#hq

[andie-platonically]

not exactly the same but shoutout to the time i saw a really cool fanart of michimiya from haikyuu only to discover it was actually a gender swapped daichi

sometimes i see some cool art of Blorbo but before i reblog it i peek in the notes and discover. it is not, in fact, art of Blorbo. it is art of Squub. i have no idea who Squub is.

[akaaiholic]

Little Gift

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader | Drabble-Ish?

Ushijima, your husband who was now a father of two, gave out his left index finger out with a smile in hopes of his second two-month old to reach out and hold his father’s finger with his entire hand.

To his surprise, the baby grabs it on with his left hand, fingers wrapped around with a slight grip. Ushijima’s eyes widened, surely it was coincidence that his finger was grabbed by his son’s left hand. His heart softened, cooing quietly at his son with a smile,

“Will you have my gift too one day?”

As your eldest daughter was teaching your three year old son how to hold a crayon since he’s been interested in his older sister’s hobby, she became confused as to why her brother’s dominant hand wasn’t his right hand.

Her eyebrows furrows as she tries to introduce a purple crayon to him after convincing him to switch colors with her by laying it in front of him after both his hands were empty. He picks it up once more with his left hand, dragging the stick swiftly across the paper.

As papers continue to scatter across the table full of color, the door unlocks and Ushijima comes home, both of them racing to greet him.

“Hello, my princess and prince. What have you been up to today? Where’s your mother?”

“Mama.. nap time…”

Ushijima chuckled a little, oh how your sweet husband is excited to wake you up with a kiss again after your long day.

His daughter guides his hand to the table, covered with all the artwork they’ve made within the past two hours. Ushijima skims through the scribbles and stick portraits made by the two kids,

“My little artists have been busy today, hm? Let me take a look after i’ve cleaned up..”

Your daughter jumps into his train of thought,

“And! He holds the crayons with his left hand, not his right like I do!”

Ushijima beamed with a smile, kissing his son’s crown.

“He’s just like your dada, he has a little gift.”

akaai’s notes: happy father’s day to Ushijima Wakatoshi!! and all the dads out there too ig… i wrote this instead of going to bed too (it’s 3 am..) hhhhh goodnight world !! twt @/akaaiholic

[tricodekus]

kuroyaku comm! ❤️

[yukkiji]

off-camera

in the blur of spotlight and fame, a secret relationship brews between a beloved actress and japan’s star athlete—where what happens off-camera becomes the most unforgettable part of their story.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. hinata shoyo x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, smut, timeskip!hinata, actress!reader

wc: 13.8k

warning: 18+ mdni., smut. nsfw. unprotected sex. cunnilingus. spanking. pining. (inform me if there's more)

author's note: okay, hinata might be a bit of ooc here but i loved writing this and i hope you guys enjoy it!

you were a rising star in the acting industry, already building an impressive fanbase and stacking up offers—films, guestings, endorsements, you name it.

and you first met hinata shoyo during one of your guest appearances on a late-night talk show.

you knew his name—honestly, who didn’t?

a household figure in the world of volleyball, the fiery msby black jackals ace who went on to represent japan in the olympics.

he walked onto the set with that sun-bright smile, hair still slightly damp from some earlier shoot, and energy so loud it practically announced him before the host did.

you told yourself to keep it professional. he was just another guest. just another athlete doing press.

but then he sat beside you.

and leaned in.

and said, “you’re even prettier off-screen.”

like it wasn’t being recorded. like he hadn’t just derailed your entire ability to speak with one sentence, delivered so casually it almost didn’t register—until it absolutely did.

you were a professional. you were media-trained, polished, always quick with a clever reply or a charming laugh. compliments were nothing new. you heard them constantly—from directors, co-stars, hosts trying to flatter their guests. they rolled off your shoulders like wardrobe lint.

so why was hinata shoyo different?

maybe it was the way he said it, not with the usual sleazy undertone or that overconfident smugness some actors wore like cologne. no, his words were honest. teasing, sure. a little cheeky. but his eyes held nothing but admiration—like he meant it. like he’d thought it before and just didn’t bother stopping himself from saying it out loud.

and of course, you were a blushing mess.

you laughed, tried to shake it off, but your voice cracked a little when you spoke next. you avoided eye contact. your fingers tightened ever so slightly around your water bottle. and everyone noticed. the internet noticed. clips of the moment hit social media before the segment was even over.

and just when you thought you’d regained composure, the host turned to hinata with a follow-up question—something harmless about training schedules and balancing fame.

he blinked, lips parted, then smiled sheepishly before leaning into his mic and saying:

“i’m sorry, can you repeat that? i got distracted by the beauty beside me.”

you nearly choked.

the audience exploded.

your heart dropped straight into your stomach, bounced off your dignity, and kept going.

the host lost it, practically doubled over in laughter. your co-guest looked between the two of you like they were witnessing the birth of a scandal in real time. someone backstage dropped something loud.

and you? you froze. laughed. covered your face with your hands for a second before daring to look at him.

he just grinned, bright and unbothered, legs bouncing slightly like he hadn’t just shattered your entire professional facade on national television.

and in that moment—caught between the studio lights, the screaming crowd, and the burning heat crawling up your neck—you realized two things.

one: hinata shoyo was dangerously charming.

and two: you were absolutely, completely screwed.

the internet ate it up, of course.

within minutes of the episode airing, your name and his were trending side by side. edits popped up like mushrooms after rain—slow-mo replays of the moment he called you beautiful, zoom-ins of your flustered face, fan-made fancams with captions like “get yourself someone who looks at you the way hinata looks at her.”

the comment sections were feral.

“i don’t know what PR is cooking but it ain’t better than THIS.” “forget that boring actor, have you seen her smile around hinata??” “they look like a romcom waiting to happen.” “chemistry? that wasn’t chemistry, that was a collision.”

people weren’t just shipping you with hinata—they were invested. comparing photos of you beside the actor your agency was trying to push versus you beside hinata. and the verdict? unanimous.

you and hinata looked better. laughed harder. felt more real.

you scrolled through it all in the backseat of your car on the way home from the taping, trying not to smile, trying very hard not to double-tap anything.

the tweets were unhinged. the fancams were already being set to romantic bgm. and someone had somehow managed to find a frame-by-frame analysis of the exact moment you broke into a flustered smile, claiming it was “the visual representation of falling in love.”

you were about to laugh—really laugh—when your manager’s voice cut through the buzzing high of your phone screen.

"as much as possible, refrain from interacting with hinata," they said without even looking at you. their tone was clipped, scrolling through their own tablet in the passenger seat. "his image isn't what we want linked to you. the actor is much more… fitting. marketable."

you blinked.

“marketable.” like you were a product on a shelf. like genuine chemistry could be replaced with staged photo ops and forced smiles.

you didn’t reply. just locked your phone and leaned your head against the window, city lights flickering past like strobe flashes.

but even then, behind your closed eyelids, you saw his grin. heard the way he’d said “the beauty beside me” like it wasn’t a joke—like he meant it.

it replayed in your head like a scene from a movie you weren’t ready to let go of.

and fate, apparently, was a hopeless romantic.

because a few days after the interview—after your manager’s firm insistence that any interaction with hinata shoyo was off the table, sealed, buried, and locked away—you ran into him.

completely unplanned. totally unscripted.

at a small café tucked into a quiet street, the kind of place where no one cared about fame and your name wasn’t flashing on a marquee.

you were in disguise. hood up, oversized sunglasses on, one of your dad’s old college hoodies pulled over your head like it was a cloak of invisibility. you just wanted coffee and a quiet corner.

what you got instead was hinata shoyo—seated two tables away, halfway through a matcha latte and scrolling through his phone like he had no idea the universe had just handed him a plot twist.

you froze.

he didn’t.

he looked up once. blinked. tilted his head. then smiled.

of course.

he got up casually, walked over like this was the most normal thing in the world, and slid into the seat across from you before you could even decide whether to run or pretend you were someone else entirely.

"seems like fate is on our side, huh?"

his voice was just as warm as you remembered it—easy, teasing, like this was some private joke between the two of you.

you blinked at him from behind your oversized sunglasses, mouth parting in disbelief. “you’re not supposed to be here,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t exactly his fault fate had terrible timing and a flair for drama.

"funny," he said, leaning in just a little, chin in his palm, "i was about to say the same thing about you."

his eyes flicked to your hoodie, to the sunglasses, to the way you were hunched low in your seat like you were avoiding paparazzi in a spy thriller.

"and yet... here you are. incognito and all."

you gave him a look, deadpan. “i’m serious. if someone sees us—”

"then they’ll see two people enjoying coffee." he shrugged, like it really was that simple. "and maybe they'll think, ‘wow, that guy’s lucky to be sitting with someone that pretty.’”

you choked on your sip of coffee.

he smiled like he knew he got you again. like he wanted to.

and just like the night of the interview, the cameras may not have been rolling this time—

but your heart was.

recording every second.

every grin.

every word that made you forget why this was supposed to be a bad idea.

you didn’t even realize how long the two of you had been sitting there in that little corner café, tucked behind dark shades and baseball caps, fingers curled around warm mugs and stolen glances. the outside world blurred, your responsibilities momentarily quiet. it should’ve been a quick encounter—one polite hello, maybe a laugh or two before going your separate ways.

but hinata had a way of anchoring you to the moment. like gravity in the shape of a boy with a foxlike grin and eyes that sparkled when he teased.

he’d slid into the seat across from you like he’d been doing it for years, one arm slung over the backrest, the other bringing his drink to his lips. his orange hair was slightly damp, messy from what you could only assume was post-training sweat. and speaking of training—

you hadn’t meant to notice it at first. but it was hard not to.

his compression shirt hugged his torso like it was custom-made, drawing attention to the lean muscle of his shoulders, the defined curve of his biceps. he’d thrown on a hoodie, sure, but left it unzipped—like he knew exactly what he was doing. like he wanted you to look.

and god, you were trying so hard not to.

your eyes flicked up to meet his, only to find him already staring.

his grin widened.

“you okay there?” he asked, feigning innocence, tilting his head slightly. “you’ve been staring at my chest for a while now.”

you nearly choked on your coffee.

“i wasn’t—!” you started, cheeks going hot. too hot. your voice cracked halfway through the denial. “i wasn’t staring.”

he raised a brow, leaning forward just a little—elbows on the table, smug written all over his face.

“uh huh.” he glanced down at himself, then back up at you with mock curiosity. “must be something really interesting down here then.”

you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“it’s just a shirt,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

“it’s a compression shirt,” he corrected, voice low and teasing, like he was thoroughly enjoying your slow descent into flustered oblivion. “made for performance. enhances blood flow. shows muscle definition…”

he smirked.

“…clearly working, huh?”

you hated how good he was at this. how effortless he made it seem. and yet, there was nothing cruel about it—nothing that felt mean-spirited. it was light, playful. flirty. but never below the belt.

still, your hands curled tighter around your mug as you fought the urge to smile.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered.

“and you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” he replied without missing a beat.

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest betrayed you. no matter how much you tried to play it cool, hinata had this uncanny ability to slip right under your defenses—like it was second nature to him. his teasing wasn’t just harmless fun; it felt personal. intentional. like he wanted to see the way your guard cracked every time he looked at you like that.

he took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving yours, then leaned in slightly—chin propped on his hand, gaze too amused for your comfort.

"i’ve been meaning to ask for your number last time,” he said, voice a touch quieter now, more intimate. “but you were whisked away like cinderella at midnight.”

you huffed a laugh, setting your mug down. “i think cinderella at least got to say goodbye. i was practically shoved into the car by my manager like i’d committed a crime.”

“well,” he shrugged with a playful glint in his eye, “you did commit one.”

you raised an eyebrow. “oh? do tell.”

he leaned in just a little closer, enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean, fresh, a little woodsy. unfairly distracting.

“you stole my attention,” he said, lips twitching into a grin. “and didn’t even leave a shoe behind.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. how did he say things like that without flinching? without even a hint of hesitation? like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re really going all in on the charm today, huh?”

he chuckled. “what can i say? i’ve got limited time. might as well make it count.”

and then, as if he hadn’t already knocked the wind out of you once, he added—softly, but without a trace of sarcasm,

"are you and that actor really a thing?"

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. it wasn’t accusatory or bitter—just curious. tentative. honest.

"no," you said, the word escaping with a sigh, your fingers absently circling the rim of your coffee cup. "pr stunt. apparently, for more exposure. buzz, clicks, articles—whatever keeps the spotlight burning."

you didn’t know why you felt the need to explain, but the moment you did, you felt lighter. like saying it out loud made it real—that you weren’t actually tied to someone else, that there was space for something else. someone else.

hinata leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment, eyes flickering down to his cup like he was turning something over in his head. and then—

"so you're saying there's a chance?" he asked, lips twitching into a grin that had no right being as endearing as it was.

you laughed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t hide the way your mouth curved, the way warmth bloomed somewhere deep in your chest again—persistent and impossible to ignore.

"you’re ridiculous," you muttered.

"but charming, right?"

your gaze flicked to his. he was relaxed in the chair, one arm casually slung over the backrest, still wearing that too-tight compression shirt that you swore he knew was unfair. it clung to him in all the right places, stretching across his chest and shoulders with an ease that made it impossible not to glance—more than once.

he caught you doing it again, of course.

"you keep looking at me like that," he teased, tilting his head, "and i’m gonna think you’re into me or something."

"maybe i’m just admiring the poor fabric trying its best to survive."

he laughed—loud and boyish and unguarded—and for a second, it made the world feel simple. like there were no managers waiting outside, no headlines looming, no risk in sitting here with him.

"next time, i’ll wear something looser," he said, still grinning.

"don’t."

the word slipped out before you could stop it, and it hung in the air between you—bold and shameless.

his eyebrows shot up. "oh?"

you cleared your throat, reaching for your drink to hide your flustered smile. "i mean... wear whatever. i don’t care."

but you did. and he knew.

and when he smiled again, this time it was softer. knowing. as if he was silently agreeing: yeah, this was definitely not a bad idea.

you shifted in your seat, heart beating far too fast for a casual café meetup, and fished your phone out of your coat pocket. with a playful raise of your brow, you slid it across the table to him.

"here—before my fairy grandmother calls and turns the carriage back into a press van."

he laughed, a real one, eyes crinkling with amusement. "so you are cinderella."

"more like cinderella with a publicist and a fake relationship contract."

"even better," he said, already tapping in his number, the screen lighting up in his hands. "means i still get to be the guy chasing you down with a glass slipper."

"or a phone number," you muttered, trying not to smile too obviously as you watched his fingers fly across the screen.

"both," he said, handing your phone back. "except i won't lose you this time."

and somehow, despite the noise of the café, despite the chaos of everything that had led to this moment, that sentence landed like a promise. it made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to name. not yet.

he stood then, stretching a little, and your eyes betrayed you once again—flickering briefly to the way the fabric of his compression shirt moved with him. he caught it. again.

"really should’ve worn something looser," he said with a smirk, voice just low enough to make your face heat.

"you’re impossible."

"but charming, right?" he repeated, grinning as he grabbed his drink.

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the warmth blooming under your skin as he added, just before heading to the counter to grab a napkin,

"text me when you get home. and don’t disappear this time, cinderella."

he was halfway across the café before you realized—you were already reaching for your phone. already saving his contact. already typing something with a smile you couldn’t hide anymore.

it didn’t stop there.

one secret meetup turned into two. then three. then so many that you stopped counting.

you were both careful—god, you were careful. hoodies pulled low, caps shadowing your eyes, oversized sunglasses that made you look like you stepped out of a badly disguised spy movie. it should’ve felt ridiculous. sometimes it did.

but then hinata would catch sight of you from across the court—eyes lighting up mid-warm-up, a split second longer than necessary before he returned to his team—and suddenly, it was all worth it.

you’d sit high up in the stands, blending in with the crowd. pretending not to care. pretending like your chest didn’t swell every time he made a point, like you weren’t dying to run to him when his name echoed through the stadium.

after games, sometimes he’d find a way to slip away. duck behind staff exits, or fake a phone call just long enough to sneak into the backseat of a tinted car, breathless and grinning.

“you came again?” he’d whisper, like it was still unbelievable. like your presence wasn’t the thing that kept him going through grueling practice runs and double overtime.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you’d murmur back, brushing a strand of hair out of your face before it got caught in his jacket when he leaned in.

on off days, you’d meet at quieter places—a ramen shop near the river where no one paid attention, or a convenience store at 11 p.m. with instant noodles and laughter echoing off vending machines.

you learned that he trained too hard and slept too little. that his days blurred into morning drills and late-night strategy reviews, protein shakes and aching joints. he never complained, but sometimes—just sometimes—he’d let his voice soften during your calls, the exhaustion slipping through like cracks in glass. and you’d listen, quietly, offering nothing but your presence and the occasional: “you’ve done enough today, shoyo.”

he learned you hated the fake PR relationship. that you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt whenever your team sent over a new headline pairing you with that actor. the one who barely knew anything about you. who didn’t know your favorite song, or how you hated the cold, or that you could never finish a drink without biting the straw until it was bent out of shape. hinata did. he noticed everything, quietly.

he wasn’t the jealous type, not really. not in the possessive way that made people petty or loud. but on nights when you called him after a red carpet event or a staged dinner with your so-called co-star, he’d scoff.

lightly. like it was nothing.

“looked cozy with him tonight,” he’d say, clearly not meaning it. but also clearly meaning something.

you’d roll your eyes. “we were both acting. that’s the point.”

“yeah, well,” he'd mutter, “maybe i should start showing up to premieres in a suit and pretend to be your bodyguard or something. see how he likes that.”

it made you laugh. always did. because hinata didn’t know how to be jealous in the normal way. he didn’t brood or sulk. he just... got quiet. thoughtful. like maybe he was wondering if the world would ever let you be his for real.

but he never asked you to stop. never made you choose. he just waited—trusting, steady—like someone who believed that whatever you were building together could survive the noise.

and every time you heard that soft scoff or the way he’d shift his voice, just a little sharper, a little less sunny, you wanted to say: it’s not real. he’s not you. he’ll never be you.

but instead you’d promise, “soon,” because that’s all you could offer in the quiet, secret space you and hinata had carved between the cameras. and for now, it was enough.

what surprised you most—though maybe it shouldn’t have—was that hinata wasn’t just patient. he was your biggest fan.

he made it his personal mission to collect every magazine cover you were on, even if it meant ducking into convenience stores in full hoodie-disguise, mask on, hoping no one would recognize japan’s star volleyball player clutching three copies of elle like they were limited edition.

he’d send you pictures, too—half blurry, always with a dumb grin on his face.

“guess who’s on aisle three again?” he’d text, along with a photo of your face next to some shampoo ad, and “i told the cashier i knew you. she didn’t believe me.”

he made a point to stop and stare (dramatically) at every billboard you were on, whether it was in shibuya crossing or a random subway station. once, he even asked a stranger to take a photo of him standing beneath one. arms crossed. chin tilted up.

you could see the pride in his smile, even through the screen.

“should’ve signed it for me,” he’d tease, and you could only laugh, cheeks warm with something heavier than affection—something that felt dangerously like love.

he didn’t treat your career like it was something intimidating or separate from him. he treated it like something to cheer for. something to be proud of. and in those moments, between your exhaustion and his training, you realized that hinata didn’t just see the version of you the world wanted—he saw all of you. and still, he stayed.

still, he smiled.

still, he bought every single magazine.

every cover you landed on, every spread you graced—hinata had it tucked somewhere in his apartment. he never made a big deal about it, but you’d catch glimpses: one stacked beside his bed, another on the coffee table, a few more carefully placed on a shelf like trophies he didn’t win but still celebrated.

your shared off-days were quiet rebellions against the lives you both led in public. no disguises, no handlers, no staged smiles. just dim lighting, takeout containers, and the kind of peace that only came when the world wasn’t watching.

his place was your favorite hideout. not because it was spacious (it wasn’t), or particularly tidy (it definitely wasn’t), but because it smelled like him—fabric softener and worn-in cotton and just a hint of sweat from training. real. grounding.

you’d spend hours doing absolutely nothing. tangled in his sheets or curled on his couch, limbs overlapping like it was second nature. his arm slung over your waist. your fingers tracing absentminded patterns across the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. breathing in sync, like you’d practiced this rhythm your whole life.

sometimes, the kisses started lazy. playful. you straddling him without meaning to, a knee on either side of his hips while you teased him about something he said, your face hovering just close enough to make him chase it. his hands would find your thighs like muscle memory, pulling you down gently until your bodies met in full.

and then it would shift—slow lips becoming deeper, hungrier. like every second spent apart had built up behind a dam now cracking under the weight of want. you kissed like you were trying to memorize each other all over again, mouths moving in sync, breaths coming faster, more uneven.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your mouth. his palms, warm and sure, pressed into the curve of your spine, pulling you closer until your bodies aligned, chest to chest, like puzzle pieces that just fit.

his hands slid beneath the oversized hoodie you were wearing—his, of course. they moved with purpose, calloused fingertips skimming over your bare skin, teasing the soft dip of your waist before finding the swell of your breast. he cupped you gently at first, thumbs brushing just enough to draw a breathy gasp from your lips.

the sound made him smirk into the kiss, all boyish mischief and quiet satisfaction, like he was proud of himself for getting that kind of reaction from you.

“so sensitive,” he murmured against your mouth, the words a soft tease, but his tone reverent—like he was discovering something precious and trying to take his time with it.

your hips shifted instinctively, grinding down into his lap, and he let out a low, shaky breath—eyes fluttering shut as if your weight alone could undo him. his hands tightened on your waist, holding you there like he never wanted you to move. like he wanted to feel every shiver of your body right against his.

the kiss deepened again, slower this time, but still just as urgent. it was the kind of kiss that made time blur, that made your stomach flutter and your fingers twitch with the need to feel more. you could feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of clothing between you, his breath coming faster whenever you shifted just right.

his hoodie—oversized on you—was pushed up halfway by his touch, and when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts again, you arched into him with a soft, broken sound that had him smiling into the kiss.

“you’re trouble,” he whispered, voice roughened by want, his lips ghosting along your jaw, down your neck, where he lingered just enough to leave goosebumps in his wake. “you know that?”

you mumbled something in response, too breathless to be coherent, threading your fingers through his hair again and tugging lightly—because you knew how much he liked that. and he did, a quiet groan escaping him as he pulled you closer, letting you feel just how hard it was for him to stay patient.

but you two never let it go too far. not all the way. there was a kind of tenderness in your restraint—a quiet agreement between the two of you. this wasn’t just about need. it was about trust, about the slow, magnetic pull between two people who wanted everything but weren’t in a rush to take it all at once.

still, there were moments—lazy, drawn-out nights in his apartment or yours—where your hands would wander a little more boldly. where the kisses would trail lower. where you’d end up tangled in his sheets, soft moans filling the dim light between mouthfuls of laughter and whispered promises.

and sometimes, when the tension built too high and the ache was too much to ignore, he’d take his time with you—slow, unhurried, and focused like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. and maybe in those moments, you were.

you’d sink into the couch, already breathless just from the look he gave you. and he’d kneel between your thighs, hands steady and eyes locked to yours as if asking, again, silently, for permission. and when you nodded, or whispered his name, it was like flipping a switch.

because hinata could eat like a man starved.

his mouth was reverent, like he was worshiping more than just your body. he listened to every gasp, every soft cry, adjusting his pace, his pressure, until you were arching against his tongue, one hand gripping his hair, the other over your mouth to muffle the kind of sounds the neighbors definitely didn’t need to hear.

and when he finally pulled back, lips slick and eyes heavy-lidded with pride and affection, he’d always kiss your thigh, rest his cheek against it like it was the most natural thing in the world. and you'd laugh, breathless and dazed, brushing your fingers through his hair like you couldn’t quite believe how lucky you were.

those nights weren’t about release. they were about intimacy. trust. knowing someone would learn every part of you without rushing to take all of you.

and in that slow burn, in that secret, sacred space you shared—it always felt like enough.

but maybe the tension had already reached its peak the night you went to watch one of his games, still hidden beneath a hoodie and cap, tucked into the farthest seat you could find. you weren’t supposed to be there. no one knew. but you had to see him—not through a screen or a photo or someone else’s words. you needed to watch him move. to feel that electric pull in real time.

and something inside you always shifted whenever he played.

it wasn’t just the way he moved—though that was part of it. it was the way he pushed his body past its limits, the way his jaw set with determination, the way he called for the ball like he knew the whole court belonged to him. and yes, maybe the way his arms flexed after a spike or how his shirt clung to his back didn’t help the ache low in your stomach.

you were so wound up from watching him that when your phone buzzed, and it was his name lighting up the screen—“come to my room?”—you didn’t even hesitate.

you were already halfway there when you texted back, “on my way.”

his hotel room door opened just as you were about to knock, like he’d been standing there waiting. his hair was still damp from the post-game shower, and he was dressed in just a loose shirt and sweats—but his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“you came,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

“you called,” you replied simply, stepping inside, heart pounding, heat still coiled tight in your chest from watching him earlier.

the moment the door shut behind you, it was like the space between you snapped. he didn’t waste time with small talk—just reached for you, tugged you forward, and kissed you like he needed it as badly as you did.

and you kissed him back like you’d been holding it in all night.

your back hit the wall before you even realized he was walking you there—his hands gripping your waist, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like it could anchor you through the rush of it all. his lips never left yours, moving with a hunger that had been simmering under the surface for far too long.

he kissed like he was trying to make up for every second you’d spent apart. like the crowd, the court, the noise—all of it faded the second you walked through that door.

his body pressed flush against yours, one knee sliding between your legs, widening your stance. and then his hands—hot and sure—moved under the hem of your hoodie, finding bare skin and dragging a gasp from your throat.

you moaned into his mouth, and he smiled against your lips, a low sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest.

“missed you,” he breathed between kisses, and you could barely answer, too busy chasing the next touch, the next kiss, the next place his hands would go.

he pressed you harder into the wall like he couldn��t stand the distance between your bodies—not even an inch. not now.

not after tonight.

"baby, tell me you want this. i don't think i can hold back anymore," he said, voice low and frayed at the edges, each word pressed into your skin like a confession.

his mouth trailed down to your neck—slow, deliberate—until he found that spot, the one he knew too well. the one that always made you shiver, no matter how many times he found it.

he lingered there, lips brushing over it once, then again, just to feel the way your body reacted, the way your breath caught, the way your hands clutched tighter at his shoulders.

“right here, huh?” he murmured against your skin, the smile in his voice unmistakable. he sucked, just a little—just enough to make your knees wobble and your head fall back against the wall with a soft whimper.

you weren’t sure what gave you away first: the way your hips tilted toward him like gravity had shifted, or the way your hands were already under his shirt, dragging it up, desperate for more skin.

“yes, shoyo. please,” you moaned—soft, breathy, and unguarded.

his breath hitched at the sound, like it struck something deep inside him. your voice—like that—was a kind of possession. one no crowd, no camera, no spotlight could ever compete with. it was his, and his alone.

“you have no idea what that does to me,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours for a second, as if grounding himself. and then his lips were back on yours—slower this time, but deeper. every kiss full of something he didn’t always know how to say out loud.

his hands were on the hem of your shirt, pausing, eyes flicking up to meet yours—checking, asking without a word. you gave him a nod, barely more than a breath, but it was all he needed.

in one fluid motion, your shirt was peeled away, tossed to the floor without a second thought. his hands were reverent—warm, calloused from endless hours of practice, but gentle as they skimmed over the bare skin now exposed to him.

your pants followed shortly after, unbuttoned with trembling fingers and slipped down your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. they were flung carelessly across the room, a forgotten casualty in the urgency that pulsed between you.

“god, you’re…” his voice trailed off as his gaze dragged over every inch of you. there was awe there. hunger, too—but not the kind that rushed. this was slower. deeper. like he wanted to savor you.

he leaned in again, pressing kisses from your collarbone to your sternum, then lower, each one leaving a trail of warmth and intent. “been thinking about this since the moment you walked into the stadium,” he murmured, lips brushing the skin just above your bra. “you drive me insane, you know that?”

you let out a small squeak when hinata suddenly lifted you with ease, strong hands gripping the underside of your thighs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. his mouth was back on yours before your back even hit the mattress—hot, urgent, tasting of everything you’d both held back until now.

his weight hovered just enough not to crush you, but you could feel every inch of him, feel the way his restraint was fraying with every second.

your hands found his shoulders, dragging down the smooth, toned lines of his back as you gasped against his lips, “shōyō… take off your shirt too.”

he pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths. “yeah?” he teased, voice low, fingers already reaching for the hem of his shirt. “been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

you only bit your lip in response, watching with wide, hungry eyes as he peeled it off in one motion—revealing the full view of his sculpted chest, the lines of muscle carved from years of training, the light sheen of sweat from the game still clinging to his skin.

“this what had you distracted the whole match?” he said, leaning closer, his nose brushing yours, that teasing grin back on his face. “because i saw you. front row. couldn’t even look away when i stretched, huh?”

you hated how right he was.

and he knew it—especially when your hands slid down his chest like you were confirming every part of it was real.

his lips found your neck again, mouth warm and relentless as he left a trail of small, possessive love bites. each one pressed into the sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make you whimper, to make you shift beneath him. you knew they’d darken into purple and red by morning—badges of something secret, something sacred—and the thought made your breath hitch.

his hands slid around your back with practiced ease, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it in one smooth motion. you barely registered the sound of it being flung somewhere behind you, too focused on the way his eyes dropped, hungry and reverent all at once.

the chill of the hotel room kissed your skin, and your nipples perked up from the sudden cold—but before you could shiver, his warm palms were already there, cupping your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath catch. his thumbs brushed softly over the peaks, slow and purposeful, and the contrast of his touch against your cooled skin made your back arch almost instinctively.

he chuckled, low and warm, his breath ghosting over your collarbone. “so sensitive, baby,” he murmured, like he was committing every sound you made to memory.

his mouth dipped lower again, this time latching onto one nipple, tongue flicking in slow, teasing circles while his fingers rolled the other between his fingertips. you whimpered, hips bucking lightly beneath him, needing more—needing him.

“you always get like this for me,” he said, pulling away just long enough to whisper the words directly into your skin, “so perfect, so responsive.”

his lips latched onto your other nipple, tongue swirling, sucking gently—giving it the same slow, thorough attention while his free hand traced hot trails down your body. the pads of his fingers danced along your stomach, pausing just briefly at the waistband of your underwear before slipping beneath.

he didn’t rush. he touched you like he had all night—like he wanted to memorize every reaction.

his fingers found your clit, and he started slow, dragging them up and down with the lightest pressure, teasing, testing. your hips jerked at the contact, breath catching in your throat as he began to circle, gradually adding just enough pressure to make your thighs tense around him.

“s-shoyo. ngh,” you moaned, your voice shaky, almost pleading. “it feels so good…”

he hummed against your chest, clearly pleased by every sound that escaped your lips.

“yeah? already this wet for me, baby?” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. his fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles over your clit, then dipped down to gather more of your slickness before returning, dragging out every wave of sensitivity. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

then, without warning, one finger slid inside of you—slow but sure—stretching you just enough to make your back arch off the bed, a sharp gasp catching in your throat.

“sh-shoyo—” you breathed, hips pushing forward instinctively.

his lips never left your skin, still trailing across your chest—kissing, sucking, his tongue flicking over your nipple with slow, deliberate devotion. every movement was purposeful, almost reverent. he touched you like you were sacred—like he needed to memorize the taste of your skin, the way your body reacted to him, every breathless sound he pulled from your lips.

then, he added another finger—sliding in beside the first, curling just right. your hips jolted as another moan escaped you, raw and needy. and when a third joined, moving in rhythm, his palm grinding softly against your clit, you swore you could’ve come undone right then. just from his fingers. just from his mouth on your chest.

“gonna cum, baby?” he asked, voice low and thick, his lips now hovering over yours.

you nodded quickly, almost desperate—but he pulled back just an inch, teasing.

“i want words, baby. tell me.”

“yes—ugh, shoyo—please, i’m gonna cum,” you gasped, barely holding it in.

that was all it took for him to smile, all soft and satisfied, before kissing you again—deep, consuming, like he wanted to feel your pleasure through your mouth.

and then it hit—your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding. your body arched, back lifting from the sheets, thighs trembling around his hand. for a moment, everything blurred, all thought wiped away by the intensity of it. all you could see were stars behind your closed eyes.

then, gently, his hand moved up to your cheek, brushing back a few damp strands of hair. his thumb caressed your skin, grounding you, coaxing you back into your body.

“you did so good,” he murmured, voice soft but thick with heat. his eyes were locked on yours, gaze heavy with something deeper—affection, need, pride. “my good girl.”

he pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and reassuring. but when he pulled back, the smirk that curved his mouth told you everything.

“but we’re not done yet.”

true to his words, hinata pulled you toward the edge of the bed, his hands firm but gentle as he guided you exactly where he wanted you. he dropped to his knees before you, eyes dark with hunger as they swept over your body—bare, flushed, and still trembling from your last orgasm.

your soaked panties were peeled off slowly, almost teasingly, before being tossed aside to join the scattered pile of clothes on the floor.

you were completely bare now. exposed. vulnerable. wanted.

his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them with ease, and he looked up at you like you were the only thing that existed.

“all mine,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “so fucking beautiful.”

then he leaned in.

his tongue met your folds with no hesitation—lapping you up like he’d been craving you for days. it was messy, intense, almost greedy. he flattened his tongue against your clit, dragging slow, deliberate strokes before switching to firm, rhythmic suction that made your hips jerk and a strangled moan catch in your throat.

“fuck—shoyo,” you gasped, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling tight as he buried himself deeper.

hinata always ate you out like this. like he worshipped the taste of you. like your body was something sacred and he was the only one allowed to kneel before it. each lick, each suck, each flick of his tongue was laced with the kind of hunger that left your legs shaking around his head.

he moaned against you—low and guttural—the vibration making your toes curl. he thrived on the way you trembled, on the way your thighs tried to clamp shut around his face. and he didn’t stop. not when you cried out, not when your hips bucked up against his mouth. in fact, he gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open like a man on a mission.

“so fucking sweet,” he murmured between strokes, “you were made for this.”

your hands moved instinctively, cupping your breasts and squeezing, thumbing over your own nipples in desperate search of more friction—more of everything. and hinata looked up just long enough to see you like that—head thrown back, lips parted, hands on your chest as your body begged for more.

god, he nearly lost it right there.

“fuck—baby,” he groaned, voice rough with want, “you’re gonna make me cum just watching you touch yourself like that.”

but he didn’t stop. if anything, it spurred him on—his mouth working even faster, tongue flicking and circling your clit with purpose. his grip on your thighs tightened, dragging you impossibly closer to the edge of the bed, like he needed to be closer, like he’d crawl inside you if he could.

every moan you let out, every tremble in your legs, was feeding something wild in him. it lit him up from the inside, drove him deeper into you with an intensity that felt almost primal. he wasn’t stopping—not until you were unraveling again, trembling and wrecked, completely his.

“sho—i’m coming,” you gasped, voice breaking on the edge of a cry.

hinata looked up briefly, his eyes dark and full of hunger, lips glistening with your slick. “go on, baby,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel and heat. “cum for me. i want it—need it.”

and with that, his mouth was back on you, sucking and licking like he knew every spot that made you come undone. it didn’t take long—your second orgasm slammed into you like a jolt of lightning, thighs tightening around his head, body convulsing under the weight of your release. your hands gripped the sheets, breath catching in your throat as the pleasure surged through you.

he didn’t stop until your legs were trembling, twitching from overstimulation, and your breath came in broken gasps. only then did he slow, tongue now soft and lazy, his lips trailing reverent kisses along your inner thighs—like he was thanking you for letting him worship you.

hinata rose from between your legs, crawling back up your body. his hands smoothed over your sides, warm and grounding, gently coaxing you back to earth. he pressed his lips to your shoulder, then your collarbone, each kiss a soft anchor.

“still want to continue?” he murmured between kisses, voice low, tender—but laced with heat.

his eyes searched yours, fingers still drawing slow, soothing circles on your hips, grounding you in the moment. there was no rush in him now—just heat, reverence, and something deeper.

“of course,” you whispered, voice a little hoarse from all the moaning, but filled with certainty. your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. he leaned into your touch instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if grounding himself in you.

“my girl,” he breathed, so softly it was almost a prayer, before he kissed your palm, then your lips again—slower this time, but no less hungry.

with gentle care, hinata shifted beside you, adjusting your position so you were lying comfortably against the pillows. he smoothed your hair back from your face and tucked a pillow beneath your lower back, like he knew exactly what your body needed after everything.

“there,” he murmured, voice still thick with affection and desire, “comfy?”

you nodded, heart fluttering as he kissed your forehead, then your jaw, then trailed lower again, as if starting all over—but this time, slower, deeper, more deliberate.

he wasn’t just taking his time now. he was savoring you.

your hand trailed slowly down his chest, fingertips brushing over his skin with intent. you felt the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch—every inch of him responding to you. your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats, tugging at the knot, and without hesitation, hinata helped you, quickly shimmying out of them, his boxers following right after.

your hand wrapped around his length, warm and pulsing in your grip. he hissed softly through his teeth, his hips twitching at your touch. he was big—thick and long, the veins along his shaft prominent beneath your fingers. the sight of him, paired with the heat radiating off his body, had your mouth watering and your core clenching in anticipation.

hinata’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as you stroked him slowly, your thumb grazing the bead of precum that had gathered at the tip.

“fuck,” he breathed, voice rough and low, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

your body was already responding to him again, the ache between your thighs growing deeper, wetter, as you imagined what it would feel like to have him inside you—stretching, filling, claiming. your legs shifted restlessly beneath him, need blooming hot and fast all over again.

“shoyo, can i suck?” you asked, voice soft, eyes wide and innocent—but laced with heat. hinata swore under his breath, jaw tightening at the sight of you like that, looking up at him so sweet and desperate.

he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours as he chuckled lowly. “not now, baby. maybe next time, yeah?”

you pouted, lips pushing out slightly, and it only made his cock twitch in your hand. but he just shook his head, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“i want to pleasure you,” he murmured, voice deep with intent, “tonight’s all about you.”

he kisses you again—slow and warm, with a hint of growing urgency—before pulling back just enough to reach toward the drawer beside the bed.

his brows furrowed a little as he rummaged through it. “shit,” he muttered under his breath, still searching.

you bit back a smile, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. “can’t find it?”

“i swear i put one in here,” he grumbled, lifting and shuffling through random things—lip balm, a stray pen, an old receipt—everything but what he needed.

“it’s okay,” you said softly, resting a hand on his arm. “i’m on the pill.”

he paused, eyes flicking to yours, the heat in them momentarily eclipsed by something tender—concern.

“are you sure, baby?” his voice was low, careful, but laced with desire.

you nodded, your thumb brushing slow circles against his skin. “you don’t have to worry about going raw with me.”

his jaw flexed, clearly affected, and he leaned in to kiss you—slow, deep, reverent. when he pulled back, his voice was rough with restraint.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

he pulls you closer, one hand gripping your hip as the other wraps around his cock. he drags the head through your folds, teasing your clit, smearing your slick over the tip and down his length. the sensation makes you gasp, hips twitching toward him.

“so wet already,” he groans, his voice low and shaky, “all for me, huh?”

he keeps rubbing the tip against you, slow and deliberate, letting the tension build. every little twitch in your thighs, every stuttered breath, was making him lose his mind.

“fuck, shoyo, stop teasing.”

your voice was breathless, almost whining, and it made him smirk—eyes dark with want.

“can’t help it,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock over your entrance one more time, just to hear you gasp. “you’re too perfect like this. squirming for me.”

but then he leaned down, kissed you like he couldn’t bear to wait any longer—and he didn’t.

with one slow, steady push, he began to slide in, inch by inch, filling you completely.

he was big—thicker, longer than anyone you’d ever had—and your walls clung to him greedily, stretching around every inch. it burned in the best way, a slow, delicious ache that had your breath catching in your throat.

your eyes fluttered open as you pulled back from the kiss, gasping. instinctively, you looked down between you, where your bodies met—where his cock was slowly sinking deeper into you—and your stomach flipped at the sight. he wasn’t even all the way in, just halfway, but you already felt impossibly full.

“fuck,” you whispered, legs trembling, fingers digging into his shoulders. “shoyo, you’re… so big.”

he groaned, low and strained, watching every twitch in your face with hungry eyes. “you’re taking me so well, baby,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “so tight… feel so fucking good around me.”

you could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head the moment he finally bottomed out—every inch of him snug inside you, stretching you just right. your breath hitched, and your nails dug slightly into his back as you tried to ground yourself.

hinata paused there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours. he was breathing just as hard, holding himself still for you, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. his restraint was barely holding, his muscles trembling with it.

“you okay?” he whispered, voice rough and shaky.

you nodded, lips brushing his. “you can move now, shoyo. please.”

that was all he needed.

hinata moved with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface—now unleashed. his thrusts were deep and purposeful, hitting all the right spots with practiced ease. it was overwhelming in the best way, the drag and push of him inside you sending your mind spiraling.

he was feral, and you loved every second of it.

the way he gripped your thighs, the way his hips slammed against yours—it was like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you. each thrust had your breath catching, your moans spilling freely into the air between you.

and god, the sounds—skin meeting skin, his low groans, your gasps—they could send you straight into cloud nine.

his name tumbled from your lips like a chant—shoyo, shoyo, shoyo—your nails digging into his back as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe. his pace was relentless, but not careless; he knew your body too well, chasing every twitch, every gasp, every tremble like it was a reward.

“look at you,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his brow as he hovered over you, his thumb finding your clit and circling it just right. “taking me so fucking good.”

“fuck—look at that,” he growled, eyes glued to where your bodies met. his cock twitched deep inside you at the sight of your slick coating him, a creamy ring forming at the base. “you’re making such a mess on me, baby.”

his thrusts deepened, slow but punishing, each one pulling a gasp or moan from your lips. his thumb never let up on your clit, drawing tight circles that made your thighs tremble around his hips.

“feel that?” he groaned, pressing your hand down gently against your own lower belly, his eyes locked on yours, dark and wild with desire. “that’s me—so deep inside you.”

you could feel it—his cock, thick and pulsing, pressing against your insides from the inside out. the sensation made your breath hitch, made your body clench tight around him, earning a low, broken moan from his lips.

“fuck, baby… you’re so wet,” he muttered, hips rolling with deeper intent now, grinding into you as if he wanted to mold himself to every part of you. “can feel you dripping all over me.”

your body was burning, shaking with overstimulation and pleasure—but the way he moved, touched, and praised you only made the fire grow hotter.

“you gonna cum for me again?” he asked, thumb working your clit faster now. “wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

"yes shoyo, fuck, i'm cumming," you moaned.

hinata pulled out just slightly before slamming back in, his thrusts becoming more erratic, rougher, deeper—chasing both your highs like he needed it to breathe.

the only words you could form were broken chants of his name, over and over, like a prayer on your tongue—and he loved it. every sound you made pushed him closer to the edge.

hinata's eyes were wide in awe at the sight before him. you looked breathtaking—mouth open in bliss, chanting his name like it was the only word you knew, your tits bouncing with every deep thrust, decorated with the red and purple marks he'd left across your skin.

to him, you weren’t just beautiful. you were a goddess—divine, untouchable, and yet here you were, unraveling just for him.

he lets out a deep, guttural groan as he feels your walls clench tighter around him. you were so close—he could feel it in the way your body trembled, in the desperate way you held onto him. and fuck, so was he.

“come on, baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, breath shaky against your ear. “cum for me. i wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

his thrusts were deeper now, heavier—less rhythm, more need. the way you clenched around him, warm and tight, was making him unravel faster than he wanted to admit. but he held on, just long enough to get you there.

his thumb found your clit again, circling it with practiced pressure. your moans grew higher, breathier, body tensing beneath him. your hands clawed at his back, nails dragging down as the pleasure built and built until you couldn’t take it anymore.

you cried out his name, voice breaking, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm slammed into you like a wave. your whole body shook with it—legs trembling, walls fluttering around him so tightly he almost saw stars.

“that’s it,” he groaned, watching you fall apart completely. “just like that, baby. fuck—”

the way you squeezed him, so wet, so perfect, pushed him right over the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken moan, spilling inside you. his hips stilled, trembling slightly, chest heaving as he pressed his forehead against yours.

you both stayed like that for a moment, breath mingling, skin hot and slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.

“fuck… you’re perfect,” he murmured again, softer this time, almost reverent. his arms wrapped around you protectively, pulling you into his chest like you were something fragile and precious.

your fingers found his hair, running through it gently, grounding both of you. and for a few quiet seconds, the world disappeared—just him, just you, tangled in warmth and something deeper than either of you could name.

hinata leans in, breath still heavy, and begins peppering your face with soft kisses—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere his lips could reach. between each kiss, he mumbled in that warm, husky voice, “good girl… so good for me… fuck, you’re amazing…”

his fingers gently ran up and down your sides, grounding you as your body slowly came down from the high. you were still shaking slightly, but his touch was tender, soothing. each press of his lips felt like reassurance, like he couldn’t get enough of you—not just the sex, but you.

“you did so good,” he whispered again, eyes soft as they met yours. “you’re everything.”

he pulled you closer into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. his hand rubbed your back in slow, lazy circles while he continued to kiss your hairline.

of course, it didn’t stop with just one round.

the two of you were insatiable—drunk on each other, on every touch, every kiss, every moan that fell between tangled sheets. it was like something had snapped the moment he first slid into you, and now, neither of you could stop. time blurred, and the only thing that mattered was the way you felt in his arms, how perfectly your bodies moved together.

at one point, you were straddling him, thighs shaking but determined, riding his cock at your own rhythm. hinata laid beneath you, flushed and panting, his eyes dark with lust and adoration. his hands roamed your waist, guiding your movements as his mouth latched onto your breasts—kissing, licking, sucking like he couldn't get enough. he moaned against your skin every time you sank down fully, the wet drag of your bodies moving together making you both shudder.

"just like that, baby… ride me," he whispered, voice hoarse, lips brushing against your nipple. your name tumbled from his lips like a prayer, like you were something divine—something to be worshipped.

but he needed more.

he flipped you over with ease, manhandling you like you weighed nothing. the next thing you knew, you were on your knees, face down in the pillows, your ass raised high for him. he knelt behind you, hands spreading your cheeks as he watched his cock slide back into you with ease, slick from everything you’d already shared. the angle had you seeing stars instantly, your cries muffled in the sheets.

"fuck, look at this pussy... taking me so good," he groaned, leaning forward to press his chest against your back, his hand wrapping around both your wrists and pinning them behind you. you felt so exposed, so completely at his mercy—and you loved it.

his free hand found your hip, pulling you back into him with every thrust, and then—

smack.

his palm came down on your ass, the sting blooming across your skin and making you clench around him. he grunted, losing himself a little more every time your body reacted like that.

your mind was a haze of heat and pleasure, completely undone. words stopped making sense. all you could manage were broken, breathless moans and endless chants of his name.

you had no idea how many times you'd come—three? five? more?—but every time you thought you couldn’t take anymore, hinata gave you another reason to fall apart.

he never once let you go untouched. his lips, his hands, his voice—they were all over you. his mouth kissed your spine, your shoulders, your neck. he kept whispering filthy praise, calling you his good girl, his perfect baby, his everything.

"you’re so fucking pretty when you fall apart for me," he breathed, fingers digging into your waist. "so tight—so wet. fuck, i can’t get enough."

your legs trembled, body slick with sweat, sheets tangled around your limbs—but still, you wanted more. and so did he.

and long into the night, even when your body was too spent to move, he’d still be touching you, still be pressing kisses to your skin, still making you feel wanted, worshipped—completely his.

because this wasn’t just about sex.

it was about you. and for hinata, that was everything.

you thought you were done.

your bodies were sore, your legs barely steady, and your throats hoarse from the moaning, the whispering, the breathless gasps that filled every corner of the room. the sheets were a mess—damp and tangled, the air heavy with heat and the scent of shared pleasure. both of you were exhausted, limbs tangled together as your chests rose and fell in sync, basking in the quiet aftermath.

but hinata wasn’t quite finished.

"come on," he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stood. "we need a shower."

you groaned, muscles aching, but followed him into the bathroom, your hand resting in his like it belonged there. warm water began to cascade down, steam rising around you both as you stepped in together. he pulled you close beneath the stream, hands gliding over your skin with tender intent, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything you'd shared—at least, on the surface.

his fingers lingered a little too long. his gaze roamed, a spark reigniting behind those warm brown eyes. his touch shifted from gentle to teasing—thumb brushing over your nipple, hands sliding down the curve of your waist, his body pressing against yours from behind.

"i know we should stop," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot, "but you feel too good… i can't help it."

before you could answer, he was inside you again—slow, deep, the water masking your gasp as your hand gripped the slick wall for balance. you were already so full from the night, overstimulated and tender, but that only made every thrust feel more intense. every inch of him hit home, coaxing another wave of pleasure from a body that didn’t know it could take more.

"shoyo—" you whimpered, your voice trembling, but he only shushed you with a kiss to your shoulder, his pace steady, deliberate.

"just one more," he promised. “wanna feel you like this. warm, wet… mine.”

the water dripped down your bodies, slicking your skin as your back arched into him. he held you tight—one hand on your waist, the other slipping between your legs again, determined to wring out one last climax from you. and when you came, trembling under his touch, your name a breathless whisper on his lips, he followed not long after, burying himself deep with a groan of your name.

you leaned back into his chest, heart racing, your body humming with aftershocks.

and this time, when he washed you gently, carefully, whispering soft “thank yous” and “i love yous” between kisses, you knew—for sure—you weren’t just full of him.

you were full of something deeper. something lasting. something real.

you woke up the next morning feeling sore in places you didn’t even know could ache. every little movement reminded you of the night before—of his hands gripping your hips, his mouth trailing heat down your skin, the way your bodies moved together again and again until you both lost count.

but the ache was worth it.

you turned your head and smiled softly at the sight beside you—hinata, fast asleep, hair tousled and lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. his body bore the evidence of everything you gave him. faint red scratches down his back, purpling love bites along his collarbone and shoulders—your marks, painted proudly on his skin.

he looked peaceful, completely undone, and yet, wholly yours.

you reached out and gently traced a finger down one of the marks on his side, careful not to wake him. he stirred a little, brow twitching, but didn’t open his eyes—just moved closer, as if even in sleep, he needed to be near you.

your heart swelled.

yeah, you were sore. but if this was the price for being loved by him—touched, marked, and held like that—it was worth every single bruise, every ache, every breathless moment.

and you’d do it all over again.

you reached over to the bedside table, grabbing your phone with a quiet click of the screen. the morning light filtered perfectly through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. it was calm, warm—the kind of stillness that made everything feel dreamlike.

slipping on hinata’s hoodie, the fabric smelled like him—clean sweat, a hint of his shampoo, and something distinctly him. it was oversized on you, falling mid-thigh and completely swallowing your frame. the warmth of it soothed your sore muscles, a comforting reminder of last night.

you padded across the room toward the mirror, tucking strands of messy hair behind your ear. something about the glow in the room and the way the hoodie fell just right made you pause. you lifted your phone, angled it slightly, and snapped a mirror selfie.

it was casual, almost innocent at a glance—hoodie-wrapped, bare legs, no makeup, just soft morning light on bare skin. but if someone looked closer, really looked, they might notice the faint silhouette behind you. hinata’s muscular back, the curve of his shoulders half-covered by the sheets, was just barely visible in the corner of the frame. not enough to be obvious—just enough to hint.

you posted it anyway. no caption, just the image.

you laid back down on the bed, the soft mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight as you turned to face him. hinata was still asleep, his breaths slow and even, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calmed you instantly.

the golden morning light streamed lazily through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room—and across him. it kissed his skin in the most delicate way, highlighting every dip and curve of his toned body. the tan of his skin looked impossibly rich in this light, glowing like sun-warmed bronze.

hinata’s eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the soft golden light filtering through the curtains. it took him a second to focus, but the moment he saw you—curled beside him, wearing his hoodie, your hair a little messy and your lips curved in a sleepy smile—his heart felt like it might burst.

a soft, warm smile spread across his face as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep.

he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth waking up to. his thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone, his touch lazy, affectionate. “you look so pretty right now,” he added, voice low, like he didn’t want to break the calm.

you leaned into his touch, your nose brushing against his. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, and he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close until your foreheads touched. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his tone more serious, concern hidden beneath the warmth in his voice.

“sore,” you admitted, with a grin. “but worth it.”

hinata let out a low laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i went a little crazy, huh?”

you shrugged, playful. “you were just passionate.”

his grin widened. “and you were perfect.”

his hands slid down to your thighs, warm and familiar, fingers tracing soft circles against your skin. slowly, deliberately, they inched higher, slipping beneath the oversized hoodie you wore—his hoodie. his touch was gentle, teasing, but purposeful.

“shoyo,” you whined, shifting slightly under his hand, “stop... i’m still sore.”

he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a crooked smile forming on his lips. “sorry,” he murmured, not sounding sorry at all. “can’t help it. you’re just too pretty like this.”

his fingers rested just at the edge of your folds, not pressing further—just staying there, tempting. he leaned in, brushing his lips along your jaw, then your neck, slow and unhurried.

“i won’t do anything,” he whispered, voice low and soft. “just touching... promise.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched when his thumb gently caressed the inside of your thigh, the sensation light but electric. he was taking his time, just enjoying the way your body responded to his touch—even in your sore, sensitive state.

“you’re insatiable,” you mumbled, barely suppressing a small gasp.

“only with you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin. “besides... we don’t have to do anything. i just wanna feel you.”

his fingers traced the delicate curve of your folds, barely touching, just enough to make you shiver. the teasing motion sent a spark straight through your core, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

“shoyo…” you breathed, your voice already tinged with need despite the soreness lingering in your body.

he grinned against your skin, lips ghosting over your neck as he murmured, “mm, hear that? you’re already getting wet for me again.”

his fingers moved a little more deliberately now—slow, featherlight strokes that made your thighs twitch and your breath hitch. the hoodie you wore suddenly felt too warm, too heavy, as heat bloomed between your legs.

you buried your face in the crook of his neck, hiding the way your cheeks burned. “you’re unbelievable,” you whispered, hips tilting just barely into his touch, betraying your own resistance.

“i could say the same about you,” he chuckled, fingers now slick with your arousal. “still sore, but your body’s already begging for more.”

his free hand slid up your back, holding you close while the other toyed with you—slow, careful circles that had your stomach tightening all over again. it was maddening, how easily he could unravel you even in the quiet, golden light of morning.

“just a little more,” he whispered. “let me make you feel good again.”

hinata was insatiable, and despite the soreness still lingering in your muscles, you found yourself on top of him once again. his hoodie was now discarded and crumpled beside the bed, long forgotten in the heat that bloomed between your bodies.

your thighs trembled slightly as you straddled him, but his hands on your hips steadied you—warm, firm, possessive. his mouth was latched onto your nipple, tongue flicking and lips sucking greedily, like he couldn’t get enough of you. soft whines and gasps spilled from your mouth as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, leaving faint love bites in his wake.

“you drive me crazy,” he murmured against your chest, voice husky, breath warm.

you began to roll your hips slowly, your slick folds gliding over him, teasing him both with friction and restraint. he groaned, his head tipping back against the pillow, the veins on his neck straining as he fought to hold himself back.

your hands splayed over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, and you smiled—half dazed, half wicked—as you sank down on him again.

his cock filled you deeply, stretching you open all over again, and your moan echoed his own. your pace started slow, deliberate, savoring every inch as your walls clenched around him.

“fuck—just like that,” he gritted out, hands tightening on your waist as you bounced on his cock, the wet sound of skin against skin filling the room.

every movement made your breasts bounce, and he couldn’t help but sit up, wrapping his arms around you, mouth finding your chest again as if he’d been starved for it.

“you’re so perfect like this,” he murmured between kisses. “riding me like you were made for it.”

and in that moment, with the sunlight casting a golden glow across your bare skin and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, it was impossible to disagree. every thrust, every moan, every desperate kiss he pressed to your collarbone made you feel like the center of his world—and you basked in it, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure only he could pull from you.

of course, hinata didn’t stop until he’d wrung two more orgasms from you—each one more intense than the last. your body trembled, overstimulated and utterly spent, but he held you through it, whispering soft praise and brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“that’s it, baby… you’re amazing,” he murmured, voice rough but tender as he kissed your temple.

by the time he pulled the blankets over both of you, tucking you into his chest, you were already slipping back into sleep. your breathing slowed, your limbs heavy and warm, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

he held you close, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist, his lips resting against your forehead as the morning quiet settled around you both.

when you woke up again you felt the other side of the bed empty.

"he probably went to the gym."

your guess was spot on the moment you saw the instagram notification pop up on your screen: shoyo_hinata just posted a photo.

curious, you opened it—only to nearly choke on your own breath. it was a picture of his back, shirtless, his toned muscles on full display and unmistakably covered in fresh scratch marks. red, raw, and clearly recent. and the caption? just a smirking emoji and a volleyball. classic hinata. subtle, but not really.

your own post from earlier—taken just an hour before—was now blowing up too. the mirror selfie you’d casually posted in his hoodie, his faint silhouette in the background, had fans in full detective mode. and they were ruthless.

your notifications were in chaos.

@spikemyheart: OH MY GOD IS THAT HINATA IN THE BACK??? @liberoinmydreams: wait the scratch marks on his post… YOU DID THAT??? @sweatyforthevballboys: y’all are literally feral i’m not even mad @kneesforhinata: this is so nsfw and i LOVE IT @softservequeen: you’re sore aren’t you. blink twice if you need electrolytes 💀

later that afternoon, hinata came back to the hotel room, still a little damp from the post-training shower he’d taken at the venue, his bag slung over his shoulder and a smug grin playing on his lips.

he dropped the bag by the door, immediately walking over to where you were lounging on the bed, scrolling through your phone—still trying to recover from the wild fan theories flooding your dms and comments.

“so…” he started, plopping down beside you and tugging you close until you were tucked against his chest. “guess the internet had a little meltdown today, huh?”

you groaned, hiding your face against his neck. “don’t even start. some people are already making tiktoks syncing the posts with timestamps and analyzing the lighting.”

hinata chuckled, low and satisfied. “well… serves them right. we were subtle. kinda.”

you looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “subtle? you posted your back covered in scratches like you just survived a bear attack.”

he shrugged, clearly unbothered. “what? it’s art.”

then he tilted his head slightly, grin turning mischievous. “but hey…” he leaned in, brushing his lips just shy of your ear. “you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor now?”

you stiffened, pulling back to stare at him. “shoyo—”

he laughed, fully amused at your expression. “what? just saying. guess they know exactly who made those marks now, huh?”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, cheeks burning. “you’re impossible.”

“mmh. maybe. but at least now they know you’re mine.” he said it so easily, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

as if on cue, your phone buzzed in your hand, screen lighting up with a message from your pr team:

[urgent – need you at the office asap. call when you’re en route.]

you stared at it for a moment, dread pooling in your stomach. hinata glanced down at your expression, then raised a brow. “bad timing?”

you sighed, sitting up slowly and tossing your phone onto the bed with a groan. “it’s my pr team. i think they saw the posts.”

he leaned back on his hands, clearly not surprised. “oh, now they noticed?”

you shot him a look. “they’re probably trying to figure out how to spin this before it explodes more than it already has.”

hinata just grinned, watching you pull his hoodie back on. “want me to say i scratched myself in my sleep?”

you blinked at him, deadpan. “please never say that in front of my publicist.”

he chuckled, standing up and helping you gather your things, stealing a kiss here and there as you tried to get dressed. “don’t stress, babe. worst case, we just tell them the truth.”

“that i spent the weekend getting railed by japan’s volleyball star?”

“well…” he smirked, leaning in to kiss your neck. “worked out pretty great for both our engagement, didn’t it?”

you shook your head, unable to fight your smile as you grabbed your phone again. chaos or not, the internet could wait. but your publicist definitely couldn’t.

you sat inside the sleek glass-walled conference room of your agency’s office, dressed in a hoodie you borrowed (stole) from hinata’s suitcase and a pair of oversized sunglasses to shield your face from curious stares. despite the casual outfit, the room was filled with an unmistakable energy. your manager, two assistants, and even someone from the PR team were all seated across the table — and right next to you was hinata, legs sprawled, hand casually resting on your thigh under the table like this wasn’t the most high-stakes meeting of your month.

you felt slightly overwhelmed, if not dazed, from the sudden turn your morning had taken. not even an hour ago, you were in bed, your hair still damp from a too-long shower turned… something else. now you were staring at a stack of documents and your manager practically vibrating with excitement.

“okay, i’m just going to say it,” your manager started, slapping a stack of printouts on the table. “this is insane — and i mean that in the best way possible.”

you raised a brow. “what is?”

“you. hinata. the photo. both of your photos. the internet basically exploded.” she turned a few pages, revealing printed-out screenshots of social media reactions. “you broke the algorithm.”

hinata leaned in, amused, as your manager continued. “people figured it out immediately. ‘oh my god, is that hinata’s back?’ ‘are those her nails on his shoulder?’ and don’t get me started on the slow-motion analysis videos on tiktok.”

you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “they’re analyzing the nails?”

“yes,” one of the assistants chimed in. “there’s already a fan account documenting your ‘secret soft launch’ relationship timeline.”

hinata chuckled beside you. “i told you they’d figure it out. you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor guy now?”

you shot him a side glance. “i forgot about him.”

“your pr team didn’t,” said the woman from PR, adjusting her glasses. “but don’t worry. that ship has officially sailed. now, onto the real news…”

she pulled up a presentation on her laptop and turned it toward you. “endorsements. projects. appearances. not just for you individually — but together. turns out, everyone wants a piece of the ‘it couple.’”

you stared at the screen in disbelief. makeup brands, fashion lines, travel companies, even a luxury watch brand — all with interest in pairing you and hinata together for campaigns. one of them was a magazine shoot titled undeniable chemistry. another was a high-profile drama offer for a couple-centric storyline, with an optional steamy twist if “the actors are comfortable.”

hinata whistled under his breath. “we’re gonna be busy.”

your manager grinned. “if you say yes to even half of these, you’re set for the year.”

you leaned back in your chair, overwhelmed but not entirely displeased. the idea of working so closely with hinata was… distracting in a way that made your stomach flutter. he must’ve sensed it, because his thumb gently rubbed slow circles on your thigh under the table.

“so,” your manager asked, eyes expectant. “do we want to ride the wave?”

hinata answered before you could. “yeah. we’re in.”

you looked at him, wide-eyed. “you’re just going to agree to everything?”

“not everything,” he said, smirking. “but the stuff with you? absolutely.”

you tried to play it cool, but the way his voice dipped lower at the end made something in you stir. you crossed your legs, subtly pressing them together.

“fine,” you said, clearing your throat. “we’ll look through the offers.”

“great,” the PR rep said. “oh, and… try to keep it PG for a bit. at least until the magazine cover drops.”

hinata gave a lazy shrug. “no promises.”

you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “this is going to be a lot.”

“maybe,” hinata said, grinning at you sideways. “but at least it’ll be fun.”

and deep down, even with your nerves tangled and your heart racing, you knew he was right.

you eventually left the meeting with a folder full of contracts, a dozen potential collaborations swirling in your head, and hinata’s hand still comfortably entwined with yours. the hallway buzzed with agency staff and interns sneaking glances, whispering to each other, probably already texting their friends about seeing you two together in person.

as the elevator doors closed, hinata leaned against the mirrored wall, watching you with that lazy, satisfied smile.

“you good?” he asked, voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

you looked down at your reflection, then up at his. “i don’t know. i think so? it’s a lot. but also kind of… exciting.”

he tilted his head. “scary?”

“a little,” you admitted.

hinata reached out, brushing your hair behind your ear. “well, don’t worry. we’ll figure it out.”

“you sure about that?”

he leaned in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “you’re stuck with me now. might as well enjoy it.”

you laughed under your breath, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, letting the moment settle. the doors opened with a soft ding, and the sunlight poured in once more, casting that same golden glow that started this whole thing.

you stepped out together — not just into the lobby, not just into a brand-new set of projects and headlines — but into something that felt, for once, completely right.

you didn’t look back.

[knm4fvs]

Madly in love with him 😞🫶💞💞

THE THINGS KOZUME KENMA POSTED ON HIS INSTAGRAM STORY JUST FOR YOU

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[erexart]

Hello officer 🤗

[yoiisa]

In honor of pride month, could you pretty please write any characters of your choice with a bi reader? It can be any scenario really, I just really love my bi girls <333

Tags: TW for sexual harassment in Reiners, because some people just lack basic human decency/common sense. coming out and fluff other than that!!

ofc!! bi girlies unite! i'm going to do this with characters from a bunch of shows: reo from bllk, mitsuya from tokyo rev, sakura from wbk, reiner from aot, megumi from jjk, and akaashi from haikyuu!!

➜ you kept the fact that you're into both genders hidden for a while from reo mikage ➜ after all, he comes from a very prestigious family (likely also conservative), and didn't know how he'd take to dating someone part of the LGBTQ community ➜ however, once you met nagi, any worries about how open he was to that community were swiftly dismissed ➜ it got to the point where you genuinely considered whether or not your boyfriend would be happier just being with the white-haired boy ➜ you came out to both of them at the same time, and they were chill with it!! before proceeding to promptly take up all of each other's attention again . . .

"What's all that?" Nagi asks, pointing across the street as he rests his head on the table. You, Reo, and Nagi are on a cafe date (or it was supposed to only be you and Reo but Nagi just tagged along). Your boyfriend and you look over to see a store across the street hanging up a pride flag in the window. "Why're they hanging that up now?" Nagi asks. "Oh, it's pride month," Reo says. When Nagi gives him a blank look, Reo chuckles, "You know, gay people and trans people and such." Nagi hums as Reo pats his head. "They like rainbows?" "Nagi," you groan, "that's just the flag. It represents the community." Nagi nods and hums again, tracing his finger along the wood of the table. "Do we know anyone who's part of that?" Reo starts to shake his head, still patting Nagi on the head, but when you bristle, they both look up at you. They stare you expectantly and you sigh. Well, it's now or never. Hopefully, if they get upset, at least you're in public so someone can step in. "Well, I am," you say softly. " . . . Gay means that you like the same gender, but you're dating Reo," Nagi points out. You force out a laugh and say, "There's multiple kinds of sexualities. I'm bisexual, which means I like boys and girls dude. I can like Reo." You force your gaze over to Reo, but before he can say anything, the food comes. The waitress sets three coffee cups and the various pastries you guys ordered in front of you. Reo wastes no time digging in and you're left frozen in panic in your seat. Eventually, you clear your throat. "Reo?" "Hmm?" "Are . . . you okay with that?" "Why wouldn't I be?" he asks, his purple eyes wide and curious. "I don't care. As long as you're not breaking up with me over it." "Why would I break up with you over it?" you ask, your voice a little tight. "I just . . . I thought you might." "Why would I break up with you?" Reo chuckles. "That's stupid," Nagi chirps in, lifting his head. "Breaking up would be such a hassle at the end of the day. Like feeding myself. Reo, food." You watch as Reo takes a teaspoon and feeds Nagi some cake Nagi licks some of the whipped cream off his lips. The gesture is so tender and intimate, you can't help but somehow feel like you're intruding on them, instead of Nagi doing it to you. Seriously. Why were you so worried in the first place?

➜ mitsuya takashi is a very observant man, so he knew already that you were into both genders long before you came to him with the news ➜ he never brings it up though, so when he's so nonchalant about the news, you don't know if you should be happy that he doesn't care or offended that he clocked you so fast ➜ ultimately though, the happiness wins

"I'm bi," you blurt out one day. The two of you are in the park watching his sisters play. You're leaning on his shoulder, when suddenly the urge to admit it just arose. It could've ruined the moment, for sure, but you felt even worse keeping this a secret. Truthfully, you should've told him from the very beginning, but you were just so worried. After all, Mitsuya is surrounded by macho manly men all the time. However, Mitsuya, without missing a beat, just says, "I know. It's all good." You lift your head from his shoulder and look over at him in shock. "What do you mean you know?" "My love," he chuckles, patting your head and pulling you back onto his shoulder, "whenever we go anywhere, you're always staring at pretty girls that walk by. At first I thought you were just trying to get fashion inspo or something, but eventually I put two and two together real quick." "And . . . you're not mad or anything?" "Why would I be mad?" Mitsuya asks, kissing your forehead. "As long as you're with me, you're my girl after all." You nod and relax into him. Luna and Mana come running over and hands the two of your flowers they picked, squealing and grinning like the sun and stars personified. "Can you push us on the swings?" Luna asks, Mana bouncing besides her in excitement. "Sure," Mitsuya says, standing up. You link hands and head towards the swings, the two little girls already leaps and bounds ahead of you. As you walk though, suddenly a thought occurs to you. "Wait, pretty girls?" you ask, looking over at Mitsuya. "Are you checking them out too?" He's silent for a moment, his face going blank and his smile growing stiff, before he drops your hand and runs after his sisters. "Takashi, get back here this instant!"

➜ ahhh yes, sakura haruka. his romance sensor is absolutely off the charts with you ➜ he gets flustered enough with people who are only attracted to one gender, whether they're gay or straight ➜ but suddenly he finds out that someone can be attracted to both at the same time! and he just doesn't know what to do with himself ➜ he will actively ask you if you find a girl attractive in public (in her earshot), and you're like "dude you're my boyfriend, relax. i only have eyes for you." ➜ he's going to be so incredibly overstimulated by how badly he's getting flustered that he just turns to goop on the floor. it's so cute

Sakura had been red as a tomato for the entire day. "Haru, relax," you giggle, tuck some of his longer hair behind his ear. "I am," he says stiffly. "Babe, you're cutting off circulation in my hand." He scoffs and releases his tight grip on your hand, looking away shyly. You sigh and pinch his cheek. "What's wrong?" you asks, leaning up against him. Sakura's silent for a moment, before dragging you to the side of the sidewalk. He leans both of you against a wall of a store and starts point at people. "Do you think they're hot?" "What?" "That girl," he says. "Oh. Umm, yeah she's pretty." "What about him?" "I mean, in a certain light, I suppose." "Okay, and what about that-" "Haruka, what are you doing?" "Look around!" Sakura says. "Everyone's hot!" You blink in surprise, before cracking up. "Oh my god! You're little romance sensor is going off isn't it?" "It's not and don't call it that stupid name!" "Aww, but it's cute!" you respond, pointing at him and dying of laughter. "Don't laugh this isn't funny!" he cries, burying his face in his hands. You shake your head and kiss the backs of his hands. You gently grasp his wrists and lower them from his face. "You wanna know a secret?" you ask. Sakura is silent for a moment before nodding. You grin and lean in close to his ear, whispering softly, "I think you're the hottest person here." You swear, he's blushing so much you can see steam rising from his head.

➜ reiner braun's gaydar is honestly the worst thing in the world ➜ after all, this man saw ymir and historia openly flirting in front of him and still insisted that he had a chance with the latter T-T ➜ he's not mean about the fact that you're attracted to both genders, he's more clueless than anything ➜ but if someone is rude to you, he's the first person to come to your defense

You're sitting at a bar, when your senses start going haywire. Some sleazy ass man is scooting into the seat next to you, a smug smile on his face. "Hey, pretty," he says. " . . . hi." "I know you, you're on the board of the GSA here right?" he asks. You straighten up a little and give him your full attention. Alarm bells are still ringing in your head, but you try to keep them relatively quiet for now. "Yes, why?" "Are you into girls by any chance?" he asks and now you seriously are getting bad vibes. " . . . Yes. I'm bisexual. Why?" "Great!" he exclaims and you flinch. He puts his hands up in surrender and says, "Woah woah, it's nothing bad. I was just wondering if you'd be into a three way by chance." Your brain completely short circuits. "I'm- I'm sorry?" "Me and my girl over there," you glance in the direction of a girl who looks over. She appears nervous before giving you an apologetic smile. You glance back at the boy as he continues, "were thinking about having a threesome. You know, happy pride and all! Anyways, I'm not having sex with another boy, that's for sure, but I'd love to have two girls at the same time-" "I'm not interested, fuck off," you say turning away. "Aww come on," he groans, his hand coming onto your bicep. "It'd be fun~" "I said no," you try to keep your voice firm, but he starts squeezing your bicep and you start getting worried. "Let go." "Look-" "She said let go," a familiar voice says from behind you. The man drops his hand from your arm and you both look over your shoulder to find Reiner, his face dark. "Fuck off. Now." "Uhh . . . y-yeah sure! Sorry about that! Bye!" Before he can scurry off, Reiner grabs his arm and pulls him close. He leans in and whispers, "And stop making your girlfriend do things she clearly doesn't want to." The boy looks like he's about to pass out as he races away. You turn to look at your boyfriend, who still has an air of annoyance about him. "I can't believe some people," he grumbles, before sliding into the seat next to you. "Are you okay?" You nod and kiss the tip of his nose. Later, a friend of yours who knew that girl tells you they broke up and all you can do is smile and nod in approval.

➜ megumi fushiguro cares because now he becomes paranoid of the whole new side of competition ➜ he's very protective of the people he loves, and he can get jealous kinda easily ➜ now that he knows he has to fend off girls as well as guys? oh lord ➜ expect him to become a lot more pouty on the main ➜ it's the cutest thing ever

"Megumi," you groan, "stop staring at Maki like that." "Don't worry, I'm used to it," Maki pats your head and walks off. You're not though. Once the older girl is out of earshot you turn and glare at your boyfriend. "If I knew you were going to act like this, I'd never have told you at all." Megumi bristles before shaking his head. "It's . . . ugh, look. It's not that I don't trust you. It's that I don't trust them!" "Seriously?" "Yes! I mean look at you," Megumi says, blushing. The two of you stare at one another for a silent beat, before you laugh and gently punch him in the arm. "Megumi~" you tease, "you think I'm that pretty?" "Shut up," he groans into his hands. "I mean, you think I'm so pretty people will be falling for me left and right," you ask while batting your lashes. "You-" "You think, I'm so pretty that I'm just going to have all the guys and girls in the world at my feet!" you squeal. He grabs you and pulls your back flush against his chest. You squeak and giggle as he puts you into a make-shift chokehold. One hand comes up to cover your mouth, muffling your irrepressible giggles. "I think that you're going to annoy the world into loving you just for you to shut up," he grumbles. "That includes you, doesn't it?" you ask. Megumi doesn't say anything, just buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lick the palm of his hand and he moves it, wiping it off on your shirt. You turn your head and kiss his cheek. "Hmm, I can't help it you know," you say smugly, "if the world falls for me with one look in my pretty eyes." "Shut up," he kisses the juncture of your shoulder and neck. "Hey, that tickles." "I know." The two of you stay standing like that for a while, your head leaning back to rest on his shoulder. "Don't worry. The only person in the world I'll fall for back is you." You'll never see it, but you can feel his lips pull into a smile against your skin.

➜ akaashi keiji is a lot like mitsuya, wherein he already knows your sexuality ➜ unlike mitsuya though, he doesn't hide his knowledge from you, but instead comes up to you outright ➜ he attends pride parades with you whenever he gets the chance ➜ he enjoys being knowledgeable about the community as well, so he researches it a lot in his free time ➜ it actually leads him to start discovering his own sexuality. he doesn't put any labels on it, but you both know he isn't straight. it just kinda hangs in the air between you and you leave it at that

Akaashi is being visually assaulted right now. The sun is reflecting off of every single flag in the vicinity and it doesn't help the fact that a lot of people are decked out in glittery/shiny attire. The saturation is way too high right now. Although, nothing here is burning brighter than the smile on your face. You got face paint earlier, and someone made a flower on your cheek with blue, pink, and purple petals. That and your makeup looks flawless and your skin is glowing. You look so in your element and comfortable with the world right now. The two of you keep your hands linked tight together as you walk through the streets, music blasting from someone's speakers and the world turning into a kaleidoscope as he breathes. It's a completely new environment for Akaashi, but he doesn't feel out of place strangely. In fact, he's never felt more secure, except maybe when he's playing volleyball. A few stalls have been set up throughout the city with food and merchandise. Eventually, your feet grow tired, and the two of you find a bench to sit on. You guys get some takoyaki to split and people watch, your head on his shoulder as strangers pass you by. "Are you having fun?" you ask after swallowing another bite. "Yeah," Akaashi says, resting his head on yours. "It's just . . . so much more crowded than I realized. I guess I didn't know this many people were living in this community near us." "Well some of them probably came from other places to attend the parade," you say, cracking open a soda. "Everyone's probably not from here." "Still." "I know," you smile. You turn to him and kiss his cheek, "Thank you for coming with me today." He stares into your eyes and nods, patting your head. "Thank you for showing me this." As the celebration ends and the two of you start the journey home, he squeezes your hand. "What if I'm also . . . something?" You look over at him and quirk your head. "Do you know what kind of something?" He shakes his head and falls silent for another moment. "Just something not straight." You giggle at his wording and lean up against him. "Then you're something not straight." You kiss his cheek and sigh. "No need for any rush. We'll figure it out slowly, one step at a time." He nods and kisses your forehead.

a/n: hey y'all i've crawled out of my hole!! i almost forgot to do akaashi in this lol (ᵕ—ᴗ—) but that's done!

[chris-continues]

Hey so this was acc adorable

The mystery person SMAU was so well done too. It feels like actual texting and it feels in character

JUST ADD WATER .ᐟ

T. KAGEYAMA

cw: req by @cinnamxnangel for 700 event, ignore timestamps, crude language, mention of death (joking I promise they’re happy this time), possibly ooc kageyama idk i’m still getting used to him

gen tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @aldebrana

[levigarden999]

you're pregnant 𓏲 ࣪˖♡ haikyuu!men x reader

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ theme : you find out you're pregnant , with some chars it's an accident and with some it's what you've wanted ⋆˙˖✧

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ characters involved : keishin ukai , tetsurou kuroo , kotaro bokuto

୨୧ keishin ukai

the pregnancy test laid there on your bathroom counter. two lines. you were carrying keishin’s baby.

tears of happiness fell down your cheeks, since this had been a dream of yours for a while now. you had taken more tests that you could count during the past year, all of them coming out negative. keishin and you had been feeling hopeless, so this nearly felt like a miracle.

you grabbed the test with shaky hands and stared at the lines. those two damn lines that made you so incredibly happy. even though you had had morning sickness for a few days now and your period was late, you still did a couple tests more – just to make sure. all of them came back positive.

keishin returned home from the shift at his store a couple hours later, enough time for you to calm down a little and find the right way to tell him the happy news. you wanted to surprise him somehow, even though you knew he was in a risk of having a heart attack because of that.

”i’m home, sweets!” you heard his voice from the other room, followed by the slam of the door.  

 ”in the living room!” you announced back, barely keeping your voice even. you heart was hammering against your ribs, palms sweating and legs trembling in anticipation. you were holding a small box in your hands, where you had hidden the positive test.

keishin walked into the living room, his hair pulled back with a hairband like usually. he looked a little worn out, which was also an usual sight.

”what’s up, sweets? you alright?” he asked with a slight look of soft worry on his face. he probably could tell how you were practically sweating from anxiety.

”i got you a gift. hope you like it” you managed to stutter out, offering him the box.

his thick brows arched in a puzzled way, as if he wasn’t sure were you joking or not. eventually he chuckled and stepped forward, taking the box from you.

”well, first time for everything, i guess” he smiled teasingly, referring to the fact you hadn’t ever gotten him a gift. you chuckled as well, even though you were sure you would pass out before you even saw his reaction.

keishin opened the box, and once he saw what it contained, his smile immediately dropped. his eyes widened in a way you had never seen before, eyebrows shooting upwards.

for a few seconds, it was silent.

”is- i-is this…?” he eventually exclaimed out, as if he was afraid to say the word. you nodded frantically, tears of happiness beginning to brim your eyes again.  

”you’re pregnant? you- you have a baby inside of you?” he continued yelling with obvious shock and surprise. it was amusing how easily he raised his voice, even by accident. probably an ukai-blood thing.

”yes! i mean, it’s not a baby yet, it’s only a bundle of cells, but-” you began to stammer out, voice shaking and tears falling down your cheeks. however, you weren’t able to finish, because keishin let out a weird noise from the depths of his throat and pulled you into an embrace.

he hugged you incredibly tight, the usual feeling of cigarettes and musk lingering on his shirt as your face pressed against his chest. you sobbed, arms wrapping around his body as well.

”sweets, fuck, hell- i don’t know- fucking hell-” he stuttered out, voice shaky and filled with emotion. ”-i don’t know what to say. you’re incredible”

you half-giggled and half-cried, the fond moment making your chest nearly burst with happiness.

keishin eventually pulled back, tears in his eyes and cheeks blushed from all the feelings.

”damn it, do you understand how amazing this is? how incredible you are?” he coached you, hand grasping your shoulder firmly yet softly.

you laughed, trying to wipe your tears away. ”yeah- i guess you’ll have to quit smoking now, finally” you teased light heartedly. he laughed as well but then gave you another happy, wide, soft smile.

”yup. the baby better be born with a volleyball in arms, though.”

୨୧ tetsurou kuroo

fuck.

you stared at the pregnancy test in your hand, still sitting at the toilet because you were absolutely frozen from fear. this was what you were not expecting despite the fact you had been suffering from morning sickness and grumpiness for two weeks now. getting pregnant with your boyfriend tetsurou, who you hadn’t even been dating for that long, wasn’t on your bucket list this summer.

you cursed under your breath and buried your face in your hands, your stomach twisting and heart throbbing from the shock. you never thought about having children, especially so young. but you knew you couldn’t bring yourself to do an abortion, so there was practically only one option.

you eventually stood up, washed your hands, also splashing water into your face. how the hell were you supposed to even tell him these news? you knew tetsurou was incredibly focused on his studies and volleyball, he wasn’t the most emotional guy either. he was more of a logical person who always wanted to find a solution to things. you were afraid he wouldn’t take this in a good way.

you gripped the test in your fist as you exited the bathroom, palms sweating and body trembling. your throat felt incredibly tight and dry as you approached the kitchen where tetsurou was currently reading a book.

”you okay, baby?” he asked casually, eyes not leaving the book. you probably radiated panic since he asked that without even glancing at you.

”i-” you stuttered out, the words sadly getting stuck into your throat.

tetsurou raised his gaze from the book, probably noticing your nervous tone. ”hm?” he asked, while putting the book down.

”fucking hell” you eventually grumbled, literally throwing the test on the kitchen table, making it slide in front of him. you slammed your hands over your face and turned away, not wanting to see his reaction. you were afraid of the worst.

for a moment, it was silent, the only sound being the relentless beating of your heart and the shallow breaths against your palms. until tetsurou spoke.

”did you take a second one? you know these aren’t 100% accurate” he said casually, damn calmly.

of course he was stating facts in a situation like this.

you huffed and released your face from your hands, shooting him an incredulous look.

”no, i didn’t. but i’ve been having morning sickness, i’m pretty sure it’s correct” you argued back and finally looked at him. tetsurou looked completely unbothered, as if these news weren’t shocking him at all. he only stood up and walked over to you, a small knowing smile on his face.

”baby, take another one. just to be sure, okay?” he said gently, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. you sighed heavily and nodded.

as you were lead back to the bathroom with him, your heartbeat calmed down a little. he was reacting so calmly that it managed to steady your mind as well – maybe this wasn’t the end of the world after all.

you waited for the second test to get ready, and once it was done, the result was the same. two lines.

a jolt of realization washed over your body again. it felt surreal that you were actually pregnant. a baby was growing in your womb.

you turned to look at tetsurou, suddenly feeling tears forming in your eyes. you weren’t even sure why.

he looked down at you, eyes softening once he saw your reaction. he immediately wrapped gentle arms around your body, pulling you against his chest.

”what are you planning to do?” he asked quietly, low voice vibrating in your hair.

your throat tightened again. ”i- i don’t want to abort it” you whimpered out.

he remained silent for a few seconds, probably processing the information. however, his heartbeat stayed steady as you continued to cling to him.

”fine. then we’ll keep it” tetsurou stated simply, pulling back. he was smiling gently down at you, a confident look on his face again. how was it even possible that this man was so damn balanced mentally? he was capable to calm you down and be confident in himself, at the same time.

”really? you don’t mind having a baby?” you whimpered pathetically, tears falling down.

he chuckled and brushed the wetness off your cheeks.

”well, obviously, a kid running around won’t be easy” he chuckled teasingly. ”-but you being pregnant is much scarier, if i’m honest”

you gasped and laughed, trying to understand were you more shocked or happy about your pregnancy at this point.

”hey! well, all the more reason for you to pamper me the whole 9 months” you teased back, finally smirking playfully again.

tetsurou rolled his eyes, a laugh escaping his pretty lips.

”like that’s a bad thing. i’ll start today, then”

୨୧ kotaro bokuto

kotaro had been worried about you for the past few weeks, since you had been feeling nauseous. he was constantly checking on you, buying you medicine, making soup and feeding you ice cream, in attempts to cure your ’illness’. however, even though you didn’t say it, you were pretty sure there was another reason behind your nausea.

and you were right. the proof of your suspicions sat right there on the bathroom counter – a pregnancy test with two lines.

you sighed heavily, but you weren’t surprised the slightest. you felt your hand on the soft skin of your stomach, wondering what kind of a baby was growing inside of you right now. a boy, girl, or someone else? would it look like kotaro? or you? maybe both? how would you two manage to live with it? money?

a million questions ran through your mind, making your head nearly dizzy. you always knew you’d want a baby at some point, but you surely hadn’t ever wished to get it so early in life. you had always imagined raising a child when you have a steady job, own a house and a loving husband. right now, you had none of that. you lived in a small rent apartment with your crazy-ass boyfriend, both working a minimum wage job.

you slouched over to the living room where kotaro was sitting, staring at the tv with his hair sticking to all directions once again. he turned his head to you, golden eyes lightening up at the sight of you.

”hey, babe. what’s for din- oh wait, is something wrong?” he immediately asked as he saw your worried, worn out look. kotaro stood up and walked over to you with long strides, as if he was a hero who wished to save you.

you let out an exhale, before offering him the positive test without any words. he took it in his hands and squinted his eyes, inspecting the test for a second.

”oh, man” he whined with a sigh.

you frowned a little from confusion. what a reaction to pregnancy.

”fuck, i knew you were sick from the way you’ve been feeling for the past two weeks. i thought the world was over this corona-shit, but apparently not. i guess we can’t go to get chinese tomorrow. but we can order though, right?”

you blinked. no way.

”-oh, wait, no we can’t, it’s not good to eat spicy food while having stomach issues. do you have fever, though? loss of taste? i lost my taste when i had covid. i’ll make you something nice and gent-”

”taro!” you snapped, eyes wide and jaw dropped down. he blinked, completely taken aback by your firm tone.

however, as kotaro looked back down at the test, he noticed a small ’pregtest’ label on a small print. his eyes widened and eyebrows shot upwards, a pink flush of embarrassment raising to his cheeks.

”oh fuck. i’m so sorry, babe, i thought this was a covid test!” he exclaimed immediately, a hand slamming on his forehead. ”I’m so stupid. i’m such an idiot, god, are you okay? you’re pregnant?”

he tossed the test away, large hands suddenly touching you everywhere, gently. your stomach, breasts, back, cheeks – he was doing a whole damn medical examination to check if you were okay.

you couldn’t help but laugh, he was so dumb yet adorable.

”i’m okay. just… shocked, i guess” you answered, voice lowering a little.

kotaro sighed in relief, before he softly – absolutely carefully – pulled you into a hug.

”phew. you’re gonna keep it right, though?”

you were silent against his chest for a moment, surprised by his words. did he actually want a baby?

”yeah… i guess. i just don’t know how we’re gonna manage” you mumbled, more vulnerable than before.

”hey, hey, relax” kotaro chuckled and pulled back, hands holding your shoulders reassuringly.

”i’ll take care of you, alright? i’ll take extra shifts at work, make sure we’re financially stable when the baby arrives. you don’t have to worry about a thing, babygirl” he smiled. that damn care-free, nearly innocent smile.

you couldn’t help but blush and smirk from joy. you were so lucky to have a guy like him.

[hayakawalove]

Never Get Over You

Summary: Hajime was happiest with you. You were happiest with Hajime. So why did the two of you break up? After a night together, the two of you realize that your love never left at all.

A/N: Hello! I've never written Iwa before. I'm really happy with how this turned out! If you want me to write more for him leave a comment! Thoughts? Did you like it? I'd love to know!

CW: NSFW, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Ex Sex, Exes to Lovers, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Alcohol, Masturbation, Post-Haikyuu!! Time Skip, Post-Time Skip, Female Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 7,063

Credit to cafekitsune for the banner

Hajime is an idiot. He really is. He would like you to believe the opposite, but he knows it’s the truth. A fucking idiot. It’s all that’s on his mind as he watches you roll your hips in the middle of this fuckass bar. Despite it being the only bar close to him, he isn’t sure why he even came here in the first place. Actually, he did know why he came here. It was a Saturday night. A couple of months ago his Saturday looked completely different. He would be at home with you, watching a show or cooking dinner. Now he has to find something to occupy his time since he isn’t doing that anymore. It’s a bar the two of you frequented before, yet he finds himself enjoying it considerably less tonight than he did months ago. The lights are too dim and the place reeks of stale alcohol. He could leave at any moment, should leave at any moment. But he can’t bring himself to do it. Not when there’s a man a couple yards from him flirting with you way too hard. There’s an oily sheen coating his hair and his clothes look way too expensive. You’re eating it up, because of course you are, you’re five drinks deep with no sign of stopping. 

Hajime takes a sip of his whisky, the taste too bitter for his liking. The liquid coats his throat as he watches your nails drag down the man’s arm, and he feels a tingling sensation imagining it’s his. It was only a couple months ago that it was his. He’s had all this time to move on, yet he still can’t find the courage to. 

Maybe it was because subconsciously he knew he wouldn’t do any better than you. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe in the concept of the one, but if he was he know it’d be you. He knew it before you broke up, he knew it after you broke up, so why did he let it come to this? 

You toss back your drink and glance at Hajime, not that he notices as he’s too engrossed with the way his fingers cup his glass. 

Hajime feels like he’s chained to the chair beneath him. Some irrational childish part of him is screaming at him to get up and talk to you. He knows it wouldn’t be fair, so he doesn’t. He lets his whiskey comfort him in your absence, while he watches the scene in front of him unfold. 

Something the man says must be funny, because you let out a boisterous laugh. The sound dances across the room to Hajime’s ears, making his insides clench. He’s unable to tell if it’s fake, or a genuine laugh. Months ago he would’ve been able to dissect it as soon as it left your mouth. You have different laughs, he remembers that much. There’s the laugh you gave when he showed up at your job with your lunch in hand because you always forgot it, the laugh you gave when the two of you watched a particularly funny movie together, junk food in one hand and his arm in your other, or the laugh you gave when he told an awful joke. Did your laugh sound like that then? He can’t remember. He despises that he can’t remember. 

After years with someone, you pick up on all the nuances. All the things that make them tick as a human being. You learn these things not because you want to, or because you try. But because your body subconsciously forces you to. Your body picks up on every subtle cue, and stores it for later like it’s some rare treasure you might need in the future. Hajime remembers that feeling as much. 

After several months certain things would fade, like how he can’t be sure if you’re serious in thinking the man is funny, but other things stick around. For instance, he still remembers your favorite ice cream. Every time he passes it in the store he has a fleeting moment where he thinks he should pick some up, it’s always good to have on hand he thinks, but then he remembers that if he got it there would be no point. You wouldn’t be texting him later that night asking for it, because you didn’t text him anymore. 

He remembers the smell of your shampoo, the fragrance permanently marked inside his brain. Even if he didn’t have your bottle still in his shower, which he does, reminding himself to throw it out but never doing so because he’s lazy even though he knows that’s not the reason, he knows he’d be able to describe the scent correctly. He spent enough nights covered in sheets that smelled like it for it not to become a part of his soul. 

The glass he’s gripping is empty before he knows it. By the look people are giving him nearby, he knows he’s drunk it too fast for it to be considered healthy. But he doesn’t care. He’ll be damned if he has to sit here and watch this scene unfold sober. 

Hajime nods at the bartender for another glass which is promptly given to him. It’s cold to the touch, and he holds it as he stares at you. 

He could leave at any second. He should leave at any second. 

You almost trip over yourself as you walk closer to the man, so close that it couldn’t be considered casual. There’s no doubt about it, you’re wasted. Your hands float behind you to grab onto the railing to steady yourself, which prompts the man to wrap an arm around your waist. His fingers press into your dress as he makes a show of keeping you up right. 

The scene wouldn’t be as concerning if he was as drunk as you are, but he isn’t. In fact, Hajime hasn’t seen him touch a drink all night. Not that he’s been keeping track. 

He whispers in your ear and you nod, attempting to straighten out. The action peaks Hajime’s interest. What are you doing? He knows you’re not about to go home with a stranger while drunk. His eyes track your movements as you hold onto the man’s hand and start to walk towards the door. 

Are you really going to do that? 

Don’t you understand how dangerous that is? 

Hajime has two decisions in front of him. One more rational than the other. He could either let you go home with the man, or he could follow you out and ensure you don’t get taken advantage of. He knows the first option is more sane, but if he tries hard enough he can convince himself that the second option is too. 

The time is ticking as you step outside, a possible predator in tow. It only takes seconds for Hajime to weigh his options. He would never forgive himself if you were to get hurt. He would have to find the man responsible and- 

“Are you gonna drink that?” The bartender asks. 

Hajime looks down and notices he hasn’t touched the glass he had asked for. It sits in front of him, beginning to warm. He wouldn’t finish it now, that’s for damn sure. 

“No, I gotta head out.” He says, digging in his pocket for his cash. 

It’s taking too long for him to find the crumpled bills. You could already be long gone by now. Fuck. He finds them and pulls them out, passing them to the bartender before standing on his feet. Hajime grabs the jacket hanging on the back of his chair and walks out the door, finding nothing. 

You’re already gone. 

He calls a taxi before he can weigh his decisions once more. There was a 50/50 chance you were going to your house. It used to be his house, too. He doesn’t plan on what he’ll do once he gets there. He doesn’t think about what your reaction might be. Hajime only thinks about heavy hands along your skin that don’t belong to him. Hands on your skin with bad plans. 

The ride goes by quickly, but that’s probably because he’s thinking the whole time. He’s thinking about what might be happening currently. Are you there yet? Are you still wearing clothes? Has he touched you? 

The taxi comes to a stop and Hajime slides out as soon as it does. His feet slam the pavement as he walks to your house, his body memory carrying him the way there. 

When he’s standing in front of the door he realizes how thoughtless this plan was. What was he going to do now? What if you’re not as drunk as you seemed? What if you aren’t even here? 

It doesn't matter anymore. 

Hajime steps closer, pressing his ear against the front door. It’s quiet for a moment before he hears a loud bang. What the hell was that? His pulse races as he pulls away, looking at the door. Did something happen? He means to listen once more, but as he tries stepping closer he fumbles his feet, and uses a hand to smack the door to regain balance. 

You’re opening the door before he even has a say, the look on your face enough to make the strongest man cringe. 

“Hajime? What’re you doing here?” 

What is he doing here. Such a good question. Was he here to be a hero? That's the last thing he is, and he knows it. 

“I, well,” All of a sudden the whiskey in his body goes straight to his brain. He can’t think of a good reason, because he really shouldn’t be here, so he deflects. “Are you alone?” 

Your eyes scrutinize his face before you look behind you into your dark house. Anticipation builds up in Hajime’s gut as he awaits your reply. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

The guy at the bar. 

“I thought you were…” He’s realizing he can’t say anything without sounding like a creep, so he doesn't finish. He’s never been a man of many words anyway. 

Despite the look on your face, despite the fact you probably don’t want him anywhere near you, you push the door open more. The sound breaks through the silence of the night, highlighting the fact it was way past a reasonable time to be up. 

“Why don’t you come inside?” 

And so he does. He trails after you, pushing the door closed behind him. Hajime tries not to glance around the house too much, not wanting all the previous memories to flood back. The walls try speaking to him, trying to remind him of what it was like to be loved by you.

Hajime sits on the couch in the house. You’re inches away from him, wine glass in hand as you stare. The couch brings back lots of memories, unpleasant memories. Towards the end of your relationship he spent lots of nights on it. Hajime adjusts his butt when he feels the recognizable dip in the middle. You offered him a drink when he came inside, but he declined because he shouldn’t be drinking anymore. He doesn’t drink all that often, but he’s consumed more tonight than he has the last couple of months. You bring the glass up to your lips and take a swig before setting it down on the old coffee table. 

“Did you have a good night?” He isn’t sure what to say. He hasn’t spoken to you in months. He’s not sure he remembers how to talk to you, even though you used to be his favorite person. 

“What are you doing here?” It’s less of an accusation and more of a question. 

You don’t look angry, just confused. He can’t find it in himself to blame you. 

The breakup wasn’t harsh by any means. It was completely mutual, or so Hajime thought. You both began to drift apart, and it felt like more work to keep the momentum going then to just go your separate ways. The two of you weren't happy about it, but you understood it was what needed to be done. 

He’s realizing it didn't need to happen at all. 

By the time he realized that it was already months later, and it seemed like you had forgotten all about him. 

“I just wanted to check on you.” Not a complete lie, but also not wholly the truth either. 

“You haven’t checked on me in months.” 

Hajime chalks the harshness up to the alcohol in your hands. He resists the urge to state that you also hadn’t checked on him in months. Didn’t you care about him? He doesn’t say it because you aren’t the one knocking on his door at night. 

“I know.” He rests his hands in his lap as he watches you drink from the glass. 

You’re still wearing your outfit from the bar, looking a little bit more dishelved. You still look beautiful. Using context clues, Hajime notices that there are some boxes knocked off the counter. That must’ve been the noise he heard when he was standing outside. You had to have knocked them off accidentally in a drunken haze. 

You’re a bit more cognizant than he credited you for. It’s still noticeable, at least under Hajime’s watchful gaze, but you’re able to hold a conversation. 

“I find it hard to believe you wanted to check up on me out of nowhere after all this time after you broke up with me.” 

He resists the urge to say that you broke up with him as much as he did to you. 

“I…” he begins. 

“My night was okay, how was yours?” You brush past the words you said that felt like a bullet wound. You didn't look angry, that was the worst part of it all. Hajime thinks he wants you to be angry. It would probably make everything much easier.  

His night was shitty. He spent the last couple of hours watching the only woman he’s loved being flirted with. 

“It’s okay.” 

The conversation continues on, if not a little stiff. It’s easier than he expected to get back into the flow of it all. He can smell the wine on your breath as you speak, but he finds he doesn’t mind it. After a bit, you begin to question him. 

“Why are you really here?” There’s still red liquid in the glass, but it’s lower than it was thirty minutes ago. 

Hajime’s eyes drift from yours to your frame before looking away. There was no way he could keep changing the subject. He just hopes you won’t make fun of him for it. 

“I saw you. At the bar.” He turns his head towards the TV, not wanting to meet your eyes. 

The screen is black and only shows a reflection of the two of you. He can’t stand looking at himself, so he diverts his gaze to your reflection.

“You did?” 

“I did.” He bites his tongue and looks your way again. “I saw the guy you were with, too.” 

Your eyes go wide before you take a sip, licking the alcohol from your lips. “You were jealous?” 

“No, I just didn’t want him taking advantage of you.” He was jealous too, but you didn’t need to know that. 

“I’m a grown woman, I can make my own decisions.” 

Hajime frowns. He knows that. You’re independent, it’s one of the many things he loves about you. Even still, he can’t turn off that part of his brain that is wired to care for you. 

“Yeah well, guys are shit.” 

Your mouth opens like you want to say something, but nothing comes out. He wonders if you categorize him in that group as well. 

“As you can see we didn’t end up going home together.” You look down at the wine bottle near you. “He said something gross when we stepped outside, so I slapped him and he left.” 

Hajime makes an effort not to laugh. That was so like you. 

“I’ll be right back, I gotta go to the bathroom.” You adjust in your seat, beginning to stand up but your hands are clumsy from the wine and the glass tips over slightly, pouring itself on Hajime’s shirt. You’re looking down in disbelief before shoving the glass on the coffee table, running your hands down his chest. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” 

He watches your hands rub his shirt. He didn’t even really care about the fabric, he would have this happen a thousand times over if it meant feeling your hands on him more. 

“It’s fine- maybe I should head out.” His skin is hot as he looks up to your face. Hajime stands, clenching his jaw. He needs to go. He can’t be around you more, not without making a fool of himself. 

“No! Stay, I think I have some of your extra shirts laying around.” You ramble, walking away to your bedroom. 

Why did you keep those? 

And why did you look somber at the idea of him leaving? 

You come out, holding an old white shirt that belonged to him ages ago, before you stole it. He never minded it, in fact he would let you steal as many shirts as you wanted from him. 

“Here.” You push it towards him, looking down at the stain. 

“Thank you.” Before he puts thought into it, he pulls his old shirt off and slides the new one on, not even thinking about it. 

He looks up and notices you watching, and mentally punches himself. 

“Sorry, I probably should’ve gone to the bathroom.” 

“It’s okay, nothing I haven’t seen before.” You might mean it as a joke, but it doesn’t come out light. 

“Ah, true.” He chuckles and balls up his old shirt. 

The two of you are quiet, before Hajime clears his throat. You’ve already done more than enough for him, letting him inside and giving him a spare shirt. 

“I should probably head out. It’s pretty late.” 

“It’s really late. There’s no public transportation running. Why don't you just stay the night?” You say. “I still have the spare bedroom.” 

He didn’t expect you to let him sleep in your bed, but it still stings knowing he’s a guest in your home now. 

“Are you sure? You don't think it’s a little-“ 

You collect the wine up, taking it to the kitchen to put away. He can’t read the expression on your face. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go get it ready. You can leave in the morning.” 

He can’t argue before you’re leaving again, fixing the guest bedroom up with blankets and pillows. Hajime wonders if he should leave while you’re gone, it’s possible you’re just being nice, but then he thinks twice. If there’s any chance you’re being serious, it would hurt your feelings if he left without saying anything. He never wants to hurt your feelings again. 

When you’re all finished you urge him inside, giving him a goodnight before you go to your bedroom. As he’s laying down he starts to wonder if you changed anything at all in your room. Do you still sleep on the same side of the bed? 

He really shouldn’t be thinking about that sort of stuff. 

~~~

The guest room is darker than he remembers it being. There’s no light, not even the moon coming through the window. It’s been several hours, and he isn’t any more relaxed than he was when he came in here. The bed isn’t great either, feeling a bit too hard while the pillows are too soft. He feels bad thinking about all the guests that must have stayed here through the years. 

Knowing you’re on the other side of the wall is the worst part of it all. If he pays close enough attention, he convinces himself he can hear you. Hajime thinks he hears words coming from your lips, but that doesn’t make much sense. You’ve never been much of a sleep talker, unless that’s a part of you that has changed. 

“Haji,” 

He sits straight up, sure that he’s heard you say his name. Why would you do that? It’s possible you didn’t say it at all, in which case he was losing it. 

“Hajime-, more,” 

He’s sure he heard you say that. The words are followed by something akin to a moan. Hajime’s chest clenches, and he feels like he’s falling fifty stories. Are you touching yourself in there? That’s not even the most important part. The most important part is that you’re touching yourself, to the idea of him. 

Hajime feels himself grow harder beneath his boxers, so hard he knows it could cut through ice. He doesn’t even think about touching it, because he knows he’d cum embarrassingly fast. What’s he supposed to do in this situation? Pretend like he doesn’t hear it? He can’t do that. 

As you continue to moan mere feet away, precum starts to drip from his cock. It’s hot as it slides down his thighs, hot as it's close to staining the sheets that are no longer his. 

His fists clench on either side of his body, trying to show some form of restraint. Everytime he feels like he’s close to calming down he hears a faint noise coming from your room. 

He needs to make sure he’s actually hearing you, and that it’s not just his brain taunting him. That’s what he tells himself when he gets up, walking towards your room. 

He’s outside your door, unsure if he’s supposed to enter or not. It sounds like you want him to, but you could still be drunk. You could just be thinking about him touching you, without actually wanting it. He steps closer, trying to force his ear to pick up on the slightest of noises. Hajime hears you groan and it takes all of his willpower not to press against the door. He wasn’t going to get caught this time. 

It seems the world has other plans for him, though. 

Whether you were planning on going to the bathroom, or possibly you heard him walk outside your door, you get up. 

The door opens and he’s met with the sight of you standing before him once more. There’s drool spilling out the side of your lip, and he’s close to leaning forward to lick it up. 

You want to ask him what he’s doing there, and he wants to ask you why you were getting off to the thought of him. Neither one of you speaks. 

Seconds feel like hours until you reach forward and pull him in, your mouth pushing against his. Your lips taste like wine and need, your tongue falling out to graze against his. 

He’s a weak man so he follows you in, nearly tripping over himself as he shuts the door behind him as if there’s someone else in the house. There isn't. He made damn sure of that. 

Your nails scrape at his chest and Hajime has to remind himself to breathe. He pulls away for a moment only to have your lips chase his. He lets out a breathless chuckle before kissing you again, a low groan forming at the moan you let out. 

His cock is so hard it's pressing against his clothes, nearly tumbling out itself. His body starts to remember the way yours feels against him, as if he ever forgot. 

You back away, eyes low as you tug him towards you. There’s one thing on your mind and one thing only. It looks like you want to eat him alive as you pull him closer. 

He’s about to follow after you until a thought pops in his head. One he can’t ignore. Are you still drunk? Do you even want this? He wants this, god he wants it. He would never forgive himself if you didn’t really, though. It’s almost impossible to pull himself away, his rough hands holding your shoulders at a distance as he glances into your eyes. 

“Are you- do you actually want this?” He questions, quietly and painfully. 

“Does it look like I don’t?” You ask, almost giggling at the idea. 

He winces and grips your skin, swearing at himself for possibly getting out of the situation. 

“Aren’t you still drunk?” 

“I know what I’m doing, Hajime.” You remove his hands and walk up closer to him. “Don’t you want me?” 

Why did you say that? 

You know that he does. 

He tosses all reason out the window, all possibilities that you might end up hating him for this, and kisses you once more. Your lips taste better the second time around, as if you uttering consent changed your flavor. His tongue pushes against yours as he nudges you closer to the bed until you end up falling down, your back heavy as he crawls on top of you. Your legs wrap around his waist while he presses down into you, his old white shirt rubbing against your dress. He’s been waiting for this moment for months, ever since the day he realized he was an idiot. Now that it's finally happening, he’s not sure what to do with himself. You curl your fingers in his hair, tugging when he sucks your lip into his mouth. Everything you do drives him wild. He pulls back to look at you, and he’s hit with the reminder that every centimeter of you is beautiful to him. Stunning. 

Hajime pulls your hands out of his hair and lays them on the bed, using one hand to grip them tight above your head as he gets back to kissing you. He’s trying to go slow, trying not to show you how badly he needs you. Even if he did go all out, it wouldn’t be what he really feels, it couldn’t encompass it. 

He presses your hands against the bed harder, his body hot as his lips dances against yours. He didn’t know this room could get that warm. Hajime’s other hand runs up the side of your body, tugging on your dress. You look really good in it, but he prefers you with no clothes at all. 

“Get this shit off,” he speaks under his breath, pulling away to rip your dress off your body. It comes off easily over your head before he throws it across the room. 

You giggle softly, before moaning once he returns to you. His fingers drag down your body, rough fingerpads making your flesh tingle. His mouth is on yours but gone the next moment, pressing kisses down the side of your face. He doesn’t even know where to begin. You struggle against him, but he’s always been stronger than you. His grip remains tight on your hands as his lips make their way down your chest. Hajime uses his other hand to tug your bra off, leaving your breasts out in the open. You arch into him before his mouth clamps down on your nipple, sucking hard. 

This is making him feel drunker than any shitty cheap whisky from a run down bar could. His tongue drags against your nipple, and he groans as soon as you react. Hajime dotes on you, just like always, as he alternates between sucking and licking. It feels like he can’t stop, not that he wants to when he doesn’t know when the next opportunity for this will be. 

Your nipple is hard and warm in his mouth as he attaches his teeth, lightly nipping and pulling before sitting back, eyes glancing at your face. It looks like you’ve already cum, but you haven’t, not that it would matter. He’s only getting started. Hajime goes back in, resuming with the other neglected nipple. Your legs hold his waist tight and it seems like you’re trying to chase friction with your pussy, but Hajime doesn’t want to give in yet. 

“Haji, please,” you turn beneath him, trying to get free. Your voice is airy as you watch him. 

You were already getting yourself worked up before he even got here. He feels like he’s won something. 

Hajime releases your hands and they fly down to tug at his hair. Each time he sucks harder your hands grip more. It’s a delicious combination of pain and pleasure, and it shoots down to his cock. 

He spreads your legs wider, not particularly caring if it's too much. His pants press down into you, his cock already lining up with your entrance. It’s enough to tide the both of you over as you both moan. If he had his choice he would do everything under the sun with you right now. He needs to choose carefully. 

Hajime grinds against you, using his cock that’s covered with multiple layers to rub against your clit, which is only covered by a sticky layer of underwear. Sex with you was always perfect, but he can’t remember the last time it was this needy. 

“I need,” you groan, looking down between your bodies at his lips on your chest and his cock against your pussy. 

“I know, I know,” he replies, pulling away. 

His eyes dance down until he meets what you’re looking at. There’s a wet patch covering his pants now from your pussy, and he almost falls back. 

“Fuuuuck.” He bites his tongue and grinds against you harder. 

You throw your head back and close your eyes, moaning louder. Hajime isn't sure he’s in real life now. It’s all too perfect, just what he’s wanted for months. His hands keep him up on either side of your hips while he presses into you. 

“You’re gonna make me cum, Hajime.” You groan, sliding your hands around his neck. 

His eyes flick up to your face where fuck, he realizes you’re right. You have that look on your face, the one you do everytime before you fall off the edge. He can’t let that happen yet, even though it's what he wants. Hajime stops grinding and moves down, pulling your underwear off along with his shirt as he gets between your legs. His mouth is lined up with you, and he doesn’t look up to see if you know what’s happening before he sticks his tongue out, rubbing it against your clit. 

Your legs try to close around his head while you yell, and you try to back up from him. His mouth is too hot, too experienced as he slides his tongue around your pussy. He’s told you multiple times before, but your taste is his favorite thing in the world. It’s really your fault however hard he goes now. Your hands hold his shoulders, his skin hot to the touch as he goes down on you. 

Hajime isn't sure what to look at. He could keep his eyes closed to focus on the action in front of him, leaving your taste as the only thing to guide him aside from your groans. He could also look up, watch the faces you make as his tongue delves into your cunt, your walls pulsing around him each time he dips in. Hajime’s always been a visual guy, so instead he looks down, watching your pussy as he laps at you. It’s wet, and he can hardly see it, but he’s able to notice just enough. 

His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, wanting you to cum in his mouth. Both of his hands hold your legs open, so you can’t try to close them. Hajime’s cock really needs something, a hand, anything, but he can’t focus on that now. 

Your moans are getting louder and he can tell you’re close again. He could spend days here if you let him, but he knows you need something else. He doesn’t plan on getting started until you cum on his face.

“Sweetheart, need you to cum in my mouth, come on,” his voice isn't his own as he asks. He’s not requesting it because he wants his cock to be touched, though he does, but more so because he’s been thinking about your cum filling up his mouth for far too long, and he isn't sure he can wait anymore. 

You can’t hear him, or you don’t care, as you don’t respond. You moan and close your eyes, letting his lips do the work. Your body shakes when you cum, and Hajime doesn’t let any of it go to waste. He’s licking it up, swallowing all of it. 

When your legs fall on either side of Hajime while you catch your breath, he’s moving back up, sitting between your legs. He’s almost sure he got more pleasure out of that than you did, and that’s saying something. Hajime reaches down and unbuttons his pants, sliding them down until his cock pops out. Already hard and ready. 

You start to sit up, reaching a hand out to grab him, but he catches you before you’re able. Your eyes flick up to his, not sure why he wouldn’t want you touching him. 

He knows you were going to jerk him off. He knows you were going to wrap your lips around him. 

“Not now.” He’s short in his answer, leaning down to place himself between your legs again. 

“But I wanna-“ 

“Not now.” He repeats. 

A fleeting thought crosses his mind. You were moaning his name, then pulled him inside, yet hours ago you were flirting with another man. Is he just another body for the night? It stings. 

“Hajime,” You grab his hand. “I want to.” He isn't sure if you picked up on his attitude shift, or if you’re just saying it to say it, but he takes it, letting it wash over his brain. 

It feels good to be wanted by you, even if it’s just for sex. 

“Okay,” He says your name. “I get it. But not now, you can touch me later.” Hajime brings your hand towards the bed, before rubbing his thumb on you. He doesn’t want to say anything else, unsure if it would be a mistake. You smile at him and nod. 

He doesn't bother with the prospect of a condom. Normally he would, but his mind is too unfocused right now. It doesn’t look like you mind as you don’t question him further, instead letting your hands fall around his hips. 

Hajime uses one hand to guide his cock into you, where he sinks in in less than a second. You’re just as tight and warm as he remembers, if not more so. He goes slow as he pushes in further, ears blocking out the sound of you moaning so he can put all of his attention into filling you up. 

When he does, he stops, letting the air around the two of you settle. He can tell you want more, but he needs a moment to compose himself. 

“Baby,” Hajime doesn’t consider the words before they’re falling out of his mouth, tumbling while he can’t stop them. 

He pauses and looks up at you, thinking you might want to stop, thinking this might change things. He wants it to change things, but he doesn’t want to frighten you. 

You look unbothered, completely at the whim of him as you look down to where he’s connected to you. You glance up,  watching him as the room falls silent. It doesn’t feel like he’s ruined anything. It feels like a break to all of the lead up, before the two of you get started again. 

You nod your head in acknowledgment and he gets it. The two of you will discuss this later. Hajime pulls back, watching as his cock pulls from your cunt. Your walls spread as he fucks back into you, the feeling leaving his arms shaky as he holds himself up. You’re tight as he starts to build up the pace, pushing his cock into your pussy again. 

He isn't sure how much time has passed before he’s going full speed. Your hands hanging around him as you let Hajime take you, a simple task for him. 

Hajime fucks you so hard that you begin to push up the mattress, but his hands make quick work of holding you down, holding you in position as he pounds his cock into you. 

You’re moaning, flailing beneath him as you try to stay in position for him. It’s hard, the force of his thrusts bouncing you on the bed. He wasn’t sure if you needed this as much as he did, but it's obvious now by the way you cling to him. 

“So fucking g-good, so f-fuuuuck,” he moans, biting his tongue watching the way your pussy clings to him. 

“You’re so big, Hajime.” You groan. 

He throws his head back and holds your legs tighter, thrusting into you. Your walls remember him, molding to the shape of his cock once more. No matter how much he used his hand before, nothing compares to this. Hajime reaches down and rests a hand on your pussy, using his thumb to rub on your clit. 

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, and your pussy tightens up around him. He slides it around, using your previous cum to help move around. He continues until your legs wrap around him tighter. Hajime bites back a moan. He hasn’t felt this good in ages. No, he hasn’t felt this good since you were under him just like this. It wasn’t even just the sex, it never was with you. You allowed him to feel more vulnerable than he ever had. When he was with you he had purpose. He feels that way currently, too. Even if his purpose is just to make you cum tonight. 

The noises you let out are subhuman. It sounds like moaning, but deeper. Your clit is about to seize up beneath him from all of the pressure, and he isn’t planning on letting up anytime soon. He’s going to feel this in the morning, and he’s sure you are too. 

You cum with a groan on his cock and he has to remind himself to continue fucking you through it. If he had it his way he would stay still until it subsided, not wanting anything to get in the way of the feeling of you clenching his cock. As soon as you’re finished, Hajime drops down, pushing his head in the crook of your neck and he slows to a lazier pace. 

He doesn’t want to look at you now that you've cum. Doesn’t want to see if the expression on your face is anything but complete bliss. He wants to stay in this moment for a little longer. 

Your nails glide through his hair and he moans into your skin, forearms pushing against the mattress as your pussy clings to him. 

“Hajime,” your voice says. He isn't sure he actually hears it. “Look at me.” 

Despite his best judgement he presses himself up until his face is in front of yours, slowing down more. Your eyes shine beneath him, and you adjust a piece of hair against his sweaty forehead. You don’t look unhappy. In fact, you do look like you're in bliss. You smile, one that he’s seen many times before. 

“I haven’t been with anyone else, Hajime. Just you.” It feels like an arrow to the chest. “Only you.” 

Hajime can’t bring himself to swallow as he looks down at you. 

“Come on,” your voice is gentle, far too gentle for what he deserves, he thinks. “You got it.” 

Hajime moans, picking up the pace. You bring him in for a kiss, your lips soft against his as you help bring him closer. He’s transported back months ago when he was doing this same exact thing. Your hands hold him tight, not trying to get this over with, but assuring him that you want this as much as he does. 

“F-fuck, I,” he wants to tell you how much he needed this, how much he needed you, how much he still needs you. 

“Yeah?” Your words are airy as you look up at him. 

There’s almost no space between you, but it’s still not close enough. He wants to become part of you, he wants to not know where you end and where he begins. 

“Needed you, needed e-everything.” Hajime wants you to know he isn’t just here for your body, he would never do that. 

He wants you for everything, needs you for everything. Maybe that makes him petulant. He doesn’t care. 

“Take everything, Hajime.” You kiss his neck. “It belongs to you, anyway.” 

Hajime groans, and kisses you. It’s hard, his lips smashing against yours as he presses into you. Your spit mixes with his, easing out the sides of your mouths. 

“I can take it? You’ll let me?” He groans. 

The closer he is to cumming, the more he rambles. He’s always hated it, but you always told him how hot you found it. It always worked you up. 

Your pussy clenches around his cock, and he pounds even harder. 

“Take it, Hajime, it’s yours, yours, yours.” You speak around his lips. 

Hajime jolts as he cums, filling you up like he has nowhere else to spare it. 

The room settles for a moment as you regain your composure. The words you said run through his mind, but he’s still unsure if that’s how you actually feel, or if it was only in the heat of the moment. 

That’s probably what it was. It only made sense. 

When he pulls apart from you he’s sure you’re going to kick him out. He’s served his purpose. He isn't even entirely mad at the idea either. He had his chance to get you back, he should be happy he’s gotten this far. Hajime slides himself out, rubbing his thumbs on your thighs to distract you, just like he did before. He knows he has to start gathering his things to go back to the guest room, but he just can’t. 

He starts to stand, bending over to gather his things when your hand shoots out. You keep him in place, refusing to let him walk out the door. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow, just stay.” 

“Are you sure? Is that okay?” 

“Hajime, stay.” You pull him back into bed, letting his arms wrap you up. 

You actually want him to stay. 

He has a feeling you’re talking about longer than just for tonight. 

Tag List: @mikisspeak, @dinolvrrr, @sakui1, @reiluvr, @gothiccwhore666, @bunviixo, @slutshamethesquirrels

If you want to be added to the taglist please just let me know. Please let me know what you want to be added to.

[megapteraurelia]

sitting in the bleachers, your chin propped in your hand, you watched the court buzz with movement and calls after calls. bokuto's laughter was strong and loud, hinata's enthusiastic yells not far behind, but right there, at the end line — miya atsumu.

he was electric in his motion, his eyes focused, lips curled back into this wild, confident grin as he served with precision, muscles tense and taut. the palm of his hand hit the ball like it was an extension of his own body.

it smacked onto the floor in an arc that made the opposing libero dive and miss, and he didn't even try to hide it. atsumu's head turned, his eyes flicking straight to you in the stands, amongst all the other fans that searched for his attention.

then: that brilliant golden-boy smile, his canines sharp as he sent over to you his joy wrapped in smugness.

you rolled your eyes, teeth sinking into your lower lip to hide the smile threatening to overtake your face, and his eyes glinted from that far away, like he knew exactly that you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a response, yet he winked anyway. fast and subtle and only meant for you.

then he was back in position, the ball in his hands, ready for another play like he hadn't just made your heart skip a goddamn beat.

what a show-off.

TAGLIST | @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit

[jilliterate]

ushijima but as that one ateez san photo because i remember him saying he likes ushiwaka

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson at SOCCER AID 2025 [15.6.2025] 📸 nellie_photographie

[st4rgirllv]

Before You Ever Said It

Pairings: Tsukishima Kei x Kouhai!Reader | College AU Slow Burn cw: slow burn, pre-senpai kink, friendship with tension, emotional denial, protective tsukki, reader falling first, quiet obsession

When you first meet Tsukishima Kei, he barely looks up from his laptop.

It’s one of those upper-year study events that your friend dragged you to—“just to network,” she says, which really just means “sit in a library basement and pretend you’re working so you don’t cry about finals.”

You wander between tables awkwardly, not knowing anyone, until someone gestures you toward the corner.

“You’re psych, right?” "Uh, what-" “Sit there. That’s Kei. He’s neuro.”

You sit. "Fine, it's not like I didn't consent." you mutter sarcastically.

He glances up. Then down again. “Don’t talk to me.”

You blink. “...Okay.”

But an hour later, when you’re mumbling to yourself about whether you need the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex for your memory exam, he speaks.

“You do,” he mutters without looking. “Short-term working memory. Executive function.”

That’s how it begins.

You start seeing him everywhere after that.

At the café near the science building, nose in a book. On the quad, headphones in, stretched out under a tree like it’s the only place he doesn’t hate everyone. At the tutoring center—always tutoring, never being tutored. You’re not surprised.

You start waving at him when you pass by.

He starts nodding back.

Eventually, he starts sitting next to you.

“You’re such a nerd,” you tease, chin propped in your hand as he flips through a neuroscience journal over coffee one day.

He doesn’t look up. “Takes one to know one.”

“Are you saying I’m smart?” you tease.

He snorts. “I’m saying you follow me around like a puppy. It’s sad.”

Your heart squeezes, but you roll your eyes. “No one else tolerates me.”

Tsukishima closes his journal and finally meets your gaze. “I do.” he says with a head tilt.

It’s the first time you notice the gold in his eyes.

The way he doesn’t look away.

The way his leg is pressed just barely against yours.

You swallow.

“…Yeah,” you murmur. “You do.”

It’s not love. Not yet. But it’s something.

A year passes like that. Friendship. Late nights. Boba runs. Arguments over music taste. Stealing fries. Falling asleep on his shoulder in the library once and waking up with his hoodie draped over you.

You never talk about it.

You never say it.

But you feel it.

Especially when he glares at any guy who gets too close to you in class. Especially when he mutters things like “you’re so fucking clueless” under his breath when you flirt with someone else to make him jealous.

But it’s not until you call him senpai that everything breaks.

ᯓ★ Guys, I promise it's gonna get better. source: trust me bro | Masterlist

[yukkiji]

sticky notes and bento boxes

a quiet morning of bento-making turns tender when your daughter calls sugawara papa for the first time, and suddenly, it all feels like home.

crayon colored days. haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. sugawara koshi x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, timeskip!sugawara, single mom!reader, found family, domestic fluff

wc: 1k

the first thing you register is the smell.

something warm. miso and dashi, maybe. a faint undercurrent of grilled fish. but there’s also… something sweet? soy sauce caramelizing on something thin and delicate. tamagoyaki, probably.

the second thing is the laughter.

light. bubbling. familiar in a way your bones recognize before your brain does. it’s the kind of sound that makes a house feel like a home.

you stir slowly beneath the sheets, sunlight soft against your cheek through the slightly parted curtains. the bed beside you is empty, the blankets tousled and warm from someone who woke earlier than you. not cold—but lived in. like someone had kissed your forehead before slipping out.

you listen, smile tugging at your lips, and stretch lazily. there’s a lull in the giggles, followed by:

“do you think mama will like the kitty sausage or the flower one?”

your daughter’s voice is filled with such focus, you’d think she was preparing a bento for the emperor himself.

“hmm,” comes the reply—smoother, older, and undeniably sugawara’s—“let’s go with the kitty. flowers are so last season.”

she gasps. “nuh-uh!”

you chuckle softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you slip your feet into slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen.

and there he is.

sugawara koushi, in all his sleepy, domestic glory. wearing flannel pajama pants and a soft grey shirt with a towel slung over his shoulder like he’s been doing this for decades. an apron wraps around his waist—light blue, with little embroidered strawberries—and his silver hair is sticking up in the back, a clear result of towel-drying and no mirror time. he's hunched slightly beside your daughter, who’s sitting on a chair pulled up to the counter. her tiny fingers are hovering over pieces of carrot shaped like stars, her expression scrunched in concentration.

you pause in the doorway, heart caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

sugawara whispers something to her. she giggles so hard she drops a piece of broccoli, and he catches it mid-air like a reflex. “your ninja training is improving,” he says, deadpan. she beams.

he hasn’t noticed you yet, too focused on helping her align little edamame beans into a smiley face.

you don’t interrupt. not yet. you take in the way the kitchen hums with quiet music from his phone (an acoustic playlist he always puts on in the morning). the way the rice cooker sits steaming in the corner. the extra bento box sitting by the coffee machine—you recognize your lunch container, already half-packed with your favorites.

the sticky notes on the table catch your eye. one is a bunny with crayon ears. another is just a row of little stars and the words: shine bright like your star carrots! love, me & papa

you blink.

papa.

that’s new.

sugawara finally looks up, catching your gaze.

“well, good morning,” he says with a grin that’s so soft, so full of something you still don’t have words for, it takes the air from your lungs.

“morning,” you whisper. “you two’ve been busy.”

“operation: bento extraordinaire is nearly complete,” he says, holding up a tiny panda-shaped rice ball like a trophy.

your daughter grins and wiggles her fingers at you. “look, mama! i made the eggs into flowers. papa cut the carrots like stars. i picked the sticky note!”

“i saw. you’re both professionals.”

sugawara sets the panda down gently and leans in, brushing a kiss to your cheek with the warmth of someone who’s lived in this rhythm long enough to make it instinct. he smells like miso and soap and sunshine.

“you’ve got one too,” he murmurs, nodding toward your lunch.

you lift the lid and find a sticky note tucked between your salmon and pickled plums. don’t forget your umbrella—30% chance of rain, 100% chance i love you. —koushi ♡

you stare at it, heart stuttering. it’s not the first note he’s given you—but this one is different. a little cheesy. a little bold. domestic in a way that feels like years of future mornings are folded into it.

you glance up. “papa, huh?”

sugawara’s eyes widen. “she said it this morning. i—wasn’t sure if i should correct her.”

your daughter answers before either of you can continue. “i said it’s okay now. ‘cause he always packs bento and tells silly bedtime stories. that’s papa stuff, right?”

you kneel beside her, brushing a piece of rice from her cheek. “yeah, baby. that’s exactly papa stuff.”

you look at him, heart wide open, and say: “you okay with that?”

his voice wavers, just a little. “more than okay.”

the moment stretches—quiet, golden, full of the smell of miso and the sound of toast popping. a soft clatter as he drops two slices onto plates.

“little burnt,” he admits sheepishly.

“perfect,” you reply, already buttering yours.

your daughter scrambles down and zooms off to brush her teeth, her sing-song humming echoing down the hallway. the silence that follows isn’t empty—it’s filled with sleepy glances, the clink of spoons, and a quiet that says everything that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

sugawara comes to stand beside you. he leans into your shoulder. “this morning… felt like something.”

you nod. “felt like a family.”

he brushes his fingers along yours, linking your pinkies like it’s second nature. “can’t believe we made it to this kind of morning.”

you glance down at the bento boxes, sticky notes, burnt toast, and his crumpled apron. “me neither.”

and yet, somehow, it all feels exactly right.