Rainy Day Yams

Day 6: Yamaguchi

Warnings: Dry humping

It’s not that Yamaguchi didn’t want to participate in the months challenge, it’s just that he knew he wouldn’t make it far; not even far enough to be proud of the attempt. You told him you’d be supportive, wouldn’t try anything to mess him up, but he was adamant about his decision. And you respected that, so you kept track of how long it took him to break on his own in your mind. It didn’t take long, but it was longer than you had anticipated.

You had been lounging on the couch all day, binging a show on your off day, when he entered through the front door. A wide, adorable smile on his face at the sight of his pretty girlfriend in the living room, having that be the first thing he sees when coming home is his favorite part of any day. “Hi, honey,” he kicked his shoes off and made his way over to where you were sprawled out. You flipped over onto your back and moved your legs apart enough for him to slip between and rest on top of you, his arms wrapping around your waist, your fingers brushing through his soft hair, “what did you get up to all day?”

“Just been glued to the couch, waiting for you to come home,” you smiled as he looked up at you. Home. Something flipped inside of him at that word falling from your lips so gracefully; so right. His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in your tummy, his lips pressing light kisses on the areas where your skin was exposed, timidly trailing down to the waistband of your sweatpants. “‘Dashi?” voice coming out in a whimper, eyes closing from the sudden sexual air in the room.

Tadashi hummed against your skin, his fingers dancing their way up your shirt, thumbs brushing lightly against your nipples, “yeah, honey?” He nipped at your hips when he came face to face with them. You could only respond with needy sounds, hands gripping his hair as he slid your sweats down your legs, his lips following and kissing the newly exposed skin. “You look very pretty today.”

His compliment sent goosebumps to litter your bare arms and legs, pulling his face up to kiss him desperately after he pulled your sweats off and discarded his own. Your mouths collide, tongues immediately making contact, your hips raise up to roll against the growing bulge in his boxers.

“‘m just in normal clothes,” you pant against his mouth, chin lifting up to chase his lips as he pulls away. Tadashi nips at your jaw, needily grinding his crotch into your clothed heat; already feeling your panties stick to your wet folds.

He hummed in response, followed by a muffled whimper when his aching cock pressed harshly against you. It became clear that he wasn’t planning on fucking you just yet; he made no move to slide your panties to the side, to shove his boxers down and sink into your drooling pussy. He seemed to be content with rocking his hips into yours, content with dry humping you until he was spilling into his boxers.

“Don’t- don’t wanna stop,” his whimpers made your cunt clench around nothing, your hands releasing his face to grip his shoulders; you needed him closer, invading your space.

Within a few minutes, his hips were stuttering and shaking, the pleasure overwhelming him to the point of star filled vision and toes curling in his socks. “I-I’m- ngh, honey.”

Soft reassurance and your own rocking hips sent his mind spiraling, his face flushed and dripping sweat as he let go; just as you had softly asked him to. You could feel his boxers dampen warmly as he rode out his release, slowing his grinding and nuzzling his face in your collarbone.

A gentle smile graced your lips, kissing the side of his head and rubbing his back, “needy baby, you feel better?” you cooed once his hips stilled, laying his full weight on top of you. You were met with a nod, a hum, and a gentle kiss.

new frogs jersey

thinkin about sucking yamaguchis pretty cock and balls until he’s crying and begging for me to let him finish <3

Gonna be fr grown adult queers should know better than to engage in crazy fear mongering telling other people it’s over and we’re all gonna be sent to camps and lose our rights and be criminalized and whatever like hey how about don’t tell a group of people with unbelievably high suicide rates that there’s no hope and life is over

haikyuu movie during pride month….gays win

Yamaguchi takes care of cold-ridden tsukki 🤧💓

I finished this little thing i started a bit ago and i couldve made it smoother but i did not want to 😅 NEVERTHELESS I REALLY HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!! ☺

“I think fanfiction is literature and literature, for the most part, is fanfiction, and that anyone that dismisses it simply on the grounds that it’s derivative knows fuck-all about literature and needs to get the hell off my lawn. Most of the history of Western literature (and probably much of non-Western literature, but I can’t speak to that) is adapted or appropriated from something else. Homer wrote historyfic and Virgil wrote Homerfic and Dante wrote Virgilfic (where he makes himself a character and writes himself hanging out with Homer and Virgil and they’re like “OMG Dante you’re so cool.” He was the original Gary Stu). Milton wrote Bible fanfic, and everyone and their mom spent the Middle Ages writing King Arthur fanfic. In the sixteenth century you and another dude could translate the same Petrarchan sonnet and somehow have it count as two separate poems, and no one gave a fuck. Shakespeare doesn’t have a single original plot—although much of it would be more rightly termed RPF—and then John Fletcher and Mary Cowden Clarke and Gloria Naylor and Jane Smiley and Stephen Sondheim wrote Shakespeare fanfic. Guys like Pope and Dryden took old narratives and rewrote them to make fun of people they didn’t like, because the eighteenth century was basically high school. And Spenser! Don’t even get me started on Spenser. Here’s what fanfic authors/fans need to remember when anyone gives them shit: the idea that originality is somehow a good thing, an innately preferable thing, is a completely modern notion. Until about three hundred years ago, a good writer, by and large, was someone who could take a tried-and-true story and make it even more awesome. (If you want to sound fancy, the technical term is imitatio.) People were like, why would I wanna read something about some dude I’ve never heard of? There’s a new Sir Gawain story out, man! (As to when and how that changed, I tend to blame Daniel Defoe, or the Modernists, or reality television, depending on my mood.) I also find fanfic fascinating because it takes all the barriers that keep people from professional authorship—barriers that have weakened over the centuries but are nevertheless still very real—and blows right past them. Producing literature, much less circulating it, was something that was well nigh impossible for the vast majority of people for most of human history. First you had to live in a culture where people thought it was acceptable for you to even want to be literate in the first place. And then you had to find someone who could teach you how to read and write (the two didn’t necessarily go together). And you needed sufficient leisure time to learn. And be able to afford books, or at least be friends with someone rich enough to own books who would lend them to you. Good writers are usually well-read and professional writing is a full-time job, so you needed a lot of books, and a lot of leisure time both for reading and writing. And then you had to be in a high enough social position that someone would take you seriously and want to read your work—to have access to circulation/publication in addition to education and leisure time. A very tiny percentage of the population fit those parameters (in England, which is the only place I can speak of with some authority, that meant from 500-1000 A.D.: monks; 1000-1500: aristocratic men and the very occasional aristocratic woman; 1500-1800: aristocratic men, some middle-class men, a few aristocratic women; 1800-on, some middle-class women as well). What’s amazing is how many people who didn’t fit those parameters kept writing in spite of the constant message they got from society that no one cared about what they had to say, writing letters and diaries and stories and poems that often weren’t discovered until hundreds of years later. Humans have an urge to express themselves, to tell stories, and fanfic lets them. If you’ve got access to a computer and an hour or two to while away of an evening, you can create something that people will see and respond to instantly, with a built-in community of people who care about what you have to say. I do write the occasional fic; I wish I had the time and mental energy to write more. I’ll admit I don’t read a lot of fic these days because most of it is not—and I know how snobbish this sounds—particularly well-written. That doesn’t mean it’s “not good”—there are a lot of reasons people read fic and not all of them have to do with wanting to read finely crafted prose. That’s why fic is awesome—it creates a place for all kinds of storytelling. But for me personally, now that my job entails reading about 1500 pages of undergraduate writing per year, when I have time to read for enjoyment I want it to be by someone who really knows what they’re doing. There’s tons of high-quality fic, of course, but I no longer have the time and patience to go searching for it that I had ten years ago. But whether I’m reading it or not, I love that fanfiction exists. Because without people doing what fanfiction writers do, literature wouldn’t exist. (And then I’d be out of a job and, frankly, I don’t know how to do anything else.)”

— “As a professor, may I ask you what you think about fanfiction?” (via meiringens)

have i read this chapter before. yes. did i physically throw my phone off the bed when i read this. i think you know the answer.