#haikyuu x reader fic

[haikyuusandhotchocolate]

Some fluff stuff

Boyfriend!Megumi who comes straight to you when he’s upset

Boyfriend!Megumi who enters your dorm uninvited, trudging in with a soft pout on his face and slumped shoulders as he shoves the door closed behind him and kicks off his shoes in a careless hurry.

Boyfriend!Megumi who ignores your questions of concern as he pads his way towards the bed, wordlessly flopping down next to you, and crawling into your arms. Mumbling an upset "I don' wanna talk about it," before you can ask again.

Boyfriend!Megumi who lays his head in your lap and wraps his arm around your waist, letting you pull the covers over him. You give him a moment before asking what's wrong again.

Boyfriend!Megumi who just grumbles inaudible gibberish into your thigh when he finally decides to tell you what happened. You dont press him about the matter again.

Boyfriend!Megumi who's eyes grow heavy at the feeling of your hands in his hair, soft kisses on his cheeks, and the sound of your voice cooing sweet words.

He'll definitely be waking up in a better mood.

[blushingamethyst]

Unpopular opinion,

Too many men are written as “dom daddy” types in fics.

Like be for real, that man would be honored to be your floor mat.

He’s not giving orders, he’s taking them.

Stop being afraid, put on your big boots, and step on that man.

[kitasuno]

to be loved is to be known | suna rintarou x reader

you're in love with suna. you think suna's in love with someone else. he's not.

slight angst, happy endings, and miscommunications atsumu is sexy reader is gn wc: 1481

It is dusk and warm and just barely humid when you realize you don’t know Suna Rintarou at all. 

You know that Suna likes chuupets and volleyball and his dingy digital camera with the cracked screen. His left eye twitches slightly when he lies, he always ties his right shoe before his left, and he keeps forgetting to buy pencil lead despite preferring mechanical pencils over traditional. He likes the rain. Can’t bite into ice cream. Wool scarves over fleece, seven followers on his private Twitter, and is always late because he likes feeding the stray cats in the alley next to the Family Mart with the good sausages. 

What you didn’t know is that Suna Rintarou is in love. You find out from Kita Shinsuke, who tells Aran after practice, a conversation not meant for your ears but gracing them nonetheless as you stand before the entrance to the gymnasium. You feel a dryness in your throat and a sting in your eyes as Kita shares that Suna is not only in love but had confessed to someone. Maybe it’s your divine punishment for eavesdropping. Maybe it’s rotten luck. Because, coincidentally, and horribly so, you’ve been in love with Suna Rintarou ever since you met him. 

So when Suna walks up from behind you, back from the vending machine, and asks you why you’re lingering outside and staring at Kita with that look on your face, you lie. 

“I have a crush on Shinsuke.” You blurt out. 

He blinks. Once. Twice. And stares. 

The longer Suna stares at you under the grey, purplish-pinkish sky with his hands shoved into his pockets and his left eye twitching, you realize you don’t know him at all. Because Suna, in all his indifference and nonchalance, looks hurt. You see something flit beneath his eyes, but you’ve never been good at reading people. So you settle on the idea that it’s something less than betrayal but more than indifference, and you don’t know why your heart’s beating so fast and sinking, pitter pattering and twisting in your stomach. 

You feel sick. 

“You like Kita-san,” He says, and it comes out as a statement, not a question. He blinks a third time, and as the look in his eyes disappears as quickly as it came, you decide you much prefer the hurt or the discomfort or the something over the blank apathy that he’s looking you over with now. “You have a crush on Kita… Shinsuke.” He finishes, and you can’t hear the bitterness in his voice over the shrill of your heart. 

You’ve always liked Suna’s eyes but tonight you like the pavement more, and as you stare a hole into the concrete beneath you, you ignore how your feet are fidgeting and your palms are sweaty and how Rintarou is hovering over you. 

“Mhm,” You squeak, tearing your eyes from the asphalt with the cracks and an ugly pill-bug on the ground. As you look up to grey eyes and dark hair, you wish that loving Suna Rintarou was harder. 

“I’m, uh, I’m going to tell Shinsuke tomorrow.” You say, Shinsuke’s name foreign on your tongue compared to the warmth and honey that Rintarou’s tastes like. I’m in love with you and this is a bad idea, you think. I like you, not Kita, is what you don’t say. Instead, and arguably worse, is the mention of Miya Atsumu’s name. “Atsumu gave me the confidence to confess!” 

Suna pauses. 

“Atsumu told you to?” He asks, and it’s the most bewildered you’ve heard him in a while.

A glance at his phone. Hands that emerge from his pockets. If you weren’t so preoccupied with the concrete you would have seen the twitch of his fingers and the tightening of his jaw as he opens Line. You nod dimly. 

“Okay,” is what he says, and you feel your heart in your stomach again. You look up. “Okay.” He repeats again. 

And maybe it’s the hurt that stings in your chest from Rintarou being so okay with you (hypothetically) being in love with Kita Shinsuke that pushes your eyes to water and your mouth to open. 

“Is that it?” You ask. 

A beat of silence. And then, a scoff. 

“Yeah. Congratulations,” Suna says. “Good luck.” 

As dusk turns to nightfall and what was a barely-humid night in July is now overwhelmingly warm and sickly and hot, Rintarou’s gaze is overbearing. And when your eyes start to swim and Suna’s gaze turns to confusion and then realization, you do the only thing you know how to do. You bolt. 

An incessant string of dings. Your lip wobbles under your teeth as you pull out your phone from under your covers. 

from: miya osamu (21:03)  where the fuck did ya go  and whys suna blwoin up my phone

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:03)  WHYYSS SUNARIN BLOWING UOA PP MY PHONE ??!?@@>>!?>??!??! WHYS HE SAYIN U LIKE KITA-SAN

from: you (21:05) its so over i ran home

from: you (21:05)  i told him i like shinsuke and that i am confessing to kita  tomorrow

amazing perfect miya atsexy and miya osamu are typing…

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:06)  WHAT

from: miya osamu (21:06) r u fuckin stupid why would ya do that

from: you (21:07) i heard shinsuke tell aran that suna confessed to someone today and then rin came back so i told him i like kita bcuz i panicked and also he cant know i like him right as he’s ginna get BAGGED wait but idk if he got rejected or not WHO AM I KIDDING suna would NOT get rejected LOLOL but anyways i think he knows i like him bcuz i started cryig and then he had this look on his face like he knew i was bullshittin him now venmo me money before i kil msyelf 

from: miya osamu (21:12) yeah he was gonna confess to YOU today

from: you (21:12) ?

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:12) HOLY MISCOMMUNICATION

from: you (21:18) Wht??

from: miya osamu (21:19) suna was supposed to confess to u today 

from: you (21:21) but shinsuke said rin already confessed

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:22) why wiud u ever think about takin gossip from KITA SHINSUKE AN WHYD YA BRING ME UP IM GNNA BE STONED AT DAWN

from: miya osamu (21:22) HOORAY !

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (21:22) SHUDDUP  

You bolt, again, but this time it’s out of your bed, down a flight of stairs, and through your front door. You’re halfway down the street near the Family Mart with the Good Sausages™ when you barrell into someone who smells faintly of blackberries and Suna’s laundry detergent. 

“Excuse me,” You blurt, scrambling away, until you feel a grip on your waist and a familiar shape behind you with a familiar smell and a familiar voice, and Ohmygod, you’re out of breath and close to frantic but Suna Rintarou is holding you steady by your waist, warm and tall and here. 

“Rintar-”

“I like you.”

You feel it more than you hear it- Suna is muffled and quiet as he mumbles into the back of your shoulder, tall frame folded into you. 

“Idiot.” He adds, and you don’t have to turn to know the tips of his ears are pink and his eyebrows are furrowed. “You’re an idiot.” 

It’s twilight, and just-barely humid when you realize that Suna Rintarou knows you. 

Suna knows that you ramble when you’re nervous. He knows that you like the rain and you don’t like humidity. You carry extra lead in your pencil pouch and you like volleyball and stray cats. You can bite into your ice cream. You color coordinate your bookshelves. You don’t have a crush on Kita Shinsuke. 

You don’t know that Suna keeps his digital camera with the shitty cracks because you bought it for him from a shop in Akihabara. You don’t know that Suna leaves his packs of pencil lead at home because leaning over your desk in class and seeing that smile on your face is far more fun. You don’t know that he writes with extra pressure on his worksheets to crack his lead and ask for more. 

You didn’t know that Suna Rintarou is in love with you. 

So he grins into your shoulder and tells you.  

amazing perfect miya atsexy (22:14) 1 Attachment GROSS!!!!!! do NOT start making out at practice or i will RESIGN !!!

sunarin (22:14) @ y/n lets start making out at practice

y/n, miya osamu, and 2 others reacted with Thumbs Up! ojiro aran, amazing perfect miya atsexy reacted with Thumbs Down!

from: amazing perfect miya atsexy (22:15)  @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE @ KITA SHINSUKE 

sunarin has removed amazing perfect miya atsexy from the Inarizaki Volleyball Team Chat. 

[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.

[bokutoko]

so i saw a tiktok about an athlete in the olympics who lost his wedding ring in the river during the opening ceremony…

⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

and i couldn’t help but think of sweet, sweet bokuto who doesn’t mean to lose the ring, but he’s just so clumsy. and afterwards, he’s absolutely mortified and stresses so bad that you’ll be upset with him.

granted, you are sad, but you understand it wasn’t intentional. you just nod with a soft, slightly forced smile, telling him, “it’s okay, kou. focus on the games for now. we can worry about it another time.”

but bokuto can’t seem to forgive himself…

until he gets an idea. your anniversary is coming up soon…

so when japan claims the victory against argentina and wins the gold, bokuto turns to you in the stands, watching as you happily cheer him on. he basks in the spotlight and relishes the feeling of you, his sweet wife of five years, always supporting him no matter what.

while you’ve always known bokuto to be an unpredictable human being in all your years together, nothing could prepare you for this. all the cameras pan to bokuto with his usual dazzling smile, and they zoom in on the beautiful ring, adorned with your favorite gem, as he yells out, “marry me again!”

and with a shy nod and wide smile, you feel yourself fall in love with him all over again.♡

a/n: akaashi helped him come up with this idea

masterlist | navigation

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

[bonniepop]

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please. 

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water. 

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch. 

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries. 

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used. 

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.” 

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words. 

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug. 

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile. 

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave. 

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”

[shoyodon]

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who thinks tattoos are “so fuckin’ stupid.” Says its a waste of money just to put toxins in your bloodstream.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who rolls his eyes with a huff and mutters a quiet: “Don’t come complainin’ to me when you regret it.” Under his breath after you ramble on about interesting designs you saw online.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who, as much as he hates tattoos, has an equal if not vastly greater amount of love for his engagement/wedding band. Deep black obsidian band with a ruby red strip running around the center. He scoffed when you handed it to him after the two of you got engaged, told him you got it made specifically for him and said that it reminded you of his eyes. His huffing and puffing was a poorly disguised attempt at not letting the sentimentality make his heart race. You could tell he loved it by the red tinge on the tips of his ears that matched his band.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who gets into a scuffle at work while on patrol. The villain had managed to catch him off guard, and when he lifted his hands to shield himself temporarily they had managed to slice through one of his gauntlets like nothing. The surprise attack was all the leverage they had on him, though. Once he got his bearings it was over in an instant.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who reluctantly is pulled into an ambulance; his left arm and hand cut up badly from the attack. He sat on the stretcher with a bitter look on his face, not caring that his fingers nearly were cut off and were getting stitched up frantically by one of the paramedics, all he cared about was the bent, misshapen ring clenched in his other palm, which had to be cut off of his finger due to the injury.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who denies it vehemently when you ask him if the bad attitude hes had for the past few days is because his ring was ruined, claiming hes “not that sentimental.” but you still see how he keeps the bent piece on his bedside, and how he stays up late at night looking into places he can trust enough to repair it.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who, amongst watching various tiktoks of people repairing rings on his fyp, discovers someone tattooing their partners initials on their ring finger in lieu of a wedding band.

Newlywed husband! Katsuki who shows up home just a day after his doctor said his hand was completely healed with fresh ink on his ring finger. Your initials permanently engraved on his skin. His first and only tattoo.

-

(Newlywed husband! Katsuki who shrugs, claiming its “safer than having the ring nearly cut my damn finger off,” but still leaps at you when you surprise him with his ring, freshly repaired, on a chain that he can wear under his hero costume.)

((Husband! Katsuki who never removes the chain from around his neck no matter the circumstance, and subtly shows off his tattoo any chance he gets; what could be better than one way to show off that he has the best spouse a man could ask for waiting for him at home? Two!))

[sweetfushi]

HOW THEY REALISED THEY WERE ATTRACTED TO YOU PT 1

fluff | tetsuro kuroo, kei tsukishima, wakatoshi ushijima x reader, fluff, you almost get hit with the ball (thanks yaku), reader is suggested to be short(er). ◦ notes. part two here.

TETSURO KUROO.

He started becoming quieter, almost conscious of what he said around others.

Nekoma watches as their captain almost moves in a daze, his eyes fixated on a certain girl on the bleachers, writing something and tucking her hair behind her ear every so often. Yaku had been the first to notice a few days ago during one of their practice matches, brow furrowed and lips pursed as Kuroo observed his younger sister. Although you were only younger by a year, making you a second year while Yaku and Kuroo third years, your brother was highly protective of you.

“She’s so pretty,” Kuroo murmurs, tossing the ball up and catching it repeatedly as he continues to gaze at you. He had said few words this match, albeit his smart remarks still made their presence. However, Kenma had to snap him out of a few daydreams while Lev had waved his big hands in his face, yelling “Yoohoo!”

Kuroo had deadpanned at that.

As the game continues, he watches as Yaku saves the ball but also causes it to fly over and almost hit you, making you yelp and cover your head. Kuroo almost chokes on his own breath.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” Yaku rushes out, face pinched in concern as he jogs over to where you sit with an unimpressed expression. Kuroo watches momentarily as the libero withstands your discipline and light slap to his head, before - as no one else seemed to do so - rushing up the bleacher stairs and snatching the ball up.

“You sure you don’t wanna sit higher up?” Kuroo suggests, watching it take you a moment to register that he’s talking to you. Your eyes lock and his breath hitches, lips parting as he watches you smile sheepishly and gather your notes in your arms. “That probably would be a good idea,” you giggle and thank him for his concern, moving to sit closer to the doors but not before shooting Yaku one last glare.

The libero pouts and apologises again.

Kuroo composes himself and fiddles with the ball before starting to make his way back down to the court.

“Hey, wait.” He freezes in place at the sound of your voice, turning to face you with inexplicable anticipation (for what, he wasn’t sure himself). He finds himself smiling as you do, watching as you nod towards the ball in his hand. “I will throw that ball out the window if it reaches me again,” you raise a brow, your warning teasing and (largely) unserious.

Kuroo snorts, nodding. “Noted.”

KEI TSUKISHIMA.

You became the person he talks to the most.

He hadn’t abandoned Yamaguchi at all, but even the green-haired man notices Tsukishima’s developing interest in you. You seemed more academic than the blond, opting to spend your time between classes in the library or the local cafe, but lately you had allowed him to distract you with his smart remarks and invitations to random days out. This time, he wanted you to help him practise.

“I’m not going easy on you,” you mumble, still shoving your books in your bag as you walk alongside him. He rolls his eyes and smacks the top of your head with the packaged strawberry shortcake slice he insists on having daily.

Once you get to the green field beside the school’s gym, he becomes insufferable.

“What happened to not going easy on me?” He grins, watching you chase after the ball for a second time.

You groan and almost much too aggressively throw a rock at him, one he easily avoids. You hate admitting it, but you are just as competitive as he is, so you don’t let his teasing demotivate you.

“I’m going to serve this ball in your damn face,” you huff, hitting the ball again. This time, Tsukishima is focused on his plays, following the ball carefully and analysing your every move. 

By the time you’re done, three hours have passed and the sun is barely hanging in the sky. You’re sweating and panting, Tsukishima slouched against a wall as he too catches his breath. Neither one of you breaks eye contact so you’re not oblivious to the way he lets his eyes roam over you. You don’t hesitate to do the same.

“I shouldn’t have eaten that cake,” he huffs, “I’m gonna puke.”

You burst out laughing at his whimpers. He takes a few moments to hydrate himself before inhaling deeply and glaring at you.

“I hope your stomach hurts so bad that you can’t sleep tonight,” he almost pouts - so uncharacteristic of him (also hoping that you stay up to text him).

“If you’re done being petty,” you push your hair back and wipe yourself down with a small towel, “I was thinking we can go get some food, maybe help that little upset stomach of yours.”

You almost scream when he throws his sweaty towel at you.

WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA.

He starts to ask about you.

He’s walking out of school with the rest of the team, waiting outside a local store as Tendo and Goshiki spend half their life savings on snacks they’ll likely forget about. Ushijima is checking the news and simultaneously listening to Ohira talk about how he’s trying out a new regime at the gym, until he hears Semi on the phone with someone. He glances up at him, hoping to hear your voice, but turns back to his phone when he doesn’t.

After about ten minutes of yelling at Tendo and Goshiki to hurry up before their banks question their hefty transactions, they all start heading home again.

“How’s your sister?” Ushijima asks bluntly, catching Semi’s surprised expression in his peripheral vision. The setter hesitates before nodding. “She’s fine.”

An awkward silence dawns on the duo.

“I thought there would be more to that conversation,” Semi laughs, staring up at his seemingly unfazed captain. Ushijima hums.

Again, the silence becomes deafening.

“Is she still working in that new firm downtown?” Ushijima asks. “I remember you said that she was excited about getting her own office.”

Semi nods, brow furrowed in confusion. “I told you that about two months ago, do I wanna know how or why you still remember that?” The two then look at each other with seemingly apathetic expressions, although Semi has a feeling that Ushijima isn’t asking out of the kindness of his own heart. He doesn’t mention it though, instead says his goodbyes to the others as they all part ways - except for him and Ushijima.

Although Semi isn't too keen on letting you invest time into boys seeking nothing but someone they can manipulate for their own benefit, he knows that Ushijima is nothing like that. Though, he's not sure how the captain would even go about approaching you considering his and your busy schedules.

"Do you... want her number?" Semi initiates what Ushijima seemed hesitant to mention.

"Please."

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

[seijorhi]

All In

the beta fic you have been waiting months for <33 Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori x female reader w.c 6.8k tw: yandere themes, a/b/o, noncon, (sorta) smut, nsfw, one mention of blood and oozing wounds, implied stalking, forced claiming

“They’re good guys – good alphas. This won’t be like last time, I promise. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them,” Ayako murmurs, squeezing your hand in reassurance and offering you a brilliant grin. “They’re gonna love you.”

Love seems a bit of a stretch.

But Aya looks so… hopeful. You sigh. “You really like them, huh?”

“I really like them,” she admits, a pretty pink blush tingeing her cheeks. “You come first, though. You’re my beta, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll walk, okay? No questions asked.” 

A promise she’s kept more than once. Too many times. Omegas like Aya, young and vibrant and oh-so-lovely, shouldn’t have any trouble finding a pack to settle down with. Hell, alphas should be banging down the door just for a chance with her – to fuck, to bond, anything and everything in between. You’re the sticking point. The reason why Ayako hasn’t bonded into a pack yet.

Alphas have no interest in betas. They do nothing for them – can’t take a knot, don’t have heats. Betas aren’t durable enough to ride out an alpha’s rut. All that compounded by the simple fact that bonding bites between the two don’t last longer than a few months, so why bother?

You’re dead weight. Aya clings to you anyway. 

She pulls your hand to her cheek, the tender, delicate spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Scenting, you realise a touch belatedly. Omegas have stronger scents than betas do; florals, spice, indulgent, enticing things – you once knew an omega whose scent reminded you of hot caramel drizzled over apple pie. Ayako smells like lilacs and the rain, a softer scent admittedly, yet one that screams of home and comfort and familiar things. 

Your own scent is milder. Now, on top of sea salt and that faint whisper of summer, you’ll smell a little of her. She’s claiming you as pack, as hers. Her beta, exactly as she’d said

A flutter of warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile back at her, the first genuine one of the night. 

“You look great, by the way,” she tells you. “Come on, Tendou messaged to say they’re running a bit late and we should head on in without them. Ushijima’s practice doesn’t finish up ‘til about seven, so we’ve got plenty of time for the show.” She winks and lets out a bubbling laugh and you kind of feel like you’ve missed the joke.

Nevertheless, you let her tug you into the stadium. The lady behind the ticketing counter slides across two visitor’s passes on lanyards when Ayako gives your names.

“Practices are closed to the public,” the omega explains in a hushed voice while the two of you make your way towards the door for the stands. “Apparently the team get a few passes they can hand out to whoever they like – pack, usually.”

The pass has your name printed on it. Beneath it, in bold; Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

You finger the plastic edges absentmindedly. 

There’s other people in the stands, all wearing the same style lanyard draped around your neck. Some, you think, are partners. Friends and family. Pack, like Ayako said. You spy a woman maybe a few years older than you, bouncing a toddler on her lap and pointing animatedly towards the court, another guy sitting beside her, an arm curled over the back of her seat. Others appear to be there in a more official capacity – staff, you suppose, wearing the same white polo edged in blue and gold (team colours, you guess), talking quietly amongst themselves and jotting things down on expensive looking tablets. 

They pay you no mind. Ayako does the same, dragging you right up to the guard-rail with an excited gasp. You’d been expecting them to be running laps or tossing balls in pairs or something. You weren’t expecting anything like this. 

Without the roar of a crowd, every noise on the court is amplified; the squeaking of shoes, the thwack of palms meeting leather, shouts ricocheting from both sides as they scramble for the ball.

Scramble isn’t the right word, though. It flies through the air between the players, choreographed chaos.

One of the players, a dark haired behemoth, shoots up and connects with the ball, slamming it over the net with a terrifying force – you feel the impact in your chest when it hits the floor.

A whistle rings out.

“Oh my god,” Aya breathes.

The behemoth turns, dark eyes zeroing in on your figure from across the court. His nostrils flare.

Alpha, you realise. He’s one of Aya’s alphas.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“You know he���s one of the top wing spikers in the country, and he’s on the national team? He’s already got like three Olympic medals! Three!” she gushes. “He’s incredible.”

You hardly hear her. The other players on the court, his teammates, are already re-setting, a blond slapping Ushijima on the back, another hurling a teasing jab across the net – earning him a middle finger in response – Ushijima’s gaze doesn’t shift, his attention doesn’t waver. You swear you see his pupils dilate. 

Your breath is caught somewhere in your chest. 

“Are you gonna wave at the alpha you dressed so pretty for?” 

“Would you stop?” you hiss, tearing your gaze away to jab an elbow into Ayako’s side, which she artfully dodges with a delighted giggle. 

“Can’t say I blame you for drooling. I practically melted into a puddle the first time Semi dragged him into the bakery. He’s hot as hell,” she sighs. 

The problem is, she isn't wrong. Weird, heavy, way too intense eye contact aside, Ushijima is the textbook definition of ‘hot alpha’; all tall and broad shouldered, his face hewn with clean, strong lines. Add on the ridiculous athleticism, the muscles that clearly aren’t just for show – yeah, no wonder Aya’s got heart eyes already. 

On the court below, the whistle blows. More cheers. Another point scored. By the time you glance down again, Ushijima’s lost interest, his focus returned to the game, nodding at something one of the (you presume) coaches yells across the court.

The tight, prickling feeling writhing beneath your skin, that doesn’t fade as quick. 

God, you’re way too worked up about this whole thing. 

“He’s very, uh…” 

“Intimidating? No– impressive? Or were you gonna say sexy? All true, by the way. Ushiwaka’s a beast.”

The other two alphas have finally deigned to grace you with their presence. Wonderful. 

Swallowing back a wince, you turn to face the duo. “Good,” you say. “I was going to say he’s very… good.”

Aya had told you the basics, of course; Semi’s the lead singer slash guitarist in a band, Tendou’s a chocolatier. The former used to be a civil servant, the latter recently moved back from a stint in Paris, and both of them played Volleyball with Ushijima in high school. 

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting. Carbon cutouts of their packmate, maybe, big, brawny, radiating the kind of imposing dominance that forces everyone around them – other alphas included – to sit down and shut up with a look alone. 

The two alphas before you aren’t that. 

The shorter of the two, more wiry in his build than the redhead beside him, smirks. “Good, huh?” 

He’s teasing you. They’re both teasing you. Your cheeks burn hotter. Before you can open your mouth to apologise, try and sidestep you shoving your own foot in your mouth as a first impression, Aya intervenes. 

“You should’ve seen her a minute ago, her jaw was on the ground. She’s playing it cool.”

The sound of her laugh digs at you in a way it shouldn’t. 

It’s not fair, not when you’re the one who’s acting like you don’t have a single working brain cell and she’s trying to cover for you, but it bothers you when Ayako acts like she has to smoothe over your edges, make you more palatable, more pleasing. You’re not an omega, you won’t ever be an omega, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Aya’s gonna spend the rest of your lives trying to compensate for that.

Her shoulder knocks with yours, a gentle bump, that same hopeful, painfully optimistic look in her eyes. 

Guilt, an old, familiar friend at this point, washes over you. 

“This is Semi,” she introduces, gesturing at the ash-blond with the ripped jeans, “and Tendou,” the gangly redhead. 

“And you must be our beta,” Semi surmises, slowly eyeing you over. 

The casual possessiveness rankles you, your tight smile freezing in place. Again Ayako simply laughs, her fingers, very deliberately, lacing with yours once more. “She’s my beta, you have yet to win her over.”

Neither alpha appears all that put out by the prospect.

Tendou, eyes crinkling with a wide, eager grin that takes you a little aback, thrusts a hand out towards you, a white gift bag you hadn’t noticed dangling from his fingertips. “Presents help with the whole wooing thing, right?” he jokes.

From your experience, yes. 

Aya’s received plenty. You, as her tag along beta, less so. 

One pack brought you a bouquet of pink and white peonies on your first date. Not quite as  extravagant as the arrangement of roses they presented Aya with, they had a lovely, subtle perfume and when you put them in a vase and set them atop your nightstand, they brightened up the whole room. You could appreciate that they’d at least tried to make you feel an equal part of this. 

They’d been willing to play pretend.

Back then, when Aya first started bringing potential packs around, you were… idealistic. Naive, maybe. 

You watched them dote on her. Lap up Aya’s attention like it was the sweetest fix. You saw the hunger. The arousal that flared, thick and syrupy, whenever she did something unintentionally appealing to the alpha inside of them – a simple stretch, nibbling on her bottom lip while she mulled over a menu, the sway of her hips as she walked up to the bar.

Oh, they were polite to you. Drew you into conversations, chatted about your job, your hobbies, the plans the two of you had for the holidays in a few weeks’ time – all the while tracking every movement of the omega beside you from the corner of their eyes.

They were nice to you. You didn’t want ‘nice’. You wanted what they so freely offered to Aya; hunger and captivated attention, a desire so thick in the air you could choke on it. 

Foolish, pretty fantasies. There’s no competing with biology, you know that. The most interesting, beautiful beta in the room is still just a beta. 

Down below, the court’s quieter, muted chatter drifting up to the bleachers in place of squeaking and thuds and the sharp trill of whistles blowing. Did the practice match finish up?

Aya squeezes your hand. Drops it. As subtle a cue as she can manage. 

Brain kicking back into gear, you step closer and pluck the gift from the alpha’s outstretched hand, an odd little shiver trickling down your spine when the tips of your fingers graze his rough palm. 

“Ah, thank you,” you say, remembering your manners at last.

Tendou’s eyes flutter shut, breathing in deep, shuddering a little on the exhale. When they open again, there’s a giddy sort of satisfaction creeping from his expression. He licks his lips, smiling wide. “Sea salt.”

“… Sorry?”

“The chocolates,” his chin juts towards the gift. “Sea salt caramel. I had a feeling, went with it. I’m not usually wrong.” He sounds absurdly proud of the fact. 

“Oh.” 

Beside you, Aya looks as lost as you feel. Semi, on the other hand, snorts, shaking his head. “You might wanna ease up on the beta, dude. She met you all of three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be besties. I can feel it.” Without warning he slings an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close to smush you into his side, unbothered by your startled yelp, the way the bag of chocolates smacks against his torso when the hand clutching it jerks out to steady yourself. “Don’t be jealous ‘cuz I’m already the favourite, Semi-Semi.”

Semi shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back against the centre railing behind him. Slowly, a smirk unfurls. A challenge. “For now.”

Plastered against Tendou’s side, swallowed up by the heat of him, the heady scent of cherrywood – of alpha – thick and strong, and with no sign of him letting you go anytime soon, you dart a glance to Aya.

Your best, oldest (admittedly only) friend, watching the three of you with a quirked eyebrow, expression otherwise indecipherable–

And then, she giggles, rolling her eyes with exasperated amusement. “Can we at least sit while you two fight over my well-earned spot?” 

You wonder if they notice the brief look of concern she throws your way as Tendou relaxes his hold and the two usher you over to a seat, Semi snagging the one to your left, Aya taking the right.

Her promise from earlier rings in your head. One word and she’ll walk, no questions asked. 

Aya needs a pack. She wants this one. She likes this one, but at some point, she’ll need one. 

Omegas don’t do well long term without mates. Right now her heats are okay, manageable with suppressants and toys – eventually those won’t be enough. They’ll get worse, come without warning, more frequently. The suppressants won’t help, she’ll ache and burn up, forgo food, water, sleep…

The lucky ones end up hospitalised. The unlucky ones either end up dead or in situations where it’d be a kindness if they were. 

“You okay?” she asks, whisper soft. Her voice won’t carry, the other two aren’t paying attention anyway. Semi’s thigh brushes up against yours when he spreads his legs wide, thumbing out a message on his phone, and Tendou’s leaning over the backrest between you, chin perched on his folded forearms, watching him type. 

One word and she’ll walk, that’s what Aya promised. 

Down on the court below, the players spread across the floor, stretching out and cooling down, half empty water bottles and sweat towels scattered around them. Ushjima’s lying on your side of the court, one thigh drawn over the other, twisting out his lower back. If he realises he’s got an audience in you and Aya, he gives no indication of caring, holding the stretch for a few seconds longer before repeating the motion with the other leg. 

“Yeah.”

If chocolates and overly tactile besties are what you get out of this, you can manage that. 

—

While you wait out front of the stadium for Ushijima to finish up, Semi smokes.

A lit cigarette dangles loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing cherry red with every drag. He stands separate from the three of you, a few feet away, because when he’d fished out the slightly crumpled packet from his jacket pocket to pluck one out, Aya’s nose wrinkled. Omegas are sensitive to strong smells at the best of times, and Aya’s loathed the stench of cigarettes ever since she was a kid and her dad would smoke on the back porch of her gran’s place. He died years ago, and to this day she swears up and down that every time she sets foot back there, she smells those Seven Stars.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually said anything, and to Semi’s, he hadn’t kicked up a fuss. He’d shrugged, shuffled on back and lit up anyway. Water off a duck’s back.

Tendou talks loudly and Aya’s giggling laugh echoes louder. Semi watches. Idle – bored, almost. 

Until his gaze shifts to you.

And stays there.

From a young age, you’re taught that alphas are stronger than betas and omegas. They’re quicker. Smarter. In the old days, they tell you, alphas were the hunters, the providers – protectors, when the situation called for it. What they mean, dressing the truth up in nicer, more palatable terms is that alphas are, down to their marrow, predators. 

Those instincts don’t go away just because society’s a little more civilised these days. 

Semi’s expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing particularly dangerous or threatening there, nothing to explain the sudden ball of anxiety that lodges itself in your stomach. 

Yet you can’t shake the sense that with that stare, every ounce of his focus rests solely on you. Every breath, every nervous twitch, shift of your muscles, all of it tracked, analysed. He stares, breathing out a slow plume of smoke, and you feel the physical weight of it bearing down on you.

He won’t bite, lunge for the kill – but he could.

His chin tilts, eyebrow lifting. A flicker of amusement, as if he knows exactly the thoughts running wild in your head. You shake them off, ignore the hammering of your heart to follow the wordless, beckoning call to his side, nudging Aya on the way past so she won’t think you’ve abandoned her. 

“You realise she’s gonna try and get you to quit,” you tell him in what you hope is a friendly, upbeat tone. 

Semi scoffs and takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch, off-kilter, a little dazed as his head tilts back, exposing the long, lithe column of his throat, and he slowly exhales.

With dark, sweeping lashes and angular features, the problem, you realise, is that Semi is distractingly pretty. An artless, grunged up sort of pretty. Pretty like pools of oil on asphalt after it rains. 

Pretty in the way that poisonous things often are. 

“She’s more than welcome to try.” He plucks his cig from his lips and extends it your way, his expression almost… goading. 

You don’t take it.

There isn’t much surprise to be found in your refusal, his pretty mouth pursing as his arm falls by the wayside. “Omega’s got her claws stuck in you good, huh.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it. What all this boils down to. Right from the start, the very first pack you met and every pack since – Aya’s made it clear from the get-go. They don’t get her without you. You’re her beta. 

“Is that a problem for you?”

You won’t take the cigarette because Aya has issues with it. She won’t entertain you leaving her because the two of you are too fucking entangled in one another to handle extrication.

You’re pack, you’re family, you’re all each other has left, now that her grandma – the woman who essentially raised you and her – is gone. 

You won’t play second fiddle, if only because Aya won’t allow them to push you aside like that. If that’s a problem, a dealbreaker (and, historically speaking, it has been) better they figure it out now, before she – or you – gets too attached and ends up hurt. 

Semi regards you for a long moment, taking one last puff of his cigarette before he flicks it away, grinds the smoldering butt into the cement with the toe of his boot. “Don’t know yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

And you nod, because at least that’s an honest answer. 

“Tendou came back to Japan for her, didn’t he?” It’d twigged when you’d gone to hand back your visitor’s pass and the lady behind the counter made some casual comment about not expecting to see him ‘til next season.

Not back for a visit, back permanently.

Semi shakes his head, “He was always coming back. Paris was only ever a temporary thing,” he corrects. “But yeah, he made the decision to come home early when we realised the opportunity that’d fallen into our laps.”

While you don’t love the way he makes meeting Aya sound, you understand the gravity of what he’s saying. Tendou uprooted his life for her. 

You glance back over your shoulder, fiddling with the handles of the bag of chocolates he’d made for you. They’re still talking, quieter now, both of them subtly – subconsciously, probably – angled towards the two of you; Aya with that same bright-eyed look about her, Tendou like he’s just itching to interrupt and steal your attention back for himself. He, at least, might actually like you. 

“And you? Are you all in, too?”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Semi doesn’t owe you an answer, you know that. It’s not fair that you asked, it’s just– you can’t get a read on him. For all his sharp edges and the smirks that make your insides squirm, you don’t know whether this is what he wants. Wanted, maybe.

Semi surprises you. In a move too quick for you to catch, he closes in on you. He doesn’t pin you down per se. You’re not caged in, trapped between his body and a wall. Physically speaking, there’s nothing stopping you from stepping back and regaining that inch of space as he looms over your shorter frame, tilting your chin upwards with two curled fingers like he’s going to kiss you. 

Nothing except your suddenly jelly legs. 

There’s barely anything separating you. Millimetres. Heat floods your face. Your stomach tightens, blood simmering, writhing beneath your skin. Long fingers encircle your wrist, right where Aya had scented you, his thumb digging in over your fluttering pulse. A noise escapes you then, a distressed sort of whimper you thought yourself above, and Semi’s eyes flick down to your lips, something dark and hungry flaring in response. 

Alpha. Smaller than his packmates, but no less. 

“Who d’you think called him and told him to get his ass back home, little beta?” 

You swallow unsteadily–

“Time to share, Semi-Semi,” Tendou sings, snaking an arm around your waist to haul you away from the blond. To you, he says, “You wanna come say hi to our big, bad pack alpha, don’tcha?” 

It’s then you realise that Ushijima, along with several of his teammates, have finally emerged. While they wave each other off, scattering across the carpark, some heading to their cars, others in the direction of buses and the train station, Ushijima halts near the door – Aya already skipping on over. 

“Ah… yes?”

Tendou snickers. 

“Relax,” Semi tells you with a smirk, clapping your shoulder as he brushes on past. “Ushiwaka doesn’t bite.” 

As Tendou nudges you forward like an errant duckling, you fix Semi with an unimpressed look. He winks. Asshole.

Omegas, especially unbonded omegas, tend to be picky about touch and physical affection outside of pack and family. Aya, for all her moon-eyed infatuation, doesn’t throw herself at the alpha. Ushijima offers a single, wooden pat on her head, the edges of his mouth lifting in what you suppose is an approximation of a smile.

She beams all the same.

“– and this is my beta,” she introduces. 

You’re not anticipating an overly warm welcome. For one, he looks stiff enough smiling at Aya to suspect he’s not practised with the expression, for another… the whole, weird staring thing from earlier sits all too fresh in your mind. If he’d heard your awkward fumbling with his packmates in the aftermath, you doubt that’s helped endear you to him any.

Nothing prepares you for the way he turns, every speck of goodwill falling from his features when your scent finally reaches him. Cold, remote stone, eyeing you down. 

“You smell like lilacs,” he grunts, like the very concept offends him. You, a beta, wearing his would-be mate’s scent. 

—

The izakaya the alphas take you to is only a few minutes walk from the stadium, and each one of them passes in near unbearable, stilted tension. 

Aya doesn’t question you when you make a bee-line for the bathroom rather than following the others to a table, though the small furrow between her brows says plenty.

You just need a minute.

The single unisex stall offers spartan amenities at best – a sink with a cracked mirror hammered into the wall, paper towels, and a lone, flickering light above. 

Braced over the porcelain vanity, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf with remnants of ice-cold water dripping down your face, you will the frantic, sickening churn inside you to ease. 

Fuck. 

What’s wrong with you?

Ushijima could barely stand that Aya had scented you, and you’re supposed to believe he’d let you bond into the pack with her? And if he did, what kind of life would that be? You, forever on the outside, pack but not really, not in the ways that matter. 

What place does a beta have between alphas and their omega?

More to the point, how, after all the packs you and Aya have tried this with, all the the indifference and dismissal you’ve weathered, the cruel insults you weren’t supposed to hear–

Think of it this way, dude; it’s a spare hole for you to stick your cock in while the omega’s busy bouncing on my knot.

–how are you still surprised that they don’t want you?

You let a slow breath out, shoulders sagging. Okay. 

Okay. 

Straightening up, you rip a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing to remove any trace of distress from your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. Smile, play pretend. A few drinks, some dumplings, yakitori – two, three hours max.

Nothing’s changed.

The alphas want Ayako. Ayako wants these alphas.

In spite of that, in spite of the blushing and fawning and big, lovely doe eyes that bat ever so prettily for her alphas, she’ll hold true to her promise if you ask it of her. 

No questions asked, without an ounce of resentment, she’d walk away from them. She’d choose you. 

It’d be a few weeks of moping around, picking each other up and dusting yourselves off. There’ll be other packs. Aya’s got a few years yet before her heats really become an issue. You can always try again.

The thing is… you don’t want to anymore.

They like you as a friend. You’re in the way. They wanna fuck you, but only if the omega’s otherwise occupied. You can take care of the household stuff during heats and ruts, right? Maybe one day there could be something more. 

They wouldn’t look twice if it wasn’t for Ayako. 

Every time it hurts, like clawing out pieces of yourself, and you just… you can’t anymore. You won’t.

So tonight, you’ll be the bestie. Let her have her fun, flirt with the big, strong alphas she’s so enamoured by, and then tomorrow… tomorrow you’ll find a way to cut yourself loose from all of this. Aya gets her pack and you can find a nice, normal beta to settle down with. You’ll both be happier for it in the long run. 

Wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye, you suck in another fortifying breath, nodding at yourself in the mirror. A few hours of pretending is nothing. A piece of cake.

Focused entirely on the veneer you have to slip into, you don’t notice the large, muscular frame blocking the door until you quite literally collide with it.

“Oof– Sorry, my b–”

The words wither like ash on your tongue when you look up to find Ushijima standing over you.

Despite the resolution you’d come to mere moments ago, you’re not feeling particularly charitable towards the hulking behemoth of an alpha, and you have every intention of wordlessly skirting around him to head back to the table and join your friend, civility be damned. 

You make it all of a single step before a change sweeps over him and he stiffens, nostrils flaring like they had back on the court. His eyes bleed black, and that’s the only warning you get before he seizes your wrist in one giant hand and starts to haul you back into the stall, slamming the door shut behind you both. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss. 

“She scented you,” he growls, looking angrier than he did before. “You smell like omega.”

No, this isn’t anger. Not exactly. Ushijima’s shoulders heave with every breath, his whole frame almost shuddering, pulled taut like a bowstring primed to snap–

And that’s when realisation hits. 

“You’re in a rut,” you whisper, eyes going wide in horror. “Ushiji–” You don’t get to finish the sentence. 

Big should mean slow. Clumsy. Ushijima’s neither. 

In an instant he surges into motion, one hand clamping down over your mouth, the other shoving you forward, trapping you on the tips of your toes between his hulking body and the vanity that was your lifeline five minutes ago. Just like then, your hands automatically reach out, clutching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Stupid, when the full weight of Ushijima pins you precariously in place anyway.

Your heart hammers, panic and terror clawing at your stomach. You aren’t an omega, you can’t take a knot. If Ushijima tries to fuck you like he wants – like his instincts are driving him to – he’ll tear you apart. He’ll break you. 

But if any part of the mindless, snarling alpha behind you recognises that, he doesn’t care. The warm body in his grasp smells like lilacs, like the omega outside, and that’s good enough.

He noses at your hair and pants, yanking your skirt up to rip at your underwear. The fabric gives easily.

While he rips and claws at his own clothes to free his cock, Ushijima stares at your reflection, watching you shake as the tears well up and spill over. There’s nothing human there, nothing cognizant. The black pits staring back at you are pure alpha, consumed by the need to fuck and breed. 

You have seconds – seconds – to brace yourself.

Ushijima drags the head of his cock along your slit just once, bends you over, and without warning or preamble, splits you in two. 

Omegas have slick to help with sudden ruts. You don’t. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re not prepared to take him, that it hurts worse than anything you’ve experienced before and you’re choking on tears and muffled wails. You scream into his hand and Ushijima grunts, bullying his cock into you one agonising millimetre at a time. 

He fucks into you like you’re made to take his cock, every thrust slamming you into the unforgiving edge of the sink while your legs scramble for purchase. You’re fairly sure you’re close to passing out when you feel the swell of his knot start to catch. 

Oblivious to your panic, the wheezing cries and pleas dashed against his palm, the alpha snarls in open-mouthed pleasure, his spare hand coming down to cover one of your own, braced against the sink. “Mine.”

With the added weight, the vanity unit rattles against the wall, and you pray that someone’s walking by and hears it, cares enough to come investigate.

You aren’t that lucky, though.

Ushijima hauls you back upright, and as his knot swells, thick and pulsing, stretching you to breaking point and spurts of hot cum coat your insides, you cling on to consciousness just long enough to watch him tilt your chin to the side, lap at a bead of sweat trailing down your neck, and bury his teeth in your skin. 

—

Three days after your release from hospital, you wake to Aya knocking at your bedroom.

“S’posed to be at the bakery,” you mumble, curling tighter into the warm cocoon of your sheets. Soft morning light spills into your room. You can’t be bothered reaching for your phone to see the time, however your internal clock tells you that whatever the time is, it’s too early.

Aya sighs, taking that as an invitation to slip inside and plant herself on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Soon. I swapped shifts so I could start a bit later. I didn’t want…” she seems to struggle to find the right words, her shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

That isn’t the problem. 

“You remember the day your mom left?” The stark flinch beneath the covers must serve as answer enough. “You wouldn’t stop crying. Gran was so worried you’d make yourself sick, kept bringing you tea, bottles of water, anything to keep you hydrated.” 

An omega like her granddaughter, the last of her alphas having passed away a few years before, she’d paced fretfully outside Aya’s bedroom door for hours while you’d sobbed into your best friend’s arms, an absolute wreck. 

A bittersweet feeling floods your heart at the memory. No one ever loved you like gran did. 

Aya continues, “I made a decision that day. I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to run off with a bunch of alphas to live out some fairytale happily ever after and leave you behind. You can blame me for what happened. I get it. If I hadn’t scented you, he–” she breaks off with a sharp inhale.

He wouldn’t have tipped into a rut.

Wouldn’t have fucked you.

Knotted you.

Bit you. 

“You can blame me for it,” she repeats, though her voice shakes and her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall. “Hate me for it if you have to, so long as you know I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my beta, my best friend. All I wanted was to keep us together.”

Aya waits for you to say something. To forgive or condemn, and you try– you genuinely do, because blaming her isn’t fair, and you could no sooner hate her than you could carve out a lung. 

Only… you open your mouth and there’s nothing. 

The way her expression collapses before she has a chance to plaster over it hits you like a punch to the stomach. 

“Alright, lovely girl. I’ll see you when I get back – four-ish probably, unless we get hit with a late rush. I’ll try and steal some of those mini strawberry cakes to bring home too, I know how much you like them,” she rambles, patting your blanket covered knee and rising to her feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aya–”

Already halfway to the door, she turns, perfect brow arched, “Hm?” Like she’s expecting you to ask for another blanket. Some tea. Nothing wrong, nothing amiss. 

“Love you, too.”

And it’s like the sun coming out from the clouds. Aya beams a watery smile, and quietly closes the door behind her. 

Sleep drags you back under before you hear the front door click. The doctors warned you about that; one of the many charming side effects you’d be subjected to over the next few weeks.

Bond sickness, they called it. An alpha’s bite formed a mating bond, and that bond doesn’t respond well when it’s neglected, say by putting several miles of distance between you and the alpha who marked you. For omegas it can be deadly if it goes on long enough. Alphas have a sense of it, but it doesn’t affect them in the same way. They don’t get sick. For you, it means a month or so of lethargy, aches, low grade fevers and chills, nausea, a veritable shopping list of symptoms that’ll ease and fade as the bond itself does. 

None of that had stopped one of the nurse’s at the hospital from suggesting that, despite the delicate nature of the situation, it might be beneficial for your health if you moved in with Ushijima and his pack until it did fade. 

It was Aya who’d jumped down her throat for that one. 

You were still in shock. Numb–

Except for the foreign, slow simmering anger lodged like a thorn between your ribs. A small piece of you that wasn’t you at all. 

—

Sometime around midmorning, you stir again.

There’s footsteps in the living room, pattering through towards your bedroom. Dancing on the edge of awake, your brain slow and sluggish, jumps to the most logical conclusion. 

“Aya?” 

You expect your door to open, that familiar bloom of lilacs to spill into your room along with your best friend, a bowl of noodle soup from the shop on the corner in tow, the strawberry cakes she promised earlier, extra pillows, coffee, her laptop with your favourite movie already queued up; comfort things she knows will help.

The door does swing open, and neither one of the tall, looming frames behind it belong to Aya. 

“Sorry to disappoint, little beta,” Semi drawls, crossing the threshold like he has every right to be there. “Your girlfriend’s busy, you’re gonna have to play with us instead.”

The blood in your veins runs cold. 

Drawing your legs up tight to put as much distance between you and the advancing alpha as you can, your eyes dart between the two, Tendou lingering in the doorway, fingers drumming against the jamb. 

“I didn’t report him. I’m not going to,” you tell them, clutching at the blankets around you so your hands won’t shake. “I know how it’ll go, I’m not i-interested in–”

Semi reaches your bed. That look he’d had in his eyes back at the stadium, dark, focused, predatory – it’s there again, sharp and gleaming. He’s smirking. 

“There’s no– you don’t need to threaten me, or-or try to scare me–” His knee hits the mattress and your voice jumps to a squeak as he climbs on up.

You squirm back against the headboard. Semi prowls closer. 

There’s nowhere for you to go. 

Tendou’s not so subtly placed himself between you and the exit, and even if you could launch yourself out of bed without Semi catching you – without your head spinning and stomach threatening to upheave – they’re alphas. You couldn’t outrun them on a good day, you sure as hell can’t fight them.  

“Please. You can go. I-I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Tendou shivers, the deep red of his iris nearly swallowed by black. His fingers aren’t idly drumming anymore, they’re digging into the wood, splintering it beneath his grip. 

Inches away from you, Semi suddenly freezes, his attention snapping downwards to focus on something near his right hand. His nose wrinkles, lip curling. “You wanna know what I liked best about the omega?” he asks, lifting his gaze back to you. “I don’t think you really believed me back at the stadium.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know. If they aren’t here to scare you into keeping your mouth shut about Ushijima, then–

A low, husky chuckle comes from the doorway. 

“When she’d show up smelling like the sea in summer.” 

He strikes hard and fast – seizing your ankle to yank you under him. His mouth finds the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder and he bites down. Hard. 

Agony washes you over you, chased by fire. 

Panting wildly, your body locks up, arcing against him; against the warmth that crowds you, the hard muscles that cage you, the face now tucked into the crook of your neck, licking at the bloody, oozing wound. 

He’s there inside of you, too. Buried beneath your skin, brimming with smug satisfaction. 

“Bite her and we’ll take her home to the nest. I’m not fucking her here,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on you. He pats your hair, strokes your cheek. “Little beta needs her mates, don’t you?”

“Course she does!”

You’re gasping for air that won’t come, trembling, heart beating so frantically inside your chest you worry it’ll give out.

Tendou, bounding over with puppy-like eagerness, jumps on the bed and shoves his fellow alpha out of the way. 

“A…ya,” you rasp, weakly pushing at the large body crawling atop yours. You’re not sure whether it’s a question or a plea, but you get the sense that it doesn’t actually matter either way. 

Semi rolls his eyes – you can feel the flicker of his irritation – while Tendou, pawing at your sleep tee, pushing it up and shoving his face into the soft skin revealed there only groans, huffing at your scent like he can’t get enough. 

“Pretty omega like her? She’ll have her own alphas to worry about,” Semi dismisses, a faint frown marring his pretty face as he zeros in on the bandage over your neck. 

A split second too late, you realise his intentions. 

“No, don’t–”

He rips off the gauze.

Ushijima’s bite is puffy and inflamed. Calloused fingertips drift over the edges of the wound, Semi’s eyes boring into you as you let out a low, anxious whine. As Tendou licks and nips at your chest, working his way upwards, the blond increases the pressure, digging in.

You choke on a cry, pleasure, rather than pain, flooding and overwhelming your senses, and deep in your core, the answering surge of rabid need rips through you so viciously it punches the air from your lungs–

“We don’t fucking share.”

–and you scream as Tendou’s teeth sink into the curve of your breast, claiming you one final time.

[st4ringlow]

suna rintaro the mom's friend's son who is rarely home because hes at the boarding school.

you didnt know him that much, just the fact that hes older than you, the suna family's oldest son and plays volleyball. you barely saw him ever since he enters highschool, but your mom did update about him sometimes. "did you know rintaro went to a school in hyogo?" "heard that rintaro has a national game this week, the sunas gonna travel to hyogo to go watch him," "i talked to rintaro in the phone recently, and hes really grown up now," and you would just nod and hum, dont know what to do with that information. why was she so fond of rintaro? you dont even know.

its christmas. the suna family invited yours to a little lovely dinner, alongside with some other of their friends too. you didnt think much of it, scrolling on your phone as you walk into the sunas' home, lively chatter and laughter filling the suna household. "oh, y/n. hello," an unfamiliar voice greets, making you look up to the speaking figure. "ah, hello.." you replied hesitantly, watching a smile formed on rintaro's face. his voice were deeper than you remembered, and hes really tall. rintaro really did grew up. you shyly bowed to him, before heading towards your mother.

rintaro watches you, and he thought perhaps you dont remember how much you used to cry because you wanted him to be his boyfriend when you were 3 anymore.

rinny's note: reader doesnt remember anything (me)

[yenqa]

20191009 I LIKE HER | timeskip!tsukkishima as your boyfriend

♫ – currently playing… mac demarco

warnings – tsukishima is kind of mean, periods, food, mentions of drinking, throwing up/vomiting, jokes of being stabbed in the stomach, profanities

pairing – tsukishima x fem!reader ☆

a/n – hi guys… hope u enjoy !!

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

[tiza0925]

Idk if you take requests but Hinata,Tsukishima, Or Atsumu with an S/o that has a choking kink?? You can write however you want (u dont have to take this req, if u dont want to) :))

how about all three hq men ♡ i loved this prompt, ty for the request anon 

Wrap your fingers around my neck | 18+

Warnings/Tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, riding, lap sex, raw sex, kissing, praise kink, creampie, finger sucking, degradation kink, dirty talk, pussy eating, squirting, petnames, fingering, needy!Atsumu, pussy slapping, kitchen counter sex, choking kink ♡ SET IN A TIMELINE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18 YEARS

Pairings:  Hinata Shouyou x Female Reader, Tsukishima Kei x Female Reader, & Miya Atsumu x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Hinata

It was an honest accident. 

Hinata didn’t mean to do it—and you genuinely did not think he would follow along after but—

Hinata always loses himself a little whenever he kisses you. 

He can’t help it. 

Your lips feel so nice and soft against his. You taste so good when he licks his tongue inside your mouth and fuck—the little moans you make against him get his head all hazy, and he just wants his hands all over you—

“Shit,” Hinata murmurs, his breathing a little heavy as he pulls on your lower lip with his mouth, and his hands roam up your thighs, the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist—touching you everywhere while you sit on his lap, straddling him, as he sits up against the bed frame. “So pretty, angel.” 

You let out a shaky breath against his mouth, and you grind your hips towards him—pulling out a hiss from Hinata as his cock moves inside you. 

“Keep going, baby,” Hinata groans when you roll your hips again, and you gasp as his cock hits against your g-spot while your clit rubs against his exposed skin, and you dig your fingers into his broad, muscled shoulders for support. 

“Just like that,” Hinata’s hands are squeezing your ass, holding your hips, grabbing your tits—they’re everywhere and he can’t seem to control it when he’s like this. 

He just loves how you feel under the palm of his hand—maybe just a bit more than a volleyball—and his head is in the clouds as your pussy swallows him so perfectly, taking his thick cock like you always do, that he—

He doesn’t realize that one of his hands has moved further up to graze over your collarbone and shoulders. 

He’s too busy focusing on how sinful your tongue feels gliding against his. 

How your pussy is so damn wet—you’re dripping all over his dick—and god, you’re tight, that he’s so close to exploding—

Hinata doesn’t realize that his hand is near your neck—your skin is so soft and nice under his hand that everywhere feels the same—

It’s why he mindlessly circles his fingers around the base of your neck when his palm is there—he just needs his entire hand to feel you.

And you suck in a sharp breath as the feel of long, strong, and thick fingers curl around your throat—so hot and firm—and that’s Hinata freezes. 

Shit. 

He’s ready to apologize profusely—his fingers are already beginning to uncurl from your neck—because he didn’t mean to hold you that way but—

But then he hears you let out a moan—small, shaky, and wanting—and you buck your hips up against him, kissing him more feverishly, causing Hinata’s eyes to droop and roll back, a small groan ripping out of him when he realizes—

You liked that. 

“Yeah?” Hinata breathes out in response to your moan, and his fingers stay where they are—just a little hesitant with the pressure—as you ride him, your lashes fluttering as his heavy hand sits around your throat. “You liked that, didn’t you?” 

You nod, eyelids feeling heavy, and Hinata lets loose a low breath, shaking his head and smirking as he kisses you, murmuring against your red lips. “Should’ve told me you like that sooner, baby.” 

Because now that he knows you like having his hand around your throat like that—

“Would’ve made that pretty little head of yours all dizzy a long time ago,” Hinata rolls his hips up as he says that, shoving his cock a little deeper until you swear you feel it in your guts, causing you to gasp with a wet moan, and he puts a little more pressure on the sides of your neck with the pads of his finger—his eyes focused on yours. “Is that okay, angel?” 

More than okay—fuck, your head feels a little more light-headed now. 

You can still breathe, but the pressure around your throat brings out a blurry fog around the edges of your vision, and your cunt clenches around Hinata’s cock—making him groan—as your fluids leak out, getting him all wet and messy from how heated you are. 

It’s so overwhelming and you love it. 

You nod, moving your hips in tandem with his—languid rolls as his dick rubs your g-spot over and over, bringing you higher and tighter and hotter for your orgasm—

“Good girl,” Hinata praises, breathless, and uses his hold around your throat to pull you in closer—letting him kiss you like he’s greedy for your mouth as he licks and sucks and nips until you feel all woozy from it—then he moves to brush his mouth against the shell of your ear, his voice throaty as he pushes his hips up. “Can you cum for me like this, baby?”

Your pussy throbs around the girth of him when you feel his fingers press against the sides of your throat a little more, his hold around the most vulnerable part of you feeling possessive like he can own you if he wanted to. 

And you trust him enough to give it if he asks.

Your lips part with soft breaths being punched out with every buck of his hips, fucking you to make your mind melt, and he grazes his teeth against your earlobe—your heart leaping in your throat when he gently squeezes your neck, testing it until you moan in approval, losing yourself to how full you feel from his dick. “I want you to make a mess, angel, you always look so pretty when you do.” 

God—

It only takes a few more pumps of his cock inside you, your walls sucking him in, while your puffy clit rubs against your stomach until your orgasm ripples through you—your mouth hanging open with a silent moan as you gush around Hinata’s cock, legs tensing and back arching as your vision goes blurry and white as he keeps his hands where they are. “Fuck—so good for me, baby, look at you—”

He fucks you through it, nearing his orgasm as you pulse around him, and Hinata cums with a guttural groan—sticky cum spurting into your plush walls—

And his hand stays around your throat the entire time—holding and pinning you in place just the way you like it. 

Tsukishima

It’s not news to him that you like the feeling of his hand around your throat. 

He’s been playing around with the idea for a while, now, whenever he’s touching you—just in subtle ways. 

Whenever he kisses you, he places his hand just above your collarbone—not fully on your neck, but the tease is there—and slots his lips between yours with a sigh. 

Or it’s when you two are out in public and it’s a little too busy and you easily become lost in the crowd—Tsukishima guides you with his hand wrapping delicately against your nape, keeping you close while he has you in his hold. 

He always picked up on the way you reacted whenever he touched you there. 

How blown your pupils would get. 

How your breath would hitch with your lips parting with a small intake of breath. 

How dazed you would look in the eyes—making him feel just a little smug about finding out a little secret about you that he definitely plans to use one night. 

It’s when he’s got you lying on the bed all pretty for him—looking up at him with starry eyes as he pumps two of his fingers in and out of your drenched pussy—with his other hand caressing your cheek, his thumb teasing your lower lip. 

And he’s smirking down at you—in his usual lackadaisical way— with one of his knees sitting between your bent legs as he presses the pad of his thumb down onto your lower lip to pry your mouth open. “You always need something to suck on, don’t you?”

He teases you, his voice low and mirthful, and all it does is make your pussy clench as you moan—rolling your tongue out to flick it at his thumb before wrapping your warm mouth around it, your cheeks hollowing as you give his thumb a slow, indulgent suck.

“Shit,” It’s the way you keep eye contact with him as your head moves, leaving his thumb shiny with your saliva as you suck it, that sends heat down to his cock, making him feel light in the head. “You’re a needy little thing, you know.” 

You make a sound that’s similar to a moan around his thumb, and your eyes flutter, going half-mast, as you bob your head and swirl your tongue around his thumb as if it was his cock instead. 

And Tsukishima can’t help it—you look so desperate like this, your back arching against his hovering body, looking up at him so obediently, with your tits all perked up and nipples pert and pretty as you leak all over his hand—

It’s filthy and you—

“A perfect little slut,” Tsukishima lets those words slip out, a groan in his throat, and you choke a little with a whimper when you feel him press his thumb into your mouth a bit deeper, affection lacing his rather filthy words.

And you moan—low and wanting—when you hear him call you that, and Tsukishima can’t help but chuckle darkly as he leans in a little closer, his head tilting almost mockingly as he watches you with desire and affection. “Yeah?”

He curls his fingers to rub your spongey g-spot, his palm pressing against your swollen little clit for friction that sends heat up your tummy and chest. “You like being a little slut for me, sweetheart?” 

Fuck. 

“Looking like the mess that you are just because of me,” Tsukishima hums, his voice low. “You can hear just how soaked you are, you know.” 

You whine around his thumb as your orgasm balances at the edge—ready to combust with how tight your muscles feel—and you nod. 

God—you’re too perfect for him. 

He can’t help the small smile that threatens to creep up on him, trying to focus on making you cum—for the second time tonight—on his fingers before he finally fucks you the way you both need him to and—

And then his eyes widen a little, turning more amorous when his eyes briefly flit down to your exposed throat—

“…You can get a little more messy for me, right baby?” It’s not a question. 

Just a warning worded more sweetly. 

Because before you even get a chance to respond to him—

You feel his thumb slip out of your mouth—making a wet popping sound with your spit connecting a thin, clear string from your mouth to his thumb, leaving you gasping for air—

Only for it to be partially taken away again when you feel long, calloused fingers gently wrap around the area just beneath your jawline—and your eyes widen as you look at him, your breath catching, and he watches you with a knowing look behind his eyes. 

Like he knows that no matter what—you’ll trust him.

And he’s not wrong—you do. 

Enough to let your eyes immediately soften into submission, your lips wet from your saliva, and you let out a small moan as you tilt your chin up—giving him more room for his fingers to hold and cover. 

It brings out a hiss from him, low and breathy, and you see the way things primarily shift in his eyes when you begin to pant, moving your hips as he fucks you with his fingers—encouraging him to push harder and make you lose your mind. 

And god—he listens almost instantly as he squeezes the sides of your neck a little more, and you moan as you get a little hazy in the head, your limbs loose as his fingers move inside you. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Tsukishima lets out a small breath that’s almost a chuckle, and he watches you with his dick throbbing as you let him take the weakest part of your body into his own hands to play with. 

Giving him that trust that gets him all heady and needy to just—

To just kiss you and fuck you and take all of you until all you feel, smell, taste, and hear is him. 

“Always so good for me, sweetheart.” 

He grinds his palm against your clit with more pressure, moving it in circles as his fingers get swallowed by your pulsing walls—and then he’s pressing his fingers into your pulse points a little more, slowly playing with your ability to breathe, feeling his hand heavy around your neck until—

“Oh fuck—Kei—shit—”

You gasp, shaky, and your lower spine draws tight when your eyes get blurry from the brief lack of air—and that seems to snap something deep within you as you cum furiously around his fingers, spasming and gasping with your senses turning numb—

“Just like that, baby—get all nasty for me—“

Tsukishima finger fucks you through it, watching with dark eyes as he loosens up his fingers around your throat—and clear fluids squirt out of your sopping pussy with every thrust of his wrist inside you.

You end up gushing fluids all over the bed and his thighs—but Tsukishima doesn’t care. 

He’s too wound up and high on watching you cum on him to care about how sticky everything is—

It’ll only get messier once he gets his dick inside you anyway. 

You cry, coming down from your high as air rushes into your lungs after your orgasm—your pussy clenching hard from wave after wave of pleasure—

“I’m going to fuck you now, okay?” You hear him breathe that out. “And fill you up just how you like it.” 

You’re still too out of it to respond with anything other than a languid nod, feeling light and a puddle of fire at the same time as he kisses you so achingly soft that you melt against him. 

Atsumu

If he isn’t spending his time practicing or playing volleyball—

Miya Atsumu’s idea of using his time effectively is by having his hands and mouth on and all over you.

Specifically being able to bury his face in between your plush thighs—with his mouth and tongue pressed against your cunt. 

It’s what he’s doing right now as he’s got you bent over the island counter in your kitchen—while he’s on his knees behind you, hands gripping onto your upper thighs to hold you in place, with his tongue running a wide strip from your clit to your hole. 

“God—‘Sumu, you couldn’t have waited—?” 

You moan with a small whine as he sucks on your folds, tongue dipping in and jaw working as he makes out with your pussy from behind. 

“Sorry, baby,” Atsumu is breathing heavily when he pulls back, and he wets his lips as he slides his hands up to squeeze your ass—massaging it before using his hold on them to spread them apart, giving him easier access to your cunt.

And his eyes go half-lidded, his cock hardening in his pants, at the sight of your spit-slicked and soaked folds. “Can’t help it.”

Then he dives back in, jaw slack as his tongue licks your pussy like he’s thirsty for it, and you whine at how embarrassingly close you are to your orgasm already. 

“Ya looked so good in that skirt,” Atsumu murmurs against you, undulating his tongue against your clit before pushing the tip of his tongue through your drooling slit—

And he moans. 

He actually moans while he eats you out—like he’s just so desperate to have his mouth on you, determined to get you utterly soaked as your juices trickle down his chin and your thighs from how much he’s gotten you worked up. 

“Couldn’ wait,” Atsumu pants, swallowing before pushing his tongue further to lick your sensitive clit—flicking it with his tongue until he has you tensing and your thighs squeezing around his face. ‘Fuck—baby, so good—”

A whimper escapes your throat, and you rest your forehead against your arms that are on the counter, pushing your hips back to fuck yourself on his face until that ball of heat explodes in between your legs—and your orgasm throbs through you. 

Liquid heat spreads through your body, and you moan through it all as Atsumu licks and sucks and eats, groaning so low and needy, until your clit twitches with oversensitivity and you’re whining. 

“So pretty f’me,” You hear him mutter, sounding drunk off the taste of your cunt, and your entire body jolts as a sharp gasp slips through your parted lips when you feel a slap against your sopping folds. 

And Atsumu’s head spins when he stands back up—his eyes focused on the way your arousal drools down from your pussy lips, a thin string of clear fluid running down to the floor and—

“God damn, baby, ya drooling.” Two of his fingers strum your slit, getting his fingers all nice and shiny and creamy from your orgasm, feeling your cute little cunt pulse around them. 

Then—

You choke out a broken gasp when he slaps your pussy again, hearing the wet smack against his hand, and Atsumu’s voice comes out in a low drawl right after. “Turn around, love.” 

Your legs buckle when you do—your movements slow with that ache still there between your legs—

But Atsumu is right there—guiding you with gentle touches over your legs and hips—and the moment you’re facing him—

He gives you one, heated look—his eyes lowered and so murky with desire—before he captures your lips with his, and you exhale a sharp breath through your nose when you can taste yourself in his mouth. 

God. 

You kiss him back, though, a little sloppy with how muddled your head is, and you make these tiny sounds that Atsumu eagerly swallows up—while his hands move to squeeze your ass, then move down until they’re at the back of your thighs and—

“Lift up for me,” He mumbles against your mouth, and you follow almost immediately—one leg moving to wrap around his waist after the other—and you use your hold around his neck for support, kissing him with a small grunt when he lifts you to sit your ass on the edge of the counter. 

It causes the cool surface to brush against your bare pussy, pulling out a gasp from you, and Atsumu breathes heavily against you as he grinds his clothed bulge—god, it’s so fucking big—against your pussy, making you all dizzy with it. “‘M gonna fuck you, okay?” 

He kisses you again, his rough hands running up and spreading goosebumps over your legs until they just reach the part where your hips and thighs meet. “And you gonn’ take it like a good girl f’me, yeah?” 

You whimper with a small nod, kissing him and bucking your hips back at him almost impatiently. 

“Say it, baby.” 

Shit—

“O-okay,” You breathe out, too high off the bliss of your post-orgasm to care about the fact that he’s going to fuck you raw—

You don’t even realize he doesn’t have a condom on until he’s pulling his pants and underwear down to let his dick bounces free, and it slaps against your upper thigh—feeling so heavy and hot and smooth and—

Exposed—with his pre-cum leaking from the fat tip and onto your leg, making more of a mess on you. 

“Good,” Atsumu praises you, kissing you as he slides his thick cock through your pussy folds, getting it all nice and wet, before sliding in—pushing the fat tip through your hole so easily and he’s bottoming out in one, fluid motion. “So fuckin’ good, darlin’.” 

Your eyes roll back, and your legs around him tighten as he pulls out—only to roll his hips against you, making you feel the heat of his skin flush against yours as he fucks his cock into your needy walls. 

He fucks you with his hands pinning you down to the counter by your hips—making your body jolt with every thrust—and tiny, wet moans get punched out of you as your mouth hovers against his. 

It causes your juices to gush out with every rock of his hips, making a mess on the counter, as loud and wet squelches fill the kitchen to show just how wrecked you are. 

And it all just adds to the feverish warmth that’s flooding your clit and lower belly—that tension building until it’s ready to snap again with every brush against your g-spot and—

And you don’t realize the fingers around your throat until you feel a slight pressure in your head, and heat pressing against the sides of your neck. 

And when your eyes—all wide and glossy—flit up to meet Atsumu’s—

He’s already looking right at you, watching you, focused to see your reaction—as if he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop—while still fucking your sensitive pussy. 

But you don’t. 

Instead, you let out a moan in approval, your eyelids dropping in response, and your cunt clenches around his girth as you kiss him softly, panting against his mouth with a soft mutter. “Harder.” 

And god—hearing that does astronomical things to his head and dick. 

“Fuck,” You feel his groan vibrate against you, all low and throaty, as his fingers grow firmer around your delicate throat—and his pace picks up as he starts to get needier for your sweet pussy. “Don’ think ‘mma last long, baby.”

He doesn’t let you respond.

Not when he’s quick to hitch your legs higher—and he uses his hold around your throat to push you down until your back is flat against the counter’s surface, and your eyes blow wide with a woosh of your breath escaping your lungs. 

“Ya think you can keep all f’me inside you, sweetheart?” He asks, voice so sweet and cooing as if he isn’t fucking your guts and making you choke as his body hovers over you, and he’s smirking down at you as he takes in just how good his hand looks around your neck. 

“I want this pretty lil pussy to get messy, kay?” 

Your eyes roll back when the pressure under your jawline grows, making you feel light-headed, and—

You should feel somewhat alarmed with how easily he can choke you. 

To hold the power over your body just like that—with no effort whatsoever. 

He’s stronger than you.

So much bigger than you. 

And his hands and fingers are dominating and heavy but—

But all you do is look up at him in submission, all hazy and eyes shiny with lust as your fingers wrap around his wrist as support, laying there and taking his cock as another orgasm rips out of you. 

You trust him to never hurt you—to take things too far. 

He’s always knew just how far to take things with you—to dance on that delicate line of risk and pleasure for you. 

It only takes another few strokes inside you, your g-spot overstimulated, for you to cum around him, electrified and feel like you’re floating as he fucks your pussy—all puffy and abused as it squirts so much on his dick and the counter—

And nothing but the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin fills your ears, and your entire body shakes when Atsumu moans so desperately against you.

And his hand never leaves your throat, even as he kisses every inch of your face to soothe and praise you while you cry from your orgasm—and he’s following soon after with his hot cum filling you up till your pussy is leaking both of your fluids everywhere. 

Getting you all messy like he said you would. 

end ♡

Masterpost

[ghost-recs]

Sakusa Timeskip Recs

this is for you lovely @dontmindtheevie. thank you for your support and patience pookie!

the video call incident by @reverie-starlight

synopsis: you and sakusa enjoyed the secrecy of your relationship. after all, you both didn't want to imagine what would happen if the terrible three ever found out.

oneshot filled with humor, insults, and fluff. it made me unattractively cackle a couple times.

no secretes here by bunnytime [ao3]

synopsis: sakusa's teammates like to think they all know each other pretty well. how could they not know that sakusa was in a relationship? let alone married??

this mini series is so cute! pure fluff and msby chaos!

mine by @taeyamayang

synopsis: you always loved watching sakusa's games and supporting him. however, you didn't love what sakusa had set up for you.

oneshot, maybe a little ooc? but so adorable.

untitled oneshot by @chosobaby

synopsis: there's just one aspect of volleyball that sakusa does not enjoy...

lil "what if" scenario that i just love to think about!

specially made by @luvring

synopsis: you swear sakusa does not understand the point of a surprise. but you're not complaining.

dating pro-player sakusa scenario. just pure fluff

another untitled oneshot by @omi-boshi

synopsis: sakusa does not like answering his phone when he's on break. however, when it's you calling, curiosity gets the better of him.

reader just being a thorn in sakusa's side, but he's too down bad for you to complain.

Fresh Linens by emilyisfictional [ao3]

synopsis: your boyfriend is gone way too often, the only option is to steal his hoodies and sweaters. you hate that he washes them so often.

agh just more fluff and sakusa boyfriend scenarios that leave me melting

Drawing Our Moments by EdenxWrites [ao3]

synopsis: sakusa recalls the days he fell in love with you.

not entirely post-timeskip. has some flashbacks to high school but present day is set after high school. this oneshot caught me off guard.

hello, neighbor by @demxnscous

synopsis: you gain a new neighbor and he seems...interesting enough. well, his friend is definitely a character.

a meet-ugly oneshot that i wish had more parts...but ig that's what my imagination is for.

i also want to bring some attention to this fic: change of heart by heartcondemned [ao3]

i haven't finished reading it yet, but i'm really enjoying it. i also hesitate to rec it because it is unfinished and doesn't look like it will be... but give it a try if you're cool with that!

[kitasuno]

with you, i'm first | miya osamu x reader

in which miya osamu is used to coming second to his brother. but with you, he's always first.

wc: 1113 | gn!reader | fluff

Miya Osamu is used to coming second. 

It starts with Atsumu, like most things do. October is cold and gray and Atsumu comes first, a small body with a large presence that fills the warm hospital room. His cries are loud and he’s a little underweight, but with him comes the sun. 

Atsumu is born under a partly cloudy sky but the nurses swear he was shrouded in sunlight. 

Osamu comes twelve minutes later. His parents are crying and his Ma is close to passing out. If he thinks really hard he can almost feel her warmth, Atsumu’s sobs, and a mumble of prayers that October has safely brought Atsumu and then Osamu.

He asks Grandma one day what the weather was like when he was born. She says, with confidence, it was foggy.

Atsumu doesn’t get along with his classmates. He is too loud and too rash and lacks social cues, and Osamu is angry because Stupid ‘Tsumu cares too little: and he wants everyone to know Atsumu like he knows Atsumu.

They fight and they yell and they argue until Atsumu says, 

‘Samu, I don’t care about ‘em. Why do ya care so much? 

And Osamu throws him across the room. The argument ends there, he says sorry, and Osamu lies awake that night thinking about his brother. Atsumu is hotheaded. And an idiot. A loud snorer, too. But he turns on his side and curls into a ball because he knows it was sunny when Atsumu was born and all of a sudden he really wants to be his brother. 

Atsumu dyes his hair first: it’s a shitty box dye from the pharmacy down the street, and it looks terrible. It’s a little yellow and a little neon, and Osamu laughs until his sides hurt when Atsumu shows him. 

But Atsumu is proud, and he is confident, and he goes to school with a hundred watt smile and a group of girls trailing after him. 

Osamu goes to the pharmacy that night and buys a box of gray, cloudy dye. Atsumu helps him bleach his hair under their bathroom sink with the faulty tap and tells him he looks like the moon.

His Ma says that Atsu is hot and Samu is cold after the two have a particularly bad fight. Atsumu is gleeful and smug as he gloats that he was born to be hotter and warmer and better, and Osamu punches him. 

He remembers his Ma sitting on the porch, an arm around his shoulders as he pouts. 

“‘S not fair,” Osamu had said, his chin in his palm. “Why’d ya name Tsumu that?” 

His Ma had laughed, quietly, leaning her weight into his side. And she had held his cheeks between her palms and told him with a fire in her eyes that Osamu means To Rule. 

He meets you for the first time in February. 

You were standing in front of him, a little sheepish, with a box of chocolates in your extended palms. He remembers feeling something heavy in his chest. Because, yeah, Atsumu was definitely going to accept your confession. 

You had said, IReallyLikeYou, and Here’sSomeChocolates, and Please Accept Them. 

You were shorter than him, and your hair was done nicely, and you were blushing and nervous. And you were really fucking cute. But Osamu is used to coming second, so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, Why? And then, Tsumu’s in tha next classroom ov’r. 

He doesn’t remember what happened next, only Atsumu’s laugh and the slap echoing through the halls. You leave with his cheeks stinging and hot. And Atsumu had teased him the next day, behind his mountain of chocolates and confessions, because Osamu’s face was still red twelve hours later. 

He sees you a lot the year after. 

You’re in the same class as him and ‘Tsumu, and you smile every time you see him. You sit two rows in front of him and you’re not very good at tying your uniform. Every lunch, Osamu watches you pull out the same gray bento with a wrapped onigiri on the side. He tells you one day that he really likes onigiri. And then, Osamu watches as every lunch, you pull out the same gray bento with two wrapped onigiris on the side. 

With you, it’s always Hi Osamu, first, and then, Hullo Atsumu. With you, it’s an onigiri dropped on his desk when the lunch bell rings. With you, Osamu thinks back to a conversation with his Ma on a porch. 

Osamu means To Rule.

The menu is this: Tuna mayo on Mondays and Thursdays, Ume on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Friday is plain. You don’t ever bring onigiri for his brother. 

He asks you, on a hot night in June, what your favorite type of weather is. You had your knees tucked to your chest, a sparkler in hand, and then told him cloudy. Cold. Foggy. Winter. Snow is nice, too. You say it all with no hesitation. 

Osamu kisses you for the first time that night. 

It’s New Years and you’re cooking Ozoni on the stove. The curtains are open, it’s snowing outside, and Osamu wakes to the smell of miso and the sound of carrots on a chopping board. He gets out of bed, padding to the kitchen with half-lidded eyes and a stifled yawn, and then he thinks his heart stops when he sees you. 

Because what Miya Osamu is not used to is this: coming first and having something unequivocally his. 

But you’re bent over the counter, fiddling with the oven as you read the instructions on the back of the packaged Yakimochi you bought the other day. And you’re wearing his shirt, it falls right below your thighs, your hair is still messy from using his chest as a pillow, and you look beautiful. 

“Mornin’ ‘Samu, come help me with this.” You say, looking back at him with a smile, pointing to the fresh pot of rice on the counter. “You’re in charge of onigiri.”

He hugs you instead, his arms around your stomach with your back to him. 

“But I like yer onigiri,” He says, his chin on your head. His eyes are watering and it must be from the steam of your boiling dashi. 

“‘Samu,” You complain, giggling as he presses kisses into the crown of your head. “I made enough for ya in high school.” 

It’s cold outside and snowing, and Osamu knows he’s going to make the onigiri. 

He also knows that if his name means To Rule, he’s okay with coming second if it means you’re by his side.

[bedcchem]

knight!iwaizumi who knows it’s so wrong to be feeling this way, to be doing this right now…

but he just can’t bring himself to stop.

“oh, god, princess,” he groans in your ear at the drag of his thick cock in and out of your tight, sopping pussy. his hands grip your plush thighs, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your neck, careful to not leave any marks on your skin.

you gasp, chills running down your spine as his hips roll into yours at a slow, deep pace. “oh, hajime—” you whisper in his ear, your voice soft and saccharine as your lips brush against his lobe.

everything about this is so wrong. you are to marry another man—a wealthy duke—in a week’s time to fulfill your role as the nation’s princess and future queen.

and yet… your heart belongs to another.

“i love you,” you softly whine, your eyes glazed with both pained and pleasured tears.

iwaizumi’s eyes squeeze closed as he feels so damn close… “fuck, princess, i love you too—” he chokes out, “more than anything in this world…”

it seems as if the world is getting smaller, where nothing else matters besides the two of you, pretending that you are not a princess and he is not your guardsman. pretending that this illicit affair couldn’t cost iwaizumi his position and, possibly, his life. pretending that this forbidden love will not taint you—where every other experience you’ll have will just pale in comparison to the way iwaizumi makes you feel…

“hajime—!” you softly cry out, your eyes squeezing shut as everything became so damn tight. and as you fall into the throes of ecstasy, iwaizumi cannot hold himself back any longer, letting out a reserved, strangled groan as he paints your insides a creamy white.

your knight shall always be there. he has sworn an oath to the crown to protect you with his life, his entire being. and even if you must marry another man, you know the true gentleman who has your heart.

the one who holds it in his rough, calloused, armored hands.

a/n: knight!iwaizumi has me in a chokehold istg

enjoy my masterlist!

mdni. do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bedcchem 2024.

[omisubi]

Kageyama has staring contests with your cat.

It usually only lasts a few minutes before your cat is leaping or walking away, even when Kageyama’s eyes are still on him. He had expressed to you that he always had an inkling cats did not like him very much, to which you insisted that isn’t true, that your cat just isn’t used to him yet.

Your cat is, however, used to and fond of your boyfriend’s volleyball cat toy he had purchased in hopes of winning some brownie points.

“He’s kind of like you if you were a cat,” you teased one time as you guys watched him play with it, also referring to your cat’s similar blue eyes and dark fur.

That just made Kageyama observe your cat more. Needless to say, the staring contests continue — occurrences of which you ignored, until now.

Today, it’s taking longer than usual and you sense that neither of your boys refuse to break eye contact, stormy gazes staying strong. And as amused as you are, you selfishly want some attention yourself.

“Tobio, let it go—“

You barely finish your sentence before you are both taken by surprise as your cat leaps off the coffee table, right into Kageyama’s lap, and proceeds to curl into a comfortable resting position.

You almost coo at the image, especially when Kageyama looks up at you with guileless awe, hand petting your purring void, and quietly exclaims, “He likes me.”

You smile, humming in agreement as you watch your home grow livelier. “Told ya so.”