Situationship Sero Who U Go To A Carnival With And He Wins U A Big Ass Plushie And Thinks Ur His Girlfriend

tagging: @nhixxx-s @smolmo + anyone else who wants to

i wanted to start a lil pic crew tag! here’s da link

i’m gonna tag!!! @j0succ + @plums-princess + @bizarrenina + @moonbeamwritings + @jostepherjoestar but anyone else can join!

thank you trans women. everyone say thank you trans women. or else

@HAIKYUU : MAKE SURE TO GET IT ON FILM, BABY!

a lewd anthology series of haikyuu men filming you and him fucking; after a party, while he’s at work, as you’re making pasta.

one thing is for sure: you’re always, always the star of his film.

nsfw content, minors do not interact ˖  ݁ . ࿓ each part has its own warnings. please be sure to read them all thoroughly < 3 kiss

starring ˖  ݁ . ࿓ miya atsumu, sakusa kiyoomi, oikawa tooru, akaashi keiji, matsukawa issei, kuroo tetsuro, miya osamu — more characters may be added.

reblogs are incredibly appreciated >3<

001. LA SANTA

✩ ˛˚ . miya atsumu is your best friend — you do everything with him. and so, obviously, you’re gonna ask him how you’re supposed to suck dick after attending a halloween party. and maybe he’ll show you other things, too.

002. TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME

✩ ˛˚ . your husband — sakusa kiyoomi — wants to treasure every moment of your honeymoon with photographs and videos. giving you every ounce of his raw heart and stuffing you with his cum as he records is part of that whole ordeal.

003. ME PORTO BONITO

✩ ˛˚ . your boyfriend is shit — doesn’t know the first thing about pleasing you. so, why not let star athlete oikawa tooru wrap his gold medal around your neck as he fucks you dumb? as he records the dirty deed and sends it to your (soon to be ex) boyfriend?

004. EFECTO

✩ ˛˚ . akaashi keiji is convinced you’re a nymph with the way you make him feel. especially as he’s fucking you in his bathroom, in front of the mirror — one hand on your pussy, other holding his phone to record the unfolding events before the two of you.

005. I FALL TO PIECES WHEN I’M WITH YOU

✩ ˛˚ . you’re matsukawa issei’s favorite shot girl. you’re so sweet, so pretty — he wants to absolutely ruin you and record the whole process.

006. A LOVE FILLED LUNCH

✩ ˛˚ . kuroo tetsuro — your beloved and doting husband — loves it when you take time out of your day to make him a love filled bento and adores it when you take it to his office, since you always make sure to stay for dessert.

007. BREAKFAST AT ONIGIRI MIYA’S

✩ ˛˚ . your boss — miya osamu — asks you to come in early on sunday mornings, the busiest day of the week. today, though, he might have to close shop to rearrange your guts in his kitchen.

© kentoangel — do not copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

take it easy baby, make it last all night - iwaizumi hajime/f!reader (1.5k) tags: cali!iwa, college!iwa, tit worship, dry humping, mentioned cumming in pants, no actual sex (sorry fellas), bi iwa is canon and if you disagree you're a coward xo!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+

iwaizumi's biggest culture shock when he moves from japan to california for school isn't the different language, the heat, or even the party culture at UCI. 

it's the SKIN.

hajime has never stopped to consider the conservative conventions of his home country at any great length, since it's all he's ever known. but suddenly he's in sunny SoCal, and everywhere he looks he's met with glimpses of exposed skin—of parts of strangers' bodies he never thought he'd see. 

it flusters him at first; never quite sure where to look when he's speaking to a girl in a low-cut crop top, or a guy he meets out on a jog who'd forgone a shirt. but he acclimatizes to it eventually. comes to appreciate it in many ways, too.

take the humble tube top, for instance.

sure he likes bikinis, and mini skirts, and those skimpy skin-tight dresses girls wear on nights out. he likes those tiny running shorts that ride up on the track teams thighs when they go out for runs on campus near the athletics building, muscle tees cut low under the arms that the guys at the gym wear, or those grey-sweatpants whose infamy hajime has come to understand.

but there's something about tube tops that he just adores.

or, at least, something about you wearing one.

he's been watching you quietly for most of the night, flitting around the party like you normally do, nursing your drink in small sips to make it last. your tube top clings snugly to your chest, and fuck he's pretty sure you're not even wearing a bra underneath it. he watches the way your body moves, the way the top moves with it. the way your tits lift and settle again, pretty and soft, each time you subtly adjust the top with a little tug. 

you gravitate towards him in intervals throughout the night, like a moth to a flame.

that's another thing hajime's come to like about america: no one bats an eye at PDA.

you sit comfortably in his lap on the sofa at the house party, playing with his fingers where his hand rests on your thigh. your body is warm. his body is warm. the party's crowded, the little house off campus jammed with students and driving the temperature up, but still he keeps you exactly where you are with his arm looped around your waist.

"hey," you say, peeking back at him over your shoulder after a while of idly tracing your fingertips along his knuckles. "you having fun?"

he is, but probably not for the reasons you think. he couldn't care less about the merriment around him: the happiest he's been all night are the moments where you've drifted back within arm's reach. he nods anyway.

you pout a little, and it surprises him.

"you wanna get outta here?" he asks curiously, picking up on your unvoiced disappointment. your eyes watch his lips as they shape the question, and then flicker back up to his.

"yeah."

the first year hajime spent in california, he lived in a tiny UCI dorm. the second, he moved into a small apartment off campus with some friends he'd met at school. the apartment isn't luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. it's austere; spartanly decorated; and with four college-age boys living in it, it isn't always the tidiest place. but one thing he appreciates about his living arrangement is that on a friday night, the place is usually empty.

not to mention it has a double bed.

hajime has you sprawled across it almost as soon as the two of you stumble through his bedroom door. you laugh a little at his eagerness as you tip back onto the mattress, bouncing lightly atop the padded springs, and then he's crawling in overtop of you, pressing his mouth against yours.

he's greedy as he kisses you, like he's making up for all the times he thought about it while he watched you that night from afar. his hands are just as intrepid, drifting along your body in careful but keen grazes and gropes. everything about you is so soft—it makes his head spin how delicate every part of you he touches feels. the soft swells of your curves, the silkiness of your skin, the little sounds he pulls from you when the presses against the places you like most.

he leans back on his knees, poised between your parted thighs as you lay flat on your back underneath him, and finally—after hours of praising its very existence—hajime tugs down the neckline of your tube top.

your chest spills out as the thin material is drawn away by a single finger looped under the edge as leverage. as your skin, all of your skin, is bared to him, hajime finds himself once again so so pleased with his decision to study abroad. 

god bless america has never rung so true.

"fuck, you're so pretty," hajime groans, cupping a hand around each of your tits and pressing them together. you laugh but it's a breathy sound, more air than anything. his thumbs skim gently against the edges of your nipples, working them into stiff little peaks. after a moment, he dips down and catches one in his mouth, closing his lips around it so his tongue can take up the task.

he continues like this for a while, alternating between each breast, switching from his hands to his mouth as he lavishes your skin with attention and sates the thirst that had built throughout the evening. when he opts to use his hands, his mouth quickly finds its way to somewhere else, keeping itself occupied—your collarbones, your throat, your jaw, your lips. he kisses every inch of you that he can reach, but pays special attention to any little freckle or mark he finds along his way, dragging the tip of his tongue against them like he's savouring the taste of them most.

the two of you have been grinding lazily against each other while he devours you. iwa’s straddling one of your trembling thighs, his knee pressed firmly against the seam of your tiny denim shorts, and his painfully hard cock is pinned against your hip as he holds himself up over you. your tube top is still rucked down around your ribs, and iwa’s own t-shirt had been hastily tugged off over his head at some point during the excitement.

"hajime," you pant, tugging against the short hair at his nape as he suckles a bruise into the top of your left breast. he draws back only enough to meet your eyes, though his are unfocused and heavy-lidded, and his warm breath catches on the wet mark of spit left where his lips had just been attached. you look similarly wrecked: lips swollen and kiss-bruised, your stare glassy, your skin dewy with the flush of perspiration. your lips are still parted after having uttered his name so desperately.

that’s another thing iwa likes about it here. he likes being called by his name.

especially like this.

hajime rocks his hips against your own again, pressing his knee against you a little harder, groaning and he dips down and nips at your skin once more.

“i think i’m gonna cum,” he admits through gritted teeth, half-embarrassed and half-recklessly chasing the high he feels cresting in the pit of his stomach. he’s barely even touched you yet—at least not in any way that counts—but seeing you like this in his bed, tasting you in the way he has been, feeling your body react underneath his own, it’s all just a bit too much.

you could chide him for his clumsy eagerness and he wouldn’t even blame you for it, he feels like a pent-up teenager when he gets like this. but you don’t tease him, or reprimand him. instead, you take his cheeks in your hands and guide his lips back up to yours, letting his tongue slide—hot and wet and indecently noisy—against your own.

“cum then,” you whisper into his mouth, canting your hips up to meet the next roll of his. “wanna feel it, haji.”

and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

iwaizumi moans brokenly, his hips picking up a steadier rhythm as he ruts against you. he’s being greedy, he knows that, but how could he deny you your request when you posed it so sweetly?

but he’ll make you feel good afterwards, just like he always does. unclasping the button at the waist of those tiny shorts, peeling them down with the same reverence he’d paid to your top and turning his rapt attention to what he bares there in just the same way too.

it’s friday night in sunny southern california, after all. and hajime intends to make the most of every minute.

➽ [ 6:02 pm ]

your three year old daughter waddles down the hall to find her dad in the kitchen. she had just recently learned questions and once she starts, she doesn't stop. your husband, kuroo, is fully responsible for this.

"hi kitten, i thought you were with mommy," kuroo sees the little sprout of hair poking up from the side of the counter.

"what doing?" she asks as she makes her way beside her dad. kuroo lifts her to sit beside him on a stool.

"i'm decorating a cake for mommy," he says.

"why?" she tilts her head to look at the messily frosted cake.

"for mommy's work tomorrow," he continues as he attempts to make flowers.

"dada," she goes. he pauses to look at her. "what doing?" the back and forth of what and why continued for longer than it should have.

"y/n!" kuroo pleaded. "take your daughter away, shes asking too many questions!"

you make your way from the office space to see your two favorite people. your daughter both hands on the counter to hold her stable. kuroo looks stressed as he continues to make decorations for the cake. "what's going on?" you chuckled.

"mama!" your daughter cheers. "dada making cake."

"i see that, and what are you doing?" you poked her cheek.

"botdering dada," she smiles.

"you're bothering me, on purpose kitten?" kuroo puts down his piping bag to look at her.

"yes!" she laughs. you giggle as well before making eye contact with your husband.

"kitten," he began to scold.

"oh no kitten," you walked over to wrap your arms around your daughter. "daddy's gonna tickle us we gotta go."

"dada no!" she immediately wraps her arms around you neck as you two book it to the bedroom.

kuroo follows quickly after, cornering you on the bed. you two fall back onto the bed, both giggling messes. he crawls on the bed, almost immediately goes to tickle your daughter.

"dada!" she laughs. kuroo pulls away for a second to look at her. "no more please."

"okay, okay, just don't bother daddy like that anymore," he says.

"why?" she asks.

kuroo groans as he lays beside you both, knowing full well he walked into that. "kitten you'll be the death of me."

"why?" you joined in. he looks at you, squinting his eyes at you. both you and your daughter giggle at kuroo, making him face palm.

"hehe i lobe you dada!" your daughter crawls on top of your defeated husband. she litters his face with kisses as repayment for annoying him.

"why kitten?" he jokes. she leans down lightly biting his cheek. "ow! i deserved that. i love you too kitten."

I speak to the LED atop the streetlamp. It pools purple light into the empty parking lot, gnats and moths orbiting around its head in an awful frenzy, like there isn't enough time in the world to marvel. light.

"Why are you purple?" I ask. It doesn't answer, but Google does; a component inside it has degraded faster than it should and what was once pure is now gone.

"I guess we have that in common." I lay down against the asphalt and enjoy how it digs into my palms. I imagine a chalk outline around my edges, markers confining who I am and who I was. I don't feel like I thought I would; a find kinship with the cigarette butt stuck to the futter

"Don't romanticize your sadness," the light says, without a mouth to say it.

"It's the only way I'll never be romanced." I reply. Behind it, I see nothing. No sky, no stars, no outline of my apartment complex - blinded by a man made mistake, "Besides, I'm comparing myself to a street lamp. Isn't that considered absurdism? Or just creative?"

The lamp stares back. "It's kind of sad."

UGLY SWEATER | AKAASHI KEIJI

holiday/christmas drabble. husband keij. corny shit. gn reader. jus…fluff n (christmas) crack.

“wh-what..” keiji asks, face flushing and fingers growing restless at his sides.

oh heaven love him. you married your husband for many reasons; his thoughtfulness is unparalleled, his preciseness is unmatched, his cooking is simply to die for. he’s a sweetheart, through and through. he seems to always know how you’re feeling or what you want before you even do. he’s able to read you like he’s known you forever and can recite your entire being like it’s the back of his hand. there are countless reasons that you said i do.

but his fashion sense is definitely not one of them.

“nothing, it’s just—“

you bite your lip to stop the laugh threatening to bubble out of your throat. because, granted, keiji’s fashion sense is pretty good eleven months out of the year. sophisticated, clean, attractively slouchy. but then comes december, and december brings, well.

“keij, that sweater..”

it is absolutely horrid. it’s like christmas threw up on it; tinsel and ribbons and buttons in four separate mismatched shapes and, god, who even knew there were this many different shades of red and green? when did he even buy this? because you most definitely wouldn’t have let him make it to the check out line with it in hand.

“what about it?” he asks, and—sweet man—his face is completely serious too. his fingers grip the hem of it, tug at it a little as he looks down. his eyes scan the fabric, a once over for himself, then he’s glancing back up to you with furrowed brows. “is it a little too much?”

“babe.” a small giggle finally escapes you as you step up to him, patting his shoulder and watching as a string of tinsel drifts to the floor. “i think it’s a lot too much. i mean is this—are those bells on your collar?”

and oh, keiji doesn’t really get embarrassed a lot, but now pink is flooding his cheeks so fast he thinks he might just faint on the spot.

“well it’s just a christmas party. and you said to dress festive so i—should i change? yeah, i should change. let me just—“

“no, no! wait,” you protest with a chuckle, grabbing his hand to stop him and smiling at the slight pout he gives you. “it’s..cute. in a quirky sort of way. give me a little spin.”

“yn..”

“nuh uh,” you tut, dropping his hand and twirling your finger around. “you chose to put it on, no whining. now spin.”

the pout tugging at your husband’s lips deepens, the flush in his face following suit. but nevertheless he follows your order and does an awkward little spin for you in the middle of your living room; much like a kid showcasing the shirt he’s just tried on in the dressing room for his mom. and the sweater looks just as dorky and ugly after the twirl than it did before, but (and you blame keiji’s natural allure for this) it somehow is a little charming now.

“do i go change..?” he whispers, fingers fidgeting with one of the ribbons hanging off the front of the godawful thing.

you so badly want to say yes, to have him put on the outfit you already picked out for him in your head so the two of you could take cute pictures together in front of your friend’s fireplace. but then you look at him; at the blush high on his cheeks and the bashfulness in his slouch and the jitters in the teeth gnawing at the corner of his lip and you just..

“nah,” you smile, straighten out a bow on his sleeve, fix a button on his chest. “i think you should keep it on. you know, it’s actually kinda cute. almost makes me jealous that i don’t have one.”

it’s instant, the way keiji’s eyes light up at your admission, and suddenly he’s tugging at your hands and his bashfulness is shifting to a new form.

“well, actually, i may have bought one for you too? they were just on sale and there was one in your size so i thought i might as well and..”

you’re lost for words as you follow after him, smile stretching your lips as you listen to him ramble through explanation after explanation. the sweater he pulls out of the closet for you is just as hideous as his own, just as disgustingly festive as the one he’s donning. you take it from him as soon as he hands it to you, and try not to laugh too much at the excitement written all over his face as he watches you change.

it’s dorky, and your christmas pictures in front of your friend’s fireplace look totally dumb compared to everyone else’s, but it’s worth it to see the grin on your husband’s face afterwards.

even if you have to physically restrain him from using that photo on your christmas cards.

reblogs appreciated !

“red or blue?” kuroo holds out two ties in front of you, his dress shirt sleeves rolled out to his elbows and you avert your gaze to ignore the lazy smile he has on.

“blue dulls out your eyes,” you say, voice flat as you turn your back away from him.

you grin, “if you wear the red you might seduce Hinata enough to recruit him.”

“oya,” he hums, taking a step closer towards you, ignoring the fact that you’re still trying to shuffle away. “you’re not mad at me anymore?”

you roll your eyes. it’s been a few weeks since he left your anniversary dinner early to pick bokuto up from the airport, and honestly, your anger’s flamed out a bit dull now, but of course, that doesn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy him striving for your affection for just a little bit more.

you turn to face him, ignoring how his grin widens and you push his hand away.

you take the red tie in your hands, glaring as you stare at his face and he relaxes in your touch as you bring the fabric around his neck.

you’ve never seen him actually fix his tie perfectly before— no, it’s always been you behind the beauty of those knots, and by the way you see partial relief in his eyes, you know he knows this too.

“i’m mad at my husband,” you tell him, focusing more on looping the red fabric in your hands than the way he's trudging to bring his face closer to yours.

you sigh, “but if the head of JVA asks me which tie makes his eyes pop then i’m obviously going to help him in that.”

“the head of JVA is lame,” kuroo pouts, his hand pushing yours away for a second and brings your face to look up to his.

he tells you, softness in his voice, “your husband misses you.”

you push him off, “whatever.”

ignoring his groans, you leave the room. the soft placing of your steps indulging in the annoyed muttering of your name.

you call out with a concealed grin, “i’m going to shower.”

it doesn’t take long for kuroo to come to where you stood, his grin lazy and inviting — like the ones he’d give you every time he insisted on paying for dinner.

there’s a towel thrown over his shoulder. disregarding the fact that he’s already dressed and ready for work, he stands over you.

his eyes sly as he says, “what a coincidence, i’m going to shower too.”

“nope.” you snort, pushing past him. “nice try though.”

he groans, throwing his head back and he looks to you, pleading, “it’s been three weeks.”

you smile. the first one all day. “too bad, but i am still mad at my husband.”

“screw him,” kuroo’s quick with his words, his words entangled with a string of laughter, and he inches closer to you, “sleep with the head of JVA instead, he’s wearing a stunning red tie— i heard it makes his eyes pop.”

you laugh. the one that you only had reserved for his annoying jokes, and you don’t notice it but there’s only fondness in his eyes as he stares at you.

he missed you so much.

shhh...no one is allowed to tell him. absolutely no one or istg 😃🔪

leaky, thick cock virgins who wanna make you cum soooo bad but they just don't know how and and and you're just soooo pretty to them that they end up losing their mind, so excited to finally fuck you, so they hammer into you like a rabbit- no technique, no finesse, no skill whatsoever, but their dick is just so big that it hits everything it needs to anyways and has you seeing stars