Embrace

Osamu: Sorry about him.

Kiyoomi: YOU HEARD?!

Osamu: No, I just assume whenever ‘Sumu opens his mouth something horrible comes out.

Visible Mending Guide

NEEDY

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader | wc: 1,2k.

warnings: slight dirty talk, hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie.

Sakusa is needy after weeks without seeing you.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a passionate man, in volleyball, in cleaning, and—believe it or not—in bed. Yes, he usually hates messes, but when it comes to you in his bed, moaning his name while he thrusts his hips against you mercilessly is a mess he wouldn’t bother repeating over and over again. 

The perfect example is today. He couldn’t resist when he came home from a long trip and saw you in those pajama shorts that suddenly seemed to look better on you than any lingerie in your closet. Nor when you hugged him and he felt your breasts against his torso as you gave him a peck on the lips. He was needy after weeks without your touch, so he didn’t even bother to unpack when he grabbed your waist and brought your lips together in a messy kiss. 

In the blink of an eye Sakusa had already bounced you into his arms and you wrapped your legs around his hips as he carried you into the bedroom, where he threw you on the bed before settling between your legs to rub his growing bulge against your crotch. 

“Missed you so much.” He mumbled against your lips as his hands worked on pulling down your pajama straps to cup your breasts. 

“I can tell.” 

Of course you can tell, much more so because of the way he’s shoving his long shaft inside you right now. He had you on all fours, one of his hands pulling your hair keeping your head against the mattress and the other holding your wrists behind your back. 

Sakusa is going wild. He didn’t mind the exaggerated way in which the headboard of the bed hit the wall; nor that thanks to that, one of the pictures hanging on the wall with a nice picture of you two in an amusement park fell to the floor breaking into pieces. He thought that putting up with the neighbors’ complaints and sweeping up some glass was worth it because of how well your wet walls were squeezing him. 

You were on the verge of collapse, your boyfriend had already made you cum three times, once with his tongue and the other two with his fingers as his cock went in and out of your swollen pussy. But you wouldn’t tell him to stop, not when with every thrust you felt him hit your sweet spot and the moans that escaped from his mouth reached your ears like candy. 

“Fuck— look at you, doll.” He groaned tightening his grip on your hair to yank it back, making you arch your back. His teeth bit your ear before he spoke against it, “You’re taking me so well, I’m gonna cum inside you, ‘kay? I bet you missed havin’ my cum drippin’ out of you.” 

For someone who talks too much about cleanliness, Kiyoomi has a pretty dirty mouth. 

He didn’t recognize himself when it came to having sex with you, he’d stop thinking clearly and just let himself go, just like he could never control the words that came out of his lips. But to say you didn’t like it would be a lie, that’s why you quickly began to nod in agreement with his statement. 

“That’s what I thought.” He left a kiss on your temple before letting your body fall forward. 

Sakusa pulled out of you, earning a groan from you when you felt empty, to grab you by the waist and turn you around roughly. 

Your eyes met his as your back was against the mattress again before he slid his aching cock back in with a single thrust. He quickly regained the rhythm of his hips that made your body sway back and brought his fingers to your puffy clit. You couldn’t hold back the scream that came from your throat at the stimulation, tears spilled from your eyes and you were so sensitive it was almost embarrassing how your orgasm was already approaching with his digits circling your bud for less than two minutes. 

“Omi, I’m—” 

“I know, fuck, I know. I got you, doll.” 

You couldn’t hold it in any longer— your walls squeezed him as if they wanted to push him out the moment you came around his cock. 

Kiyoomi didn’t stop, not even allowing you to take a breath because he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. It was obscene how your moans mingled with the sounds of skin colliding, but that only brought him to the edge. 

The veins in his arms stood out as he grabbed the headboard with all his strength and looked down at you with a smirk on his face. But the cocky smile was replaced by a frown along with his teeth capturing his lower lip the moment he felt his orgasm near. 

“Shit.” 

His grip on the wooden headboard intensified as he increased the speed of his thrusts trying to go deeper—if that was even possible—to chase his climax. No doubt his rough treatment would leave you with a sore body for days, but that was the least of his worries. 

“Almost there, fucking god.” He closed his eyes and threw his head back. 

He was so close. So fucking close. So close that everything going on around him stopped mattering. The only thing on his mind was to cum deep inside you. 

Sakusa was so lost in his pleasure that he just decided to ignore the abrupt movement of the bed that almost made him lose his pace. Not now, he’d worry about it later. 

The sounds of the bed echoed throughout the place, the movements of his hips became clumsy and his grunts became louder announcing that he was about to cum. And god, did he cum.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He mumbled through his teeth as he spilled all his load inside your pussy.  He gave a few more gentle thrusts to make sure he emptied himself before pulling out and admire the mess he had made between your legs with a proud smirk. 

His hands were sore from exerting so much pressure as he let go the poor headboard to drop his body on top of yours and kiss you on the forehead. 

“That was something.” Kiyoomi chuckled trying to catch his breath, “I think we broke the fucking bed.”

You gasped in faux surprise, “You think? Can’t you feel the angle we’re lying at?” 

“I was feeling other things.” He answered cupping your tits in his hands. “Let’s take a shower, c’mon.” 

Your boyfriend stood up, standing on the edge of the bed with his hands on his hips to realize that the front legs of the bed frame were broken. You stood next to him, watching with tight lips what you had done. But when both of you turned to look at each other, you couldn’t help but break into laughter. 

“This is what I call a good fuck.” He said proudly, pulling his phone out of the pockets of his sweatpants that were lying on the floor.

“And now?” 

“I just got my paycheck, don’t worry love, tomorrow we’ll buy a new one.” He kissed your head, “A sturdier one.”

You smiled before turning around to head to the bathroom, but stopped in your tracks when you heard the sound of a photo being taken. You looked over your shoulder to find your boyfriend taking pictures of the bed with a smile as if it were a work of art. 

“And that’s for?”

“Group chat.” He simply stated, “Those idiots have been bugging me that I sure don’t fuck you right.”

the dream

~ HAIKYUU LINKS TAG TEAM

pls don’t read this if you don’t like porn links please know that the characters are up to age meaning they are either adults or teen ages 18-19

~ AKAASHI KEIJI

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~ TSUKISHIMA KEI

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~ KENMA KOZUME

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~ OSAMU MIYA

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what's the point of living if i can't be someone's "sweet nemesis" and "darling god" ??

Dead Poets Society (1989) dir. Peter Weir

two-way street — part 2.

summary | how is suna rintarou ever going to get over you? or: having a hard time not thinking of begging you on his knees to give him a second chance. warnings | angst; fem!receiving oral; pathetic!suna/sweet talker!suna and fem!reader; mentions of weed and alcohol; second chances (except they're still stupid) word count | 3122. a/n | how to angst...? please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´- part 1 to be found: here.

“if this keeps up, yer gon’ be labeled a stalker.”

atsumu held the bills between his fingers, and suna snatched it, stuffing the money into his back pocket and the rest of the mary jane in the side pocket of his jacket, “how about minding your own business once in a while?”

“nah,” atsumu grinned, “where’s the fun in that?”

his fingers were quick in rolling the joint, crumbling the buds into a neat line before closing the paper with a swipe of his tongue. when he searched his jeans pockets for a lighter, suna’s eyes found your presence amidst the many people at the party, fitted between dancing, sweating bodies. 

the party he hadn’t wanted to stay at once he finished up his deals, but that he couldn’t help but prolong his visit more once his sweeping gaze over the masses found the light you were radiating.

so there he stood, in the shadowed corner of the room with his shady business, several couches and tables between you both, basking in your light even though he knew you didn’t like him to. he knew, he knew, and yet he stood there while the fake blonde next to him clicked his thumb against the lighter, watching you dance.

his hoodie and the jacket thrown on top of it felt heavy and too hot on his shoulders, but he didn’t bother shrugging any of it off.

because he hadn't planned to stay.

“so — “ atsumu dragged a deep breath, and that shit stank up this pathetic little corner suna rintarou was standing in, “ — what do ya say, i try my luck with’er?”

suna froze, but said nothing. maybe if he pretended that the music thrumming through the air was too loud, then he could ignore atsumu and his cocky exclamation of stupidity. 

but as blonde as atsumu was, he wasn’t as gullible.

an arm draped over suna’s shoulder, he leaned in, and smoke curled up into the air, the scent as penetrating as ever, “oi, come on, rinnie, what’s with yer stoic attitude, huh? you can hav’er right after, hn? jus’ wanna see what the fuss is all about. so, how abou—”

but atsumu asked for it. 

suna rintarou did not fight. he really didn’t. he wasn’t the type to, and punches hurt his knuckles.

if anything, he was more the underhanded type to deal with things, maybe a bit of blackmail if they wouldn’t let up, but fighting? smashing any of his body parts into somebody else for violent reasons? not really his style.

so leaving behind a doubled over blonde whose joint had fallen down from his open mouth onto the wooden floor, suna had to get out. it was hot, it was stuffy, it was so fucking unbearably close to where you were, with annoyance pumping through him at every turn because fuck— not even sending him a glance or leave any crumbs of recognition that you had seen him, that you had felt his presence in the same way that he did when he stepped into the goddamn house.

the air outside was fresh, cooling the sting on his knuckles, and he grit his teeth when he bent at the knee, sinking, leaned against a tree in the backyard of the house. the knuckle of his uninjured hand rapped against the space between his eyebrows, trying to pound back some sense back into his head. 

he should leave, ignore that atsumu would get up from the ground and would pursue you out of spite, and just go home. he may had been joking but the venomous way those words left his mouth, painting you like an usable toy, when suna couldn’t even fucking help but let you slip through his fingers, when all he wanted was to lose himself in you, keep a grasp on your essence, selfishly own all that you had to offer.

“rin?”

his head snapped up so fast, he felt his neck protest, but that didn’t matter, because—

fuck. 

the way you were rubbing your arms at the cool air, the hesitant look on your face when he had gotten so used to the look of disdain you used to send his way the past weeks, the absolute wreck that was your hair from running your hands through them while dancing. 

you were breathtaking. 

“what happened with miya?”

“nothing.”

you didn’t believe him, but that was because you knew him. you knew the way his face settled in the slightly bored expression when nothing was going on, the way his shoulders would relax because there was nothing to be tense about, the way he would roll his eyes, the sharp lines of his features laid-back.

suna rintarou looked up at you from where he was seated on the ground, and his face painted a clear picture for you. the tension in his jaw, the deep set of displeasure as his lips pressed into a thin line, the twitch of his ears whenever he lied, the red on his knuckles — he was pissed.

“it’s not nothing.”

what did you want to hear? that he couldn’t bear to hear somebody talk that way about you? as if you were dismissable? at the insult hurled your way and his? 

that he had no right to feel any way about you anymore, not when he fucked up and lost you?

you leaned forward, and a couple of strands of your hair slipped from your naked shoulder, littered in goosebumps. god, he wanted to exist within your confines.

“why do you care?” he settled on that question, a note of bitterness entering his voice, “last i checked, you were too busy dancing with some lame idiot.”

your silence was icy, and suna thought that he might be stupid. at last, your hands resumed rubbing your skin, and your voice sounded almost tired, “because you’re injured, rin. because you look like you’re gonna make some bad decisions.”

then, you huffed, just as bitter and full of resentment as he felt when he breathed next to you and could not call you his, “but i guess i’m the lame idiot here, whatever.”

you turned to leave, but movement rustling behind you and a warm hand on your legs stopped you. half-crawled, half-supported on a knee and a foot, suna rintarou’s fingers squeezed your flesh, and he looked up at you with eyes that spelt out too many hidden emotions, too many hidden desires, too many words unsaid.

“fuck, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that,” he leaned his forehead against your thigh and your leg twitched at the contact, “i’m annoyed. this shit’s annoying. i fucking miss you, and you’re dancing and you don’t care and god, i’m so fucking pissed—”

a hot kiss placed on your thigh, his hand warm; tendrils of guilty and embarrassed pleasure shooting from where he had touched you to your lower stomach. 

“rin, i don’t—”

“i can’t without you,” he murmured against your leg, hot and wet, a bite, “fuck, please. tell me you miss me just as much.”

his other hand coming up to grip the back of the leg he was leaning against shut you up, and his fingers felt so familiar, the press of the tips against your flesh, marking you in the way they used to. the trace of his lips against you spelt out a dirty secret that he kept hidden in the sleeves of his jacket, in the confines of his pants, in the innermost window of his soul.

those eyes looked at you, half his face covered by the skirt from where you were watching him, pleading, another swipe of his tongue on your skin, tasting you, asking for you to give in.

your ribcage heaved up; rin at your feet, his hands spelling out his desire, the press of his face so comfortable and everything you wanted. your chest hurt, the arousal pooling low, “i hate you.”

he couldn't help but notice that you still didn't deny him.

“i know,” another kiss, and god, he was going to make you go—, “i know, babe, i know. but i’m— crazy, i’m going crazy.”

his nose was searching, a trail he could follow with his eyes closed, leading him under your skirt with ease, tracing the edges of your panties. his groan rumbled in his chest against your leg when he found the proof that you wanted him just as much, the vibration sending shocks through you and you couldn’t help the little pant escaping your mouth.

“fuck, you don’t even know,” suna mouthed against your clothed pussy, the desperate raw edge in his voice kissing you you through the material. your legs trembled, tiny little flutters at the way suna rintarou disappeared under your skirt so naturally, the way the hood of his sweater draped over his back peeped out from underneath, his hands steading you as he licked the wetness of your panties until his saliva drenched all of it.

“r—rin,” your hands found his shoulders to support yourself on, legs spread a little further, hair tickling your innermost skin, “i hate you, a—ha-nd i hate all those s—stupid girls you had with you, an— rin.”

his finger had wrapped around your panties, pulling it to the side, mouth latched to your pussy freely now, tongue tracing your folds like he had forgotten the look of you, the feel of you under his pink muscle, all the little things that had your breath hitching, that had you moan, that had your hands grip his thick neck to press him up further.

“i hated seeing those assholes at your arm,” he snapped against you, mouth growing forceful, and two of his fingers coating themselves in your wetness, teasing you, pushing in slowly, deliberately, “what do they fucking know about what type of sounds you make, huh? how to treat you? how to love you?”

suna knew you; he knew the spot to curl his fingers against, knew the rhythm of his tongue against your clit, knew the erogenous zones to stimulate with his other hand to have you panting, knew the tell-tale sign of you coming undone underneath his touch. and with each stroke, with each kiss, with each gasp of air he forces down his throat before diving back into you, he missed you.

“i want you,” the squelch in the air was obscene, so fucking vulgar, “i need you. please.”

your nerves coiled and crashed on top of him, dissolving into an onslaught of lust, of love, of hate, of cum, of his tongue ever-lasting, of his voice begging, and had he not been holding you up, you would have lost your footing and fallen down, too.

“rin, rin, rin, rin,” name chanting, hands sweaty on his jacket, the pull of your panties, the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you through the orgasm.

“tell me,” his hips were moving against the air, desperate for reprieve, “tell me there’s no other, babe. there’s me, hn? i’ve got you.”

another orgasm was on the edge of your perception at the continuous stimulation, at the continuous plea to give suna what he had to miss out on for the past weeks. brain drunk on you, yours drunk on him, fingers slipping, “rin, there— ah, never wa—ha-as. fuck, you make m’feel soo goo—oood.”

his cock pulsated in tandem with his heart, aching, your words beelining straight down, fuelling the haze surrounding his mind. his mind couldn’t help but conjure all the times other men’s hips snapped into your heat, imagining you opening your mouth wide to fit them. it was like a disease; his thoughts revolved around you, jealousy rushing hot through his veins. 

the way his fingers turned harsh, curling deep had your nerves tingling with an excitement that you hadn’t felt in so long, and your tongue flicked out to moisten your lips. he had leaned back, face exposed to the cool air, lower half of his face glistening in the night and the soft backyard lights. he kept you in his gaze, eyes following the movement of your tongue. his other finger joined to take over the featherlight touches to your clit, so in contrast to the filthy way a third finger joined to wedge itself into your cunt. 

he huffed, “look into my eyes.”

suna's eyes were like a maze that drew you in, the way they had from the first night you had found yourself in his bed. it kept luring you in, even when he paused to stand up in one swift move, balance found quickly, chest pressed against yours, his fingers slowing down from the pace you couldn’t keep up with. so close to you, in the familiar embrace, your head came forward instinctually to rest on his shoulder. 

“eyes up. look at me,” he repeated, nudging your head with his shoulder and you lifted it slightly to recapture the storming grey. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, eyes half-lidded as he drank you in.

their usually sharp lines having softened, yet his voice remained rough, “nobody compares. you fuckin’ get that?”

his touch became more like a caress; the strokes plunging in deep but not with any less of the needy passion. it drew from you trembles, little moans meant for him, his name tumbling from your lips as you asked for another release; the brewing of feelings in your chest accompanying the heat pooling low.

suna’s head dipped low, found your sensitive skin littered with goosebumps and had his tongue brushing over your flesh to taste your scent. his teeth bit down lightly, a sharp canine digging into your skin; a certain intent behind the marking, possessive and pissed off. the pressure of his clothed cock rubbing your stomach had you clinging to him, and when you opened your mouth, amongst tiny mewls leaving your mouth, another inquiry did as well.

“w—what did a—ah-tsumu say to you?”

“who the fuck cares about that guy?”

he inhaled sharply, surprised, his teeth sinking in deeper and harder for a second, and a painful gasp escaped you. immediately, suna ripped his head back at the sound, half an apology in the depth of his eyes, half fogged confusion, a lot of annoyance.

he stilled, because why the fuck were you taking another man’s name into your mouth when he was knuckles deep inside you?

you visibly recoiled from the sharp tone and the way his fingers felt anything but nice anymore, yet when you stepped back, the inner walls of your pussy quivered at the loss, “why are you reacting like that?”

suna knew from the way your hands came up to hug yourself that you felt a little lost, and the way his pruney fingers grew cold, exposed to the air, squeezed his heart. he didn’t want to be apart from you, but when he stepped forward, you stepped back and suddenly, he thought that the jacket wasn’t enough to keep him warm anymore.

something licked at his heart; something ugly and anxious, clawing through his ribcage like something trying to escape a prison, “you don't get that it kind of wasn’t the time?” 

just stop asking. stop caring about that fucking miya guy. why are you so interested in what miya said? just sto—

“it never is the time with you,” another step back, your voice bitter and regretful, and suna had half a mind to try and step forward again, “you know, i didnt come out here to fuck around with you. i was genuinely concerned and there you go again, completely stuffing whatever fucking emotional connection i want to start.”

suna swallowed poison; tongue bitter and words even more so, “i didn't ask for your damn sympathy, alright?”

he was lying. 

sunarin was lying through his goddamn teeth. he wanted your sympathy and more. he wanted you to have the same interest, the same suffocating need for his presence the way he craved yours; so badly that he could vomit. yet you stared at him like he had never made you happy once, and drawing up the same old walls felt safe, a routine he had perfected, felt like something he couldn’t fuck up no matter how much he tried.

he didn’t want to mention atsumu, didn’t want to think that saying his name might prompt you to go look for that guy. because why wouldn’t you? 

you knew atsumu from before, doing god knows what. goddamn it, you weren’t even his.

suna wanted you for himself, wanted you to not even entertain the idea of hearing atsumu express any kind of interest, jest or not, couldn’t bear the idea that you might take the fake blonde up on his offer. 

he couldn’t. he couldn’t. 

he wanted you to never hear that name again, but he supposed that he had a funny way of expressing that. because what escaped his numb lips was not the love confession he yearned to say, but accusation after accusation. because he didn’t know and he needed to know and he couldn’t rest until he knew.

his palm hurt where his nails dug in harshly.

“if you just came out here because you’re scared for your miya fucking shitsumu, don’t bother. you already have his number, no? no need to go through me then.”

suna regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. because he did mention the guy. he did mention the number that would help you bridge the distance. did what he didn’t want to do because jealousy and sorrow and anger swirled in his chest and the gravitational pull of his heart for all negative things was too great. suna hated that he was the reason you looked like you were going to cry. 

he thought he was stupid. he was so goddamn stupid, and he wanted to get back down on his knees and ask you for forgiveness, but when he stepped forward, you took not one but two steps back. 

the silence stretched between you seemed to be more of a measurement of distance, and you were so far away.

“you’re messed up,” is what you replied, quiet, hands rubbing your arms. you wanted to turn around, wanted to leave and curl up because you felt so used, but he stood there with his stupid hoodie, with the stupid slanted eyes that always observed you so sharply, with the stupid glistening of his lips from where his mouth had met your body feverishly; and it was difficult to breathe because he was still the most beautiful guy you had ever met.

you turned around to leave and this time, sunarin didn’t stop you because maybe he did deserve to be alone.

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i hope patroclus and achilles are juggling figs and going swimming together in the afterlife