Feel my pain. Do you ever think that oikawa is a decent senpai to yahaba because he knows yahaba could never surpass him in skill and is no threat to him unlike kageyama. And do you ever think deep down yahaba knows this and it's slowly destroying him from the inside?

remember, forever.

↳ kageyama tobio x f!reader

— series masterlist

description: when the boy you’ve loved for years unexpectedly becomes your baby daddy. the catch? he’s in love with someone else.

genre: angst, cheating, unrequited love

general masterlist

+ one + two + three + four + five + six + seven + eight + nine + ten + eleven + twelve + thirteen + fourteen + fifteen + sixteen + seventeen + eighteen + nineteen + twenty + epilogue +

status: completed (editing!)

trespass // sakusa kiyoomi

tw ⇢ non-con, somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampie, grinding, public sex, implied voyeurism, getting caught, minor manga spoilers, sakusa is lowkey delulu

wc ⇢ 2.5k

a/n: this was heavily inspired by a mista fic i read

Sakusa's skin crawled as he stared at the bus, a sense of dread rising in his throat. The vehicle loomed before him, its doors open like the maw of some great beast waiting to swallow him whole. Inside, two full teams from Itachiyama awaited, their bodies packed together in a claustrophobic nightmare due to a last-minute transportation issue.

As he stepped onto the bus, Sakusa's mind reeled at the thought of being trapped in such close quarters with so many people, each one a potential vector for illness. He had always prized his personal space, a carefully maintained barrier against the chaos of the outside world. Now, that barrier was about to be breached.

He should've just taken the train to their away games without batting an eye. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to be crammed into another vehicle with strangers, which seemed slightly worse than getting on a bus with people he actually knew. Or maybe a tiny part of him felt uneasy about leaving you, his precious little manager, in a bus full of hormonal and sweaty teenage boys.

Part one: Winning euphoria (Nishinoya & Kageyama)

summary: Kageyama has a thing with hugs. Sure, he's touch starved enough to appreciate any form of physical affection- but there's something about hugs that does things to his chest. Things he'd never say out loud. Things that, eventually, he says anyway.

(aka. kageyama has a thing for hugs. he & the other karazuno boys realize this, after a few particular situations where each of the members hugs kageyama for the first time. based on this post)

Warnings: cussing

Sharing fanfic updates be like

STILL ALIVE!

if you enjoyed reading this fic, please consider donating to providing aid in palestine!

Tobio found out not too long after you moved in with him that he liked watching you while you worked your magic in the kitchen. 

He was always a stickler for what he ate. Ever since he was young, the adults around him hammered the importance of food and its nutritious properties into his volleyball-filled head, and like the good boy he was, Tobio took everything they said with a great deal of respect and dedicated himself into his strict upkeep so that he could do his best on the court. Now as an adult, he adhered to a strict diet of nutritious vegetables and plenty of protein. But given that his mind was hyperfixated on volleyball and he was never one to get super creative in the kitchen, there was never much variety to his diet outside of his regular rotation of healthy meals tailor-made for a professional athlete’s needs. 

so i have a mildly popular “reblog and put in in the tags” post going around and its. very clear how many people don’t know how to interact with a tumblr post

so, first of all, tumblr’s culture has changed a lot in the past couple years. there’s a genuine community effort to not start any drama, and ironically a lot of the current hostility is an effort to keep things calm. there’s also a change in how people interact with posts, so if you haven’t been here in a while please skip down to the tags/replies/reblog with text section.

for newcomers: you should be reblogging posts about as liberally as you would like something on twitter. if you only like stuff, people will think you are rude/a bot. you’ve probably heard people talk about “cultivating your dash,” and thats because this platform is 100% centered around your dashboard. trending matters less, unfollowing and blocking in order to shape your dash into it’s best form is widely accepted, the majority of the content you’ll find and interact with will be because of your dash, and the only way to put things on your dash is to reblog them. tumblr users are deeply distrustful of algorithms and have largely turned off the “see posts your friends have liked” function (i recommend you also turn of the various algorithms in settings → general settings → dashboard preferences).

so, once you’ve reblogged a post, there’s three ways to add content to it. the tags, replies, and reblogging with text. all of them have different connotations

the tags: an inside voice. originally they were meant for organizing your blog (and they’re still used for this), but they’ve also morphed into a way to share thoughts that aren’t funny/insightful enough for non-followers to be interested in. when in doubt, put your comment in the tags

replies: basically talking to your friends in class. your followers have no way of finding your replies (they don’t pop up on the dash, nobody gets notified except for the original poster) so chances are, only the person who made the post is gonna see your comment. it’s for quick one-offs that you’re okay with other people overhearing, but really is only made for one person. they’re like a public dm

reblog with text: an outside voice. you’re getting up on a stage in town square and entertaining people. make sure it’s funny or insightful— bottom line, add something new to the conversation. you should use this the least

general rules of thumb: 

Finally real advice for new users. This is a solid guide for how to make the transition from Twitter to Tumblr.

In particular, artists need you to reblog. A reblog helps them get seen. A like doesn’t help them at all.

Sakusa Kiyoomi X Reader

CW: non-con, somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampie, grinding, public sex, implied voyeurism, getting caught, minor manga spoilers, sakusa is lowkey delulu

a/n: this was heavily inspired by a mista fic i read

Sakusa's skin crawled as he stared at the bus, a sense of dread rising in his throat. The vehicle loomed before him, its doors open like the maw of some great beast waiting to swallow him whole. Inside, two full teams from Itachiyama awaited, their bodies packed together in a claustrophobic nightmare due to a last-minute transportation issue.

As he stepped onto the bus, Sakusa's mind reeled at the thought of being trapped in such close quarters with so many people, each one a potential vector for illness. He had always prized his personal space, a carefully maintained barrier against the chaos of the outside world. Now, that barrier was about to be breached.

He should've just taken the train to their away games without batting an eye. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to be crammed into another vehicle with strangers, which seemed slightly worse than getting on a bus with people he actually knew. Or maybe a tiny part of him felt uneasy about leaving you, his precious little manager, in a bus full of hormonal and sweaty teenage boys.

— in love and war cw alcohol, intoxication, reader has bad friends and a loving ex

oikawa’s already frowning when he pulls up next to you, hazard lights highlighting your face in blinking orange. the apples of your cheeks seem softer in this light, bunching together and causing your eyes to curve into happy crescents as his name tumbles easily from your lips.

“why are you by yourself?” oikawa demands as he nears you, outstretched hand meeting yours.

“‘m not,” you grin at the contact, letting yourself tiptoe closer to oikawa until you’re leaning against his chest. “my friends are over there,” you point up the road where oikawa can only just make out a gaggle of people, “see?”

a hand sits on your shoulder, heavy and grounding and serious. you look awfully pleased under its warmth. “why aren’t they with you?”

you look up at oikawa with a thoughtful hum, genuinely trying to remember as your brows furrow. “didn’t want to be with them,” you exhale, shrugging. your friends have never been as kind as they should be, you know oikawa doesn’t like them. you lighten up again, “’sides, was waiting for you.”

it feels like a punch to the stomach when oikawa shakes his head at you. and suddenly aching, you let him tug you back to his car and settle you in, having precariously parked in all his concern.

the drive back is quiet, nothing more than the mindless rattling of a late night radio host and the gentle purr of the engine. oikawa can feel you staring at him, trying to gage whether or not he’s mad at you.

the passing streetlights make your head swirl, a little dizzier than out in the street where fresh air filled your lungs. but you’re not alone now, and the leather seats of oikawa’s car are worn and familiar. your fingers run across the thick stitches and you use them as markers to count the flickers of orange that dance across oikawa’s face one by one. they make him look handsome, drawing long shadows across his sharp features and warming his eyes.

by the time oikawa’s pulled in, you’ve fallen asleep, chin tucked into your chest with your last thought being the driver beside you. it could’ve been worse, oikawa muses, you could’ve been sick.

he allows himself a moment. a sliver of peace to watch the way your chest rises and falls, air punctuated only by soft exhales. you really did look pretty, routine of dressing up for a night out long since perfected. oikawa can’t forget the way you’d shone when you’d caught sight of him. he leaves the car before the thought can stick any longer.

he’s only away for a split second, rounding the bonnet to get to you. the door opens and suddenly he’s surrounding you, leaning close to pull at the seatbelt, fresh linen and vanilla. 

oikawa freezes when your fingers curl around his wrist. “i miss you,” you murmur. his heart stutters painfully.

you half think you’ve imagined the mumbled confession, oikawa continuing to work at the seatbelt until you’re free and easing yourself into his arms. you stumble a little as you get out the car, it’s ok, oikawa’s got you.

“let’s go inside first,” he finally responds, voice taut.

oikawa’s flat is just as you remember, down to every last detail. the framed picture of his high school volleyball club that greets you at the door, and the blue umbrella that he never remembers to take by the shoe rack. the slightly wonky kitchen cupboard door that houses mismatched mugs collected over the years, and the blanket you’d made together on the arm of the sofa, his fabric intertwined with yours. knowing it all like the back of your hand, you walk a familiar path to his room.

“i miss you,” you repeat, firmer this time as you perch on the end of his bed, trying hard not to get overwhelmed by the comfort of his sheets. it’s so much stronger here, fresh linen, vanilla and the faintest touch of the ocean air.

oikawa shuts his eyes, “you’re drunk.”

“i’m not,” it’s true, you’d sobered up quickly on the ride back, “i had a few drinks but i’m not drunk. i mean what i said, i swear i wouldn’t lie to you.” you wouldn’t be this coherent drunk. and under the effects of alcohol, you’d never approach such a serious topic as you and tooru like this. you both know that.

“i know you wouldn’t, but you’ve still drank, you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t. and i can’t listen to you say you miss me when i can’t tell you how i feel in return, knowing your head’s all hazy and your judgement’s wrong.”

your fingers wind in oikawa’s sheets. “you don’t have to believe me right now, i’ll tell you in the morning and every day after if that’s what it takes. but you can tell me,” you urge, “you can tell me anything.”

the floodgates open.

“you can’t keep doing this. you can’t keep calling me and asking me to pick you up, because you know i will, you know i care,” oikawa’s voice is low, defeated, as it expels the truth, “it’s not fair.”

the wobble in his words makes your heart hurt and you rub at your chest, hoping the pressure will ease some of the pain. it doesn’t. instead, it comes out in your response, more unfair than anything, “i only ever call you, i only ever want you. and it’s the same reason why you still care.”

a call of your name shuts you up, sternness stopping you in your tracks. oikawa’s never once said your name like this, always honeyed and warm and fond. the ache swells.

you crawl into bed, pulling the covers up tight to your neck and trying to hide the glassiness in your eyes. you wouldn’t cry, you couldn’t cry. oikawa was right, it wasn’t fair. because you had broken things off, you hadn’t been able to deal with the drowning comfort of oikawa’s love, and yet, you were the one calling him when you needed someone to rely on. each and every time. “’m sorry,” you whisper, the thickness in your voice comes through anyway.

“i know,” oikawa sighs, tucking in next to you, one hand around your waist and the other running through your hair, the position you’ve always liked, “i’m sorry too.”

when oikawa wakes in the morning, the glass he left on the bedside table is empty and a single painkiller has been punched out of the foil packet. the bed too is cold, a collection of wrinkled sheets and pooling blankets. your presence in the room is barely there, only evident by a trail of absences.

oikawa curls up, bed suddenly too big, too lonely, as he tugs the duvet up and over his head. he lies there for a long time, a lump as he reprimands himself. it was true, what he said last night - this wasn’t fair, he couldn’t keep doing this routine. and yet, he couldn’t do anything but care for you, its like he was programmed to. you can’t keep waiting forever, his brain commands and the twinge in his heart pulls his knees closer to his chest.

“oikawa?” the gentle call of his name forces him out from his mind and underneath the covers. his head pokes out from the duvet, brown hair messy and eyes bleary. you notice the downturn of his lips first at the sound of his surname on your tongue. it seems clunky, awkward.

your stomach churns and your hands grip cruelly at the cup inbetween your hands. it’s coffee, half milk with two heaps of sugar and caramel syrup. not the way you like it at all. you hold it out and oikawa’s kind not to mention the tiny tremble of your arms. “if you’ll let me, i owe you something,” you pause, “i miss you, tooru.”

tooru beams. not forever at all.

tugged at my heartstrings so much 😭

swooning ੈ✩‧₊˚ semi eita

you're not sure whether it's a blessing or a curse to be the only witness of semi's charming side; being treated like royalty all while falling victim to his antics and yet, you never really try to stop him.

w.c: 0.8

you feel so silly when you catch your breath hitching due to having your shoes tied by someone else. 

it's not like it's the first time. you vaguely remember fragments of childhood memories where you needed someone else to tie your tiny shoes while you still hadn't learned how to do it yourself. once or twice or so, you've had to ask a friend to hook the loosened strings of old sneakers, probably because your hands were too full to do it. of course it has happened before.

it’s just that it’s, for some reason, a lot more intimate if it's eita.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

You whine as he thrusts deep inside you again, the loud squelch filling the small study room obscenely as he bends you over the table. “T-Tobio, fuck.” The table creaks in time with his thrusts, and you feel your cheeks heat as you hear the noise.

He grunts as he hears the sweet noises you make and grips your hips so hard you know there’ll be bruises the next day. “I know, angel. I know I’m big. Just, fuck— just take it, okay?” He mutters, voice husky and dripping with his evident arousal. He groans as he feels you twitch around him, your already tight heat gripping him even more, and has to bite a knuckle to make sure he doesn’t fucking cum instantly.

“She My Best Friend, Yeah We Not a Couple.”

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, panties in your mouth (+ some other very heinous things), really fucking dirty, public sex, jealous sex (from his side), pet names (my angel), swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. My ancestors are prolly so proud of me rn. Art by @_3em on X.

“Best friend” his ass. 

It’s laughable really - the way those other losers think they have a chance with you when you’re begging for his dick every night. 

He’s known you since you were both whiney, snot-faced brats - and right now he’s got you sitting prettily on his lap in a study room tucked on the campus library. Your needy mewls are muffled into the crook of his neck as he holds you steady by your hips, the length of his achingly hard cock nudging the line of your ass. 

Panties hastily pulled to the side, your slick pools on his flushed tip, dripping along his length to his tight balls. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your racing pulse, he drags his hefty erection teasingly along your dripping folds. 

God, he could feel the way your pussy was clenching desperately around nothing and it was driving him insane. 

Surely that study buddy of yours could wait a few minutes. Who did that scrub even think he was? Eyeing his pretty lil’ best friend like that.

“Hngh- please, I want-.” you whisper into his ear, the heat of your breath sending blood rushing straight to his already rock-hard cock. Your needy whimpers are cut off as he subconsciously thrusts in-between your swollen folds, juices making the prominent veins along his length glisten.

Fuck, this was getting too much for him too. 

“Tell me what you want, my angel.” he leans down to murmur raspily in your ear, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine. You were so fucking hot. 

That scrub couldn’t even imagine this. How perfect you were. How wet you were for him. How lustful your voice is as you sinfully whine, “I want your cock in me so badly. Want you to fuck me right here. Right now.”

With lightning speed, he’s got you bent against the cold surface of the library desk, painfully hard cock throbbing under the thin material of your panties. You gasp as his length grinds against your quivering cunt.

Having you splayed out so sinfully for him, he’s never been more thankful that the old librarian was such a heavy sleeper - probably wouldn’t wake up for a stampede of elephants if it happened. 

“This shit is getting in my fucking way.” he groans out as a large hand grabs your soaked panties. 

A sharp rip! of fabric sounds throughout the still air of the study room. “Much better.” he grins dangerously, harshly groping every inch of skin now laid completely bare for him.

“Please. Put it in.” you mewl, voice dripping with need for him. Fuck, he’ll never get used to this. 

“Shhh, my angel.” with a low hiss, he bullies his thick cock into your dripping cunt.

“God. S’tight, so tight. Pussy so desperate for me hah- sucking me back in. She doesn’t want me to leave, huh?” he grits out through strangled moans as he sheaths himself completely into your wet pussy. Shit, at this point they’ll hear him and not you.

Warm walls squeezing him to insanity, he fucks you at a feral pace, pulling out till his tip teases your dripping entrance, only to ram himself fully inside once more. 

“Ah! Hngh- It’s too much. Please!” 

He would never get to know the feeling of your snug cunt desperately sucking his cock back in every time he rams into you. He would never get to feel the way your walls clamp down on him, struggling to adjust to the burning stretch of his thick cock. He could never make you feel this good.

That loser probably has a small dick anyway.

He drinks in the pornographic ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth at each harsh thrust, feeling intoxicated off the animalistic cadence of his hips, and the thick white ring of slick forming at his base. 

“Shit. Always so good f’me, my angel.” he groans, your pretty moans only making him thrust impossibly deeper in a way that has you scrambling to hold onto the table for support. 

His throaty groans and the merciless slapping of his heavy balls against your ass echoes across the room as his fingers dig deep purple marks into your hips.

“S-someone’s gonna hah- hear-” 

“Then we must be quiet, hm?”

Before you have a chance to process what’s happening, the wet panties that were tightly gripped in his hand are now stuffed into your mouth. You moan around the large fingers forcing themselves inside, cold rings stretching your mouth as much as your cunt.

His cock twitches as he forces you to taste yourself, feeling you getting impossibly wetter. That’s his girl. 

He could never fuck you like this. 

Moans now muffled by the fabric in your mouth, his saliva-coated fingers move down to draw rough circles on your clit - making you yelp at the stimulation. 

He knows someone could walk in at any moment - and a part of him actually wants it to happen. Let them see, he thinks. At least then those fuckers would finally take a hint.

A soft whine of his name snaps him out of his pussy-drunk thoughts, blown-out eyes now meeting your dazed ones as you lock eyes with him over your shoulder. Lipstick smeared, tears clinging to your lashes, and panties half-hanging out of your kiss-bitten lips.

Ah, actually scratch that - he’s gonna keep his pretty lil’ best friend all to himself.

“Shhh, my angel. I’ve got you.” he towers over you, pressing a trail of kisses up the curve of your spine before angling your neck to attach his lips with yours. He delights in your surprised squeal, clearly not expecting him to kiss you with your panties still in your mouth. But for you, he’d do anything.

Cock twitching, your feet almost lift off the ground as the rhythm of his hips gets harsher. He intertwines his tongue with yours, sweet slick-soaked panties wrapped in the middle. Fuck, he was going insane at the contrast of your soft tongue with the lacy fabric of your panties, hand around your neck getting tighter.

You moan incoherently as he sucks on your tongue, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth and onto the polished library desk. 

It was so fucking lewd. Doesn’t matter how many losers swarm around you - none of them deserved you. None of them could fuck you like this.

Your sounds of pleasure get more and more frantic as his cock still slams inside you relentlessly, ringed-fingers continuing their abuse on your clit - getting closer and closer to what you crave.

He can feel the way your walls flutter so snugly around him. God, he’s so fucking turned on that he doesn’t know whether the heartbeat he feels between his legs is his or yours.

Neither of you have to wait long. His tongue still continues its dance with yours, around your soaked panties, as you both cum with a muffled moan. 

Your pussy clenches around him as you climax him as if to milk his cock for all he’s worth. And you do, thick ropes of his hot cum painting your pulsing hole white. 

Riding out both your highs, he fucks his cum into you animalistically - feet lifting off the floor at his firm grip on your waist and the sheer power of his rough thrusts.

So messy. Damn, he has to send the librarian an apology gift later - a fruit basket or something, he wonders, barely lucidly. 

His mind is still foggy as he pulls his sensitive cock out, and pockets your panties for a lonely night without his dear best friend. Promptly plugging his fingers in your quivering pussy, cum smearing on his fingers, he mutters out a quick “Keep it inside.”

Walking out of the heavy, sex-filled atmosphere of the study room, he bumps into that fucking study buddy of yours - running late and clearly surprised to see him there.

With a slow smirk, “Sorry in advance, my girl made a bit of a mess in there. Hope you don’t mind.”

Hey, this is what best friends are for, right?

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, Tsukishima, ATSUMU, SUNA, Oikawa, Kuroo, EREN, Armin

A/N. Teehee *blushes like a slut*

Longfic Sunday incoming if I manage to write 6k words by tomorrow.

Plagiarism not authorized.

Custom action figure gift for HQ partners

Racy remarks, but no smut. Gender-neutral reader.

Aone

Weekend mornings meant Aone could putter around on the patio, tending to his plants. He was even taller than he had been in high school, his shoulders broader. However, his job as a construction worker and his volleyball club's activities kept him light on his feet as he maneuvered around all the potted plants. The morning sun lit his blond hair, and his silhouette was peaceful.

It was the morning after you had hosted a casual get-together with former Date-Ko classmates. It wasn't long after New Year's, so your home held the vestiges of kuri kinton you had prepared for Aone and his friends. You would also still hear the group's laughter when Koganegawa and Futakuchi brought out their custom action figures. The Angry Bird setter was actually well represented in his uniform. It was Futakuchi's representation that provoked hoots of derision in Kamaski and Moniwa.

six degrees of separation

Kuroo Tetsurou x gn reader | six-part mini series | (TAGLIST OPEN)

⎯ exes to enemies to lovers? | fluff, angst

⎯ no major warnings, just parenting stuff but it's not your baby, side character death, minimal miscommunication but not too much, because I also get frustrated with that

𓆩♡𓆪 synopsis┆When a mutual friend tragically dies in an accident. You and Kuroo Tetsurou were forced back into each other's lives, to take care of the baby your friend has left. Unaware that you broke up months ago, you're both faced with the challenge of becoming foster parents as ex-lovers.

MAIN MASTERLIST

[first], you think the worst is a broken heart

what's gonna kill you is the [second] part

[third], is when your world splits down the middle

[fourth], you're gonna think that you fixed yourself

[fifth], you see them out with someone else

[sixth], is when you admit that you may have fucked up a little

taglist: