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rbbrbikerthorp · 8 months

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A New Neighbour Moves In

[Please note: all characters are 18 plus and any reference to boy or girl is purely descriptive or used in dialogue between the characters.]

Mitchell was living the life much like any typical 23 year old male would. He’d graduated university, he had started his career in recruitment for legal and financial services and was starting to earn good monthly commissions on top of his basic salary. He’d used all the money inherited from his grandparents to buy a 1-bedroom flat in a new development, just on the edge of the city centre. Mitchell didn’t have a steady girlfriend – he wasn’t in a long-term relationship place. As he told his mates at the gym, he was a ‘date them and ditch them’ once he’d managed to ‘get them in the sack’ kind of bloke.

It was a Monday morning and Mitchell needed to get to work. First, he had to navigate his way carefully out of the flat where he’d been invited to spend the night. The girl he’d met in the club the previous evening had taken a shine to his blue eyes, rugby toned body and wavy blonde hair. “Another notch on the bedpost,” Mitchell thought as he tiptoed his way out of the girl’s bedroom. Mitchell made it a policy to only meet women in person and he would never exchange contact details. It meant that none of his ‘conquests’ had any idea of how to find him and, as he was enjoying his ‘tom cat’ life so much, he sure didn’t want to be found. He went on his Uber app and requested a taxi. In less than two minutes one had pulled up in front of him. He took one last look up at the window to check the curtains were still closed and the car pulled away from the curb.

He arrived back at his flat in plenty of time to get ready for the day ahead. He shaved his weekend beard growth and then turned on the shower. Whilst the water warmed up, he took a moment to admire himself in the mirror. He loved how beefy his legs looked from the years of playing rugby first in secondary school and then in the university’s first team. His regular attendance at the gym meant he had a well-defined chest and arms. Women loved his bum as it stood out, firm and muscular. Yes, at that moment as he entered the shower cubicle Mitchell was very content with his life, but on this day, things were about to change.

As Mitchell locked his front door, he noticed piles of boxes outside the flat next door. As he turned towards the lifts, he ran into a large man. He barely stopped as he fell into him. Stepping backwards he said, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t see you there.” As the guy regained his balance, Mitchell noticed the man’s shaved head, jeans with bleach marks with tall black boots with white laces tucked into them. Even though he thought of himself as a tough, well-built guy, he stuttered feeling inadequate and intimidated by this stranger. “I…I…I’m Mitchell,” holding out his hand, “n... n… nice to meet you. So, you’re moving in next door? I… I… always wondered who my new neighbour would be? It’s been vacant for ages.

The man smiled, “I’m John and yes, it was quite a steal really. Apparently last owner had been shacked up with his fiancé for the last few months and they were about to get married. I made an offer a bit less than what they were asking for, but, because he needed to put money down as a deposit on a new house, he had no choice but to accept.”

“Well,” Mitchell replied being polite, “I… I… I’ve got to get my bus.”

“Yes, I can see you’re dressed for an office. As you can probably see I’m not a suit person myself.”

Mitchell laughed nervously. Why was he feeling so unsettled by this guy?

“Look, why don’t you drop by when you get home from work. I always like to get to know my new neighbours.”

On the spur of the moment, Mitchell couldn’t think of an excuse not to accept the invitation, so he said, “why not? Must go!” As he walked away, he could sense the man was staring at him. He shouted, “good luck unpacking” and then lowered his voice a little, “weirdo.”

John couldn’t help admiring his good-looking young neighbour’s physique, and he shook his head hearing Mitchell mumbling that last word. He began to create a mental picture of what Mitchell might look like wearing less formal clothing. Tattoos were common on young men of a similar age these days, so John wondered if he had acquired any ink yet. He was sure to find out later when Mitchell would drop in for a chat and John would explain was his lifestyle was all about. John set about unpacking so that he could prepare for his young neighbour’s visit.

It was around 7:30 in the evening when John heard a knock on the door. He opened it to find Mitchell had changed out of his work suit into a t-shirt and sports shorts. “Come in.” It felt more like an order to Mitchell than a pleasantry.

“You got everything unpacked I see.” Mitchell said trying not to stare at the many pairs of tall lace-up boots all lined up by the door; taking in the various bomber jackets hanging on the coat rack and the skinhead themed pictures and posters on the walls.

John noticed Mitchell’s “That’s nothing lad, I’ve got way more kit in the bedroom.”

Mitchell really didn’t want to know any more about what might be in John’s bedroom, “takes all kinds I guess,” he thought as John handed him a beer. The two men chatted, but as Mitchell sipped away at the beer, “wow”, he thought, “this stuff has a real kick.” He found himself becoming more relaxed and more willing give direct answers to John’s questions; about his job, his personal life, his family and friends. Mitchell was hoping that by dressing as though he was going to the gym and John would bring their chat to an end and let him go on his way. Mitchell was starting to fidget as you do when you’re about to stand up. However, John had different ideas, “stay right there lad, and I’ll get us another beer.” Mitchell suddenly found himself wanting to stay and slumped back into the sofa.

“So wh… wh… what do you for a living?” Mitchell asked with a slight stutter and slur as John handed him another glass of beer.

John smiled, “I’m glad you asked. To put it simply I change people.”

“Change people?” Mitchell asked thoroughly bemused.

“Yes, I change people. I take ordinary people, with very traditional upbringings and boring lives and I change them into whatever takes my fancy.” You, young Mitchell are just the sort of person I look for to mould into something more, hmm, you know ‘out-there’.”

Mitchell had downed half the glass of beer at this point.

John continued, “maybe I’ll slowly take them from the lives they are currently leading and over a few hours, a few days, maybe a few weeks transform them. They might end up as a…”

John could sense Mitchell’s fear about what might happen to him but continued, “The next person I change may end up as filthy mohawked punk, a dirty greaser biker, a Leatherman, a goth, a rubber slave. Who knows? It’s whatever takes my fancy at that moment. After a time, I get bored and need a new challenge, so I sell them on to people into the lifestyle and I move on to my next…”

Mitchell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to challenge what John was saying but he discovered it wouldn’t move. His heart was pounding, his anxiety levels were on the rise – no matter how hard he tried he was unable to form any words.

“Mitchell, I want you to calm down! Mitchell is such as pompous name, so from now on you’re gonna be called Mike. Now, I will carry on. John pulled out an amber charm which he swung from side to side, glowing eerily in front of Mike’ glazed eyes. When I combine this fine-looking stone with a special ingredient I have – oh you know I added a few drops into your beer, my victims become more… open to the changes I want to make to them. More compliant.” Mike’ eyes were affixed on the stone. “That’s right, just follow the stone, from side-to-side, follow the stone, transfixed by its glowing beauty/” John was comfortable in the knowledge that Mike would soon be his personal boy toy. “Isn’t that the most striking, bright and coloured stone you’ve ever seen Mike?”

He tried to open his mouth in one solitary second of defiance, but all he could managed was a barely audible squeak. His independence, his free will, his ability to fight and think freely had departed. There was no resistance left in Mike. His mind was now mush, the lad could only obey and conform.

John pulled Mike to his feet and dragged him to the bathroom. Once there, he placed him in a chair. “Right Mike, I’ve been thinking all-day about the life I want to give you. How do you fancy being my skinhead son? I’ve always wanted someone I could call a son, but being gay it was never going to happen, and I think you will make the perfect skinhead.” John didn’t wait for Mike to reply - he couldn’t; he did however see the confusion and distress in Mike’ eyes. He chuckled to himself.

John walked over to the bathroom cabinet and took out several items: some electric clippers, scissors, a pack of Mach 3 razors and a can of shaving cream. Turning his head to look at the boy, he smiled, “Only real men have hair. So, yours needs to go Mike. I’ll start on your legs and then your chest, all of that lovely blonde hair on your head and not forgetting the parts in-between. I’m going to enjoy getting rid of that wavy blonde hair. When I’m done, you’ll have a perfectly smooth bonehead.” John cut through the lad’s t-shirt revealing a well-defined torso. Staring at the blank canvas and thinking what he would do to it, he couldn’t help but squeeze one of Mike’ nipples. John detected the tiniest of yelps, so he squeezed the other nipple. There was no reaction this time, Mike’ mind was lost. He continued to stare into the amber jewel that was hanging in front of his face.

John turned on the clippers, starting with the boy’s left leg. Hair started falling in clumps on the floor. Once the left leg was done, he moved on to the right one. Soon John was wiping them down with a cloth, applying a astringent lotion so that the smooth skin shone in the bathroom lights and after a few more applications, regrowth would never be a problem. Then it was onto the chest. Although Mike was only in his early twenties, he’d already got quite a covering of fur, which John’s clippers made quick work of. Mike’s arms were also denuded of hair. John turned off the clippers and, with the same cloth, applied more of the special lotion to the recently clipped areas.

John stood up and smiled. He paused for a second, “this is the last time there will be any hair growing on your head.” He pressed the on switch, and after hearing the familiar ‘clack’ he began ploughing all the way through the boy’s golden locks. In no time at all Mike was motionless sitting in the chair with a zero-grade cut. John picked up the can of shaving cream, squirted it into his hands and rubbed it copiously all over Mike’ head. He took the necessary time to ensure all the fuzz was removed and Mike’ head felt like a cue-ball. In no time at all there was a shiny hairless skinhead son sitting in front of him.

Looking down, John smiled as Mike’ identity lay on the floor in clumps. He looked up at Mike who was sitting perfectly still, with the same glazed eyes and dazed expression on his face, oblivious to the changes being made without his consent. He took the cloth, poured some more lotion into it and rubbed it into his son’s head.

“Stand,” John ordered. Mike complied, happily obeying his skinhead master. The sports shorts were pulled down over the now smooth legs and John stood back as he grabbed the clippers. “Now boy, I need you to get nice ‘n’ hard so I can make sure I get all your hair… down there...” He watched as slowly but surely there was movement in Mike’ groin. John grinned as in no time at all full mast was achieved. “Very nice boy,” John said out loud, “I bet you were popular with the women. Is that six, possibly seven inches? Good and think as well. Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to have much use of it as my son, but it will look amazing with a thick gauge PA, and a Jacob’s ladder.”

‘Clack’, John turned on the clippers and began the removal of the last remaining hairs on Mike’ body. He had to hold himself back as he rubbed the special lotion into the skin around the groin and on the mounds that had once been covered in thick hair. When he was satisfied the boy was as smooth as the day he was born, John left the bathroom to get something from his bedroom. When he returned Mike hadn’t moved, he was still lost in the stone “Now here I have the perfect thing to complete you. Now stay perfectly still.”

Later, John walked into the main room of the flat dressed in full skinhead gear. As he gazed at his newly denuded skinhead son, he felt his manhood straining inside a pair of skin-tight bleachers, which were turned-up and touching the top of a pair of 30-hole red ranger style boots. He was looking lustfully at the 23-year-old standing to attention, still wearing the expression, he had when the amber jewel turned him into the compliant vessel he now was. “It’s time for the next stage in your transformation lad.” With that John walked over to a cupboard an opened the doors.

The cupboard contained piles of skinhead gear from boots to bleachers to braces to bomber jackets. First, he instructed Mike to put on a yellow jockstrap. “You’ll be wearing this non-stop for a few days – it needs to get in nice ‘n’ ripe.” Then he passed the boy a t-shirt, which Mike willingly slipped over his head. “These are your bleachers; they’ve got two zips – front and rear – you’ll soon find out why,” he grinned, “slip them on.” Mike pulled up the tight-fitting jeans that had been liberally splashed with bleach. Mike didn’t take any notice of the fact that they’d been cut off just below the knee and turned up so that they would show the full extent of the boots he would almost always be wearing when he wasn’t in his work gear. John walked across to Mike carrying a pair of red braces which he attached to the bleachers, pulling them right up his bum crack – so much so that Mike let out a little groan. To finish this stage of the transformation, John handed Mike the left boot. It was black with 20 eyelets and partly laced. John talked Mike through how to ladder lace the boot tightly and perfectly. John fitted a padlock at the very top of the boot before handing over the right one. When John was happy with the way that one was laced, he fitted another padlock. “Stand!” Mike stood up. “Turn to look in the mirror, see the Skinhead son I’ve created. This is what you are now a proud skinhead and my skinhead son.

“Now, we can begin your training. Kneel!” Mike complied. “I know your tongue will still be a bit tender, so I’ll be gentle. Open!” John commanded, and with that he slid his cock into Mike’ open mouth. “Move your tongue slowly, showing how much your love the bottom of your skinhead dad’s cock. Make sure you keep your lips tightly closed as I don’t want you to spill anything.”

He sat back as his cock was held between Mike’ virgin lips and soon found himself about to cum as the hard stud, he had introduced to the lad’s tongue work its magic. The combination of it all and the sensitivity soon had John unloading his massive load. “Swallow!” Mike swallowed quickly trying not to “spill’ as he had been instructed. John soon slid from the lips of his new son and quickly zipped up his own bleachers. “Yes,” John thought, studying the boy who, in addition to the tongue piercing also had a stud in each lobe and four more studs all the way up each of his ears. Mike would serve him well as his skinhead son, but first he needed to complete the lad’s transformation. “Right son, let’s go – I need you to see a friend of mine.”

With that John grabbed a green bomber jacket with orange lining and threw it to Mike, “put it on,” he instructed. Mike slipped on what he would get to know as an MA1 and followed John out of the flat. Right away he found it strange walking in heavy soled, tightly laced boots, but he didn’t complain – he couldn’t.

The skinhead and son waited a few minutes at the bus stop before one came along heading in the direction of the city centre. They alighted just before the main shopping area. It was an area that would be unfamiliar to Mitchell, but Mike was oblivious to everything now. He obeyed his skinhead dad, just as any good son would do. The two skinheads walked side by side into a small industrial estate. One of the units had a sign saying, ‘Anaconda Tattoo Studio and Piercing’. John walked ahead of Mike, as they got to the door, John walked in but for a second Mike hesitated. John knew this sometimes happened, especially with all the distractions of the outdoors. He pulled the amber stone out of his pocket and held it in front of Mike. “This way boy,” he ordered. Mike complied; his eyes once again completely transfixed on the glow of the jewel.

Once inside the tattoo studio, John turned to Mike, “stand here son. I need to talk to the owner.” Mike waited as instructed. Despite tattoos being made popular by the countless athletes and celebrities who adorned their bodies with intricate permanent markings, the old Mitchell would have never crossed the threshold foot into a tattoo studio. But here was Mike waiting to submit to whatever his skinhead dad was discussing with the owner.

John came out of the back office followed by a hulk of a man who was wearing tight leather trousers, a black vest, which exposed his muscular arms covered in tattoos, shaved head with long unkempt beard and on his feet were heavy biker boots. “Son this is Griff, he’s going to give you some more piercings and your tattoos. But first, you are to strip down to your jockstrap. When you’ve done that, go over there and sit in the chair. From now on you will do exactly what Griff tells you to do. He’s going to give you your first marks to show the world that you’re a proud skinhead. After you’ve got your first ink, he’s going to give you some more metal. I’m going to leave you for a bit, but I’ll be back to see the finished work.” Turning to Griff, John said, “he’s all yours.”

Griff walked over to Mike wearing only his jockstrap sitting obediently in the chair. Since John had already removed all the boy’s hair, Griff simply wiped clean the areas to be tattooed and then laid the first outline template on the skin. His machine was then started up, some ink was added, and the needle started to buzz.

He then began applying the needle over the site of the first tattoo, Mike felt a dull pain but didn’t flinch. Once the first tattoo on the boy’s left arm was completed, Griff went on to add the other tattoos as instructed by John. He started work on a full sleeve on Mike’s right arm, which would take four or five visits to complete. Then he added a bulldog to the rear of the lad’s right calf. Finally, two swallows were added to the back of the each of the lad’s hands. Griff whispered into Mike’s ear, “that’s all I’m doing now lad. John has booked half a dozen more sessions, so you’ll be coming back to get your neck, back and chest inked, and I can finish off the full sleeve. Now stay still. There’s a couple more things to do. Griff pushed away his tattoo cart and returned with another.

Griff looked at the docile boy in the chair. I think we will start with the nipples. Griff played, stroked and flicked them for a few moments until they were firm. He then slipped a needle through the left nipple, at which point Mike squealed. He then installed a barbell through the hole left by the needle and screwed a ball onto either end. He repeated the process for the right nipple. “No touching lad.” Griff then turned his attention to the lad’s groin and applied a topical cream to the so-called policeman’s helmet (bell-end to others). “Right, we’ll give that a little while to take effect and, in the meantime, we can sort out your nose piercing. This will hurt, but only for a second.” Griff then picked up a clean needle from his trolley and quickly passed it through the front part of the septum. Mike’s eyes began watering, so he knew the boy was feeling the pain from the intrusion of the needle. Carefully he inserted a ring into the boy’s septum, and then said out loud, “That will take six weeks or so to heal, then John wants it swapped for a bigger ring.” Now, the cream should have dulled your senses on your knob so let’s add the final bit of metal you’re getting today. He wiped the area to be pierced with an antiseptic skin cleanser, put a mark where the piercing was to be made, and begin the piercing process. The most painful moment for Mike in the piercing process was when the piercing needle punctured his urethra. One the needle was through, Griff inserted a circular barbell and spoke again, “don’t worry if you feel a bit of discomfort – a dull, throbbing pain that’s to be expected.

At that moment the door opened, and John walked in carrying a large shopping bag. “He’s all done, just as you instructed John. Don’t forget to leave the starter jewellery in for six weeks – no less, and make sure you use the aftercare solution. After that we can do a bit of stretching to your liking.”

As the days turned into weeks. John had started his son on the path to being a smoker. First, he gave him a gum to chew to introduce nicotine into the body, then he encouraged him to vape. When he felt there was an addiction starting, he told the boy to smoke cigarettes, starting him on five a day, and quickly moving onto ten, then fifteen. Within a couple of weeks, he was getting through a pack a day.

Mike also kept up his weekly visits to Griff, as more of his skin was covered with ink. Over the period, the full sleeve was completed, the Union flag was tattooed on the back of Mike’s next, the word skinhead was tattooed in script of his back and the letters that made up the word skinhead were inked on his knuckles and finally a Celtic cross was inked on the left pectoral. On the most recent visit Griff replaced the rings in his septum and PA with heavier gauges. As per John’s instructions, he also replaced the studs in his ears with rings and the ones in the lobes with spreaders. Mike joined his skinhead dad in a new gym, one that was run by an ex-boxer friend of John’s. John made sure to get Mike in the boxing ring so that his pretty boy face could get roughed up a bit. John wanted his son to look a bit freakier.

Mike didn’t look like the sort of person who would work in an office anymore, so he was signed up to work in the city council’s recycling centre – they were always in need of people to sort through other people’s waste. Five days a week he stood by a conveyor belt dressed in dirty Hi-Viz gear, and safety boots separating glass, metal, plastic, paper and cardboard into different bins.

After work, the boy would return to his skinhead dad’s flat, which was much bigger now that the wall had been knocked through joining what was Mitchell’s flat and John’s flat together. This night was special because as soon as he got home, Mike got out of his stinking workie gear he’d be in since just after dawn and into the skinhead gear his dad left out for him. Tonight, skinhead dad would be introducing his skinhead son to the lads in the pub. Mike dressed in his bleachers, a black Fred Perry, yellow socks and red 20-hole boots. Mike was ready in time for his dad to return home. John walked through the door and saw the perfect skinhead son standing there. “C’mon son. You’re gonna meet your skin bruders.”

#ranger boots #tattoos #bleachers #conversion #skinhead #workie

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tsumuhours · 10 months

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ONE NIGHT PAIRING: suna rintarou x afab!reader (she/her pronouns) TAGS: smut + a little choking (but honestly ur just gonna have to read this ig) WORD COUNT: 2.4k

mature content !

There you are.

Standing across the room, eyes locked with his, practically teasing him as you dance with the blonde whose hands are planted firmly on your hips and your head rested back on his shoulder. Your gaze saying a million desires and words all meant to be kept secrets between the walls.

And all he sees is a glowing vixen that he cannot wait to tame.

Placing his drink down at the bar, Suna leaves the girl chatting his ear off before making his way to you. The crowd parted in his way as if it sensed the dark presence of the brunette which stood among them. His casual strides narrowed gaze and resting smirk not faltering as Suna tapped on the blonde’s shoulder, “I think she’s bored, how about you let someone else entertain her?” He says, pushing the other out the way without another word.

Suna’s touch lighting fires in your body, the intoxicating feeling instantly clouding your mind as your hand reaches up to the nape of his neck where your fingers begin to entangle themselves in his hair. His hands placed on your hips, pulling you closer to him, looking up into his stare. Even in the dimly lit light of the club, you can vividly see the piercing colour of his green eyes. They’re enticing, and magnetic, refusing to let you look away.

You pull his face closer to you, the lingering scent of alcohol and aftershave filling your senses as you breathe him in. Lips ghosting over each other, glancing up at him, noticing the tainted tint in his pupils – one that screamed danger, and a glimpse of insanity – which you ignored for the pros seemed to heavily outweigh the cons.

Closing the gap between you, a hand fists his button-up, showing him just how desperate you are for him. Suna tastes the fruity cherry kirsch on your tongue, the mix of red bull and vodka smeared in with your lipgloss that had begun to wipe away throughout the night. His ring laced hand reaches up to the roots of your hair, gripping tightly as he tilts your head back, deepening the lustful action, his tongue slipping into your mouth within seconds.

The kiss, becoming a heated make-out, messy and rough. A hand reaching down to knead the plush flesh of your ass, Suna begins to break apart from your lips, trailing down your jaw to your neck before leaning in close to your ear. Hot breath on your skin, his touch tracing your jaw to your chin.

“How about we go back to my place?” He says, moving to stand beside you with a hand placed on the small of your back. You turn your head, the corner of your lips turning up.

“I’d like that,” hooking a finger around the chain on his neck as you pull Suna away from the crowd and to the exit of the building. The simple action manages to drive him wild, almost animalistic, the urge of wanting to claim you as his quickly blurring his vision. You push open the door, exiting the stuffy club and out into the cool night street.

Spinning around, you are gently pushed up against the brick wall behind you. Suna towering over, with a hand placed on either side, trapping you between him. The glowing of his eyes in the night resembles one of a predator looking down at their prey, ready to pounce and kill for their meal. “Are you so impatient that you can’t wait?” You tease, playing with the buttons on his shirt, slowly – yet surely – undoing the first couple in the process.

“What’s your name?” He asks, wanting to remember the name of the pretty girl who caught his eye at a dinghy club. If you’re going to be a good fuck, he wants to know who to look out for in the future.

“[Y/N],” you respond.

“Do you not have a last name?” Suna says, dipping his head down to be at a similar level to yours.

“I do.” You tell, “But, I would be a lot less… reluctant if I knew who you are too. This goes both ways babe.”

“Rintarou Suna.” He says, his voice deep and sending a shiver to run down your spine, the world around you going black as a red light shines over his back. “And now, I’m going to ask again, what’s your name?”

You didn’t understand why it was so important for him to get your name and surname, but one thing you were sure of was that you were not going to ask. “[Y/N] [L/N],” you answer. “Do you want my entire life story too Rintarou?” Teasing him, your fingers reaching up to brush at his fringe. “Or can we go back to your place instead?”

Suna, amused by how direct you are, and how particularly eager you are too, brushes it off. Smirking, as he backs away, holding out a hand for you to take so he can lead you back to his apartment. Smiling, you accept the gesture, getting pulled to Suna’s side as he leads you down the street to his home.

By the time the two of you had arrived at Suna’s apartment, he wasted no time. Slamming you against the closed door, his lips crashing against yours. Your fingers work to undo all the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric down his shoulders where he throws the piece of fabric off his body then discarding it across the room. Suna, tears off your dress, essentially ripping the item of clothing in half and letting it fall to the floor.

Pulling your bottom lip between his teeth before lowering his head and slowly falling to his knees as he travels down your body. Nipping at the skin at your collarbone before moving down to your chest, looking up through half-lidded up, chilling – and taunting – eyes staring at you. “No bra? Who are you trying to impress?” He hums.

“Who says I dress to impress someone else?” You question, tugging at his hair to keep his stare on you. “Besides, I wanted to look good, and a bra would have ruined my outfit.” You explain, “Not to mention, they’re incredibly uncomfortable. Understood?”

“Aren’t you feisty?” Suna says, “How about you I put you into your place?”

“You can try,” you hum, tilting his chin up, “even so… I’ll always be in control. Whether you believe it or not.” You have a way of… getting what you want. Manipulation? Not exactly, but it is deception. Then again, Suna wasn’t being entirely honest either. “Show me what you got, pretty boy.”

“Anything for you,” he muses. Kisses gave down the crevice of your breasts, hands kneading the flesh of your chest. Teeth gently pinching the skin, tongue pressing flat against the bud of your nipple. Suna travels down your body, leaving purple bruises to form in the place where his lips used to be.

The brunette tugs the thin fabric down your legs, hoisting you up, hands firmly placed on your thighs as he wraps your legs around his shoulders. Suna's tongue attaches itself to your clit, slowly building pressure onto the sensitive bud, repeating his slow yet intense movements of his tongue. His amused hums send vibrations through your body, rhythm picking up and tongue lapping against your cunt.

Suna draws patterns and lips curling around your clit, causing your hips to buck forward and a hand to shoot to his hair as another does its best attempt to grip onto the flat surface of the wooden door behind you.

Pushing his head closer against you, increasing the side of pleasure as you continue to grind your hips to the skilled movement of Suna’s tongue. Breathing becomes staggered, chest rising and falling. Mouth hanging open, eyes clenched shut, toes curling, and legs hugging onto his body. “Just like that,” you gasp, whimpers escaping from your mouth while you succumb to the rush of euphoria and pleasure that races through your body.

Mind going completely blank when his fingers come in contact with your cunt, a moan sounding from your throat. Suna glances up, basking in the wonderfully sinful sight behold him, snapping a million mental pictures. With his free hand, he clenches the plush of your thigh when your nails dig into the skin of his shoulder.

Body flinching forward, legs going stiff, and senses overflowing with an insatiable amount of pleasure. “Oh– don’t stop Rin, you’re doing so good.” Panting, a more vocal moan echoing throughout the apartment, “Keep going, I’m so close.”

Suna complies, not stopping. He’s fuelled by the angelic sounds of your whimpers and moans, and he’s doing everything he can to hear the music to his ears of hearing you reach a release. Ignoring the mess on his lips, Suna picks up his pace, listening to the staggering and whiny responses of overwhelming pleasure which he provides you. Chasing the release, your back lifts off the door, eyes rolling, and your head is thrown back.

Pleased, Suna drags his tongue up your folds one last time before trailing his lips down your thighs, leaving a mark or two. In seconds, he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his torso as he rushes to the bedroom. Throwing you onto the bed, crawling on top of you, where your hands meet his belt, undoing the band and the button of his jeans.

Suna then kicks off his jeans, feeling your hand palm him through his briefs. His fingers wrap around your wrist, wide eyes looking up at him with the appearance of faux innocence, only driving him mad. “You’re needy aren’t you?” The brunette teases, “Are you that desperate Princess?”

Unimpressed, you pull down the hem of his boxers, hand lightly grazing over his hard. Leaning in close, lips brushing over his, rolling your wrist, “You aren’t any better Rin.” You push him down onto the bed, crawling over him, knees planted on either side of his legs.

Pumping his cock, before aligning him with your cunt. Keeping your palm pressed flat against his chest as you lower yourself, satisfied at the electrifying way Suna’s face scrunched up upon feeling your walls around him.

Holding tight onto your sides as you start to bounce, his cock hitting deep, reaching your cervix. Filling you up by your control, rolling your hips, knowing how to find all the right places that work for you and driving Suna wild. He, surprisingly, was perfectly vocal. So whiny and loud, which you loved – it was an insatiable feeling that drove you over the edge. His eyes clenched shut, head rolling back into the pillows, and hips rising off the mattress.

However, as fun as this was. This was not how he planned for his night to go. Snapping out of his daze, the intense fire and longing for control arising, Suna flips the two of you over. Hovering over you, face centimetres from yours. “Open wide Princess.” He instructs thumb pushing past your lips and pressing down on your tongue, “Good girl. Now Stay like that for a few, alright?”

Mouth agape, a string of saliva falls from his tongue and onto yours – a hand wrapping itself around your neck with narrowed eyes that crave power. Suna connects your lips in a lewd embrace, his hips colliding with yours in a forceful thrust. Eyebrows scrunching, nails digging into his back and a strangled moan coming in response.

“Look at you,” he pants, infatuated with how your tits bounce with every thrust. How dumb you look, eyes rolled far back into your head, back arched, and how even in this weak state you’re gripping onto the headboard which bangs against the wall. “I’m fucking you dumb,” humourlessly laughing, “I bet no one else can ever make you feel this good.”

He feels it coming, that insufferable itching at the back of his mind. That intense sense of possessiveness, and all the thoughts of seeing you with other people. Images of them fucking you, your pretty moans that won’t be for him making him angry. He can’t stand it.

“No one will ever fuck you as good as I can,” he growls. Pushing your legs to your chest, allowing him more access to fuck you deep, obsessed with how his dick looks slipping in and out of your cunt. “Tell me [Y/N], have you ever been fucked this good before?” He questions, noticing the tear that slips past your shut eyes from the overpowering pleasure you feel. “Answer me.”

“No,” you whine out. “You’re the best,”

“Yeah?” He says, “You’re just a little slut at the end of the day. Need a good fuck? I bet that blonde at the club couldn’t fuck you like this,” Suna continues, “no one can ever treat you like I can.” He buries himself in your chest, sucking on your tit, “You’re such a good girl for me, Princess,” Suna voices between breathless grunts and curses. “Taking my dick so well, God, you feel so good.” He praises, “If I knew you’d be such a perfect fuck, I would have taken you right then and there at the club.”

You moan in response, his words were enough to send you over the edge to pure ecstasy. Suna pounds into you with relentless speed, under him falling apart, becoming nothing more than a limp body that had been taken over by stimulation and force. The growing pit in your loins growing incredibly, back arching off the bed, as you grip on for dear life. Dark vision growing blurry, mind clouding – blocking any thought or action, temporarily blocking your senses as you started to reach your peak.

“Oh, you like this?” Suna says, “You like the idea of me fucking you in front of a crowd of people? Want to put on a show for everyone to see?” Movements and thrusts grow more erratic with every passing second. “Maybe next time I should make a little film, show the whole world what a desperate slut you truly are.”

Your mind has little time to process the words he spoke before his hips slams into you. Body filled with pleasure as your orgasm rode out. Suna, pulls out, grabbing you by the nape of your neck as he pumps himself. A thumb opening your mouth before placing his cock in its place, releasing it onto your tongue. The white liquid spreads across your plump lips, collecting it with his thumb and shoving into your mouth.

“Swallow [Y/N],” the brunette instructs. Smiling when you listen, swallowing his seed. “Open,” he says, wanting to see, satisfied knowing you listened. “Oh, I like you – I think I might just keep you around.” Laying down next to you, burying himself into your chest, falling tired and relaxed as your hands stroke his hair.

#this was an old thing i did #posted on my ao3 #suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu suna #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #suna smut #suna rintaro fic #suna rintarou smut #suna rintarou x you #suna rintarou x reader #✰ workie works

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