#froggy’s seijoh4 nonsense

[no1frogfan]

Untitled Iwa/Seijoh4 drabble

Iwaizumi x gn reader (x the rest of Seijoh4 a bit)

Word count: ~800

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MDNI, handjob, blowjob (sort of). Iwa has a serious hand fetish, reader has small hands

Note: I’ve been thinking about the Seijoh4 and reader together as camp counselors or employees at a secluded vacation spot or something and it evolved into…this. My brain has been overrun and I need to exorcise it. It’s all so smutty y’all. I’m down bad for Iwa and Issei and the other boys are just lucky to be along for the ride lol

Mattsun | Makki

You cut the deck in half, sliding the halves closer to deftly riffle and interweave the stacks. The ends are pushed toward each other, the center bending upward to bridge the halves back together and square the deck. The tendons in the back of your hands ripple in concert with each movement of your fingers. You cut the deck in half again, riffling, bridging, squaring, repeating practiced movements. Iwaizumi is entranced.

“You’re good at that.” He rasps.

“Too bad being good at shuffling doesn’t translate to being good at playing.” You gesture at the dwindling pile of makeshift poker chips beside you.

The five of you have guests to take care of bright and early, but here you all are drinking and playing cards into the wee hours, long after everyone else has gone to bed.

“If you run out of chips, we can always switch to strip poker,” Matsukawa drawls.

That makes you laugh. “Very funny, Mattsun. I clearly wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s the point,” Makki snickers beside you.

You roll your eyes as you square the deck a final time. Iwaizumi stares as you deal, fingertips skimming nimbly over the deck, flicking your wrist to slide cards across the table that settle in neat piles in front of each of them.

He finds himself watching your hands too often these days.

He likes it when you drink coffee in the mornings, wrapping both of your small hands fully around the mug to bring it to your lips. You like to savor your coffee, the heat of it seeping into you and waking you up almost as much as the caffeine.

He likes it when you speak, elegant gestures paralleling your words. Sometimes counting off a to-do list or drumming your fingers. Other times tucking your hair behind your ears or darting around animatedly. Occasionally, when he ignores you, you’ll squeeze his arm to get his attention.

He likes it when you help the guests into their life vests, methodically clasping each buckle and tightening each strap, then running your hands back over to double-check every connection before lifting the younger kids into the boat. Your hands are strong then, blunt nails indenting the foam of the vests.

It’s a daily habit now for him to imagine how they’d feel on him. As streams of hot water run down his body every night, he envisions them firmly kneading his broad shoulders, caressing the wide expanse of his chest, greedily trailing down his muscled stomach. Maybe you’d skim your fingers up his sturdy thighs as you kneel in front of him, desire soaking through your underwear, begging to touch him.

And when he lets you, when you finally reach out and hold him, would you be able to wrap around him with one hand? Or would you need both to fully encircle him?

Would you be eager to finish him like that, lust-filled eyes watching him crumble under your touch? Maybe you’d enjoy using one hand to softly massage his balls while the other pumps his cock, occasionally swirling your wrist to smear the precum gathering at his slit. Or perhaps you’d prefer to tease him, stroking him languidly, letting his pleasure transform oh so slowly into an unbearable urgency.

And when you push him to the brink, when he can't hold back any longer, would you want him to make a mess of you, to splatter his cum on your cheeks and have it drip down your wrists? Would you want him to watch as you lick your fingers clean? Or would you stretch out your tongue at the last moment and take him into your mouth, hungry for—

“Helloooo? Earth to Iwa-channnn?” Oikawa’s sing-song voice rips Iwaizumi out of his thoughts. “Finally! It’s your turn. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll fold.”

Iwaizumi blinks rapidly. Four pairs of eyes stare at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement. “In your dreams, Crappykawa.”

He finally studies the cards in his hand while the others go back to chatting. On his left, Mattsun lets out a snort. Iwaizumi glances over. Matsukawa raises his eyebrows, pointedly looking down at Iwaizumi’s lap before meeting his eyes again, silently mouthing, “Really?”

Iwaizumi reddens, shooting Mattsun a glare before turning back to his cards. He doesn’t need to look down to know there’s a painful erection straining against his shorts. For once, he’s glad you’re not sitting next to him, that he’s flanked by Mattsun and Makki tonight. He’s certain they’ll keep his secret because he’s watched them too, and he knows they’ve imagined doing the exact same things to you.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #froggy’s seijoh4 nonsense #froggy scribbles

[no1frogfan]

Untitled Mattsun/Seijoh4 drabble

Matsukawa x gn reader (x the rest of Seijoh4 a bit)

Word count: ~900

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MDNI. Deep throating, throat fucking, ball sucking, a bit of penetration & threesome. Mattsun’s more of a creep than Iwa and he wants to put your mouth to good use

Note: More Seijoh4 nonsense. The dynamic between the four of them is delicious. Do I think these boys are very caring and sweet? Absolutely. Do I also think they’ve got some dirty thots? Absolutely

Iwa | Makki

Iwaizumi kicks him under the table. Not here, it says, but Matsukawa ignores him. He hardly cares that people might notice the intensity of his stare as he watches you eat and chat with the guests.

Someone must have said something funny because your laugh rings out beside him. Your eyes crinkle at the corners and your shoulders shake. You cover your mouth with one hand, each digit slightly bent, white teeth flashing between the gaps.

You take another bite of your sandwich. A bit of sauce squishes out the back and drips down your pinky. You reflexively bring the finger to your lips to gently suck it clean, washing it all down with some water. Your plush lips purse around the rim of the glass, throat bobbing gently with each swallow. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, leaving them glistening.

Another day, another front row ticket to his favorite show. He’s always seated next to you during meals, hidden in your peripheral vision, so when something like this happens — when you drink water a little too enthusiastically and some of it trickles down your chin, he can—

Matsukawa’s large hand lightly wraps around your jaw. “Stop it Mattsun! You’re embarramnfmm—” The rest of your sentence is muffled as he wipes the water off with his thumb, the pad of it swiping along your bottom lip.

“It’s not my fault you always dribble on yourself.” Mattsun maintains an even tone as he lets go, ignoring the looks of the guests and the glares of Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“You could just fucking tell me I have something on my face like a normal person,” you grumble, turning away with a pout.

He only laughs. “I’m just helping you with that dirty mouth.”

When lunch is over, the five of you go to prepare the boats for the afternoon excursions. As always, you stop to reapply sunscreen and chapstick before heading back out in the sun.

“Can I? I forgot mine.”

“Again?” You huff, but hold it out for him nonetheless. “That’s expensive you know.”

Mattsun smirks as the chapstick glides across his lips. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

At night when the guests have all retired to their cabins and the five of you are winding down in the employee dorms, that’s when he lets his imagination have free rein.

He loves how comfortable you feel with them now, carelessly lounging in oversized t-shirts and short shorts while reading a book or scrolling through your phone. That’s when he gets to see you lost in thought, sometimes stroking, sometimes squeezing, sometimes drumming gently, sometimes chewing or sucking on your lips.

He wants to do the same, to pinch and kiss and nip and suck on them until they’re puffy and glossy and red.

He wants to drag his thumb over them, dip the pads of his fingers into your mouth, slide them past your swollen lips to press on your tongue. He wants to feel your teeth graze his hand, your saliva collect and pool, your throat fluttering around his digits.

He wants to rub his sensitive head over your spit-slick lips and smear his precum across your cheeks and chin. He wants to slowly push himself in, watch your plush lips stretch to accommodate his girth, feel the unhurried drag of your tongue against the underside of his shaft, finally coming to rest against the back of your throat.

He wants you to fist his cock while you nuzzle and suck on his balls. First taking one, then the other into your sticky mouth, tongue swirling around them, lapping and nipping at his sensitive sac.

You shift to lay on your back, your head now dangling over the side of the bed — and oh fuck that'd be the perfect position for you to take every inch of him. He wants to watch the bulge form in your throat with each thrust. Wants to feel you, sloppy, gagging as he buries himself to the hilt, your breaths hot against his coarse hairs. He’s sure he’d be delirious from the wet hot suction, balls pressed against your nose, abs tense from effort of holding himself back.

He wants to fuck your mouth until you’re clamping down on him too much and you’re both seeing stars, until he pumps you full, spit and cum dribbling out of the corners of your mouth, over your cheeks, and along your neck. Until he’s overstimulated and twitching inside of you with every swallow.

You let out a big yawn as you stretch and push yourself upright.

Mattsun’s eyes meets Makki’s and they share a grin.

Maybe they could share you too. He can see it now: Makki’s hands gripped tight around your hips, each thrust from behind forcing a garbled moan out of you, choked off by his own cock buried deep in your throat.

“Time for bed,” you murmur, padding to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Oikawa waits for the bathroom door to close and the hiss of the faucet before chastising him, “Mattsun, aren’t you being a little too obvious?”

“They're going to notice.” Iwaizumi seconds.

Matsukawa chuckles, “So?”

“Don’t be jealous just because we’ve touched them and you two haven’t,” Makki gloats.

That normally would earn him a punch in the arm and a lecture, but you come out of the bathroom at that moment, leaving Iwaizumi and Oikawa to glare at Makki’s smug smile as you wish them a good night and drift off to sleep.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #froggy’s seijoh4 nonsense #froggy scribbles

[no1frogfan]

Untitled Makki/Seijoh4 drabble

Hanamaki x gn reader (x the rest of Seijoh4 a bit)

Word count: ~1.3k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Hair fetish, cum in hair, PUBES we love ‘em and Makki definitely does, implied breath play, mentions of penetration & throat fucking, dubcon (no dubcon sex but reader is unknowingly participating in Makki’s fetish), reader has silky hair that’s long enough to braid, no hair color mentioned

Note: How do these keep getting longer and longer? They’re not really drabbles anymore, but I couldn’t stop writing because pervy Makki is so fun. This is actually depraved lmao

Iwa | Mattsun

You flop down cross-legged onto the rug in front of Makki. He scoots forward, draping his legs over your shoulders and pulling you back against the side of the bed. Steam is still rising off your head as he carefully teases out any tangles.

When it’s combed through to his satisfaction, he spreads deep conditioner across his hands and gently reaches forward to massage it into your scalp. The cinnamon and peppermint prickle pleasantly across your skin.

He dollops more conditioner on your hair, and, god it looks so much like… He doesn't know how many times he’s imagined it, wrapping your silky locks around his hand to press your nose against his abdomen. He could even thread both hands through your hair to hold you down while he bucks into you, savor the feeling of you gagging around him and, at the last second, pull you off him to paint hot streaks across your face and hair. He’s sure you’d make him cum so much, thick gobs of it covering your head and sticking to the strands.

Makki tears his eyes away and takes a long, calming breath.

Then another.

He shakes his head and returns to the task of caressing the conditioner into every strand.

You feel the tension leaving your neck and shoulders. Your eyes close, body relaxing under his ministrations.

When he walked in on you putting your hair up a week ago, he never realized an opportunity like this would literally land in his lap.

The wind had been relentless that day, loosening your bun and whipping the escaped tendrils across your face out on the boat. The spray of salt water and the grabby hands of the younger guests had done a number on it too. He saw you get progressively more irritated as the day went on, your tight bun devolving into a messy one, devolving further into an untidy ponytail, and finally barely managing to even be wrangled into that.

Then he’d stumbled in on you in the bathroom while you were trying to wrestle with it for the umpteenth time that morning, an angry scowl twisting your face.

Shakily (could you see his hands trembling?), he’d reached up to tease the knottiest tangles apart with his fingers and tie it up for you.

He’d pulled back reluctantly after he finished, and keeping his tone as casual as he could, offered to braid it for you that night. “I have two sisters,” he’d added hurriedly by way of explanation, trying to cut off any hesitation at the pass.

“You…don’t mind?”

Mind? He’d been itching to run his fingers through your hair for weeks, wondering if it really was as soft as it looked, wondering how you manage to keep it so lustrous and bouncy despite the harsh sea water and the harsher sun. Wondering how good it would smell if he buried his face in it.

“It’s no big. I used to do it all the time.”

As easy as that, he’d opened the door to this new nightly routine. And every night since then, it’s tested his discipline.

Like tonight. With careful fingers, he parts your hair down the middle and pulls the halves taut, relishing the feel of it gliding across his skin. You’re half asleep now, so far gone you don’t notice the quivering little gasp that escapes your mouth.

Uncertain he heard correctly, his eyes dart up to Oikawa, Iwa, and Mattsun in turn. All their eyes on trained on you too.

Maybe… He tugs your hair a second time.

Ah! There it is again—

A stutter and an almost inaudible moan.

Makki has to bite back a groan. Fuck. Do you like that? He looks down and almost bites through skin at the sight of the wet strands splayed across his bare thighs, so close to his twitching cock he could almost…maybe he could even grab a palmful and fuck his fist with it, until your hair is sticky with his cum. You’ve always been a deep sleeper. He could rub it in and you’d never be the wiser.

Or maybe you’d prefer to be on top and in control, to see the fucked out look on his face as you take every inch of him, milking him for all he’s worth. You’d loom over him, your locks a satin curtain around his face, hiding him away in a private paradise.

If he asked you to, would you grow it out longer? If you knew how much he liked it? If you knew it would let him easily wrap one long plait around your throat? If you knew it would let him grip it more easily when he fucks you from behind? His hand viselike as he drives into you, wrenching you back after each sloppy thrust. It’d be easier to pull you up, too. To curve your neck back for a better view as you take Mattsun or Iwaizumi, or hell, even Oikawa in your eager mouth.

You can’t see the wolfish expression on Makki’s face as he zeroes in on the way your chest rises and falls unevenly under him. But his friends can, and he can’t help but show off a little, his eyes glinting in challenge. Watch what I can do. And under the pretense of making sure he gets every strand, he runs his nails down your cheek, trails them across your neck, and with a murmured “sorry” ghosts them across your chest, there and gone.

You barely register his touch, but the evidence of it lingers in the budding of your nipples against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

If you opened your eyes now, you’d see him hunched over you, eyes closed in rapture. The spicy scent, the warmth radiating from you, it’s all too heady. He could lunge forward right now, pin you down against the floor and fuck you just like that. Would you want that? Want every inch of his body pressed against you, his face smothered against your neck, you invading all of his senses? Letting him drown in every strand every wisp while he thrusts into you, not too slow, not too fast, relishing the clench of your walls around him.

And he knows it’s in poor taste, but he truly can’t help but wonder: does the carpet match the drapes? He’s always trying to catch a glimpse, but he’s never been successful. Do you trim? Do you let it grow? Hopefully you don’t shave because fuck what he wouldn’t give to spread you open, bury his nose in your bush, smear his pre all over you and go to fucking town—

His eyes shoot open when someone clears their throat.

It’s impossible now to ignore how hard he is. It’s bordering on painful. You’ve dozed off a little, like you usually do, and Makki decides he’s dragged this on long enough. It takes no time at all to finish his plaiting. He leans back to admire tonight’s masterpiece — two neat French braids. Then, he covers his lap with the comforter before giving your hair one final tug.

You blink blearily, reaching up to run your fingers over his handiwork. “Thanks Makki,” you mumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes. You push off the floor, a little wobbly from the haze of sleep, and shuffle into bed.

“No prob,” he responds, voice a little strained.

Thus ends your nightly routine.

Makki, though, he usually stays up a little longer, fucking his fist in the shower while the luster of your hair still lingers on his fingertips.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut #froggy’s seijoh4 nonsense #froggy scribbles