1 - 20 of 65 Works by plumtrees
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Iwaizumi reaches for the knob by his hip, easily twisting it open and getting them both inside. They stumble in with their lips still sealed over each other’s, silent giggles passing between mouths as Oikawa hurries to flatten his hand against the door to shut it and crowd Iwaizumi against the surface, other hand winding around his waist to pull him close, keep him there—
But then an alarmed noise rips from Iwaizumi’s throat, the hand steady on his shoulder suddenly pushing him away Iwaizumi’s looking behind him, expression a mix of shock and mild horror and Oikawa follows a split second later, just in time for a moan to resonate past the muffled music being carried over from downstairs.
“Oikawa.” Ushijima greets, only the slightest tremor to his voice as Shirabu sinks down on his cock. “Tendou didn’t mention you’d be here.”
Series
- Part 4 of Plum's Parting Porn-A-Thon
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Sometimes. Sometimes Iwaizumi stops to think about the fact that he’s…like this. That he likes being used and being watched and being pushed to his knees and told he’s a slut. That he comes harder with more than one cock squeezing past his lips, more than one pair of hands on his body. That he doesn’t think he can be quite satisfied with just one cock for the rest of his life. He likes variety. He loves all sorts. Loves sucking them to hardness, feeling testicles move under his tongue until they tense and draw back into the skin, tight and ready to blow hot cum into his mouth. Over his face. His chest. He loves it even more when he finishes with one cock only to angle his head just a little and be greeted with another one, already bullying its way into his mouth.
Series
- Part 3 of Plum's Parting Porn-A-Thon
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Oikawa offered the glass as he took the seat beside Kunimi’s, still sneaking glances at his face. It was angular, very little fat to his cheeks, but his bangs softened his features a fair bit. His face was small for his height but not overly so, especially considering his large eyes. He had a delicate button nose and thin eyebrows. Even with the yellow-orange glow, Oikawa noticed his pale complexion, indicating that he didn’t go out much. Probably had little interest in doing so.
And here Oikawa thought he’d already had his fill of beautiful people. The world was just full of surprises.
Series
- Part 2 of Plum's Parting Porn-A-Thon
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He hates himself even more because sometimes...sometimes when he comes it’s not with Iwaizumi’s name on his lips but a choked Mom, and whenever that happens he doesn’t touch Iwaizumi for a whole day, shrinks around him in shame and sidles over to the other pack members instead, and he tries not to think about Oikawa’s piercing gaze, following him around the room like he can smell the semen on his fingers, sense the lust he can barely keep bridled.
He knows. something in Kyoutani’s hindbrain whispers. He tries to ignore that too.
Third mistake.
Series
- Part 1 of Plum's Parting Porn-A-Thon
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As far as Kindaichi knows, there's only one rule to falling in love with a stripper: Don't.
For a man who's lived his entire life by the rules, he's not really very eager to follow this one.
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He was only thirteen when he left this place, but already the faded street signs brighten anew, his memories filling in the gaps of stripped paint. The low-hanging mist of the city greets him like a parent waiting on its prodigal son. Welcome home. it says.
Takahiro holds out his hand from the safety of his umbrella, reaches into the cold and collects it on the palm of his hand, but does not respond.
Takahiro travels back to his childhood home to bury old demons.
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For one, wretched second he almost wishes Eita will change his mind, run and squeeze past the gap and back into his arms.
But all it takes is one blink, and Eita’s behind reinforced glass, palm flat against the surface as he stares, cries, angles his head as the train begins to move. Without even thinking, Satori runs, tries to keep pace with the train as it accelerates, tries not to trip, tries to keep his gaze steady on Eita’s even as he falls farther and farther behind. I’m here. I’m still here. I’m—
He reaches the end of the platform. The train passes him completely, leaving nothing but the rush of wind.
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Chapter 1 - Day 2 for UshiShira Week: Promises+Hurt
Chapter 2 - Day 6 for UshiShira Week: “Remember when…”+Absence-
Shirabu recalled how potent the disappointment used to be, as bitter and as sharp as his first shot of alcohol, but now it barely even burned, like it wasn’t even there at all.
And maybe, that was the saddest part.
Series
- Part 2 of UshiShira Week 2017
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Day 4 for UshiShira Week: AUs+Cultural Festival
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Truthfully, when Ushijima first saw Shirabu, he didn’t think much of the second year. Many of the other first years called him pretty. Scary was also a favored label. Ushijima couldn’t quite deny either. Shirabu had a bit of a delicate build, thin-boned and slender, but despite that he had a sharp tongue and an unnervingly wide perfectionist streak. He was particularly fond of grilling Semi, maybe perhaps because he was already being viewed as his successor, but beyond that, he treated everyone with equal amounts of disdain.
Not that Ushijima particularly minded. He was here to play volleyball and better himself in that field, not be coddled by upperclassmen.
Series
- Part 4 of UshiShira Week 2017
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Day 3 for UshiShira Week: Clothes+”Itadakimasu”
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Tendou hummed thoughtfully, his face not moving at all. Ushijima knew this look. Instinct wiggled at the base of his skull like the warning symptoms of a migraine, and before he could mentally brace himself—
“When you eat Shirabu out, do you say itadakimasu?”
Series
- Part 3 of UshiShira Week 2017
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Day 5 for UshiShira Week: Lyrical+After Hours
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“What is your secret to success?” the interviewer asks, voice colored with genuine interest. Shirabu holds the eyeroll, reminding himself that they’re being filmed. Instead he shrugs, casual and lazy.
“Don’t sleep with the models.” He jokes easily, and the interviewer’s eyes curve in delight, laughing behind a graceful hand with its long, manicured nails.
Series
- Part 5 of UshiShira Week 2017
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Music has been Matsukawa’s defense mechanism since he’d gotten his first MP3 player. It was small, a hand-me-down from his brother, its buttons worn from use, no longer clicking when pressed, but still responsive. He’d worn earphones for as long as he was allowed, and he thinks every song in his playlist since then has some sort of memory attached to it: Ayaka’s Why for the days when it rained, Aqua Timez’ Rainbow for that day he wanted to cheer himself up after getting a bad grade.
Five headset replacements and two graduations later, he has an iPhone in his pocket and a headset he saved up six long months for settled around his neck, a thousand songs for a thousand memories, and a playlist just for Oikawa Tooru.
Series
- Part 5 of C(4,2) = 6
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He doesn’t mind coming home and seeing them on the couch, Oikawa’s long legs draped over Iwaizumi’s lap, Iwaizumi’s hand in Oikawa’s hair, scratching away.
And besides, it’s not like it can even be counted as cheating, considering that Oikawa’s dead after all.
Hanamaki was used to being second best.
Series
- Part 4 of C(4,2) = 6
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Day 1 for UshiShira Week: New Year+"Intense Force"
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Beside him, Shirabu’s brush continued to move smoothly over his paper, slow and steady despite Semi and Tendou’s impromptu drama just across them. His kanji are evenly spaced, cleanly-stroked and precise, and unlike with Tendou’s, Ushijima read the phrase out with no trouble at all.
“A skilled hawk hides its talons.”
Series
- Part 1 of UshiShira Week 2017
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Where Matsukawa learns that the problem with being infatuated with someone who’s never had experience with love before is that when they encounter this magical but troublesome entity known as feelings, their first instinct is usually to run like hell.
That, and the fact that they’re dense as fuck.
Series
- Part 3 of C(4,2) = 6
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People got to change with them
Iwaizumi across three lifetimes, and how he continues to love and lose the same man.Series
- Part 2 of C(4,2) = 6
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Oikawa opens his eyes one day and stares across the table, past pens and textbooks and index cards and coffee cups to the head of mauve hair sitting right in front of him. His face is furrowed in concentration, lower lip pushed out in an endearing pout. His fingers, with its nails blunt and bitten to the bed, tap a distracted rhythm that goes in time with the rain.
It’s a Wednesday. It’s a Wednesday and it’s raining and it’s cold outside but it’s warm right here.
It’s a Wednesday, and he’s in love.
Series
- Part 1 of C(4,2) = 6
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There was silence for a while. Heavy, uncertain silence eased only by Shirabu’s mind working up a list of ways to dispose of his teammates’ bodies. Ushijima looked deep in thought, as he always did, and Shirabu was mentally debating the efficiency of concentrated sulfuric acid when Ushijima spoke up again.
“In that case, would you still like to go see that movie? Even with just the two of us?”
Shirabu’s pretty sure if this was an anime, this would be the sequence where he’d have smoke blowing out of his ears, face glowing an unnatural shade of pink, with matching sound effects and a record scratch and kyaa, kyaaa—
His teammates were so dead.
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The point here is: Oikawa has seen enough in his time in Seijou that he thinks he’s well past the point of being surprised. He holds this thought proudly.
That is until one day, on what should have been a normal Friday afternoon, reality comes along to smack him upside the chin with this particular visual:
Iwaizumi is sandwiched between two Oikawas, groaning and writhing as the Oikawa from behind reaches between his legs, long fingers digging into his inner thighs, easing them open for the Oikawa in front to slide closer, press their hips tighter together. The moan that Iwaizumi releases at this sends blood rushing south, leaving very little left for Oikawa’s poor brain to process the situation.
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Matsukawa shakes his head, doesn’t move away when Oikawa reaches up to sweep a hand over his hair, neatening them out, long fingers slipping in the loops of curls and tugging gently, brushing them back into place.
“I admire the fact that you’re working so hard,” Oikawa whispers, so softly he’s sure that the words are only meant for him to hear, “but your health comes first. Won’t you take care of yourself a bit more, Mattsun?”
He smiles, leans back into the couch as Oikawa continues to brush through his hair. “But you guys are doing such a good job of it already.”