『The Pretty Third Year』

✧ Soulmate!Sakusa x Reader; You are Karasuno’s manager and, unfortunately for the both of you, very popular among those in your year.

➳  A/N: This is so fluffy and nothing like how I usually write, but it was fun!! Thanks for the ask!! (: <3

✧  Masterlist

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lmaooooo

I think in response to Twitter, Tumblr should make it so that you can't open any other apps on your phone until you've seen at least 600 posts for the day.

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.

Imagine you’ve had a crush on Umemiya for two years now, but he only sees you as a friend. He’s really nice to you, but he has no idea you like him that way and so it never occurs to him to see you in a romantic or sexual light. 

One day he and Hiragi run into you in town and after speaking to them for a few minutes, you walk off. Hiragi sighs and says, “I feel sorry for her, having a crush on a clueless guy like you.”

Ume is shocked. “Wait, what?”

After learning this, he starts paying more attention to you, watching more closely how you behave around him compared to other people. You giggle more around him, tuck strands of hair behind your ear, smile more, seem a little shy and self conscious when he’s in the room. 

For the past few years, Ume has been running a little summer camp in the woods for the kids in town, and this year he asks if you’d like to come with him and his friends to help get the camp cleaned up and ready for the kids. It’s a good chance to spend some time with you, and you happily accept. 

Once you’re there and the preparations start, it seems like everything you do turns him on without you even realizing it. 

First it was you sitting in the floor of the common room, polishing an end table. You had the table upside down while you used a rag to clean the legs. Ume watched your small, delicate hand gliding up and down the thick round table legs, a blush creeping onto his face. 

Next it was you going into the woods to gather some sticks to use for the nightly camp fire. He followed a few minutes later to help, only to find you repeatedly bending over to pick up sticks, your denim shorts riding up, your plump, juicy ass in the air. The way you got all flustered and nervous when you noticed him behind you was just too cute. 

A day later you passed out popsicles to all the volunteers, then sat down on some wooden steps a few feet away from Ume. He watched, positively transfixed, as you licked and sucked on your popsicle, his eyes glued to your mouth as he imagined you doing that to his cock instead of your frozen cherry treat. 

That night he was finishing up some chores and walking back to his cabin when he heard singing. Following the sound to your cabin, he peeked in the window out of curiosity. He found you dancing around the room in nothing but a short T-shirt and panties, singing along with the music blaring from your phone. You looked so sweet and adorable, but mostly you just looked hot as fuck as your tits bounced against the thin fabric of your shirt. 

By the time you work up the courage to confess your feelings on the last night before the kids arrive, he’s so ready to bend you over the nearest table and fuck your brains out that he thinks he might explode. 

now let's talk about atsumu's stamina

Carrie Fisher, from The Princess Diarist.

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖…

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 2.5k | content: fluff, pining, mentions of fake dating, jealousy, reader is kind of an idiot, sae loves to tease, best friend otoya, cussing

notes: hello hello i’m on board the sae love train once more , are you guys still with me ^_^

summary: what do you do when your best friend kind of sort of forces you to confess your two-year long crush when you’re not ready to? pray and hope for the best.

“i could just tell him for you.”

“eita, fuck no,” you throw him a warning glare as you chop the vegetables up with scary precision despite not having an eye on them. only because you know if you don’t explicitly tell him not to, that he’d think it’s no big deal and do it anyway.

and let’s say, you’d rather die than let that happen.

sure, you and sae had been closer back in high school; he sat behind you and entertained the secret notes you passed to him, he used to ruffle the top of your head whenever you pouted, he used to buy food for you during breaks.

but that’s all in the past and somehow, the both of you had drifted since then.

otoya deadpans, an unamused pair of eyes looking back at you from their spot across the island. “it’s been what, four fucking years since you graduated? grow a pair,” he retorts, attempting to steal a carrot but getting a slap on the back of his hand instead.

“bold of you to say that to a girl with a knife,” you snap at him, pointing the blade at his face.

to which he merely rolls his eyes, using two fingers to push it aside. “not like you’re that good at using it.” but he sighs when you silently turn your attention back to chopping vegetables. “does that mean i have to put up with your miserable face even longer?”

you and otoya continue to bicker, and you’re beginning to wonder how you’ve tolerated being best friends with him for the past four years. he’s a real piece of work.

“fine, fine,” otoya grumbles after you’re done with lunch, bangs over his eyes. “i promise i won’t tell sae anything, okay?”

that’s after you threatened not to let him hijack your house anymore for food. for someone who’s earning big bucks being a famous soccer player, you can’t make sense of why he won’t just get food delivered. maybe he just likes to annoy you.

“good. or else i’ll kill you.”

your crush on itoshi sae has been somewhat dormant for the past few years. and by dormant you mean that you haven’t tried making any moves because you’re too scared.

itoshi sae. one of the most famous international breakout stars in soccer. one of the most talented playmakers the world has ever seen. that comes with its own sets of pros and cons.

pros? he definitely doesn’t seem like he has much trouble doing anything he wants. he gets paid for every game. he gets paid for gigs. he gets sponsorships all over the place. which basically means that financially, he doesn’t need to give a shit.

cons? the media can be brutal. sae does something that’s remotely questionable and they’re all over it. he doesn’t thank a waiter that one time? automatically labeled as a rude brat by the paparazzi. and not to mention—the amount of girls he’s forced to fake date just for the sake of publicity.

you’re mostly pressed on that last part though, because they’re all supermodels or olympic stars or rich socialites. and compared to them, well, you’re just someone who happens to be in the same friend group and hang out together every once in a while when he’s back in japan. sae doesn’t even hang out much with the group, to your dismay.

it’s a pain, or so he says.

you wonder how you drifted in the first place. maybe it’s just the fame. you wonder if he thinks of you too sometimes.

must be your wishful thinking.

kind of makes you wonder whether he does have a secret girlfriend that he’s keeping from everyone. you wouldn’t really put it past him. it’s not like he has any super deep emotional bonds with any of you (that you know of). eita says he’s definitely single, but you think he’s just saying that to appease you. he already has his hands full having to watch you mope whenever you see news of sae and another girl and yet another dating rumor.

just as well. you think sae could do better than you, spending your friday nights at home, washing dishes at the sink and looking out at the tokyo skyline instead of out partying and living life with countless friends.

you don’t think you’re too shabby though. you’re a fresh graduate with a job at one of the most prestigious companies in tokyo you can think of. it’s not bad. but you can’t help but feel it’s worlds away from the one sae lives in.

the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, nearly dropping the white marble plate you’re washing. your eyes snap to the clock in the living room. it’s almost 9pm—right about the time when eita usually comes knocking and asking you for supper.

groaning, you wash whatever’s left of the dish soap away from your hands and sloppily dry them against the bottom of your shirt, grumbling out loud about how you really should stop coming here whenever the fuck you want, eita while you stomp over to the front door.

you open the door, messy hair and bare face and baggy clothes, fully expecting to smack some sense into otoya eita when you feel yourself freeze up at the pair of eyes looking back at you.

they’re teal and framed by pretty long lashes and definitely don’t belong to your best friend.

what the fuck is he doing here?

this is one of the rare times that you’d actually prefer to see eita at your front door instead.

sae raises a brow, giving you a once-over. of course, he’s never seen you in this state—hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, not a trace of makeup on your face. you’d made sure that whenever there was a possibility that sae would see you that you dressed yourself up as nice as possible. if you’d known he was coming over, you’d have at least dressed decently. definitely not baggy shirt and pants that you can barely see.

“uh… w-what are you doing here?” stupid, but the best you can manage.

he has his hands in his gray sweat pockets, and fuck him for wearing a black compression top. you can just make out the outline of his abs under there, the muscles on his arms already much too obvious with those short sleeves.

“dunno, eita said there was an emergency and i needed to get here,” sae says, wholly unbothered, monotonous as usual. he lets himself in, toeing his shoes off at the entryway, positioning them neatly beside your everyday sneakers.

fucking eita.

judging by what you know, sae was probably on his way for an evening jog when otoya called him. he still has his wireless earbuds in. you wonder if anything’s even playing.

sae takes it off once he catches you staring.

he’s not carrying anything. it’s just him. you wonder if anyone managed to catch him coming over. is his most recent pr stunt already over? won’t do either of you any good if he’s labeled as a cheater.

“so? what is it?” sae asks you, again, while he walks himself inside, curious eyes looking around your apartment, and suddenly you’re hyper aware. you hope to god you didn’t leave any of your inner wear lying around at random places.

in a panic, you rush over to him, blocking his path inside, both hands on his chest as you attempt to push him back to the front door. unfortunately for you, sae’s much stronger than you are, his body not budging an inch.

“it’s nothing, he made a mistake,” you sigh, giving up when you figure that sae’s only going to move of his own accord. “he’s probably just playing a prank on you, that’s all.”

you’re hoping, praying, wishing that sae will just take your word for it and go. because that’s what he does; he doesn’t hover much, doesn’t care about anything much at all. you don’t even know the last time he’s asked about how any of your lives are doing.

the world must hate you though, because sae only offers a grunt in response before looking towards your kitchen (you’re internally sighing in relief, glad that you cleaned your kitchen up before this). “i’m thirsty, you have anything to drink?”

you blink at him, stumped that sae is wasting his precious time in your apartment, but who are you to say no to sae, of all people?

“yeah, sure, juice?”

sae shrugs, “whatever.”

you turn your back on him, slowly taking your carton of apple juice and finding the nicest glass that exists in your cupboard, cursing yourself internally for not preparing for unexpected guests enough. you do this slowly partly because you’re trying to calm your stupid heart down, still not fathoming why on earth sae’s wasting his time with you.

carefully, you rehearse yourself in your head, where you’re going to step, how you’re going to walk over to him—you really are just hopeless. count it your bad luck that the moment you turn around, you nearly drop the glass because you’re forgetting a really fundamental issue here: your merch.

“no no no, uh—” you leave the glass on the countertop, scurrying over to where sae’s staring and thumbing at something on your coffee table.

sae looks at your flustered reaction, giving you way to grab your things off the table and stuff them in the drawer where they’re out of sight. he blinks at you, a slight amusement bubbling inside him.

“wow, big fan, huh?”

you don’t know what’s worse: you being your most unpresentable self right now or that sae just caught you having some of his merch.

“so you have some of eita’s merch lying around too or is it just mine?”

you could die of embarrassment right now.

back still turned to sae, you desperately search your brain for answers. thinking on the spot doesn’t seem like your strong suit right now.

“it… was a gift.” believable, right?

sae hums, as though he’s contemplating. “why just mine then? why not oliver’s or my brother’s?”

fuck.

“i don’t know, maybe yours was the only one that wasn’t sold out.”

“ouch.”

you didn’t mean to indirectly insult him but what’s a drowning girl to do?

sae sighs when you keep quiet, still staying out where you are, trembling too much to move. “didn’t know you were in love with me.”

this time, you whip your head around to face him—that same stoic expression of his unchanging on his face. “am not!”

his brows shoot up. “but you bought some of my merch.”

“i told you, it was a gift.”

you need to get paid for still standing up on your own two feet right now. your head’s way too giddy from the interaction, considering.

“even that figurine over there?” sae’s finger points to a small toy just barely visible behind the nooks of the bookshelf. it’s a small figurine; something sold a few years back when sae was just first starting out. you’d bought it because, well, you’d thought chibi sae looked cuter than actual sae. (especially now when he’s just staring blankly at you.)

“that was…”

“a gift?”

you think he’s making fun of you now at this point.

“anyway, we’ve established that there’s no emergency here so why don’t you just go?” you’re pretty sure sae won’t ever talk to you again—not after coming across what he did tonight. he probably thinks you’re a freak, probably questions why he even considers you his friend (to which you’re now wondering if that’s even true at all).

you make a mental reminder to yourself to kill otoya eita tomorrow.

sae lets you push him towards the entryway, apple juice long forgotten on the countertop, collecting condensation with water pooling below the glass.

“you must like me a lot, huh?” he ponders out loud as you continue pushing him towards the door. you see a hint of cockiness in his stare now, the slightest tug of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“i do n—”

“be careful what you say,” sae cuts you off, toeing his shoes back on, looking glamorous as ever and you nearly forget that he looks straight out of a magazine even in his sportswear. “‘cause i’ll believe you.”

part of you wants him to just go already so your knees can buckle under, but part of you wants to ask him what he means. what’s he insinuating? isn’t the answer clear enough.

but now it’s way past nine and he’s all ready to go yet he’s still standing at your doorway, waiting for your answer. you want to scream no, you want to keep your secret safe, you don’t want him to know about the crush you’d been harbouring. but he told you to be careful what you say because he’ll believe you.

“s-so what if i do?” you stutter, failing to look him in the eyes, your stare focused on the air in between you.

sae’s features soften ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in so quickly, but it isn’t one of disgust. it’s more like one of pleasant surprise.

after what seems like an eternity, sae finally opens his mouth.

“you must’ve gotten jealous a lot with all those girls i’d gone out with.”

your fist instinctively connect with his arm, his stoic finally giving way to a grimace, palm rubbing his triceps in pain. out of all the things to say, he chooses to say that? you think he deserves it.

“you know what, sae? you can go back to your fake girlfriends, i could care less,” you snap at him, pouting. you hate that despite how ignorant his words are that you can’t find it in yourself to hate him.

sae exhales sharply, chuckling softly when he sees your pout, and you feel as though it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this even though it’s not. his hand comes up to ruffle the top of your head gently, and you’re reminded of when he did this to you back in high school.

“can’t do that, can i?” he tells you, that soft disposition gone and the stoic mischief coming right back. “not when i’m in front of who could be my real girlfriend.”

your heart might’ve forgotten how to beat.

sae leaves you standing there, left to your own devices as he exits your apartment, fully aware of his effect on you.

not long after he leaves (while you’re still standing in the doorway), your phone buzzes in your pocket. you fish it out and see his name there for the first time in a long time.

you smile to yourself as you read his message. okay, so maybe you’ll spare eita’s life for now.