OP Said Spicy Daichi

OP said Spicy Daichi

The following men would carry you to the kitchen at midnight because you wanted cereal and couldn’t walk after how hard they’d fucked you:

Aone—cradles you gently in his arms and carries you to the kitchen, delicately sits you in a chair before he gets everything for you and brings it to the table. He never means to fuck your that hard, he’s just big in more ways than one.

Atsumu—he gives you a piggy back ride and keeps looking over his shoulder, smirking at you and how fucked out and cute you look. He sits you on the kitchen counter and you both giggle and eat a whole box of cereal from one giant mixing bowl.

Bokuto—he tosses you over his shoulder, still careful not to hurt you further, and drops you on top of the kitchen table and makes you sit there. He grabs everything, scoops you back up in his arms, then makes his way to the couch where he sits down, sits you between his legs, and rests his chin on your shoulder while you eat.

Daichi—he knows you can’t walk after the many rounds, so when you say you’re hungry, he’s sweeping you up in his arms and carrying you to the kitchen before you even ask. He sits you on a bar stool at the counter, grabs everything you want, and stands next to you, leaning his body on the counter while you eat. He watches you lovingly and when you ask what he’s doing, he says, “Wondering if this is night I finally managed to fuck a baby into you.” You choke on your cereal but it’s fine, he pays your back and then feeds you himself, a kiss between every bite.

Iwaizumi—he carries you like a koala on his chest, arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist. He deposits you on the kitchen counter before grabbing everything you want, and a bottle of water you didn’t ask for but is handed to you expectantly, and he stands between your legs and massages your sore thighs while you eat your cereal. He carries you back to bed gently and cuddles you has you cockwarm him all night sore body be damned.

Mattsun—teases you the whole time but ultimately picks you up and carries you to the kitchen like a princess, cuddles to his chest with his arms behind your back and under your knees. He sits you at the table and leaves to grab everything with a bow. He sits next to you and insists on feeding you because you’re ‘Daddy’s cute princess that can’t walk after being fucked so good’. A hefty smack to his arm gets him to stop teasing and he’ll just watch you eat all lovingly. Or you can let him feed you, honestly, he doesn’t mind.

Osamu—he carries you down like a princess, bridal style and immensely careful, knowing just how broken your body felt from his taking advantage of his first night off in weeks. He deposits you on the counter next to the stove and stands between your legs, trying to convince you to let him cook you something good, something healthy and nourishing and better than a bowl of sugary cereal. However, he relents and kisses the pout from your face when you assure him you just want cereal. He hops up on the counter next to you eating a bowl of fruit while you eat your cereal, stopping you to feed you little bites of fruit and steal kisses between bites of your cereal.

Suna—you’re hungry at midnight, the man is so game for that. He’s another one to give you a piggy back ride, careful but playful as he takes you to the kitchen. He sits you down in the living room on the couch and covers you with a blanket, knowing you’re probably cold from being naked aside from his shirt. He gets you what you want, adding a banana to the tray so you have something more filling, and brings a tray of cereal, fruit and water to you. He sits on the other end of the couch, your legs in his lap while you eat, his large hands massaging your calves and feet for you while you eat. The second you’re done, he’s pulling you in his lap and cuddling you though, wanting you close (and spitting in your mouth, it’s better than the cereal).

Tanaka—he happily carries you into the kitchen, koala style. He sits you on the counter, grabs everything, and hops up on the counter next to you. He feeds you bites of dry cereal from his hand and you do the same, pouring milk in one another’s mouth after each handful of cereal. It’s all laughs and smiles with him.

Ushijima—he carries you bridal style and carries you around the kitchen, stopping at the pantry for you to grab the cereal and at the cabinet to grab bowls and spoons, before he seats himself at the kitchen table and rests you comfortably on his lap. He presses kisses to your neck the whole time you eat and whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

A/N: This was brought to you by cocoa pebbles at midnight 💙 And thank you to my evil twin Ryder for coming up with Tanaka’s, you’re a genius.

Taglist: @introloves @goldenshoyo @chaoticryder @managertae @undxrworld @zhongh-li

#puffpuffsmash [nsfw 18+, terushima yūji]

1,9k words

✯haikyuu!! masterlist✯

sometimes it just feels better not to think.

smut, light drugs (marijuana), alcohol consumption, tiny bit of angst, mentions of cheating, fluff, fuckbuddies to lovers ??

this is my bit of the ukai nation stoner collab by @keishinslove :) enjoy xo

☾𓆙𓂻

it’s just past midnight when he gets the text from you: we ended things, come over pls? and terushima yūji does not need to be told twice.

u got any pre rolls?

yeah, i gotchu

yūji’s kind of been the side dick for a minute now, not that he minds much—he could get a girl if he wanted, too—but as he reads that conversation over and over, backwards and forwards, he wonders a little if maybe he could change that tonight. he’s gonna try not to get his hopes up, though.

and on your side of things… there’s just something about yūji that you can’t explain, that your boyfriend (now ex) never had. the idea of infidelity had never even crossed your mind before him, but somehow, it was too alluring not to give into him. in yūji there’s a fire, even with the knowledge that you aren’t his to keep. he was always easy to talk to, even as a complete stranger, never awkward; so much more so now. he’s fun to be with. he makes the mundane feel like memories from a film camera.

he’s at your apartment twenty minutes later, a little aluminum pencil tin (with a dragon ball logo on it, no less) in his hand—his, from primary school. it’s long since been repurposed as a place to hold joints. when you come to the door, you’re already in your pjs: a crewneck and a pair of floaty, tiny little shorts that he’s pretty sure are so barely there that he’d be able to see your panties from the back. but forget that.

not even a hello, the first thing he says to you is, “what happened?”

you take him by the forearm, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind him as you answer. “he found out.”

“‘bout me?”

“yep.”

that sets his mind racing—your boyfriend found out and it’s him you’re keeping around? that must mean something, right?

“how’d he find out?”

“you left a t-shirt here last time, i guess. he saw it, knew it wasn’t his. figured out the rest.”

yūji takes a seat on your sofa, looking at the floor. “you’re not mad?”

you shrug. it kind of baffles you too, after all, why you aren’t. instead you say, “we can smoke on the balcony?”

“sure. d’you have a light?”

he catches the way you bite your lip as you smile and nod, not saying anything as he lets you lead him outside.

this is the truth: maybe he wants you more than he lets on, and for more than what he lets on. maybe he doesn’t just want to be here for the fun bits. maybe he thinks it could be nice to be here for all of it, even if all of it isn’t always nice. until now, though, he hasn’t let himself dwell on that long enough to decide.

†

there’s this line of a song yūji half remembers: no ceiling but the sky… smoke from her lips bleeds into the air… something like that, anyway. you remind him of it. or it reminds him of you, he’s not sure.

joint already between your lips, you hand the light to him and lean forward. his eyes are fixed on your mouth, the air silent but for the light wind in the trees and the rush of cars below and the flick and release of the lighter as the tip of the joint glows orange, a wordless neon sign a centimeter in diameter. a neon sign that, despite its wordlessness, draws yūji in. he forgets where he is for a moment; why he’s here if not to experience this sense of raw want.

he just so happens to glance down at the lighter as he places it back in your hand. there are words on it. if you want to fuck, smile when you hand me back. oh. he looks up to you and grins, any words he had silenced as you exhale and slip the joint between his lips.

“wait,” you say with a note of a smile in your own voice, and turn to face out to the view. it’s pretty at night, what you can see from the balcony overlooking the outskirts of the city.

†

out here you’ve got a bottle of cabernet, too. you don’t bother with glasses, just drink it straight from the bottle.

when your head feels light, you can’t remember how you got here. everything is warm, breeze tingling on your skin, and you’re leaning back against the sliding door and laughing at something yūji said. it’s so easy to laugh with him.

he says to you, “okay, i’ve been waiting,” as he passes the second joint of the night, burnt almost down to the filter, back to you. his fingers brush against your wrist when he pulls his hand away.

“waiting for what?”

he laughs. “d’you have a light?”

“huh, why— oh. hmm.”

†

what’s left of the joint is abandoned in an ashtray on your coffee table, the mostly empty wine bottle forgotten next to it.

yūji’s in your bed. he can’t be bothered to think when the clothes came off, but at some point they must have because at the very least he knows he didn’t show up here naked and now there’s nothing but the sheets as a barrier between your skin and his. strange.

it isn’t unusual for him to get hungry when he’s stoned. now he takes that out on you, licking and biting at your skin: shoulders, thighs, throat, wherever he can reach. his breath is warm against your skin, like a hot bath, a steamy shower room.

he goes down between your legs and it’s sweet and sticky… yes, this should satiate him. his hands grip at your waist, pulling you closer into him, and he’s crossed enough that he can stop thinking for a moment and just be here. no inhibitions, no memories or foresight, just now. just you, arching your back into the mattress and whimpering, biting down on your thumb because too soon it’s too much. you don’t want him to be done yet, you don’t want to be done yet.

oh well. he’s still got quite a bit more to give you. you’re driving him insane as you grind your hips against his face, his own rutting desperately into the mattress. to be fair, though, you could drive him insane doing nearly anything, and he’s just realizing that now and he tells you as he lifts his head to take a breath.

earth stops, spinning in place as you sit up a little. “what?”

he doesn’t say anything. he licks his lips and pins you down and kisses you. maybe that’s all the answer you need. it’s tepid and clear and you can understand everything now. you can understand that you need him touching you right now, you need him inside you, you need to be biting his lip. the metal of his piercing clicks against your teeth and it feels like electricity in your bones. your hands are on him, caressing absentmindedly; your head is nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“fuck me,” you breathe onto his tongue, and terushima yūji does not need to be told twice.

when he’s inside of you it’s like you’ve been missing a body part and now it’s returned; a severed limb reattached by some miracle. it is a miracle. the two of you, bare chests against each other, feels miraculous. where has this been all your life?

and where have you been all his life, how could he have been okay with that, with meeting you against the wall of some mediocre club and becoming just a sidepiece? how is it that he’s never much cared to be more?

maybe now the weed’s not keeping him from thinking, but doing the opposite; you’re underneath him moaning and then somehow you’re on top of him, your face pressed into his neck as you ride him, and his brain keeps going, say it. say it. say it. but neither of you are gone enough for him to do that without thinking.

ah, ah, ah, you’re breathing, infusing his skin with your ecstasy. music. his hands reach down to grab at your ass, helping you to move. you whimper. “yūji…”

“fuck, gonna make me cum, fuck.”

“mmh!” your thighs shake against his, your teeth burying themselves into the skin just above his collarbone as you lose control of yourself.

he flips you both over, moves you onto your stomach to take you from the back, grabbing your hips and pulling them back to meet his, body smacking hard against your ass as he watches you writhe, god, you’ve never been sexier. his fingers are gentle and barely there against your clit; it’s so much all at once. you need to scream but can’t get the sound out. there are tears on the pillow beneath you, it’s so good, so good, so fucking good, you’re so tight and you’re creaming on his cock again and again and he fucking loves it.

he groans long and low when he cums, burying himself deep inside you and filling you up as you sob out his name in between shaky breaths.

†

it’s in your bed, in soft cotton sheets now probably tainted with sweat and cum that yūji awakes. you’re there, too, still naked, your back to him and ass pressed up against his thigh. are you awake yet? you’re awake. you’ve got your phone in your hand, scrolling absently, and there’s something about that, the idea of it, that just…

you didn’t wake him. you didn’t leave him there. you didn’t make him go. it’s like you’ve been waiting for him to wake up.

the swish of the sheets and the shifting weight on the mattress as he sits up is enough to get your attention, and you roll over to face him. you give him a small smile, just the eyes.

“morning.”

“morning,” he responds. it’s quiet, but loud inside his head. you’re just staring up at him, eyes wide and full of something soft. fuck it. “can i ask you something?”

“go for it.”

“why— i mean, um, did you mean to pick me over him?”

you turn your gaze to the ceiling, thinking for a second before you give him your answer. “hm,” you say, “i guess i did.”

“why?”

there’s another pause. if anticipation could kill…

“i wish i could tell you.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

air circulates through the room all around you like ghosts.

“i don’t know why i did. but i did, so… there you go, i guess.” your voice carries in it a note that sounds something like desperation, like melancholia. much gentler, though. you want to be able to give him an answer. “are you… going to do something about it?”

he takes a second to think, too.

“can i stay?”

you drape an arm over his lap, press a little kiss on his hip as you nuzzle your face into his side. “please do.”

and there are more questions to be asked later—god knows how much later, though. but for now, yūji indulges himself in the fantasy of you being only his. it’s closer, now, brushing against his fingertips as he reaches up toward it. i don’t know why, you said to him moments ago, but maybe that’s better. there are depths of feeling that cannot be held by language: they can only be grasped through drowning in them. and, actually, he thinks, that wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑, 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚝; 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?

- jean-jacques rousseau, the origin of languages. 1781.

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

speakeasy | s. aizawa 

➳ tags ;; dirty talk, smut, fem!reader, aizawa being a menace, mirror sex?, readers wearing a dress, the word violate ?, petnames like good girl, praise kink, fingering etc. 

➳ wc ;; 1.6k

➳ a/n ;; well-spoken men make my brain empty n my kitty wet dslkfjskdf hi mr. aizawa sir.. i like u 

➳ plot ;; aizawa likes to talk you through everything, even filthy mirror sex

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

Aizawa is clasically well-spoken. 

He used to get made fun of for it when he was younger - especially in high school where his formal speech felt out of place for his age. The older he gets, the more attractive the quality becomes. He speaks so smoothly - doesn’t stutter when he talks at all. It’s always slow, concise, and to the point. 

The content of what he says matches his tone of voice well. Aizawa is a conversationalist almost by nature. Despite how quiet he is upon meeting him for the first time, if the subject interests - he could harp on about it for hours and hours. He’s just as eager to hear you respond, loves adding to your ideas and building a concept up until it reaches the ceiling.

He’s knowledgeable too. Unsurprisingly, he reads a lot. But he also has a bad habit of deep diving into obscure things. He knows a lot about how clothes are made and the way honeybees fly. He’s a natural at the retention of information - of both the important and unimportant kind. Aizawa makes habit of these things - the ability to speak and communicate anything he wants. 

His vocabulary is vast as seven seas and his voice is pleasant to listen to - a raspy baritone, low in his throat. You could listen to him talk all day. 

The problem only lies with how Aizawa likes to use his voice. Selective by nature, it can’t help but feel purposeful whenever he talks to you this way. You can almost feel the hum of his throat, how it gets. With his hand placed so carefully between your legs - all you can hear is that deep chuckle that he likes to. 

Aizawa is uncharacteristically built. His body is all muscle, and you can feel it against your back as he holds you this chest. Your legs are spread apart over his - seated comfortably in his lap as your being exposed. It doesn’t help that you can’t see him, can only listen to the way he speaks to you. 

His voice is warm as it ghosts the nape of your neck - it smells like spearmint and coffee and sleep. His tongue smooths over the side, sharp teeth sinking into soft flesh as a hand rests your thigh. He massages your legs with a hum - and you squirm at his overbearing presence. 

“You look beautiful today” 

The compliment is well-meaning. You nod absently at it. You dressed up for this date with no expectations, masking your surprise is proving difficult. It’s like he senses it.  

“Why’re you so nervous, love?” 

“You’re.. hands are uhm..” 

He pauses, a free hand settling right at your belly. His knuckles brush over lace panties with a crooked yet lazy grin. You can feel it against your clit. It throbs with anticipation and desire. A wetness forms between your legs, drips like a broken faucet with repetition. You shift your weight around, feeling his cock in the small of your back. 

“My hands? What about them?” 

Keep reading

today I will be presenting to you two concepts:

1. dad!bakugou calling his wife a MILF idk I think that's funny

2. drunk!reader who's so needy and horny and won't stop talking about how bakugou's dick is the best like THE BEST and practically begging him to fuck her so he does

he'll pound into her all "best dick huh? best you've ever had?" while she's screaming out "yes yes wanna make you feel good, does it feel good" and god how could he resist he knows you won't remember this tomorrow so as he's continuing his insane pace he leans down and grunts in your ear about how your the best pussy he's ever fucked (even though you're his first and only) and he's all "I guess best pussy gets the best dick huh?"

thank you for listening.

though i realize in retrospect it's a little different than what you discuss here... i literally loved both of these ideas so much that i just had to forgo discussing them altogether and instead simply combine them... so i really hope it ended up working out!

also: i havent written anything (much less smut) like this in AGES, so if its terrible, please just... deal with it lol (no im jk if it's bad im really sorry and i no longer exist).

either way, your brain is MAD JUICY... enjoy!

(warnings: breeding, kids, alcohol mention???)

-

The dick is sloppy— drunk and hazy, Bakugo knows it is… combined with the way you couldn’t keep from jumping on him after you left the restaurant, I mean, how could he not?

Steamed up car, your head tilted at an angle so as not to bash the low roof, naked thighs spread over his lap squeezing so tight he can hardly go in any direction except up… it’s really no wonder how anything is even getting said in between.

“K-Katsuki,“ you slur, grinding your hips against the rapid slamming of his, arms wrapped tight around his neck, “Katsuki, Katsuki, ‘suki—shit.”

He groans in response, fingers digging further into the pliant flesh of your asscheeks, lips brushing yours as he growls against you. “Tell me, baby, fuck, tell me.”

“You,” you stutter back, the sound of wet slaps in your ear and pleasure clouding your vision... due to the alcohol running through your veins or the white hot heat coiling in your pussy, you can’t really tell. “You, you’re the best, Kats, love you, love you so much.”

Bakugo keens forward at the words, heavy with breath as he clenches his teeth together and continues to nose himself further against your face. Drool spilling from the corner of his mouth, he drags your hips against his own roughly, fat cock nudging your G spot with every stroke as if to say thanks.

“The best?” he repeats, nearly snarling, hands running up and down your bouncing spine, “Best you’ve ever fuckin’ had?”

With closing eyes, you nod, Bakugo deliberately speeding up his thrusts as you lean down to meet his lips for a wet and uneven kiss that ends up being more of a moan straight into his mouth.

Sliding one hand over the plush dip of you waist, his thumb meets your clit, the calloused skin swirling circles that cause your knees to lock up and you to see stars, Bakugo having to use his other hand to keep you from slipping right off his dick.

“Baby,” you whine, your own bouncing slowing with lack of concentration, “c-c-cumming!”

You use one hand to pull roughly on the hair of Bakugo’s nape as you throw back your head and howl, clamping down tight onto his cock as if that will get him to lay up on what you know (or at least do when you aren’t fucked-out and tipsy) will be an overlay of overstimulation.

“Yeah, pretty girl?” Bakugo responds, heaving, even though you are no longer listening. “For me, right?”

Despite the waves of pleasure that overtake you, Bakugo doesn’t budge; thumb only increasing in speed as he groans at the feel of your body convulsing and your tight heat holding him in, instead starting to do the final bit of work lifting your hips for you.

Your hands now gripped tight to the meat of his shoulders and biceps, Bakugo pulls you up suddenly, this thick shaft greeting cool air with an incredibly seamless slide.

“W-wait, Kat—“ you mumble, eyes shooting open with realization of what’s to come…

Though he doesn’t listen, as maybe it’s too late, already slamming you back down onto his soaked thighs with his own desperate moan as he shoots his load deep and hot against your cervix.

-

“And nine months later you were born!”

Your son looks at you with a grimace, his lip pulled up enough to expose the sharp canines in his mouth as he raises an eyebrow, looking at you as though you just grew a second head.

“After you sloppy fucked in the car?” he asks, half-disgusted, half-annoyed, staring at from across the kitchen island. “You guys are fuckin’ nasty.”

“I don’t know... we had fun,” you tease, sending a look to the grouchy blonde sorting dishes beside your boy. “Plus, we were drunk!”

He wrinkles his nose. “Bleh, taking advantage of a drunk woman? Some hero you are, pops.”

Bakugo moves to take a swipe at your son, big fist landing atop the blonde curls that stick up from his head in a tight ruffle… shaking the boy around on his feet with his Pro Hero grip.

“You should be grateful for your old man,” he chides, gruffly. “If it weren’t for that night, you wouldn’t fuckin’ exist.”

“I doubt that,” your son immediately retorts, pointing through the door at the gurgling little girl currently playing in the large, living room playpen all three of you are keeping an eye on. “You’re so full of shit.”

Bakugo bristling with the language, you roll your eyes...

“You better watch that damn mouth, kid.”

And it’s your son’s turn to roll his, muttering under his breath something about someone being “so much worse,” though you smile when Bakugo doesn’t respond and instead stalks to your side, orange slippers whapping against the hardwood floors.

Glaring at the cutting board in front of you as he approaches, he mutters, “I didn’t take advantage of you, that little fucker.”

Jutting an elbow into him playfully as you turn away from the food with a laugh, you warn, “don’t call your son a fucker.”

Though the boy only sticks out his tongue at you both, slipping out of the room just as Bakugo raises a fist to send little sparks in his direction... and in his absence, Bakugo doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist and curve into your side, pressing your head sideways and leaving your bare neck exposed.

“You had fun that night, right baby?” he starts to whisper, lips pressing against your jugular, “Fuckin’ in my car?”

Before you can respond, however, one of Bakugo’s large hands now creeping over the swell of your ass... the sound of the kitchen door sliding open breaks the both of you from your trance.

Your son, now holding on tight to his matching counterpart, her own curls mussed from playtime, approaches you with a very familiar scowl on his face.

“What did I just say? Disgusting,” he says, ignoring the way Bakugo’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the remark, sidestepping him entirely to hand your daughter to you. “You’re a freak for letting him act like this, mom.”

Staring back at the big red and gooey eyes that gaze up at you, you smile knowingly at the remark despite how Bakugo himself is quick to interject.

“Son,” he enunciates, hand reaching for your side, “your mother is a fuckin’ milf.”

Gasping as if to scold him, you push gently against Bakugo with a shoulder, the man already grinning at the sight of your son turning to leave with a gag. Pride overtaking his features, he stops your butting immediately by wrapping his arms around your front and pulling both you and the baby snug in your hold against his chest.

With your son now long gone, he rests his head atop your shoulder and eyes on the cooing girl in your arms, pressing his lips against your cheek in both a whisper and a smirk.

“Best milf I ever fuckin’ had.”

kirishima cant keep his big hands off of ur belly when you tell him youre pregnant. everywhere you go together, his hand is on your belly, rubbing in soft, soothing circles. during your morning sickness, on dates, just walking around the store, his hand is always on your belly. watching his hand slowly get smaller and smaller compared to your belly makes him tear up and when your baby is born, he lays a big warm palm on their belly as gentle as possible and feels them breathing and cries bc he just loves his s/o and his baby so much 💚

Enji looks so peaceful when he sleeps 💤