#hq

[haikyu-mp4]

At least once a week, Suna brought his children out in the yard to play some volleyball.

His son was practising to be a setter (Atsumu’s influence, it’s a sensitive topic for Suna), while his daughter spiked his sets.

That’s perfect because Suna got an insane confidence boost from blocking for them.

Sometimes, when they were really trying, he let them earn some points so that he can watch them practice their celebrations. It always brought a smile to his face.

“If you make the next one, we’ll go to Super Nintendo World next week.”

They screamed in excitement, making you peek into the yard and find a seat to watch them.

Your son focused hard as your daughter threw up the ball before doing the run-up, grinning excitedly as she watched the perfect set he put up for her.

Copying her dad’s technique, she leaned sideways in an attempt to avoid his block.

Suna watched with pride, almost regretting his plot.

As the ball crossed over the net, his hand was already there to stop it, making it fall to the ground on the kids’ side. “That’s the harsh reality of life, kiddos. I want you to get familiar with this feeling: It’s called disappointment.”

They screamed again, this time angrily, before storming under the net and jumping him, hauling him to the ground when he didn’t fight back.

You laughed from the porch, holding your stomach. That’s definitely the father of your children.

masterlist

/inspired by a reel on Insta

[fromsaltandsea]

We might just get away with it

The altar is my hips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship this love

-Taylor Swift

religion's in your lips

third year to timeskip!hinata x fem!reader, a tad suggestive

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

You don’t join Shoyo’s outings often; most of them are volleyball-related anyway, and you didn’t want to get in the way. But right now, it’s just the third years, and Shoyo had begged so sweetly with round eyes that you would be cruel to even think about denying him.

Kageyama sits on your other side, stiff and polite, jostled here and there by Shoyo pressing up against you. Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi sit on the other side of the table. Conversation is light and comfortable. They don’t exclude you even when talking about practice matches and lineups—Yamaguchi asks you about your own club ever so often, too.

Yamaguchi claps his hand, forcing everyone’s attention on him. Except Shoyo, who’s busy tracing stars on your hand. “Do you guys want to watch a movie this weekend? I heard they’re releasing a sequel of the one we watched back in first year.”

Yachi emits a wordless sound of excitement, easily agreeing. Kageyama and Tsukishima begrudgingly agree at the same time, then sneer at each other. Then they all turn to you and Shoyo.

Shoyo grins. “Sorry, I got plans already.”

“You get a girlfriend, and suddenly you forget about us,” Yamaguchi mourns. Shoyo laughs while you get flustered and assure them that you’re not keeping your boyfriend hostage. Kageyama says that they know Hinata is the one doing it.

“You’re going to watch our match next week, though, right?” Shoyo asks you in a low whisper, as the other three dutifully settle in their own world.

“You don’t even need to ask, Shoyo,” you tell him. “Of course.”

Shoyo’s eyes brighten impossibly, face split into a grin. He looks like he wants to push you down onto the floor to kiss you in front of his friends, but he doesn’t. You knew he wouldn’t.

It’s Shoyo’s fault.

Really. Seriously this time. Specifically, Hinata Shoyo from third year. He’s changed from first year, gained more confidence, but he’s still shy and soft-spoken with you, which you expected from someone as sweet as him. It set your expectations for him and what your relationship would look like in the years and years that you’ll spend with him: bearing that first love kind of shyness.

It takes about two years to prove you wrong.

When Shoyo came back from Brazil, the first thing he did was kiss you breathless in front of everyone in the airport.

His strong arms around your waist, pulling you up—which you had to think ‘thank God’ for because your knees have definitely buckled. You don’t think too much about it, because he’s been gone for two years—two!!—and you’ve missed each other too much.

But when Hinata’s mouth descends to your jaw, you have to push him by the chest and exclaim (albeit weakly), “Shoyo—there are still people behind us!”

Shoyo blinks and pulls off, his eyes fogged over with heat that makes you have to look away, having to remind yourself that you’re in public and you do not want to beg for him to continue. Thankfully, his friends yelling his name seems to have snapped him out of it.

But his palm never left your side, splayed over your hip like a mark.

It gets worse at his homecoming party thrown by his teammates back at Karasuno. You’re familiar with them, and they’re familiar with you, so of course, it wasn’t a problem when Shoyo was pulled away to greet everyone. You made friendly conversation with Sugawara-san, caught up with Nishinoya, and joked around all night with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.

“You called each other every night?” Yamaguchi’s brows have shot up all the way to his hairline.

You smile. “I mean—isn’t it normal for people in a relationship?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Hinata loves you as much as he loves volleyball, I’m not surprised.”

Yamaguchi considers it. “Hmm, I guess.”

“Hinata’s waiting for you,” Kageyama mutters from behind you, appearing out of nowhere. His brows are stitched together, and his mouth is pulled in his ever-permanent Kageyama pout. “His staring is pissing me off. Can you go get him?”

“He’s not a dog, Tobio,” you chide lightly but grin all the same when you turn to your side and see Hinata Shoyo’s eyes drilling holes into your head.

He’s not mouthing anything. Shoyo stays seated on the loveseat, looking entirely isolated from the crowd around him. His eyes say it all: come here.

Helpless to his whims, you obey.

“Shoyo,” you murmur as soon as you reach him.

He pulls you to his lap. “Baby.”

You freeze. He’s never called you that before—his expression isn’t shy at all, too, just expectant. Heat crawls down your body as he tugs your back to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. Shoyo’s own warmth is a burning sensation. You feel lightheaded.

“Ah—well, um.” You pinch your arm. “Are you feeling okay? Did you drink?”

“There’s no alcohol here.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw Sugawara-san holding a bottle.”

“Ah, well. Sugawara-san.”

You understand. What you don’t understand is what happened in those two years to have Shoyo’s hand crawling on your thigh, a scorching mark on only that part of your skin. To have Shoyo’s breath on the nape of your neck without him flushing and flinching away. To have Shoyo have this air of confidence around him that’s usually in volleyball suddenly translate to you.

“Did you miss me this much?”

“You have no idea, don’t you?” The implications are clear: I could show you how much, if you want.

Still, this development is very sudden. You squirm on his lap, but Shoyo doesn’t relent. He keeps you there, a puddle in his hands. Nobody is watching—or maybe they’re just being respectful, but you feel flustered facing this side of Shoyo in public.

“Shoyo,” you warn. “Not here.”

It’s Heitor’s fault.

Ever since Hinata had met Heitor and Nice and witnessed how unapologetically intimate they were with each other, Hinata became envious. He wanted that, too. He wanted that with you.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Heitor asked when Hinata lamented to him.

Hinata made a pitiful noise, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t know. I think she just thinks I’m too cute to take that seriously.”

Heitor laughs. “Shoyo. Trust me. You’ll drive your girl crazy if you’re confident with it.”

It’s Heitor’s fault, and Hinata is eternally grateful for it, seeing your wide-eyed face beneath him like this. He loves it when he surprises people, but yours might be a different kind of thrill that he’s already addicted to.

[eeveebooart]

Timeskip omi!!

[fangdokja]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

The walls are soundproof. Not that anyone would come even if they weren’t. His house—your prison—is miles away from civilization, a countryside estate where the wind carries no voices but his.

Ushijima watches you from across the dining table, his gaze heavy with judgment as you push your untouched food around the plate. A muscle in his jaw ticks. You know what’s coming before it happens.

"You will eat," he says. His voice is even, the same tone he’d use to dictate a volleyball play—unshakable, immovable, final.

You glare at him instead.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he rises, his sheer size blotting out the overhead light when he rounds the table. A slow walk. Measured, precise, terrifying in its patience. Your breath stutters when he stops behind you. One large, calloused hand grips the back of your neck, applying pressure—not enough to bruise, just enough to remind you that he could. That he would.

"I don’t like repeating myself."

You twist, you struggle, but it only earns you a sharp yank, and suddenly, you're hauled out of the chair. The plate clatters, food forgotten as your feet barely brush the ground. His grip is unrelenting as he drags you through the house, past rooms you never got to escape from, past doors you once tried to break through.

The bedroom. The place where you learned the futility of resistance.

He throws you onto the bed like you weigh nothing. Your wrist snaps upward as you try to catch yourself, a jolt of pain burning through the joint, but there's no time to focus on that. He's already on top of you, his heavy frame pressing you deep into the mattress, caging you beneath muscle and power.

"You want to starve?" he mutters, his voice dark with something unreadable. "Fine. But a wife should have better things to do than cause trouble."

"Wife," you spit. The word is acid.

His hand slides down, fingers curling into your clothes, and then the sound of fabric tearing fills the room. Cold air rushes against your skin. Your pulse pounds in your ears.

"Yes," he affirms simply. "My wife."

He doesn’t waste time. There’s no ceremony to it, no gentle prelude, only the inevitability of his claim—something he decided long before you had a say. His thick cock forces its way inside you, stretching you too fast, too hard, the sting of it making you cry out. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you adjust, because why would he? You're his.

His thrusts are brutal, drilling the breath from your lungs, knocking the defiance out of you with each cruel slam of his hips. His hands anchor your wrists above your head, pinning you open, making escape impossible. He watches you, impassive, as you gasp and tremble beneath him.

"Good," he says, like he’s evaluating a performance. Like you're nothing but an unruly thing to be broken in.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

[bokutoko]

cw: ts!bokuto x reader, making out, bokuto gets shirtless, very suggestive - mdni

when msby won the game against the adlers just minutes ago, the reporters pestered ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ with questions of how he was feeling, if this was the best feeling in the world, if it’d ever get old.

he learned to give a vague answer with a cheesing smile: “never gets old.”

it never got old because he had the best post-match routine.

still riding the high from the game’s win, he was wound up, his body taut and desperately craving the taste of you.

“s’proud of you, kou,” you whispered in between sloppy kisses as you sat on his lap in the empty spare locker room. one hand cupped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair while the other continued to caress your leg. his palms, calloused from years of playing ball, meeting the smooth skin of your thighs always sent chills down both your spines.

you tasted the brine of his sweat on his lips, and you suddenly felt that familiar dizziness—he never failed to make you feel your own personal high while lip-locked after a game.

“s’all f’you, baby.” his words were hushed, low, needy, “i do it f’you.”

as the two of you get lost in one another, you gently tugged at the hem of his jersey, whispering something along the lines of, "wanna feel you." you gently guided his sweaty jersey off, your mouths only briefly parting to pull it over his head. his neck and chest were flushed as your hands brushed along his muscles, little trails of fire left in the wake of the slightest skin-to-skin contact. he let out a low moan when your hands teased at the waistband of his shorts, leaving you with an unmistakable ache in your belly.

it was messy, it was needy, but god, this routine was one of the hottest, most romantic things the two of you ever did. you were a dream that bokuto never wanted to wake up from.

as you pull away, you heard the softest little whimper escape him as he practically chased your lips. it was purely involuntarily, considering the red-hot embarrassment that immediately flooded his already rosy cheeks. you stared at the gorgeous image before you: your lover with a blissed out expression, his lips slightly swollen and kiss-bitten. his brows were knitted together in a slightly pleading expression as he looked up at you through his dark eyelashes.

“baby…” he mumbled, “don’t tease me.”

with a soft, nearing cheeky smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, your lips meeting his once more for another victory kiss.

this. this was the life.

forget volleyball—being yours was forever his greatest accomplishment.

bokuto came to realize that he never really cared if the world was watching him; all he cared about was if his world was watching him, cheering him on in the stands with his jersey’s name and number on your back.

a/n: treat for the 500 gazillion of u that follow me like wtf thank u???? i love u all sm <3

masterlist | navigation

taglist (send an ask or comment to join): @tiredafbruh

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[potatothatsoftens]

AHHH ADORABLE

Smol Yaku drawing 🗣️🗣️

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo who leaves his house running a little bit late; his tie still unbound, suit jacket hectically tugged on, and yuck, the shoe horn digging in his ankle, trying to fit into the leather shoes.

cursing under his breath at himself, stomach grumbling because he missed breakfast, only to find you sitting on the ground one door over in front of your boyfriend's home, looking worse for wear. nose running, shut eyes, shallow breaths through your mouth.

"hey, uh, you alright?"

you barely answer him, and he is a little worried, but he's also late, so his hand comes to find your shoulder, hoping the touch is light but present enough to bring you back to the land of the living.

he tries again, "should i call anybody?"

this time, your eyes flutter and your head straightens up from where it threatened to loll over. your voice stuffy and groggy, "huh? i— uh, i texted, uhm, my boyfriend. he'll be there soon."

for the life of his, kuroo tetsurou couldn't even remember how your boyfriend, his neighbour, even looked like but you were convinced that you'll be alright, and the clock's ticking and his boss will have his head if kuroo sauntered into his office again, claiming to having had to help a damsel in distress, so kuroo takes your word for what it was.

only to come home eight hours later and, to his absolute shock and horror, he finds you curled up in front of the door on the cold floor, non-moving.

neighbour!kuroo who is pissed because it was clear as day that you were sick as hell. and there you were: laboured breaths, clutching your phone to your chest like it's supposed to be a lifeline, strands of hair clinging to your skin, damp from the sweat, eyebrows twitching in your unsatisfying slumber. no sign of your boyfriend.

something in kuroo's chest twists deep, aching and painful and he wonders if you had even eaten anything in all those hours.

neighbour!kuroo who struggles opening his door with you in his arms, and he curses at himself again for not having had the bright idea of opening his door before picking you up.

whose heart squeezes when you curled against him in his arms, seeking any comfort and any warmth. whose stomach flips a bit when your face smooths out and the wrinkles of worry and pain lessen.

he makes sure you're comfortable on his couch, bundled up after hurriedly checking where he kept the spare blankets (he hasn't had anyone over for a sleepover in so long), brings you water and props you up to help you drink it, asks you about food and still cooks you the soup his mum made him as a kid when you decline in a delirious state.

the soup's missing a little salt but he keeps it on the lowest heat to keep it as warm as possible, anyway.

neighbour!kuroo who regrets opening his door hours later deep in the very evening when your dipshit of a boyfriend knocks hard (ah, so that's how he looks like), because he's had a long day and seeing the outraged look on his neighbour's face that you are 'allowing' another man to take care of you gets kuroo all pissed.

"listen, man. she's sleeping and you're being way too loud, so keep your voice down. if you want to worry now, you should've done so hours ago."

neighbour!kuroo who doesn't care enough to not close the door in your boyfriend's face.

[neyjimi]

fem shoyo my beloved

[artyluz]

Anatomy and perspective studies with the orange boy 🍊

[linkneol091]

BESTIES RRGGRGRAAAAAAA

[haikyu-mp4]

Hoshiumi’s baby is definitely a biter. like, when he hands his baby to someone, he says “careful, it bites.”

also laughs evilly when he hears an ow, telling them “I told you so.”

Kageyama isn't allowed to hold the little one anymore, at the risk of it affecting his setting. Ushijima proceeds with caution.

Hirugami (Sachiro) offers his hands up willingly for the baby to gnaw on, saying it tickles compared to the animals he handles at the vet.

masterlist

[fromsaltandsea]

'Cause I feel so high school every time I look at you

But look at you

-Taylor Swift

no one's ever had me, not like you

timeskip!hinata shoyo x reader

“Are you really sure that you’re swearing off of dating?”

You wonder how many times you’ll be asked that before you finally get pressured into mingling just to get them off your back. But Akane, bless her heart, looks genuinely concerned, like choosing to stay single was a cruel fate she wouldn’t wish for anyone to bear.

“It’s not a big deal,” you tell her. “Dating’s just not for me.”

You think back to all your previous relationships, and find that you have never been more sure of your decision.

“It just means you haven’t found the right one!” To your left, Yuki, who is alarmingly a lot of shots in, exclaims. She becomes violent when drunk. You would know, your arm is starting to turn red from her smacking when laughing.

You shrug uncomfortably. “I’m not looking for any right one.”

Akane and Yuki share a glance.

“Well, if you say so,” Akane cedes.

Then Yuki slams her hands on the table as she bolts upright, expression grave and voice low as she says, “We’re doing it, though, right?”

You laugh under your breath. Yuki looks a little ridiculous, drunk, and swaying on her feet even when standing still. Her grip on her glass wavers, and you quickly pluck it from her grasp, ignoring her protesting wail.

Akane brightens. “Yes! Of course we’re doing it!”

You instead hand Yuki a glass of water. “Doing what? Are you two up to no good again?”

“Yes!” Yuki exclaims at the same time Akane calmly clarifies, “Noya’s inviting close friends out for dinner tomorrow.” Which makes sense, because they were pretty much the same thing.

“Oh! Nishinoya’s back?”

“Just arrived today! He said he’s visiting for a while.” Akane fishes out her phone from her hand, then pulls out the class’s group chat that you could never bring yourself to check ever since it hit 999+ notifications. It displays a picture of Nishinoya holding up a peace sign, face serious, and next to a large airport sign.

You hum thoughtfully. “I guess if you guys are coming…”

“Let’s go!” Yuki pumps her fists in the air. Akane smiles and tells her to settle down. Akane drank twice as many shots than her.

“Who else is coming?” You ask. “I might pass if it’s the entire school.”

“Noya’s not that wild. I heard it’s just his volleyball team, Ryuunosuke, and us,” Akane says. “I heard they’re also celebrating because Noya’s treating his kouhai’s return from Brazil.”

“Brazil?” The other side of the world! “Yuu and his friends sure are adventurous,” you remark in amusement, sipping idly on your own drink. It’s milder than either of theirs since you were assigned as the designated driver.

“You’ve heard of the guy. Hinata Shoyo, I think it was.”

You inhale your drink and start heaving. Akane’s hands flutter all over you in panic while Yuki descends in deep thought.

Yuki snapped her fingers. “Oh, right! Wasn’t that the first year who had a big crush on you when we were in second year? Noya’s favorite kouhai, Shoyo.”

Hinata Shoyo.

The first time you met Hinata Shoyo was when Nishinoya decided to invite close friends to watch them play. It was an ordinary day, and they had just come back from the Interhigh preliminaries. Their coach agreed to let them take it slow and relax, so Noya used it as an opportunity to invite his friends (it was just you who was free) to watch (read: to show off).

Having nothing better to do during club hours, you agreed.

You were late, stuck with cleaning duty, and forced to catch up to Noya, who had first wheeled into the volleyball gymnasium. The door was shut. You took deep, deep breaths before sliding it open and nearly having your face flattened by a volleyball speeding towards you.

Well, of course, it was a volleyball gymnasium.

Luckily, you managed to swerve out of the way and prevent long-lasting damage to your face. But the shock was more brutal than the would-be impact. You gaped at the ball that rolled onto the grass miles away. Just how fast was that thing?

“Y/N!” Nishinoya’s voice rang throughout the stunned silence of the gym.

Your head whipped around just in time to see a little guy with a mop of orange hair bound over to you.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry—-” He then looked up at you, now only inches away, and seemed to have run out of apologies. His face exploded in a bright shade of red, but his eyes looked like they were bluescreening.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s fine!” You wave your hand to dismiss his guilt. “I didn’t actually get hit. Well—almost. But I didn’t! That was amazingly fast!” You hoped the praise would snap him out of it, but he was still gaping at you like you’d grown two heads. Or maybe you had something on your face?

Nishinoya comes barreling over soon enough, brows furrowed. “Y/N! Are you okay? You could’ve died!”

You frowned. “Idiot. I’m not going to die from that.”

Your statement seemed to shatter the tension that froze everyone in place. The captain murmured for them to continue practicing as Noya fluttered all over you like a mother hen, insisting on an ice pack.

Tanaka materialized out of nowhere. “Y/N! It’s you!”

“Ryuu!” You exclaim in delight, returning his hug. “Ryuu, it’s nice to see you again!”

Nishinoya turned to the tiny redhead with a raised eyebrow. “You good, Shoyo?”

Shoyo finally flinched out of his daze, narrowly avoiding your curious eyes. “Y-Yes! I’m just—I’ll go get the ball!” he squeaked out, nearly tripping over his own feet on a flat surface.

Nishinoya snorted, sharp eyes following Shoyo. “I think he has a crush on you.”

Tanaka cackled. “No way! Is that why Hinata looks so constipated?”

Hinata Shoyo. You glanced back just in time to catch him fumbling with the volleyball, trembling like a frightened mouse. It’s cute.

Now, you can confidently state that Hinata Shoyo is no longer just cute. Five years later, July, in an unsuspecting get-together party hosted by Nishinoya, and Hinata Shoyo definitely isn’t the same as before.

“Everyone!” Nishinoya’s voice bellows out throughout the venue. For such a small guy, he has the voice of a booming speaker. “Everyone, quiet! Shoyo’s here!”

Choruses of Hinata! echo through everyone as the crowd dispersed and bounded over to where Nishinoya was. You hear a faint laugh and a “Thank you!” From here, you could tell that his voice had gotten deeper. Still light and high, but it was different from the squeakiness you remembered.

Ever since finding out that Hinata had been back from Brazil, it turns out that his grand debut in the Nationals was aired all over. He’s famous now, not just some kid in Karasuno’s Volleyball Club.

“Ooh,” Yuki giggles maniacally. She hasn’t drunk anything yet. “He’s here. Do you think he still has a crush on you?”

“I doubt it. It was probably because I was his senpai back then. Remember how you reacted to Daichi-san visiting our hall? Everyone in our class was swooning, especially the boys!”

“Something about volleyball players, I tell you,” Yuki says, her gaze drifting over to where Akane was giggling as she talked with them. “Hmm. Speaking of them, I think one of them is on his way here.”

“What?”

Yuki takes one last sip of her tequila shot and leaves without another word. You didn’t have to turn—didn’t even have to move. You can feel his presence the moment he is right behind you, like a burst of warmth hovering, but it’s gold and bright, so you’re not terrified

Hinata Shoyo sits beside you, asking for a drink. You can’t help but stare.

He turned to you, then seemed to do a double take. Hinata Shoyo—now built twice as big as he once was; no longer the cute, lanky, and short kouhai from your past; with neatly trimmed hair and a much deeper voice—stares at you in astonishment. Hinata Shoyo emits a wordless exclamation.

“Senpai!” he exclaims in disbelief.

“Hinata,” you laugh softly, fondly. “We’re not in high school anymore. I’m pretty sure we’re the same age. You can just call me Y/N.”

“Y-You—” He splutters, face tinged pink despite the untouched shot in front of him. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.” You smile, tilting your head and grinning wider at the way his eye catches on the curve of your neck. “So, how have you been?”

He forgets about the drink he just ordered, seemingly getting redder in the face as you inch closer. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed he was drunk. Hinata Shoyo grins sheepishly, blushing and looking beautiful under the dim lighting of the venue.

Swearing off of dating, hmm… 

You consider him—his bright eyes, his wide and ever-genuine smile, and his undivided attention on you. Does he still have a crush on you? Or was it just the surprise that had him so flustered? You throw your head back and gulp down a shot, ignoring the burn that slid down your throat. You suppose there was no harm in finding out.

[eeveebooart]

Kita 🦊

[kikiwie]

haikyuu boys tweets (and yours) while they’re courting you ‧₊ ˚

possibly last part <3

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

s. rintaro 𖦹°‧

b. kotaro 𖦹°‧

t. kei 𖦹°‧

s. koshi 𖦹°‧

————————— 𐔌⋆🍊 ̟ ˚ !! 𐦯 —————————

take care <3

[fangdokja]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓼

He’s laughing when he drags you into his car.

Not because it’s funny.

Because you don’t fucking get it.

Because he’s had enough of watching you play house with your little fucking crush—the meek, soft-spoken bookworm who tugs your chair out for you, who lends you his stupid little mechanical pencils, who probably prays before bed and never so much as looks at another girl wrong.

Atsumu grips your thigh so tight you feel the blood stop circulating, his nails digging in, his jaw tense as you thrash beside him in the passenger seat.

“Lemme out—!”

“Yeah?” His grin is all teeth, vicious, carnivorous. He yanks the wheel, turning off into an empty lot, tires screeching. “What, ya gonna run back t’yer little nerd? Gonna cry t’him? Bet he wouldn’t even know what t’do with ya.”

He parks.

You try the door.

It’s locked.

His hand tangles into your hair, yanking your head back as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Y’really thought I’d let some little fuckin’ loser take what’s mine?”

A blur—your seatbelt snapping back as he shoves it off you, your back slamming against the leather, his body over yours in the dim glow of the streetlamp.

You know how this goes.

You’ve seen him work before—on other girls, in club bathrooms, against hallway lockers. Atsumu is a predator who likes to play with his food, a fucking king of conquest, and right now, you’re his only war to win.

He yanks up your skirt.

You kick—he grabs your legs, forces them apart, pins you with his weight, and laughs when you scream.

“Pathetic.” He licks the tears off your cheek, hands rough as they shove your panties down. “Bet ya were gonna let him have ya, huh? Spread yer legs nice ‘n sweet like a good little girlfriend?”

You shove at his chest. “Get off—”

He does the opposite.

He’s bigger, stronger, and when he pulls his cock out, the heat of him pressing against you, you realize there’s no escape. Not here, in the quiet, where no one will hear you. Not with him, who has never once taken ‘no’ for an answer.

Your breath catches as he aligns himself. Your nails dig into his wrist, eyes wide, pleading, but Atsumu just smirks.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he purrs, rolling his hips forward, sinking in, ripping you apart.

“I’ll make ya forget all about ‘im.”

The burn is unbearable, his size stretching you beyond your limits. You sob, body trembling, but Atsumu only groans, his pace brutal from the start—deep, fast, each thrust a punishment.

“Bet he wouldn’t fuck ya like this.” His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you see stars.

“Bet he wouldn’t break ya.”

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