#⛈ monsoon season

[shouyuus]

hi rain !! i hope u are doing so well!! ive bever requested before so i hope i do this right

can i please request osamu, sun, tsukki, and/or whoever u want hurt comfort? would make my year <3 ive been having a tough time mentally :<

again, hope youre well!!

30 under 30 bday event!

all's fair

tsukishima kei; fluff/hurt/comfort; im so sry ur not having a gucci time bby!!! hope this makes it a bit better! and thank u for sending in a req!!!

─── 月島 SO HE FINDS YOU like this — with your knees pulled up to your chest, chin tucked, staring at nothing in particular, your back against the wall, toes curling into the soft of the bedsheets.

“oi. dinner’s ready.”

you sigh, pouting as you glance up at him with faraway eyes. a spate of unease moves through him even as he narrows his eyes and lowers himself carefully onto the edge of the bed. the mattress shifts and for a few seconds, he watches you in silence. it isn’t till you loosen your muscles, letting your foot slide forward a few inches to nudge against his leg that he lets out a sigh and reaches over to pull you to him.

“what is it?” he asks, and though he tries his level best to sound annoyed, you hear the sliver of concern threaded between his words. his touch is gentle as he curves around your back, holding you as an expanse of shore might hold a tumultuous sea— patient and open and unafraid of whatever the storms might bring.

“just… not fair,” you mumble, melting easily into his embrace.

“tch. lots of things aren’t fair — got anything specific you wanna complain about?”

you crinkle your nose, eyes flickering down to where his hands are curled around yours. you turn your palm and link your fingers. the weight of his palm steadies your racing thoughts as he starts to run soft circles into your skin with his thumb.

“just… life.”

at this, he laughs — not an unkind sound, but he quirks an eyebrow nonetheless.

“wow. there’s a revelation.”

you frown, pressing back against him till he’s got you cradled against his chest. he sighs, shifting his legs on either side of your body.

“yeah,” he says after another brief bout of quiet, and you turn to slate him a glance, “but… well, we’ve got each other,” and for once, his voice isn’t flat, but tender, nuanced, as he hooks his chin over your shoulder, the motion pressing his cheek against yours, “and that’s kinda nice.”

you giggle despite yourself.

“yeah. guess so.”

it’s perhaps not the overt, loud, declarative kind of comfort that some might expect, but then, tsukishima kei is not exactly known for loud, declarative anything.

and, you think settling back into him as you both sink into a comfortable silence, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

final wc: 407|| be part of my taglist!

taglist:

@yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @dira333 @stunies @phroggii @fennecnco

[pandey18sept]

Monsoon tears

You were gone a little too soon,In an unfortunate season of monsoon,I once, a lover of rain,Now, I feel it as an unhealed pain. ⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈⛈ It’s true; rain can wash away sorrow,But from it, it’s only the dread I could borrow,Once the rainy clouds could make my heart fly,Now, sadness is all I feel, under the gloomy sky,The stormy winds used to whisper exciting tales,But now I hear nothing…

[jenniferrails]

💙💚 Good Morning!💚💙

Well, blazin though another week, but still getting lots of river dips in. Weekend was fun, got to watch sprint boat races for the first time, and wow, they can go at a pretty good clip. But I gotta say, I like the mini class (15hp?), they are so cute! 😊

I'm still learning about boats in general, and really have no idea about classes in that world (I'm from the motocross/offroad world) so I think they would qualify as the peewee class.

Had a short sprinkle of rain the other day, but it's looking like this weekend it's gonna be a downpour, monsoon season is running a little late this year ⛈

Anyway hope you all are having a wonderful Wednesday and a fabulous week, love to all! 💜✌

[watermelon-mafia]

4, 21, 29, and 40 for the ask meme ✨🖤

4. which cryptyd being do you believe in? this is kind of a cop out but- aliens. I whole heartedly believe that the universe is too big for there to be nothing out there.

21. something you’ve kept since childhood? i... am drawing a blank rn. my object permanence is not great and im not at home atm, lemme get back to this one. edit: BOXES HAVE BEEN RUMMAGED THROUGH AND GUESS WHO STILL HAS DRAGONOLOGY THE BIG BOOK OF DRAGONS? ME!!!! *maniacal cackling*

29. how do you like your shower water? im not one for 'boiling myself like a lobster' temperatures or 'i am being power washed' pressure but i do like my water warm and powerful. i want to feel like a wet beast in a storm during the summer monsoon season ⛈

40. did you have any snacks today? i have not but i have had 2 meals where my average is 1 so i feel like im doing good here 👌

[mbzmetalsmith]

After another summer #monsoon storm ⛈ that gifted #rain last night, our #texasranger #bushes in our yard have exploded with glorious #purpleblooms ! Just as yellow blooms on our Palo Verde trees mean springtime, these #magentaflowers in #tucson mean the #monsoonseason is in full swing! These colorful seasonal events are another reason #whyilovewhereilive …#tucsonarizona #sonoransummer #tucsonartist (at Tucson, Arizona) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cg-U69ev6iC/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[garyalvarez]

It’s monsoon season here, hot and humid. Last night it poured like Niagara Falls. ⛈☔️ This pic is before the rain. Looks like Jesus is about to drop out of the sky…lol. #secondcomingskies #monsoonseason #tecuala #nayarit (at Tecuala) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cgr65J8utGGz2ef98E9qoC4TUYAXDxLNEZuclA0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[wallowtoday]

Monsoon season 🌵🏜⛈

[sixba]

⛈

Send ⛈ to find my muse in the middle of a thunderstorm, alone and soaked.

It had to be without a doubt one of the stupidest bets he’d ever made. Nope, scratch that. The stupidest of all time. The bet was that either one of the cubs could weather an entire storm outside. At first, it was just rain, no big deal since it was the Monsoon Season, but then the lightning and thunder made itself known. Nala already headed back in, which gave Simba bragging rights, but did he want to stop there? No way! He wanted to sit through the entire storm outside on Pride Rock. Simba wasn’t going to be beaten again by a girl, not this time. His fur was soaked to the skin and he was shivering by the time he spotted the lioness. “H-Having fun i-inside?” the prince called out with a shudder. “Y-you’re missing some g-great rain out..out here!” 

[shouyuus]

chapter two: tell no tales

roronoa zoro; 3,029 words; fluff and angst, enemies to lovers, slowburn, depressed!zoro, ship therapist!nami, dick!zoro bc he cannot process emotions, no "y/n", trauma bonding

summary: in which zoro starts to believe in ghosts

a/n: hi from the new blog friends! yes, i know it's a little confusing, but please bear with me !! this series is indeed moving to here to the new blog, but the masterlist will live on my old blog till i've got all the links up, and i can reblog onto the new one.

< to the table of contents

The following hours are a blur of bodies and color, the setting sun bleeding out over the distant sky, the tiny island retreating in the distance as the Merry jolts along the choppy waves. Nami’s hand, Luffy’s arm, Usopp offering to take his midnight watch, Sanji pressing a bottle of something and a tray of riceballs into his hands.

Zoro drinks. And drinks. And drinks.

He drinks until the earth sways beneath him in ways he’s certain isn’t just the rocking of the ship. He drinks until the sky pivots above him, seeping into the darkness of his little corner room. He drinks, and he sleeps.

And he dreams of you.

In his dreams, you’re vibrant and laughing, your cheeks full of color, your lips brushed in reds or pinks or purples. You offer him a freshly made mochi, your fingertips dusted in rice flour. He reaches out for it but just before he can take it, the tiny little sweet splits open to reveal a raw, bleeding heart.

Blood trickles between your fingertips, slicking down your arm like pomegranate juice.

Zoro looks up to find you smiling, but there’s blood oozing down the sides of your face, collecting in the dip of your collarbones from a massive gunshot wound to the side of your head.

You cock your head, offering him the bloodied mochi.

“C’mon, take it! Everyone else got one!”

He jerks awake to a quiet knock at his door and Sanji’s muffled voice from the other side.

“Breakfast, mosshead. Made your favorites — grilled mackerel and miso soup and rice. I’ll uh — keep it warm for ya, but not for long, okay?”

Zoro swallows passed the dryness in his throat, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his face, shielding himself from the bright orange light seeping in from the little window in the corner. After a few more minutes, he swings himself out of bed, dragging his swords with him down the hallway into the kitchen.

Everyone is there, gathered around the hanging table, talking in whispered tones. They all go quiet when Zoro rounds the door, and Usopp clears his throat, leaning back with a forced lightness.

“Seems like we’ll be hitting the next island soon!” he says, eyes darting towards Nami, who sighs and nods.

“Yeah, it’s only a few more days till we get to the next island,” she says, glancing back down at her hands, “then it’s straight up into the Grand Line.”

Zoro nods, dropping into one of the empty seats and pulling the only fully set tray of food towards him. He stares at the carefully arranged items — the fish grilled to skin-crisp perfection, the miso soup still hot enough to steam, the rice fluffy and sweet.

He picks up his chopsticks.

“Good,” he says, his voice too soft, “the faster we get there… the better.”

It’s strange, how Zoro’s never before believed in ghosts. But now, he sees the shadow of you in everything he does. In the swift swish of his swords through the air, in the flutter of wind in the Merry’s sails, in the rhythmic creak of the planks of the main deck.

He thinks of you, of the sadness that had flickered in your eyes the second before Crocodile (or Mr. 0 as he’s known in Baroque Works; they’d since figured out his name and his ranking, but not much else) pressed the gun to your head and pulled the trigger.

He finds himself reliving the moment, sinking into the infinitesimal space between the breath and the gunshot; he searches it as if there might have been clues tucked in the way your throat had caught or the specific way your lashes had fluttered. He thinks, at least, you hadn’t looked scared.

And maybe, that in and of itself is the mercy.

— — —

He sees you again in Mag Mell, a tiny jewel box island tucked along the edges of Paradise. It’s an island of dreamers, of poets and painters, musicians and mystics, with wending streets papered in silver dust, and houses painted in dessert-bright colors, with pearl-gilded roofs, and golden-tipped steeples hung with glittering crystal bells that tolled by the passing hours.

People here sang easily and laughed freely, and it’s all Zoro can do not to look for you around the bend of every street corner, to jolt at every single peal of bright, unabashed laughter.

You would’ve been so happy here — at least the you from his childhood memories. Guilt claws at his insides. He should’ve done more — should’ve tried harder to save you —

So when he does catch glimpse of you, the you that’s been haunting all his all sleepless nights, he isn’t sure if he’s actually dreaming. But how could he be? They’d just docked hours ago — with Sanji and Usopp off shopping for groceries, and Luffy plowing through the market for food, Nami doing… whatever Nami does in cities like these.

At first, he thinks its his eyes playing tricks — his subconscious toying with him in this place that seems so cruelly perfect for the you of his memory, as if his dreams hadn’t been ruthless enough. But then, he hears your voice, and he’s sure it’s you.

He follows you down one twisting alley, and then another, the streets folding over one another like tributaries to a mother stream. Around the third bend, he loses you, and for a frantic moment, he finds himself spinning around himself once, twice, until a thin pair of arms slams him up against the far wall, painted a deep mahogany red.

“What part of don’t follow me are you not understanding?” your voice is nothing more than a hissed breath, tight and angry and pleading, but it’s yours.

The next moment, Zoro has you flipped, pinning you to the opposite wall, this time in a blinding turquoise, his teeth bared, a sword poised at your throat.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, forcing out the words, his heart a wild, untamed thing beating in his chest, hard enough to sting. His eyes are too wide, searching your face desperately as if looking for a sign, a slip-up that might prove you’re not who you look like you are, and yet —

The wry way your lip twists up has his stomach roiling within him. You stop struggling, tilting your head to look at him in the gather of shadows of the deserted alley.

“What? Forgotten me already? And here I thought dying in front of you would make more of a lasting impression —”

“Exactly,” Zoro bites back, unable to stop his sword from digging into the skin of your neck, a thin line of blood seeping out from beneath your otherwise unmarred skin, “I saw — I watched you —” his throat seizes forcibly over the word die and he struggles for a few seconds before he jerks back, “I watched you get shot.”

You rub at your throat with a ginger hand, drawing it away to stare at the rub of red there, your expression inscrutable.

“Yeah… that you did.”

He whips his sword out to the side before slipping it into its sheath with a dull shink.

You eye it warily, the late afternoon sun creeping into the alley inch by golden inch. It kisses at your toes and creeps up your ankles as you stare at the sword at Zoro’s side.

“That was Kuina’s, wasn’t it?” you ask.

The name slams into Zoro like a gut-punch, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from stumbling.

“So what if it is?” he asks, a quaver to his voice that he almost doesn’t recognize. He turns away from you to stare at the strip of street visible from the darkened alley. A little girl with twin pigtails skips by holding a fistful of multicolored balloons, giggling as a boy races after her, trying to steal one.

“Can’t believe you still have it after all these years.”

“Yeah, well. Call me sentimental,” but his voice is flat, almost sardonic as he turns back to stare at you.

You allow him a helpless grin, “You always were more sentimental than you’d let on. Even when we were kids.”

“You died,” he spits the word out like poison, and you flinch, almost as if struck by it. He takes a deep, steadying breath but makes no move to back down as he asks, “so how the hell are you still here?”

You press your lips, casting your eyes away, your head lowered.

“You’re on a crew with a guy made of rubber — can’t you figure it out?” you ask, rueful and quiet.

Zoro scoffs, “So far as I know, there ain’t no Devil Fruits that can make you immortal.”

You wince again, though when you do speak, there’s a weary humor tacked to the ends of your words.

“You were always smarter than you let on too,” you say, finally looking up, “you’re right. It’s not a Devil Fruit.”

Zoro frowns, unable to keep the intrigue from bubbling up his chest as he watches you.

“Then…” he trails off, waiting.

A golden shaft of sun slants fully into the alley now, finally high enough to hit the side of your face, casting your features into stark relief. Like this, he can see the hollows of your cheeks, the blueness in your lips. But also, the flicker of light that once danced like fireworks behind your eyes.

“It was a deal,” you say, as the sun shifts behind a soft gauzy cloud, tossing the island into a momentary shadow once more, and your face is again shrouded in darkness, “with the Devil himself.”

— — —

“So… you can’t die,” Sanji says, stubbing out what must be his fifth cigarette since the beginning of the conversation.

A half-finished dinner service lays in an array of dishes before you, but even Luffy isn’t reaching out to pick at the remains.

You shake your head, “No, that’s the thing — I can. I just don’t tend to stay dead.”

Nami frowns, “But how does that even work? You get killed, and what — you just… respawn?”

You sigh, letting out a tired laugh, “Something like that. I die, and I wake up the next morning exactly in the last place I went to sleep.”

“Whoa, weird,” says Luffy, finally reaching for the remains of a whole roast chicken, stuffing a drumstick into his mouth.

You nod, “Very.”

Usopp is chewing on his bottom lips, looking concerned, “But… I mean — when you do d-die… does it still hurt?”

You slowly pivot to stare at him, your expression carefully neutral.

Beside you, Zoro shifts slightly, and everyone goes strangely still as they wait for your answer.

“Sometimes,” you say, carefully, “if the person killing me decides to make it hurt.”

Sanji leans back, staring up at the broad canopy of stars above the deck of the Merry.

The silence that stretches over the table is fraught with implication. Eventually, you let out a long breath, leaning back in your chair.

“But you get used to it after a while,” you say, the shadow of a smile quirking your lips.

Zoro narrows his eyes, “You make it sound easy.”

His voice is hard, his gaze fixed on a point just over Luffy’s shoulder. Beneath the low dip of his unbuttoned shirt, you can still see the remains of the scar Mihawk had left him with. No doubt he was remembering his own close tangle with death.

You lilt your head and roll your shoulders.

“What they don’t tell you about dying is that it’s the easiest thing… but easy doesn’t mean painless,” your voice is light and airy and painfully frivolous, “eventually, easy just means that at least… you know it’ll end.”

Across the table, Sanji lets out a breath as Nami gasps. Luffy purses his lips.

“But… as long as you fall asleep in a safe place, then even if you die, you’ll just wake up there again, right?” he asks.

You fix him with a look, before letting out a helpless laugh.

“Yeah, something like that. The only thing is — when you’re working for the big-bads, they tend to make sure you only ever fall asleep somewhere they can get their hands back on you.”

“But you’re with us now!” Luffy grins, puffing out his chest, “so we’ll make sure you stay alive without having to uh — die first. Good?”

Others might only see childish innocence in his words, but you can see the absolute certainty he evokes in the rest of his crew. And that, more than anything else, makes you believe him.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, okay.”

Zoro grunts as he gets up from the table, stalking off without another word. Nami sighs, watching him go before rolling her eyes and going after him.

Sanji strikes a match and lights up a new cigarette.

“Let him be. He was real beat up after seeing you —” Sanji dips his head, “well, you know. And he’s not what you’d call super in touch with his emotions, I think.”

He shoots you a good-natured wink.

You laugh, a tired, rubbed-raw sound, nodding.

“Yeah. I know.”

Sanji taps off a bit of ash and leans forward, “So — what’s the story?”

“What makes you think there’s a story?”

Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings before reaching over to refill your glass, “Mosshead’s not exactly known for makin’ friends wherever he goes, if you know what I mean,” he slides you smile before continuing, “so if he’s this —” Sanji pauses to cast about for a proper word, “attached… to someone, I figured there’s just gotta be a story, right love?”

You sigh, nodding as you take a long sip of your drink, savoring the coolness as it slides down your throat.

“You’re right… there is a story. But I’m not sure it matters much anymore. We’re both…” you look down at your hands, pale and pink in the fading firelight, “not the kids we used to be.”

Sanji shrugs, “Neither is any of us,” he coaxes, voice gentle, “but that doesn’t mean the kids that we were don’t matter any more.”

You nod, finally allowing the warmth of the fire to wash over you as you sit back in your chair.

“Alright then — it was a long time ago but… we grew up in the same village…”

— — —

“Hey — where’re you going?” Nami catches up with Zoro just beneath the main deck, the hallway scattered with pinpricks of light, seeping in through the cracks in the planks above.

Zoro spins around, his shoulders hunched.

“To be alone.”

Nami sighs, stopping a few steps short of him.

“What’s with you? Aren’t you happy that your — your friend is alive?”

Zoro bears down on Nami, his eyes flashing.

“I don’t trust her — what if it’s not her? What if it’s a —” he waves a hand through the thickening darkness between them, “an imposter?”

Nami’s eyebrows kick up, “What, finally get your hands on a dictionary in Mag Mell?”

“Fuck you.”

Nami laughs, folding her arms as she leans up against the darkened hallway wall.

“Fine, you don’t trust her — but what else can we do? Leave her here for Crocodile and the rest of Baroque Works to catch up to her?”

Zoro tsks, turning around to pace the length of the hallway, every muscle in his body feeling tight and wrung out.

“Wouldn’t matter much — she can’t die remember?”

“Yes, she can,” Nami says, her words harsh enough to stun Zoro still. She stalks up to him, her eyes blazing in the imminent dark. “You’ve almost died once — tell me, was it a pleasant experience?”

A muscle ticks in Zoro’s jaw, but he keeps his mouth clamped shut.

He remembers it in pieces, in fever-break moments and mind-numbing delusions. He remembers the bone-deep ache that had seemed to permeate every inch of his body, of the dull pounding in his head as he tried to piece together what his crewmates were saying to him, sitting by his bedside. He’d known they were there, but he’d couldn’t let them know, couldn’t force him limbs to move the way he wanted.

It had been nothing short of agony.

“Look, I’m not asking you to trust her but at least think — think about the life she would’ve led in Baroque Works. What they might’ve made her do if they knew that every time she died, she’d just wake up in the last place she fell asleep.”

Like this, Nami’s voice is soft, almost silken. A spate of unease slithers down Zoro’s spine.

Zoro stares down at her. It hadn’t been so long ago that he’d regarded Nami with the same kind of vague distrust.

“Think for a second, about the suicide missions they would’ve made her take.”

Those words ring through Zoro like a death knell, and he takes half a step back, his head spinning with the implications. She’s right, he hadn’t thought of the life you’d led; he’d been so caught up on the vast dissonance between the person you were and the person you'd become. He’d been so tangled in his own feelings of shame and anger that he hadn’t paused to think.

Nami sighs and takes a few more steps back.

“I mean. You heard her — just because dying is easy, that doesn’t make it painless.”

“I just —” Zoro closes his eyes, letting a clenched fist thump softly against the wall beside him. A terrible, hot prickling sensation is working its way up the back of his throat, constricting his airways. He swallows hard around it before turning to look at Nami once more.

“I just can’t stand the thought of losing her again.”

Nami lets out a breathy laugh, bobbing her head once. There’s still a steely light to her eyes, but her voice when she finally does speak is soft —

“Then make sure it doesn’t happen again. I mean, what are those three swords for anyway?”

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[shouyuus]

─── 飛雄 BECAUSE WITH YOU BENEATH HIM he feels on top of the world -- he feels like flying might not be such a superhuman task, that falling wouldn't be so terrifying because at least he knows if he hits the ground, you'll be right there to catch him. because with you pinned beneath him like this, the flush of red pluming up your cheeks like a summertime sunrise, he doesn't have to question the voice in the back of his head that's always asking for more and more and more.

"t-to - bio --"

your voice cracks like a flintstone against the burgeoning sparks of desire snapping in the base of his belly. his hips ruck down into yours, and he's not even inside you -- neither of you managed to get all you clothes off in the mad fumble of limbs the second you'd made it through the door -- but he can feel the persistent pulse already building behind his navel as he groans, head dropping to watch his clothed cock skim along your wet panties, the damp patch in his boxers mirroring yours, the sight making heat fizzle like white static behind his eyes.

he grips your wrists all the tighter, forcing his gaze back up to you -- to your pink-cheeked face and desperate expression.

"f -- mm -- yeah? feel good?"

"g-good -- want more --"

he reaches down his free hand to tug aside your panties, hissing out a breath as he sees the evidence of your desire for him slicked so obviously against the soft lacey fabric, his fingers slipping through your puffy lips making your hips jump as he grazes over your clit.

"f-fuck!" you yelp as he sinks two fingers into you with a thick groan, feeling your walls clamp down around him, cock twitching at the proximity of your wet, warm heat. he licks lips and works his fingers into you, leaning up when you whimper, content to swallow the noise with his lips on yours, your mouth falling open so easily for him.

and usually, he likes to take his time, lick into the hot cavern of your mouth till you're whining, tugging at his hair, kiss down the length of your body, sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your stomach, your hips, your thighs -- but tonight, there's a giddiness rushing through his veins. maybe it's the adrenaline left over from the match, or maybe it's just the sight of you cheering him on in the stands, your eyes brighter than any stadium lights, your cheeks inked pink with your excitement.

you're always a vision to behold, and it never fails to bring his heart crawling into his mouth, but tonight, he'd balked at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this, at all the hundreds and thousands of people sharing the stands with you -- because only he gets to see you like this, glass-glazed eyes and ruddy cheeks, lips parted and panting.

"to - bio -- please --"

"yeah? what -- what do you want?"

he snaps his wrist, curls his fingers, soaks in the way you keen, your hips kicking up, thighs trembling as you bite down hard on your bottom lip.

"want -- want you -- fuck --"

you're tugging weakly at his hand, your wrists still pinned beneath his palm, and both of you know it's a fruitless endeavor, but his stomach still clenches at the motion. he tightens his hold, tutting gently.

"wanna hear you say it," he says, coaxing, even as he fucks his fingers into you hard enough for your toes to curl, the wet schlick echoing off the bedroom walls, his clothed cock still rutting against your thigh. you can almost feel the veins pulsing through the material of his boxers, and that thought alone makes your mind go fuzzy.

"tobio -- want -- want you to fuck me -- please!" you force the words out between whimpers and moans, your mouth falling open as he angles his fingers up into your g-spot, pressing until your back arches clear off the bed.

"mm... good," tobio exhales a long breath, pulling his fingers from you, only to bring it to his lips. you blink up at him through damp lashes, watching blearily as he licks his fingers clean of you before he's bending down to press his tongue into your mouth. you moan at the taste of your own juices on his tongue, hiccupping as you feel him shoving down the waistband of his boxers -- finally, finally.

he releases your wrists only to reach up and lace his fingers with yours, holding you still as he strokes himself once, twice, your breath hitching as his cock catches your sensitive hole.

"shit --" he jerks forward at the contact, a tiny frown digging into his forehead as he lines himself up against you, glancing up with a small smile.

"deep breath," he says. you whimper, but suck in the breath all the same, knowing exactly what comes next. and still, it doesn't fully prepare you for the feeling of him thrusting into you in a single, fluid motion, bottoming out completely -- fucking into you far enough to tingle the back of your head as you mouth goes slack around a silent moan.

he leans up to press a kiss to your lips --

"been wanting you since half-time at the match... so don't hold back, 'kay?"

you nod, giving his hand a tiny squeeze as he pulls back and fucks back in with a thick, chest-rumbling groan.

"c'mon -- answer, hm?"

you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him shallow out his thrusts, teasing at your entrance, making you squirm.

"k-kay --"

taglist: @yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @stunies @phroggii @fennecnco -- be part of my taglist!

my kageyama babes: @yogurtkags @hiraethwa @mcdonaldsnumberone

[shouyuus]

─── 飛雄 HE LIKES TO HOLD YOU, sling his arms around your shoulders, press his knee to your knee, crowd into your personal space; he likes to nose into the hollow of your neck, the warm, soft spot behind your ear, even if it makes you squirm away from him, he'd just pull you back and grumble at you to stay still, to stay close.

because he'd always want you close, wouldn't he? always want you within arm's reach, because tobio is nothing if not needy, nothing if not persistent in his petulant want for closeness, for the satisfying friction of skin on skin, for the warm tingle of goosebumps that chase up the length of your arms whenever he presses his lips to your cheek, your neck, the bare skin of your shoulder.

and he'd drink in the way you laugh, the tiny puff of breath before your gasping inhale — his name falling from your lips like a wish or a prayer.

"t-tobio!"

"what?"

he revels in the flush working into your cheeks, his eyes half-lidded in the starveling dark of this izakaya the jva's booked out for the night, the two and a half beers he's had fizzling in his stomach just enough to make his body feel light, to tug at the dwindling edges of his self-restraint till it's fraying. he pulls you into his chest, biting down a smirk at the shiver that shakes down your entire body as you peer up at him with dark, curious eyes.

"people... people will see!"

tobio frowns in earnest then, cocking his head as he weighs the implications. he blinks down at you.

"so?"

but before you can protest again, he bends down to catch your lips in his, humming against your lips, satisfaction unfurling in his chest as he feels you go molten in his arms. he pulls back to trace a thumb along your bottom lip, a dull pounding at the back of his mind, telling him that maybe, just maybe it's time to beg off from this party. he shoves the nagging feeling away for the comfort of pressing his forehead to yours, tracing a finger along the plush of your cheek.

"'s not like people don't know you're mine."

[shouyuus]

my dear rain, rest be assured i am here to match your freak!

*taps mic* is this thing on? okay here we go— it's surprisingly hard to find anything else rattling around my brain except watching tobio at every adler game, and every single time, without fail, your heartbeat picks up as you watch him basically spike a monster serve into their opponent's court, the cheers that erupt from you when he gets a no-touch ace, or when he sets a super quick set to the sides. gods the heat that rush to your cheeks when he has nonchalant thinking game face on, the screams he draws from you in the locker room after their victory—

(i will be expanding on your ask in a few moments *giggle*)

okay no but the way you'd be able to feel the weight of his serves when he pounds the ball across the court, bc you know how strong he is and you've felt it -- being pinned down beneath him with just one of his arms holding both your wrists, him frowning if you try to tug free, bc quite frankly, he doesn't quite know what to do with the realization that he likes it when you struggle just a bit, when you try to pull away, he likes knowing how easy it'd be to hoist you up if he wanted to, or hold you up against the wall, your legs around his hips, pin you to the lockers, leave the changing room door unlocked cause yeah sure, someone might walk in, but he figures if you're screaming loud enough, people oughtta know not to just walk in, right?

right? yeah.

(also, what if i'm thinking about u playing "nasty" in the car on the way back from the match when he's still all sweaty but wound up, muscles aching, but the sight of you mouthing the words just riles him up even more and --)

[shouyuus]

─── ౨ৎ THE SCALE OF MAPS

🌧 raindrops ─── answered asks/random thoughts

⛈ monsoon season ─── my writings

❌down the drain ─── to be deleted

⛈ forecasts ─── masterlists

⁀જ✈︎ travel plans ─── navigation

☽ petrichor ─── fav prompts

𐙚 the feelings mutual ─── mutual interactions