#can't even look at posts in his tag without it being filled to the brim about how shit he is or how he doesn't deserve to live

[landhoe-norris]

it's so funny when posts about george saying shit about lando get 500+ notes about george being "so funny so bitchy so true so get her jade" while lando does the same thing and it's "lando is a flop jealous bitch he deserves to get shot on sight"

[james-is-here]

This is for the Anon that wanted Seonghwa angst. I made it it's own post since the ask was so long but here it is. FYI, to any other Anon's, I openly welcome emoji anons. :)

Blogs: @demtttt couldn't tag you :/ @belladonna6-6-6

Tags: angst, Seonghwa speaks before thinking, talk of car crash, not much else i can think of.

"You're what?" "I'm sorry, Mn, I just-" "You're leaving me to go across the country? I-I can't live without you, Hwa." "Mn, you're sounding clingy, you can live without me."

You stared at Seonghwa, wide eyes slowly filling with tears as you stood from the swing set, standing in front of him. Your childhood park was empty and broken down, not really used anymore but the still standing swing set was where you and Seonghwa had most of your small dates and where you first met Seonghwa. "Take it back." "What?" "Take it back, you know how i feel about being called that, take it back." "You are though." "But you know that's how I show affection, it's not clinginess. How could you call your boyfriend clingy?" "About that..."

Inside he really didn't want to but he had to. He felt like he'd be kicked as a trainee if anyone found out. "About what?" You look at his eyes that are brimming with tears and watch as he removes a bracelet from his wrist. "N-No, Hwa, what are you-" It was the bracelet you made for him when you both started dating, a couples bracelet you called it instead of a friendship bracelet. It had beads with your nickname spelled out on it and yours had 'Hwa' on it.

"I-I think it's best if-" "Don't you dare break up with me." "It was hard enough facing our parents, I don't want anyone at the company to find out." "You're ashamed of me." "No, No, Not you-" "You said we'd be together forever, Hwa! Now your backing out just cause you're embarrassed that someone will find out that your gay?! That you have a boyfriend?!" "Mn, just listen-" "No, I see where I stand..." You take off your bracelet, snatching the other from Seonghwa's hand before pulling your arm back. "Mn, wait!" He wasn't quick enough to catch them as you threw them into the forest next to the park.

"Enjoy your life in Seoul." With that you run out of the park, shoving the low gate open as Seonghwa called out to you, one hand wiping your tears before you run down the street. "Mn!" He walked out the park a second later but you were gone.

A few days later, he was in Seoul, beginning his training and in his free time he tried to reach out to you but you never replied or he got a 'Message Not Sent' when ever he texted you. You blocked him, he realized. He really messed up and he can't even fix it.

He sulked as he closed the car door. He had just come back from his friends house which greeted him with a for sale sign, a red *SOLD* sticker made his chest feel tight. He was hoping he'd be able to apologize to you for what he did and how things ended. If he had to tell the truth, he'd say he still loves you.

He barely got to the door when his mom opened the door. "Seonghwa! Oh, honey, welcome home." "Hey, mom." "Well you don't seem very happy for debuting as a K-Pop Idol. What's wrong?" She steps to the side and lets him in, giving him a hug before bringing him to the dining room.

"What's wrong?" "I really wanted to apologize to Mn and tell him that all the dancing was worth it." "Mn? Ln Mn? Oh, hon, the Ln family moved out." "What?" He face fell as he stared at his mom. "Yeah...Actually, it was sold a week ago, they moved a month ago. Mrs. Ln told me they were moving to Shanghai because her mother-in-law's health was declining and they moved to help her father-in-law who's mobility wasn't the greatest." "They moved to China...." "Yeah. I'm so sorry Hwa..."

He felt so bad for what he did about halfway into his training. He regretted everything he said to you and he missed your hugs, your kisses, your gentle touch. How could he ever say you were clingy, what he did was unfair but it was already too late.

"I heard he visited the old dance club. Even until his last moment he was here he spent it dancing." "It's a good thing he's still dancing." "Yeah. Now come on, seemed like you needed a talk." "Where you taking me?" "Appa's out back. He doesn't know your here, silly." "Oh, right."

Years later, Seonghwa was rushing around backstage, running in and out of every room trying to find Wooyoung. He was told the boy was going to the bathroom but never found him.

They were at Music Bank for an award ceremony and there was a lot of idols there but there was one he just happened to bump into during his search and one he very much wasn't expecting at a k-pop event.

"I'm so sorry." "It's okay, are you looking for someone?" "I am-" Seonghwa pauses when he sees their face. "Oh my god, Mn!" He smiles widely, hugging the male and not even noticing the others confused expression. "I'm sorry."

"U-Um...S-Sunbaenim? You know me?" Seonghwa pulls back completely shocked. "W-What?" "I-I mean i-it's really an honor to meet you, Sunbaenim, I really admire you and I'm kind of nervous now knowing that you know me." "N-No, you- Don't you remember me?" "I only know that you're apart of Ateez. I really look up to you guys, I think you guys are so cool." "What...Sunbeam-" "Sunbeam? Oh! You saw my movie too!! You know my characters nickname, Oh my gosh, that's so cool." You gush, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Seonghwa refused to realize that you truly didn't know him. He felt like he was floating aimlessly in space and his head started to hurt. "You don't know me..." "I do know you-" "No, me. W-We were childhood best friends, we...we were each others firsts..." "O-Oh, I-I don't...I don't remember any of my childhood, I'm sorry. I-I only know your from Ateez." You then see the smiling face of who you would say your best friend is waving you over. "I'm sorry, Sunbaenim, I-I have to go." He watches you walk away, crashing into a tight hug and laughing with your best friend, Felix.

"Hey, you looking for me? Sorry, got caught up talking to..." Wooyoung notices the far off look on Seonghwa's face and follows his gaze, watching as Hyunjin comes up to the both of you, giving you a hug and then whisking the both of you elsewhere.

"Hyung? What's wrong? Did Mn say something bad to you?" The male inhales shakily, his chest tight as he clenches his jaw to stop a sob from escaping. "Hyung, woah, what's wrong?" Wooyoung was suddenly directly in front of him when he heard a small whimper.

"Th-That was Mn...m-my friend from Jinju..." "Oh, your first boyfriend, right?" "Y-Yeah, h-he doesn't remember me..." "Well, there's may be a reason. Maybe your parents know?" "Uh, right, maybe...maybe they still talk to his his parents."

He pulled out his phone and Wooyoung stayed with him the whole time. When his mom answered the phone, he was greeted by a different voice. "Hello, Mrs. Park is unavailable at the moment, this is Mrs. Ln, can I take a message?" "Mrs. Ln?" "Um, yes, who's this?" "I-It's Seonghwa, ma'am." "Oh! How are you?" "U-Um, I-I'm currently at an award ceremony but-" "Oh, Mn is there too. It's so amazing that he's gotten to this point and he hasn't been doing it for long." "About Mn..."

He hears her sigh on the other end before speaking. "You ran into him, didn't you." "Yeah..." "Um, when we were in China with his grandparents...we were driving one day to go see his grandmother in the hospital and...we were being his grandfather along as well. Everything was just perfect until...well, some hot head sped a red light. We were already in the intersection and..." He voice choked up and Seonghwa told her to go at her pace. "It crashed into my father-in-law and Mn's side of the car. They were going 90 and..." She takes a deep breath before she says something else. "It's your son. Telling him about Mn." She must've been talking to his mom.

"They were going 90 and...I don't mean to dampen your mood but Mn wouldn't be at that ceremony today if it wasn't for the amazing team that fought to keep him alive." "What...Ma'am, what was the last thing he remembered?" "Oh...he couldn't remember anything before...before you left. I mean he remembered the dance club and barely any of his school life but...he only remembered his family. I'm sorry, Seonghwa, but he couldn't remember you."

He inhales sharply, staring ahead as he processes the information, now processing the scar that traveled from above his eyebrow to his upper lip. "The scar..." He whispered to himself. "Yeah, I'm glad that he embraces it. If he didn't, he wouldn't have followed his dreams." With a shaky breath he exhales. "Tha-Thank you, Mrs. Ln." "You're welcome, dear. Good luck, okay?" He hung up, his arm dropping to his side.

"Hyung?" "He...He got in a car accident...h-he lost a lot of memories he...he forgot me..." "Oh..." Wooyoung moved to wrap his arms around Seonghwa who was stock still. He wanted to apologize, to take him back but what can he do now?

He knows everything about you but how can he start over when you don't remember him? He doesn't know what to do, he feels stuck.

Wooyoung took him back to their seat where he almost remained motionless. He looked calm and seemed to be enjoying the different groups but inside he felt almost crushed.

He lost his Sunbeam and now his world feels dark.

[midnight-moonlite-melancholy]

This is an add on to this post about the virgin OM! boys. This one is for Beel but I'll probably be posting one of these for Levi within the next few days. I tried to make this gender neutral so I hope I did a good job. There might be some editing mistakes cuz I'm sleep deprived. Plz enjoy ♡

Nsfw - This piece includes: Mentions of oral sex (reader receiving) , size difference, unprotected sex, and mentions of fingering. (I'm bad at tagging so please lmk if I missed anything. Banner by: @/cafekitsune)

Once the clothes are off Beel can't help his urges. You have all of this sweet syrup leaking from you. He can smell it. Could he just have a taste? Just a little one? If there's one thing he knows how to do, it's eat. He'll just do what he does best. He promises to try and make it feel good. He'll hesitate at first, gently nibbling on the insides of your thighs. Your scent is so intense, luring him in for a little taste.

You can see how conflicted he is as he stares at your sex - drooling. He wants to taste you so badly but at the same time he wants to be respetful. He doesn't want you to be pressured into anything. It's not until you gently grasp a section of his hair and guide him closer that he finally gives in. But you have to promise you'll tell him if it doesn't feel good. Tell him what doesn't work so he can do better. He would hate it if he was the only one enjoying themself.

He'll start off slowly at first, tasting your sweet nectar and experimenting with soft suckles and little kitten licks. Those little sounds you make are a good sign, right? But when you close your thighs around his head he can't hold back anymore.

When it comes time to put his cock in... Can he really do this? This feels like some form of bullying. As he looks at your smaller form beneath him and his cock lined up, just screaming to be inside you, he realizes how massive he actually is. Your body seems too small and delicate to take him. You almost took his fingers off just a few minutes earlier with how tight you were.

He'll be gentle and try to fit it in though. Just the tip. You seem to want it so badly, so he'll give you what your gorgeous body has been asking for. He'll push in the tip slowly, but when he hears your little gasp, he'll pull out completely and ask if you're okay. He didn't hurt you, right? He thinks maybe he should wait a little longer, make you cum a few more times before he tries it again. But when you look at him and plead like that... He's lining himself up again and pushing into you without thinking.

He seems to be in a daze until he fills you to the brim. The noise you make as he bottoms out brings him back to reality, if only for a moment. He asks if you're okay and waits for your answer. He didn't hurt you, right? But he can hardly focus on what you're saying when you feel this good wrapped around him. Sure, he had jacked off a few times thinking about you but he never dreamed you would feel this good.

Again, without even thinking, he'll begin to slowly rock his hips back and forth as he breathlessly compliments how good you feel. He'll come back to reality again to ask you if it feels good for you too. Is there anything he could do to make it feel even better? He wants you to enjoy youself as much as he is. As he drowns in your warmth he'll start to pick up the pace, apologizing through groans for being so rough.

He'll pull your legs over his shoulders, a move he learned from some porno he saw when he walked in on Mammon, to keep you from sliding across the bed with the force of his thrusts. As he gets closer to his release he will lean down to kiss you hungrily. He'll break the kiss as he cums, reluctantly pulling out of you completely and spilling his sticky seed all over your tummy.

He'll hover above you with his hands on either side of your head, admiring your pretty cumface before he'll try to stand. It takes him a moment to steady himself before he can pick you up and carry you to the bathroom to get cleaned up, praying to Diavolo that none of his brothers see you two.

[hughiecampbelle]

Parting Gift (Sam Wilson Oneshot)

Character/s: Sam

Word Count: 1,411

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: This was supposed to be fluffy, but the closest I can get to that is melancholy lol. The weathers been nice and it got me feeling nostalgic for summer. I hope this gives off that vibe, if that makes sense? Sam just seemed perfect for this and I kinda love this :) It doesn't exactly fit the timeline, but oh well :P There are only Endgame spoilers, none with TFATWS. I can't thank you enough for letting me rest with my health/writing and posting in general. I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You finally got him back 💌

Gif Credit: @biwilson / link 💕

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 /WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The low hum of the fan stirs in the quiet heat, restless, a lullaby you've grown used to since the season thawed. The snow puddles disappearing from the hot sidewalks, the grass growing green, the layers shedding around you until there is nothing but skin and the cool air that kisses it. It's old and shaky, the blades twisted, the fixture rattling, threatening to fall from the ceiling with every spin. Another chore you simply never got around to fixing, neglected much like the rest of the house. Like you, it was lucky it was still standing. The floors cried and creaked, needing to be replaced, but where was the time? The paint chipped, falling flake by flake, the shelves in need of dusting, the lawn grown too long, things were rusted, ruining, aging. Everything crooked, leaning, too heavy to stand on its own. One in the same, you and it, a reflection of your inner world, your inner turmoil, your grief defying, humanizing, materializing in rusted pipes, in thorny bushes, and weeds sprouting in the cracks of the sidewalks.

It was your dream. An escape. A slice of heaven he plucked from the skies. At least, that's how he'd described it. His hand, warm and calloused, over your eyes, letting your suspicions get the better of you, questioning like a child. What color was the door? How many windows? Was there a backyard? A steadiness in his voice you knew was not as solid as he showed, leading you past the street, past your new neighbors, the shade of the trees making your skin prickle. Up the path, you tried counting your own steps, anything to cheat the system. A leap of faith, you put so nicely. A house he passed by, one that struck him, caught his eye in a way nothing ever had. You? A house? Romanticized by the shoe box apartments the city had to offer, you never pictured any other life. Not out of opposition, but sheer innocence, a passive, thoughtless gesture you'd never recognized until the opportunity came along. Little convincing, it took. Somewhere far away from danger, from life, where you would always be safe together. That was enough. Always would be.

A fixer upper, that's what it was. Someone to care for in their old age, a long forgotten space only one with a heart of gold could fall for. Whether you were speaking of you, or the house, he'd never get the chance to ask. Where he saw the two of you, together, watching the rain pour from outside, comforted by a warm kitchen, a grand bedroom, nooks you could fill with hints of yourselves, you saw a slanted driveway, an unkempt garden, leaky ceilings and no hot water. He had hope. Dripped in honey,band hope, his voice sang through the thin walls, a symphony of ideas, of dreams for what it would one day be, taking you by the hand, leading you through. A maze of projects, big and small, things you'd add to a list of infinite length, your pen running out of ink long before you ever reached the bottom. For now, a coat of paint, a bucket or two for the leaks. He promised you, in the middle of an empty house, that it would one day be your home. You trusted him, because he was so sure of it, unlike anything else before.

You watched him sleep, the two of you facing one another. The sheets long discarded, too warm to even touch. You could follow the rise and fall of his back, the way in which he held the pillow to him, as if scared to let go. Tracing every line of him with your eyes, taking note of every single change, drinking him up every second you had together. The beads of sweat across his hairline. The upturn of his mouth, a whisper of a smile, as if caught in a sweet dream. The lines you see in yourself not yet reflected in him. Untouched by time. Five years could turn into a lifetime with the right kind of loneliness.

Plastic stuck to the furniture, bloated, sweaty, patiently waiting to be unwrapped. You couldn't bear to look at it, any of it, turning away from entire rooms, going only where it was necessary, using what you needed, not ready to face this place alone. It wasn't that first day, where your things, tightened by the city smog and lack of breathing room, were scattered wherever they might fit, left to expand in their new environment. The kitchen table in the living room. Chairs in the hallway. A couch discarded by the window, blocking the natural light. For the time being, he promised. Too many boxes to count, filled to the brim of glasses and mugs, wedding pictures and high school yearbooks, things you thought you needed, and things you knew you did. All of it wrapped in plastic, paper, t-shirts and towels. Whatever you could find to protect it. Sleeping on the floor those first few days, the mattress late, the frame even later, leaning on one another for that kind of comfort. It wasn't that first day, or week, but enough time to settle. The small things weren't yet opened. Two cups, to dishes, an endless waiting game for supplies to be shipped, of time to be found between work days and exhausted nights. He had a plan though, first the inside, then out. Sometimes there weren't enough plans, or lists, or schedules in the world to stop what would come next.

All of this, less than a month before The Blip.

Things hadn't changed since then, not without him. Five years you carved your path into the floorboards, avoiding everything that hurt like a landmine. His cup, his dish, his knife, and fork, and spoon, untouched. You would not look through your wedding album, or seep into the couch you bought together, or pluck the thorn riddled bushes like you pictured. His side of the bed empty, his clothes tucked away where you didn't have to see. All except one shirt taped up, turned away. His cologne fading from the collar, something out of your control, that made you want to scream. Everything these days, it seemed, was out of your control. Others, they moved on eventually. Started dating. Remarried. Found new friends, had more kids, picked up where they left off. Family reached out, teammates too, but you couldn't look at them. The anger, the sadness, all of it overwhelming. It left you drowning in questions no one had the answer to, everyone asking themselves the same thing: Why him, and not them? Why him, and not you? Why did any of this happen in the first place?

Isolating became the cure, and the corruption. The salt in the wound, a familiar sting you grew to expect, even want. A home for two, he promised, only now you were one. How cruel could the universe be? Hour by hour, day by day, you counted, carrying on for when he'd be back, because he would be. Sam, your Sam, too stubborn a man to give up like that. You would have dusted, washed the floors, made the place a little more welcoming if you'd known he'd be back when he did. Everyone came back, reappearing out of thin air, but where they felt frenzy, uncertain in explaining all that's happened, you were at peace, able to breathe again. Time had stopped when he was gone, your life paused. You could feel it, the moment when, the clocks in the house ticking once again inside their boxes.

Now, you lay together, as you had that first night. Not on the floor, not as naive as you were, but together none of the less. The sunlight strains, wanting to light up the room from behind the curtains. Even without it, you find yourself baking, wishing the fan would have a little more power. Sleeping in, you could have laughed. Five years he had, somewhere else, to rest, and yet you let him, not wanting to wake from what you fear might be a nightmare. If you woke up, and he was gone again, you weren't sure what you'd do, how much longer you could stand it. He assured you though, much like he had with this house, everything would work out in the end. That he was here, and he'd never leave you again.

Ever.

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 Their best sexual characteristic | Haikyuu!! Headcanons 』

Part 5/?

Characters: female!reader, Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, Sakusa Kiyoomi

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), 18+, explicit descriptions of sex, headcanons, imagines

Attention: All characters in this series are aged up to be at least 18+

⚠️ 18+ CONTENT! MINORS: PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

A/N: These headcanons really are getting longer each time 😫 But I had a surprising amount of fun writing these ones. Hope you can tell that by reading them! Previous parts are linked at the bottom of the post. Thanks for reading! Please enjoy! ♡

Miya Atsumu

» His dirty talk

First off: that voice. I think y'all know what I'm talking about literally orgasmic

It's so deep, and smooth, and relaxing in a way that just gets you going. There's just something about it that makes you rub your thighs together if ya get me

And when he presses his lips close to your ear, his voice feels like he's caressing you all over yes all over

You basically get high off his voice. Cloud nine ☁️😍

He absolutely loves to talk dirty to you, telling you exactly what he's going to do to you, how pretty you look with your mouth around his cock, or how you're taking him inside you so well hnng

He's got a knack for choosing exactly the right words, and it gets your pussy dripping and aching for him

He always says about how your pussy feels like it was made for his cock

It fits so snug. Loose enough that he can fuck you whenever, but tight enough that he has to work for it

Astumu really loves teasing you – taking his time and priming you with his dirty talk, experimenting with just how close to the edge he can get you when he's hardly even touching you confident little shit, I love him

And it's pretty close

He's exactly the kind of guy to take over an hour making you desperate and horny for him, enjoying the view of your sensitive body squirming beneath him, craving some kind of release

Seeing you like that for him, all just with his words and the occasional well placed hands, boosts his ego to no end as well as making him literally rock hard, aye papi

And the sounds you make when you're a hot, horny mess~

Lord, he wants to record them on his phone and play them back full volume when he jacks off

Honestly, he just wants to record you in general. Take a video of you mewling for him. Maybe snap a pic from above of you with your top pulled up over your tits, nipples hard, thighs pressing together, and with the most desperate look on your face so he has it...you know...for later...

But he'd never actually do any of that without your consent, just to be clear

He'll do this until all you want – all your can think about – is having his cock inside you

And he can be ever so slightly mean and make you beg for it, with that cocky, lidded gaze and a faint smirk again – the little shit. But I love him

"What is it that you want, babygirl? I need to hear you say it. Don't be shy. Use those big words of yours."

But he'd never be so mean as to deny giving it to you. He always planned on fucking you until you can't walk please, oml

Besides, while he's been getting you all riled up, he's been getting just as flustered and desperate. He can just hide it pretty well because he relishes the process

And it's not all just talk, either. Astumu really delivers prime dick 🙌 let me tell you

But the dirty talk doesn't stop there

He uses that voice of his and those delicious words to drive you closer to your climax, his words getting cruder as his hips get sloppier, praising you to no end

He's not shy about what he thinks. He's incredibly straightforward about it

You're making him fucking horny? He'll tell you. Your pussy is the best he's ever fucked? He'll tell you flat out while he's pounding into you. He thinks you look beautiful stuffed with his cock? He won't even hesitate

Communication is key, ya know?

Astumu is a great sexter, too. He has you rushing home on a regular basis to get dicked down omw, lol

And he can't resist whispering dirty nothings in your ear in public, watching you twitch as you get flustered and needy he thinks it's really fucking adorable

The hottest shit since fire was discovered

But underneath that confident, teasing exterior, he's actually super soft for you

You mean the world to him, and his dirty talk is just a declaration of it. His little way of saying 'I love you'

And he's just as whipped for you and your pussy as you are for him and his cock

Awwww. Guys, true love is real 🥺

Miya Osamu

» He loves mutual masturbation

Is it a kink? A fetish? Yeah, pretty much

There's just something really fucking hot to Osamu about getting each other off/getting off in front of each each other

Like, stroke his cock while he's fingering you, and he's cumming in 2 minutes tops

Does it fully replace regular sex?

Nah. Osamu is still down to jump your bones, like, 80-90% of the time lmfao

But he's a pretty practical guy, you know?

He knows that people don't always have the time or the energy, or sometimes even the enthusiasm, to go ~all the way~ every single time

Even for a quickie which he is a fan of, tbh

So he sees mutual masturbation as a great alternative

You both get what you want, you get to do it together, and it really, really turns him on win-win, tbh

Plus, this way, he generally gets a better look at you while you two are going at it he loves a good view

He's a ~connoisseur~ if you will

Osamu is also really into thigh riding and dry humping not just for practicality, either

It's not uncommon for you to crawl onto his lap or thigh when he's busy at home and you're feeling needy, and slowly start grinding on him to get his attention

He might try and ignore you at first, play a little game of will-he-won't-he before he stops doing to whatever it was he was doing before and gives in to you

He'll never turn you away if you're desperate enough to start riding him like that. He's like, 'Damn, she really wants me, huh? 🥵'

Even if he wasn't horny before, he sure as hell is once you start rubbing yourself against him like that

He doesn't even really understand his fascination with all this stuff himself. Like, is it the fact that you're still wearing clothes? The extra friction? The intimacy? The neediness of it? Who knows 🤷‍♀️

All Osamu knows is that it makes his dick stand up faster and straighter than a patriot hearing the national anthem, lmfao, sooo....

He tries to let you do your thing when you're grinding against him like that, but his hands normally find their way to your hips and start firmly working you down into his crotch or thigh, harder and faster

He just can't help himself. The more he gets turned on, the more is hands wander they're kind of cold and it sometimes makes you jump or shiver

If he was being entirely honest, he'd admit how much he loves the feeling of your wet pussy sliding against him, or the feeling of your juices seeping through his trouser leg, making a beautiful, glistening mess but he's rarely that honest, unlike his brother, lol

Definitely the kind of guy to casually lick his fingers after making you cum around them 👅 he may or may not kiss you directly after

His face can be a little hard to read sometimes, but he gets this particularly hungry look in his eyes whenever he's turned on that sends a tingle up your inner thighs *eyebrow wiggle*

The proximity when you're getting each other off is a big win for him – the heat, the panting, the intensity, the little or not so little sounds that escape your lips~

It's all so steamy. It really gets his blood pumping to his diCK

When he's turned on, he gets a little blush across his cheeks that spreads to the tops of his ears you love seeing it from your vantage point when you're straddling him

One thing is certain, though, and that's that he wouldn't do this kind of thing with just anyone

There's something about mutual masturbation, thigh riding, etc. that's very intimate and personal to him, and he'd only do it with someone that he really loves and, perhaps even more importantly, trusts

It's an honour, my gal 😌 He doesnt open up to just anybody 🥺

Sakusa Kiyoomi

» His cum kink

So, a 'cum kink' is pretty vague, as it can mean literally almost anything to do with cum make sure you do you research, my peeps

But Sakusa has a pretty specific cum kink, and that's that his goes inside you

Doesn't really matter if it's your mouth or your pussy I'm not going to say ass, because I feel like that's a big no-no for him

He just likes it going inside you. Swallow it, hold it in by laying on your back with your legs up – whatever. All good to him

But!

It's not a breeding kink thing. It's actually surprise, surprise because it's cleaner. Less mess

Now, Sakusa holds great pride in being able to make you cum, and duh he likes the feeling of himself cumming. He just doesn't want it getting everywhere

Cum is a nightmare to clean out of stuff!! And he wears a lot of black, so it's not a good mix!!

Legit, don't get cum stains on black clothes, guys. 100% not a good time 😭😭

The reason for it isn't the hottest or most romantic thing in the world, but like I said before:

He loves cumming inside you

Just, for the love of God, don't let it all flow back out again please. If not for his sanity, then for your own, because he will fucking go off 😭😂

Condoms are normally a must again, for hygiene reasons

Wrap that shit up, my dudes

But if you get to the stage of your relationship where you're wanting to try going raw and maybe have a baby then~

Damn, this man is going to absolutely destroy your pussy 😩

And if you happen to have a little breeding kink yourself, then you're in for a treat, my gal~

He'll definitely play it up just for you, and will not shut up about how he's going to fill you up until you're fucked out and your pussy is stuffed to the brim with his cum

When you're done, he'll literally take a firm hold your legs and keep them up in the air to stop his cum escaping *sweats in breeding kink*

Rest in pieces if you have a bad gag reflex, because Sakusa enjoys deep-throating, and literally cumming straight into your stomach lmao, and he's a big boy, so prepare yourself

Again, no clean-up = ideal

He can normally be a little rough, but he is the GOD of hate/angry/frustration sex. Like, taking out his stress and frustration in bed just makes it even better

He can be a little iffy about giving you oral or fingering you, though. 'Tis a bit messy for his tastes

He doesn't like to make you do all the work, though. It makes him feel lousy

So one time he offered to finger you while wearing a pair of those latex gloves that doctors wear lmfao, gold star for Kiyoomi. He tried 😭

And I'm not even remotely exaggerating when I say he will outright refuse to have sex with you if you have a cold

Exchange of bodily fluids when you're ill is a big NOPE did you honestly expect anything else? 😭

This isn't even about his kink anymore. Whoops 🙃

♡°☆°♡°☆°♡

Part 1: Oikawa, Daichi, Kuroo

Part 2: Ushijima, Suga, Bokuto

Part 3: Iwaizumi, Akaashi, Asahi

Part 4: Kageyama, Noya, Tendou

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

[kbstories]

And with this third chapter, the fic is complete!

Only Lost The Night

Tags: Recovery, First Kiss, Fishing (non-graphic)

No additional spoilers apply.

>>Read on AO3

<<First Chapter

<<Second Chapter

The coffee comes out of the pot piping hot, quickly warming his mug and filling the morning air with its scent.

Arthur downs it in big gulps, wincing as it burns down his throat. The bad taste in his mouth is gone, though, and his queasy stomach settles with something to digest. The cold sweat he wakes up in every morning, or the tremor in his hands, well – recovery, as it turns out, is one tough son of a bitch, much more so when your alcohol supply is out of reach.

A sigh worms its way out his mouth, clouding white in front of him. There's precious little for him to do in camp – he can barely raise his left arm higher than chest height without pulling some wound or other – and most of the gang's inner workings come along well without his input.

This must be the longest Arthur's been off duty in... a while. It's disorienting, to say the least.

It doesn't help that, additionally to Miss Grimshaw's care – a duty she caries out with a gruff undertone in her voice but an indulgent glint in her eyes –, Charles has been watching him like a hawk, grumbling about his hard work going to waste otherwise.

Arthur would be the first to admit that drinking himself into a stupor a week into his mandatory bedrest was not his brightest moment. It definitely beat sitting on his ass all day long, doing fuck-all to earn his keep.

At this rate, he'll end up going to the dogs like Uncle. Isn't that a fun thought to entertain?

Even now he can feel the man's gaze on him, all the way across camp. Arthur raises his mug in the general direction of Charles's usual post, and plants himself on one of the logs surrounding the camp fire. See, I can be good, too.

A lazy salute is his meagre reward. Arthur shakes his head, only noticing the smile on his own face when he goes to light a cigarette. Drawing deep, he exhales slowly, finding himself enjoying the bite of nicotine on his tongue instead of merely going through the motions.

Maybe he can ask Hosea for one of them crime novels he's been so involved with lately. How was the author called again? Arthur flicks the excess ash to the ground, chasing the name on the tip of his tongue. Nope, gone. Never been his strongest suit, books, but Jack's seems interested too as of late, and with how things have been, the boy deserves some hero's tale or other to dream of.

… not one of Hosea's, then. God knows the kid sees enough blood and death as is.

Gaze lost in the fire and with nowhere else to go, Arthur's thoughts drift like smoke in the wind. To Jack, and how somewhere in this mess, he became Uncle Arthur to him. About that boy Kieran, so desperate for somewhere to belong it's painful to watch at times, and John, who had it all and disappeared who-knows-where all the same. Dutch and Hosea and that ever-shifting dream they keep chasing.

And yet his fingers itch for... something more, something to touch, to hold on to, like a pen or a gun or–

A genuine connection, to tether his very being to something bigger than himself. What if, Arthur thinks.

What if, what if.

He blows another puff into the sky and watches it disappear into nothingness.

*

“Okay. Hunting. Nothin' fancy, just a doe or two. Need practice with that bow, right? Takes a lifetime to master, an' all that–”

“No.”

“Oh for... One ride. To– to the general store in Rhodes, or, uh, to the tree line and back. A glimpse at the fields.”

Charles hitches his elbow on his knee, hand under his chin. “No”, he repeats, the low, serious timbre of his voice crumbling with veiled amusement. A searching gaze is leveled on Arthur, the kind to reveal every weakness hiding under his skin.

“Is that what it takes, Morgan? Two weeks in camp?”

“Ain't beggin' yet”, Arthur mumbles under his breath and throws Charles an unhappy look – Charles, who is currently sitting cross-legged on his saddle stand, confident as a king and entitled like one, too. Behind him, Dyani sniffs Charles's hair and pushes it around with her nose, rubbing his shoulder in the process.

It took Arthur weeks of constant work (and treats) to get the hang of the Andalusian's fickle temper and here they are, chummy like old friends. Traitors, the lot of them. Arthur's shoulders slump in defeat.

“Fine, have it your way.”

The statement isn't immediately followed by action, however. The mere thought of wasting more hours walking a line into the dirt, watching people come and go and feeling their sympathetic eyes on him is revolting to an almost physical degree. Arthur stares at his cot, just a few feet away, and can't bring himself to move.

“Arthur.”

Just his name, without pity. He closes his eyes and rubs his neck, staring at his boots as he struggles to find the right words.

“Just feelin' useless, is all. Can't do nothin' for weeks now an' with the O'Driscolls and whoever else breathin' down our necks... Ain't the man I am, Charles. To sit around an' wait for things to happen.”

A rustle of movement makes him glance up. Charles hops to his feet, easy as anything, and Arthur barely registers he's throwing something until he's grabbed it. A fishing rod? Arthur tilts his head with a frown.

“But you–”

“Teach me”, Charles says simply, and all Arthur can do is shut his mouth and nod, trying (and failing) to ignore how warm his chest feels.

*

Little by little, the smooth lines of graphite connect, fill in blank space, spill over the shadowed fold between the pages and beyond.

The gentle rocking of the boat, the rhythmic lapping of water against lacquered wood, the sting of a wound, still healing – it all fades into the background, there but muted as his attention is bracketed by the edges of his journal.

With the sun warming his back, Arthur draws.

In front of him sits Charles, leaning back just as he is, feet propped up against the boat's curved hull. Rod and line in place, his eyes are alert and search the surface of the lake for any movement, the very picture of endless patience. The breeze plays with a loose strand of his hair before he reaches up and tucks it away.

Charles fishes, and Arthur draws... him.

(Arthur's sketch of Charles by @ISpitznagel)

His shoulder doesn't allow him to sit as he usually does, legs folded close to his chest and journal balanced on his knees, angled away so nobody can see what he's working on. The members of the gang quickly learned that whoever tries is more likely to catch a fist to the jaw than a glimpse at his sketches. What is to others a collection of landscapes and animals and the odd person, to Arthur, well...

Things in his life don't have the best relationship with permanence, as it were. He'd rather commit what he can to paper before they inevitably disappear too.

Charles asks later, “What do you think of when you draw?”, when the light has grown too weak to keep going and Arthur reached for his pack of cigs to occupy his hands instead. Arthur, who drew in his lap instead of on his knees and knows that Charles saw.

He finds he doesn't mind one bit.

“Depends”, he mutters, stretching his legs out as far as the narrow boat allows, bumping against Charles's hip. “Sometimes nothin', sometimes somethin' I can't put words to just yet. Just keepin' track of things, in my own way. Makes 'em less unfathomable, if I may borrow one of them fancy terms.”

Charles snorts, “You may”, his grin there and gone in a flash. He's set aside the fishing rod – with the bucket they brought along filled to the brim with fish, there wouldn't be anywhere to put them anyways –, merely watching Arthur smoke now.

“Never was much the artistic type, myself. Looks all a bit like magic to me.”

Arthur grins back, offering him a cig of his own. Charles shrugs and takes one out of the box, leaning close to the match Arthur lights for him; his face is momentarily lit by its flaring tip, his eyes reflecting the embers' glow.

Their fingers brush and Arthur hums, exhales another smoke-filled breath into the night sky.

“Well I'd show you how, Charles, but if you take to it as quickly as fishin', what unique skills would that leave me with?”

Charles shrugs. “I can think of some”, he counters easily, another step in this dance of theirs that they slip into on nights like these. Teasing words wrapped around tender spots and soft-spoken secrets. Arthur takes the compliment for what it is, shaking his head fondly.

They smoke. Arthur tells Charles of the time he went fishing with Jack, months ago now; how hard it had been for the kid to focus on the fish, and less so on picking flowers.

“Seems the creative sort, you know? Better to let 'em make things. Kid's too young for all this crap we keep puttin' him through.”

“Does Marston know, though?” Charles sighs. “Some days it seems to me like you're more of a father to that boy than he is.”

Arthur frowns, rubs at his chest and that dull ache that, years later, is still there.

“Well, in some ways... Can't up and leave for a year an' expect things to remain the same, I guess. But John cares, or at least I think he does.” A pause. “'cause that's the thing, ain't it? Dutch taught us to give a shit 'bout family an' whatnot but, John an' I, we ain't got the same charisma he does. 's one of those things that's easier said than done.”

For a while, Charles says nothing. Just sits and smokes, looking into the distance. Turning some thought or other in his head, Arthur assumes. Eventually: “Guess you're right. Just doesn't feel good, seeing a kid on the run. Too much of that, as of late.”

“Ain't that the truth”, Arthur nods, righting himself to shake off some of the somber mood weighing on his shoulders. Smirking, he nudges Charles's knee with his own. “Just glad he stuck by that when them O'Driscolls got me. Didn't know I was even worthy of the best damn rescue squad we got.”

Charles's eyes snap to his then, narrowing a fraction. “Huh?”

“Dutch, I mean. An' you.”

“Oh.” That peculiar expression vanishes, Charles's face all-too-neutral. “Guess so”, he repeats, and Arthur draws back a little.

“Did I, uh–“ Glancing down, Arthur fiddles with the burned-out stub, staining his fingers with ash. “Didn't mean no offense, Charles. Been complainin' a lot but I wouldn't be here at all without you. Just wanted to let you know, 'm takin' none of that for granted.”

Suddenly Charles's hand is there, giving Arthur's a gentle squeeze. “Hey. That's not what I meant. Was just somewhere else, there.”

Automatically, Arthur squeezes back.

“Point still stands. Thank you.”

A quiet chuckle reels him back in, as it always does these days, “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, you know that”, and Arthur can't not look up at those words, searching his expression for– What, exactly?

What if, what if. The distance is gone, Charles's gaze warming further as Arthur's thumb brushes over the scarred back of his hand, feeling the calm rhythm of his pulse against his.

“What are we doing, Charles?”

The question is soft, said without any idea where it's headed: a road untraveled, missing from every map yet waiting to be explored.

Charles blinks, taken off guard. He opens his mouth, hesitates, admits, “Whatever you want us to”, sounding just as vulnerable as Arthur feels.

A split-second decision: Arthur tugs, Charles follows, catching himself against the boat. “Arthur”, he whispers, close enough Arthur can feel his breath on his face.

Arthur rasps, “Tell me to stop”, but Charles never does; he leans in, interlacing their fingers in the same moment their lips meet, tentatively – Arthur's eyes flutter shut, his fingers find the collar of Charles's shirt blindly, pull him ever-closer as he melts into it.

They barely part between one kiss and the next; Arthur murmurs Charles's name with the little breath he can catch, and “Fuck”, as Charles's tongue pushes into his mouth and he tastes smoke. His blood sings, throbbing in his veins in a dizzying rush, all the more prominent when Charles's thigh slides between his, caging him in–

The white-hot flash of pain comes so unexpected Arthur gasps, twisting his shoulder away from the pressure. Charles flinches, leans back, “Shit, sorry���, he pants out, mouth spit-slick and eyes wide.

Arthur can barely hear it over how loud his heart is, drumming away in his chest– “'m okay”, he says because Charles looks like he needs to hear it, but he doesn't let go, not yet.

“Come back. Please?”

Charles sways like he's drunk, nods – presses his forehead against Arthur's, noses brushing, but his tone is cautious, now. “We– This is not wise. You need time to heal.”

Arthur laughs, more than a little husky. “Do I look like I care about wise right now? Fuck, Charles.”

Charles's voice isn't faring much better; he hums a low “mmhm” before he kisses Arthur again, fleetingly. “Fuck me, indeed. I swear I had pure intentions with this.”

“You hate fishing. Dunno why you tried to convince me otherwise.”

“... I do, sorry.”

They share a smile, and Arthur shakes his head, tracing the curve of Charles's lips with his thumb.

“I don't mind. I prefer the alternative, too.”

>>Read on AO3