Lev With An Oral Fixation ☝️😩 He Can’t Sleep Unless He’s Sucking Your Tiddies Or Anything

𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 | Oikawa Tooru.

You’re in love with each other. Which part of it do you not understand?

Pairing: FWB!Obsessive!Oikawa Tooru x reader.

Word count: 1.4k

Genre: Angst(?), suggestive, fluff depending on your perspective.

Warnings: Cursings, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, delusions, impure thoughts, implied manipulation, abandonment issues, jealousy, very little blood, oikawa needs therapy, mental breakdown, reader needs to run.

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The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping, pregnancy kink(?))

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

WC: 9.4k

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

LEAVING THEIR MIC AND CAMERA ON WHILE BEING SOFT WITH THEIR S/O

 can you do a post where like the zoom call in which they accidentally have their camera on, they accidentally have their mic on while they’re being soft with their s/o with akaashi, suna, and daichi 🥺🥺

A/N: Thanks for requesting, I tried to do something a little different with this one. I couldn’t decide whether to make a headcanon or  an scenario. Hope you like it! Thanks for reading ♡ ♡ ♡

Pairings: Akaashi x f!Reader, Suna x f!Reader, Daichi x f!Reader

Genre: fluff

WC~1028

“I’ll be back in a few minutes”

“Where are you going??”

“Tsk, you won’t die without Akaashi for ten minutes, will you?” You grin as you see Bokuto’s hair falling down when Konoha gives a sympathetic look at Akaashi.

Akaashi nods as he presses some buttons on the Keyboard before turning around, his tired look softens when he sees your figure standing in the door frame.

“Y/N” his voice ghosts as you handle him a plate with boiled rapeseed plants, which you managed to make in record time.

“It won’t be as good as the one from the store you like but…you looked really tired” his mouth curves up slightly at the sight of the food, “and I wanted to surprise you”

“You didn’t have to…”

“Just-let me take care of you for once” you huff, sitting on his lap, placing your legs sideways. Akaashi lets his head fall on the crook of your neck as his nose brushes your skin playfully, making you giggle

“Open”

Akaashi obediently follows your command as you place a bite on his mouth, making him hum in response. You smile when his arms squeeze you as he leans closer to you. “Thank you, Y/N…I lo-“

His jaw falls open. Feeling his shoulders tensing up, you cock an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“Keiji, what happened?”

“It seems… I didn’t turn the camera off”

You feel your heartbeat drop at the sight of all the third years laughing, no sound coming out until Akaashi’s hand reaches the keyboard, a scared look snaps on his face, fearing about what might come out of his laptop.

“Boohoo you lovebirds go get a room!”

“Well, they already are-”

“I want a cute girlfriend that makes food for me too!!”

“W-Wait Akaa-” You blink at how fast he closes the computer,  making his teammates disappear. You feel a giggle tickling your throat when you notice the blush on his ears.

“I’m never leaving this open again” He mumbles, hugging you tightly before reaching your hand to kiss it, “How embarrassed, I’m so sorry”

“You looked really cute all flustered like that, tho!”

“Y/N, I love you…but stop, please”

“I’m gonna take a nap, care to join me?”

Suna’s lazy gaze glimmers at your offer, making him fully turn his head at you.

“Why torturing me, like this?” he whines as he forces himself to return to his previous position, watching the screen as his captain scolded the twins ”Later, beautiful”.

Your shoulders fall disappointed at his response, rubbing your eyes, you climb on his bed, curling yourself up between the blankets.

“Knock it off you two, we are helping you study!”

Suna can’t refrain the long yawn that comes out, as he blinks a few times still looking at the screen. He turns his head to the back, catching your figure laying comfortably on his bed. The urge to lay with you becoming unbearable.

“Guys, there is…something really important I have to do”

“It’s okay, Suna, see you tomorrow morning!” He clicks carelessly the keyboard, his eyes fixed on you.

Suna moves quickly towards the bed before collapsing over you, his limbs covering your body, trapping you. His chest lays against your back as he presses one side of his face against yours, feeling the air in your lungs escaping you huff with a sideways smile.

“Rintarou…I can’t breathe”

“You’re the one who offered me this, remember?”

“I don’t remember offering me as your pillow”

“Too bad then” He removes the blankets before pulling it over the two of you, his arms lock your waist as he kiss lightly your cheek, closing his eyes when he feels the smile on your lips.

“ ‘Something important to do’, no shit, Suna!”

You snap your sleepy eyes at Atsmu’s voice, still processing the situation.

“The camera…” you whisper

“Hmmm”

“I don’t want them to see us, Rin” his eyes remain closed as you pout, frowning, you try to remove his arms.

Suna tightens his grip on your waist before flipping you to the other side, making only his back visible for the camera. His eyes open slightly, and you catch a tiny smile on his lips as he squishes your cheeks.

“Problem solved, beautiful. Can we sleep now?”

“Daichi”

He turns his attention away from his laptop, a concerned look takes over his features at the way you frown looking at his phone.

“Uhm, you’ve got a text from Suga and…the first years are fighting with the basketball team over the gym”

Daichi’s eyes go blank and you swear you saw his soul leaving for a second. He stands, taking heavy steps in your direction.

“They what?” he takes his phone from your hands, closing his eyes, he  feels irritation building up in his stomach, “They are making me crazy”

“Daichi Sawamura” his eyes open when your hands cup his cheeks, “I’m the only one supposed to do that” Daichi’s cheeks flush, letting out an airy laugh at the pout on you face.

“Don’t be jealous, princess” Daichi pockets his phone before placing his hands on your hips, you giggle as he pinches your sides softly. The irritation fades away when he feels your hands tracing the muscles of his back. He stares at your lips before leaning in, giving you a soft kiss.

A whistle makes the two of you break their contact abruptly. You see Daichi’s soul for the second time in the day, as he turns to the computer to see a mix of blushed and embarrassed faces.

“Sawamura! We can see you!” Michimiya screams with her face covered by her hands, you feel your cheeks heating up as you move away from Daichi, “I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last five minutes”

“Sorry!” Daichi yells as he bows at the screen, you copy him, bowing too. You share a brief look before looking away shyly, fighting the blush that was taking over your cheeks, you bow at him and then at the screen again before rushing away.

“How didn’t you hear us, Sawamura?”

Daichi sighs ,defeated. He looks at the human-shaped blanket on the couch, feeling his lips curving up instinctively as he pictures the blushed face you are desperately trying to hide under the covers.

“I was…really distracted, sorry again!”

Sorry for taking so long, but I have a pretty important oral exam this week and I’ve been feeling kind of insecure with…well everything I do HAHAHAAH 

Please reblog if you like it!

Thanks for reading! ♡

↳ ∴ Master List ∴ | PART II

[ 11:20 PM ] — sakusa kiyoomi.

sakusa knew he loved you when he found that he was happier being around you than when he was alone. when he started packing an extra handkerchief for you every time you two went out. when, after 2 years of using the same default wallpaper, he had finally changed it to a picture of you. just you, smiling. 

he didn’t know how or why you stuck with him for so long but what he did know was that he wanted you there with him for as long as possible. the thought of having someone in his space; touching his things; touching him and all the vulnerabilities tucked inside him was inconceivable before he met you. but now, after knowing you and falling in love with you, having you in his space was all he could ever want.

“ah, omi. you’re home!” you greeted him happily as he walked into your shared apartment. there was a bounce in your step as you hopped over to take his bag from him.

Keep reading

“Do you know the secret code that brings me joy?”

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playing call of duty on 6′4″ fuckboy suna’s lap as he lazily fingers you, calls you trash and criticizes your plays

kita senpai just the thought of it and im drooling

KITA SENPAI !!!!

"kita senpai always takes good care of me!", you tell your parents at the dinner table, your brother staring at you with suspicious eyes as you talk about his best friend and your new life as a college student. you know he'd never badmouth shinsuke or even dare to think bad of him – why would he?

your kita senpai always treats you and everyone around him with great respect and care; he just wants everyone to feel safe and comfortable since he knows how difficult life as a freshman can be so he tries his best to be as much of a help for you as possible.

he always helps you with your notes, carrying your groceries to your dorm, picking you up and dropping you off at friends' houses, makes sure you're always safe and sound because even though he cares about everyone in his life, you're his favorite kouhai and what kind of senpai would he be if he didn't take extra good care of you?

and it's always your kita senpai who buries his tongue inside of your sopping wet cunt every single morning before sending you off to your lectures because he knows how nervous and anxious you get so early into the day.

and it's that precious senior of yours who shoves your face into the backseat of his car as he spanks your little cunt for a good ten minutes to make sure you cum all over his cock as soon as he slowly pushes himself all the way inside of you.

and of course it's kita senpai who becomes the daddy you beg for whenever you've been trying to finger yourself but haven't managed to cum because nothing feels as good as his touch. calling him with soft little sobs and cries because of how badly you need him to take care of you because he's your precious kita senpai after all- what kind of senior would he be if he just left you hanging like that?

too hard? | ushijima wakatoshi x fem!reader

warnings: 18+! ‼️DARK CONTENT (kinda)‼️ skaterat!ushi, smoking, drinking, drugs, noncon photography, dubcon, manipulation, degradation, peer pressure, exhibitionism, neglect, voyerism, crying (im sure i missed some, just lemme know dhjdjsajs)

wc: 5.7k

a/n: this fic was started for the whorehouse toxic collab (i will link the masterlist when i find it lmao)!! a huge thank you to @toxictobio for letting me use her skaterat au, and @blahkugo @thegetoufather & @arvandus for all giving this thing a read and some feedback!! i love you all sm (•̀ᴗ•́)و

This isn’t your scene, not your kinda hangout.

The scuff of worn vans and polyurethane wheels screaming along concrete is slowly giving you a headache, and your best friend’s ditched you; sharing a blunt with some gross skate rat on the lip of a quarter pipe, laughing obnoxiously as he slaps his dirty snapback on her head.

Gross.

You feel eyes on you before you hear him. “Are you a haunted house?” His voice is smug, dickies so tight your eyes linger on his legs too long, and he’s cocking a hip, smirking down at where you sit on the grass. “‘Cause I’d cry if I came inside you.”

“I’m too sober for this.” You grumble, refusing to look back up at him, ignoring the obnoxious laughter floating from his lips, the cackle of a crowd close by, watching your interaction. Three of them, smoking and drinking at the park bench a few feet behind you.

“I’m Oikawa,” he crouches, wrists on his knees, “but you can call me daddy.”

“Daddy?” A deeper voice scoffs, and you both turn your attention to another man as he approaches, lighting the cig in his mouth with a banged-up zippo, grey hoodie wrapped around his waist, white tank pulled tight across a broad chest. “Thought you preferred ‘Great King’?”

Oikawa narrows his eyes and stands up, clearly not one to be looked down on. “What do you want, Ushiwaka?”

The stranger’s dark hazel eyes meet yours. “Same thing as you, it seems.” He exhales smoke, pops open the leg pocket of his black cargos and slips his zippo inside.

You can’t look away, completely hypnotised. There’s something different about this guy, something darker. Less... juvenile than the others.

Oikawa looks between you and this new guy, let’s out a bitter, “psh,” and storms away, his clique in a hysterical uproar as he yells at them about how you “weren’t that cute anyway.”

Still, your eyes haven’t left the man in front of you. He’s maybe the biggest guy here, his arms thick and corded, his shoulders wide and sturdy, his stare completely piercing.

“C’mon,” he orders, nodding his head towards a group of guys sitting in the back of a pickup in the car park, walking towards them without waiting for you to get up.

A beat passes before you scurry to your feet, smooth down the back of your skirt, and work to catch up with him, “uh, what’s your name?” You manage to ask, staring up at him with hearts in your eyes, feeling a little like a lost puppy.

Desperate, even.

“Ushijima,” he grunts, offering you the cigarette from his lips. You’re about to tell him you don’t smoke, when he nods at your bestie, who’s practically dry jumping the brunette with the pussy bangs from before, still at that quarter pipe. “That your friend?” His eyes are on her, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Like he thinks she’s better than you or something.

“Yeah,” you take the cig between your fingers, press it to your lips, hesitate. God, this is honestly the last thing you wanted to do tonight.

“Don’t like it?” He asks, a finger under your chin tilting your eyes up to meet his.

Your heart flutters, face heating up under his cold gaze. “No, nothing like that.”

He drops his hand from your face, “slowly breathe it into your lungs,” he says, waiting. You follow his instruction nervously, chest swelling until you’ve got a lungful; it burns. “Good, now let it out—“

But next thing you know, you’re coughing; and you feel like an ass because you were trying to be cool, trying to be sexy and edgy like your bestie, who’s— you spare a glance over at her— got her top off? And there’s another guy pawing at her tits from behind, both men digging their meaty little hands into her skin.

But here you are, bent at the waist, tears in your eyes as you will yourself to stop fucking coughing.

He takes the cig and drops it, worn sneakers snuffing it out as you do your best to slow the pounding of your heart. “Not a smoker?” He asks, either unbothered by the show your best friend is putting on for the entire skate park, or pretending not to care.

“I-is it that obvious?” You ask when you finally catch your breath, fingers wiping the tears at your bottom lashes, wary of your mascara.

“Are you legal?” That severe edge to his eyes is back, chin up as he looks down his nose at you.

“Huh?”

“You look young.”

You start to splutter a bit, “n-no, I’m in college, I swear, I’m just—“

“Not usually like this?” It's mocking, a little cutting, even. He eyes you off for a moment, then keeps on towards the parking lot. “Coming?” he tosses over his shoulder when you don’t follow.

You clench your jaw, his disinterest stinging your pride. You’re entirely too good for these douchebags: too smart, too pretty, too rich. And if this man— this Ushijima— hadn’t come along, you’d probably be pulling your bestie away from those two guys, begging her to take you home.

But your dainty tennis shoes pad along the grass until you’re falling into step next to him, heart swelling when he gives you a little once-over and places his hand on your shoulder. It slides to the back of your neck and squeezes, his other hand coming up to your face as he crouches a little to look into your eyes.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles, maybe to himself, a thumb swiping at a rogue tear by your cheekbone. “And you’re still cute when you’re crying,” a smirk grows in his face, and he takes that thumb into his mouth.

Before you can react, he stands, tugging you against his side and walking you towards the pickup. A sick sense of accomplishment swirls through your stomach, rages like pride, and has you biting your lip to suppress a smile.

“Miracle Boy!” A tall redhead calls, standing up in the back of the sleek, black truck, arms spread out by his sides. “Where’d ya get to?” More heads turn and look at him, at you.

“Or should we say ‘who’?” Someone else asks when you’re mere feet away, his sharp brown eyes glued to you.

Ushijima looks pointedly down at you, a brow raised. It’s then that you realise you didn’t even tell him your name, just ran off with the big guy with minimal invitation.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry; you lick your lips and introduce yourself shyly, the toe of one of your shoes scuffing nervously against the bitumen.

There’s a chorus of nice, and hi, and woof woof, and some introductions, but you’re too wary of the fact that there are no other girls. All guys. Five of them; six including Ushijima.

The lanky redhead— Tendou— calls your name, “I hope you like sambuca,” he says, shaking the bottle. It’s a one litre Smirnoff, but the liquid inside is blue. “It’s my special recipe.”

Ushijima moves his hands to your hips, steps behind you, “going up?” He asks, voice low and deep in your ear.

“Y-yeah,” you barely manage, as two of them —Semi and Taichi— shuffle to accomodate you. Moments later, you’re hoisted up easily, the two boys grabbing a hand each, not giving you a chance to hold the back of your skirt down as you do your best to keep your knees together, bending them to lift your feet over the lip of the tray.

“Ooh, you smell expensive,” Tendou says, grabbing you by the elbow and yanking you towards him, offering you his spot by the back window. “What is that?” He asks, the grin on his face a little off-putting.

“Ah, it’s—“ you start, only to be distracted by Ushijima’s arrival in the back of the truck, the sheer size of him causing the whole thing to jerk and wobble.

His dark eyes fall on you— the rest of the gang shuffling so the space by the back window is bigger—holding out a hand. As soon as you grab it, he pulls you to him, spins you, and tugs you down into his lap as he sits cross-legged.

Tendou plants himself next to you, deviant grin on his face when Ushijima takes the bottle from his hand and has a swig of the special recipe. “It’s stronger than your last batch.” He observes, but there’s no hiss to indicate the statement’s true.

Just drinks it like it’s water.

“I’m trying to perfect it,” Tendou almost sings, slotted eyes falling on you.

“I’ve got beers, Wakatoshi,” Semi offers, elbowing his cooler bag.

“And Goshiki got some weed from Suna earlier,” the ginger in the beanie grins meanly, ruffling the hair of the smaller guy next to him.

“Shirabu, stop it!” Goshiki’s face is red from his nose to the tips of his ears as he swats away the other guy’s hand.

“Yeah, even I gotta admit that was pretty ballsy,” Tendou laughs, taking a drink— and hissing with squinted eyes— when Ushijima gives the bottle back. “He was taking that chick’s shirt off when you went over, right? Surprised you didn’t cum in your pants then and there.”

Are they... are they talking about your best friend?

“Yeah, yeah, then Miya joined in on her when he was digging in his bag for the weed,” Semi laughs, head thrown back.

Conversation about her promiscuity continues, but you’ve bristled, eyes going down to your white tennis shoes, mortified for her. You want to defend her honour, get mad at the group of them on her behalf, but your voice is in your throat, and they’re… well, they’re not wrong.

Ushijima presses forward, his chest at your back, chin resting on your shoulder, lips at your ear, “are they bothering you?” He asks, his voice a deep, breathy whisper against the shell, sending a hazy shiver down your spine. His hands find your hips, fingers drawing slowly up to your bent knees, butterflies swirling in your core; how can hands be so damn big?

He shifts his hands back down a little, squeezes the flesh there. Oh, right, his question.

You turn your head to look at him, only to meet those dark, sharp eyes and melt. Your heart hammers rudely in your chest and you swallow hard, “uh, no,” you lie, and he knows it.

“No?” He presses, hands curling up and under your knees, “are you sure?” His voice is soft, and so is the barely-there pressure he’s putting on your legs, threatening to open them to his friends.

A shiver of anxiety shoots into your stomach as you slowly shake your head ‘no’, eyes so wide they start to water. He chuckles then, the pressure leaving your legs, but his hands lingering there.

Your name is called from the other side, Tendou holding his bottle of booze out for you to take. “Here, have some,” he offers, smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Your hesitation is noticed by everyone.

“It’s okay,” Ushijima breathes in your ear, “it won’t kill you,” he assures you. You feel all eyes on you, the pressure to perform an itch only taking the bottle can scratch.

So you do.

You bring it to your lips after giving Ushijima one last glance, and tip the bottle back. First little mouthful makes you want to cough, but the pressure has you swallowing that down with the almost burning anise flavour tickling your tongue.

You're about to give the bottle back when a hand stops you from taking the bottle from your lips, keeping the base of it up in the air. "A little more, hmm?" Tendou offers, brows raised.

"You can take it," Ushijima adds, fingers rubbing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

So you do.

More heat slides down your throat as you take another mouthful, Ushijima squeezing you harder, Tendou raising the base of the bottle higher. The other guys are cheering, drinking their own drinks, as you take one final sip and push the bottle away.

"Good girl!" Tendou cheers, downing his own shot.

You're hissing, tears gathering on your lashes at just how strong that shit is, but before you can say or do anything, one of Ushijima's hands is at your jaw, angling your head towards his, his mouth capturing yours.

His tongue is hot, wet, slimy against your own, the licorice taste lessening as he drinks it from your mouth, your brain fuzzy with how domineering the kiss is, how hard he's gripping your jaw. You're about to twist in his lap, hands reaching for his face, when he pulls away, eyes on yours, before they shift past you and he leans back.

"I'll take a beer," he says to Semi, hand leaving your jaw to reach towards him.

Your head is swimming— either with confusion, or the alcohol you’ve just ingested— but you find that the longer you sit there in Ushijima’s lap, the less confidence you have in his attraction for you. You become an afterthought, a leg warmer.

He doesn’t touch you, he doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you.

So when Tendou gives you the attention you’re craving from the bigger man— another sip of his sambuca, some Doritos from his party packet— you soak it up.

It’s not too much later— or is it?— that you’re swaying, giggling with Tendou about how blue his tongue is, making him take a picture of yours to prove yours is just as blue.

“It is!” You nearly squeal, wriggling in Ushijima’s lap to get a better look at the picture.

Despite your apparent closeness with Tendou, Ushijima keeps you on his thick thighs; doesn’t let you wander too far for too long, before those large, large hands are wrapping around your waist, an arm, your hips, and tugging you back to safety.

Goshiki’s passing around a blunt, and when Ushijima takes it, his lips go to your ear, “open your mouth,” he orders, fingers tugging your hair into complying. He sucks it deep, then presses his lips to yours for the second time tonight, his tongue prying your lips open.

“Open your mouth and suck it in,” Tendou urges, cold, spindly fingers digging into your thigh, lips at your ear.

You choke immediately. The smoke is a painful burn and has you in tears almost instantly, but you’re more concerned with how the big man perceives you, scared you’re not enough for him, that you’re too lame to be the girl he’s picked to sit in his lap.

“S-S-sorry Ushi—” you’re crying, back to Tendou, fingers pulling at Ushijima’s tee as you croak, your whole chest burning. He pulls your hair, tugging you back to look down into your watery eyes, smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Cute,” he says, eyes moving past you. “See? Told you,” your head is pulled sideways, eyes met with the piercing black-brown gaze of the redhead you’ve been giggling with for the past forty-five minutes.

“Mmm,” the redhead grins, “you sure can pick ‘em, Miracle Boy,”

Everything feels just a little hazy, your body a little heavy, a little… slow, “Wakatoshi, show us,” comes a call from your left, and your face is jerked their way, a low whistle leaving the lips of Semi. “Not wrong,” he grins, side-eyeing Taichi, slapping him a low-5.

“They like you, too,” Ushijima whispers in your ear, breath hot, almost a purr, “how does that feel, hm?” Sick satisfaction starts to bloom across your skin, settles in your chest and trickles slowly down to your core, has you pressing your thighs together.

The snarky ginger doesn’t let the movement slide, “wow, you did pick a good one tonight, Wakatoshi,” he almost cackles, “bet she’s all sloppy from the praise.”

“Hey, none of that,” Tendou scolds, taking the heat from you as you try and process why he’s right. Your underwear is impossibly wet, and if you focus enough, you’re sure you can even smell it. The thought has you clamping your legs together even tighter, your face and ears burning ridiculously hot with shame.

“You like it,” Ushijima says, those hands on your waist, fingers splaying across your tummy, fingertips tickling dangerously close to your core. “Don’t you?”

Somehow he makes you forget about the others, his deep, deep voice hypnotic, those big, big hands distracting.

“Wanna be good,” you mumble, wriggling in his hold so you’re facing him, wiping your tacky tears with the back of a hand before settling both on his shoulders.

“I can tell,” he straightens his legs and you adjust accordingly, straddling him, legs wide over his thick thighs, “but how far will you go?”

He’s too hot, too GQ, too perfect. Strong jaw, sharp eyes, thick brows— handsome, in the most devastating way. A god among men, and he’s letting you sit with him? Letting you touch him?

He chose you?

Wait, what was he saying?

He kisses you, hands pressing against you roughly as he draws the breath from your lungs and crunches your sweater up beneath your bra. It’s intoxicating, the way his tongue moves against yours, how warm he is against you.

His hands move you: raise your hips, curve your lower back, tug up your skirt a little. You protest some then— the cool night air hitting your thighs and ass— but he swallows your foggy little moans, distracts you with his teeth pulling at your bottom lip.

Fingertips dig into the half exposed flesh of your ass, “you wanna be good?” His voice is cracking, thick with breathlessness from the kiss. Your kiss.

“Mhm, yeah,” you nod, eyes half-lidded, the butterflies in your tummy multiplying and growing and exploding.

“Yeah?” He hums, tilting his head as he regards you, “you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” you nod, wriggling your ass, unaware of the show you’re giving the rest of the boys.

“Promise?” He presses again, pulling your panties between your cheeks and tugging up sharply.

“Ah, yeah!” You keen, face falling onto his shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh as he pleasures you with your own underwear. Thick fingers loop in the elastic waist and tug down, fully exposing you to the night air.

And you hear a distinct click.

A memory flashes through your hazy brain, Tendou taking a picture of your tongue—

“You wanna impress me, pretty girl?” Ushijima asks, before you can think too hard on it; his teeth at your earlobe, low baritone voice sending shivers through your bones. His fingers knead the globes of your ass, the tips dangerously close to your centre, and you want nothing more than to melt into him. “Uh-ah, hips up,” he corrects you lowly when you relax against him.

“S-sorry…” you mumble, gaining a chuckle in return.

“Shh,” he soothes, one of his hands leaving your ass to snake beneath you, fingers sliding against your messy lips. You’re trembling as you try and get closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips to his ear.

His fingers are thick and lazy as they explore you, and your legs shake with the effort of keeping your ass in the air. But he encourages you with soft words, his voice blocking out any outside noises; even that persistent click, click, click, you think you keep hearing.

You’re embarrassingly close to orgasm when he stops his fingers, “maybe we should head somewhere a little more private,” and it’s said louder than anything he’s whispered to you tonight, his voice carrying and mean, urges you to pull away from him a little and clears the fog of arousal and too-strong alcohol.

Mortification and panic follow the chuckles and snorts of contained laughter when you toss a look over your shoulder and remember where you are, tears immediately filling your eyes. You collapse onto Ushijima’s thighs and push away from his chest, anger and betrayal squeezing your stomach, threatening to bubble up and spill from your trembling lips.

“Don’t be upset,” Tendou interjects, leaning towards you, a little too close for comfort. “It’d be a real shame if Wakatoshi didn’t share you with us, wouldn’t it? Look, little Tsutomu’s already about to cream his jeans,” he says placatingly, urging you to turn your teary gaze his way. Sure enough, Goshiki’s fully flushed, both hands pressing against his crotch, hiding his bulge from you with a guilty look on his face.

“I bet,” Ushijima leans closer to you, hands on your waist, “you could make him cum without even touching him.”

“Ooh, the power,” Tendou adds, long fingers petting your hair gently.

You sniffle, level a glare with Ushijima, “Y-you tricked me,” you mumble through pouty lips.

He smiles, “I’m not nice, but I’m good,” he gets in close, lips ghosting yours, backing up his words by sliding those strong, precise fingers up your shirt, toying with your hard nipples over your bra. “You wanna feel good?”

“Yes,” you arch into him, eyes sliding shut instantly. “I wanna feel good,”

He kisses you slowly, all tongue and teeth, grinds up against you teasingly, leaving you wanting, “you mind being watched?”

Those sharp eyes challenge you, warn you. His forehead presses against yours, noses squishing together almost tenderly, the juxtaposition of his actions and words both jarring and confusing.

“To be fair,” Tendou starts softly, sliding closer to Ushijima, “we’ve already seen it all,” his eyes follow his fingers as they draw down your thigh. “Wouldn't be too nice to leave us all hanging, would it?”

You toss a look at Tsutomu and Shirabu over your left shoulder, Semi and Taichi over your right, “you… wanna watch?” You ask, eyes still on Taichi.

His own go wide, glance over to Semi, then past you to Ushijima, back to you, “I— uh, yeah,” then he drops your gaze, presses his thighs together.

“And you?” Tsutomu jumps when you direct the words at him, hands pressing down harder on his bulge, a groan tearing from his throat as his eyes snap shut, socked toes curl.

You don’t get to wait for an answer— not that you need it— Ushijima’s lips pressing to your exposed neck; his hands push your shirt up as his tongue tastes your skin, melting you into him, a fresh wave of slick rolling from your neglected cunt.

It’s freeing, letting go. Your hands raise at his silent prompting, sweater tugged over your head and tossed somewhere, his huge hands crowding your back, his mouth latching onto a tit through your little lacy bra.

A shudder rolls through you, head falling back with a whine, and you hear another groan behind you— the telltale sound of Tsutomu— some light chuckling and murmuring from the other boys.

God, you’re doing it.

You’re really gonna let this man fuck you in front of his friends; the very thing you were so disgusted to see your best friend doing.

And Ushijima’s so shameless about it, licking and sucking at your skin like a man starved, the slurping loud and erotic as he covers every inch of your neck, your shoulders, unclipping your bra and assaulting your chest.

“U-Ushi…” your fingers are tangled in his hair, tearing and tugging, his own hands pulling you closer in response, a slow growl rumbling through his chest as he hungrily sucks a hard kiss-mark into the fat of your breast. “Hurry up,” you frown, tugging him away from your chest by the hair, pressing your lips to his, “‘m really ready,” you mumble, feeling so wet it’s uncomfortable, “promise,”

“Oh, baby,” Tendou coos, fiddling with some papers, rolling something up between nimble fingers, “I promise you’re not,” he giggles, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Turn around,” Ushijima urges, large hands dwarfing your hips.

Your hands cover your naked breasts as he turns you, four pairs of eyes ogling your form shamelessly as they drink their alcohol and smoke their cigarettes.

“B-but—“ you whimper, large eyes staring at Ushijima as he positions you between his spread legs. “I wanna look at you,”

“You will,” he says lowly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’ll get your reward… but you need to work for it.”

“That, and he’s gotta stretch you out properly,” Shirabu mumbles, catching your attention. The rest of the boys chuckle nervously at that, and a hand is pressing between your shoulder blades, urging you forward.

“Hands and knees,” Ushijima orders, and before you can really think about it, you’re letting go of your breasts and lurching forward— almost barreling into Tsutomu’s outstretched legs— Ushijima’s big hands lifting your hips and positioning you how he wants you.

Shame flows through your veins, your whole body growing impossibly hotter, yet still buzzing with excitement. A swift look to your left would have you practically staring into Semi’s eyes, if his own weren’t currently glued to your swinging tits.

You’re about to turn back and say something to Ushijima when two fingers slide into you, sending your eyes wide, and tearing a yelp from deep in your throat. So deep, you think, unable to compute anything else, numbing mind drowning in the pleasure, in just how long and thick his fingers are.

Your elbows buckle when he enters a third finger, your upper body collapsing against the cool metal of the tray, face resting against your forearms as you whimper and moan, Ushijima’s free hand grips your hip as you start to wriggle and press back into him.

“She’s doing so well,” Tendou coos, his voice close. You look up in time to watch the redhead flip your skirt up, exposing your ass and hips to the cool night air.

“Don’t touch her, Satori.” Ushijima grunts, voice low and clipped.

“I didn’t touch her skin, Waka-chan, it was her skirt,” he laughs airily, getting close to Goshiki and squeezing his ass between the younger man and his cooler. “Only children don’t know how to share, right, Tsutomu?”

But he can’t take his eyes off you, and as soon as your watery gaze meets his, he reddens.

“Say his name,” Tendou whispers, leaning closer to you, impish grin growing.

“Sh-shut up, Tendou—”

“He’ll cum—”

“Tendou!” He gawks, swiping at the taller man, narrowly missing his shoulder.

Something changes, then; curiosity and the alcohol and the stimulation warping your brain, your subconscious disregarding that superego it’s clinged so strongly to. “Tsutomu…” you moan, biting your lip, blinking your lashes up at him.

He gasps and opens his mouth, but Ushijima mustn't've liked his name slipping from your lips, because he grips your hip and ups his pace, a wanton howl spilling up your throat, eyes rolling.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe, ragged, burying your face in your arms again, before he hits too deep and you’re pushing back up to gasp for air. “N-no, Ushi— I’m—”

It feels so good — too good, even. He’s pulling sounds so dirty and pornographic from you, that you don’t even feel like yourself; but the best part is, you don’t even care. Ushijima quirks his fingers and your orgasm shoots through you like a freight train, your pussy clenching and squelching as he works you through it, your lips trembling as you whimper and drool all over your arms.

There’s talking between the guys, but your ears are ringing, your ability to focus completely unravelled, your whole being focused on revelling in the high of your orgasm. Until you’re pulled back up into Ushijima’s lap.

“Good girl,” he breathes, rocking his clothed cock against your messy thighs. “You did so, so well,” he praises you, large, wet hand squeezing your cheeks together and pulling you in for a kiss.

You’re absolutely shameless from then on out, pawing at him, sucking lewdly on his tongue. If getting raunchy and handsy is a turn-on for him, it’s something you’re willing to do.

“Hurry up,” you pant against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair. “Wanna fuck,”

He chuckles, sends a look over your shoulder to Tendou, “here?” He asks, deep golden eyes back on yours.

You keen back in affirmation, begin to push the singlet up and over his abs, his pecks, “Take this off.”

“You sure you don’t wanna go in the truck?”

You pout then, “you don’t... want me?”

That chiselled jaw clenches, he sucks his teeth.

Seconds later, he reaches between the two of you to unzip his pants and pulls his cock out, “Hips up,” he orders, one hand fisting the biggest dick you’ve ever seen, the other reaching for your pussy, fingers dipping into you and smearing your essence over his cockhead.

You blink at him, “b-but… a condom—”

“A condom?” Tendou laughs, sitting back in his original spot, three inches from Ushijima, phone in his hand. “You think this man wants to wear a condom?”

“Should we stop?” Ushijima asks, eyes regarding you cooly. Too cooly.

“N-no,” you shake your head, raise your hips and position yourself over him. There’s a bit of an ache in your heart trying to push its way through to your brain, but you squash it down, the need to be wanted outweighing any and everything else right now.

“You’re so, so pretty like this,” Ushijima praises you, littering your chest with kisses, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking.

It momentarily distracts you from the unimaginable stretch his cock causes as you slowly sink onto him, and — as Tendou kindly points out — you’re doing so well taking his cock, until it just. Keeps. Going.

“It’s… that’s way too deep,” you gasp, unable to sit up straight, your smaller frame collapsing against his broad chest as tears well up in your eyes.

“Almost,” he breathes into the shell of your ear, voice deep and husky.

But you feel like he’s in your stomach, pushing his way up to your diaphragm; the pleasure’s a dull throb beneath the burning ache of taking something far too fucking large inside you. “Ow…” you groan, nails digging into his tanned skin, drool slipping from your lips, tears from your eyes. “Is it… in?” You whine when he stops moving.

He only hums in response, and you relax some, but then he flexes his hips, and you yelp as he sinks in even deeper. “So tight,” he hisses.

Glassy eyes watch as he groans and tosses his head back, exposing that thick neck and Adam’s apple to your drooling lips, your gnawing teeth. It’s all you can do to stop from crying— tasting and nipping at his sweaty, salty skin— and he doesn’t seem to hate it, if his low growl is anything to go by.

Despite what your body probably needs, he doesn’t give you time to adjust to his size.

“Shit,” he gasps, those huge hands grabbing your ass, squeezing your flesh, then lifting you and slamming you back down on his cock.

“Ah!” You yelp, scrambling now, nails scratching along taught, clammy skin, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto.

But he’s got you, thick arms circling your body, a hand at the base of your neck, the other pushing on your lower back, pressing you closer to him. It’s almost suffocating; you can’t move, can’t even breathe, but it’s so good.

You’re a doll, a puppet holding onto him and accepting everything he’s giving you. Every thrust, every squeeze of his arms; in the back of your brain you’re registering just how painful his fingertips are, just how deep they’re pressing into your flesh. And it makes you proud, the thought of him marking you, the idea of looking into the mirror tomorrow and seeing his fingerprints bruised into your skin.

You’re pulled out of your lull by his breath at your ear, “Say my name,” he whispers, seated deep inside you.

“Ushi—“

“Wakatoshi,” he corrects you, tugging at your hair so you meet his gaze.

“W-Wakatoshi,” you’re coy, matching his whisper, watery eyes looking into his. They’re pretty, you think, with flecks of gold and green and copper. Earthy.

He chuckles, “thanks,” then he’s pulling you to meet his lips. “Gonna cum deep inside you,” he promises, licking your teeth, using his own to pull at your bottom lip. “You’ll never be able to forget me.”

All you can do is groan, nod frantically, beg for it.

Your moans are a mixture of his name, of yes, of please, as he bounces you on his cock, as he kisses you, sucks at your skin, drags his teeth along it. It’s intoxicating, your world spinning as you near the edge of release, as he thrusts into you, all wet slaps and needy grunts.

He cums before you can, but fucks you through his own release. The warmth, the fullness, his lips cursing your name against your ear, have you coming undone around him. He swears again as you tighten up, those lethal fingers holding you prisoner as you come down from your orgasmic high, as the world around you spins.

You’re exhausted then, slumping against him, eyelids feeling more than heavy. Voices mumur and whisper behind you, Ushijima’s chest a low rumble of his own words. Then you’re moving, more than two hands on you, sitting you up straighter.

A second wind has you jerking away, panic lacing your bones. But then something big and warm is being pulled over your head, Ushijima helping you pull your head through soft cotton, your arms through too-big sleeves.

“Shh, sleep.” He mumbles, and it’s only then that you realise it’s the hoodie he had wrapped around his waist when you first met him. It’s huge, covering more than your actual outfit from this evening, you realise as he curls you up in his lap, pulls the hood up and over your head, gets you comfortable.

As you wriggle against him, covered in his scent, in his warmth, you begin to register how sticky you feel between your legs, the thought of his thick cum seeping out of you oddly satisfying. He wraps an arm around you, cradling you like something precious.

“She’s good,” you hear Ushijima mumble as your eyelids grow heavy again.

“Out of ten?” You think it’s Tendou.

“Hmm…” You fight to stay awake, to hear his answer. “We’ll make final decisions when we watch the playback.”

Vague confusion passes through you, before you finally fall asleep.

You’re going to hate yourself in the morning.

Anne Sexton, The Witch’s Life

BE MY MISTAKE.

    genre. angst (fluff, if you can see it)     pairing. atsumu x f!reader, osamu appears for a bit     synopsis. he loves you, he really does. but too bad you’re the mistake ─ whereby a hidden stash of letters reveal his true feelings. (this is based on the song “be my mistake” by the 1975)     word count. 3.7k    

part two (the answer is still you) || part three (learning to love)

author note. thank you so much @animatedarchives for beta-reading this for me hehe i just can’t get this song out of my head and absolutely had to write about it, and also it so happens his birthday is coming soon so i hope y’all like this <3

Atsumu Miya is both a blatant perfectionist and a passionate lover.

The former more usually relates to Atsumu as a volleyball player. On the court he’s a perfect picture of confidence and seriousness. If there’s one thing you’ve realised over the years is that he has ridiculously high expectations for himself (and his teammates). Although, sometimes that can veer into a bad direction. Rattled even more by a strong hatred of losing.

The latter refers to Atsumu off the court; more specifically, when he’s with you. He always makes sure to rush to you after every game, carry you up in his arms and spin you around; to show you off just the way you like. If he loses, you’re his first go-to once everything ends. He loves hugging you tight, inhaling deeply as the scent of the shampoo lingering in your hair fills his nostrils. And to everyone around you, the two of you are the “it” couple — the one everyone is envious of.

But that’s not the case. Not really.

Because beneath his actions lies a different meaning. Atsumu loves you. He really does. But just never as much as you love him, and probably not in the way he wishes it to be. How can he not love you? All you’ve ever done is try to better his life, even if that meant at the expense of your own. He loves that you’re so genuine; so earnest. You only want the best for him, and he can tell it’s real. But something’s bugging him. It always has.

And you know it, too.

You notice it, even in the small instances. And today, you’re finally about to find out why.

•❅──────── ✧❅✦❅✧────────❅•

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