SFW Kakashi Sleeping With S/o - Requested By Anon (accidentally Deleted Original Message But This Is

— 𝕤𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕒𝕦𝕧𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕔

2.7k words | smut | alcohol, loss of virginity, fingering, a touch of cunnigulus, multiple orgasms | oikawa tooru 

“i cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. it is too long ago. i was in the middle before i knew that i had begun.” ― jane austen, pride and prejudice

a.n. dedicated to @tetsuwhore bc i think about depravity everyday of my life. 

it starts with dinner and a date on a friday night; a wine that’s way too expensive clouding your better judgment as oikawa complains about how the salmon was drastically overcooked.

“we should have just stayed at home,” he laments, taking another bite of the fish and grimacing, “take out would’ve been better than this.”

“but hanamaki-san and matsukawa-san are throwing a party at your apartment,” you justify quickly as oikawa glances around for a waiter, “and besides, i do really enjoy spending time with you,” you pause as his eyes flit back to yours, lips parted in slight surprise, “even if you consider the meal to be subpar.”

oikawa’s eyes soften as he reaches an arm over the table and takes your hand in his, a small smile lining the edges of his lips. 

“i enjoy spending time with you too,” he responds plainly, squeezing your hand once before hailing a waiter for the check, “even if the meal was subpar.”

—

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Subway Train | Bakugou Katsuki

Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve been happy with my writing. This is the first time in ages where I’ve actually liked something that I’ve written, so I hope you guys enjoy it too!

This is a Part Two to this thirst post I wrote ages ago.

Warnings: 18+. Dub-con.

The train was quieter than normal as you slipped into the near empty carriage. Opting to stand since you’d just spent the last hour and a half in detention with Present Mic. Dumping your backpack to the floor as you rested your head against the cool glass window of the train as it left the station. You couldn’t wait to finally get home and relax after spending your entire day pent up and frustrated thanks to Bakugou Katsuki. Having spent almost the entire day staring at the back of his head while he did his usual job of pretending you don’t exist.

“Little late to be going home alone, Princess.” A voice whispered from behind you as your eyes snapped open, the smell of caramel overwhelming your senses as you glanced back to see Bakugou standing behind you. His hair messier than usual as he dropped his duffel bag beside your school bag, his white shirt untucked and the first few buttons undone as he grinned down at you. You assumed he’d just finished his after school training, his brow still coated in a thin sheen of sweat and his cheeks tinted a slight shade of pink, “Wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

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seijoh x f!reader

request: fem!reader is at a Halloween party and is dressed up as a cat, complete with a collar and a tag that says ‘your name here.’ she’s knocking back drinks and flirting with Oikawa and Iwa, when Oikawa takes her upstairs, all of the Seijoh 3rd years coat her. tags: dubcon, alcohol, facials

“get on your back, baby,” oikawa commands, and your world tilts as you drunkenly topple onto the floor, rolling around happily as you look up at your two favourite men.

“pretty, aren’t you?” iwaizumi chuckles, watching your flushed face from his position above you.

you nod dazedly, smiling brightly at them. in your stupor you start to undo the ties at the front of your shirt, exposing your breasts. you giggle when you see the bulge in their pants, the hunger in their eyes. you suck your finger into your mouth.

“you can come in now, guys,” oikawa suddenly says, and you realize he’s not talking to you.

your eyes are heavy, but you manage to lift them enough to see matsukawa and hanamaki walk into the room. they glance at you, and instead of greeting you, they smirk at oikawa and iwaizumi.

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this was me when i found this. holy shit. now im hooked 😩

winter’s breath ⭒

{ kinktober day 3 - betrayal }

sugawara koushi x f! reader

⭒word count; 1.1k

⭒warnings/tags; NON-CON, incest, outdoors, virginity, freeform, ambiguous end

a/n: this is more freeform-y and was heavily inspired by the winters here in canada; all characters are 18+.

love you all!!!

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“don’t let it bother u” baby i’m gonna be bothered by this for the next 10 years

Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine. 

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink. 

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation. 

Something you missed. 

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with. 

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine. 

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain. 

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name. 

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you. 

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours. 

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door. 

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy. 

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all. 

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds. 

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?” 

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach. 

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you  admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on. 

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you. 

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak. 

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.” 

“And the other two?” 

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out. 

They’re gone. 

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts. 

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod. 

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud. 

Your fault. 

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter. 

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you. 

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–” 

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles. 

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair. 

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.) 

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,” 

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot. 

“Bullied?” he probes. 

Another nod. 

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out. 

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact. 

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms. 

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.” 

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe. 

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming. 

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop. 

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you. 

“What did I fucking tell you?”  

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind. 

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you. 

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino. 

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes. 

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends. 

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground. 

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy. 

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you. 

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day. 

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is. 

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice. 

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together. 

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that. 

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably. 

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response. 

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb– 

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness. 

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you. 

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period. 

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine. 

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours. 

Not dead. 

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.  

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you. 

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely. 

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears. 

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip –  crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine. 

Devotion demands sacrifice. 

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat. 

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh. 

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn. 

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability. 

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand. 

He’d never allow anything less.

Omg I have a request! I just hope tumblr doesn’t eat it but I just saw a tiktok trend to see how long it takes for your boyfriend to kiss you first and I would like to see that with any of the hq boys of your choosing pls 🥺 if not that’s fine I just thought it would be funny but have a good day/night bby <3

HAIKYUU BOYS WITH TIKTOK TREND WHERE YOU SEE HOW LONG IT TAKES THEM TO KISS YOU FIRST

characters - timeskip!miya atsumu, miya osamu, suna rintarō, iwaizumi hajime, sakusa kiyoomi

a/n - omg the way i screamed when i seen this one AHHHH so much cute possibilities, i kept it to more quiet boys (except ‘tsumu) lmao

☾ ATSUMU you always greeted him at the door after practice, his bright grin always waiting for his welcome home kiss and hug — but when youd thought about this prank you decided you’d make him have to be the one to seek you out instead, as you chose to remain on the couch when you heard his key in the door. a pout was on his lips instantly when your figure wasn’t the first thing he seen, basically walks straight to the living room to start looking “baby? what’re ya doin’ am home.” you looked up at him and gave him a quick smile before you attention went back to the tv show you were watching, hearing him huff as he fell clumsily next to you on the couch with a sigh— he keeps glancing at you as his pout deepens with each time he’s not met with a kiss until he cracks “yer killin’ me here! ya forgot ma kisses, where are ma kisses ya know a need them to survive.” before smooshing his lips against yours, he doesn’t even care when you laugh at his whining cos he gets his kisses anyway.

☾ OSAMU you’d visited him at the restaurant during your break at work, waving to the staff as they pointed you into the direction of the kitchen where your husband was preparing some orders “samu?” “hi baby, how’s yer day goin’?” you noticed the way he seemed to lean his head towards you as you walked over, knowing he was expecting his normal greeting kiss you always gave him, so when you watched his eyebrows furrow when you ignored him you felt a little bad ngl. “ya alright?” “yeah i’m good, why?” “no reason.” he doesn’t want to seem annoying by asking so he brushes it off until he finally finishes one of the orders as he moved towards you “it’s yer favourite.” hand holding the onigiri just to snatch it away when you reach for it “oi first — ya owe me a kiss, al trade ya.” — he wins.

☾ SUNA you were both lying in bed, scrolling on your phone as you lay against his chest — you decided to do the prank before bed because you both always shared a goodnight kiss “i’m gonna go to bed rin, goodnight.” he was going to say goodnight but by the time his eyes landed on your figure youd already closed your eyes like you were a sleep. you stifle your giggle when you feel him nudge you in your sleep as he whispered “hey, are you mad?” you blinked at him before shaking your head and lying back down again, smile so desperately wanting to break through your lips when you hear him sigh before nudging you again, his lips placing a quick peck against yours this time when you look up as he giggle, rolling his eyes as he scoffs “you’re a brat, go to sleep.”

☾ IWAIZUMI despite what people thought due to his intimidating exterior, iwaizumi loved kisses. he’d returned home from work, dropping his bag at the door as he immediately went to look for you as he found you in the living room on the couch, he’s even got a little smile when he walks over to you to place his hands at each side of your body, face leaning in close to yours as he awaits a kiss but when you just look past him to continue watching tv— he blushes so bad cos he’s a little embarrassed but also, he wants his kisses! “hey! what’s up with you?” “huh? nothing haji why?” he was too embarrassed to ask so he just grumbles something under his breath and sits next to you, you notice how he seems to get closer and closer until you’re basically on his lap but he’s pouting the whole time, you end up turning when you hear him groan only for him to crash his lips onto yours before pulling away with a blush “you’re a spoiled dumbass.”

☾ SAKUSA you always gave him a good luck kiss before a game, so you were curious what his reaction would be — because he always complained about your kisses even though he leaned into them with a blush everytime. you met up before he went onto the court, telling him good luck before you went to wave him off and leave, but before you can go you feel a slight tug on the hem of your jacket as you turn around to a very blushy kiyoomi “uh— where are you going?” “to the stands.” “we’re not done yet.” he can’t even look at you but when he glances at the confused look on your face you swear he burns redder, ends up quickly pulling down his mask to place a kiss against your forehead before turning immediately to walk away, hearing you giggle behind him as he mutters a “shutup.” hoping you don’t see the red that’s spread to the tips of his ears and neck — but you do.

“give me another one, angel,” meian grunts out, gripping your waist with all the strength in his fingers as he rears his hips back and impales you with his thick cock. the sheets underneath you are wet and uncomfortable, evidence of the last two orgasms he ripped out of you. “i know you’re so close, i can feel you – nnhhh, shit –”

your hands move to cover your face out of pure humiliation, but meian won’t have any of that. the msby captain grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one of his as he leans over your smaller figure and fucks you faster. 

and it’s deeper, god, it’s so deep, you can feel him in places you’d never been able to reach with your fingers and your head starts to feel hazy again. 

“what do we say?” meian’s eyes are trained on your spit-slicked lips and your bleary eyes, the way you can barely keep them open spurs him on more. he needs you completely fucked out for him.  

“thank you daddy,” you moan. you don’t intend for it to come out so desperate and drawn out, but the deep, fast thrusts are bringing you closer and closer – and quick. 

“gonna count to 5, angel. when i get there,” he groans, “you’re going to cum all over this cock.” you nod, nearly incoherent.

“5… 4… 3…” oh no. oh fuck. 

it’s completely involuntary, and it happens before you can stop it. your body convulses underneath his, hips bucking up and moaning as you squirt on him and the messy sheets. you want so badly to grab onto something, his shoulders, the pillow, anything, but your wrists are still pinned over your head.

he shakes his head in disappointment, but doesn’t still his movements, still adamant on fucking you until you forget your own name. “guess we’ll have to start over, angel. daddy’s going to keep fucking you until you learn how to be a good girl and control yourself.”

Using Sakura to get a local creep off your back would be a wild way to meet him.

It all happens so fast. You’re minding your business while waiting for your girlfriends outside of the convenience store, scrolling on your phone when a random man approaches you. You’ve never seen him around town, he’s not wearing any type of uniform - he’s just a random nobody.

He begins the whole “hey baby” script that every lame guy tries. You’re praying your girlfriends wrap up their shopping quickly, but time seems to be crawling while this guy inches closer into your space. Looking at your surroundings, you spot a group of guys in Bofurin jackets.

Jackpot.

Suddenly, you blank on any of their names. They’re the protectors of the town, you’ve seen them numerous times, but the moment has you struggling with their actual names. The one with headphones and a lollipop, the pink haired pretty boy, and…oh.

The one with the black and white split hair.

Taking a chance, you shove past the creepy guy and shout at him. “There you are, babe! I’ve been waiting for you!”

Sakura turns around, confusion written all over his face. He’s about to wave you off when you come running to his side, latching onto his arm and squeezing his bicep. The other two immediately catch on and keep their guards up, too.

“Please,” you whisper, trying to explain before he freaks out and has a conniption over your sudden touch. “That guy won’t leave me alone. Act like you know me for a minute and I’ll leave you be.”

He sighs, nodding silently as his eyes narrow back on the guy behind you.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s get goin’,” Sakura announces, loud enough for the guy to hear him.

“You gonna run off with this loser? Come on, he’s garbage.”

Your grip tightens around Sakura’s arm, the fear building in your veins on how this man is about to react. When he feels you squeeze, that’s when he does what he knows how to do best.

“Let go a’sec,” he mumbles before turning to face the guy in the street, removing himself from your grasp.

“That any way to talk to my girlfriend, jackass?”

You can’t help but adore the blush that floods his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. Of course you’d somehow pick the guy that is flustered over a woman’s touch.

Before you could register what was happening, Sakura had a fistful of the guy’s shirt, ready to knock his lights out in a second. You can’t hear what Sakura says to the guy, but it leaves him trembling and running down the road. He turns to face you, and it’s cruel that the wind picks up to ruffle his hair over his gorgeous face, slate and amber eyes fixated on you.

Now you’re the one blushing like a maniac.

Kiss the Cook - Murasakibara x Reader

Warning: Pure Fluff, Little Plot

Thanks to @reverie-starlight for getting me back in my KNB Feels.

It’s the smell of freshly cut apples that pulls him in.

In his defense, he’s incredibly hungry, but Muro-chin won’t let him have any snacks until they’ve made it to their seats. It’s also Muro-chin’s fault that they’re too early and have to wait for the doors to open.

But there’s the smell of freshly cut apples and he turns his head to get a look. If someone’s handing out food he will even eat apple slices.

Not far from their group, Atsushi finds the source of the delicious smell. You’re cutting up a pretty red apple, nick the edges a little to make it look like a bunny, and hand it over to a little girl. 

You’re smiling, something he only notices when he’s almost reached you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, confusion seeping into your eyes.

“Can I have a piece?” Atsushi asks, pointing at the apple. Behind him, he can hear Muro-chin call his name. But this is more important. He’s hungry.

“Oh, eh, sure, I guess.” You hand over a slice. He does not take it.

“Can you make it a bunny too?” Your eyes widen at his question but you nod and nick the edges, handing it over with slightly shaky hands. Funny. 

“Thank you.” Atsushi says, because he knows how to be polite, and drops the slice into his mouth. The apple is sweet and juicy and it makes him feel better instantly.

“Murasakibara,” Muro-chin appears to his left, “We can go in now.”

-

Your voice reminds him of apples now.

You’re in at least one of his classes but College Classes are bigger than the ones at Yosen or Teiko and he often gets people confused. Your voice, however, stands out. 

Sometimes, when Atsushi’s dozing off in class and you raise your hand to ask a question, he’s pulled out of his lethargy just by the sound of it, the softness of your vowels, or the sharpness of your thoughts.

It’s a little weird, he thinks, so he doesn’t bring it up to Muro-chin.

-

“You have to try this!” You say, offering a box of cookies to two other girls, “I made them last night and they turned out so good.”

Atsushi only realizes that he’s stepped over when you’re looking up at him, eyes wide and full of confusion yet again.

“Can I have one?” He asks because he knows how to be polite. One of the other girls pulls a face and he raises his hand to push her away, like he does with the annoying guys on his basketball team. But you’re faster, lifting the box up to him. 

“Sure,” you say. Your lips quiver slightly as if they’re shaking. Just like your hand when you gave him the apple bunny. Funny.

Atsushi takes one cookie and bites into it. The edges are crispy, but it’s soft on the inside, filled with gooey, sweet caramel. It tastes amazing and he wonders if he can have the rest of those cookies before he’s even finished the first one.

“Very good,” Atsushi says, licking some leftover Caramel off his fingertips. “You should try making them with salted Caramel too.”

“Oh,” your eyes are wide and warm and his stomach does something funny at the sight. “That’s a great idea! Thank you!”

“Murasakibara!” Muro-chin calls, “We’re going to be late for training.”

He pulls his shoulders up, not wanting to go yet. Not when there are so many more cookies to eat.

You seem to read his mind because you take another cookie out of the box and offer it to him. “The rest are for my friends,” you say and it sounds like you’re apologizing. “Have fun at training.”

Atsushi smiles, eats the cookie as slowly as he can while he follows Muro-chin. Apples with Caramel make a good treat as well.

-

“Muro-chin?” Atsushi asks one night after training. He barely moved today, but he feels tired, his brain exhausted from turning around a problem he cannot find a solution to. “How do you make a girl like you?”

Muro-chin looks like that one time someone accidentally shot the Basketball into his stomach. “Are you saying that you like a girl?”

“No, I asked you how I make a girl like me.”

“Murasakibara, shouldn’t that be the same thing?”

He ponders that for a moment before he deems it too difficult. 

“How do I make her like me?” 

Muro-chin sighs. “What have you done so far?”

“Nothing,” Atsushi blinks. “I eat her food.”

“Oh,” Muro-chin’s face is doing the thing again. He must have figured something difficult out. “So it’s her,” Muro-chin mutters softly, finger prodding his lips. “Have you tried offering her some food?”

“I don’t share my food.”

Muro-chin sighs again. “I know, Murasakibara. Everyone knows. But if you want a girl to like you, you have to show her that she’s special to you. Like doing something for her you’d do for no one else.”

Atsushi tries to think about it, but his brain is moving as slowly as a tired snail. He’s not good at thinking when he’s hungry but all that’s left of today’s snacks are those limited edition Umaibou that he doesn’t really like. He stares down at them and thinks, that yes, he could share them with you.

-

“Do you want one?” Atsushi asks, holding the Umaibou package in front of your eyes so you can’t miss them. Thanks to his long legs he’s had no problem catching up to you in the hallways.

“Eh?” You blink rapidly and take a step back. “Are you- Are you sure?”

“Yes,” He nods and pushes them into your hands before he can reconsider. After all, he is a little hungry right now and even if they’re not the best flavor- But now you’ve taken the snack from him and your mouth is doing that little quivering that makes his stomach do funny things.

You tear the package open and bite into it, smiling up at him for a second before you scrunch your face up. It looks adorable.

“Yuck!” You press your hand against your mouth as you force yourself to swallow. “What flavor is that?”

“Vegemite.” 

You stick your tongue out as if that could get the taste off. 

“That’s disgusting,” You shudder. “But… thank you… for offering it. You didn’t know it would taste so bad.”

“No, I did.” 

“You did?” You look up at him. “Then why…?”

“Muro-chin said to share my food with you,” He explains. “So that you know that you’re special to me.”

Your eyes widen almost comically. You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

It’s funny at first. You look cute like that. But while he’s learned to be polite, he doesn’t have the best patience.

“Are you okay?” Atsushi asks and waves his hand in front of your face.

“Ye- I mean, I don-t… know?”

“Oh. Then let’s go.” He takes your arm and pulls you with him. You follow without protest at first, only finding your voice when you’re down the hallway and up the stairs.

“Where are we going?”

“To the nurse. You’re not feeling well.”

“No, that’s not it-”

He stops to look at you. When he puts his hand on your temple, the skin is hot. 

“You’re warm. You probably have a fever.”

“No, I’m flustered, you dummy.”

Atsushi blinks. “Why?”

“Because you told me you liked me right now. Without warning! In front of all those people.”

He blinks again. “I did?”

“Yeah, you said… you said I was special to you.” Your eyes widen again. Before he can say anything you reach out and slap your cheeks with your hands. “Oh my god. That’s not what you meant, right? I just misunderstood you because I wanted it to mean that.”

Atsushi blinks. This is too much talking.

“Do you like me?” He asks and you look up at him with wide eyes, hands still pressed to your cheeks. Slowly, you nod. 

His stomach flips, but not in the way it does on roller coasters. This is a new feeling and he wonders what he has to do to feel it again.

“I like you too.” 

Your lips quiver at his words. He can’t help himself, reaches out, and presses his pointer finger against it, hoping to feel that quiver that he can see. It flips his stomach yet again.

“I bet you just like my food,” your voice sounds a little tense. Like you’re only half joking. Muro-chin does that too, sometimes.

Atsushi cocks his head, trying to guess if that’s a question or not. It probably is.

“I like your voice,” He says because he’d been thinking about it earlier. “It sounds like caramel apples. And your lips are cute. When they quiver like that…” He taps them when they do it again. “It does funny things to my stomach.”

“Well,” you say, reaching for his finger that’s still pressed against your lips. Your finger tangle with his, warm skin against warm skin. It makes his stomach flip again. “You could have just asked me out on a date, you know?”

“Oh?” He blinks. “Do you want to go on a date, then?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

-

“Oni-chan!” Your little sister races down the stairs at his sight, “You’re here!”

He picks her up with ease, lifts her up until her fingertips touch the ceiling. 

“I’m here.” He greets her. She laughs and clings to him, begs to be lifted onto his shoulders. Atsushi complies, listens to her bubbly voice as she pulls on his hair. 

“Onee-chan made chocolates today,” she tells him. “I got to help.”

“Really? Did you make one for me too?”

“Yes, with pink hearts!”

“Don’t spoil all the surprises!” Your voice calls out from the kitchen. Your little sister just giggles and hides her face in his hair.

Atsushi meets you at the kitchen door, your hair a mess and your face peppered with streaks of drying chocolate. 

You’re wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Cook” and he can’t help but follow that advice.

my Kofi if you want to tip me