Latest Posts by hibiscy - Page 2

to win and to lose

kenma, tsukki, hinata, kageyama; 3,200 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", kissing, slightly!suggestive content, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, post!timeskip characters, pro-streamer!kenma, olympics athlete!hinata, pouty!tsukki, and needy!kageyama

summary: you win some, you lose some, right?

a/n: truly just a few drabbles that came to my mind when i was sitting in a bath the other day; so pls enjoy some hq-flavored domesticity

kenma

“— alright chat, that’s it for today — i’ve got uh —” kenma glances over at the top of his collection of monitors at where you’re standing, holding two beers, a sly grin twisting the corner of your mouth. even in the strange blue light of his monitors, you can see his cheeks darken.

“— some stuff to do. see ya!” he ends the stream just as you round the massive table to set a beer down in front of him. he chuckles and reaches out to pull you into his lap, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh.

“hey there, mr. ceo.” you smirk, twisting round to run your fingers through his hair, tugging out the loosening hair tie and cocking your head. kenma huffs, crinkling his nose, shaking his head as you continue to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“i hate it when you call me that.”

“mm, then… what would you prefer? mr… streamer boy? mr. stock trader? oh — i’ve got it! mr. simp-man.”

kenma scoffs, jerking forward so that you’re trapped against the hard edge of his gaming desk, his arms locking you to him. he’s grown since high school, but even so, his lithe build betrays the strength still hidden within his limbs from the endless hours of training, of playing.

“there’s no winning against you, is there?” he asks, his voice muffled by your skin, and you bite back a groan at the way he’s trailing his lips along the hard ridge of your collarbones. he peers up at you, a sharp, feline glint to his eyes, a hand reaching out to set your half-drunk beer on his table before hoisting you up with one arm. you squeak, the gesture taking you by surprise even as he carries you to the futon set up in strategically in the corner of the game room, put there for the nights when you’d lie there and watch him stream, when you’d close your eyes and let the rgb lights flicker across the backs of your eyelids like the northern lights, like so many midnight rainbows.

“well… seeing as you’re winning in so many other aspects in life,” you say, your voice nothing more than a sigh as he lays you down, fingers already tugging at the thin straps of your dress, “a little losing here and there might do you good, hm?”

“mm…” kenma hums, contemplative, even as he leans back and runs an appraising eye down the length of your body, “i mean… i did let kuroo talk me into joining the volleyball club back in highschool so… i guess you can say… in my own way… i’m sort of a sucker for punishment.”

tsukki.

“ah… that looked like a brutal practice,” you say, peering around the bathroom door. the sound of water splattering down skin echoes wetly through the enclosed space.

“aren’t they all?” tsukishima drawls, setting down the large wooden bath ladle to squint at you through the hazy mist. his glasses lie fogged and forgotten, set to the side.

you smile, slipping into the room with a fresh towel.

“i’ve got miso soup being warmed on the stove and an icepack in the freezer. take your time though — o-oh!”

a pair of arms reaches out to pull you down, and you barely catch yourself on the edge of the large wooden bath.

“t-tsukki! what —”

“it was a brutal practice.”

you barely hear the smirk in his voice as he sighs and props his chin on your thigh, the water from the bath staining you thin dress in seconds. you fight the urge the roll your eyes, reaching down to run your fingers through his damp hair, absently massaging at his scalp.

its rare to see him like this — rarer, even, to see him so openly vulnerable, even if there’s still the barest hint of a tease lurking beneath the tired rhythm of his voice, his breathing. like this, his long lashes are daggered into points by the steam, his normally pale skin made even more so by the bright bathroom lights.

through the water, you can see the new bruises blossoming along his thin legs, the old ones barely fading. thoughtlessly, you lean in and dip your hand in the water to trace a finger along one particularly large one at his right knee.

“what happened?” you ask, though you basically already know the answer — practice for a v2 league team happened. still, tsukishima glances down at the bruise with an oddly disembodied gaze and shrugs.

“dunno. dove to save a ball a few times.”

you laugh, tilting your head to one side as he leans back to press his cheek to your now damp thigh.

“wow, in practice? other team must’ve really pissed you off.”

at this, tsukishima crinkles his nose and scoffs. you hike an expectant eyebrow and wait.

“the jackals were over for a practice match.” his voice is clipped, but you feel your own laughter bubbling up in seconds. of course.

you bite back a giggle, “and… did you guys win?”

he glares up at you, eyes narrowed, “they’re a division one team. what do you think?”

“hm… but i thought hinata’s been off with a rolled ankle so…”

again, he scoffs, “that team’s plenty of other players who are just as annoying.”

you clamp down on your bottom lip, “wow. high praise.”

he whacks at the surface of the bath, splattering your dress even as you break into a bright peal of laughter. you reach down to flick him with a bit of water as well but he catches you wrist in his, fingers wrapping around your arm, the warm bath water slicking down your skin in thin rivulets, dripping off your elbow. you gasp, heart suddenly thrumming behind your eardrums.

the lopsided, slightly sadistic smile that slits his lips is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“tsukki… there’s miso soup —”

“mm. think i want something else for dinner instead.”

the low murmur of words is the only warning you get before you’re pulled bodily into the warm bath, the water soaking your dress, making the material cling to your skin in seconds. you squeak against his lips, rough and insistent and just a little pleading. you know it’s futile to struggle, so you let him kiss you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you groan, your fingers finally finding purchase along the slick skin of his shoulder.

“you — you’ve ruined my — my favorite dress…”

“hn.”

tsukishima doesn’t look at all bothered by your admonishment, shrugging, “it’ll dry.”

water sloshes over the side of the bathtub, now dangerously full with the both of you soaking in it’s steaming depths.

“was it really that bad?” you ask, affecting your voice into a soft coo, trailing wet fingers over the soft of his cheeks.

“if i say yes,” he asks, peering down at you as a lepidopterist might study a new specimen of rare, and newly captured butterfly, “would you try to make me feel better?”

you lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry, despite being literally submerged in water.

“depends,” you say, “on if you’ll let me go turn off the stove first — wouldn’t want the miso soup to burn.”

tsukishima rolls his eyes, fingers tightening around your wrists, pulling you closer. there’s a dangerous light flickering behind his eyes; a dull ache pulses at the base of your stomach, singeing up your spine as you tip forward for another long kiss.

“thought i said already… i don’t think i really want miso soup for dinner anymore.”

hinata.

there’s a certain magic in watching him play — the way he treats every win like his first, or his last. the way the world seems brighter right around his edges, as if his own shimmer and shine might infect the universe if it would only let him.

he is incandescent with joy after the olympic qualifier games — scoring a ticket is no mean feat, and it’s not every day that you see bokuto cry.

“congrats, shouyou!” you’re one of the first to greet him after the press stint (and a shower), but you can still see the brilliant, glazed look to his eyes that tells you he’s still riding his high. his smile is wide enough to split the sky as he spots you, jogging over to hoist you up into his arms, spinning you round with almost comical ease.

“haha — thanks!”

he leans up for a kiss, one that’s sweet as it is heady. when you pull apart, you are still weightless, and his smile shines like a smile on pause — it makes you want to unpause it, and watch it unfurl.

you trace the pads of your thumbs along the tiny freckles dotting his cheekbones — souvenirs from his time in brazil.

“so! are you gonna come watch us?” he asks, making to walk down the decidedly not deserted hallway with you still in his arms. you blush at the thought, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze.

“shouyou… you can put me down now — and of course i’ll come! it’s not everyday that your boyfriend makes it to the olympics.”

several people chuckle as they watch him parade passed, you still firmly held aloft, your elbows propped on his shoulders to give you some semblance of balance. your cheeks burn as hinata hums, waving at a fellow teammate, reaching out for a fist bump.

“shou…” you fight the urge to bury your face in his shoulder as he finally rounds a corner into a much more private hallway. he grins, completely unabashed, as he pushes through an unmarked door to a what seems to be an empty locker room. it’s sparse, but well-lit and quiet.

“hm?”

he sets you down on one of the benches and drops a quick kiss onto your shoulder.

“i could’ve walked…”

“didn’t feel like putting you down,” he says, his voice dropping in register and taking on that darker, baser veneer — you hear the frayed edges, the sandstone texture, a tell-tale sign of a deep-seated hunger. a very specific brand of shouyou-flavored want.

“n-ngh —” you make a soft noise as he dips down to nuzzle into the dip of your collarbone, a tiny groan festering up the back of his throat as he sighs.

“been thinking about this…” his fingers dance up your sides, light enough to tease, but solid enough to remind you of just how close you both are to a ruthless press and the oogling public.

“sh-shou let’s wait —”

hinata whines, shaking his head, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck, “don’t wanna.”

and you sigh, weighing the option of pushing back or giving in. each has dangers and merits, but you know better than most that when hinata gets like this, indulgence is usually the only answer that will satisfy.

“plus… i just won a ticket to the olympics! don’t you think that deserves some kind of —” he casts around for a good enough word, pulling back with a smile that, in the right kind of slanted, locker room light, might just look like a smirk, “reward?”

you cock your head and blink up at him, letting your fingers tangle in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “what? the olympics ticket wasn’t enough of a reward for you?”

at this, hinata pouts, pushing his bottom lip out far enough for you to lean forward and bite it. the movement makes him groan, his whole body tipping forward to cage you back against the row of cool, metal lockers.

“you shouldn’t do that if you don’t think you can finish the job,” he says, pulling back just far enough for the heat of his breath to fan across your spit-slick lips. you lave your tongue across them, shifting beneath him as he cocks his head to stare down at you, his eyes wide and dark and misty.

“and… what job might that be?” you ask, breathless even as he dips down again to catch your lips in his, reaching down to tug you bodily up the length of the lockers before pinning you in place. once upon a time, it was easy to forget how strong he is — but now, it’s even easier to spot the stretch and flex of muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin, feel the strength of them as he holds you still with a single hand, the other tugging down the neckline of your top.

“mm… the job —” he skims his teeth across your skin; you gasp, eliciting a small, satisfied chuckle from him, “of being an olympic athlete’s girlfriend, of course!”

kageyama.

it is never the losing, and always the aftermath, and by now, you know the shades and slivers of all his specific kinds of silences so intimately that you know without him having to say how the practice match had gone.

“hey.”

you greet him by the door with a soft, placatory kiss. he grunts, toeing off his shoes before dipping down to wrap both his arms around you and pull you close. you let out a breathy laugh as you feel his nose digging into the curve of your shoulder.

“want some dinner?” you ask, reaching up to stroke his sweat-soaked hair even though you already know the answer.

“later,” he says, making no sign of wanting to let you go. instead, when you try to pull away, he leans down and scoops you up to place you on top of the kitchen island, slotting himself between your knees, and re-burying his face in your shoulder.

“then…” you let your voice trail off, feeling the exhaustion pour off him in waves. you dig your fingers into the tense line of his shoulders and feel them tighten up before they fall slack again. for a few minutes, he contents himself with letting you massage the worst of the knots from his shoulders.

“hn.” he lifts his head only to lean forward and find your lips with his. the kiss is slow and just a bit tired — as sweet as it is thorough. in the beginning, you’d worried that dating someone like kageyama would end up being the kind of short-lived thing that all the tabloids and magazines had warned you about — that he might grow bored after a week, a month, maybe half a year. after all, someone like him, with that insatiable need for more wouldn’t be suited for the kind of so-called ‘domestic bliss’ as it’s prescribed of most long-term relationships. but he’d surprised you, in more ways than one. he’d not only not grown bored, but had seemingly become ever more… entranced.

the pair of you had grown into each other, each day steadily getting closer. until the space the two of you shared became so inextricably linked there’s no telling who’s breath was caught in each of your lungs, of who’s scent it was that lingered in the fine linen lining of all your pillows and sheets. it’s become your’s. in the most cliche way possible.

kageyama contents himself with kissing you, breaking for small breath, and then kissing you some more. one kiss falling into another, and another, and another. till you’re breathless in just way he likes, till he’s breathless, in the way that he gets sometimes during a particularly intense rally. he knows he’s sweat-sticky and probably stinks of the gym, but the way you smile up at him when he pulls away makes his whole body go soft.

“let’s take a shower before dinner,” you say, tracing a finger along the shell of his ear. he bites back a frown.

“not a bath?”

you laugh, shrugging, “we could — but the food’ll go cold.”

“we’ve got a microwave.”

you smile, a smile that inspires — no, demands — another kiss. and so he does. you make a tiny, exasperated noise but don’t make to pull away. kageyama reaches down to pick you up, settling your thighs on either side of his hips as he maneuvers the pair of you towards the bathroom.

“food’ll be there when we’re done,” he mutters, gently placing you down on the side of the bathtub and reaching over to turn on the hot water. the steam rises in thick sheets from the surface of the water, and already, kageyama can feel his limbs loosening at the thought of a nice, long soak. he catches you watching as he strips off his practice clothes.

“see something interesting?” his voice is so measured you’d never know he’s teasing, save for the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. you blush and look away, tugging off your own clothes in an attempt to distract yourself. the water sloshes around his ankles as he steps into the bath, and you join him a second later, curling up against his chest as he winds his arms around you, the pair of you settling against each other like nesting spoons, cut perfectly for each other’s every bend and curve. or perhaps like russian dolls, one encasing the other — wholly and completely.

“when’s practice tomorrow?” you ask, turning to watch him lean back, his eyes falling shut to the soft trickle of water over skin. you know the answer, and so does he. but he shifts and answers you anyway.

“not till noon.”

“good,” you say, turning back to rest your head on his shoulder, “we can have a proper breakfast.”

“we always have a proper breakfast.”

you laugh, absently walking your fingers up the length of his bent leg, drawing tiny circles on his exposed knee, poking out of the water like a pale island amidst the green-tinted water.

“i can grill mackerel tomorrow — i’ll have the time.”

outside, the moon is white and full with love, the sky bloated with countless shimmering stars. inside the gentle quiet of your home, kageyama leans forward to trail a kiss to the bend of your bare shoulder; you reach back to cup his cheek. when he turns your face for yet another kiss, it is sleepy and happy, long and lazy. full, weighted, soaked through with the kind of surrender only known to those who love and are in love.

“the food’ll really be cold —” you gasp, twisting away from kageyama’s growingly insistent lips, “if we keep going like this.”

he makes a slightly irked noise before caging you back against him with a deep frown, “you said so yourself — we’ve got time tomorrow. so —” he leans in to bump his nose against yours, waiting for permission. you chew on your lips for a second longer before conceding. and he’s right — isn’t that what microwaves are for?

toge inumaki // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

salmon!

dog-gone it.

intimacy is subjective

the sky, the sun, getting beat up by inumaki

bitter eclipse

puppy love

tongue-tied

be not afraid of my body

sweet dreams and other cursed demands

i leave you

come

our hands

the sun will rise again

1999

transatlanticism

my home is where your heart is

i know when you're around ('cause i know the sound of your heart)

let's talk.

nightmares

paper wings

pull me close

this love

secret admirer

favorite

muse

a coffeeshop phone call

crush

fillings for you

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

↪︎ a nsfw mini-series featuring various haikyuu x f bridesmaid!reader scenarios

A/N. I find myself cowering at the slightest hints of domesticity irl and therefore have trouble writing it so here’s a little idea I came up with that’s (sort of) close enough. AAAND I rewrote parts of something blue & something borrowed ++ they’re about 3-4 years old today sksks. Just wanted to show my earlier works some love that’s all <3

taglist. comment or send an ask to be tagged. please make sure your age is visible on your blog too <33

haikyuu masterlist ∘ general masterlist

꒰ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 — 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ꒱

I. Something Blue ⋮ Miya Atsumu

In which you, a bridesmaid, come across a groomsman who cannot wait to get away from all the drunk and lovesick fools at the wedding reception, much like yourself ⋮ Alternatively, in which you get to know each other while he’s balls deep into you

content. hookups, just a bunch of horny strangers, semi-public touching and grinding a.k.a. inappropriate pda, lots and lots of teasing, cockwarming, wc. 3.5k

II. Something Borrowed ⋮ Sakusa Kiyoomi

In which you find no way out of the most absurd wedding tradition of all time — the garter toss

content. light choking, slight humiliation, slight corruption, deepthroating, slight gagging, fingering, cunnilingus, mentions of alcohol, edging, slight praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, wc. 6.1k

III. Something Old ⋮ Iwaizumi Hajime

In which the marriage of a close friend reunites you with your ex who returns after 3 years of no communication, making all unresolved feelings come to light ⋮ Alternatively, in which an ex tries to win you back

content. angst, exes to lovers, confrontation, quickie (sort of), semi-public sex, creampie, cum-eating

IV. Something New ⋮ Suna Rintarou

In which marital inevitabilities — merging families, in particular — force extended relatives to get to know each other. As if that in itself isn’t uncomfortable enough, you’re also forced to bunk with your future sister-in-law’s brother while you’re in town

content. and they were roommates!, reluctant roommates, acquaintances to friends with benefits to lovers, sharing a wall, mutual masturbation, some angst, bridesmaid & groomsman shenanigans

💬 WRONG ACCOUNT!　 ⓘ a social media au　╱　hoshina soshiro x female reader

IN WHICH A DISASTROUS QUOTE TWEET CHANGES THE DYNAMIC BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR VICE-CAPTAIN.

synopsis: you are a promising new member of the third division who, for some reason, is always given a hard time by your vice-captain. to vent your frustrations you decide to reply to a twitter fanbase’s anonymous confession, only to find out that your post was not so anonymous after all...?!

status: started 6/9 | ongoing | updates every week! next part 21/9

warnings: female reader ; language ; use of ‘kms/kys’ jokes ; suggestive jokes ; ignore the time stamps ; none of the art is mine unless stated

taglist: open! (send me an ask or comment to be added)

ⓘ LOG IN?

💌 | contact list

00 | prologue: crush your enemies!

01 | anonymous confession time!

02 | on a scale of 1-10...

03 | tba!

04 | tba!

05 | tba!

ⓘ YOU HAVE LOGGED OUT!

satoru who keeps proposing to you in the most unconventional moments—namely when he's got you dizzy from your fourth or fifth orgasm of the night.

satoru who knows some people get emotional when they climax, some get animalistic and rough, some get overwhelmed by pleasure. and maybe he's a mixture of them all, he absolutely has his nights, but for the most part: he gets sentimental.

satoru who has to deal with the roll of your eyes when he's knuckles deep inside of you, lips only millimetres from yours when he's whispering, begging, "c'mon, let me marry you. you don't wanna feel a ring on these fingers baby? tell me you don't."

satoru who knows you want to be proposed to properly. and he's planning on it, he really is, but he can't help but get caught up in his feels when you just look so pretty laid out for him. who can't bear not recognising you as his through every means necessary. he wants it to be lawful, recognised in the system that you wholly belong to him. maybe knock you up for good measure, attach a birth certificate to the proof that you're his.

satoru who has you shaking on his cock, fucked near-senseless for the second time that night. you're a babbling mess, galaxies away from earth in that pretty little mind of yours. he's not sure you even remember your own name at this point, all you're managing is a string of 'yesyesyesyesyes' that has his balls aching to empty inside of you again and again. 'marry me' he says in response, and rolls his eyes when you purse your lips shut in protest.

satoru who has even brought a ring. one you'd hit him for buying if you ever saw the price tag on it, but he knows you're worth the paycheck or six that it took.

satoru who keeps that ring on his person at all times; he never knows when the perfect sunset might happen and he'll be forced to a knee.

satoru who also can't help but slip the ring onto your finger while he's got your hands pinned above your head and his cock seated deeper inside of you than its ever been. who cums immediately at the sight of such a pretty set of jewels on your wedding finger, who almost regrets his orgasm because it blinds him for a few moments and he's trying to savour the sight of that ring on your finger.

satoru who knows you're getting sick of the lust-driven proposals. who plans on proposing one night, he's got everything planned, he's even made sure you've had your nails done for the upcoming ring photos you're sure to share. who is actually sick with nerves despite knowing what you'll say.

satoru who sits on your shared bed and is gently urging you to get ready quicker, lest you miss the sunset he's planning on proposing in front of. but you have other plans, climbing over him to straddle his lap, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. and you lean in, whisper the filthiest thing you've ever said to him~

satoru gojo, who cums in his pants at the words 'I'll marry you.'

playstation controller - matsuhana x fem!reader

an | based on this image, for my dearest @rrazor <3 happy birthday cw | anal, fingering, oral, mdni 18+, 700+ wc

there’s something incredibly erotic about watching matsukawa fuck hanamaki.

you sit with hanamaki’s head in your lap, letting him hold onto your soft thighs as matsukawa wrecks him from behind. 

“does that feel good, ‘hiro?” your thumb strokes his cheekbone. 

hanamaki thinks you look like an angel. he cranes his neck up to stare at you, pretty and illuminated by the bedroom light, replying with a slight nod. 

“y-yeah, fuck. feels so good, issei,” he groans when matsukawa’s cock grazes a particularly delicious spot. 

matsukawa’s tan skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat, his fluffy eyebrows drawn together. no matter how many times the three of you have sex, it feels so mind-meltingly good that he might as well be a born again virgin. his hands dig into hanamaki’s hips as he fucks him at a steady pace. the room is filled with the sounds of skin on skin, and stuttered groans from both males. 

hanamaki nuzzles into the flesh of your lower belly. he likes it, calls it your cute lil’ pooch, despite your protests.

“baby.” he presses a kiss to your hip. “wanna eat you out. please?”

you hum. matsukawa moans at the thought. 

“someone’s greedy today,” you muse, but open your legs anyways, letting hanamaki eagerly dive into your warm pussy. 

he’s gentle. he’s always been that way, always been that kinda guy, to hug you from behind and lend you his cardigan when you’re cold. conversely, matsukawa’s charismatic. he walks on the side of the pathway that faces the road, and tilts the umbrella towards you when it’s raining, even if he gets soaked. 

hanamaki swirls his tongue around your clit and you whimper. your legs part even wider, fingers threading through his short hair. matsukawa picks up speed and his hands explore the expanse of hanamaki’s naked skin, making the male beneath him tense. matsukawa’s thumbs fit perfectly into the divot of the dimples by his lower back. almost like a playstation controller, he thinks. 

hanamaki’s saliva mixes with your slick and he’s so hard, the head of his cock is redder than his flushed cheeks. he eats you out like a man starved, anyways. you gasp when his fingers push into your swollen pussy.

"'h-hiro!”

you tug on his hair and hanamaki nearly cums there and then. he’s so easy when it comes to you. matsukawa thrusts into hanamaki hard and he makes a surprised noise, head bumping between your legs. 

“fuck, sorry,” matsukawa pants. 

hanamaki’s nose and mouth are drenched with your juices, his pupils so blown out you swear he’s pussy-drunk. matsukawa’s so close. his cock throbs with the need to cum inside, but he wants to see the both of you finish, too. he slips a hand over hanamaki’s hard-on and tugs, his other hand holding his hips up. 

hanamaki keens. his mouth returns to sucking on your clit, flicking at it with his tongue as his fingers thrust into you. the vibrations of his moans around you make your legs tremble. 

“s-so close, 'hiro. fuck, feels so good,” you cry. 

one more thrust against your g-spot and you’re cumming, humping into hanamaki’s face as he moans and shudders. he cums all over matsukawa’s fist and the brunet follows soon after, gasping and bucking his hips as he paints hanamaki white from the inside. 

the room stills, all three of you riding out your highs and catching your breath. the smell of sex fills the air. 

“shit.” matsukawa’s chest heaves. 

hanamaki lies where he is, unwilling to move from his slumped position. his cheek is pressed against your inner thigh. you move his bangs out of his eyes and he hums, leaning into your touch. 

matsukawa pulls out and leans down to kiss hanamaki’s lower back. his thumbs ghost his back dimples again. 

“‘hiro, you’re like a playstation controller, you know?” he grins.

hanamaki looks at him over his shoulder. “what the fuck, dude.”

you stifle a giggle. 

matsukawa moves his thumbs this way and that, the rest of his fingers digging into the flesh around hanamaki’s hips as he pretends to be playing forza on his ass. you laugh even louder when hanamaki kicks at matsukawa’s knee and the both of them collapse over one another, effectively suffocating you beneath their bodies. 

“can’t believe i got my pussy eaten out before gta six,” you say.

hanamaki gives you an annoyed look. matsukawa snorts. 

to moving forward

you pretty, he ugly. you swan, he frog.

Oh they r dear to me

stop the clock 𖦹 matsukawa i. x reader

"ill bet you ¥8000 you’ll fall in love by the end of the month." synopsis: when you imagined finally being an adult, working at the convenience store was not what you had in mind. while trying to find a better job is one thing to worry about, matsukawa issei and his persistent flirting is a different one.

tags: matsukawa x fem!reader, mostly written + smau, betting trope, strangers/acquaintances to lovers, one-sided pining, happy ending

warnings: mentions of alcohol, kys jokes, suggestive, language, so much flirting -> check chapter notes for more warnings.

status: ongoing

taglist: open! fill out here.

mlist. 𖦹 pinterest

introductions: cloud 20 + kumonoue market / dickwads + the mosaic

𖦹 day 0: the prologue

𖦹 day 1: the bet

𖦹 day 2… coming soon

gojo or whatever

long distance relationship tobio who unconsciously releases pent-up sexual frustration by exercising more, so every time you see him he's in unbelievably good shape. sculpted by the hands of god, cover of a fitness magazine, turning heads in the street kind of good shape. this in turn results in you not being able keep your hands off of him, and therefore you spend practically your entire limited visit together fucking, which means when he goes back to work he's sexually frustrated. rinse repeat

Big Stretch - Kenma x Reader

@luvring you cannot post a Kenma hc and think I won't find out and marinate it in my head until I have to write it

Haikyuu taglist: @lees-chaotic-brain

"Oooh, big stretch."

Kenma turns to glare at you, arms not fully extended yet. He folds in again, pouting slightly. "I'm not a cat," he says and you cock your head to the side to observe him.

"Could have fooled me." You tease.

He huffs, face growing red as he looks to the side. Oh no, did you go too far?

“Hey,” you lean in, try to catch his eye, “That was meant as a compliment. I like cats.”

He hums low in his throat, turns his amber eyes back to the paper in front of him.

“Can we just go back to work?” He asks and you nod. “Yeah, sure.”

-

“Oooh, big stretch.”

Kenma sends you a pointed glare. The guy next to him, hair dark and disheveled, chuckles low in his throat.

“Your friend?” He asks and Kenma makes it a point to shake his head exaggeratedly.

“Should I turn around so you can finish stretching?” You ask, leaning into your seat, “Or can I stay to enjoy the show.”

Red blooms on Kenma’s face as he ducks behind the collar of his shirt.

“Stop,” he whines, “There are people around.”

“Ah, young love,” the guy next to him whistles and Kenma digs an elbow into his side. “Stop it, Kuroo! I don’t even know them!”

“Liar,” you call him out, “You love me.” And though it’s said as a joke you can’t help but think that it’s more of a manifestation. If you say it often enough it will come true.

-

“Oooh, big stretch.” 

Kenma huffs. He stops moving, frozen for a second before he throws his arm around you, rests his head on your shoulder and fakes the loudest snore you’ve ever heard.

“Long game, huh?” You ask, eyes finding Kuroo’s who’s got the usual knowing smirk.

“Aren’t you tired too, dear manager?” He asks.

You shake your head, heart bubbling in your chest with how close Kenma is. Even if you had been exhausted, you couldn’t be anymore, not with him cuddling into you.

Out of sight of his teammates, his ankle crosses yours.

Truly, feet-holding is so much cuter than hand-holding.

-

“Oooh, big stretch.”

Kenma blinks, sleep settling heavily into his skin. He makes grabby hands, calling you in, and even though teasing him is as necessary to you as breathing, you cannot stay away when he’s cute like this.

You settle on his lap, lean over him, hands on either side of his face as if you’re kabedon-ing him into the mattress.

“Slept well, little kitty?” You ask and he smiles, hair fanned out around his face. 

Instead of answering he hooks one hand around your neck and pulls you in, his lips soft and a little chapped, writing poetry into your skin.

-

“Oooh, big stretch.”

Kenma glares, lips stretching into a pout at your words. You can tell he’s not fully done stretching yet, but he’s unwilling to stretch again just because you commented on it.

“In my defense,” you tell him, nudging his back with your socked foot, “You are napping like a cat.”

“‘m not.”

“Am too. It’s cute.”

“Your mom’s cute.”

You snicker. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

He groans. “Look away,” he says, “I need to stretch.”

“Mhm, no, I got full staring rights when you said ‘I do’.”

“Should have read the fine print.”

“Should have, yes.” You lean forward, fold yourself in a way that’s making your back ache, but now you’re face to face with him, able to press a kiss to his nose. 

“Now you’re mine.”

He smiles, unable to keep up the pout, ducking his face behind his long hair.

“‘m yours.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

talk too much. [suna rintarou x reader] masterlist.

>> after too many failed attempts to put yourself out there, your friends send you a flyer for Daily Affirmations, the campus texting service for boosting self-esteem and meeting new people

or

daily affirmations with suna rintarou don't look the way you'd expected them to <<

series status: ongoing. ↺

taglist: no taglist for this one, sorry!! we're going quick and dirty updates lmao

warnings: mdni!!!, swearing + explicit language, NSFW, a lot of kys/kms jokes

tags: college au, suna x chubby reader, texting service trope, loser!suna, he's a down bad feral simp and is not shy about that fact, self esteem issues and discussion of body insecurity, yn is kind of avoidant when it comes to her body issues but suna is a persistent annoying little man, penpals to lovers???, suna literally will say the most unhinged feral things to her and she will not believe a single word, 90% of the au will just be sunayn dms

a/n: this is straight up self-shipping on main im so sorry LMAOOOOOOOOOO everyone say thank you to renee rapp for "talk too much" bc thats how we got here

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

✉ = written content!

[introduction]. Application for Daily Affirmations Open!

[01]. stranger danger

[02]. jackfruit

[03]. be brave

[04]. ...

i'm here again, talkin' myself out of // my own happiness

talk too much [renee rapp].

THE LOST ART OF RIVALRY

SMAU – · FLUFF, A LITTLE ANGST.

˗ˏˋ AKAASHI × F.READER ´ˎ˗

— you think akaashi is a pretentious idiot; akaashi thinks there's no one quite as vexing as you. sworn enemies, a cliché group project and a professor out for money blood. what better combination is there for a romance–or a tragedy?

STATUS: ongoing.

CW: university au, academic rivals, rivals with benefits, misunderstandings, suggestive at some points (MDNI), might be ooc idk

NOTES: this is my first smau, so please be nice to me. it's based on an nsfw academic rivals fic i wrote for akaashi, and inspired by a writer here who makes amazing smaus (shout-out to @/eggyrocks for inspiring me to try this type of fics). CW might change as the story progresses.

FILL OUT THIS FORM TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

[ ✑ ] written chapter

[ ও ] suggestive content

00. INTRODUCTIONS – · shakespearean idiots | gym bros (and akaashi)

01. DAY? RUINED

02. BITE THE BULLET

03. PUNCTUALITY

04. TIMES OF CRISIS

05. SURVIVAL OF THE MEANEST

06. FREE FALL [ ✑ ]

07. RADIO SILENCE

08. LIKE THE PLAGUE

09. ALCOHOL SOLVES EVERYTHING

10. CHAIN REACTION [ ✑ ] [ ও ]

11. IDIOT SHAMING [ ✑ ] [ ও ]

12. A VIRGIN WHO CAN'T DRIVE [ ✑ ]

13. A LITTLE KISSY KISS

14. WHAT ABOUT OUR OTP?

15. PLAY WITH FIRE

16. AND YOU'LL GET BURNED [ ✑ ] [ ও ]

17. COMING SOON...

SEROH 2024

twt: @haruta_kun0304

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

ugh i need to drink with post-graduate suga i just know it would fix me >_>

i’ve had this in my phone for almost year. pls take it.

they're the same picture 💀

taste test- poly vampire!matsuhana/f!reader (lil follow up to 'cutting teeth')

“Okay, try this.”

Hiro’s knees knock against yours, overeager and a little clumsy as he presses a glass into your waiting palms. He keeps his hands cupped around yours, lifting them in time with your own as you bring the drink up to your lips, his eyes watching you intently over the brim all the while.

“What is it?” you ask before you risk taking a sip, the cool edge of the cup resting against your bottom lip.

“It’s nothing bad,” he promises you.

“Takahiro, you’ve said that about everything else, too,” you complain, your eyes sweeping across the various items that litter the floor around you both—a selection of food items in bright plastic packaging and neon-coloured beverages discarded haplessly after you’d tasted them and voiced your dislike.

“Well, they weren’t bad either,” he says with a laugh, “you just didn’t like them.”

“They tasted awful,” you sniff, and the scent wafting up from whatever is in the cup Hiro’s waiting for you to sip from makes your stomach turn. You pull your face away from it and press the cup back into his hands. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Hiro whines. He takes a big sip from the cup. “It’s strawberry flavoured!” 

You wrinkle your nose. 

“Why would I want to drink that?” you pout a little as you say it. “None of this stuff tastes nice to me anymore.”

“Hiro—“ 

Your head snaps towards the doorway where you see Issei standing, quietly watching you both. You’re not sure when he arrived, but you suspect that was his intention. He approaches, crouching down behind you where you’re sitting on the floor in front of your pink-haired snack pusher.

“—If she doesn’t like it, don’t force her.”

“I know,” Hiro sing-songs in a disappointed key, pouting. “I was just trying to see if she got any of her taste back.”

You blink a little, peeking again at the treats that surround you. They’re all things that you had once enjoyed, things that you distantly remember craving and enjoying. Now a single taste or the mere smell is enough to make you feel nauseated. 

There’s only one thing you like the taste of now.

“Will that happen?” you ask quietly, and Hiro’s red eyes flicker from Issei’s face to yours. He nods enthusiastically.

“Not like it was,” Issei is quick to temper Hiro’s enthusiasm. His large hands slip up your arms gently, squeezing when he reaches your shoulders. “But over time, food will become a little less unpalatable than it seems to you now.”

You tip your head back until it rests against his chest, peering up at him.

“Does any of this taste good to you?” you ask him.

Between the two, Hiro has a much greater fondness for food. It’s not unusual at all to see him snacking on or slurping some processed, deeply unhealthy bit of junk food. The kind that people are supposed to eat in moderation—if at all. Issei rarely consumes anything as far as you can tell, maybe a glass of wine here and there. A whiskey every so often. A bite of something Hiro offers him, if only just to please him because it always earns him a kiss.

Issei laughs a little at your question, brushing a piece of your hair back from your face. “Not particularly. My sense of taste is still muted, so I tend to prefer the things that humans find bitter since the flavour is sharp enough to come through. Coffee. Dark chocolate. Aged liquor. Cigarettes.”

You frown. “But you’re old.”

Hiro laughs gleefully. “If he’s old what does that make me?”

You tip your chin down again to look at Takahiro, who’s watching you warmly. He grins lopsidedly, propping his chin up in his hand with his elbow resting on his knee. His mouth is stained pink from the drink in his hand.

“Ancient,” you supply wryly, smiling a little yourself. 

It’s easy for you to say, not least of all because it’s true. The entirety of your existence in comparison to Takahiro’s is a mere blip on the timeline. A drop of water in the ocean’s depths. Even Issei has been around long enough that your short life would seem, well, inconsequential by comparison. But if in the hundred years since Takahiro had turned him Issei had still only developed a taste for the few foods that he had, your own newly-immortal lifespan in comparison would surely prevent you from deriving any pleasure from the things Hiro is trying to feed you at present.

“If you knew I wasn’t going to like any of this, why did you make me eat it,” you complain, batting at a bright red candy-bar wrapper resentfully.

“I’m trying to get you started early,” Hiro counters, like a parent might justify their decision to feed their child vegetables. He shakes his head ruefully. “The sooner we start the quicker you’ll get used to it. I spoiled Issei and look how he turned out.”

You tilt your head back again, slumping into Issei’s broad chest. 

“I think he turned out just fine,” you say softly, and a small smile pulls at the corner’s of Issei’s mouth. He runs his fingers over your cheek, dipping down and kissing you softly with a hum.

By the time his lips part from yours, Hiro is right in front of you. He’s on his hands and knees, with his palms pressed to Issei’s thighs behind you, so close his nose brushes yours when you tilt your head back down. The speed that Hiro moves used to startle you sometimes, but you can follow it with your senses now. You laugh breathily at his proximity.

“That’s not fair,” Hiro says, but he’s not genuinely upset by the show of affection. He knows you care for him as much as you care for Issei. He cares for Issei as much as he cares for you, too.

You kiss him next to placate him, his mouth soft and warm and eager as it always is as he parts his lips against your own. He crowds closer until you’re properly pressed to Issei’s chest, and you feel Issei’s hands begin to wander as Hiro takes more and more of the ground you freely give him—sucking noisily against your tongue when your lips part in a quiet gasp at the feeling of Issei’s fingers creeping up under the hem of your dress and pressing against the front of your panties.

Hiro's kisses always make your head spin, always make you feel warm and flustered and inundated with a want so sticky-sweet you can almost taste him on your tongue. It's always been like this, ever since the beginning.

And as Issei's fingers loop under the waistband of your underwear, and Hiro helps to lift your hips so he can pull them down, you realize that you were wrong when you said there's only one thing you like the taste of now, because there are three—and two of them are crowding you in their embrace from either side.

CUTTING TEETH - mastuskawa issei/f!reader/hanamaki takahiro (4.2k) vampire!au, vampire!matsuhana, new vampire!reader, poly matsuhana, mmf!threesome (barely), smut, finger sucking, fingering, mentions of blood/blood drinking, lots of talk about teeth and mouths, reader is going through a bit of a breakdown, sweetheart and good girl used as petnames, matsuhana give off slightly yandere vibes but they aren't actually, and reader is physically restrained at one point but it's not non/dubcon! part of the 'more than you can chew' universe 18+ NFSW - MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Time passes differently now.

It makes sense, you can’t help but think in those precious moments when the haze lifts and grants you a reprieve of much needed clarity; It’s only logical that something would feel different now that you are too. Seconds ticking past but mean nothing when you stay unchanging. Time no longer has any meaning now that you’re frozen in it. And so nine days slip by, and they’re all a blur; one bleeds unintelligibly into the next, but they feel like what once were seconds in another life.

You’re burning. 

You’re hungry.

You feel as if you’re coming undone.

But you’re safe. You know that to be true too. Even in the haze, even in the vicious delirium and the burn, there are hands that cradle you and the gentle brush of lips against your skin. You’re surrounded constantly by the scent of pine, the whistle of the winter wind and soft, familiar voices.

They’d told you it would be like this, prepared you for it. But knowing something in theory and knowing something in practice are very different things.

You’re curled up in the corner of the smallest room in the house. It’s the only one with tatami floors, though you suspect at one time—before extensive renovations that shaped the home into something beautiful but unrecognizable—there once may have been more. This room is used for storage now, mostly; there are a few boxes piled up along one side, an extra futon folded up in one corner, and antiques in pristine condition that don’t seem to otherwise match the decor. Those are half-covered by drop cloths to protect them from dust or damage, but there’s a vanity along the wall that’s been half-revealed as the sheet pools on the floor, revealing beautiful knotted elm, a pristine mirror, and careful woodwork underneath. There’s a faint scent of must that hangs in the still air, and the little room is dark—the sole window along the opposite side covered by thick curtains to block out the sun.

But you prefer the dark now. 

You see too much in the light.

The air in the dim room shifts suddenly, and you lift your face from the crook between your knees where they’re drawn up to your chest.

“There you are—”

You heard him even before he opened the door. Heard him on the other side of the house before he even started making his way to you.

“—I’ve been looking all over for you.”

The man on the other side of the room keeps his distance as he appraises you. It’s a gesture that is not done unkindly. Everything Matsukawa Issei does is considerate, as ever. 

He knows the hell you’re suffering.

“What’re you doing in here, huh?”

Issei makes his way towards you at an easy, lazy pace, even though the room is so small. The way he takes his time approaching you is unimposing, even given his height and his breadth, like a trapper approaching small prey that had mistakenly gotten locked in their snare.

Your throat feels raw when you finally speak. To be honest, you aren’t entirely certain when the last time you spoke even was. It may have been a few days. Perhaps only hours.

You wonder when it will get easier to keep track, now that the flow of time feels so foreign.

“My jaw hurts.”

Issei crouches down next to you slowly, and your senses follow him; his warmth, his scent, the steady sound of his breaths. He draws closer and closer, his presence growing more unignorable until he’s mere inches away from your face. His proximity effortlessly eases the ache that thrums under your gums. His nearness soothes the inferno that has scorched a hearth into your chest.

“Your jaw?” he repeats your words, a careful hand reaching out towards you. His movements are cautious but sure, measured but gentle. His broad palm caresses your cheek, his touch soft against your skin. You lean into it, into him, as unconsciously as drawing in a breath.

It’s quiet as he holds you.

“…My teeth.”

Issei hums. The sound is a deep, sympathetic purr that makes your skin prickle just underneath the surface. His hand slips a little further down your face, until he’s cupping your jaw rather than the soft swell of your cheek. Your eyes finally meet his, and you’re lost in them as the pad of his thumb presses against the pucker of your mouth.

“Can I?” he asks, his head tilting to the side.

Your lips part for his willingly, wordlessly, welcoming him in.

The tip of the digit slips underneath your top lip, and you can taste the subtle saltiness that clings to his skin. Issei watches your expression as he traces along the front of your upper row of teeth, ghosting along the smooth enamel and mapping the peaks and valleys as one tooth gives way to the next. His touch sweeps a little further up and the investigation continues as he skims along the soft pink of your gums. The warmth of his hand and his closeness has your mouth filling with saliva that threatens to drip at the corner of your parted lips.

He presses, firmer now than he has yet, against a tender spot along your gums.

“Mmmmmph—!”

You clutch his wrist tightly with both hands, holding him still as you pant raggedly against his palm. Spit freely runs down his skin now, and your chin, catching in the low light of the small room you’ve locked yourself away in as it drips slowly to the floor. That all-consuming burn is still there—haunting your lungs and up the track of your throat—but you’re holding onto Issei tighter than you’ve ever held anything.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes you quietly, his other hand reaching up to pat along your hair. Your grip slackens, but you keep his hand pressed desperately to your mouth like a lifeline. His thumb is still resting against that sensitive, aching spot, and once he senses it’s safe for him to continue he sweeps the pad of it against that place again. There’s a throb deep beneath the muscle that twinges, and it’s painful but surprisingly not unpleasant. Your jaw relaxes slightly, though your breaths are still shuddering, and it grants him even better access to your mouth than before.

“Good girl,” he praises you for the utterly unconscious gesture, sweeping the digit stuck beneath your lip slowly along to the same spot on the opposite side of your top row of teeth. It hurts there too, but Issei’s touch is gentle and compassionate; soothing as it glides against the slick flesh. 

The little room around you fades away, little by little, until all you know is him.

Your vision grows hazy, your eyelids suddenly heavy as Issei continues to explore your mouth. The pain that had been so all-consuming just moments before is easier now to bear, your senses dulling to anything that isn’t him. There’s so much saliva pooling under your tongue that you can hear how wet it is as the man before you moves his thumb around inside.

Eventually he’s satisfied, a pleased little hum telling you he’s found what he was looking for, and as if to reward you he slips his thumb between your teeth and rubs it against the surface of your tongue. You close your lips around it happily. 

“Gentle,” he urges, and you heed his warning—careful not to bite down or otherwise move too eagerly with his finger caught in your mouth. You suckle it gently on nothing more than sheer instinct. It feels nice—soothing, familiar somehow even though it isn’t—and he sighs contently. “That’s it.” 

You stay like that for a while, holding his wrist as you suck against the warmth of his thumb where it rests against your tongue. You grow even more delirious the longer you indulge yourself—the demons that have been clawing at you incessantly for the past nine days quieting until you can scarcely notice them at all. 

“Your teeth are coming in,” Issei eventually speaks again in that easy, gentle way he always does, but you hardly register his words through your daze. 

You make a small noise of confusion once his words reach you somewhere you can understand.

“Your fangs,” he explains as he smiles softly down at you, watching with nothing short of fondness in his gaze.

You blink, processing his revelation though your brain is foggy and your thoughts are syrupy slow.

Issei slips his thumb out of your mouth only once you allow him to, dipping forward and dragging his tongue along your bottom lip to catch the spit that has steadily been dribbling out. He doesn’t kiss you, not really anyway, even though the gesture feels so intimate and his lips are practically upon yours. It’s as though he senses you want to say something, because as soon as he’s cleaned you up he’s pulling away and looking to you expectantly.

“My… fangs?” you sound uncertain, your voice thready and confused as you repeat what he’s told you.

Issei lifts his thumb up to his mouth; the length of it is covered in the sheen of your saliva, all the way down to his wrist. He cleans that off too as he nods. 

You shiver a little.

“Are they going to fall out?” you ask him worriedly, a tightness of anxiety weaving itself into a knot in the centre of your searing chest.

“Yes,” he says, sparing you no detail and offering you no misguided pleasantry in the interest of your own sake. He cups your cheeks in both hands this time, keeping your eyes on him, and he uses his thumbs to curl your upper lip and reveal your teeth again—one holds the lip up out of the way while the other dips down to trace over the canine tooth just below that wretchedly aching spot in your gums. “Just think of these like milk teeth.”

He traces along the razor fine edge of your incisor with the very tip of his finger, then across to your canine—careful, even with all his own strength, not to nick himself on the sharpness.

“Right now, these teeth are meant to shred—to rip and tear through skin and bone and whatever else might be in your way so you can get as much blood as quickly as possible. So you can get stronger,” he says, and his low, gentle voice softens the gruesomeness of his words into something palatable and easy to swallow. “But your fangs will give you acuity. Precision. You’ll be able to puncture just enough to draw what you need when you feed as you mature.”

You whimper a little when he presses down against your canine, as though terrified it might begin to wiggle under his touch.

“You’re cutting teeth, that’s all,” he says simply, and you wish his words were more comforting to hear than they are. He slips his finger out once more and allows your lip to return to its rightful place. He tuts lightly. “But it’s painful, isn’t it?”

You nod a bit, your head dipping as much as it’s able with his hands still cradling your cheeks on either side.

“Poor little thing,” Issei breathes, crowding you a little closer to the wall where you’ve been curled up in your misery. “Want me to make you feel better?”

Your back rests flush to Issei’s chest, two of his fingers pressed deep into your mouth. He has your knees hooked over his thighs and his legs spread to keep you open, and tips of his talented fingers orbit in rhythmic circles around your clit.

It all sounds so wet.

Your mouth. Your pussy. Your shuddering breaths. The racing thump of your heart.

The coil of tension in the pit of your insatiable stomach has nearly wound tight enough to break. 

How many times has he made you cum in the past nine days? You wonder distantly in your mind. How many more times will he make you cum in the innumerable ones that now lie ahead?

Your head pitches back against Issei’s shoulder as his mouth laves down the column of your neck. You feel the familiar drag of his teeth along your throat, and the sensation still makes your heart race—even though the thumping is little more than vestigial; even though his teeth wont pierce you the way they used to when there was still blood that he craved rushing underneath your once fragile, delicate skin.

“Feel good?” he murmurs into your skin between kisses, and your hips jump in place of an answer—as clear an indicator to your agreement than any words you may be able to offer in reply. His fingertips press a little firmer against the sensitive bud at the apex of your dripping core.

“‘Sei,” your voice is reedy and wanton as you call for him around his fingers.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

You don’t know. Or maybe you do, but your ability to verbalize it has abandoned you along with your sanity.

But you’re needy. You need more. Need something. Need anything.

You shift in his lap, as much as you can given the way he’s holding you, and grind against the firm swell of his cock nestled behind your back. Issei pulls his fingers out from your mouth, the pads of his fingers slipping softly against your lips.

“Yeah?” his reply is deep, breathy, “that what you want?”

You nod, fervent and crazed.

Strangely, you feel a little more normal like this—a little more like who you used to be. He used to make you feel this frenzied back then too, but now he doesn’t need to be as gentle with you as he once was. In spite of that, Issei still touches you like you’re something breakable. Something precious. 

“Hiro will be back soon,” the man above you whispers as he gently lays you flat against the tatami flooring, his nose brushing yours. “Are you hungry?” 

It hardly needs to be asked. You’re always hungry. At least you have been for the past nine days. There’s a little pile of crumpled silver packets on one side of the room, long-drained, as evidence to this fact. Hiro’s been bringing you more blood each day, fresh blood—that tastes better than the synthetic stuff you find yourself guzzling in the hours in between—but it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough to satiate you. Not enough to douse the burn that torches your throat. 

You’re not sure where he’s getting it, and you don’t ask. The truth is you don’t even know where you are.

Prior to turning, Issei and Hiro had asked if you prefer the sea or the forest. The smell of salt air or pine sap. You’d answered the forest, with fond memories of wandering around the green space in the countryside where your grandparents lived when you were a child. When you’d woken up nine days ago in this big house in the middle of the woods, you realized why they’d asked you to begin with. 

You’re far away from civilization here.

Or rather, civilization is far away from you.

Because you’re the thing that needs to be kept away. Isolated. Contained. All in the best interest of the beating hearts and pumping blood that floods the city you’d once known. 

The thought of blood rushing under skin, of throngs of people saturated with it, makes your mouth water.

“Issei,” you moan, your sharp teeth gnashing involuntarily at the thought as you cling to him a little tighter. “Please."

The man hovering over you shushes you gently; a soothing placating sound. “I’m sorry, I know it’s hard,” he murmurs, slipping a hand under the silk of your robe, “it’ll get easier, I promise.”

Issei knows it better than anyone, you think. His words a little more comforting because you know he’s speaking from experience. He’d been just like you once: bloodthirsty and on the brink—a mind in tatters as it fights to acclimatize to the sudden change of being turned, attempting to knit itself back together into something new. Takahiro had turned him only 100 years ago, after all. 

Only—a part of your brain scoffs, maybe the last rational part that’s endured—when did 100 years become something you could measure so flippantly?

Issei unfastens the loose tie of your robe at your waist, letting the silky material slip from your body like the flow of water over stone. You don’t know who’d dressed you in it, only that it’s not something you’d pulled on yourself. You hadn’t washed or dressed yourself since you’d woken up.

Yet another way you’ve been cared for in the time in-between.

Two strong arms cage you in against the floor, a palm resting on either side of your face. Issei’s body is warm. You like that. He always used to feel so much colder than you did, but now that your body is running at the same temperature his touch feels more ambient.

“Hey,” Issei’s gentle hand takes your chin to turn your gaze towards him, “get out of your head for a minute, okay? Just focus on me. I’m right here.”

He is, and he has been. He and Hiro both, for the past nine days.

And for a long time before that.

And now forever.

Issei dips forwards and kisses you sweetly, deeply.

He doesn’t have to prep you like he used to, because your body isn’t fragile in the same ways it once was. You feel the thick head of his cock dragging through the sticky petals of your pussy, and know that you can stretch to accommodate him without any of the discomfort you may have once felt. When he presses inside, you just feel full. You just feel good.

You moan against his mouth as he gives the first few slow thrusts, like he’s letting you get used to it. Like he’s letting you enjoy it.

But it’s not enough.

With newfound strength, a strength you’re not yet fully used to, you roll the two of you over and pin him down against the tatami. Issei’s eyes are surprised, but not unwilling in the slightest, as he stares up at you with his dark hair fanning away from his face. Your hips begin moving freely, using your new position as leverage. You’re full, then empty, then full again as you bounce on his lap—the wet, lewd sound of skin slapping fills the room, but you can scarcely hear it over the thrum of your pulse.

“That’s it,” Issei groans, praising you. His eyes have gone half-lidded as you ride him, a little smile on his lips. “Take what you need, sweetheart.”

Your hips keep moving, chasing the pleasure that’s rising in your core. His hand finds yours, and you clasp your hand around his to guide it up your body. First to your chest, where he grabs a handful of your soft, bouncing flesh. He kneads it gently for a moment, his thumb pressing teasingly against the pebbled bud of your nipple. But that’s not where you want him either, and you keep guiding it up to your mouth.

“Careful,” Issei’s voice has gone a little raspier now as you bring his fingers to your lips. And you’re trying to be, you really are, but you’re a little too far gone to care that much. 

He is too.

If you wanted to, he’d let you bite. Let you devour him.

You lick between his knuckles, flicking your tongue up between the digits as saliva drips down to his wrist, all while you keep spearing yourself back down onto his thick, hard cock. You slip the fingertips just past your lips, and moan around the digits when you feel him throb inside of you, your free hand hand fluttering down to your stomach where you swear you might be able to feel him shaping your body to fit him inside. You’re still grinding down against him, still suckling against his fingers, and Issei is still staring up at you from the floor with a tender, heavy lidded gaze. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, and god do you know that he means it.

“Yeah, love you,” you whimper back, breathy and pitchy and desperate as you let his hand fall from your mouth. You drop down onto your elbows to kiss him, wet and messy, and hope that he knows that you mean it too.

Issei keeps thrusting up into you as your lips slot messily against his, an arm wound around the small of your back to keep you in place as he fucks into you. You’re lost in the feeling of it, in the pleasure Issei is giving to you, when suddenly light washes over the little room.

“I thought I heard you two in here.”

You squint against the light, your lips still hovering over Issei’s as you pant. Takahiro leans against the doorframe on the other side of the room, and his gaze sweeps across the scene as he pushes his flashy sunglasses up onto his head, his strawberry hair pinned back underneath them. His red eyes watch you placidly, an amused little smile on his face.

You always found it hard to believe that of the two of them, Hiro was the elder. And not marginally—Hanamaki Takahiro has seen more seasons than all of the towering trees that surround your little safe house combined. Where Issei is solemn and reserved, favouring understated clothes and quiet, Hiro delights in the marvels of the modern era; revels in them. Their stark juxtaposition is part of what had drawn you to them in the first place. 

Part of what had led you here.

“Hiro,” you breathe when you spot him, but then the hair stands up n the back of your neck as you catch the sweet smell of blood in the air.

Something monstrous squirms inside of you; animalistic and feral. You scramble blindly towards it, but Issei keeps you where you are with his arms wrapped around your waist and his cock still inside of you. He pulls you to his chest as you thrash against him. You sob, desperately fighting against his hold. There’s an ungodly burning in your throat, saliva dripping from your trembling lips. Then Hiro is in front of you, so quickly so barely see him move, patting your hair back from your face. 

“Shh, shh,” he coos in his smooth, low voice. You blink tears away, swallowing against your mouth full of spit. The ache in you teeth is back, worse now than before, almost as if you can feel the slice of fangs that want to push through your flesh and descend. You want to bite. To rend and tear. Every breath you draw in burns with the delicious fragrance you know is so close. You cling to Issei harder. “Baby, it’s not going anywhere. You’ll feed soon, just calm down. Don’t rush.”

Hiro takes your face in his hands, pressing light kisses the edge of your mouth, your cheeks, your nose. In the corner over Hiro's shoulder, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror of the vanity that sits half-uncovered.

You don't recognize the animal that peers back.

You’re tense even as Hiro coddles you, soothes you, but then Issei’s hips start moving again. The unexpected sensation punches a carnal, gasping sound out of you and it makes Hiro laugh against your cheek, all air. 

There are four hands on your body, two mouths against your skin.

“Oh, that’s our girl,” Hiro sounds chipper as you slacken, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Breathe for us, okay? Just breathe. It’s okay.”

You hear the sloppy sound of Issei’s hips meeting yours, and the jingling of Hiro’s belt as he unfastens it with one hand.

You smell the scent of fresh blood, but also the cool early-winter air that clings to the material of Hiro’s coat now that he’s so close, still heavy with the lingering fragrant pine from outside.

You feel pleasure building while they touch you, until it drowns out the ache. You’re hungry, but the burn isn’t quite so vicious. Your teeth hurt, but you find the sting has been soothed.

“Resist it for a bit—” 

You’re not sure who moves you, but soon you’re splayed out again with your back to the floor, Issei is pinning your wrists down by your face, and both men are looming over you. Hiro looks up at Issei, tucking a tendril of his dark hair behind his ear dotingly. He smiles as he looks back down to you, his touch still lingering on the shell of Issei’s ear. 

“—For us?”

Seconds tick by that you can’t keep track of.

But it’s getting easier.

And you have plenty of time to figure it out.

You shut your eyes, nodding slightly as you swallow over the burn in your throat, and you let your mind go blank.

more than you can chew sakusa kiyoomi/f!reader (haikyuu!) CROSSPOSTED TO AO3 word count: 4.3k tags: 18+ MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, tw blood, tw monster fucking, vampire!au, smut, pwp, biting (obviously), kiyoomi as a rich old vampire just makes sense ok? a/n: thank you @shuwuji​ for putting the idea of vampire sakusa in my tiny little brain

It was a stupid idea.

Possibly the worst you’ve ever had, even.

Your heels scrape against the wet concrete of the narrow alleyway as you skitter down it, your every footfall on the pavement echoing off the walls of buildings that all look the same as you rush past them—an incoherent blur that you don’t have time to contemplate. Your breaths are ragged, and your heartbeat—your pathetic, foolish, hopelessly human heartbeat—is racing in your too-tight chest.

You know what this place is, and what you’ve willingly walked into.

You know the dark district isn’t somewhere you’re supposed to travel at night.

Not alone.

Not if you know what’s good for you.

Not if you want to live.

But you also know it’s where he is, and so setting aside every rational, reasonable warning your mind had pleaded with you to abide by, you find yourself there all the same. Wrapped in a little cocktail dress and expensive pair of heels he’d bought for you, you're an all too perfectly primped prey, ripe for the slaughter.

You’d been so determined only a few hours prior. So sure that you were brave enough to face the side of town you’d been raised to avoid—like all good, god-fearing girls are supposed to.

But that confidence has abandoned you now that you need it most.

One brief meeting with a pair of red eyes and a smile too sharp and too predatory to be sweet had sent you running.

You crumple against a brick wall when you can’t run anymore, pressed against the cool, rough stone when your body is no longer able to continue in your flight. You struggle for breath, dropping to your knees on the gritty asphalt, grappling blindly for the cellphone you know is tucked away in your little cross-body bag.

If you can just get to it, if you can just call him before—

“Get up.”

The voice is so shocking you fumble the device in your hands, almost crying out.

But not in fright.

“Sakusa!”

You scramble to your feet, throwing your arms around his middle and burying your face into his broad chest.

He stays rigid throughout your emotional display.

He pushes you back with a firm hand on your shuddering shoulder, prying your hold from his waist. He holds you at arm’s length as he appraises you, eyes flickering to every inch of you that he can see. His usual black mask covers his nose and mouth but his eyes speak volumes to what he’s feeling.

He’s livid.

“How did you find me?” you breathe out, voice watery with tears of relief.

“I could smell you from two blocks away,” he replies flatly. He catches your wrist in his hand, his thumb finding your pulse point just like it always does, and tugs you forward. “Now move.”

There are no streetlights in the dark district. At least, not as many as you’d find in the neighbourhoods made to accommodate the city’s human populace. You’re lucky the moon is out tonight, hanging full and heavy in the sky overhead, otherwise your journey through the labyrinthine back alleys where you had fled would have been even more unnavigable than they already were.

Sakusa doesn’t struggle to see in the dim light as he drags you along behind him, yet another reminder of the fact that this place was built for his kind—not for yours.

Yet another reminder of how the two of you are so very different.

It’s only slightly brighter when you make it back to the main drag—stepping out onto the street to see the soft glow of neon signs in windows, the muted glimpses of light as doors open into the businesses that line the street as shadowy patrons file in and out. You swallow thickly as you realize that this is because the people working in these establishments are mostly human, like you, and the lights serve as a beacon to guide them through the doors—like a lighthouse leading ships into the rocky shoreline to run aground.

Sakusa steers you towards the street corner with a hand on the small of your back and the other still tight on your wrist. He seems to be shielding you from view as best he can—his broad, imposing body following the movement of yours, as though he’s making every attempt to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

It doesn’t work.

“Omi-omi!” a voice calls, cajoling and gregarious.

Sakusa freezes, his grip on your wrist tightening.

Before you can blink there’s a man in front of you—tall, with tousled blonde hair and a dark undercut, wearing a suit that looks as expensive as Sakusa’s though the top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone in a more ostentatious way—and he stoops down to meet your gaze, almost nose to nose.

You don’t even have a chance to yelp, the sound stuck behind the breath of air that lodges itself in your throat.

Red eyes framed by thick lashes blink at you slowly.

“And who are you?”

Sakusa quickly tugs you behind him, leaving you to peer at the unexpected newcomer from around the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Hey now,” the man laughs, but it sounds almost warm. You don’t feel threatened by him—though you’re sure you should if the speed with which he appeared before you and the red hue of his eyes are anything to go by. “I just asked her a little question, Omi.”

Sakusa stays silent, his body between the two of you like an impregnable wall. You’re sure he’s glowering even if you can’t see his face from your place behind his back.

The blonde looks to you again, quirking an eyebrow in place of repeating his question, and you introduce yourself quietly in response.

“No shit? Yer Omi-kun’s girl?” A wide smile breaks across his inhumanly handsome face. “Ya never told us she’s a—“

“Fuck off, Miya.” Sakusa’s voice is low and warning, and you fight back a shiver at the unfamiliar hostility in his tone.

You’ve heard Kiyoomi upset before, but now? He sounds downright vicious.

But even as the uttered threat hangs heavy in the air, you heartbeat can’t help but flutter at being called his girl. At the fact that this Miya seemed to know of you by name, though you’d never once heard of him.

“Miya Atsumu,” the blonde speaks again, an unruffled smile still lifting the corner of his lips as he introduces himself. “Nice to finally meet ya. Dunno if you know it, but yer all this old man ever talks ab-”

“That’s enough,” Sakusa snaps, but the damage has effectively be done: you know they can both hear the sudden excited acceleration of your treacherous pulse. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“But she’s just so sweet,” Atsumu whines a little, peeking further over Kiyoomi’s shoulder to grin at you, inching ever so slightly closer.

Sakusa pushes him back forcefully with a hand wrapped around his throat, so quickly you barely see it happen. A look is exchanged between the two men, tension crackling in the space dividing them. They’re fairly evenly matched in terms of build—both tall and broad in stature—but you can’t deny that there’s just something more imposing about the darker haired individual and the way he carries himself.

His grip around Atsumu’s throat is so tight, you know that a human neck would have already snapped under the force of it.

After a few painfully tense moments, Kiyoomi lets his hand drop.

“C’mon Omi, y’know I’m only playin’ with ya.” Atsumu laughs, clapping a hand on his shoulder that Sakusa swiftly brushes off. “But yer gonna wanna get this little lamb outta here before the other boys catch wind of her.”

You sense he means it literally.

“They aren’t as well behaved as I am, after all,” Atsumu winks at you as he says it, something playful and mischievous lilting through his voice, and you can’t help but smile a little bit at his charm.

Sakusa scoffs, taking you by the waist and pulling you into his side as he begins to lead you away.

“Seeya later sweets!” Atsumu calls after you, and you turn back to see him waggling his fingers flirtatiously, a glint of fang peeking out from his quirked lips.

You almost hope he’s right.

“Put this on.”

You’re a few paces away when you feel the weight of Kiyoomi’s coat settle upon your shoulders, the command grunted at you with no room to protest.

It’s to mask your scent, you realize, and you grip the lapels between your trembling fingers, drawing it a little tighter around your frame.

“It won’t do nearly as much as you think it will,” the man at your side’s tone is disparaging, as though mocking the thought you hadn’t even expressed, “but it will mark you.”

“Mark me?” you reply quietly, struggling to match his pace as he guides you down the road towards the familiar outline of his sleek black sports car.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, a glimpse of red in the dim night.

“As mine.”

The drive out of the dark district is tense.

The only sound in the car is the soft rumble of the engine as Sakusa guns it, driving far faster than you’d ever dare. Soon the unlit streets give way to those illuminated by far more streetlights overhead, the unsettling atmosphere of the forbidden district easing with every block you travel outside of it.

You’re well beyond the dark district’s limits when you finally dare to speak beyond the two apologies you’ve already meekly offered up to no avail.

“Did you…” you trail off before you finish your thought, suddenly wrought with doubt that you should bring the subject up.

“I didn’t get the chance,” he understands even without you saying it, his voice stilted as he replies. Though you can’t see his mouth beneath his mask, you know his lips are pulled into a thin line, the tightness of his throat a telltale sign of the clench in his covered jaw.

“Oh,” you respond, quiet and apologetic. “We can go back, I could-“

“You’ve done enough for one night, don’t you think?” Sakusa hisses, and you watch as his knuckles tighten as they grip the steering wheel.

He draws in a breath that you swear shakes a little on the inhale.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that stunt you pulled was? How badly this night could have ended if I didn’t happen to catch your scent?” His fury is apparent in his tone, but his eyes never leave the road even as he scolds you. “Do you know what could have happened to you if I hadn’t gotten to you first?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper for the third time since you’d taken your seat on the passenger’s side.

You hear Sakusa swallow thickly beside you.

“So you’ve said,” he mutters lowly in reply.

You don’t speak again for the rest of the drive.

Sakusa’s penthouse is the same as it always is as the two of you step through across the threshold after a long, silent elevator ride up to the fourteenth floor.

Spacious and luxurious, with sumptuous interiors and priceless art lining the walls, it has the feeling of a museum more than a home. Immaculately clean, with not a speck of dust to be seen lingering on any surface. The entire place feels practically unlived in, an almost uncanny atmosphere hanging in the air.

Imposing. Tidy. Unliving.

Perhaps the space is a better representation of its occupant than you give it credit for.

You trail along behind Sakusa quietly, following on his heels after removing your shoes in the entryway and handing him back his suit jacket to hang up.

You linger on one side of the kitchen as he crosses the cold marble floor towards the refrigerator, fidgeting nervously with your fingers.

You watch as he wrenches the door of the appliance open, light spilling out across the impeccably polished floor and dancing along the stainless steel finishes around the room. It’s predictably empty, save for a dozen little silver packets with white capped nozzles on the centre shelf. He grabs one, not even bothering to let the door shut before he’s cracking open the pouch and lifting it to his lips.

It’s not what he needs.

You know that.

You know that bagged blood isn’t as nutritious or as satiating at the real thing. Not in comparison to a fresh feed.

He’d explained it to you once: he sustains himself, as most modern vampires do, on packaged, processed, pasteurized blood—though it’s the best money can buy, to be sure—and only goes to feed when he absolutely needs it.

The blood den you’d followed him to that night was an exclusive, members only club—reserved for the most respected and elite of his kind, with a price tag to match. It was how you’d known where to find him in the first place: it’s the only place he trusts the safety and quality of. He knows they only hire the best servers, take excellent care of them, and don’t overexploit them like a lot of other blood service establishments do.

You watch as he swallows down the contents of the sachet; one, two, three long gulps and then it’s empty. His nose twitches a little as he squeezes the last drops out, like the taste is unpleasant, or at the very least disappointing.

He reaches immediately for another.

Your eyes follow the bob of his adam’s apple raptly with each swallow.

“Stop it,” Sakusa growls, crushing the empty packet in his hand. He doesn’t turn to look at you—his eyes fixed to the marble countertop in his shining, underutilized kitchen.

“What?” you ask him, blinking slowly at your eyes flicker up to his face.

“I can smell you from here,” he spits, finally turning to glower at you. “You’re practically dripping.”

Your eyes widen, legs clenching unconsciously together on the opposite side of the room. You can feel it: the slickness between your thighs, the slide of skin on skin as they meet at the apex, the sticky pull of your damp panties over your cunt.

“What about this is so arousing to you?” Sakusa stalks over to you, crowding you against the wall. “What about watching me feed gets you so wet?”

“It’s just… I-I—“

“You what?” Sakusa has no patience for your stammering, no patience for anything when you smell so good and he’s so thirsty.

“I wanna help you, Kiyo.” It’s not the first time you’ve brought it up. Not even the fifth time. You’ve begged him so many times to feed from you, only to have him shut you down on each and every occasion.

You reach up, slowly smoothing your hands along the firm planes of his chest. Your touch is tentative, like you’re approaching an animal that you fear might bite, but you revel in the feeling of the chiselled musculature hidden underneath the soft Egyptian cotton of his button-down.

Kiyoomi shudders under the gentleness of your touch, like even after all this time he’s not used to the way you imbue so much care into every simple graze.

Your pulse pounds.

“You’re impossible,” the man above you growls, teeth gnashing together as he forces the words through them. But there’s something else there: a fracture in his composure that you’ve never seen before, a fissure in the carefully maintained pretence of control he usually wears that you know is threatening to give way.

You stand on your tiptoes, gently fisting the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a kiss.

Sakusa tries to deny you what you want, tries to keep the kiss chaste; a simple brush of his mouth against yours. But the slightest little mewl from the back of your throat makes him snap—his lips parting as he presses you more firmly into the wall behind you, taking your face in one large hand and tipping your head back so he can kiss you like he’s taking it from you.

Your tongues tangle, slick and wet, and you taste the lingering tang of copper.

It makes something flare in the pit of your stomach: a tight coil of arousal, burning white with jealousy as you kiss the taste of someone else’s blood right out of his mouth.

Another growl rumbles through Sakusa’s chest as he smells the fresh wave of slick that seeps out between your legs, shoving the hand that’s not holding your face beneath the hem of your skimpy dress—right under the lace of your panties.

He wastes no time teasing you—he doesn’t need to considering the mess that’s already smeared itself along the tops of your legs. Sakusa’s long, lithe fingers crook the moment they slide inside of you, and he holds you upright on your unsteady legs by the grip on your pussy and the press of his body into yours alone.

He finds that spot that has your eyes rolling back effortlessly—like he always does.

“Is this what you wanted?” Kiyoomi pulls his mouth from yours and pants into your hairline as he rests his chin against your temple, his voice tight and angry. “What you were so desperate for that you walked into a district full of beasts who wouldn’t hesitate for an instant to tear out your throat?”

You moan.

“Kiyo, please,” you beg mindlessly, chest heaving with sobs that slip out before they even seem to fully form, crackling through your words. “Want it, wanna feel you, wanna feed you, please.”

Kiyoomi has had centuries to perfect his patience, to master his thirst, to develop a sense of self-control that most vampires never achieve. He’s a legacy—a member of a clan so old it’s seen the rise and fall of dynasties, empires, and eras. He’s stronger than a human mind can fathom, body corded with a power that could rase a city to the ground with nothing but his bare hands.

And you—foolish and fragile and human as you are—are the one who manages to break him.

Kiyoomi’s mouth drags down the column of your throat, tongue pressing against the place your pulse pounds most violently under your impossibly delicate skin.

“Please, please, please,” you whimper, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you hold him against your jugular. “I love you, Kiyo, s’much. Let me give you what you need.”

He lets out one long, low groan, and then you feel his teeth pierce your neck.

It should hurt, but it doesn’t.

Then you feel it: a euphoric warmth that spreads through you, turning your body pliant and your legs to jelly.

You’ve heard about this before—read about it in trashy magazines you bought with flushing cheeks from the checkout counter at convenience stores, poured over posts in forums on the internet that described the experience in first-hand detail that was a little more believable. Feeding a vampire is an intimate, incredibly sensual experience for a human.

A rush of hormones floods your system as he feeds from you, triggered by a chemical in his own saliva that keep you willing and writhing as he sates his thirst—an evolutionary response to make it easier for vampires to lure their prey and keep them in their clutches.

Because who would ever try to run when it feels this good?

People get addicted to the rush, and you understand it now as you float up up up on the high of Kiyoomi drinking from you. You finally understand how it leads people to jobs at blood dens, or even selling themselves on the seedier corners of the dark district just to get their fill.

Or more appropriately, their drain.

Kiyoomi groans, a primal, beatific sound, and you watch with hazy eyes as he pulls away from you. He throws his head back, fangs bared and smeared in crimson.

Blood.

Your blood.

You crash into your orgasm with no warning at all.

Sakusa’s fingers inside of you don’t stop moving as you ride the sharp edge of your release, clinging to him as desperately as your walls do to the digits trapped between them.

Before you can even blink you’re sprawled across his bed and his teeth are sinking into your neck again—on the other side of your throat this time—a perfectly symmetrical pair of bite marks framing the delicate column of your throat.

You don’t have time to question how you get to his bedroom so quickly. Don’t have time to notice that your pretty dress is torn in half—leaving your flushed skin bared as the two sides of a garment that used to be united hang limply on either side of your body. At least not enough time before you’re cumming again with a strangled cry of Kiyoomi’s name.

Your toes curl at your back bows, your body drawn so tightly you feel like you might snap.

He pulls back to watch you writhe underneath him—scarlet dripping down to the fair, chiseled point of his chin. His eyes are wild: red with fresh blood and a glint that’s downright insatiable.

Kiyoomi descends slowly down the bed, down your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he goes while you fight to catch the breath that evades you. Crimson lip prints trail in his wake that dry like an iron-ochre map imprinted to your skin.

Your panties are long gone as he settles between your legs—though you couldn’t even begin to guess where. He takes your thighs in his hands, guiding them up and apart, hooking one leg over his shoulder while the other is pressed back towards your waist. He drags his tongue along your skin before his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and another wave of warmth ripples through you to override the ebbing pleasure of your second orgasm. A throb of lust tightens in your core, sending another drip of slick along your folds.

“Kiyoomi,” you call to him, breathless and wanting. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, your vision fuzzy along the edges.

He pulls away from your thigh, laving his tongue over the two crescent shaped imprints of his teeth in your skin to soothe the wound—or not miss a drop.

“Yes?” his voice is even as he responds, but the feral look in his eyes betrays him.

“Do I taste good?” you whisper, feeling the corners of your lips pull in a drowsy little smile.

He pauses for a moment, pressing one last kiss to the bite mark between your legs before crawling back up the bed to cradle your face between his palms. It’s hard to focus your eyes, even when he’s so close to you, and nearly impossible to make your tongue cooperate in speech—as drunk off the feeling of him as he is the taste of you.

“You’re divine,” his words are breathed out like a prayer: reverent and pious.

Kiyoomi’s hands guide you where he wants you, settling your head gently against the soft down of his pillows, holding your quivering thighs back as he positions himself on his knees between them. He drags the head of his cock through the mess between your legs, the hot, velvety soft petals of your slick cunt parting as he pushes through them, the tip of his length nudging at the puffy, sensitive swell of your clit.

You can’t take his teasing, not after you’ve already cum twice, not when you already feel so spent. He seems to sense this before you muster the strength to do anything other than whimper, and suddenly he’s sinking into you.

“Oh—oh!” you cry out, voice breaking between the repetition of the word. “Kiyoomi s’too much, too much.”

Kiyoomi shushes you gently, a contrast to the sharp thrust of his hips against yours. In spite of your words, of your hesitation, your walls still desperately suck him in.

His thumb drags through the drool that dribbles from the corner of your parted lips, forcing it back into your mouth as his ruby eyes flicker between the place his cock is disappearing into you and the way your features are screwing up in pleasure. Your lips wrap around the tip of his thumb instinctively, sucking on it as he continues to fuck into you with long, forceful strokes that have the sturdy bed shaking beneath you.

You moan around the finger in your mouth as Kiyoomi pummels into that spot that has your vision going white, stars crackling across your already blurry vision as your entire body flushes, over and over again. You feel the slick sheen of perspiration clinging to you, and Kiyoomi’s low body temperature feels positively frigid as his skin meets yours.

“Kiyo, kiss?” you slur around his thumb needily as want burns white hot in your belly, and he doesn’t hesitate to comply your desperate request, his chest pressing into yours as he dips down to capture your lips with his.

He bites your lip as your panting mouths move fervently together—a simple nick, but enough to send a burst of copper and salt across your tastebuds. Kiyoomi’s own tongue chases the taste as it washes across yours.

Another surge of heat and endorphins courses through you as his tongue presses his saliva into your wound, blood and spit smearing down your face, and you cum with soundless cry—fingers clumsy as you scrabble for purchase in his perfect, unyielding skin.

Kiyoomi’s toppling over the precipice soon after, though his hips don’t stop fucking you down into the mattress through both of your rapturous peaks.

This is different from the other times he’s allowed himself to touch you; lacking the restraint that up until this point he’s been so steadfast in exerting. Limbs and lust and breaths entwined, you hardly feel like two bodies at all.

You’re one in every way, body and soul, down to the blood that runs through your veins.

You know, you both know, that nothing will ever feel like this again.

That nothing will ever satisfy either of you in place of it—in place of what you've found in each other.

The two of you are well and truly damned.

Together.

pairing: takahiro hanamakki x f!reader

synopsis: having no money and the worst job leads you to dark places, answering a strangers roommate ad. leading you to meet the roommate from hell, who happens to have the solution to your problems and isn’t too bad at giving head.

genre: smau, crack, enemies to lovers, smut, angst, content creator!makki, slooooow burn.

status: ongoing

🎀 meet the characters!

୨ৎ 01 | what does lore mean?

୨ৎ 02 | piss baby

୨ৎ 03 | ok cool guy 🙄

୨ৎ 04 | walking clinic

୨ৎ 05 | cooking

୨ৎ 06 | my boygina is pulsating

୨ৎ 07 | put some inches in me then

୨ৎ 08 | baby you don’t even know (written + smut)

୨ৎ 09 | hole pic tmr tho??

୨ৎ 10 | the baffoon

୨ৎ 11 |

୨ৎ 12 |

୨ৎ 13 |

୨ৎ 14 |

୨ৎ 15 |

MTBA!

head empty, only thinking about how when you go to kiss him, you cup his cheeks in your hands and gently squish, smooshing his lips out slightly. he’s already smiling in excitement. you lean in, offering him a little “mwah,” dramatically, but somehow, it always works. his eyes practically form little hearts, not a trace of a thought swirling in them, and his body relaxes: his shoulders droop and his brows soften, and you know he’s completely under your spell when he puckers his lips out for just oooooone more kiss.

it happens a lot more than you both realize; before work, after work, when he’s cleaning up from dinner, when you sneak up behind him while he’s doing paperwork, constantly, are those squishy cheeks in your hands and the invisible tail behind him wagging eagerly.

truly in the palm of your hand.

—————-

bnha: denki, kirishima, midoriya

hq: hinata, tanaka, nishinoya, sugawara, yamaguchi, kuroo, yaku, oikawa, bokuto, akaashi, tendou, ushijima, atsumu, osamu, aran, suna, sakusa, terushima, meian

jjk: gojo, geto, ino, yuuji, higuruma, choso

+ ur faves 🫶🏻

This is the Baby Money Yoda, reblog in the next 60 seconds of seeing this to receive a blessing from our green bean prince.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. roomie!matsukawa ! — the masterlist.

disclaimer: these can be read as singular pieces or in order. each fic will be updated with its own set of tags. thank you for reading !

ᥫ᭡. MY ONLY VICE — mattsun always had a bad habit. but with your help, maybe he can change that. question is, are you willing?

‎꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader, cigarette smoking, unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, fingering, semi-public sex — WC : 2.2k

ᥫ᭡. STORMY NIGHTS — the thunderstorm rages on outside, but what can you do about the one inside of you?

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader, unprotected sex, praise, minimal prep tbh, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slight cervix fucking, creampie, light dose of aftercare — WC : 2.6k

ᥫ᭡. WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR — working at a funeral home can take its toll. aka mattsun comes home after a bad day at work.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : hurt/comfort, pining, cigarette smoking, mentions of death, mattsun has the beginnings of an existential crisis : WC — 1.7k

ᥫ᭡. THE WORST GUYS — the dating scene sucks. especially when the only man you actually want to be with is your roommate.

more coming soon …