Yaku X Reader - Blog Posts

Waking Him Up to Tell Him You Love Him (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

(Libero and Wing Spiker Version) Part 2

A/N: part 2 with Konoha even tho I don’t know his character👀 the pictures just don’t freaking fitttt

Nishinoya, Tanaka, Goshiki, and Kyoutani

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!😭😭❤️

Yaku Morisuke(Haikyuu)- Triple Feature

Kinktober 2020 — sex tape

A/N: something about yaku just makes me want to call him daddy in everything I write for him you know…

Description: A triple feature of some very questionable home videos…

Warning: filming, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, spitting, cumplay, mirror sex, mentions of maturbation, you called him daddy (1) time

Word count: 4707

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vid001.mp4

“God damn it, this is harder than I thought it would be…”

The crisp ring of your chuckle followed the mumbling groan of your boyfriend as he fixed the placement of his phone on the nightstand. Yaku’s face took up the entirety of the frame, with your grinning features peeking out from behind of his chestnut locks. The camera could not focus on his round eyes right at the very front but instead showed you clearly, the way you bit your lips as your eyes looked away from the camera all recorded down as an evidence that you were not as confident as you had thought you would be.

There were sounds of things shifting and clicking at the background, until he finally took a step back. His full face could finally get into the frame now that he wasn’t upfront, his eyes looking at the screen as his hands held mid-air, hoping that the device wouldn’t fall down.

“Ok…” he murmured as he turned around, still staring at the phone from the corner of his eyes before climbing onto the bed where you were already laying there to make sure it wouldn’t fall down the moment he let go, “I think this should work.”

Keep reading

Haikyuu

Karasuno

Nishinoya Yu

Kageyama Tobio

Hinata Shoyo

Tsukishima Kei

Nekoma

Kuroo Tetsurou

Morisuke Yaku

Fukurodani

Bokuto Kotaro

Akashi Keiji

Shiratoni

Wakatoshi Ushijima

Semi Eita

Satori Tendo

Aoba Johsai

Oikawa Tooru

Iwaizumi Hajime

Inarizaki

Shinsuke Kita

Miya Atsumu

Miya Osamu

Others

Meian Shugo

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Hoshiumi Korai

Status: The request box is open only for the monthly one-shot voting if the characters are chosen.

hey i loveee your stufff . really amazing. do you think you could do a yaku x female reader NSFW? you really dont have to . all loveee ☺️

Hiiii thank you for reading hehehe

Also, I'd love to 😩

Enjoy <333

--

Anon Asks: Yaku (NSFW)

You hadn’t expected Morisuke to be like this.

Not when you first started dating. Not when he’d leaned against the lockers with that sharp tongue and tight jaw, the kind of guy who made jabs at your clumsiness and then lingered a little too long when he thought you weren’t looking. He wasn’t the flirty type. He didn’t flirt—he challenged.

So you gave it right back.

At first, it was banter. Sidelong glances. Him stealing the last protein bar from your bag. You calling him a pest under your breath when he caught your stumble in practice and wouldn’t stop grinning for the rest of the week. You weren’t even sure when it started to feel like something else.

But the first time he kissed you—short, hard, like he couldn’t help himself—you felt it.

Tension. Power. A pressure right under the skin.

And what surprised you most was how fast that pressure exploded the second the door shut behind you.

You didn’t remember how you ended up against the wall, just the way his hands gripped your thighs and hauled you up like you weighed nothing. The sound of the towel hitting the floor. The warm thud of your back against tile. And the way he looked at you—really looked at you—like he was done talking. Like he was ready to prove a point.

“Morisuke—” you gasped as his mouth brushed your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin before he lined himself up and pushed in.

The stretch was instant and overwhelming. Sharp, fast, brutal in the best way. Your head tipped back, mouth falling open in a wordless cry as your legs tightened around his waist. He felt everywhere. Deep, filling, steady in a way that made your entire body light up.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His breathing was rough, his jaw clenched tight, his arms flexed as he adjusted your weight with practiced control.

You clung to him, nails dragging across his back.

He started moving, and your breath caught.

Tight, efficient thrusts, the kind that lifted you up and slammed you back down—over and over—with a rhythm so controlled it bordered on cruel. One hand held your thigh in a vice grip. The other pressed into the base of your spine, anchoring you while he drove into you with focused, brutal precision.

The slap of skin echoed sharply against the tile, water steaming around you from the still-running shower you’d forgotten to shut off. The air was wet, heavy, fogged with heat, but nothing was hotter than him—than the fire under his skin, the muscles straining against yours, the sheer force of his focus.

You buried your face in his shoulder, gasping into his skin, trying to keep the sounds in.

“Mori—fuck, I can’t—”

His grip tightened.

“You can,” he said, voice barely more than a breath. “You already are.”

You were. Falling apart in his arms. Your thighs burned. Your stomach clenched. Your mouth couldn’t form real words anymore—just moans and broken sobs of his name. You were trembling, barely hanging on.

And then he adjusted.

Just a small shift—his hips angled higher, deeper—and your gasp cracked into a cry.

“Right there?” he rasped, voice wrecked but smug. “Yeah. I know.”

You nodded—or tried to. Your head was tipped back, hair clinging to your damp forehead, and your body was too far gone to do anything but take it.

Then his thumb found your clit.

The pressure was firm, steady. Unrelenting.

You shattered.

The orgasm tore through you so hard it knocked the breath from your lungs. Your body locked up, every nerve alight, your walls clenching around him so tight he nearly buckled.

You cried out, voice cracking, thighs quaking in his arms.

He swore—sharp and raw—and shoved into you harder, hips grinding in deep as he came with a guttural sound against your neck. He spilled inside you, fingers bruising into your skin, his chest pressed flush to yours like he needed to keep you pinned there forever.

You didn’t come down—you just collapsed. All of you. Muscles limp, lungs empty, brain blank.

He held you up like it was nothing.

Didn’t let go.

Just stood there, still inside you, your legs tight around his waist, his mouth pressed against your jaw.

“Morisuke,” you whined, too soft, too shaken.

He kissed your cheek. Then your temple. Then lower.

With a voice hoarse and wrecked, he breathed against your skin, “Say that again.”

You did.

And his hands started to move again.

Because Morisuke wasn’t even close to done.

Pregnancy: Yaku

It was supposed to be one of your favorites.

Yaku stood proudly in front of the stove, dishing up a steaming plate of oyakodon—fluffy egg, juicy chicken, perfectly seasoned rice. You’d been craving something warm and comforting, and he’d been more than happy to oblige. He even made miso soup on the side, garnished just the way you liked it, with the little tofu cubes floating lazily in the bowl. The apartment smelled like soy sauce and dashi, rich and nostalgic.

You waddled into the kitchen with one hand on your lower back, the other absentmindedly tracing the edge of your growing bump, already smiling at the scent you knew so well.

But then—

It hit you.

The smell.

Hard.

You stopped short. The smile slipped from your face. Your nose crinkled, your eyes went wide, and your stomach lurched.

You gagged once, loud and sudden.

Yaku turned from the stove instantly, eyes narrowing with alarm. “Hey—are you okay?”

You waved him off, trying to speak, trying to play it off like you could power through it.

“Yeah, I just—” You gagged again, louder this time, one hand flying to your mouth. “It’s fine, I think I just need a second—”

Then your stomach gave up entirely.

The rich scent of simmered egg and soy sauce suddenly turned rancid in your senses, and before you could say a word, both hands flew to your mouth. You staggered toward the sink, breathing hard through your nose.

Yaku turned just in time to watch you sprint the rest of the way.

You barely made it. Gripping the edges of the basin, you gagged violently, doubling over as your body heaved with no warning. Your knees buckled slightly from the effort, and tears sprang to your eyes as you fought to keep control.

“Oh—oh my god,” Yaku choked out, dropping the plate onto the counter with a sharp clatter. His hand hovered midair, frozen, like he wasn’t sure if he should run toward you or flee entirely.

He chose you.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” he said, voice slightly high-pitched, his mouth tugging awkwardly to one side as he fought against his visible discomfort. His nose wrinkled despite himself, but he pressed a hand to your back, rubbing slow, shaky circles. “It’s okay. Just breathe. You got it.”

You were sobbing before you even lifted your head.

“I loved that dish,” you wailed, tears streaming freely now. “You made it perfectly and I—I threw up in front of you, and I can’t even eat it now, and I’m so sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said quickly, helping you upright and handing you a cool cloth from the fridge. “None of that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You wiped your mouth, sniffling. “But I ruined dinner.”

He glanced warily at the plate, now abandoned and beginning to cool. “Yeah, well, it’s not my best memory of oyakodon anymore, but that’s fine. It’ll survive.”

You hiccupped a wet laugh. “You’re grossed out.”

“I’m... challenged,” he admitted with a strained smile. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll gag quietly in the corner if I have to.”

You buried your face in his shoulder. “I hate that my body’s doing this. I hate that I wanted something so badly and then just—rejected it like that.”

He stroked your back, gentler now. “It’s not rejection. It’s just... a rebranding.”

You pulled back slightly, puffy-eyed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he said, tipping your chin up, “that we’re finding new favorites now. So tell me what you can stomach, and I’ll make it happen.”

You hesitated.

“…You’re not gonna like it.”

“I just watched you throw up mid-step and I stayed. Try me.”

“…Pickles.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

“With peanut butter.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And crushed ice.”

He blinked. “Separate or…?”

“Side dish.”

“Of course.”

“And I want a plain bagel. But I want to dip it in cream cheese and ketchup.”

He exhaled. “Naturally.”

“And maybe some frozen corn niblets? Not cooked. Just... straight from the freezer.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Making a list.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted, already walking to the counter. “Because you’re growing a whole human, and apparently that human is very specific.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Even if I hate this list.”

And with that, he kissed your temple, grabbed his keys, and set off to hunt down every absurd craving you’d dreamed up—with only a faint grimace and a stomach made of steel.

--

It took him two corner stores and a specialty deli, but Yaku returned triumphant, arms full of grocery bags and a look of determination on his face. He laid everything out on the coffee table like it was a five-star buffet: pickles, peanut butter, crushed ice in a big bowl, a plain bagel, cream cheese, ketchup, and a bag of frozen corn.

You were already curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, and your face lit up like the sun when you saw it all. “Oh my god,” you gasped, reaching for the pickles first and dipping one straight into the peanut butter without hesitation. “This is perfect.”

Yaku sat on the edge of the couch, watching with a blend of horror and awe as you crunched down on your Frankenstein meal with pure, genuine joy.

You munched happily, cheeks puffed out, eyes dreamy as you chewed. “Oh my god, I love you so much.”

He smiled, soft and full of affection. “I love you too.”

Then, quieter, barely a mumble as he stared at the bagel going into the ketchup-cream cheese dip: “This kid is gonna be weird.”

for @kcandyliciouss <3 | event masterpost

he told you he didn’t need sunscreen. said it like it was obvious. like he wasn’t spending half the day diving across hot sand with his shirt off.

yaku walks out of the bathroom with a towel low on his hips, hair damp, skin flushed and radiating heat. he doesn’t say anything at first. just crosses the room, jaw tight, arms stiff at his sides.

he smells faintly like strawberry mojito. your shower gel. the one he pretends not to like but still uses when he’s sore and sun-tired. it lingers behind the steam, sharp and sweet.

you’re already sitting on the edge of the bed, aftersun jar open beside you. he doesn’t ask. just turns around and waits.

his back is bad — deep red across the shoulders, uneven where the sun hit hardest. the kind of burn that makes even a shirt unbearable.

you rub the lotion between your palms and touch him carefully. he stiffens at first. winces.

“ouch,” he mutters.

“i know.”

he doesn’t complain again.

you work in silence, smoothing the cream across his back, down his sides, careful around the worst spots. he shifts once when your thumbs brush the his deep-red shoulder. otherwise, he doesn’t move.

the air smells like sugar and lime and heat. his skin slowly cools under your hands.

when you finish, you don’t pull away right away. you let your hand rest flat between his shoulder blades. his breathing’s slowed. his shoulders have dropped.

he turns his head slightly. doesn’t look at you, just says, quiet:

“you’re good at taking care of me.”

you don’t answer. just slide your hand down, light, careful, and press a kiss to the space between his shoulders — burned and lotion-slicked and warm.

he lets you. says nothing. just sits there with you, still smelling like strawberries and mint, like he didn’t mean to need this but doesn’t want it to end.

© everything here is written with care — please don’t repost, copy, or alter my work without permission.

012. grudges, growth, and you — yaku morisuke.

wc: 0.6k cw: gn!reader. enemies to lovers <3 a/n: i've never particularly favored yaku, but this makes me like him a little more haha <3 i hope you enjoy! requested by @rumik09 and @solvisun

you’ve known yaku since you were six, and you’ve wanted to throw a dodgeball at his face since approximately the second week.

he called you a cheater during p.e. and you spent the rest of elementary school making his life mildly inconvenient. swapping his indoor shoes. hiding his pencil case. once, in fifth grade, you signed him up for the school play and gave him the role of “talking tree #3.” he never forgave you.

in return, he told your entire class you had a crush on the music teacher.

by middle school, your war had quieted into occasional eye-rolls and passive-aggressive comments.

by high school, it had become something stranger.

“you’re short,” you tell him in second year.

“you’re loud,” he snaps back.

you share a math class. he borrows your notes once when he’s sick and grumbles out a “thanks” like it burns his throat.

you shrug. “you’d do the same.”

he stares at you like you’ve said something deeply offensive.

“i wouldn’t,” he mutters.

but next week, when you’re out with a fever, he drops off your homework at your front gate without saying anything.

you find out because your mom tells you a “tiny blonde boy with a very serious face” came by.

you text him: that was weirdly nice of you.

he replies: shut up or i’ll take it back.

in third year, he becomes someone you text when you can’t sleep.

not often. just… sometimes.

on nights when the pressure feels too loud or your brain won’t shut up. you don’t say anything serious. just little things.

what if we all just dropped out and became frogs.

he replies three minutes later: you wouldn’t survive the winter. frogs don’t have heaters.

you laugh into your pillow and think maybe this thing between you isn’t war anymore.

you end up at the same college.

not on purpose.

just luck. or bad luck. depending on the day.

you spot him across campus during orientation and your heart does something weird.

you don’t say hi.

he does.

“oh great,” he mutters, falling into step beside you like it’s inevitable. “you again.”

you grin. “missed me?”

“like a cavity.”

but his smile lingers a little too long.

you grow into something real slowly.

too slowly, maybe.

he makes tea for you when you’re up late studying. never coffee. he says it makes your hands shake.

you throw a pillow at him once for memorizing your class schedule. he throws it back and adds a blanket over your shoulders before leaving your dorm.

neither of you says the word for it.

not until third year.

you’re on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by snack wrappers and overdue assignments. you’ve been laughing for twenty minutes about a terrible movie.

your face hurts. your stomach aches.

he’s looking at you with this expression like he can’t believe you’re real.

you stop laughing.

he doesn’t.

“what,” you say, suspicious.

“nothing,” he says, but his ears go pink.

you sit up. “what?”

he sighs. presses a hand to his face.

“i used to hate you,” he mumbles.

“i know.”

“like, really hate you.”

“yeah. you made that clear.”

he glances at you. then away.

“i don’t anymore.”

you go quiet.

“okay,” you say finally.

“okay,” he repeats.

you stare at each other.

then you say it.

not dramatic. not heavy. not a confession.

just honest.

“i don’t hate you either.”

his face breaks into something unsure and bright and so very yaku.

and when he leans in, you don’t flinch.

you kiss like you’re still unsure what to call this thing between you.

but it’s soft. and a little clumsy. and warm.

after, he doesn’t say anything.

taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @oligbia @megapteraurelia @iwantfoodpleasebuymefood

© everything here is written with care — please don’t repost, copy, or alter my work without permission.