#atsumu and osamu

[hitoshi-yuuto]

Angry Atsumu storming down the hallway

Sakusa : uh oh.

Osamu : What?

Sakusa : i see an angry boyfriend heading our way.

Osamu : yours or mine?

Sakusa : does it matter?

Osamu : if it's mine, there's a chance we'll live, but if it's your's, we're dead.

[theyre-the-same-picture]

[mania-sama]

a murder of crows in the lowlight off boston

Halloween - Noah Kahan

➼ information ❧ Haikyuu ❧ Pairing: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu ❧ Addition Character: Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu's Mother ❧ Tags: ghost! atsumu, poverty, good sibling! osamu, past character murder, angst, blood and gore, a smidge of body horror, this is my formal post for the spooky month of october ❧ Summary: Atsumu is dead. Osamu lets him go. ❧ Word Count: 1,696 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 2 October 2024

The Miya household consisted of one woman in her early thirties and two twin boys, aged sixteen as of October, cramped into a two-bedroom trailer in the deep countryside. The size of their abode meant that constant noise was able to be heard from all available corners, mostly coming from the twins’ tumultuous bickering and the small cable television their mother loathed to shut off as it provided news updates, the weather, and her favorite true crime programs. There’s barely enough room to exist most days, much less cook, dance, and have rowdy fights that end up knocking over a lamp or two, but they manage all the same.

Now the Miya household is down to one mother and one son. The home expands as wide as the endless paddy fields west of the trailer park, and it takes twice as long to reach one end of the house from the other than it does to travel that half-mile distance to the rice farm. 

The only noise Osamu can hear is his own breathing, shallow and ragged yet barely audible all the same. His lungs freeze and thaw every second, and he wonders what would happen if his lungs failed to melt. The fantasy of his chest stilling and organs collapsing dissolves into the stale, heavy air as his nose continues to push air in and out of his body despite the crippling silence of the place he’s supposed to call home.

The bunk bed above his is empty. Osamu stares at the black wired bottom of the top bunk as though it will somehow magically bring his brother back. He counts in his head to ten, emits a cough that echoes like a bomb in his shared bedroom, and anticipates his brother to lean over the wooden railing to make a scathing comment at Osamu’s expense.

Nothing. Of course, there is nothing. He does this time and time again every day, repeating the action like a broken clock attempting to move forward but is forced to tick back into the place it was a second before.

A sound cuts through his fogging mind and sightless eyes, scaring him into an upright position and almost cracking his head on the top bunk. His brother’s name is already forming on his lips, a desperate plea and hope that he’d begun to leave behind.

But—

“Osamu, please help me.”

His mother, from the living room, a thousand miles away.

Osamu has lost weight, he knows. He hasn’t been to school, cooked, or played volleyball in a month. He rarely makes the daring journey out of his bedroom into the hallways, finding the trek to be more treacherous than a tightrope walk across a yawning ravine. Forcing himself off of his bed is hard enough as it is. The navy blue sheets and thin, threadbare mattress have curved to form a perfect mold around his body, leaving a perfect cast for him to settle into on the days when he, no matter how hard he tries, cannot move and can hardly bear to breathe.

At his brother’s predictable silence, Osamu calls with a rough, unused voice that cracks upon the first word, “I’m coming, Ma.”

He can’t recall how he and his brother could reach the living room in two and a half leaps. It takes him twenty, thirty, forty shuffling steps. His socked feet barely make a sound against the ugly brown carpet, and he walks alone across deserts and oceans and hellfire to simply make it to the kitchen. From there, he can see his mother, standing in front of the mute, blank television. Laying on the floor by her feet are a thousand shards glimmering with the reflection of her grief-stricken face.

Kneeling in front of her is a boy vainly attempting to pick up the broken glass. His head snaps up when he hears Osamu approaching. The boy stands, grimaces thinly, and says, “Oh, ‘Samu, thank God! Ma’s been ignoring me! And she just knocked this glass all over the carpet, and I don’t know why, but she’s about to cry. Never seen this before. Think it’s an heirloom?” His gaze flickers back Ma. “Please stop cryin’, Ma. I’m trying to help.”

The boy has a knife sticking out of his abdomen at the very end of a long, open wound across his stomach that explodes his pink entrails, and blood drips grotesquely from his lips. When he speaks, his mouth flashes thick, clotting maroon against pearly white teeth. The pale skin down his neck and arms are streaked in the same fluids.

The boy’s name is Atsumu, and Osamu knows this because they share the same face.

Osamu reaches the living room in three quick steps, the walls of the trailer suddenly shrinking in on all sides. He meets his mother’s red, puffy eyes, then squints at Atsumu who shrugs and points to the mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to,” his mother hiccups, one hand reaching up to cover her trembling lips. “I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t.”

He leans down, brushing his fingertips against the glass and carpet. Rough, sand-like particles stick to the pads, cling to the undersides of his nails, and leave ashy fingerprint marks on the clear shards.

“It’s okay, Ma. I promise,” Atsumu comforts, his voice soothing the rush flooding Osamu’s ears.

“His urn is broken,” Osamu whispers. It’s a shout, an ear-splitting scream with his brother standing next to him. The sounds of his brother’s murder case play from the television in his mind so clearly he nearly convinces himself of its reality.

“Whose urn?” Atsumu gasps, his hand reaching out to touch Osamu but entirely falling through. Osamu tilts his head to look up at him. If Atsumu notices the way his entire form flickers, becoming transparent enough to see the black television behind him, he doesn’t show it.

His mother cries more, and Atsumu tries to hug her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders, but she doesn’t react. “What do we do?”

Osamu doesn’t know.

The living room becomes brighter as a cloud moves out from under the sun, sending warm rays beaming across the floor and highlighting Atsumu’s ashes. Simultaneously, Atsumu becomes harder to see, as if the light itself is melting away his body.

His face is still clear, standing at a height that protects his head from the sun. The color of his lips is impossible to make out behind the heavy coating of his blood, and his yellow hair is tousled and matted with dried bits of flesh and gore.

Atsumu stares at him with hazel eyes that look terribly, horribly, sickeningly alive.

For the first time in a month, since the day the police knocked on their door with the devastating result of their search-and-rescue hunt for his missing brother, Osamu feels like he can breathe. He takes in the crisp filtered air, smelling the faint traces of his brother’s scent from his spot on the ratty old couch. His throat cools and eases oxygen in and carbon dioxide out, as it was always meant to do.

“We get the dirt devil vacuum,” he says. His chest tightens, squeezing around his heart as bile crawls up his throat. “Get all of the ashes out and into a new urn.”

He’s killing Atsumu again, he knows. He knows it because Atsumu trembles, his head shaking and bright eyes betraying his hurt.

“You’re ignoring me, too! You’re both ignoring me! What did I do? Why are you doin’ this?” Atsumu cries. Despite the anger lacing his words like poison, Atsumu’s words lay over Osamu like a thick, warm blanket.

He missed his brother. He missed how he took up all of the space in a room, how he let his voice boom over everyone else regardless of the warnings he’d previously received. He missed his volatile personality that barely masked how much he cared for his family.

But his brother is gone.

Osamu covers his face with his hands and presses the heels harshly into his eyes, scattering thick black dots across his vision. 

There is a knife sticking out of Atsumu’s ghost.

He ignores his brother’s burning remarks shot at the back of his neck and picks out a blue plastic cup and napkin from the kitchen. While his mother sobs, he scrapes a large clump of the gray remains into the cup and covers it with the thin white napkin. He watches as Atsumu bleeds out from his view, slowly, like the blood coming from his mouth and flowing over his orange shirt. His faint outline remains, and his noises — formless, wordless sounds — are no louder than the shutter of the wind against the bushes that brush against the outside of the trailer.

Quietly, so quietly that only his brother could hear it, he leans in close to the cup, pressing his mouth against the napkin, and says, “I love you.”

Atsumu never would have made it across the ravines, oceans, deserts, and paddy fields that overtook the trailer. He would have wondered why Ma could never respond to him. He would eventually figure out that he couldn’t touch anyone, couldn’t feel their warmth, couldn’t play volleyball, go to school, or do anything, really, ever again.

I love you, he said, because he loves his brother enough to let him leave the static television that doesn’t run the news, weather, or crime channel anymore, and let him leave the house that kills all noise like a blackhole crushes all matter.

Osamu misses him more than anything.

He returns to his bottom bunk, later, after the cleaned dirt devil sucks up the remains and out into the blue plastic cup. He tapes the sides of the napkin to the cup with duct tape and sets it in his room for safekeeping. The mattress welcomes him back, the human mold folding over him and hugging him tightly.

When he breathes, he does so slowly. His lungs are raw from freezer burn, but they do not freeze, and they do not thaw.

He simply breathes, and the top bunk remains empty.

[kittysdarkcloud]

some Tsumu n Samu chats<33

Dunno maybe this gonna be a new thing I do? 🏃🏃

[kkumri]

redraws from the olympics! 🏐🏅🤺🤸🏻‍♂️

[plagalkey]

late night takeout (street racing au)

[bokutoko]

osamu didn’t really have a favorite color.

it wasn’t until he saw you after school one chilly autumn day, your face lighting up with the question, “is that jacket new, ‘samu?”

he nodded—he didn’t think too much of it when he got it for his birthday, so he surely didn’t expect anyone else to notice. “a gift from ma.”

“i like it, it’s my favorite color,” you took in his full appearance, your eyes looking him up and down, “it suits ya.” a cackle escaped you at osamu’s flustered face, only growing louder with him grumbling, “shaddup.” osamu’s biggest tell was always his accent thickening, and you knew it.

as winter came, osamu found himself wearing that same jacket to and from school every day, ignoring atsumu’s relentless “whadda simp” comments, as a part of him hoped you’d one day be chilly enough to need his coat.

and when that day came, with his jacket hugging your figure as you nuzzled in his leftover body heat, osamu found it hard to breathe.

in that moment, he realized he’d found his new favorite color—yours.

a/n: sorry osamu if reader’s favorite color is pink😔 bro’s looking like pepto-bismol.

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please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

[caelivir]

“are ya sure yer not dating (y/n)?” osamu suddenly asks his brother during a quiet lunch between the two of them.

atsumu chokes on the grains of rice in his mouth, coughing violently and punching his chest. when he finally settles down, he throws a glare at his brother. “what the hell, ‘samu?”

“that’s not an answer.” osamu continues to press.

“we’re not!” atsumu answers, picking up a piece of chicken katsu with his chopsticks. “i don’t like them like that. they don’t like me like that. we’re just friends.”

the bright red-pink of his ears speak otherwise. you see, osamu knows his twin better than he knows himself. he knows that whatever comes out of atsumu’s mouth is a load of crap. just friends? yeah fucking right.

osamu has never seen his brother look at anyone the way he looks at you, starlight and pure adoration swirling in his irises. he acts as if your every word were an earth-shaking prophecy sent by the heavens. his honey brown eyes stare, and he smiles so gently that it makes him sick.

friends aren’t touchy in the way you guys are. you hold each other’s hand like it’s nothing. with interlocked fingers, atsumu will trace his thumb down the back of your hand for no apparent reason. when you’re bored, you’ll take atsumu’s hand into your lap and play with it, bending his fingers, comparing hand sizes, and running a featherlight touch across the expanse of his palm to see if he’ll react.

osamu notices how you never miss the opportunity to find a seat on his brother’s lap. whether there are no seats of available or ten open ones, you will always choose atsumu. and it’s not like he’s complaining about it. in fact, osamu thinks that he waits for it because atsumu would never want to miss the chance to secure his arms around your waist and whisper into your ear amidst a loud conversation.

and you can’t forget the cuddles, and the hugs that linger longer than they should, and the way you’ll cup atsumu’s face, and the way you play with his piss blond hair.

you’re the one person atsumu lets wear his jersey to his game. he ensures you get the best seat to watch him play. osamu doesn’t miss the way his twin looks at you before every serve or the way you cheer the loudest when he scores an ace.

osamu doesn’t think that someone who “doesn’t like you” would be thinking about you every time they shop. “(y/n) likes this snack”. “(y/n) would love this shirt”. “oh hey, (y/n) showed me this”. “‘samu, should i buy this for (y/n)?”.

osamu has never seen two people so madly in love before. he doesn’t know how you guys haven’t realized it yet. and he can’t keep playing along because atsumu’s katsu looks really good right now.

“right…” osamu chooses to answer, dipping his chicken into the tonkatsu sauce. “i sure hope they’re gonna have fun on that date they have today.”

his brother’s chopsticks clatter onto the table before rolling onto the floor. the sight of atsumu’s open mouth filled with rice is unsightly, and osamu has to suppress his laugh.

“they didn’t tell you?” osamu raises an eyebrow.

“no?!” atsumu suddenly stands, slamming his palms into the table.

“yeah, i think they’re gonna leave soon.” osamu lies easily. there is no date. but of course, does ‘tsumu really need to know that?

the blond twin practically bolts away from the dining table and out of the house. when the door slams shut, osamu grins to himself, reaching for the unfinished plate in front of him.

“he can thank me later.”

atsumu brainrot never ends. something short and sweet bc school is kicking my ass.

[wttcsms]

influencer reader who is live reviewing a lip product and you press your lips to the back of your hand and say “look! no transfer!!” your boyfriend is walking past and you’re excitedly telling him and out of nowhere, he just leans down and kisses you casually before examining himself in your camera. “yea, no transfer. really cool, babe.” and then he walks off like you two didn’t just make out in front of your viewers. the comment section is going insane right now and the product is sold out within minutes.

[figgolu]

HAIKYUU x SOUL EATER

[onnie-giri]

STRIKE EM DOWN OSAMU !!

(if yall are wondering where this is from it's this collab:)

[hitoshi-yuuto]

Atsumu : I’m so happy my two favorite people are getting along now!

Suna : Uh, Samu and Sakusa are not getting along.

Atsumu : They’re not trying anymore to kill each other.

Suna : You may have a point.

[dfsdgaefh]

🦊

[lale-txt]

❥ 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮, 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮, 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚, 𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚, 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 & 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚

a/n: reader is gn! i started drafting those during one of the first sticky hot summer nights of the year, then forgot about it until this came over me once again like a fever, and now here we are. i love writing drabbles because they force you to really think about the chars, how you perceive them and how to nail their unique personalities in 200 words or less. anyway, this is my first time writing for HQ after the brainworms got me down bad and i had lots of fun! hope you'll enjoy them too ♡

word count: 1.3k

𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 whines when you have the audacity to kick him back towards his end of the couch, catching your ankle and pulling you towards him in return, stubbornly ignoring your protests. Too hot to cuddle, my ass, he pouts, genuinely offended that you’d even consider that; when the only time Atsumu ever feels a sense of calm is when part of you touches him. Your hand playing with the shaved hair in the back of his neck, your leg hooked over his hipbone as you sprawl out in bed together, hell, even your icy cold feet shoved underneath his butt during winter. Something was missing when he couldn’t have your proximity. Yer so needy, Tsumu. So what if he was? He pulls you into his lap, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, hands tightening around your waist. His breath fanning over your skin, hot and cool against it. Atsumu takes, he demands, but with you he is pleading, silent for once. Just a little longer–dreaming, breathing you in, kissing till he feels you smiling against his lips.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 wears his hair shorter now, back at its natural dark color, too. You helped him buzz it off during one of those sticky summer nights. Both of you in nothing but your underwear, Osamu sitting on the edge of the bathtub in your cramped bathroom. One hand of yours holding a razor and the other clamped over your mouth because you horribly messed up a setting and now he had a funny little edge in his hair, throwing you both in a laughing fit. It was your first summer together and Osamu couldn’t help but hope that there would be many more like this to come, with your bodies orbiting each other, unable to keep your hands off despite the heat and the sweat, the air heavy and electric and yet so light whenever he hears you laugh. Nothing beats the feeling of lifting you up on the kitchen counter and your eyes lingering on his hands, shaping a midnight snack for the both of you, getting drunk on stolen glances and kisses. There’s many metaphors for food and love and right now, Osamu can taste them all on the tip of your tongue.

𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐎 hasn’t even kicked his shoes off at the entrance yet and is already loosening his tie, before slender fingers work down button for button on his shirt. He hears you laugh about his demeanor from the other end of the hallway. How lucky, he thinks to himself. To have someone waiting for him at home, making even long work days during the most miserable summer heat bearable. His shirt has barely hit the floor and he’s already on you, caging you in with his arms and covering every inch of your skin he can reach in kisses, despite your giggling and feigned huffing over how sticky he is, sending him to shower first (as if you wouldn’t come right after him). Kuroo purrs when your hands tangle in his hair. In the end you always pull him back towards your lips again, swallowing every little quip and taunt like candy, sweet and syrupy in your mouth. It reminds him how he fell in love with you many summers ago, his heart ablaze ever since.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 is glued to the fan at this point. He even switched gaming from his desktop set-up to a handheld console, reluctantly admitting that his old house would heat up even more with his computer running at full blast. His expression really says it all when you approach him, silently pleading for cuddles. Kenma just can’t understand how anyone would seek someone else’s body heat when the sun outside was already doing a pretty good job in trying to end him. Still, he isn’t immune to your charms, never was (one time he mumbled something about your stats being way too high and how everything changed once he received a love buff of yours). When you hold out a popsicle as a means of bribery and blink at him with those damn soft eyes of yours, Kenma pauses his game and holds out his arms. He hums into the kiss you give him before sitting down in his lap, your lips tasting like ice cream and summer love. He rests his chin on your shoulder, face nuzzled against your neck, before he continues his game, letting you feed him the sweet cold treat. Summer might have become a little more bearable with you in his life–though he was already looking forward to many winters under the kotatsu with you. 

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 is squishing your cheeks together, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth. Collecting evidence, but also wanting to feel your tongue poke out slightly against it, cheeky as ever. Just how could you eat the last ice cream in the freezer without him? He lets out an exaggerated huff, feigned indignation, both of you knowing he can never keep this up for too long–not when it comes to you. Oikawa leans down to kiss you, your face still in a tight grip, tasting the remains of the ice cream on your lips, as if you weren’t sweet enough already. Maybe he can be bribed for another kiss when you offer a midnight walk to the 7/11 down the street, promising to pay for a cool sweet treat to make it up to him. He had already forgotten what he was mad about the moment you leaned into the kiss, but he’ll never say no to a chance to hold your hand, even if it’s sticky with leftover ice cream and the summer heat. To Oikawa, love is stored in the mundane things, even if his love for you is anything but that.

𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈 is standing in the kitchen past midnight, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers while he roams the freezer for anything to help him cool down; even a pack of frozen peas would do. He feels a pang of guilt for having peeled away from you, your form pressed so tightly against him in his sleep, it almost gave him a heat stroke–for more reason than one. Everything is sticky and airless and Iwaizumi is sure that if he would have glanced at you even a minute longer, his heart might have just given out on him. All this love he holds for you, burning him up from the inside, like a fever. He lets out a long exhale when he presses an ice bag against the back of his neck, but it’s not that what causes a shiver down his spine; it’s two arms sneaking around his waist from behind, your sleepy voice mumbling out his name, your body melting into his again. The first kiss pressed on the side of your neck is an apology, the second one a promise. The third–to devour you.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 grumbles something about you being too sticky and sweaty, making a weak attempt to shove you back to your side of the bed, only to pull you back by your hips when you actually do leave some room between you. He can’t help it, you fit so perfectly in the curve of his body, your back pressed against his chest, one of his knees nudged between your legs, all tangled up. It’s the perfect position to plant kisses on the back of your neck, too. Kiyoomi loathes those hot summer nights in the concrete city. He’d rather be somewhere else with you, somewhere to breathe more easily through this heat. Maybe you should move to the countryside, yes. A small house with lots of green surrounding it. Less people and noise, just you and him. Yeah, he would like that. He kisses the back of your neck once more and takes a slow, deep inhale of your sweet scent, before sleep finally crawls upon him again. For now he’ll endure this heat, anything, as long as he can hold you in his arms like this–and have a cold shower with you in the morning, maybe.

[drawnbymabel]

POCKY THIEF!!

[4unnyr0se]

Haikyuu characters catching you masterbating ?

❥ caught ya! | haikyuu guys catching you pleasuring yourself

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader mentions of masturbation (duh), jealously, fingering, teasing, voyeurism, toy usage, lewd language

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 650

a/n: hopefully i assigned the characters correctly

got a request? my asks are open!

❥ They think it's cute

He walks in on you, knuckle-deep in your soaked pussy, panties hastily pushed aside as you plunge your fingers into your dripping heat over and over again. You were too preoccupied with fucking yourself on your fingers that you didn’t even notice how the door to your bedroom closed, your boyfriend crossing his arms in amusement as he leaned against your dresser. He observes how his name falls from your lips like a broken prayer, your nose sniffling pathetically as you try too hard to rip an orgasm out of you. But sadly, your fingers were no match for his own, and they never will be. You squealed in delight as you finally hit that sweet spot that you so craved, only to have your moment of bliss interrupted by your boyfriend's gentle cooing.

“Did my baby miss me while I was working, hm? Don’t worry, sweet thing. I’ll just stand here and watch. Go on, try to make yourself cum without my help. You’re so fucking adorable, my precious angel.”

SUGAWARA, kuroo, yaku, ennoshita, UKAI, semi, hanamaki, kenma, OSAMU, kita

❥ They think it's stupid

He hears your oh-so-familiar moans behind your shared bedroom and busts in without a second thought. Who the hell was ripping those perfect noises from your pretty lips without his permission? Why, was it you, of course! A bullet vibration practically danced on your throbbing clit while your legs were spread like a slut, your slit drenching the innermost part. Your perfectly manicured hand squeezed your breast, your thumb rolling over your nipple whilst your pearly whites bit down on your bottom lip, hips bucking into the air on occasion. His eyes filled with fury as he ripped the vibrator off your clit, earning an annoyed moan from your slutty mouth.

“What the fuck is this, hm? You seriously couldn’t wait for me to get back so I could fuck you? Who the hell needs this stupid toy when you have me? That’s it. Get on all fours. Right now, don’t fucking test me.”

kageyama, TSUKISHIMA, kyoutani, IWAIZUMI, atsumu, suna, sakusa, ushijima, daichi

❥ They're completely starstruck

Oh, fuck. They have absolutely no idea what to do. He’s fantasized about this so much, and it’s finally fucking happening. He caught you bouncing on a dildo you had bought yourself, whimpering as the silicone head hit every spot so perfectly deep inside your gummy walls. His eyes landed on your pretty fingers, desperately swirling your clit, beads of sweat flying off your forehead. You looked so fucking ethereal, he had to say something. He just had to let you know how fucking pretty you looked!

“Holy fuck, you look so fucking pretty. Can you keep going for me, please? I wanna see you cum over and over again, please, baby girl. I’ll fuck you as much as you want, just put on a good show for me. God, you’re perfect.”

HINATA, yamaguchi, asahi, GOSHIKI, oikawa, akaashi, takeda, TANAKA

❥ They join you

His ears perk up once he hears you mewling in pleasure from your bedroom, eagerly slamming the door open to reveal your hands fucking a vibrating bullet in and out of your weeping cunt, the sheets beneath you a filthy mess. He smirks and practically pounces on the bed, not even bothering to shut the door as he peppers your face in a million kisses. You always look so pretty when you wanna get yourself off. What if he fucked his fist in tandem with you? That's the best idea ever.

“Shit, don’t stop just for me, baby. Let’s cum at the same time, yeah? You wanna fuck yourself with that cute bullet I got you while I fuck my fist to the sight of your pretty tits? C’mon, don’t say no! It’ll be fun, I promise! Then I’ll fuck you nice and good afterward, okay? Thank you, pretty baby.”

nishinoya, BOKUTO, konoha, matsukawa, TENDOU, terushima, yamamoto, lev