day, pressed between pages of his textbook. 

Kiyoomi is fifteen and the cherry blossoms are blooming early this year. He picks a petal from the crown of your head and keeps holding it between his fingertips as he pushes his bike next to you on your way home from school. When did he get so much taller than you? Have you always smelled this sweet? Is it normal to notice how long your lashes are when you glance up at him? He can easily tuck you under his chin now and it stirs up something unfamiliar in his chest. 

There’s a certain kind of protectiveness he feels about you now. Are the guys at high school bothering you (probably not since you’re always glued to his side) and have you eaten enough (you did since he buys your lunch every day) and who will come pick you up and escort you home when you come down with a fever during homeroom (he will, without question)? Sometimes it gets so very loud in his head, and then you slip your hand into his when no one is watching and calmness washes over him like a warm summer rain.

When you’re fifteen, sometimes the world seems to end on a casual Wednesday, but Kiyoomi thinks he’ll be alright as long as he’s with you.

You’re graduating together on his eighteenth birthday and you just can’t stop crying. There’s something so bittersweet about this day, an inevitable ending bleeding into a new beginning. All of your school years spent with each other desk by desk, with your little doodles on the side of his notes and crumbled notes passed back and forth between you, your feet nudging another under the tables during group work. You grew up together and the passing of time was both ruthless and beautiful. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he grumbles but keeps one arm tightly wrapped around you while your face is hidden against his chest. Your body shakes slightly with every hiccup. Years later and he still feels helpless against your tears, wanting nothing but to kiss them away but he doesn’t know if you’d let him. Usually his bluntness keeps him away from the guessing game, but it’s different with you. 

Everything is different with you. 

“Seriously, stop it,” he murmurs, now cupping your face with both hands. He sees it all; the uncertainty in your eyes, the small wobble of your bottom lip, the way your lashes stick together from your tears, and yet you never looked more beautiful in his eyes. He’s the one you come to for comfort, as if it’s a rare treasure you can only find in his arms. It’s an honor, he thinks. Holding you, being needed by you, falling in lo–no, that’s a really big word still. Or is it? 

“We have an entire summer of our own ahead of us and we’ll go to the same college starting in fall,” he says, tilting your face up slightly as he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your skin. “We’re gonna be roommates. Haven’t you been building our apartment in the Sims since we were twelve? We can even have the library slash in-house pâtisserie you’ve been dreaming about. I’ll make sure of it. So stop crying, okay? You have me. You’ll always have me.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears now, a sound like windchimes, and Kiyoomi’s features soften. He’s holding his sun and his future between his palms right now. 

At twenty-one Kiyoomi is very busy kissing you. A lot. 

Between volleyball training and your college schedules there’s only so little time you get to spend at the apartment together, but Kiyoomi is eager to make every minute count, and by that he means having your lips melt against his at any given moment. Whether it was in the bathroom while you brush your teeth together, in the doorframe when you’re already running late for class, in the elevator when there wasn’t anyone else around or open-mouth kisses pressed against the kitchen counter–he could never get enough of you, not once ever since he got a taste of you. 

“You’re clingy, my sweet birthday boy,” you murmur but there’s no heat behind your words, just soft amusement. There’s not a lot of room for argument when you’re currently trapped on the couch from Kiyoomi’s entire weight on top of you. Your fingers dance up and down his bare back while his face is nuzzled in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent, his curls still damp from the shower. 

He trails a bunch of kisses from your collarbone up to the side of your neck, to your jaw, lingering. There’s this gentleness that’s reserved for no one but you, a side of him only you get to see. Kiyoomi loves you. He loves you more than anything, loves you like it’s breathing. 

His lips ghost over yours, a silent dare, an unspoken promise. 

“You were saying?”, he mutters, eyes darting to your lips before they catch your gaze again. There’s a hint of a smile playing upon his lips that widens the moment you pull him down with your mouth agape, your hand now tangled in his hair and pulling on it slightly, his tongue slowly sliding against yours. Sometimes he thinks it must be some kind of magic, the way your kisses taste sweeter than syrup, having him addicted to you, love-drunk even.

You celebrate his twenty-fourth birthday between moving boxes and takeout containers. In all this chaos you still find time to grab a cake on your way home, lighting a single candle for him while he’s busy in the kitchen wrapping up plates and your favorite mugs. Seeing you standing there, beaming while telling him to make a wish, his heart tumbles in his chest, against his ribcage, dizzy from all the love he holds for you. 

If he is being honest with himself, Kiyoomi feels guilty and selfish. You spent your whole life in Tokyo, had your social circles, work and stability here, and yet he didn’t even have to ask if you’d be willing to move to Osaka with him after he signed to play for the MSBY Black Jackals. It’s as if it was out of question for you, the possibility that you two could be apart, even if only temporarily. You just shrugged it off, told him you could work anywhere, that you want to see him succeed in what he loves. 

He wants to protest–it is you who he loves–but you shush him with a kiss, your hands coming up to cradle his face.

“We have a lifetime together, don’t we? We can be whoever we want to be, live wherever we want to. All I’m asking is for us living this life together. I love you. Hey, look at me. I love you. You can be a little selfish with me, okay?”

For the first time ever, Kiyoomi makes a wish when blowing out his birthday candle; to protect your happiness and your heart, to grow old with you, to bask in your love till his last breath. He’ll do anything in his might to make it all come true.

It’s his twenty-seventh birthday and once again you’re crying.

The end of the current Japan's V.League season is just around the corner and MSBY is playing an away match you were supposed to attend too. Kiyoomi got you flight tickets and a nice hotel in advance, planning to spoil you while you were there to cheer for him, but unfortunately you came down with the flu a few days before the trip was supposed to happen. 

Your voice is hoarse and you sniffle on the other end of the line, upset to be missing out on seeing him play. What’s even worse is that it’s the first birthday you’re spending apart in all the time you’ve known each other since childhood. Hearing you sob is straight up breaking his heart. 

“I’ll rent out a car and drive back home to you after the game,” he says calmly, trying to soothe you in your misery. “It’s only a few hours drive, I’ll manage. You let yourself get knocked out by your cold medicine and I’ll be there when you wake up in the morning, okay? We can pretend it’s still my birthday. It’s not a real birthday anyway without a kiss from my favorite person in the whole world.”

He knows you want to protest and tell him to celebrate the end of the season with his team, but he shushes all of your husky attempts of talking back at him. When it comes to you, there’s no distance big enough to keep you apart, drawn to another like the moon and the tides, two exoplanets in an orbit of their own. Kiyoomi would swim across any ocean and cross all the stars if it meant getting a glimpse of you one more time; maybe steal a kiss or two. Whatever it takes, even if it’s lifetimes–as long as it leads him to you, he’ll find the strength to endure it. 

There’s no one else he loves more than you.

“I swear, there's one gray hair. It’s right here,” you mumble with your fingers tangling in his curls. Kiyoomi huffs but he doesn’t bother to open his eyes, his head currently resting in your lap. He’s content spending the night before his twenty-ninth birthday like this, just the two of you in the quiet of your apartment, but he can tell you’re restless. Your nimble fingers trace along his face, like a sculptor admiring their work; dancing along his jaw and his cheekbones, up to his birthmarks above his eye and the cupid’s bow of his lip. Eventually he catches your wrist, pressing your palm against his cheek before looking at you. 

“Conbini walk?”, he suggests, knowing he can always get you with that one. You lean down to kiss him and Kiyoomi groans quietly, torn between not wanting to leave his perfect spot and wanting to do whatever makes you the happiest. 

His fingers weave together with yours before he slips them into the big pockets of his jacket. The nights of late March were still cold and even though the walk wasn’t that long, Kiyoomi hates the thought of you being cold. He follows you around the market, watching you as you fill the basket with any snack your heart desires, occasionally stealing a glance over your shoulder to get his approval. It’s a playful routine you’ve established by now, from the way he insists on carrying the things once the basket gets too heavy to the click of his tongue when you attempt to pay with your card and not his.

There’s powdered sugar on the tip of your nose from the cream puff you hold in your free hand as you walk back home through the empty streets together and Kiyoomi smiles, leaning down to kiss it away. You giggle softly and playfully shove his face away, getting even more sugar on both of you in the process. 

“You’re impossible,” Kiyoomi mutters but the smile on his lips betrays his words. He collects a bit of cream from the corner of your mouth with his thumb and licks it off, now his turn to laugh when you feign indignation. It’s only you who can bring out this side of him.

When you tap the screen of your phone, the clock shows 00:01; another round around the sun, another waltz with you in his arms. 

“Make a wish, love,” you declare softly, looking at him like he’s adoration personified. 

Kiyoomi gives your hand another small squeeze before bringing it up to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. His thumb rubs absentmindedly over your ring finger, his thoughts briefly wandering to the small velvet box sitting in the drawer of his nightstand for your anniversary next month. 

What do you wish for when you already have everything you could’ve ever dreamed of and more? 

He presses another kiss to the back of your hand, then to your wrist, before pulling you closer, his strong arms encircling you. He leans down and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his favorite place in the world, craving every bit of skin on skin contact he can get while you’re wrapped up in warm clothes like this. 

“All my wishes came true the day I met you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “But if there’s one selfish thing I can wish for–it’s to love you for as long as the sun and the moon rise and set. Let me love you till the end of time, if that’s alright with you.”

a/n: i love him too much. hbd to my sweet boy.

gen tag list:

@kentocalls @wyrcan @nekozaki @kittygirl11829 @bakingcuriosity

@bakery-anon @jodercriis @chaotic-neutral-ig @kitsune-kita @kameyyy

@cookielovesbook-akie

gen taglist is open! fill out this form to be added (or removed, no hard feelings) ♡

[potatingpotato]

and you called me an idiot [kageyama tobio]

pairing: kageyama tobio/reader (both are 18+ in this) genre: smut drabble summary: Kageyama has had enough of you teasing him.

a/n: I wrote this a long time ago and originally posted it in deviantart. idk but I suddenly have the urge to post my fics from there to other places haha. hope you enjoy this proof of my thirst for kageyama from the past lmao!

You let out a gasp as he bit your neck, leaving a small love bite. You close your eyes as the pleasure starts taking over as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

Kageyama eyes the way you look appreciatively from his position above you. Disheveled hair, eyes almost glazed over with pleasure, your teeth biting your lip to keep your moans in. He thrust into you harder and smirked when a loud moan came from your mouth and an even lewder expression painted your face.

He kept up the rough pace, enjoying the absolute dominance he had over you. You were a moaning, panting mess and it was all because of him.

And you called him an idiot.

[nowoyas]

vespertine: evening blooms 7 - siblings (nishinoya yuu/cat hybrid!reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: ok I lied last time lmao. that was before the shoulder dislocation and the seasonal depression and remembering that I was starting school again uhhhhhh yesterday, in my defense.

Summary: There are strangers in the apartment.

Warnings and tags: none!

Words: 2500+

Well, he survived the shift. In the changing room, Yuu takes his time to breathe, to grab what few things he brings with him to work. Mostly just his cell phone—no new texts, nothing of concern. No phone calls from the landlord about how he needs to find a new place to live. You must not have set any fires, at least.

His coworker's voice interrupts his thoughts. Unlike Yuu, the way Tooru talks to clients seems to just be the way he talks. He's a guy who's never had to try the way he has. "Expecting a text from a girlfriend, Yuta-chan?"

He shakes his head, pulls on his ride jacket so he can fumble with the zippered pockets. "Not really."

Tooru smiles at him in a way that feels distinctly like he wants to say why would you be, like they don't have the same job, like there's less than a few thousand yen between them on the monthly leaderboard, even though Tooru's always known popularity and Yuu has to stop being himself to even come close.

Needless to say, he does not particularly like the man with the number one spot on the leaderboard.

"I adopted a hybrid earlier this week," he tells him, for some reason. "It's her first night alone since I found her, so I'm sort of expecting to get a text about some kind of disaster or something."

"Really? I didn't take you for the type to worry about stuff like that."

Yuu shrugs. "She's almost feral, and she was pretty messed up when I found her. I just don't want to get home and find she managed to open her stitches again or something."

"No wonder you won't stop frowning. You'll scare off our beautiful clients if you keep worrying like that, you know."

Right. Work rules, he's still Yuta until he gets his bike around the street corner. No letting your guard down, not where any potential client might see. They can't know who you are, only who you make them believe in.

"I should head home then," he replies, pulling out the boyish work smile. "Can't keep the kitty-cat waiting."

~

There are motions to go through when Yuu gets home—out of work clothes, into the shower, into the kitchen, downstairs to see Mama Kitty. He hasn't quite figured you into these motions yet—you'll need to eat, maybe, and you'll definitely need to take your meds before he heads to bed.

Any and all of them will have to wait, because he makes it three steps into his apartment when he recognizes the three very familiar women sleeping on the living room floor.

Shit. Mei's home.

Even Satsuki's come over for the sleepover. Last he checked, she was trying to become a bartender, so it's something of a surprise to see her on a night she should be busy.

Usually, he'd join in. Drag up a futon or collapse on the couch, all four Nishinoya siblings together for a reunion, even though he won't talk to Kaede about anything other than the alley cats and maybe you, even though Mei is doing so much better than him in her life, even though neither he nor Satsuki want to look each other in the eye and see themselves reflected there.

If any of them tell him to call Mom before they leave, he's gonna scream.

For now, though, two out of three are sleeping. The third is, unfortunately, staring directly at him, hardly tired thanks to timezone bullshit, and there's a million questions on her face.

Mei nods down the hallway. She wants to talk.

"You brought home a hybrid," she says when they've put distance between them and the other two girls. Her voice is slow and measured, and Yuu wonders how long she's been waiting up for him, how long they've all been here, how long you've been hiding somewhere with your tail puffed up at the strangers invading what you'd thought was your space.

"I forgot to tell you," he replies with a nod of dawning realization.

"You forgot to tell me," she repeats.

"I really meant to talk to you about her, it was just so busy, and—"

She sighs. "It's okay, Yuu. I was saying we should get a pet, right?"

Mei's always so understanding. She's surprised, she wishes things were different, but she's understanding.

Yuu's not sure why that makes him want to vomit.

"I think she's kinda more like a bonus roommate, honestly. Feels weird to call her a pet. She's just an extra-cute human. Speaking of, where…"

"She's hiding. She freaked out when we came home, so we haven't actually seen her. Nee-san told me a bit about her. You found her bleeding in the alleyway?"

"Yeah. She was—we don't know who, but they basically kidnapped her from wherever she was living, sterilized her, cut her ear off, and dropped her off beside our building. She seems to agree that it's safer for her to stay here, and she's on these antibiotics and stuff so the stitches heal properly and all that. There's a lot she doesn't understand yet, but she's trying. I really think she's—"

"You don't have to justify it to me, Yuu. I think it's a good idea. But we can't just bring her into the apartment and leave it at that. There's leasing terms, and she needs to have a better space than a tent in our living room, and I need there to not be a tent in our living room, and she has different dietary needs, and—"

"I have a whole packet in the kitchen with all that stuff. We're testing out what she can handle eating a little bit at a time. She likes cake. The specialist really wants me to get her to gain weight, because she's tiny compared to what they think her age is, so that kind of works out. And I talked with the neighbors. They also have a hybrid. Tanaka and his girlfriend helped me start figuring out the paperwork."

She studies him for a moment. "You're really serious about taking proper care of her?"

"I mean, yeah. She deserves better than what she's got. I ordered some clothes for her, too. We're starting that slow because she really hated some of the stuff the neighbors had her try on, and she mostly likes the clothes she's been borrowing."

"…okay. I'll handle the paperwork and the landlord. But I need you to introduce me to her. This isn't gonna be sustainable if she's hiding every time I'm home."

He nods. "Let me get cleaned up from work and then I can go looking for her. You're not going back to sleep right away?"

"No. I tried, but, well—Hawaii's nineteen hours behind. It's midday for me right now."

"Great. Give me a minute."

~

He doesn't see you on his way into the bathroom. He even checks the shower, just in case, although you refuse to use it without coaxing. Probably, you're zipped up in your tent, ready to bite anyone who touches the tent zipper.

So he shucks his clothes off. Leaves the work jewelry in the dish. Scrubs himself clean, wanders back into his bedroom with a towel ruffling his hair as he hunts for fresh clothes.

He leaps about a meter into the air when he spots you sitting on his bed, jerking the towel down to cover himself. "Fuck, hi Kitty-cat, when did you—"

"I was in the cave," you say simply, pointing to the closet. "There's strangers in the apartment, Noya. You said strangers couldn't do that. And they won't go away."

"They're not strangers—can you, like, close your eyes or turn around or something?"

You tilt your head, staring at him without a single thought behind those pretty eyes. "Why?"

"I'm not wearing clothes."

"That's okay. It doesn't bother me."

"I don't want you to look at me naked, Kitty-cat, come on. Humans don't really do that unless they're mates."

"Huh? But you made me take my clothes off in the wet box yesterday. Wait—were you trying to—"

"That's different!" he calls, escaping into the walk-in closet to at least find a robe or something. "I was trying to help you get clean so your surgical sites don't get infected! Do you actually not know what sex is?"

"I know what sex is! I just don't get why you're being so weird about skin. You guys freaked out when I went to change into the clothes you told me to try, too. Humans are all so weird."

"I'm surprised you even agree to wear clothes, since you don't seem to care about them," he says. He's found something to wriggle into that wouldn't be weird for Mei to see him in.

"They're good for keeping warm and dry and stuff. And making me more comfy. And humans get weird if I don't wear them. Are you going to do something about the strangers?"

"Like I said, they're not strangers. Those are my sisters. I forgot they were coming, so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Oh. They're family…?"

He nods. He's finally dressed, finally decent. You didn't bother looking away for a second, because apparently you want him dead. "Yeah. They're family. One of them lives here, actually. She's been on a trip. You didn't notice her scent around the apartment?"

"I thought I noticed a little bit of a familiar smell," you mumble. "I'm glad I didn't bite them, then."

"Please don't bite them. Satsuki will probably bite back just as hard."

"But—" You cut off into a pout. "But I can bite harder."

He laughs. "Let's shoot for no biting at all, alright? C'mon, Mei wants to meet you, you need your meds, and we gotta feed Mama Kitty."

"I don't wanna meet Mei," you whisper in protest. You follow him all the same, though, sticking close as he wanders down the hall. In the living room, all three girls are awake, now, Satsuki yawning, Kaede crossing her arms.

"Alright, three in the morning, let's meet her," Kaede says when she sees him.

A warmth appears at his back—you've hidden behind him, peeking out around his arm, tail wrapping around his body as you stare at the girls.

Aw. You might even trust him.

"You said I only had to meet one of 'em, Noya," you whisper.

"I guess they're all awake," he replies, resisting the urge to wrap an arm around you. For your own comfort, obviously. "Uh, hey. Morning."

"You've gotta start using a planner or somethin', Yuu," Satsuki says as she stretches. "You forgot Mei was comin' home today, didn't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I forgot a lot of things. In my defense, I've been a little busy. Speaking of, before I forget—Kitty-cat, c'mon. Meds."

"Meds." You have a firm pout on your lips, but you let him lead you.

He feels mysteriously watched as he leads you to the kitchen, as he finds you a snack and something to drink with your antibiotics. "Remember what we talked about? Swallow the pill with the water and it'll be better."

You obey silently, eyes trained on the living room, on the waiting girls. They're watching you right back.

Meds, check.

"Uh, Mei, do you wanna come let her sniff you? She might feel better when she recognizes your smell."

"Yeah, sure." Mei approaches slowly, stops a bit short with her hand outstretched. You're glaring firmly, tail lashing behind you.

"I'm right here, okay, Kitty-cat?" he reassures softly. "She's not gonna hurt you."

Your eyes don't move from Mei, but you lower your head a little, grab her hand to inspect it. Sniff at her wrist purposefully.

"You're the flower girl," you say when you're satisfied. "Your scent was in the other room."

She nods. "My name's Mei. I travel a lot for work, so I've been in Hawaii all week. Do you have a name?"

You shake your head, draw back to hide behind Yuu all over again. Baby steps. He tries not to let you catch him smiling at the return of your tail around his arm. "Noya's been trying to find a name for me, but he sucks at it. Mei is a pretty name. It's easy. Do you also have a name you like people who are… um, close to you, to call you?"

His heart swells with pride. You're trying so hard.

"Nope! People who don't like me very much or don't know me that well, or people I work with, call me Nishinoya, and everyone else calls me Mei. You can call me Mei, too, if you want."

"And you're Noya's sister?"

"Yeah. Do you wanna meet his other sisters, too? They don't live here, but they visit and sleep here sometimes."

Your ears flatten all over again. "Are they safe? Noya said that, um, Sa-tsu-ki? Would bite me."

Satsuki lets out an affronted squawk from the living room. "I take offense to that!"

"Satsuki," Kaede admonishes, hitting her arm. "Watch your volume. You're gonna scare her."

She cringes. "Sorry. I promise I don't bite for no reason?"

You seem ambivalent, but let the girls approach, one at a time, to smell their hands.

"How're you feeling?" Yuu whispers to you. You still seem to be against the entire situation, pressing in close to him.

You let out a little grumpy noise.

Kaede bites back a laugh. "She's cute."

"Isn't she?"

"I don't wanna be cute," you say with a pout. "Don't call me that."

"Fine, fine," Yuu says. He introduces Satsuki and Kaede to you properly, lingers as long as his sisters can tolerate staying awake and as long as you can tolerate being around who you've dubbed as strangers. When you've had enough, tail flicking at the air instead of wrapping around him, he guides you out to get Mama Kitty's food and head downstairs with a hand on your shoulder.

On the stoop, you seem to relax a little, watching Mama Kitty and the ever-exploring baby kitties with a subdued interest.

"I am sorry," he says to you, interrupting your stubborn silence. "I really didn't know they were coming."

You glare at him. He sighs.

"Will more cake make it better?"

"Are they going to sleep there?"

He blinks. "In the living room?"

"Outside my cave."

His lips quirk in a smile. Your cave. "Yeah, they usually do. Is that too close for you?"

"I don't want them that close. I don't trust 'em."

"They're my sisters," he insists, but he knows it means nothing for you. "Do you want to hide in my closet tonight? We can move some blankets and stuff in there for you to make it more comfortable."

"…I also want the cake."

"Deal," he says. He makes good on both promises that night—you take your cake sitting on his bedroom floor, and he does his best to make the walk-in closet as comfortable for you as possible. Before long, you're leaving your dirty plate outside the closet door, pulling it shut with a satisfied nod. He's sure, when he wakes up later, that Mei and Satsuki and Kaede will have more for him—call Mom, talk about you, update on his life, but for now, he can get you to sleep, can get you to accept a peace offering of leftover cake. That's enough.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @staygoldsquatchling02

[fluffytriceratops]

new haikyuu fanfic alert!! :3

howdey yall~!

i'm currently working on a new haikyuu fanfic, it's a timeskip!sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader. it is called "apple juice". i will probably post the first chapter on here, but not the full story? idk yet-

however if you want to check it out, i have it published to 3 sites currently; wattpad, quotev, and ao3.

as i'm writing this the first chapter is still a wip, but if you're reading this from the future, then it's probably up by now! :D

please check it out if it's something that may interest you!! links below lovelies! <33

wattpad link:

quotev link:

ao3 link:

[chromakr]

Mean!Cowboy who you happen to meet one day at a bar with your friends.

Mean!Cowboy who buys you a drink while your already tipping out of your seat

Mean!Cowboy who looks at you crazy when you take his hat off his head and sit it on yours

Mean!Cowboy that you tell your friends whose taking you home for the night

Mean!Cowboy who smiles as he closes the door behind the two of you ready to give you the best ride of your life

[takes1]

i’ve never put in a request before but i read literally all of your haikyuu stuff and i was wondering if you could do something like your asahi x feral!reader but for tsukishima? or even just more asahi or tsukishima stuff would also be cool

tsukki using toys on feral!reader

i love you. here's your present pookie <3

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / rough sex / switchy, mostly dominant!tsukki / mutual masturbation / exhibitionism / voyeurism / use of vibrator / use of dildo / mutual crushing / dirty talk / tsukki loves to tease / flirty!tsukki / friend sex / mostly clothed sex / light choking / 3.3k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3

Even the way he slid his tie off made you want to drop to your knees and beg him to fuck.

Tsukishima was an alright buddy, but you knew he'd make a much better lover. Maybe it was your delusion, built-up by years of crushing on your closest friend, but there was something about being a mean guy's favorite got you going.

More specifically: soaked, swimming in your raunchy imagination, even investing in some toys to help with the fantasy of it all, most nights.

He had no clue. You were always careful not to look at him more than you had to, to never speak to him too often. It was only thanks to being in the same class that he came over to study, and you got the chance to callous your crush-masking and Calculus III at the same unfortunate time. So fun.

"You study at all yet?" He stretched with a yawn, sore and tired from practice.

"A little," You were usually curt with him when it was just you two.

Today, Yamaguchi opted to work on his serves after practice with his mentor, instead of studying with you two. You nearly cancelled this, but you needed to go over a few concepts with somebody before the quiz tomorrow morning.

Yamaguchi was the best person to bounce off of, so the three of you had better, friendlier chemistry than just you and Tsukishima. You didn't have to fake it as much.

You set your laptop up on your desk and stood, bent at the hips to open up your class materials and take some books out of your bag.

"I didn't have time today," A weight was on the side of your hip, making you stifle a flinch. It was only the side of his leg, from the way he leaned back onto your desk right next to you, "I had to practice at lunch, too."

Another yawn.

They had been busier, lately. Both of them couldn't meet as regularly because they had extra, informal practices.

"Big match coming up?" You clicked to the website and took the soonest opportunity to get away.

You sat down in your chair and kept your eyes on the monitor. You couldn't handle his proximity. You were already wet just from the ride over, having to sit thigh-to-thigh with him on the train. It would be impossible to focus if he kept this shit up.

"Kinda."

The conversation died there. Neither of you tried too hard to keep any discussion alive without Yamaguchi.

He started getting his materials together and paused, then took another few minutes to root around. He glanced around your desk and didn't find what he was looking for.

"You got a pen I could borrow?"

You half-hummed, in the middle of copying down an equation from the screen to your paper.

"Uhh- yeah, yeah. Bedside table. Should be next to the uhhh, the lamp."

Tsukishima watched you for a moment longer, suspicious, but stretched again and pushed himself up to find the pen. To his delight, that was not what he found, when he tried looking through the drawers instead of limiting his search to the surface.

A quick glance back to you- still focused on anything but him, to a level he had grown to understand as simply overcompensation, and he knew he was clear to let his curiosity roam.

"Interesting."

"Wha'?" You mumbled, lazy against your knuckles, a dry, slow blink at your monitor filled with equations.

Long, slim fingers danced over the pink, silicone dildo in the back of your drawer. His grin grew to serious proportions when he found its smaller, surely nosier friend. He could have guessed you were a little freak, but loved this confirmation.

In your attempt to give your retinas a break, you found a spare pen behind one of your notebooks.

"Oh-, hey, I found it," You sighed.

You turned in your swivel chair to face him and see what the delay was about. A flash of pink in his hand made your blood run cold.

"Tsukki!"

You almost tripped scrambling out of your chair, the sound of your call a short and wheezy one, so he had plenty of warning before you were upon him, plastered to his front just like he wanted.

"Put that down!"

His hand flew high into the air, at a height you could never hope to reach- it angered you so quickly, and you felt your face getting hot. That tall bastard utilized his abnormal wingspan at the worst of times.

Frantic fingers clawed his sweater down, but there was no chance you could pull his entire arm down far enough.

From here, you realized he was also holding your smaller vibrator in the same hand. That just wasn't possible without freakishly large proportions.

You screamed, "You're such a fucking weirdo! Put it back!!"

Tsukishima pouted at you, making you think you might have gotten through to him, but like most of his expressions, it was sarcastic.

"Ooooh... I'm the weirdo?"

That one, especially coupled with the eye roll, pissed you off. It wasn't your fault that he was incapable of sexual attraction. You were over-active, sure, and maybe you rivalled the sex drive of a man, but that was your personal business. Up until now, it was stored safe and secret.

"Fuck you!"

You shoved him. And he actually fell back. He wasn't very heavy.

When he hit your mattress, it was a race to recapture your toys that had gotten knocked out of his hand before you could get to them.

You scrapped to get on top of him, weigh him down, and dodged his elbow to reach his wrist-- it was too late. He gripped the thing and you could only then try to pry his hand open.

"Ah-ah-ah," His smirk was so mean, how he found you, in the midst of all your panic, as cute as a button, "What's the magic word?"

"You're never coming over again, you dick," You muttered, fuming, when his fingers just wouldn't be opened.

Tsukishima didn't do much to keep his hand away from you. You held his forearm against your chest because you the most leverage there.

His unrestricted laugh was pretty; scratchy and elevated, watching you try and try again to take your belongings back from him.

Fatigue was getting in the way of your efforts. When he pulled his hand back, over his head, you got knocked off balance and caught yourself, looking down at him.

It distracted you for a moment.

There was something in his eyes you hadn't noticed before, in all your attempts to retrieve your precious toys.

"A little small..." He furrowed his brow, a purse on his lips as he angled it in the light behind you, "Don't you think?"

The hand against your other side made you pause. His thumb, starting to rub you through your uniform, made you shudder.

Why was everything so slow, all of a sudden? You could hear your elevated heart rate, acutely aware of how heavy your breathing had gotten. Tsukishima seemed as though he had always been here, in this state, because he looked you over at a glacial pace.

"Oh- god," You shivered at the realization you were sitting on him, in your skirt.

What had been such a sure reality of never getting off to him again, all at once, became the very reason to do so.

When you looked like you were gearing up to move off of him, smaller, and meeker in spirit, he spoke up through your habitual doubts.

"Stay-," His hand was firm now, gently pushing your weight onto himself, "Stay here."

Hearing something genuine come out of Tsukishima's mouth was so rare that you thought he was joking. You kept trying to rise off of him.

"Hey," He chuckled, but his smile was fleeting.

He set your toys down and used both hands to weigh you down by your thighs. Your uncomfortable expression was mostly confusion.

"Why would I do that?"

You were torn between wanting to take your stuff back and get far away, and the animalistic urge to stay and entertain whatever this was.

His scoff, the roll of his eyes, made your thighs flex, like it always did. This time, he could feel it. But it was confirmation he didn't need, at this point.

"Don't act like you're not into me."

The heaviness of being caught made you sink. It didn't appeal to you to find out why he knew. He was intelligent, after all, and made it his job to notice small things.

Now that it was out in the open, you had no need to lie. A lot less to worry about, too.

Tsukishima smirked at your tiny, defeated sigh.

You glanced to the toys, free for you to take and hide again, but found no desire to do so. You took a good, thorough feel of that soft sweater under your hands. It turned into pushing up under his shirt, and adjusting closer down, open for a kiss, if he felt so inclined.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, restraining himself only once, at that little, dirty roll you did against his cock.

A slow, unsure kiss was soon a rushed and racy battle for power.

Any drop of validation you gave him, whether in sound or feel, was drowned in a charged kind of yearning for more; More of that noise, more of your mouth, more of your body under his starving grasp.

His fingers spread over the plush of your ass, quickly between you and your underwear, spreading you from the back with so much vigor that you whined at all the intensity.

"Mm- yeahh, I know you like that shit," He nestled his kisses against the side of your face, rough and smiley.

You gasped, sharp, at his words and his nails digging lines into your skin.

"Oh my god," You moaned, eyes shutting at how his attention seemed to wrack through you like some sick wave.

In your sudden inability to kiss him back, he ripped open your uniform blouse and sucked hasty bites into your chest.

Finally. He made you feel like you could take anything.

When he sat up, you came with him, and rejoiced in the way he shoved you onto your back, all out of breath and turned on, hovering over you like you were his. That proud expression on your face deserved a few more kisses, he decided.

They were still so rough and challenging to keep up with- especially when you felt him sliding your panties off.

"M-mn," You chased after his lips for a second, not wanting him to pull away so quick.

"I want you to use this," He muttered, and handed you your vibrator- he was keeping it in his pocket, so it didn't get lost in the sheets (as it often liked to).

The sound of that was enough to make you giggle, instantly compliant. But it made you curious.

"Well- what will you do?"

Tentative, you held it without moving- but his hands guided it right where it needed to be. He smirked at your gasps, your thighs flexing hard against him.

"I'll watch," His voice was proceeded by the clang of his belt, zipping out of his belt loops and clattering onto the floor.

Your drunken eyes widened at the monster he pulled out. Yeah, it did make your dildo look small. But it looked natural in his big hand, starting to stroke himself at the view of you, under him.

There was no chance to be coy- he was doing the same thing, even the one to suggest it all. You gave a dreamy sigh, content at the chance to be his cam girl.

His head tilted, eyes lowered to watch your pussy, getting juicier by the minute- so he was a sick son of a bitch, too.

Ever the one to tease, he muttered, "How often d'you think about me?"

That made you warm. You didn't want to say it right away, because even you knew it was getting to be an addiction. It was hard not working one out every night when he was making you horny any time you spoke in class.

"Every day..." You mumbled, eyes still locked on the way he stroked himself, curious to try it for yourself.

He was busy imagining how often you had probably both been masturbating at the same time, with no idea. His hands pushed your thighs up- a nasty, preoccupied gaze on just the way it puffed up your pussy. God, he needed to feel you from the inside.

"Me, too," He admitted. Though it was a dirty thing to say, he said it so flat, in his own little way, as he searched for that dildo. He left out the fact that he jerked off multiple times a day.

"You wanna get that wet for me?"

You hummed, sweet and cute, at the opportunity in front of your face.

Getting it nice and slick in your mouth was just a way to torture him a little more, let him in on what he had been missing- you sucked the thing off a little longer than necessary.

His jaw flexed at the sight, his eyes narrow, intense, just how you liked them.

You grinned as he took it back and cleaned the string of spit from your lip. He sucked it off of his finger like cotton candy.

Tsukishima took the liberty of filling you up with it- watching every little twitch and savoring every whine with so much concentration.

The look of it had him pumping himself a little faster, a little dumb at the sight of you stuffed, already, and dripping onto your sheets. You had been getting off to him every night, then treating him like the dirt under your shoe, for three years?

"I would've been fuckin' you so good- mmnh- freshman year, if you had just been honest with me."

His words made you lose your breath, gasping at the thought of how much you could've helped yourself out, if only things had been different. But, that fixation on his face, all the anticipation leading up to now; you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

You bit your lip at how slow and patient he was, stretching you out all for himself.

"D'you want me to cum?" You asked, tone purposefully candied for him.

There was no hesitation. He looked a little staggered. It was adorable, how badly he wanted to see it happen.

"Fuck, yes."

It took you more effort to hold out, talk, and edge, than it did to give him a show.

You just fell into what you usually did when you got home from classes- this time, with little sounds falling from your lips, and your thighs up the way he liked so much.

The way his eyes clouded over, how he started to relax in the shoulders, and grew breathier at your performance stroked your ego on a deeper level.

"Ah-h!"

His breath stalled at the sudden tension, the gasp on your lips. He was watching you, completely captivated, at your rigid brow and crescendoing sounds.

"Mnn-H-Aahh!" You wished he would touch you, so bad, but it didn't happen. He was too busy studying you.

"Damn," He sighed.

He was taken by the way you came completely undone for him- it made his face soften, made him want to kiss you through it, but he loved watching from right here. It was unbelievably hot.

Though he pulled out that pink obstruction to his real plan, he didn't let you move your vibrator away. He grinned at your reaction, as you were still coming down.

You squirmed at the discomfort, a little panic in your eyes, all to find him enjoying it more.

"A-ahh-! Tsukki--,"

"Ohh- sorry, you thought you were getting a break?" His voice was so sweet, so amused.

He lined himself up with you, sure to lube up in all that extra slickness. It was so deranged and bold that it made you relax, watching in quiet, but whiny captivation, despite needing more time.

"Fuuck," He sighed, a huffy laugh on his lips at how perfect you took him, "God- mmnh-!"

It shouldn't have surprised you, but he wasn't slow, and he wasn't gentle. You supposed you weren't, either. You were both one in the same, too excited and caught up in the rare chance to let loose with a likeminded pervert.

The intensity in his twitchy brow gave way to a narrowed focus on your face.

"Feels so good, (Y/n)."

"Mmnh- call me anything but my- na-me," You sighed, a clip at the end of your phrase as he started using you like his own toy, fast.

He stretched you so good- nothing like your pitiful replacement for him. You couldn't believe he was packing so much, for such a skinny guy.

Though you half-expected him to keep using your name as a means to tease you; he smirked, instead.

"You can- ahh, be my dirty little slut, then-,"

You did say 'anything.' And, to your pleasant surprise, you didn't hate that as much as you thought you would. You still laughed at him, though, because he deserved it. He grinned, unable to take it too seriously, too.

Your recovery period was laughably short. The newness of his cock, the hungry look in his mean face over you, his attitude completely transformed by your body, had you short of breath all over again, wanting more, taking him better with less discomfort.

You welcomed his intensity. This time, all of it, finally wasn't fabricated in your head.

It began to spiral, tightening like a spring in your tummy, into the fundamental need to be railed to another orgasm.

"Harder- please," Your begging couldn't go unrewarded.

It was like he was waiting for confirmation to fuck you as hard as he wanted-- his hand naturally squeezed around your throat, a struggle playing out in his eyes, now, at the way you gripped his arm to keep it there.

He got raspy, breathy, sweat rolling down the side of his face.

Your volume was intense- elation and indulgence all at your liberty, since you were the only people home. Your family trusted Tsukishima, and you were only just now learning that they probably shouldn't.

"F-uck!"

The pretty shock taking your face, coupled with the spasm of your cunt as you actually came twice was all too much for a guy as nasty as him.

That shit was too raw- your gasps, wavering cries, too good for his filthy mind. He was gonna throw all of his porn away as soon as he got home. Next time he needed to cum, he'd take the train here.

He pulled out and absolutely ruined that cute uniform. You were twitchy, panting at all the overstimulation, drenched in sweat, and unable to care right now. He pried his own fingers, slowly, from your neck and lowered to kiss you. It was slower, now, as you both caught your breath.

Coming down with somebody wasn't nearly as sobering as coming down by yourself.

His forehead was slippery against yours, "I'll pay for- ah, your uniform, if I need to."

It was a sweet gesture. You pressed a kiss against his cheek with a laugh, "Just throw it all in the washer."

"Hm," He smirked, an idea taking form behind his eyes as you were carefully stripped of your clothes.

"Let's go again. One more time."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[dee-writes-anime]

On Your Knees, Baby

FEATURING Tetsuro Kuroo x Reader

SUMMARY you’re tangled up with Kuroo Tetsuro; ex-captain, pro-volleyball strategist, and the most insufferably attractive man you’ve ever met. He's cocky, flirty, and oh-so-wrong for you… but he fucks like it’s a sport and you’re the grand prize.

CONTENT WARNINGS NSFW, explicit sexual content (18+), filthy language, oral (f+m receiving), fingering, begging, teasing, light breath play, overstimulation, dirty talk (he's kinda sleazy with it), possessiveness, marking, degradation (“cockdumb,” “filthy little girl”), rough sex, reader is feral and down bad (understandably), dumbification

AUTHORS NOTE I never intended to bring Haikyuu into this until I looked at the Kuroo tag and was horribly disappointed by the sheer lack of content. If I can't be fed by others, I must feed myself (and of course you guys too 😉)

You shouldn’t even be here.

Not in his apartment, not with your legs pressed tight together on his stupid velvet couch, and especially not with the way he’s looking at you like he already owns your next breath.

But Kuroo Tetsurō has always had a way of talking you into bad ideas.

You met him at a JVA charity banquet six months ago—he’d been in a fitted black suit with a loosened tie and that wolfish grin that said, I’m already imagining you naked. You told yourself you could handle flirting. Told yourself he was just a good distraction. Told yourself a lot of things before you found yourself bent over his kitchen counter at 1AM, moaning his name into his palm.

And yet, here you are again.

Same smirk. Same heat behind his eyes. Only now, he’s barefoot in black joggers and a loose tee, glasses slipping down his nose, a glass of red in hand like the perfect storm of domestic and dangerous.

"You’ve been squirming since I sat down," he says, voice low and too satisfied. “What’s got you so tense, baby?”

You glare at him. “Maybe it’s the way you keep staring like I’m already on my knees.”

He chuckles, deep and amused. “You say that like it’s not where you always end up.”

Your stomach flips.

He sets his wine down and leans back against the couch, legs spread wide, completely unbothered. “You’re all dressed up for me, aren’t you?” he asks, eyeing the skirt you’d picked without thinking. “Trying to look sweet, but I know exactly how filthy you are.”

“You’re a menace,” you mutter, looking away.

“But you love it,” he hums, fingers grazing your thigh. “Bet you were soaking before you even knocked on my door.”

His hand trails higher.

You catch his wrist. “You’re so cocky.”

He smiles slow. “Not cocky. Confident. There’s a difference, sweetheart.”

Then, before you can throw a retort, he grabs your chin—firm, but not rough—and tilts your face back toward him. His gaze darkens.

“Open your legs for me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. And your body obeys before your brain catches up, knees parting just enough for him to slide his hand up and over your inner thigh.

He whistles low. “No panties? Fuck—look at you.”

“I didn’t think I’d need them,” you say, trying to sound smug, but your breath catches when two of his fingers glide right through your folds.

“You didn’t,” he mutters, eyes locked on the way you jolt when he rubs slow, dirty circles over your clit. “God, you’re so wet already. You missed this, didn’t you?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

You glare weakly. “I missed you.”

He leans close, lips grazing your ear. “No, baby. Not me. Say what you really missed.”

A long, tense pause. You’re breathless. Aching.

“…I missed your cock.”

A sharp breath. A grin like sin.

“There’s my good girl.”

He kisses you, filthy and slow, tasting like the wine he’d been sipping on. His fingers never stop moving, rubbing and dipping into you, teasing more than giving, just enough to keep you on edge. He swallows every moan like a man starved.

“I could do this all night,” he mutters against your lips. “Just have you spread open on my couch, making those pretty little sounds while I play with your pussy.”

You whimper when he pushes two fingers deep, curling them in just the right spot. Your hips lift. He holds you down.

“Nuh-uh,” he growls. “You take what I give you.”

He pulls back, watching you unravel.

“You know what I think about every time I see you?” he asks casually. “Your mouth. Wrapped around me. So desperate you gag on it.”

You whimper.

“I think about how messy you get. How you drool on it. How you look up at me like you’d die if I don’t let you swallow.”

Your body trembles, his words burning hot down your spine.

“And then I think about bending you over every surface in this apartment,” he growls. “Fucking you stupid until you’re crying on my cock, begging me not to stop.”

He yanks his fingers from you and sucks them into his mouth with a groan.

“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You’re panting, wrecked, thighs shaking—and he hasn’t even pulled his cock out yet.

But he’s already standing, dragging you off the couch and guiding you to your knees between his legs. His voice drops to a dangerous low, “open up, baby. Be a good girl and show me how much you really missed me.”

Your knees hit the floor with a soft thud, thighs already sticky, brain spinning with how fast he flipped the script on you—but you should’ve expected it.

Kuroo always gets what he wants.

And tonight? That’s your mouth.

“Look at you,” he mutters, thumbing your chin as you stare up at him, lips parted and eyes wide. “Prettiest fuckin’ mess I’ve ever seen.”

He pushes his sweatpants down, cock already thick and heavy, flushed deep and leaking at the tip. He wraps a hand around the base and gives it one slow pump, eyes locked on yours.

“You want it?” he asks, voice all velvet and filth.

You nod, pupils blown wide. He clicks his tongue.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“…I want it.”

“You want what?”

You flush, but he just raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“I want your cock.”

That smirk sharpens. “Say please.”

You swallow. “Please… I want your cock in my mouth.”

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing the head of it across your lips, leaving a smear of precum behind. “So polite when you’re desperate.”

You open wide for him, and he slides in slow—just the tip at first, watching the way your mouth stretches around him, the way your lashes flutter.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “God, that tongue—yeah, fuck, baby, just like that.”

You moan softly around him, and it’s like flipping a switch. His hand tangles in your hair, tightening—not rough, but firm enough to make you feel it.

“Get it messy,” he grits out. “I want to see spit on your chin, all over my cock—don’t hold back. You know how I like it.”

And you do. You do.

You take him deeper, letting your throat stretch, jaw ache, tears prick the corners of your eyes as you gag just slightly—but that only makes him groan harder, head tipping back.

“Fuuuck. You were made for this,” he growls, hips twitching just a little. “Taking it so good. Fuckin’ mouth was built to suck cock.”

He pulls out with a wet pop, strings of spit glistening from your lip to his tip. You’re breathing heavy, mascara smudged, drool clinging to your chin—and he looks like he wants to devour you.

“Open wider,” he growls. “Stick that tongue out for me.”

You do, obedient and dazed, and he slaps the head of his cock against it twice—wet, obscene.

“There’s my filthy little girl,” he mutters. “All fucked out and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

You try to reach for him again, but he grabs you by the throat. Not to choke, not yet, just a firm grip, his thumb stroking your jaw.

“Y’know what drives me crazy?” he murmurs, crouching down until you’re eye-level. “The way you look at me when you’re like this. Eyes all glassy, lips swollen, like you want me to wreck you.”

You breathe in shallow gasps, nodding.

“You wanna be ruined, baby?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please. I can’t- Tetsu, I need you!”

“Oh, I know.”

He hauls you up like you weigh nothing, spins you around, and bends you over the couch.

His hand presses to the small of your back, keeping you arched and open, while the other drags up your spine and tangles in your hair again.

You’re panting, trembling, already on the edge—and he hasn’t even slid in yet.

“You feel that?” he mutters, grinding the length of him along your soaked pussy. “That’s what you do to me.”

You whimper, trying to push back, but he grips your hip hard.

“Ah-ah. You take what I give you.”

He notches the head against your entrance, pauses, then slams in deep.

You cry out, the stretch overwhelming, the fullness electric.

“Fuck,” he growls into your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “So tight. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You can’t even answer—just moan, barely able to breathe as he starts to move, hips snapping into yours with a pace that’s just this side of brutal.

“You feel that?” he rasps. “Feel me fucking you open? Every inch? Gonna make this pussy remember me.”

And he does. God, he does.

Every thrust is deep, relentless, dragging against every nerve, while he murmurs filth into your ear:

“Can’t even think, can you? Already cockdumb and we’re just getting started.”

“Gonna fill you up so good you’ll be leaking for hours.”

“Bet you’ll still be shaking tomorrow, thinkin’ about how hard I fucked you.”

Your body starts to tremble; heat curling, blinding, so close-

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes—Tetsu, I’m gonna—”

“Then do it. Come on my cock. Let go.”

And you shatter, stars bursting behind your eyes as your body clamps down around him, wave after wave crashing through you. He groans loud, hips stuttering.

“Fuck, fuck- gonna come, where do you want it?”

You barely gasp it out: “Inside! Please, come in me-”

He growls, hips jerking erratically as he spills into you, filling you to the brim with a broken moan of your name.

The room goes quiet.

You’re both breathless—sweaty, wrecked, clinging to each other.

And then Kuroo laughs softly against your back.

“Goddamn,” he pants, still buried inside you. “You’re dangerous.”

You chuckle weakly. “You started it.”

He pulls you into his lap on the couch, kisses your temple, and whispers against your skin, “next time you come over, don’t bother wearing anything at all.”

[chaepink]

Private lessons | sub!oikawa toru

wc: 2.8k+ words | masterlist

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

note: lets see if i can still write good

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now back to the present.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises an eyebrow before stepping closer and smirking.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, the rumors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he want this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So now he follows your orders.

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

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

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

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

"The… function?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you for the private lesson, miss."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[way-too-addicted-to-anime]

See now I'm just sad. Why do you do this to me?

tastes like sadness | suna rintarou

synopsis; (y/n) and suna have a heartfelt chat about her complicated relationship with atsumu

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It’s past midnight, and the apartment is quiet.

Suna hears the faint click of the balcony door behind him but doesn’t turn. From the soft shuffle of her steps, the faint scent of her shampoo, to the barely-there way she moves when the world is asleep—he knows it's her.

(Y/n) joins him without a word, settling into the chair beside his. A moment later, a warm mug is nudged into his hand.

“Chamomile,” she says lightly. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Her voice is soft, sweet, and as gentle as the night breeze that sweeps through the air. It’s silly, really—she’s barely said a word, and yet Suna finds himself fighting the urge to close his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear, just to give her a reason to say it again.

Part of him wonders what she'd think if she ever found out. If she knew about what she did to him—if she knew that the sound of her alone could knock the air right out of his chest.

He pushes down the thought and instead glances at the mug, then at her, but she’s already curled into her blanket like some sleepy little burrito. Her hair’s a bit messy. Her eyes still carry remnants of a dream she hasn’t quite left behind. He takes a sip, lets the bitterness settle on his tongue.

“Chamomile is such a sad flavour,” he murmurs.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “You think chamomile tastes like sadness?”

“A bit.”

She doesn’t argue. Just sips hers in silence, the steam curling up toward the stars. Somewhere below them, the city glimmers—wet streets, red tail lights, a puddle reflecting the glow of a corner store sign.

The silence between them stretches. It isn’t awkward, per se—it never is with her. Their quiets speak fluently.

It’s usually so peaceful, so familiar. But tonight, it feels... a little melancholic.

Suna tries not to think about why.

“You’re up late,” she says.

“So are you.”

He doesn’t try and read her expression—not that he needs to. He knows she didn’t come out here for tea or small talk.

He's known her for so long, has had so many years to read her—learn her. By now, he knows the shape of her silences like they're his favourite song, has memorised the weight behind her all her pauses.

There’s something on her mind tonight. Something—someone—she’s been holding in all day.

And she chose him to talk to.

Not because it’ll be easy, but because she knows he’ll listen.

That knowledge settles heavily in his chest, dull and quiet. He should go inside, finish that true crime video he was watching. Make some excuse. Pretend he's tired. Walk away before it hurts.

But he doesn’t.

Because Suna never takes more than she’s willing to give.

And if this moment, this conversation, this ache—is all she’s offering, then he’ll take it. Even if it bruises something tender inside him.

She breaks the silence first.

“Do you think he likes me?”

Her voice is still quiet, still gentle. But it cleaves through him like a blade anyway.

The question is more painful for him to hear than it is for her to say, though he'd never be bold enough to say that out loud.

He stares out at the buildings, eyes unfocused, his fingers tightening slightly around the mug.

“Who?” he asks, though he already knows. Of course he knows. It's a stupid reflex—deflecting.

Nonchalance, silence—they’re the greatest weapons in his arsenal. A double-edged sword, really—because when it came to her, maybe they had always been his downfall.

“You know who.”

And there it is.

He wonders for a second what it would be like to lie. To say no. To protect himself for once. But he’s never been that kind of selfish.

So he swallows and asks—the bitterness in his throat no longer from the tea—“Do you think he does?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and her voice is so unsure it makes something twist in his chest for so many different reasons. “Sometimes it feels like yes. Other times... I think I’m imagining it. Or maybe he’s just playing around. I can’t tell.”

This time, he finally looks at her. The blanket has slipped a little, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the way she’s curled in on herself like she’s afraid of the answer. Steam from her tea curls up and around her like magic. A streetlamp glows behind her, casting its light through the strands of her hair that cascade down her shoulders like a river of gold.

Angelic, he thinks. So sad, so afraid—and still, somehow, so unbearably beautiful.

He turns his gaze back to the skyline. Tries to steady his pulse.

He’s aware the second she goes back inside, she’ll keep wondering about Atsumu.

She’ll laugh at something he says. Maybe fall for him a little more.

But right now?

Right now, she’s here.

And god, it hurts.

“You shouldn’t have to guess,” he says.

That makes her pause. Her eyes flick to him, searching for something, but he doesn’t give it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“...You think I’m reading into things?”

“I think if someone wants you,” he says slowly, carefully, “they should make it obvious. Especially with you.”

Her brows furrow slightly. “Why especially me?”

He exhales through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. The words come out before he can stop them.

“Because you overthink everything. You feel everything. You’ll blame yourself if you get hurt.”

It hangs there between them—heavy, raw, too close to the truth.

She doesn’t speak. Just holds her mug a little tighter. He hates the way their silence feels different tonight—thicker. Like maybe she’s hearing something underneath what he’s saying, has somehow managed to pick apart his brain and see through his act.

She doesn't, he realises. And he doesn't know what stings more.

“You always know what to say,” she murmurs.

Relief? Is that what he should be feeling?

He's already said so much, let words he'd only ever thought about fall from his mouth.

And still, still she doesn't know. Doesn't see it. Doesn't read between the lines of his own self-deprecating script.

Sometimes he wishes he had Atsumu's nerve. Just so he could stomp down his ugly feelings and deflect them with loud words and flirty one-liners.

But he's not that kind of person.

He's not Atsumu.

He's Suna.

And Suna... loves her so much he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes.

So he forces it down, locks away his thoughts and feelings, and tosses away the key.

She's not his.

Might not ever be.

And he refuses to become someone else's problem.

It takes him a lot more effort than usual to play it off, forcing the smallest, faintest smirk before saying, “Yeah. I’m annoying like that.”

She smiles at that—soft, sleepy, affectionate—and rests her head against his shoulder without asking. She never does. And what makes him tense when others try, what makes him pull away without thinking, only makes him crumble when it’s her.

The thought tugs unpleasantly at his heartstrings.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just lets her stay there, warm and oblivious, while his heart folds in on itself quietly. Gently. Like paper.

Because if he shifts even a little, if he opens his mouth again—

It’ll all come pouring out.

So he takes another sip of the tea. Lets the steam blur his vision, just for a moment.

“Still tastes like sadness,” he says, voice low.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she murmurs against him.

He huffs a quiet breath that doesn’t quite qualify as a laugh.

Their shoulders bump slightly, then settle again.

And somewhere inside, where no one can see, Suna’s heart breaks—quietly, completely, and without a sound.

[sodaneko]

EXOPLANETS ; Iwaizumi x gn!reader

five times Iwaizumi almost kisses you and one time he does

contains: gn!reader (no pronouns or gendered terms), strangers to lovers, 5+1 things, fluff, mutual pining, diy tattoos, alcohol mention, weed mention, Oikawa mention, shotgunning, five slightly suggestive lines if you squint, a lot of easter eggs and cross-references. written as a gift for @eggyrocks ♡

word count: 4.5k

✧. ┊ ONE

It’s Kyotani’s birthday party and you’re sitting outside on the fire escape, covered in five buckets of fake blood and rolling yourself a cigarette. The wind is icy on your face and the air would smell like early snow if it wasn’t for the dubious popcorn experiments happening in the kitchen right now. You weren’t allowed to smoke inside anymore after someone set one of the dried up houseplants a little bit on fire when stubbing out a cigarette on it (it was just once but the pot was fuming for two days and a half).

Kyotani always brings a mix of the strangest people together. There’s you and your other fellow students from your gender studies class, then guys from his former highschool volleyball team. There is also a bunch of men with face tattoos and a criminal record from his underground fight club (who are currently nailing the choreo to Rihanna in Just Dance), some nerds he met at a Pokémon TCG tournament (you and him once bought a hundred booster packs together while high and he thought he could recover from the financial ruin by winning one of these things) and the small group of housewives from his DND group who he meets once a month.

It’s unclear why Kyotani asked everyone to dress up for this but you’re not mad about having an occasion to drench yourself in fake blood and call it a night. In true Patrick Bateman fashion you also spent hours with excessive skin care prior to the party while you watched your best friend and roommate Atsumu zip himself up in the skimpiest maid outfit you’ve ever seen. It may be early December but that wouldn’t hold him back from showing off his thighs and a bit of his ass cheeks–maybe at heart he was just a 2000s British party girl trapped in the body of a 6’3 athlete. You shared the same cheap cherry lip gloss before heading out in the cold. 

A few drinks into the night and your head starts to hurt, which is when you retreat outside through the kitchen window to your usual spot on the fire escape. With the rolled cigarette dangling from your lips, you pat down the pockets of your suit in search of a lighter. You let out a frustrated groan when you realize you lent it to two guys dressed as Melody and Kuromi and that you’ll probably never get it back, which sucked because it had a kitty cat leaning on an eight-ball while smoking on it and you got it for free from your local conbini girl in exchange for a hand-crocheted triangle bikini top.

Someone taps your shoulder and you almost drop your cigarette if it wasn’t for the stranger’s quick reflexes, catching it for you before it would be gone with the wind. His fingers tilt your chin up a little and he puts the cigarette back between your lips. You look up and meet the gaze of Inuyasha.

Or well, a guy dressed as Inuyasha, but it might as well be your childhood crush come to life. Tan skin, sharp snaggleteeth that weren’t part of the costume but still fitting, and a pair of eyes that feel like they’re piercing straight through you. Your stomach does the little flip thing and you briefly wonder what was in the drinks you let Atsumu mix for you, but that was something to ponder on later. For now you only stare back at him, nodding when he asks if the seat next to you is free.

He sits down close to you and then reaches for something hidden in his sleeve and pulls out–your lighter. 

“Sorry about my friends. They have a knack for never returning things,” he huffs and you snatch the lighter from him, your face cracking into a smile. 

“Very noble of you,” you say, then hold up the light for him when he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear and puts it between his lips as well. His hand comes to cup yours to shield the flame from the wind and for a second your faces are close, so close, before you lean back again, taking a deep inhale of your cig. 

“Cool costume. You watch a lot of movies? Me too,” he says and rests his chin on one palm, looking at you. There’s something about his gaze that makes you feel drawn to him and you briefly wonder what he’d look like without the cheap white wig and also if he’d keep the costume on if you were to hook up with him and ask him nicely about it. 

“Is that so? Name every movie then,” you retort and it makes him laugh. Fuck. He has a really nice laugh.

You lean over and brush a few strands of the plastic hair behind his ears because the combination of the wind and the lit cigarette seems like a potential fire hazard (you learned a lot about fire hazards this year) and you’d kinda hate to see him combust too soon. 

What you don’t expect is him leaning in, almost nuzzling his face into your palm when you do, and looking back at you with a flicker that can only be described as drunk and lovesick. It makes your heart stumble in your ribcage a little. 

“Or you can just tell me your name. Unless you want me to save your contact as ‘Inuyasha’ in my phone. I can do that too,” you add when you pull your hand away, as if you’ve burned yourself by getting a bit too close to the sun. You put your cigarette between your lips and pull out your phone, tapping the screen a few times before glancing up at him again.

“It’s Iwaizumi. Hajime Iwaizumi.”

You think a lot about kissing Hajime Iwaizumi for the rest of the night.

✧. ┊ TWO

Osamu and Suna share the apartment directly below yours and when they text you that they made weed brownies, you didn’t really think about just how many of them they made. Together with Atsumu you shuffle downstairs, not expecting a bunch of other people to be there. Maybe then you would’ve worn something that wasn’t Atsumu’s old highschool club shirt and a pair of velour track pants you bedazzled yourself so it would read “soup” across your butt, but here you are. 

“Is this some kind of side business now?”, you ask Suna when you pull him aside. He has the biggest, shit-eating grin known to man plastered across his face and shakes his head. 

“A bunch of guys from his culinary school said they didn’t know how to bake weed brownies and Osamu offered to teach them, and somehow it turned into a ‘bring your own weed, get a tray of brownies’ party,” he replies and leans a little closer to you, which you know means he has a piece of juicy gossip to share. “One guy here totally got scammed, too. Spent ¥24,000 on some, can you believe?”

You almost choke on the piece of brownie in your hand. Osamu pressed it faithfully into your palm the moment you entered the kitchen, knowing he could trust you with it. Both of you had a very loose definition of trust–to Osamu it meant believing you won’t be dumb enough to eat more than one piece of the brownies, to you it meant you won’t change the contact names in his phones to soup ingredients again, no matter how high, and you both respected that.

“What, was it gold-dusted or something?” You cough and laugh, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes while Suna pats your back with empathy. “What a guy. Introduce us, I need to add him to my dream blunt rotation.”

Your eyes follow the direction Suna is nodding at, somewhere in the living room, and you meet the gaze of Iwaizumi Hajime slash Inuyasha from the fire escape. You start laughing again and head over to him, the sulk written all over his face.

“Not a word. I know, I know,” he groans when he makes space for you next to him on the couch. You squeeze in beside him and hug your knees to your chest, then catch the pillow he’s throwing at you when you can’t stop laughing the second you look at him.

“It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” “So what if I do?”

Iwaizumi huffs again and his arm just happens to be behind you on the couch, his fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. Appreciate it, he grumbles, and eventually his face softens when you start telling him some anecdotes of your high life that definitely make the ¥24,000 weed purchase seem a little less dramatic. 

It’s loud in the apartment, with music blasting and people chattering, but you barely register any of it; too absorbed by his eyes that dart to your lips every now and then, and his tongue poking out from between his lips when he does, and the rattling desire in your chest that he could kiss you right here, right now. 

His fingers grab your chin and tilt your face up again, just like they did last time on the fire escape, except now he’s brushing over the corners of your mouth, collecting a few crumbs that were still there. He brings them to his lips, licking them off in one clean swipe of his tongue, and you’re pretty sure you’d let him devour you.

✧. ┊ THREE

Mattsun–the Kuromi from Kyotani’s party–and his friends from the forensics science department are hosting an Addams Family themed christmas party on their floor of the dorm and this time you don’t make the mistake of giving your lighter away. Atsumu is on a noble mission to “get laid by one of the goths” and you’re on your own, but not for long. 

“Oh, it’s you! Almost didn’t recognize you without all the fake blood,” Makki–the Melody from Kyotani’s party–shouts across the room when he spots you in the crowd and squeezes past all the people to clink his drink against yours. “You left quite the impression.”

“That so?”, you ask with a raised eyebrow and Makki gives you a boyish grin. You already have a feeling where this conversation is heading.

“Hajime won’t shut up about you. Like, ever,” he says and links his arm with yours, dragging you to the other end of the hallway. “He’s here too, by the way. Last time I saw him he was winning some kind of arm wrestling contest, but if you ask me people just wanted to ogle at his biceps. Can you blame them?” 

Speaking of the devil, you find Iwaizumi stumbling out of the bathroom, stilling when he sees you. His hoodie is tied around his waist and he’s wearing some baggy jeans and a tight, sleeveless compression shirt that does show off his arms nicely. Very nicely. So nicely you forget what to say for a brief second. 

Makki shoves you into Iwaizumi’s arms before heading off somewhere else, probably asking Mattsun to push him against the nearest wall, and you’re alone with the boy again. He caught you by your shoulders, his hands now resting on top of them while he looks you up and down. You wonder if he’ll do the chin thing again, and maybe if third time’s a charm and he’s gonna kiss you tonight for real. 

Instead he asks, “do you want to check out the tattoo station they set up in the other room?” and because your impulse control has vanished the moment you entered his orbit, you agree without a second thought. Maybe not even a first thought. Ten minutes later you’re wearing a pair of black latex gloves and hover over Iwaizumi who is lying shirtless on his back in front of you.

“Kinda sad you don’t want a tramp stamp. It’d look good on you,” you sigh with feigned annoyance while rubbing an alcohol soaked pad over his hip bones to disinfect that part, trying hard to keep your eyes pinned on there, but it’s kind of an impossible thing to ask of you. It would be a shame if you didn’t appreciate the canvas in front of you.

“Maybe next time,” Iwaizumi exclaims with the confidence of a man who simply doesn’t do the whole ordeal of regretting. It’s admirable, really. “And I let you pick the design of this one, didn’t I?”

That he did. You drew a wonky oval shape on the stencil paper which was kind of impressive as it was, given the drinks you had prior to that. Iwaizumi took the pencil from you and added a similar one, overlapping with yours. 

“That’s two eggs,” you muttered, tilting your head to the side and trying hard to focus–which again, was a hard task at hand, given that Iwaizumi leaned over your shoulder shirtless. He smelled nice. You noticed that the first time you met already. Something between fresh laundry, a spritzer of YSL Y on the side of his nape and a hint of sweat, but not unpleasant. It made you want to dig your teeth into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“It’s a heart, dumbass,” Iwaizumi huffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, second to how much both of you were thinking about kissing the other. 

✧. ┊ FOUR

When Kenma invited you over to his place for the Bouncing Ball winter party, you were promised free unlimited food and a goodie bag, but all you got was ancient rage and a badly rolled cigarette passed back and forth between Iwaizumi and you.

“I will fucking kill Oikawa with my bare hands,” you mutter under your breath and squeeze the can of lychee soda (branded with the Bouncing Ball logo) that you’re holding a little tighter. 

“Believe me, I’ve tried many times in the past but this bastard always comes back. Like some demon lord or something.” Iwaizumi takes an angry drag of the cigarette before holding it between your lips again. His fingers brush lightly against your skin when he does and it’s the only thing that calms you down a little. 

“Like. The blue shell right before the finish line felt so personal, right?”

Kenma had sent both of you into timeout outside when you almost flung the unstrapped Wii remote towards the flatscreen and Iwaizumi might or might have not punched a hole into the shoji door after Oikawa won the third round of Mario Kart in a row and was being awfully smug about it.

You’re sitting on the backstairs together, huddled close to each other from the cold and the unspoken desire to kiss the other one stupid. With every minute you spend like this your anger vaporizes little by little, until all you can feel is the body heat radiating off Iwaizumi’s body and how calloused his hand is when he takes yours into his.

He’s wearing the hat you crocheted for him, an apology for the crooked hand poked tattoo you gave him a few days prior to today which now adorned his hip bone. At least it wasn’t infected which was a tiny miracle given the circumstances. His face lit up when you handed the hat to him, wrapped in some tin foil because neither you nor Atsumu own gift paper and that’s the most festive you could do with the utensils you had at hand. At least you threw in a little bit of confetti which was now stuck in his dark hair.

You pick some of it off his strands and Iwaizumi leans a little closer. It reminds you a lot of a big cat asking for head scratches. 

“‘s nice, with you,” he mumbles without looking at you and gives your hand a small squeeze. His thumb rubs over your knuckles with unexpected gentleness and your head sinks against his shoulder.

“Really nice,” you agree quietly, allowing yourself to close your eyes. 

The moment could have been perfect. Just the two of you, the stubbed out cigarette at your feet and the sweet taste of artificial lychee on your lips, the slowly falling snow. If only it wasn’t for the backdoor being flung open again, carrying the chatter and the music from inside towards you and a too familiar voice that will surely haunt your nightmares chirping “yahoo~”, making Iwaizumi next to you groan in agony. 

You spend the rest of the night losing another ten rounds of Mario Kart and Oikawa manifests as your sleep paralysis demon from now on, but at least you got to hold Iwaizumi’s hand under the table a little longer.

✧. ┊ FIVE

Hinata is back home from his semester abroad in Brazil. He texted the groupchat a photo of him (wow, he got really tan and buff, you think) and the three giant boxes of oranges that he brought with him and invited everyone over for an impromptu reunion party at his place. 

It’s not as excessive as other parties of your friends, more of a get together that lasts an entire weekend with everyone dropping by and going as they please, as long as they take a few oranges with them. 

You quite literally ran into Iwaizumi on your way there, your hands full with a bunch of books you borrowed from the library prior to that and him almost crashing into you when he skated around the corner on his longboard. He wore the hat you crocheted him again (with less confetti this time) and offered you his scarf and a ride. You almost wish Hinata would live at the other end of the world just so you’d have an excuse to sit cross-legged on his board in front of him while he pushes it slowly for a little longer. 

Maybe he’ll give you a ride home if you ask him nicely. Maybe the right words would fall out of your mouth this time. Maybe he’ll kiss you on the threshold, with his fingers tracing your jaw and your lips parting for him so willingly.

At Hinata’s place you find your way underneath the kotatsu with Iwaizumi by your side. The air smells like hot punch and christmas cookies and you listen for hours to Hinata talking about the things he experienced while abroad. You swipe through photos on his tablet while around you people come and go, and the entire time Iwaizumi sits so close to you that your knees keep touching underneath the table. Occasionally his hand brushes over the small of your back or pulls you a little closer towards him when someone else squeezes beside you, his touch lingering but never overbearing. 

It’s getting late and you should probably go home soon, considering the last looming deadline you still had to tackle before your winter break, but it’s not easy to peel yourself away from Iwaizumi. Not when he draped his jacket over your shoulders and his fingers brushed the nape of your neck, and especially not when he starts peeling oranges for you and starts pushing the slices directly between your lips when you’re too lazy to lift your head. 

You watch him quietly as he does, his fingers that are usually a little bruised and roughed up now impossibly gentle as he digs through the citrus skin, peeling away layer after layer. It’s beautiful, you think. He’s beautiful. You wonder if he could do the same to you, tearing through every bit of resistance you put up to protect your heart, or maybe if it was already bare in front of him the entire time, ready for him to sink his teeth into your flesh.

You hope he’ll peel a thousand more oranges for you in this lifetime.

✧. ┊ ONE, AGAIN

It’s winter solstice and Atsumu and you decide to host one last party at your home before the year ends. Together you go out to buy liquor and one mistletoe (for the festive spark of it all) but the lady from the flower store insists you take all of them for free since they’re closing soon and she would throw them out anyway. So now there’s around fifty mistletoes hanging from every ceiling of your apartment and the entire hallway of your floor, and you briefly wonder just how many mistletoes it would take for Iwaizumi to kiss you tonight.

Osamu begrudgingly agrees to prepare some food since you’d end up raiding their fridge around 2AM anyway if he doesn’t, meanwhile Suna shows you some paparazzi-esque photos on his phone that he took of Iwaizumi and you over the span of this month. For once you’re grateful that he snaps a photo of everything and everyone, because swiping through these makes your heart do a little flip in your chest.

There’s one with both of you smoking on the fire escape, leaning in close to catch the flame of the lighter. You with your legs thrown over his lap on their couch while waiting for the weed brownies, his arm resting behind you on the couch. The moment when Iwaizumi takes his tight compression shirt off in front of you (it’s slightly blurry and Suna blames it on the goths and their shitty lighting). Iwaizumi and you pinning Oikawa to the floor and a Wii controller on the verge of becoming a murder weapon. You napping with your head on top of your folded arms, a plate with some orange peel in front of you, Iwaizumi’s hand in the back of your neck while looking down at you fondly. 

To be adored by Iwaizumi Hajime feels tender and mellow. There’s something magical about it; never loud or overwhelming, and yet never leaving room for doubt how he does love you with his entire being. It comes to him as natural as breathing. A love as toasty warm like a black cat basking in the sun, storing sunshine in every fibre of your soul. 

When you open the door for him later that night, he hugs you longer than usual, his arms caging you in his embrace. He murmurs something about all these mistletoes against the shell of your ear and you laugh.

“I think it’s a dumb tradition, but they’re quite beautiful, aren't they?”, you ask and Iwaizumi pulls back slightly to look at you, his hand cupping one side of your face now. 

“More than just beautiful,” he mumbles, not talking about the mistletoes.

You learn that night that Iwaizumi doesn’t dance (other than Oikawa and Atsumu who are currently destroying the Dance Dance Revolution dance pads in the living room), but he’ll happily spend hours watching you do your DJ thing. Anything as long as he can be in your proximity. He’s leaning back in the chair in the corner behind your pult, a cold Tiger beer in one hand, his chin resting on the other and his gaze never leaving you. It’s like he’s your personal bouncer for the night. You quite like that. It’s an oddly protective gesture but it makes you feel warm and giddy. 

“Someone just asked me if they can snort protein powder off my biceps,” he tells you when you return from the bathroom back to his side. He holds up a cigarette he rolled for you meanwhile. You lean down and let him put it between your lips before he reaches for your lighter stored in his pocket. 

“And did you let them?”, you ask, your face illuminated for the flick of a second when he lights up the cigarette for you. You’re standing between his spread legs and Iwaizumi reaches for your hips, making you stumble a little closer to where he was sitting. His chest is heaving now, his pupils dilating when he lets his eyes wander over you. You’ve seen this expression before, you think. It’s been the same from when you touched him for the first time, back then on the fire escape.

“Told them I was already taken,” he murmurs, almost not audible, and even in the dim light you can see the tip of his ears dusted in a dark pink color. His eyes flick up to yours and his expression is something between pleading and demanding. Oh. 

How brazen. 

He lets out a labored breath when you push him back in his chair, making room for you to straddle his hips. His hands find your thighs, fingers digging into your supple flesh and it’s clear that he doesn’t plan on letting you go for the rest of the night. Or, forever maybe.

You take a long drag of your cigarette and this time it’s you cupping his chin, tilting it up and hovering above him. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to be told what to do, his head falling back, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly before he parts his lips and lets you blow a mouthful of smoke into his lungs. It’s greedy, how he swallows it so willingly, watching you through half-lidded eyes. Hungry. Begging. Adoring. 

He’s in love with you like no one else ever was. 

“I need to kiss you or else I’m going insane.” 

His voice is hoarse, strained. As if he is clinging to the last bit of his resistance and sanity. In one swift movement he snatches the cigarette from your lips with one hand and carelessly drowns it in his half-empty beer bottle, his other hand wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you closer to him again.

“Please,” he huffs and it sounds like he’s pierced with ten swords, in agony over not feeling your lips against his. “Pretty please.” 

Your arms wrap around him and you kiss him. During the longest night of the year it’s like the sun is rising just for you. You don’t think, just let the feeling wash over you as your body melts against his. Iwaizumi lets out a quiet growl and kisses you back, gently at first, until your tongue slides against his and his calloused hands against your bare skin start trembling slightly. He’s using every ounce of self-restraint so he wouldn’t devour you on the spot. He knows you’d let him and that is a problem. 

“Took you long enough,” you mumble against his lips once you pull apart to breathe, which could have been an hour later or a lifetime. Time becomes a blur under the soft caress of Iwaizumi. He mirrors your smug smile, stealing another kiss from your lips.

“I’ll make up for it,” he rasps, closing his eyes when you rest your forehead against his. His hands on your waist pull you impossibly closer again, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, caressing the sliver of skin there. He lets out a quiet hum, a sound very close to purring. “Gonna kiss you stupid till you forget your own name and can only remember mine.”

“Silly,” you huff back and kiss him again. “Is this a threat or a promise?”

“Both. With you, it’s both.”

a/n: hi eggy ily!! your wishlist was spectacular and i had a lot of fun writing this for you (at some point it got a little out of hand i'll admit lmao). hope you enjoyed your gift and that the rest of your 2024 will be warm and tender. trying not to get sappy here, just know you always leave such a mark with anything you write, it's something i deeply admire. happy holidays & all the love for you <3

[taintedtort]

"Kyotani!"

your voice rings through the gym, stopping the conversation that Seijoh‘s team was having. said boy turns his head to look at you, a scowl pulling on his lips when you shouted his name like that in front of everyone. he can’t be too mad though, not when you’re waving so enthusiastically, obviously happy to see him.

he grumbles something under his breath before breaking apart from the group to walk over to you, ignoring the gazes of his nosey teammates. they’ve never seen you before, and he certainly hasn’t said anything about you. they’d definitely remember if the Mad Dog had mentioned someone, especially someone as attractive as you.

in reality, you two have been dating for a few months now, though you’re keeping it quiet. he doesn’t necessarily mind anyone knowing, he just hasn’t specifically told his team because he doesn’t want them teasing him about it.

when he reaches you, he grunts in greeting, and you smile as you extend his jacket he lent to you the other day.

"here, i washed it," you chirp, looking much too nice to be talking to someone like Kyotani. he shakes his head at your offer though, waving off the jacket.

"keep it, i never wear it anyway," he grumbles, keeping his voice low so his teammates don’t overhear. his words make you smile though, and you nod eagerly, holding the clothing to your chest.

he can hear his teammates whispering amongst themselves, trying to guess the relationship between the two of you and how you know him. it irks him, and he’s trying his best not to just drag you off somewhere a bit more private to talk to you. he knows that would only make them even more curious though, so he’s stuck standing a respectable distance away from you while listening to his teammates gossip.

"do you wanna walk home together?"

your voice brings his attention back to you, his ears drowning them out as he listens to your sweet request. practice is nearly over anyway, and he knows you were probably waiting for him in the first place, which makes his chest feel… funny.

he only nods in response, gesturing for you to wait outside so he can grab his stuff. there’s no way he’s letting his teammates near you, they’d only bombard you with stupid questions.

"okay! hurry up," you urge, smiling at him in a way that makes his earlier annoyance immediately melt away.

before you turn to leave, you tip toe and give him a quick peck on the cheek, one that has nearly his whole team gawking and gasping. it leaves him a bit surprised too, and he can feel his ears get warm from embarrassment. you look cheeky though, practically skipping out of the gym to wait outside for him like you didn’t just shell shock half the team.

as soon as you’re out of sight, an uproar follows as his teammates surround him, immediately asking questions and demanding details. he just rolls his eyes, huffing out short answers as he goes to gather his stuff.

…brat. ♡

sort of a start of my kyotani series, which will honestly just consist of random drabbles and whatever else i can think of.

[nowoyas]

the crows and cats christmas reunion (kuroo tetsurou/reader)

m.list - read on ao3

A/N: written for @hatsukeii for the hq x reader secret santa exchange! I hope you enjoy ✨ also special thanks to @nectardaddy for the divider!

Summary: Your high school crush on your rival team’s captain actually comes to fruition in college. The problem? You both receive invites to the upcoming Christmas-slash-reunion party, and you’re nowhere near prepared to tell your high school social group about your new boyfriend. The solution, at least, is easy enough: just don’t tell them!

Warnings and Tags: university au, reader is a former karasuno manager, christmas parties, fluff and a lil bit of crack lmao, alcohol use, gender neutral reader

Words: 1700+

It was his laugh that did you in.

You couldn't begin to guess what he'd been laughing at, just that Karasuno had just beaten their sworn rivals and you were in tears, and that you'd paused everything because Nekoma's captain just laughed in a way that had him throwing his head back, chest fully shaking with the force of it.

That had been your reckoning: the flash, the oh, the clichéd emotions gripping you and not letting go.

Not a problem. He was the captain—now former, as of that exact moment—of your rival team, and you had a duty to be loyal to the team you managed for, and you could be, because he was graduating and you wouldn't see him again. Not a problem at all.

Only, see, that crush had been easy to ignore when he wasn't in front of you, when you didn't have to confront the sound of his voice or his stupid hair or the shape of his shoulders or—god forbid—his laugh again. So, naturally, he'd gotten into the habit of dropping in on joint training camps, wearing stupid hoodies that looked unbearably good on him and—you swear it—smiling at you when he caught you staring. And, naturally, you had somehow been the one he asked with some stupid excuse about how he didn't know his way around anymore and could you help out, if you weren't busy?

You hadn't been.

So in your final year of high school, at some training camp you hardly remember except for that one moment, escorted a definitely-for-sure lost alum of Nekoma High School out and paused when you rounded a corner and found that the two of you were completely alone. And maybe, yeah, you kissed him, then, and yeah, he walked away, and somehow, you didn't even feel heartbroken about it. No words, just that.

You'd given your first kiss to Kuroo Tetsurou, and nothing had changed at all.

Then college. Moving on. Living your life, working towards your degree, and surely you must be over him by now, like it would ever have gone anywhere to begin with. Yeah, you think about it—how could you not when he showed up to the games and the camps and smiled at you every time, when you still remember that kiss but can't remember his reply except that nothing had come of it and he still smiled at you after that so clearly he didn't hate you?—but you're over him and over it and goddammit there he is on your campus. Something which you could have anticipated, if you'd thought about the fact that Kuroo Tetsurou with that enchanting laugh who you kissed that one time went to the same university, hadn't he been wearing a university sweatshirt when you'd kissed him?

But you hadn't anticipated it. So of course you noticed him. Of course you stopped in your tracks. Of course you'd stared, and spilled your coffee all over yourself like a dumbass, and frantically tried to blot it out with the meager napkin supply that had come with your coffee and pastry, and then found yourself interrupted by—who else?—Kuroo fucking Tetsurou, smiling at you in that crooked way, eyes alight with recognition.

"My dorm's not far," he'd said, "do you want to maybe borrow a shirt?"

You deflated. You agreed. You borrowed a shirt and left with his phone number—ostensibly to pick your shirt back up later and return his—and a date, which had been amazing and maybe you're still dating by the time December rolls around and maybe, just maybe, you're in his lap when his and your phones both ping with texts in perfect unison.

And maybe you hadn't mentioned to any of your high school friends that you'd begun dating the rival high school's former captain.

"I don't see what the big deal is," he laughs as it dawns on you. "We can just tell them."

"Okay, no, not with the guys I graduated with. The guys in your year were reasonable, Kuroo. The rest were and are half demons and half the type of guys who can survive multiple years of sustained contact with the demons. They're gonna flip."

"You spent years wrangling them, I'm sure you can handle it."

You whine, drop your head against his shoulder. "What if we just… didn't tell them yet? Get through the party, pretend everything's normal, and then we can come back and go wild."

"We'll see how that goes."

#

For your information, that is going great. You'd shown up separately, gravitated naturally to different parts of the room—you're catching up with Shimizu and the other upperclassmen, drink in hand and eyes firmly pointed away from where Kuroo's harassing Tsukishima, amongst others. Sure, Suga's been doing his damnedest to get you to admit details about the secret boyfriend you obviously would have gotten the second you went away to university (you appreciate his faith in you). He thinks he's being slick, but he's really, really not.

"I told you, Suga, I am focusing on my studies."

"Does your studies pay for dates?"

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, sure. You're awful interested in my dating life, Suga-san. Why's that, again?"

"Oh, no reason."

The gambit for tonight absolutely requires that you let on nothing. You're not even entirely sure where Suga's idea that you got a boyfriend came from. You've been doing good. You're barely even looking at Kuroo. You're not even visibly reacting when you hear his laugh from across the room! The Crows and Cats Christmas Reunion (per the invitation—you've been calling it "garbage dump Christmas") is going great.

And then you catch Nishinoya on Tanaka's shoulders, pinning what you think is probably supposed to be mistletoe but is definitely holly to a door frame. It's visibly fake, but they're clearly putting a lot of effort into it.

Not a problem—you avoid it pointedly, watch a few others get caught under it and peer-pressured by tipsy busybodies into sharing a kiss with their fellow victims. The night drags on, and you have fun but maybe one drink too many, and when you slip into the hallway towards the kitchen to hopefully snag some water, a very familiar hand rests on your shoulder to help guide you.

"Hanging in there alright?"

"Kuroo," you whisper, "we're not supposed to be—"

"[name]-san!" Nishinoya shouts at the top of his lungs. "Kuroo-san! You're under the mistletoe; you gotta kiss!"

"—oh my god," you mutter, dragging a hand down your face.

A few of the rowdier guys cheer their agreements. You roll your eyes, turn to explain why you will not be doing that no matter how nice Kuroo looks in that sweater, and get as far as "that isn't even mistletoe—" before long fingers are gently tilting your chin up for a kiss.

Of course you kiss back. Bastard.

His lips are soft and warm and everything and he tastes vaguely like beer. You lean into it, mostly just to shut the guys up as your hand slides up to the nape of his neck. He responds in kind—free hand finds the small of your back, pulls you just that tiny bit closer, and for just a moment, you forget where you are and who's watching.

When you pull away, you're met with narrowed eyes.

"That was not the first time you two have kissed. There's no fucking way," one of the guys shouts.

You roll your eyes, try to play it off. "Maybe you should stretch before reaching like that. You're gonna pull a muscle or something."

"No, but, like, you were totally heart eyes at him all throughout school," Tanaka says. "If that had actually been your first kiss, you'd be like, dying on the floor right now or something. You're doing that whole tough thing."

"Has it occurred to you—"

Ennoshita cuts you off with a sharp look. "That whole tough act they do when they're trying to avoid questions? And aren't you two at the same university now?"

"You bagged him and didn't tell us? [name]-san!" Noya's voice is absolutely aghast.

Kuroo's eyes linger on you. "Bagged me?"

"I maybe had a little crush on you," you mumble, cheeks burning hot. "Did you not know? We straight up kissed at one point?"

He blinks. "What?"

"What?"

"That never happened. I have no idea what you're talking about."

You look at him. You're starting to get pretty good at reading whether or not he's messing with you for fun, but he seems completely, genuinely serious.

"We did. Last year. You came to visit and we ended up kissing but then you never—"

Oh. Oh no.

Oh my god.

The realization sinks in, and as you stare into your red solo cup of mysteriously strong holiday punch, you realize there's no getting out of this.

You tip the cup back and chug the rest. Kuroo is laughing over the music and the flood of alcohol burning your system, and you put all your mental energy into not crushing the cup in your hand.

"Wait, who are you thinking of?"

"Who would [name] even have mistaken him for? It's not exactly easy to mistake Kuroo for anyone else," Kenma says.

Point of order:

You don't remember how you ended up kissing. You don't remember how he reacted or why. Every time you saw each other after that, he acted like nothing ever happened.

"What, babe," Kuroo teases, "did you mix me up with someone else, or did you just dream it entirely?"

"S-shut up," you mumble.

"Oh my god. Did you actually—"

"No, nope, we're not talking about this—"

The grin on his face widens. "I think we are. Did you actually convince yourself that we kissed in your third year? Is that why you got extra skittish in the back half of the year?"

"Kuroo, I am going to kill you—"

The mortification feels like it's seeped into your very bones, but then he drops his head back and laughs and you can't bring yourself to finish the threat. You might not ever live this down, but it's made him laugh, and for a moment, you can forget that your friends are watching this and someone's gonna bring up this story if you ever make it to a wedding.

You always have been weak to that damn laugh.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[fluffytriceratops]

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 - hq text!fic.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

WARNINGS: 

○ mature themes.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪ 

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪ 

BEST READ: 

○ light mode 

○ something to snack on close by

○ something to cuddle 

○ crackhead energy required 

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪ 

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

EXTRAS: 

○ college/uni au

○ characters are all 18+ 

○ text fic

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

STATUS: 

○ november 8th 2021

○ ongoing

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

NOTES:

○ slow burn 

○ slow updates, ehu 

○ this book is on pure crack. you'll understand once you read it.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪ 

\\ decided to post my hq atsumu miya x reader fic on here too, idk why it's called "sour cream" it was the first thing that came to mind and it just stuck, might change the title one day but for now this is it. if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, lemme know and i'll happily tag you. <3 //

profiles: click me.

chapter one: "mrs kwan is my sugar daddy."

[arcanefeelings]

don't mind me just thinking about kuroo's bedhead and how he sleeps with his head between two pillows and him coming home one day and passing out between your legs early on in your relationship-

like, it's not even sexual. he's just exhausted from the day he's had and your thighs are just so soft and perfect and - just a for a minute, he swears, he'll move in a minute. but one minute turns into two, then five, and you realise your boyfriend is very much asleep.

except he moves as he sleeps, his nose nudging the warmth between your legs, just over the crotch of your shorts. and then he hums in his sleep, biceps curling around your thighs with a satisfied sigh.

and you're swallowing. hard. lower lip caught between your teeth and chest rising with shaky breaths. because his face is right there. but he's asleep and you two hadn't even gone that far yet.

so you close your eyes, one hand clenching your (kuroo's) oversized shirt in a tight fist, the other gripping the couch cushion for your sanity. slowly, you draw a breath, trying to will back the wave of arousal that was so drawn to him.

you fight the urge to push into him, to chase the warm puffs of his breath tingling through the layers of fabric separating you.

no. this was wrong. he was sleeping.

should you wake him up? but he looked so peaceful - but he was right. there.

you throw your head back with a soft sound of frustration.

you were stuck.

note: part two maybe?

[omi-boshi]

"Hey, Kiyoomi-kun!" Shion yells from the open door leading to the locker rooms, voice a little breathless. "Your phone rang." Kiyoomi quirks an eyebrow in curiosity. There's still 15 minutes left of their break and truthfully, Kiyoomi is not inclined to leave the comfortable position he's resting in: sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him as he caught his breath. Still, he rises to his feet and ambles towards the locker room. Kiyoomi typically has his phone on Do Not Disturb. If anyone's messaging him at this time, it could only be one person: you. He thumbs his phone open; the screen flashes with a photo of you and him from your most recent anniversary, before he clicks on the message that, just as he guessed, came from you.

It's a video.

For a moment, he considers saving it for later just in case it ends up being racier than what's acceptable to play in public but the motion blur from the thumbnail suggests anything but that. Besides, it's barely past 5PM, you're only on the way home at this time.

Ultimately, curiosity gets the better of him and he plays the video without further ado.

"Hey, babe!" Your voice crackles through the speaker. In the video, you're running. The backdrop is the familiar landscape of the neighborhood you both reside in.

"This is proof that I would never try to bring home a stray dog." You look off to the side, the camera tilting with the motion and showing the dog that's running alongside you. "See, Kiyoomi!" You look towards your phone. Despite doing your utmost at feigning disappointment and concern at being followed, your giddiness bleeds through your voice and it's enough to pull a smile out of Kiyoomi.

"See! I'm running! I'm running away from you!" Your voice lowers in volume as you direct your words to the dog. It's immediately followed by, "Come on, buddy! Come on— Go away!" You say the last part to the camera. Eyes wide, as if you were looking directly at Kiyoomi and convincing him in person.

Kiyoomi falters at the way you try your damndest to tamp down your grin, the faux disappointment coming back as you address him through the video. His grin widens.

"What are you doing? Go away!" You turn to the dog. "I said run— run away—come on, come on—Run, buddy—Run away!"

As you grow increasingly breathless, Kiyoomi's amusement crests, sending him into fits of laughter that catch the attention of everyone within the vicinity. His laughter continues as he watches you run with this dog, at one point, even waving it over when it strays too far.

By the time the video abruptly cuts off, the fatigue Kiyoomi felt from practice is replaced by this warmth in his chest brought about by your valiant attempt at not leading a stray dog into your home. When his laughter subsides, Shoyo bounds over towards him, curious at what has the reclusive spiker so amused. "You seem happy, Omi-san. Something good happen?" Kiyoomi spares him a glance, laughter dying down, and a soft quirk to his lips that Shoyo has learned can only be pulled out of him by you. "Yeah... I think we're getting a dog."

(based on this silly little video)