The Terminal List (2022)

🥛 xii.

kageyama being good in bed after his first time

this is!! very true! 

kageyama’s first time is awkward to say the least. he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all and he’s very much in dire need of assistance. 

luckily for him, you’re willing to take it slow, guiding him through the motions as the two of you learn the ins and outs of each other’s bodies. everything is nervous- tentative, and kageyama is most likely overwhelmed by all of the new and intoxicating sensations that are flowing throughout his body. 

that being said- despite his initial awkwardness, kageyama, more than anything, is eager to learn. he ever so desperately wants to be the perfect partner to you- to pinpoint every single one of your sweet softs and to capitalize on them tenfold. it may take a little bit of time for him to get accustomed to everything, but he is devoted, and after a couple of times he knows your body inside and out.

once he’s more comfortable, he definitely takes on a more dominant role. it’s almost as if he suddenly knows exactly how to wind you up in a haze of unadulterated pleasure. he always fucks you long and slow, making sure to bring you to the brink of release over and over and over again before you actually cum. 

he isn’t necessarily one for particularly kinky sex, preferring to keep things sweet and simple, but the way that he uses his fingers and his tongue and his cock leaves you breathless each and every time.

that being said he’s also very very easily flustered and very very easily riled up. it doesn’t matter if it’s a simple brush of the hand along his thigh or a pair of black thigh highs along with a short skirt- either way, he is always so readily able to turn into putty in your hands. 

oh, and one more thing,- he moans really really loudly-

good night.

idk i randomly woke up thinking of this buuut do you think you can write one where the s/o is looking really good and they're about to head out for like a business meeting or hanging out with their friends. like how would the hq boys react? you can use anyone you want or are comfy with. i also hope you have a good day and make sure to drink water and get at least a little bit of sun or fresh air :)

HAIKYUU BOYS REACTIONS WHEN YOU DRESS UP TO GO OUT

characters — timeskip!miya atsumu, kuroo tetsurō, miya osamu, suna rintarō, iwaizumi hajime

a/n — warning ⚠️ okay some got a lil suggestive but not too much, im sorry i’m the worst lmao. have an amazing day my love, i hope you enjoy <3 i’m kinda happy w these!

☾ ATSUMU his head shot up from where he lay on the couch once he seen you come into his view from the bedroom, eyes dragging up and down your figure as he groaned when he stood up to walk towards you, his hands immediately grabbing you as he pulled you into his chest “what’s ma baby all dressed up for hmm?” “going out ‘tsumu” he hummed as his head dipped to place gentle kisses up the expanse of your shoulder before travelling up your neck, stopping to suck a visible purple mark just below your ear before he pulled away to admire it “ya sure ya don’t wanna stay home with me?” his facade drops so quick when you playfully shove him away and tell him “no” with a giggle, slaps your ass on your way out the door though.

☾ KUROO he whistled lowly as his eyes met yours as you adjusted your clothes in the bedroom mirror, a smirk already stretching his features as he walked towards you “now, now kitten— all this for me?” you rolled your eyes at his teasing as his arms wrapped around you from behind, admiring your features in the mirror before his hand traced up your body, fingers tightening around your chin, turning your head towards him in favour of placing a gentle peck on your lips before he pulled away to admire you a little longer, silence finally broken as he drawled out his words almost seductively “are you made of Fluorine, Iodine, and Neon? because kitten, you are F-I-Ne” you both end up laughing so hard because he’s such a dork, he tells you to have a good time though, we love him.

☾ OSAMU he was in the kitchen cleaning up when you came into show him your outfit before you left, he smiles so big and immediately opens his arms to wrap them around you, giving your forehead a few kisses before he rests his lips against the skin “how do i look samu?” “ya look amazin’ angel, ya always do.” pulls away to fix any of your clothes he might’ve messed up with how tight he hugged you “ya want anything done for ya comin’ back? are ya gonna eat while yer out or a can make ya somethin’?” you just nod before he walks you to the door, giving you once last longing glance as he checks you out shamelessly “enjoy yerself alright? not too much though, al be waitin’ for ya comin’ home for that.”

☾ SUNA he was scrolling through his phone on the couch when you walked into the room, immediately locking his phone and flinging it down beside him when you walked in as he looks at you with his lips slightly upturned “do i look okay, rin?” he straightens up a little as he pats his lap, arms immediately wrapping around you as he pulls you on top of him, his hands running up the expanse of your thighs as they squeeze at the skin— his gaze never leaving yours, his words almost a raspy groan “fuck, so pretty.” one of his hands moving higher to rest on your neck as his lips slide against yours sweetly, a contrast to the hungry look in his eyes as he grins when he pulls away “send me some photos when you’re out?”

☾ IWAIZUMI you swear you heard him growl when your gaze met his, his muscled arm stretched along the back of the couch as you watch the heat creep up his neck and across his cheeks when you catch his gaze lingering on your figure. his voice comes out deep, one your used to but only in more intimate moments with him as he rises from his place to move closer to you “shit doll, look so fucking good for me.” one of his hands moving around the expanse of your hips as he grabbed a handful of your ass in his palm, lips capturing yours slowly even though his other hand tightened on your waist with more urgency, he pulls away shortly after, gazing down at you with the same blush he’d always had before he’s reaching for his keys “let me drop you off? need to make sure my princess is safe right?”

- Sylvia Plath, from 'Ariel'

┌─ “ ! „ CADAVER

tw. wound fucking, blood, gore, don’t read this if you’re squeamish!!, somnophilia, oral, noncon, megumi is delusional in this, yandere, belly bulge but gross! , cannibalistic thoughts wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. this one,,, was me pushing myself to just go buck wild, and channel my inner junji, and i think i got somewhere with it... a select few of you will understand me when i say that ,, this is like my love letter to megumi fr ♡ like i said though, this one might be the one that has people a little yucked out but! it's basically my halloween fic, for the spooky month

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

When the rattling of the stretcher finally quiets in the halls and the rising rate of adrenaline starts to flatten out, Megumi’s lost on what to do. Any of the other sorcerers can’t decide what the next step is either, it seems. Yuji with his back pressed against the glass and staring off into the empty part of the hall they just came from, and principal Yaga a stern quietness and arms crossed. Ieiri-san will do her best work today of any days if there’s anything to be done about it, but Megumi can tell. That uncertainty hangs over all of them as the faint breathing of a collapsed body grows more pitched and panicked.

Megumi always sort of hated you. He didn’t like you from the second he first met you, and it just grew and grew and grew from there. He hates your stupid demeanor with your higher-than-thou morals and your sky-high milestones and that grin that could make even the coldest heart split in two. It doesn’t escape him that this is the same reason he always did enjoy Maki, but you were — more recognizable to him, and yet somehow much further away.

He always hated the way he’d catch himself watching the soft motion of your lashes, or how your mouth would form words, the heat that would carry color to your face. He always hated the quiet moments you’d sit by his side, rattling his heart out of his chest and laughing at him for his hot cheeks; and he always hated how you’d be the thought on his mind right after he’d made sure his own limbs hadn’t yet been blown to bits. But standing with his hands covered in a coating of blood that isn’t his, dripping onto the panes of the old flooring, he wonders what that hatred ever really got him. It never helped him understand you better, that for someone so alike himself, you were so much better at everything.

His chest is rising and falling too fast.

Gojo’s too late, always is when it comes down to the wire, Megumi thinks as the lankier man rushes through and stops a few feet away from them. Yaga’s brow pinches, before he lifts his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the white blond. “What’s the status,” Gojo has to ask, and before he has another conscious thought, Megumi’s furiously rubbing his hands over his sweater in an attempt to get the blood off while his teeth clack with how hard he’s clenching them. There’s a thickness between his ears that makes everything sound far off. The blood stains his fingers the more he rubs, and his face gets hotter and hotter as it lasts.

But he thinks he hears the principal explain.

How you had been pinned down and knocked clean out, head bashed against the concrete pillars. How Megumi had been too busy trying and failing to keep the uglier curse from blasting you both to shit, to notice. How the other special grade had picked you up by the neck and unceremoniously shoved something into your mouth and pushed until it went down your throat - until you started convulsing, spitting out blood and bile before he could reach you. Megumi hadn’t taken the time to look then, but he knows now what it was, slimy, decaying contents of a little vial that had gone missing a few months ago.

“The girl must’ve been a real good match.” Yaga pushes his fingers to his brow, as if forcibly trying to push the frown down. “Ieiri’s doing what she can.” It doesn’t make any of them feel better when Gojo clicks his tongue and aims his eyes at the door, before casting a quick glance at Megumi under thick, blond lashes. He wants to puke. He’d shoved his fingers down your throat for what felt like hours, trying desperately to get you to throw up the curse. Had carried you all the way back while you were sobbing and wailing in pain. Nothing.

If even the worst case repeats itself, they’ll have another incarnation on their hands, and the noose will be tightened around your throat. Yuji must have already realized this, because he’s yet to say anything since you’d been tied onto the stretcher with blood pouring out of your nose and ears and coughing up grime. Megumi’s not even sure if Ieiri would hesitate to put you down without a second warning before it gets to the same turning point. And he is pissed. At the situation, his friends, himself, you. He’s so angry his hands shake, and so angry tears start stinging behind his eyes, feeling like any motion might cause him to throw up. He hates you.

+

Your chest’s rising with big motions up and down, up and down, as you drum your feet on his bedsheets like an excited rabbit. Megumi grunts, snatches the book from your hands and tosses it back down with the others that were not-so-neatly stacked on his desk. Your shape on his bed makes a dent in his mind that he’ll have to keep replaying over and over when he closes his eyes, and it has a frown pulling his eyebrows down automatically. “So grumpy,” you yawn, and also roll over onto your stomach to tuck your legs to your core, lifting one hand to rest your face into it.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Might as well be,” you giggle back, and he watches for a moment as your hair falls along your shoulders in a gentle brush, making you look even more enchanting. You’re soft and parts of you are shiny like silk, seemingly oozing your rosy, peachy aura all over his stuff. You catch his eyes for just a few breaths, still rising your chest too distractingly, before you push yourself up and slide off the bed to walk up to him. He pivots to thumb through the notes on his desk again, to be farther away from your face probably, and his shoulders rise into an uncomfortable pinch when you approach, feet patting on his floor. “Megumi.” You say his name with a clear pout.

Then heat covers his skin at the base of his throat and he freezes, letting the way you drag your soft lips over his pulse fill him up entirely. His hands shake too hard to keep a grip on the paper, so he spins you around and shoves you back against the desk as you hiss at the sudden painful grip, his fist wrapped into the collar of your shirt. “I already told you to stop doing that.” He hisses, and your eyes are wide and glittering like diamonds, beautiful color peering up at him.

“But you like it when I do that,” you whisper back ever so softly, and his head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, cracking his skull under a non-escapable pressure. He can’t think, can’t even eat normally without the ghost of you hanging over him and shaking him up. It’s unbearable even when you’re not around. His fist unclenches from the flimsy fabric to instead grip your chin with his thumb, and his heart bangs against his ribcage harder than can be normal. Harder than is healthy. A little thought in the back of his skull begs to push. Just once, deny you from digging your claws deeper into him— but he’s already melted to your shape before he can blink.

His face drops like you’re magnetic, thighs pushing you further into the desk and also into him; and it’s truly embarrassing that his hands are still shaking like they do. You lean in when he does, and let your lips meet his hungry, treacherous mouth, other hand sliding to your waist to pull you closer. Your tongue brushes his and he implodes inside, and he swears it hurts to be this close to you.

Not that you care. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer, and his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin.

+

He finds himself wandering back to the quieter wing of the school when the sun’s already dipped far past the horizon, and the cold starts picking up. He’s dragging his feet, so he won’t fucking rush back to the room he finds himself thinking about so fast he stumbles. He’s glaring at the patterns in the floorboards so he doesn’t cry. You’re stable- quiet puffs of air escaping your nose every few seconds, but you’re still under surveillance. As far as the clans are concerned, they’ll put something sharp between your eyes sooner rather than later, before whatever’s slumbering inside you wakes up. But Gojo’s fighting for you. It makes him grimace to think about.

Knocking his knuckles onto the doorframe, he enters the dimly lit room. Nanami doesn’t stand when he spots him, but does uncross his legs as he takes a deep breath. Neither of them speak for a while, and the dark haired man takes that time to run his eyes over you. You’re not as dirty as you were when you first got back, shivering and shaking. You’re no longer dripping with blood, though he’s sure if he were to look close enough, he’d still be able to see flecks of it between your cracked lips. As he walks up, he finds himself thinking that you look strangely peaceful, and that doesn’t seem entirely right.

Save for the bloody mark that seems branded into your forehead, you look like you’re quietly sleeping on the metal slab that supports your body. After all the pain and agony you’ve caused in him, sleepless nights and long days of wondering, hoping you’d be okay. Why is it that he’s the one affected by you? Why is it that he’s the one who’s going to have to say goodbye again? He stares at your unmoving form as if that’ll give him an answer, but it doesn’t. And the pit in his stomach swells again. He’s just so angry all the time. Megumi breathes out. “It’s my turn to take watch for a while.”

“You’re early,” Nanami’s deep baritone chastises, but he gets up from the seat anyway. He smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, before slowly placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. The weight is heavy, and somehow doesn’t soothe him at all. But there’s an attempt, he guesses. He’s still not entirely sure why everyone is looking at him like he’s the one who needs it most, broken and disheveled and mourning. He’s been able to finish his tasks like everyone else has, and he can banish the thought of you when he’s supposed to focus on work— at least, mostly. He doesn’t need the fucking pity. “Want some coffee? Or green tea?” Nanami asks, letting his hand slide off when Megumi shrugs.

“No. I’m okay.”

The older man seems to hesitate, simply nodding when he walks past. Before closing the door behind him, he once again clears his voice, and Megumi turns over his shoulder. The blond has this look in his eyes, of pity, as he talks. “Megumi, there’s a chance she pulls through.” Why again - that fucking pity? “Don’t give up.” Though it makes him tingle with an unbearable sort of itch deep under the skin, he grits his teeth, and his brain’s hot and irritated when he responds.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nanami doesn’t seem to believe him, but still softly slides the door closed behind him, and when the footsteps grow softer and softer, Megumi allows for a second to collect himself. He braces his hands onto the metal as he leans in, close enough to feel just the slightest bit of your warmth on his fingers, and see the way you’re still breathing, though shallow, too faint for his liking. His brows pinch when he finds himself with his forehead pressed to your stomach, hunched over like he’s praying at your shrine or something. But he can’t help it.

As much time as he spent beside you with a frown on his face, it never feels enough. He can’t stay away, like it’s an involuntary thing— you leave him no choice in the matter. Even here in the darkness, whining softly into your wheezed breaths, it isn’t enough to be beside you. He can’t do anything from here at your bedside; and that uselessness makes him feel even more uneasy. He needs to be closer to you. Wants to be so close you two get stuck together and melt together like an inseparable entity, would want to crawl inside you if he could.

His nose presses into the clean shirt that smells like your laundry, as he clenches his fists so hard along the table edge they start to ache. His eyes are pressed closed tight when he allows him just a second to nose below your sternum, and that uncomfortable stinging sensation comes back to his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” his lips brush against your covered skin, taking in the lack of heat, of your smell and the way you sounded with his face buried there, “I didn’t mean it.”

+

“Aw, ow, ow, Megumi~” You pout with a pitched whine as his hand stays screwed around your knee for a little longer, keeping you trapped under his heavier, taller body so that you start wiggling. Your head falls back against his arm, and you lean to press a few kisses to his wrist that’s holding your own to the floor. “Be more gentle.” You pout when you pull back and flash him that fucking look that sends icy shivers down his spine, and exactly nothing else. “You can be gentle, can’t you?” Every other part of him flushes with heat under your doe-eyed, pitiful look, definitely when you start wiggling out of his grasp like you’re suddenly over the game.

You started it. He wouldn’t put himself in your range on purpose. When you’re about halfway out from under his crouched form, you sit up to be face to face; and you brush your hand past his ear, down his jaw and neck and trail his collarbones, all places he’s convinced are now stained a bright, obnoxious pink from his flush. You let your fingers linger when you tilt your head aside a bit so you can slot your lips over his into a sweet, little kiss, and you pull your lips into another pout. “Swear you’re doing it to hurt me sometimes. I’m never trying to hurt you, you know.” A few strands of hair fall over your eye when you sit below him, and he has to fight every single muscle in his body not to push it back for you.

He wants to see your eyes. He wants you to see him like this, pinned under you like the attraction you render him as— his body collapses on top of you as you start giggling all fucking cutely, and his heart races more than it ever has. Your heartbeat drums into his face when he buries it into your softness, chest against his cheek, too long for his own sanity before he drags himself off you. And it is a drag. His entire body starts feeling sluggish when you’re this close to him, close enough to drown himself in your scent. He won’t ever say it, but that scent gets him hard and awfully mellow all at once, his cock coming to life in his pants before he’s moving.

You look happy. Your eyes are those bright, gentle colors that rain down on him, and your lips are quirked into a soft smile, you must know what you’re doing to him. Setting him up for failure again. He huffs and pushes himself onto his back instead, knocking his head to the floor while you’re moving from the rug - splaying your knees either side of him before you nuzzle right back on top of his chest and make it even harder to get a breath, let alone catch it. He’s sure he’s panting a little when you leave your warmth draped all over him, and you don’t do anything other than be there.

His arms are still on the floor, his body rigid under you, but you’re softly giggling into his peck before he frowns down at you again when you catch his eyes. “What?”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” you admit, not proud, not gloating - just stating the fact, and heat overtakes his neck now too. Instead of letting you wind him up any further, he bucks you off and switches positions again, now with your two wrists caught in his hands as you squeak with the ache that probably lodges in your back.

“Can you get off of me?” He sits back on his feet, not letting go of your hands yet, before your eyes flutter and you grab him back. Well, brush your fingers over the skin you can reach, pawing at him just enough to tickle. “What’s with you today?” he bites back, and also snatches his hands back to escape the onslaught of feelings that wash over him. You don’t sit up this time, and from the tilt of your head, you’re considering your answer for a while before you speak out.

“Do you like me, Megumi?” Fuck. His room seems to collapse in on itself. Or, maybe it’s his body— because he gets a little more short of breath, and his thoughts short circuit as his mouth stupidly drops open. He’s choked up for long enough that he has to clear his voice to try an answer, and even then, he gets stuck. You’re studying him so closely it must show. The blaring warmth that fills him up and makes his ears bright red. After another second, your eyes seem to dim slightly, as you push your cheek to your shoulder, opening yourself up to even more attacks. “Love y’, ‘gumi.”

+

He straightens up with enough tightness in his chest to choke him, makes his eyes sting and his head blare cold, painful warnings— he grabs some of the glasses from the small table beside him, launches it straight into the wall until it shatters into a million pieces upon impact. The loud clang doesn’t do anything to settle his anger, where he fists his hands into his hair and pulls, in hopes the worry will somehow vanish.

“Why do you always have to be such a hero?” he hisses, even though you can’t answer now, “wouldn’t it have been enough to just stay here with me?!” He tilts your face to his and drops his lips to yours, and that familiar softness is enough to have him clenching his eyes shut again against the tears. He kisses you until your mouth opens a bit, then slides his tongue up against yours and grips your shoulders, pulling your limp body towards him more. “I’ll be better to you.” He pleads. You don’t move, and the breaths going over his cheeks are so shallow.

But he can’t stop himself from tangling your tongue with his, licking into your mouth and chasing the warmth until he runs out of breath. You’re so fucking pretty still. He kisses you again, bumping teeth, and grips your hip hard as he lays over you a little more, chest to chest and feeling it brush against him with each soft pant he lets out, each gravelly moan. It doesn’t hurt so much to brush his tongue against yours, to swallow your taste on his tongue until his lips numb — but while it doesn’t ache, it’s also not enough. Before he’s able to think about the morality of his actions, his thumbs are hooking under your shirt and pushing it up, over your soft belly and ribcage all the way up until it’s over your tits, where his lips travel to as soon as the skin’s exposed. You’re so soft still, too.

He’s not sure what he’s doing other than leaving messy, open mouth kisses onto you, kneading your skin between his hands as all the warmth in his body pools into his groin. Your tits are sucked into his mouth, one then the other, as he rubs his face into the doughy skin, then he’s pulling and pinching at your tits like he knows makes you whimper. The sound’s burned into his working memory, and it drives him on to run his face down your soft body to the part where your thighs meet. The skin just above your skirt of the softest, warmest, and he full on moans when his cock twitches hard in his pants and he reaches down to grab himself.

Normally you’d be blinking up at him now, sending him that little look with grabby hands, ready to wrap your puffy lips around him— it’s different when it’s his hand screwed around himself and not even moving yet. he can’t, or he’ll cum in his pants, and he’s not going to waste his cum like that when your warm pussy’s right before him. He’s shaky when he pushes the fabric up, flipping it over your tummy; and groans again when he licks down your panties and mouths at the seat of it. It tastes so much like you his eyes roll back, and his knees give a little, while more precum leaks out of him and into his pants.

He frees his hands momentarily to slide you to the edge of the metallic table, two hands gripping your butt and squeezing, then hooking his finger in your panties to just pull them aside. He doesn’t care about the chaffing he’ll have. Not even a second thought when your little pussy is in front of him, and he pushes his mouth to you for some open mouthed kisses, down to your pussy and back up. Wrapping his mouth around your clit, he sucks hard, and rubs the bud a few times with his tongue. He swears your breathing goes more pitched and heavier when he does, when his fingers trail down your puffier lips to rub the bit of wetness around.

His cock’s painfully hard in his pants, and after a few more times licking you up and down so that your slick covers the entire bottom half of his face, he pushes the zipper down and then takes himself out to watch how red and sore the head of his cock already is, oozing pre and coating both his boxers and his shaft. He spits into his hand to give himself a few tight-wrung pumps, tighter than he likes normally- if he doesn’t, he’ll spill all over your cute, little pussy. He pushes his fingertips inside your now wetter cunt, watching it wink and beg for something to fill, and groans when one finger slides in with ease.

Your soft walls are still soft and hot around him, giving mean licks over your clit again and again in a way that would normally overstimulate you too easily. You don’t whimper or whine now, take his finger nice and sweet inside your squelching, gooey walls, only making a little noise when he slides in a second and he can feel the slight bit of stretching you need. He’s dripping onto the table now, balls tight and heavy - imagines how you moan and look when you’re sucking on them and you smack your lips with each open mouthed kiss or lick. You between his legs is always enough to have his knees giving, and it’s no different now, he has to hold himself up against you before he thinks better of it.

You’re slid back on the table too easily, making room for him when he pushes one of your legs aside— and let out a slight gasp when he hoists himself over your body. He just wants you. So bad. It’s not so embarrassing when you’re not awake to see how fucking crazy he looks, flushed, cock twitching between his legs as he strains to kiss you again, lick over your tongue for more of your taste, and breathes your name. “Baby, fuck- I need to be inside you.” He wants to hide away in your safety forever. A crystalline, fucked up thought springs up in his mind for just a second, but he banishes that with a few blinks.

Instead he lines himself up over your hot, needy pussy and pushes inside just the head at first, grunting tightly at the softness that envelops him. His whole body shudders as he pushes in deeper, feeling that pit in his stomach expand with each inch that he goes deeper, tangles his fingers with yours when he bottoms out and fills you up so well. You’re curled into his touch, and he kisses you, his thoughts blanking as he pulls back, and snaps his hips back inside you. You’re hot and wet and it feels so fucking good, clenching your hand inside his larger one. It’s not fair. He’s losing his mind, and you’re always the end of him.

His cock rubs against your swollen insides with rough, imprecise strokes — he doesn’t mean to, it’s just that trying to focus on anything other than the heat as he slides in and out of your tight pussy is too much. You’re too much; you’re haunting him even now. He kisses down your face to your neck, sucks on your skin and bites down hard enough to make a serious mark, wanting to hear you cry. Normally, you’d cry out his name so pretty, dig your nails into his back until he’s letting you go and grinding back on his cock, but you can’t do that now. His cockhead bumps your spot each time he fucks himself into you further, but it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough. He wants to be closer to you, and that horrible image that was launched into his head creeps back up before his eyes, bloody and horrible. Maybe he always told himself that he hated you because - no matter how much he fought, he would never be able to stomach actually hurting you as much as it hurts him. But now, withering on top of you as his cock thumps with how much blood rushes south, everything else falls away. He wants to claw and bite and carve his way to your insides and make you pay just a little for his sins. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs pumping blood through his body to his lungs, his gut, his cock.

He pulls out of you to kiss down your tits and over your covered ribs, thumbing over the head of his cock and gliding it over your puffy clit, your wet pussy lips and flicking it just in and out of your drooling cunt— before he puts a sloppy few kisses there too, tongue coated in slick. The blood pumps through his head so hard he feels dizzy, pounding behind his eyes as the heat of your cunt overwhelms him entirely. It’s too hard to stay sane -he’s never felt less sane than now- when you’re laying below him like this, ready to leave him all alone. You wormed your way into his heart when he didn’t want it, and now, now that’s all about to end.

His mouth is dry, but he’s drooling as he grips your thigh and kneads the doughy skin of your tummy— looking so soft and warm and perfectly shaped for him. He wants -needs, needs it, to feel you swallow him, ruin him- to cut you open and eat your insides out with the sick force of what he’s feeling right now— he groans your name again, desperately trying and failing to get it out of his head— the more he tries the better it feels to think it. Despite having his fist around the base of his cock, stings of white shoot over your body as he crumples in on himself and paints you with his cum. He’s still hard though, painfully so, and as soon as he’s done cumming he can already feel the building urge to do it again, trailing his shaking fingers down to your clenching pussy and rubbing your clit until your body starts wiggling back just a little too.

Megumi wants to go, bury this urge down and never think of it again. He really does— but it’s like he’s possessed, drooling over your body and flicking his cock in and out of your pussy without sliding back in. He might’ve had it wrong this whole time, but if this is love - God, he loves you, he loves, loves, loves you so much he’s not ever going to have enough. Can’t ever say goodbye, not when his entire soul’s been bound to yours, has been rotted away into nothing like this. There’s only you, and him; and he can’t get close enough to make this fucking feeling go away.

With black spots swimming over his vision, he’s not sure what he’s doing until he’s knelt on the floor and shards of glass cut his knees open through his pants; he doesn’t feel it - just trembles as he gets one of the larger shards and crawls back to you, right between your plush thighs as he kisses your face over and over until he feels like he’ll be sick. “Forgive me when you wake up, baby.” It doesn’t really sound like him anymore, faint and messy as he ruts his cock against the inside of your thigh and stares at your face for a little longer. He paws at your tummy again, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - he feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in ages - or the fact that all his blood is cleary in his swollen cock, hot and heavy.

He kisses you again, pants against your chest as he watches between your two bodies as one arm keeps him up, and the other drags the shard of glass below your belly button just hard enough to create a little cut. He just- just wants to be a little closer, you’ll let him, you’ll let him- he’s been so fucking mean to you and if he can just do this, he’ll make it up to you. Specks of blood well up that he swipes his thumb through to slide it into his mouth, get used to the taste of copper on his tongue. Sometimes he bites your lip hard enough to split it, and you tear up and whine, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He could cum on the spot when you yank like that, but the taste now isn’t enough. As he pushes the shard of glass into your skin harder, watching one layer make way for another, tougher tissue that still gives when he grids down a little- he waits for the moment where he feels bad, regrets and walks it all back- but the feeling doesn’t come. Your body looks so pretty like this, robbed of your innocence by his hands; and he doesn’t wanna cum yet, fuck. The adrenaline swimming in his head is pounding too hard to feel anything other than love for you, and the pulling, almost unbearable sensation of wanting to slide back into you. The blood pools around the hole as he slides along, hearing the skin squelch and snap, building a sweat along his neck and collar. Maybe you’d lick it up if you were awake.

The blood runs, covers his entire fist that’s wrapped tight around the glass, it creates little rivers that you’ll both be laying in soon. He coughs, before kissing you below your jaw, feeling the weak pulse beneath his lips— and righting himself to look at his work with a better angle, groaning. There’s both more blood and less than he expected, pooling in your belly button, all over your pretty pussy, his thighs and hands- his cock not yet. He drops the glass aside as he thumbs over the wound and sure enough- he’s cut through fat and muscle and sinew without too much struggle, because you’re soft all over.

He pushes the fleshy gash open more, thumbs over the clean cut he made with a strange sort of fascination before the hot, hot blood gets to be too much for his curiosity and he leans in to lick from your clit up, up, up until his tongue reaches the raised, tight skin— what has he done, what’s he doing, this, this isn’t — he can’t stand the heat that’s coming out of you for long, and it smells, but that isn’t what sticks with him right now. He’s never wanted to be closer. The gaping pouch of your belly’s drooling red for him. The head of his cock twitches when he feels the hot of your stomach coating him in blood, and coating you in turn. The cum from before’s all but washed away, but he’s sure he can give you another couple orgasms before he tuckers out.

He’s strung so high all of this feels like a dream, like his head is about to roll off of his neck; he pushes in with a garbled sort of sound that comes from deep, deep inside him. The skin doesn’t wanna give way at first, but he manages to push back hard enough before suddenly he’s inside, and it’s like nothing else. The pressure of a slab of skin taking him where it’s not meant to go— bleeding and whining out like this, it’s euphoric. He’s able to see his cock’s outline glide into you until it’s bulging your stomach, squelching and sucking him back in; feels like you’re taking him deeper than ever, letting him fuck his cock so deep he’ll hit your ribs soon. You’re so fucking beautiful, even like this, getting coated and letting him fuck it.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying, but the peace that washes him entirely clean might be close; he grinds his hips into you hard enough to rock your body under him as he laces your hands again. Both, this time, just chasing after an end that seems like it’ll never come.

He feels infinite. Your blood’s so hot it’s almost painful, and the tightness of the hole he carved into you is entirely different from your pussy, pushing back against him like you’re begging him to get out. He imagines you’d beg so pretty- but he’s inside you, finally inside and deeper than anyone’s ever been. He’s able to watch his cock blow up your belly and make it hollow when he pulls back, and God- he should feel worse than he does. He could swallow you whole if you’d let him. The feeling has him shuddering over you as he pants your name, makes your tits brush over his chest- and his balls smack against the smooth stretch of skin until he can’t feel his feet any longer.

Now he’s got you dirtied, he wants to ruin you too, leave you a mangled mess of flesh and swallow every last bit of you until he never forgets the taste. But that would require he’d stop fucking his hot cock into your bloody, little pouch, and that won’t happen. He’s panting, sweat running down his back from the effort, and his groin starts to feel a little raw too. He might’ve been going for hours by now, licking your mouth clean from his drool only to dirty you again. The head of his cock feels fucked raw inside you, and his thighs shake before his shoulders square over you.

Megumi speeds up his pace fucking into your guts -actually- until he clenches every muscle, is overcome again and reaches heaven inside you, spurting creamy white into the pouch he’s created for himself; “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his hand has to twist into an uncomfortable position to reach for your clit, but he wildly does it anyway— cramping up, until he’s collapsing on top of you and stilling inside. The stench of blood makes the entire room smell, as he thumbs over the side of your blood-coated thigh with one hand, and feels the shaking all the way up and down his spine. He pulls out so slowly, pumping the last bits of cum out with a throaty moan, before he slides off the table onto awfully shaky legs.

If he was any more lucid, he’d think twice before leaning by your side to kiss your eyes, your nose, your pouty lips as the tears that must’ve been building for a while run down your temple— and suppresses the need to actually eat you- for now, he rubs a softer hand over your exposed tummy, before folding the now blood-drenched fabric of your skirt back down to hide your puffy pussy, lest he be tempted again. He whispers his love into your ears, nuzzles at your hairline until the feeling comes back to his hands and feet and he tucks his spent cock back into his boxers, and goes about cleaning the mess he made of the floor.

It’s only when an uncomfortable scratchy sound comes that he notices the burning heat on his neck, the dried sweat painfully sticky— and straightens up beside you when you start to shake again. Immediately his worry is sky high. Even in the gross air of mixed blood and cum and the scent of sex soaking everything, his mind is just clear enough to hold your head when you thrash around a few times, and your chest rises wildly up and down. Then before his very eyes, the damage he’d done upon you slowly starts to stitch itself together, like weaving threads. Lacing you up until every bit of muscle, fat, and skin restores to it’s pristine glory before he ever touched you, with a little puff of cursed energy.

He bites his lip hard when the shaking stops, and your back lands back onto the metal with a soft clang. The noise is louder now it’s quiet in the room. Megumi waits for a bit longer before he brushes the hair from your face, and doesn't mind it that he’s leaving tracks. The darkness is filled with his tense breathing, and then — every sound at once. Your eyes shoot open with a cry, sobbing out like a baby for a few painful seconds. But then spot him thumbing your tears away devoted like he is -though he won’t admit it to you, and you let out a noise of pure relief.

It’s almost poetic, when you crash back into his arms and this time, he lets your arms wind around his waist.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

🐱‍👤 NINJA & SORCERER 🔮

Two teachers of different stories joined by 3 difficult students and white hair.

got diagnosed with another mental illness at therspy today. epic win for my Carrd

Tired

atsumu’s not going to college.

it’s not what he wants, and it’s not a requirement for his plans for the future. he has a one track road set for going pro in the volleyball industry, and he has no plans for detours slowing him down.

that was always “the plan”, and you were not part of it — you were always going to college, and you were going to spend the full time there making sure your future’s on the right track.

that’s why he broke up with you.

the two years he spent with you throughout high school gone down the drain the second he decided this would be better for him — and he feels like he’s wrong, because he still checks on you when you’re not looking — but atsumu’s dead set on the fact that he’ll only slow you down if he kept you with him.

or so, until now.

“atsumu, it’s two in the morning.” you tell him, your yawns coming in a drip drop motion as you try to understand what he’s doing in front of you right now.

it’s been two weeks since you last saw him — two weeks since the breakup — two weeks of no calls, texts or even acknowledgements from in between classes or study halls.

but now he’s here, standing on your doorstep, and you’re not really sure if you want him to be.

atsumu tells you, “i have a solution.”

“it’s two in the morning.” you remind him again.

and he only repeats, “i have a solution.”

your eyebrows furrow, “do you want to come inside?”

“no,” he shakes his head, his nose red from the cold, and he tells you, “you have to listen to me.”

you bring your arms up to your chest, not feeling so warm yourself, and you hate that he chose to do on the coldest night of the month.

you tell him, “i can listen to you inside.”

and he only replies, “i have a solution.

and you frown, “so we’re not going inside.”

you have no idea what he’s talking about, all you know is that you’re still upset with him for ghosting you right after breaking up with you, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to forgive him for that yet.

you sigh, “why are you here?”

and he nods, “because i can get a job — i’ll work on the volleyball thing most hours of the day — but whenever i’m free, i can take shifts in the local café near your campus.”

you cut him off, “wait — my campus?”

“yeah,” atsumu nods, “i checked, and they have an opening and i can totally get a job there.”

atsumu? with a job? at a cafe? you can’t even put it to words, but you’re unsure when he visited your campus, unsure why he’s even doing all this in the first place.

“a job?” you raise a brow, “why do you need a job?”

atsumu ignores your question, shivering as the cold hits him, his breath turning white as it leaves his mouth, and he continues, in a frantic fit, “i have a car, it’s for my 20th birthday but my dad agreed he can give it to me early — and i have a lot saved up so there’s that for an apartment too.”

you’ve never seen atsumu be so nervous, you’ve seen him before his games and after his losses, but he’s never looked like this — never looked so worried.

“slow down.” you break through his endless string of sentences, your eyebrows furrowing as you’re still so confused and lost of what’s going on, and you say, “it’s two am.”

atsumu doesn’t respond.

you touch his arm, “have you slept?”

he feels silly — this is the first time you’ve seen him in two weeks and he must look insane to you already. he doesn’t care, he’s tired, he misses you, he’s been missing you for two weeks, and he hasn’t stopped.

atsumu looks at you, “i don’t want to break up with you.”

you stare back at him, blinking profusely as if trying to make of the situation, and your heart softens as easily as it leaps — because you didn’t want to break up with him either.

he still looks frantic, like he’s a second away to pull his hair out, and you’d offer to let him inside the house one more time, but you’ve got a strong feeling that he’d just say no again.

“i have the place, the car, the job — you have college and i’ll have my volleyball — and i know this isn’t what we planned, but i have the solution and i really think we can make this work.” atsumu tells you all of this, a straight (frantic) tone coming through his words, he catches his breath, and he’s ready to talk to you again.

but your eyes are gentle, “what are you talking about?”

he looks at you, like he’s nervous to be looking at you, a huge lump in his throat the he needs to be swallowing down soon since he’s gone too long without speaking — and he’s nervous, because this situation earns him every right to be nervous.

he’s only 20, unsure of every decision he’s making towards his future, but he’s just spent the last two weeks without you, and the first real thing he’s realized is that there’d be nothing worse than that.

the night is cold.

atsumu stares, “will you marry me?”

❣︎𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐢❣︎

Keep reading

captain oikawa takes full advantage of the sweet pining lil crush little cheerleader you have on him. it’s like the universe wanted this right? the handsome captain of the volleyball team with his own personal cheerleader.

abuse... of power... make me... cower... (omg i tried so hard to rhyme there forgive me)

nsfwish, fem reader, manipulation-y?, nothing too crazy, just oikawa being slimy

“oi- oikawa-san!”

there it is; your beautiful, little voice. it’s become a ritual, to hear your footsteps come up behind him before he can enter the gym.

“hey.” he smiles down at you when he turns. you’re dressed in your little cheerleading outfit, hair put up and tied with teal bows. 

“oikawa-san...” your cheeks are dusted with a blush. “i’ll be- i’ll be cheering for you today; extra loud, too.”

“you will?” he pats the back of his head. “that would make me very happy... you’re like my good luck charm, you know?”

“i am?”

“of course you are.” he comes to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “tell you what, if we win tonight... why don’t you come meet me behind the gym? i’ll take you out somewhere. deal?”

that light dust of blush is dark now. you look like you’re about to combust. ah, what a sweet, little girl you are.

“d- deal!” you grin so wide. “i know you won’t lose, oikawa-san!”

and they don’t; seijoh never loses.

in all honesty, the cheers get muddled after a while; he can’t tell which voice from which, but of course he tells you he could hear you loud and clear.

“you could?” you pull his jacket tighter over your shoulders. 

“of course!” he laughs, his breath becoming steam in the cold air. “it was cute.”

you blush, looking up at the sky for a moment. “um, where are we going, oikawa-san?”

“my place.” he throws and arm around you. “you don’t mind, do you?”

“oh, of course not!”

of course you don’t.

he lets you inside his house first, looking at those pretty little legs beneath your skirt. his jacket hangs over you as he leads you to his room, watching you get all flustered.

“here, come sit.” he pats his thigh as he settles himself on the floor.

“on your- your lap?”

“yeah? where else?”

you do as he says, still wrapped up in his jacket. your back is to his chest, and his arms snake around you to hold you.

“oi- oikawa-san, there’s something i need to tell you.”

“you can call me tooru, you know.”

“tooru...” you’re so quiet. “i... i like you a lot, tooru.”

“you do?” he fakes a gasp.

“y- yeah...” 

“well, what if i told you...” he places his lips right over your ear. “that i like you, too.”

you turn to look at him. “really?”

“of course.” a smooth smile finds his face. “you’re the prettiest girl on the cheer team, after all.”

“that’s- that’s not true...”

god, the insecure ones are the best.

“don’t say that,” he chuckles. “you’re the prettiest girl in the entire school...”

his hands move to stroke your skin.

“oh, oikawa-- tooru-san... there’s a lot of girls that are way prettier... at our school...”

“don’t be like that... do i have to show you how beautiful you are?”

“you- you think i’m beautiful?”

he has one hand coming beneath your cheer skirt, the other hovering above your breast. what he really wants to say is that you’re fuckable, but  girls like you need an extra kick if he’s ever gonna get between your legs.