Kita Would Probably Throw A Hydrocolloid Patch On It 🥺

the cakes turn out gorgeous: for the team, an airy almond chiffon cake with blackberry-lime curd and a dreamy raspberry swiss meringue buttercream and for the training staff, a nutty sesame olive oil with a blackberry-shiso jam, and salty swiss meringue buttercream. for the female-led and hired social media team, a lush devil's food cake with raspberry coulis and and an espresso buttercream, and finished with fresh flowers for a touch of style. the cakes are set up on display for everyone to ooh and ahh after, and for the last time, you check over the exact headcount of guests before the cakes are rolled back into the make shift assembly space to be portioned out and served.

the staff members protest when you insist on helping them serve the cake, saying that they couldn't ask you to do even more than everything you've already done, but you wave them away with a smile.

"i really love seeing people eat my cake," you beam a little harder than you really need to. "you can't imagine the joy i feel whenever i get to see it."

the second you step into the dining area where everyone is sitting after the banquet dinner, your eyes start scanning across the room for the guy. that one, beefy, surly looking guy.

and there he is, at the mixed staff table, sitting between an older bearded man and a man with wildly spiky hair. you paste a cheerful smile on your face, and roll your cart right over, setting down slices of cake for each person.

when you come around to him, his eyes are wary. good. the prick recognizes you.

"h-hello," you force a timid tremor in your voice and smile as nervously as you can. his brows furrows. "w-would you like a s-slice of sesame oil c-cake, or a different cake?"

"sesame," he says tersely, and you make a show of flinching and forcing a tight smile.

"of course, r-right away!"

"i know iwa-san's face can be a little scary," the spiky haired man sitting next to him pipes up with an easy going smile. "but there's no need to be intimidated by him. he's a nice guy."

you push out a high little laugh. "ah, yeah, i'm - i'm sure he can be. i ran into him in the hallway, and he, uh. he can really raise his voice."

the social media girls sitting at the end of the table look up from their conversation, while the bearded man frowns. the spiky haired man raises a brow.

"oh?"

"oh, but it was an extenuating circumstance, i would never blame him!" you exclaim. "he was handling two guys who weren't feeling well, so I'm sure he was just caught up in the heat of the moment."

"that's-!" iwa sputters indignantly. "you were-!"

"ah, wrangling those boys gets the better of us all at some point, iwazumi-kun," the bearded man claps his shoulder sympathetically. "you should take care to rest well, especially now that the year is over. have some cake."

"she-" he sputters, feeling utterly accused. you blink at him, innocent as a lamb, and set down his slice.

"i hope y-you like it, iwaizumi-san," you simper. his eyes narrow at you, gripping his fork and stabbing the cake with more force than necessary.

"is it good?" you ask, eyes gleaming with hope. the bearded man smiles at him encouragingly, and the spiky haired man sits back, watching with some measure of amusement.

"it is," he swallowed, forcing a smile that looks like someone is pointing a gun at his head. "it's very good."

"well, i'm glad," you smile. "i love it when people enjoy eating my cakes."

meet ugly with iwaizumi hajime athletic trainer where you’re catering the dessert table at the Olympic Training Center's End of Year Celebration. You’re covered up to your elbows in swiss meringue buttercream, iwaizumi is wrangling two drunk volleyball players about to vomit all over him, and there’s only one available bathroom left to use.

your eyes and his meet from either end of the hallway - he can clearly see you're covered in buttercream and you can clearly see two gigantic men being wrangled like puppies by the backs of their shirts, both slurring happily about how much they love volleyball and how much they love each other, bro.

in the center of the hallway, equidistant from either one of you, is the door to the only unoccupied sink on the first floor of the building.

of all the men in the world you would normally be willing to pick a fight with, a surly looking athletic trained with flexing biceps is not the first one you would choose to tangle with. but between your mixer dying on you, the two previous batches of buttercream that split on you, and the gigantic celebration cakes for the team, staff and the social media team still waiting to be frosted, you're willing to take your chances.

"hey!" he barks in shock, as soon as he realizes you're booking it to the door. Atsumu and Bokuto make alarmingly queasy sounds when he starts running in earnest to get to the door before you. "hey, stop! seriously?"

bokuto squawks, when Iwaizumi bodily swings his limp body across the threshold of the door, eyes narrowed at your buttercreamed hand just beginning to pull the door handle.

"pardon me," he says, low and deadly serious. "but i have two sick idiots about to blow chunks all over the walls."

"i have buttercream in my hair," you huff, eyes narrowed. "and three unfinished cakes waiting for me. i get you're in some sucky shit, but work trumps pukey people."

"urgh, iwa-san," atsumu mutters, strained, his forehead beading with sweat. "i think i'm gonna be sick."

"hold it in, you little bastard!" iwazumi barks, before turning back to you. "come on, can't you just wait 10 minutes?"

"i'm already running behind on my cooling and setting schedule," you snap back. "and i'll literally be done within in, like, two minutes!"

bokuto groans, hands coming up to hold his belly. "oh, man. i don't think i can wait 5."

iwaizumi gives you a sharp look. "you want shit and puke on the carpets?"

"you want to fuck with my job?"

"i don't give a damn if your cakes come out late!" he snarls. "frankly, it sounds like you have bad time management skills."

"and you sound like you can eat my ass!"

at that moment, atsumu lurches forward, hand slapping over his face as he shoves past the two of you and steps over bokuto. before the door even closes, you can already the retching sounds of him vomiting into a toilet.

"oh shit, i'm gonna shit myself," bokuto mutters, pushing up onto his hands and knees, drunkenly crawling on all fours as he pushes open the door.

"oi! bokuto, at least stand up!" iwaizumi shouts, only to get a vaguely panicked "no way, man, it's about to come out!"

Iwaizumi gives up, rubbing his forehead and counting slow breaths, almost as if he's completely dismissed the fact that you're even there.

spite is like acid on the back of your tongue.

fine. fine. you're not unwilling to recognize when you've been defeated. but this is not how you go out against this guy.

He's alive and happy in our hearts 💕

AS HE SHOULD FFS MY MOUTH IS WIDE OPEN AT ANY TIME SIR

suna would make fun of me for being obsessed w him but then threaten to shove his tongue down my throat if another dude makes eyes at me in public smh

oh god. oh my god. iwaizumi and milf reader. you're freshly divorced, finding yourself after being in a relationship with you ex, and you're going back to the gym again. you're so nervous about being surrounded by all the beefy gym rats, and you're self conscious about how your belly hasn't never full snapped back after you gave birth, and how much your metabolism has changed and has started to store weight in new places. it never once crosses your mind that the surly looking lifter who is 10 years younger than you, is absolutely panting over you, and thinks about nothing else but pinning you up against the wall and rocking his dick up inside you, and showing you just how strong he is.

bokuto asks in the locker room “guys what do i do my gf wont stop squirting all over my bed everytime we fuck 🥺” and then he gets smacked upside the head by several teammates who think hes bragging but he genuinely doesnt know what to do at this point

bokuto being the only one out of the msby black jackals with a girlfriend… all of them absolutely ravenous because bokuto doesn’t know when to stop talking sometimes, chattering about the extensive sex lives the two of you share-

asking them things they wouldn’t ever get a taste of because bokuto is just so good at fucking you.

it’s always inquiries about what to do for times when you convulse around his cock so bad he has to hold you down tight in fear of hurting yourself, or how to… direct your squirt in a way that doesn’t end up cascading down his toned stomach- not that he doesn’t like it, he loves it, but he feels guilty for the shy look, mortified gaze you give him after, watching the planes of his tummy drip with it.

they all stare, sitting in nothing but their black little uniformed shorts, the air in the locker room so heavy and thick with how they’re breathing- they’ve seen you, know what you look like, and the image painted in their head is so good they’re squirming as bokuto babbles on, oblivious to it all- genuinely asking for advice to men who sit and pant like dogs, lusting over you.

imagine being in the middle of Eremin, only Eren is initially the one who wants you. Armin feels a little affronted, because isn't he a good boy for daddy? Doesn't he bust it wide for Daddy every night, make Daddy feel good? Eren reassures him with hushed kisses and soft words that Armin is his baby boy and that he loves him, but Daddy's also falling in love with another girl and he really wants Armin to just give it a try. Just once. If baby boy doesn't love it, it's not on the table anymore and that'll be the end of that.

Armin who glowers at the sight of you, when Eren lets you in with a kiss and purr of "Hey, honey". You're staring at him with those big Bambi eyes, like you don't know what you're doing, but Armin knows in his heart that you're just a home-wreaking whore and hw'a only doing this just because Daddy wants it. It's not like his heart is beating harder at the way you and Eren are looking at each other, Eren's calloused hand rasping softly against your satiny skin. It's not like he's swallowing at the sight of you on Daddy's lap, mouths moulded together as the two of you pet and grind at each other sensually. It's not like he's hard at the sight of Eren's fingers down your underwear and the way your face twists up with mindless pleasure as Eren makes you come on his hand. It's not like he's panting and shaking with desire when Eren crooks a finger at him, and he crawls on all fours and eager licks your pussy juices off of Daddy's fingers with a low groan of satisfaction.

When you quietly plead for Daddy's dick and Eren beckons you over, Eren gives Armin an amused, taunting sort of look that has Armin's balls tightening and his belly burning with shame and he can only watch, livid as Eren works his cock into your glistening cunt. He tells himself that he's not jealous of the noises you're making, or the noises that Daddy's making, or the way your pussy squelches deliciously with every thrust.

Who eventually bullies himself between the two of you, shoving you away as he sits himself down on Eren's cock, hot and demanding. "No," he says at you, imperiously. "I'm Daddy's favorite pussy."

Your lower lip trembles and you look at Eren with a sort of fragile uncertainty that has Armin feeling only a little bit bad. Eren chuckles lightly, but grips Armin's hips harder than usual, silently communicating his displeasure.

"Baby boy doesn't know how to share yet, honey," he says, thrusting up punishingly into Armin, who moans loudly in surprise. "He wasn't very nice to you, was he?"

"No," you whisper, looking up timidly through your lashes as Eren manhandles Armin onto all fours, who moans happily with his eyes closed at Eren's attention. The tight squeeze of Eren's fist around Armin dick is enough to have Armin's heart racing, but his eyes fly open when the tip of his dick kisses something warm and wet and soft. He stares down at you, realizing that Eren's positioned Armin directly above you, and is currently teasing the head of Armin's cock against your entrance.

"What—" Armin gasps, choking when Eren tightens his grip and swipes the flared tip right over your swollen clit. You cry out, and the combined noise and sensation are enough to make Armin's dick pulse urgently. "Daddy, Daddy, I—"

"You were mean to Honey," Eren says calmly, almost dispassionately, hand working sinister and irresistible on Armin's cock. "You didn't like watching Daddy fuck her?"

Armin wants to wail. "No! I'm Daddy's favorite! Daddy love my pussy best!"

"I love your pussy," Eren whispers in his ear, teeth catching on Armin's lobe, squeezing Armin's ass for good measure. "But you don't get to be mean to Honey like that. Not when she's been such a good girl. Make it up to her. Fuck her pussy like you want me to fuck your's. If you make her cum, Daddy will make you cum, too."

You and Armin can only stare at each other, wide-eyed and shocked, until Eren gives a crust thrust of his hips into Armin and forces Armin's cock in you. Armin immediately buries his face in your shoulder and screams with pleasure, and you wrap your arms around him, whining piteously.

"Daddy's not gonna repeat himself," Eren pants, squeezing the base of his cock at the sight of you two under him.

Armin scoops your thighs over his shoulders and immediately starts pounding at your pussy, dick pulsing and sweat beading at his brow. You're so slippery-silky wet, your muscles swallowing his cock up until he's ball-deep and your slick is dripping down his scrotum and down his legs. "Oh my god, I didn't—I didn't realize—" he babbles, half-garbled, as you're moaning so sweet in his ear.

"I can love your pussy and her pussy," Eren pants as he humps up against Armin's ass. "Both are so good, baby boy. See? Baby girl's pussy so tight, you're gonna put a whole kindergarten up in her. C'mon, put your back into it, make it good for her. Don't you wanna make it good for our baby girl?"

"Yes," Armin sobs, thrusting into you with a vengeance at Eren's words. His hips slap wet and sloppy against you, his entire abdomen with with your arousal, as you whine and buck up against him, straining to widen your legs and let him fuck even deeper. "Yes, yes, yes! Yes! Make baby girl feel good, make her cum!"

He presses his damp forehead to your's, kissing your mouth desperately. "Gonna make you cum, honey, gonna make it so good for you," he pants, rolling his his torturously slow and hissing at the way your face twists with pleasure and you start to whimper and squirm.

"Too much, too much—"

"Stop running from this dick," Armin growls, yanking you back underneath him, shoving your face into the bed and humping you from the back, as his other hand slithers down beneath your body and pats frantically at your clit. "Gimme this pussy, little brat, c'mon, be good girl, honey."

He fucks you until you scream and thrash and wet the bed, drunkenly rasping in your ear for you to squirt one more time, just one more time.

Eren yanks hims back, grabs Armin's pussy-slicked cock. "Good boy," he growls into Armin's cheek. "Good boy, making our honey feel good. You get to cum now."

But much to Eren's surprise, Armin wriggles out of his grip. "No," Armin grins, a little manic, as he hunches over where you're whining and sobbing, maneuvering you back onto your back, sinking back into the wet pout of your pussy, and offering his ass to Eren at the same time. You're nearly hysterical, already squirting weakly at just the thick stretch of Armin's cock and the press of his pubic bone against your clit.

"Use me to fuck baby girl, Daddy," Armin says, hungry and down-right evil.

And who is Daddy to refuse, after he started this whole mess?

i- i need to go touch g-g-grass

i think it also means he's really into it when you do a lot of cute, domestic things. gets butterflies when he sees the laundry you've folded for your little household, and gets a little too excited when he finds you cooking or baking something yummy. loves it when you pack him a bento, and write him a little love note. he's a staunch feminist, so it embarrasses him a little when he realizes just how manly he feels when you cling close to him when weaving through a crowd together, or how important he feels when you watch him take his first few bites when you both have dinner together.

I think Iwa just really thrives in that traditionally masculine role. Just really to takes being a provider, protector, and pleaser. Def the kind of guy to touch his lady’s waist when he needs to skirt by her, and who gets up early to shovel your car out from the snow. Calls you at the supermarket when you ask him to pick up some groceries if he has a question about something on your list, and keeps an eye out for any interesting treats that you might like. Brings home flowers on the regular, and has a strict no checking work rule for the weekends because he values his quality time with you. Makes sure he’s always walking between you and the road, and stays eagle eyed for any unsavory figures. just a solid, dependable man.

You’re asking him if he likes your lilac cardigan better than your gingham blouse and he’s wondering what the best breast pump and baby seat on the market is right now.

Nanami sees you dressed up for the masculine gaze, and compliments you on how nice you look, pulls out your chair at dinner, is ever the gentleman because he wants you to know how much he respects you, no matter what you wear.

Nanami sees you dressed for the feminine gaze, and seems completely fine on the outside, but is panicking internally because he's about to get you pregnant.

It's time for Nini's Soft and Horny Violence—

dilf!Miya Osamu who's packed on a some weight after years of running a restaurant and who's mostly given up on finding love after the ugly divorce he had with his ex. Who constantly feels guilty, for not being a more attentive husband, for getting complacent, for being impatient and short and snappish. Who's resigned himself to a life as a workaholic.

Who blushes a mottled pink when you first walk into his onigiri shop and after eating one onigiri and laughing at his stupid jokes, you start aggressively hitting on him. You're young, he tells himself, you don't know what you want. (But you do. You're chasing your dreams, living your best life, and now, you want him to take you on a date and make love to you.) He can't deny how easy the chemistry is with you, and how easily you make him laugh. He tries to turn you down gently, but you dig your heels in, insisting that he take you a date. Why? Because you're a pretty girl and he's clearly feeling the chemistry and you're feeling the chemistry, so what does he have to lose?

Who eventually relents, and invites you to Onigiri Miya after hours. Who painstakingly cleans the countertops and carefully arranges a menu for you based on your favorite onigiri flavors. Who frets when you're five minutes late, wondering if he's the sad older man who's been flaked on by some pretty girl that he really thought he had a chance with. Who feels a rush of relief when you run in, panting and sweaty, apologizing profusely because of a detour you had to take on the way due to construction. Who feeds you every single onigiri, preferring to hear you babble on and on about your interests, because your enthusiasm and excitement is so infection that he can't help but also grin and get excited, too. Whose jaw drops when you grab his finger and slowly, slowly suck sauce off of it. Who thinks "fuck it" before grabbing your chin and kissing you.

Who can barely manage to get you upstairs fast enough (his pants are already unbuckles by the time you two reach his door, your hand working far too distractingly on his dick). Who can tell that how young you are because you're so eager and desperate, barely capable of slowing down and actually enjoying the sex. Who whispers in your ear, "slow down, beautiful, we've got all the time in the world", and savors the shiver and weak little noise you make because you've been so aggressive and you've kept him on his toes all night, so it's nice to get to turn the tables. Who eats your pussy, slow and intense, until you're wailing after multiple orgasms and you're shoving him away (he just grins, wipes his face with the back of his hand, and says "wow"). Who teases you cruelly, dipping into your pussy with the fat stretch of his dick, until you're nearly sobbing for it. Who spends the night making intense love to you, showing all the wonderful things that come with fucking an older man. Who feels like a fucking god, as he kneels over your sex-slick body and drinks in your desperate wailing, knowing that you'll never want a younger man. Who makes a broken noise when he finally cums, dick pulsing insistently when you whine longingly for it down your throat, all over your titties and the lips of your pussy.

Who makes you blueberry waffles and an omelet for breakfast the next morning. Who smiles, eager and hungry, when you tell him that you want to keep seeing him. He wants to play it cool, he really does, but God, if he doesn't want to take you back to bed and make love to you over and over again. He's over ten years older than you, but God, if you don't make him feel like he's just a teenager falling in love for the very first time all over again.

Oh my god my pussy and eyes are wet right now aljkshdjkasd please I love all of this. Dad bod!Osamu just hits different and dilf!Osamu?!?! Lord have mercy on my poor brain I can't. He's skilled and he knows it, but he's spent more time working on the business than his bedroom skills lately, and he's worried he's a little rusty. But you fall apart so easily underneath him, reduced to a babbling, begging mess that has his ego and cock swelling. He knows he doesn't have the stamina of his youth, so he takes his time pulling you apart.

He's always liked eating pussy, but you make it that much sweeter tugging on his hair and whining his name like that. And you're so enthusiastic, grinding against his face, rutting your hips along his tongue, making him feel wanted and desired.

And PLS. The "slow down, beautiful" made my heart FLUTTER.

"Kenma."

The game buzzes on, the battle music intensifying. The thing his character is facing has changed, taking on its second form as Kenma's character rolls and swings its sword. The man himself is curled into his knees, chest tucked forward in anticipation, like he's about to hop out of his chair.

"Ke-"

"In a second," he cuts you off. His unblinking eyes never leave the screen, peering through his blonde bangs. "I just have to beat this boss."

With a huff, you sink back into your chair.

"Last time you said 'just a second' it took you two days to beat the damn thing," you remind him. "I'm not immortal-- I don't have time to sit around for you."

Frankly, you often forget Kenma is immortal until moments like that. You had always thought that vampires would be menacing or carry some sort of grandeur, but everyone you've met has been so spectacularly normal. Kenma, for instance, seems like every other guy your age: aloof and obsessed with video games.

"Get bitten then," he shrugs. "Kuroo would be happy to."

Your spine trills at the thought of it. When you first met Kuroo, you thought her was odd in the most normal way possible. He was practically nocturnal because he claimed to work remotely overseas, but he still went to bars and played indoor volleyball: average activities for an average man-

Or, that's what you thought, until you learned about the whole vampire thing.

Honestly, it's only made you more attracted to him. The mystery, the danger-- what's not to love? You'd be lying if you said you had never thought of his teeth on you, his hands on your body-

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

Kenma's head whips around. This game doesn't pause; the monster smacks his avatar across the screen.

"You're turning?" His voice is either bright with surprise or shock. You've known Kenma for a while now and you still can't seem to read his motivations. You're not sure why Kuroo incorporated you into the fold of his undead friend group, but here you are, sitting in their living room.

"No, uh-" What you're about to ask suddenly feels silly. "I wanted to... Can I see your teeth?"

Kenma's expression settles and he picks up the controller that you hadn't realized he dropped.

"I died for that?" He flicks the game off. "You could have waited for that. I'll still have teeth in a week."

You have to bit your tongue to stop yourself from losing your mind. Kenma just goes back to gaming, eyes narrowing with effort.

"I could be dead in a week."

"You won't be."

"I could be," you say. "I could have a stroke at any moment."

"You won't." He mashes the buttons extra hard, so hard the plastic creaks. "And if you did, we'd know before you did."

The character dies much earlier than it usually does.

"How would you know if I had a stroke before I did?"

"It smells sour when..." His eyes finally turn your way again. "Whatever. It's fine."

"Fine to touch?" you say.

He beckons you over with a nod of his chin. "Yeah."

Pushing off from your seat, you walk over to where he's sitting. Kenma doesn't bother to stand. He tilts his head back, looking up at you with a slight smile.

Already, you can see them. The sharp, vivid white teeth behind his pale lips. They have the usual shape, but anything uncanny edge makes your skin crawl. It's something you can't quite place, maybe something not there at all.

To get closer, you slide a leg onto his chair, angling yourself over him the best that you can. You're surprised when his hand rests on your thigh for support.

"Don't look so scared," Kenma says, a bit too coy for your liking.

You hadn't realized you'd been making a face at all.

"Just don't bite me."

Kenma opens his mouth and his teeth catch the dim light, strange for how dry his mouth seems to be. His canines are slightly elongated, just a hair more than a usual human. Gingerly, you run your fingers across the front of his teeth, then down to their edges. There's almost a razors edge to them, enough that you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint catching.

"Sharp," you quip. You leave a pause for Kenma to respond, but then you realize he can't, not with his mouth open for you. He just watches you, eyes flickering from one of your eyes to the other.

This isn't intimate, you remind yourself. It's scientific curiosity.

It can't be intimate, because you like Kuroo. Not Kenma. No, you don't like it at all that his hands are around your waist and you're cupping his cheek with your free hand, that his breath somehow smells soothing-

His canines seem longer now. More jagged, sharp. You press the pad of your thumb against it and watch how your skin easily skins in, no resistenxe whatsoever. Then, you pull away. A drop of blood wells up at the spot; there's no pain whatsoever, but the thumb tingles, like menthol and cocaine, riveting and calming all at once.

Kenma leans into the palm of your hand, then cranes his neck ever so slightly to envelop your finger in his lips. It's the most delicate of touches, a ghost of a memory of a kiss, but when he pulls away, crimson has settled into the cracks of his lips.

"Your heart's beating-" his tongue runs over his lower lip. "Really fast."

Kenma pulls you closer, arms now tight around your waist. You don't know when you got so close, when your bodies suddenly were pushed together, but now they are--

and now your finger is in his mouth. The gentle, crushing pressure of suction surprises you, but not more than the desperate whine he makes when blood hits his tongue.

That buzzing had spread up your arm and you can suddenly feel it, feel how your heart runs heavy and fast for him. Kenma's eyes are so lidded, barely open, heavy with want, that you can barely make out how his pupils have narrowed into cat scratch slits.

"Oh," you babble. "Oh, it's--"

"Feels good?" Kenma isn't speaking, but you can hear his voice.

"Y-yeah."

"I can make you feel good." There can't be that much blood from that tiny spot, but Kenma swallows deep as if there is. "Anytime you want."

The plush of his tongue swipes up your digit. Oh, maybe you are bleeding out. Maybe he's killing you. You're hot and cold and weak and strong and, and, and--

"You never have to ask Kuroo for-"

The front door of the apartment slams closed. A familiar set of boisterous laughter echoes through the halls-- Bokuto and Kuroo are hone. When you pull away, Kenma gives no resistance, his eyes still fixated on you.

An unjust guilt rises in your throat. You examine your hand, expecting a torrent of blood, only to be greeted with the smallest blossom on your finger tip.

"Were we supposed to do that?" you whisper.

"It's fine." Kenma adjusts himself in his chair, pulling at his pant legs. "They'll scold me, not you."

That doesn't make you feel better.

"Thanks," you say, awkwardly heading for the door. "For the-- thanks."

"Hey," he's using his real voice this time. You pause, turning back to him to catch his wide, Cheshire grin. "Thanks for the snack."