Lmaooooo

Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine. 

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink. 

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation. 

Something you missed. 

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with. 

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine. 

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain. 

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name. 

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you. 

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours. 

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door. 

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy. 

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all. 

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds. 

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?” 

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach. 

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you  admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on. 

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you. 

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak. 

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.” 

“And the other two?” 

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out. 

They’re gone. 

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts. 

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod. 

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud. 

Your fault. 

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter. 

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you. 

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–” 

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles. 

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair. 

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.) 

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,” 

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot. 

“Bullied?” he probes. 

Another nod. 

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out. 

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact. 

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms. 

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.” 

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe. 

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming. 

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop. 

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you. 

“What did I fucking tell you?”  

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind. 

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you. 

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino. 

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes. 

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends. 

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground. 

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy. 

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you. 

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day. 

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is. 

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice. 

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together. 

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that. 

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably. 

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response. 

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb– 

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness. 

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you. 

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period. 

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine. 

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours. 

Not dead. 

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.  

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you. 

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely. 

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears. 

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip –  crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine. 

Devotion demands sacrifice. 

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat. 

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh. 

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn. 

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability. 

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand. 

He’d never allow anything less.

tfw you trained so hard so that titans won't be able to kill you only to find out that it'll be a kid who'll end up finishing your existence

a few pushes

paring: sakusa kiyoomi x fem reader

warnings: baby trapping, breeding kink, unprotected sex, manipulative sakusa, car sex, semi public sex, controlling behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, sakusa wants more, sexting, shower sex, abandonment issues, lack of communication, starstruck reader, nice reader meets evil & toxic sakusa

word count: 3.3k

english is not my first language. please excuse any mistakes

Because Sakusa was a clean person, when he decided to have a fuck buddy, he carefully handpicked one and stuck with one only. 

Locker room talk was always loud, but much louder these days with Hinata joining the team. Miya loved attentive listeners, Bokuto obviously wasn’t one. Sakusa couldn’t help but hear it one day when the blond setter was giving out tips on how to relieve stress after a long day and said sex was the best way. 

“Muscles? Relaxed,” Atsumu said, directly to Hinata, but all eyes were on him anyway considering how loud he was. “And imagine you lost a match.” The blond man hurriedly put one finger up before continuing, “I’m not jinxing anything. What I’m saying is–it’s just a way to–let the frustration out, you know? It works.”

Did it really? Sakusa doubted, recalling his first time with a childhood friend whom he soon fell out of touch with after and didn’t remember being relaxed nor fulfilled, only rushed and clumsy. Yet, that was years ago. What was life if not trying again and again to one’s utmost?

He thought of Atsumu's words, then he thought of you. 

You were this one girl from Itachiyama Institute who wasn't in the same class as him but went to every game Sakusa played. It was safe to say you were his fan after overhearing you talking to someone in the library when he was trying to find the right material for his homework. 

“Who’s your favorite player?” a voice asked. “Mine is the captain.” 

“Iizuna?” you countered. 

“That’s his name? I don’t know, I only watched one game.” The voice giggled.

“Mine’s the ace. Sakusa Kiyoomi” 

Your answer made his wandering eyes halt before moving with their own volition from the spines of the books to the source of that response. He saw you for the first time that day. And every time after that. 

—

A normal occurrence was what you were. You were just there, respectful enough to never get close, never even tried. Sakusa’s brain registered your existence as a diluted consistency, not on the forefront of his mind but vivid enough to make him miss several receives in an important match when you didn’t show up. 

Sakusa scowled when he saw you at the next day’s match, having a mask on and trying your best to hold the coughs in. Half of his heart labeled you as a danger to society but the impulse to grab your shoulders and shake you was stronger, driving him to approach you for the first time after seeing you that day in the library two years ago. 

He had a mask on, hands in his jacket’s pockets. “God forbid people get their annual flu shot.”

You quickly retreated when he kept advancing, confusion shown clear as day on your face. “What?” 

What, indeed. Despite being in the same year, your paths rarely crossed. You never dreamed that one day you would get to talk to the curly-haired ace in person, let alone about a flu vaccine. And if someone had told you Sakusa would ask you to be his exclusively fuck buddy sometime in the near future, your brows would have furrowed for the rest of the day.  

College separated you both, connected again when you met his cousin, Komori, by chance and he told you Sakusa just joined MSBY Black Jackal and became a professional player. You wouldn’t miss seeing him on the court again for the world, so you went to the next game instead of working on your dissertation.  

The black, abyss-like eyes found yours not even fifteen minutes into the first set. They, however, never returned again throughout the game. For a second you thought he did not remember you, but when you lined up with other people for his signature and he got hold of the MSBY mascot plush merch you bought, he signed his name down and said, “Give me your phone.”

Like sorcery, you handed him what he asked. 

“Password,” he demanded curtly, and you gave him everything. The kid queuing after you sneaked his glance not so subtly, must have wondered why it took so long. 

He returned your phone after putting his number in and called out to get yours then moved on to the kid behind you without a word. 

It was like that with Sakusa, either it was the highschool him telling you to put your hands out so he could spray the hand sanitizer on or the current him texting you his game schedules and telling you to come, it was all the same—he never had to give reasons and you never needed them. 

You liked him, sure. Respected him, absolutely. More than that, you hoped he got everything he wanted, wished him nothing but the best. But the thing was you never really knew what he desired, had no clue how deep those pools of blackness that were his eyes ran and what lay beneath. You just said yes when he asked if he could pick you up because he wanted to talk to you about something, yes again when he asked you to kiss him, to be the one who crossed the boundary and made the first move. 

Surrounded by the quiet of his apartment’s parking lot late at night, Sakusa sat behind the wheel and waited for you to lean over the center console, eyes tracking every movement. When he felt the gentle brush of your lips on his, he went still and kept his lips closed, extra secured.

“Use your tongue.”

“But you—”

“Try harder then,” he said, almost taunting. “Coax me open.” 

And you tried, you swore you tried, to learn that all it took was you giving up and drawing back to finally make him open his mouth and snatch you by the nape of your neck to receive his kiss. All tongue and teeth… with a soft chuckle. 

At one point, you heard a faint honk and realized it was your back that touched the car horn. Sitting in Sakusa’s lap in the driver’s seat, your panties were long gone and half of his wrapped hard length was already in, he pushed you down fully just when you saw someone walk by from the corner of your eye. 

“They’ll see.” Your voice shook pathetically, your face buried in his heaving chest. “They will know.” 

“They are gone,” Sakusa whispered next to your ear. “Look. No one’s here.” 

But you wouldn’t dare. Calling his chest your new home, you hid.

“I said look.” 

He then gripped your chin and turned your face out towards the side window, and you wished the ground would open up and swallow you at that moment. The passersby were two people, they still hadn’t done unloading shopping bags from their car. You tried to be as still as the dead, but Sasuka’s cock ramming up in and out didn’t really vouch for that. He looked at them with you but much calmer. 

Your back hit the horn again and you knew it blared at full volume because the two passersby abruptly turned your way. 

“Darling,” he tutted. “You want them to see.” 

“No!” you cried.

Why didn’t he stop? Why did he only plunge deeper, hitting your sensitive spot just right in the most inappropriate moment? And why did the couple not stop staring this way?

Why did you come so hard your ears rang, only conscious enough to feel the pulse inside your pussy a moment later and nothing else?

“Miya was fucking right,” he mumbled, probably to himself cause you had no idea what he was talking about. To you, he said, “Can I have you?”

“What?” 

What, indeed. 

—

After getting the test results back from the health center and knowing for certain that you both were clean, Sakusa threw the rest of the condoms in the trash. Seeing that and getting railed till your eyes rolled and your pussy filled with his cum all in one night that you had to get a plan b the next morning, you knew you had to get on the pill.  

Sakusa knew, he asked when a reminder alarm went off one night, and you answered honestly that you had to take the birth control pill.

“Just—don’t want to forget,” you said. 

He didn’t comment but looked closely, at the pill, at you. 

The pro-athlete knew that this was a good call. You were in your last year of college about to graduate and he just started a career. But for some corrupted, selfish reason when he looked at the white pill you took, he hated it with passion. 

It was like being kept at arm’s length, not trusted enough, not wanted enough. It was petty, but Sakusa had always been greedy and you just never wanted a damn thing from him, always so polite and respectful—knowing your place. 

And as days went on, it drove him mad more often than he would like to admit, on the verge of screaming at you to stop taking only what he gave, to stop understanding boundaries and demand more of him. 

Never a call if not necessary, no texts if it was not answering some shit he sent before, not a hint of jealousy when some fans blatantly flirted with him, only the look of genuine delight that a lot of people seemed to admire him. Turned out it was him who enjoyed having you to himself a little too much, his embrace stayed locked all night from fear of you leaving before he woke.

Sakusa was not a lunatic, but he knew he was just a few pushes away from going deranged. Just a bit more. 

—

“I need to know what you’re up to, where you are. You gotta text me more,” said Sakusa casually while getting dressed one cold autumn morning, seven months into the agreement, “so I know you’re not out there fucking someone else behind my back.”

Your jaw dropped. “I would never.”

“Just a precaution. You barely talk to me.” 

“Oh.” 

“Text me.” 

And you did it without fail, sending him pictures, telling him where you were, what you did. Later on when you learned that he also liked to know who you were with, you told him that too. But lately the correspondence deviated slightly, going out of its day-update course to something—lewder. 

‘Outfit?’ 

He definitely knew what you wore since you never not stayed the night, and getting ready together in the morning had become a routine. Was it weird? Maybe. But if being a fuck buddy helped him with the stress and this was what it entailed, then you counted this as part of the agreement. You were fine with how everything turned out, really. Were you supposed to be fine? That was a question for another day. 

You texted back, ‘I’m in class. Can’t take a pic.’

He, on the other hand, could. The shirtless picture showed up in the chat, you had to lock the screen and put the phone face down as fast but also discreetly as you could. Any straying eye could have seen that, you thought, cursing Sakusa for his audacity.

Finding yourself in the nearest restroom a few minutes later, you got another message just when you were about to answer the previous one. 

‘Show me what you’re wearing down there.’

You did. 

‘Move the panties aside, let me see my pussy.’ 

He got a dirty mouth for someone who prided himself so much on cleanliness. 

‘You shouldn’t be wet. Weren't you in a lecture?’

You could hear him chuckle from here. He loved to do that, the mocking, the shaming before bestowing a soft pat on the head to soothe them all. 

‘Can’t wait to go home and lick it myself.’ 

Oh. 

‘Wish me luck on the game.’ 

“Go get them, tiger,” you whispered, but simply typed, ‘Good luck.’ 

There were so many things you didn’t say and didn’t know if you could. Like for you, he was one of the best players any team could ever ask for, had believed that since you first heard the ball made contact with Itachiyama’s gym floor and the thundering roar of the impact made you stop walking and look. You stood there, in front of the gym, eyes focused on the curly haired player, watching the practice till someone needed to get inside and asked you to move. 

He didn’t need luck.

That was before he came home and carried you to the bathroom straight away, the paper you were working on marked abandoned for the rest of the night. What you gathered while being pressed to the glass shower screen, breasts and cheek pushed harshly against the cold material was that Sakusa thought he needed luck.

MBSY lost the match. 

“Well, my good luck charm wasn’t with me,” he hissed. 

“You know that’s not—” An embarrassing whimper caused by a hard snap of Sakusa’s hips cut the sentence short. 

“You should always be with me. You have to. Promise me you will,” Sakusa ordered, one hand pulling on your hair till your head tilted from the force, the other still on your waist, squeezing hard like he wanted it to bruise. “Hurry. Say it.”

“I promise.” 

Promises made during sex weren’t meant to be kept, you thought. You just wanted to make him feel better, give him what he wanted. When he tugged you from the shower screen and turned you to face him, Sakusa’s mouth curved up into a thin smile, his raven curls all damp but framing his face just right. Dazzling as always.

A temporary beauty that could slip out of your hand at any given time. 

—

It didn’t take much to annoy Sakusa, he still glared at the little pill you took every day like it was his worst enemy; but tonight, Atsumu took the cake. 

“You look—strangely familiar.” Atsumu squinted his eyes at you. “Have I seen you before?”

As a matter of fact, he had. The agreement just hit a one-year mark, and you had been at numerous games before leaving with him every time in his car, of course Atsumu had seen you. The blond shithead just wanted to get the rise out of him.

“You have, Miya-san,” you answered politely. 

It was the first time he took you to a team dinner, first fucking time and this happened. 

“You and Omi-kun.” The speaker made a gesture with his hands, insinuating his curiosity in the relationship between you and his teammate. 

“I’m a friend from school.” 

The answer was too spontaneous, like it was on the tip of your tongue ready to be let out. And if that wasn’t the last push, Atsumu moving to sit in an empty seat next to you was the final nail in the coffin. 

—

“What are you looking for?” Sakusa asked, knowing damn well what you were trying to find. 

The weather outside the hotel room was pure heat and no wind, living up to its reputation Sakusa was aware of when he did the research to plan this one-week trip. It was somewhere far from Japan, people didn’t speak your language, and you didn’t have the pill with you. 

“I swear I put it right here.” You sounded so confused he almost pitied you. “Shit, how am I going to—urghhhh. Why am I like this? I forgot? Did I really?”

“If you don’t tell me, I don’t know how to help.” His voice came out sterner than he intended to. “What are you looking for?” 

“My pills—the birth control pill” You looked like you were going to cry. 

Then cry, he thought, thinking back to when he took the damn pills out of your bag and regretted nothing. Your lamenting, though, was getting on his nerves. 

“Are you trying to baby trap me?” Sakusa snarled.

Just like that, you looked at him like he had two heads. Sakusa could see your whole body tremble, voice quivering so bad when you tried to speak. 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, I’m—I’m going to search how to buy them here. Where’s my phone.” 

You looked for the device, found it, but Sakusa was fast in pulling it out of your hand again. 

“Liar,” he accused. 

“What?” Disbelief was written all over your face, voice went high-pitched. “What do you mean? I’ve been taking them for a year, never missed a day, I wouldn’t start now.”

“The missing pills say otherwise.” 

“I’m gonna buy—”

“Isn’t it too convenient, disappearing into thin air when traveling abroad to a country where you have no idea if birth control pills can be bought over the counter or prescribed easily.”

“We can buy condoms.”

“No,” said Sakusa, looking down at you who stood with tears brimming in both eyes. “We’ll do it raw, since that’s what you want.”

—

“Is this what you want?” he asked again when you slid down on his cock, pussy as soaked as your tear-stained face. “You want to use me.” 

Still trying to defend yourself, you muttered little nos. Because they were there, the pills, you remember exactly where you put them, checked it twice even. 

“Use me then.” Sakusa refused to touch you, to help. Rested against the headboard in all his naked glory, his cock fit perfectly inside you like it belonged there.

How did it come to this? From a spectator who admired him from afar to being this close, lifting yourself up and dropping down on his cock, not a part of your body he hadn’t cummed in or on, being called a baby trapper when you had no such plan. 

You could never do that to him, but it was also difficult to get out of his strong hold when you knew he was about to cum, tried and failed to pull yourself up so he could climax outside. 

Sakusa hugged your whole body to him, shooting ropes of white fluid deeper than you ever felt. He must have been real angry with you to be able to pull this off out of spite and kissed you later as if everything was fine. Tongue tasting salt from the tears, you heard Sakusa’s low moan and a string of words.

“Let’s make sure it takes.” 

—

The first four days were like that, staying in the hotel room and surviving on room service. The state of the room the maid had to see when they came in for a daily cleaning embarrassed you every time, but all you could do was smile bashfully and go sit with Sakusa on the balcony, waiting for them to be done. 

He always had sunglasses on when sitting outside on a rattan chair big enough to accommodate two people, and you would always be there with him, sometimes reading from the same book, laughing at the same time. It wasn’t all bad. 

Something in the way he looked at you changed after you cried your heart out and spilled your guts on the second night. You couldn’t quite grasp what it was, but his looks felt more intense and somewhat… determined. 

“Kiyoomi,” you called, head resting on his chest, hearing his heart skip a beat but it was probably all in your head, thoughts muddled after taking his cum for two days straight. “I was at the gym every day after school instead of going home to watch you move around the court,” you said, “passing the ball, receiving it, spiking it. You looked majestic doing that, you know?” 

“I never wish you harm.” It was a mystery how tears were infinite, fresh ones running down past the bridge of your nose and onto his chest. “I could never ruin your life.” 

His tone had never been more gentle when he muttered, “I know.” 

Never sounded so needy when he demanded, “Call me Kiyoomi again.” 

“Kiyoomi,” you whined. 

“Give me more.” He kissed you on the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. “Give me everything.”

i'm SO laid back, i only care about like 3 things in the world:

my favorite fictional characters and music

every person on this earth and their opinion of me

the crushing psychological weight of being alive

(Sequel to ‘This memory is being forgotten’)

Food for thought: imagine lion!mydei with a prey reader!!! Yk, toss in some dub con and predator/ prey dynamics 🤭. Oh, the way us floofy ears would twitch and his tail would wrap around your leg!!

I'm absolutely convinced mydei is 10000% mean man when it's between the sheets.

Have a good day/night <3. I rlly luv your works and what's your secret to writing rlly good smut? Teach me your ways professor!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 warnings : nsfw/smut, bunny fem!reader, creampie, multiple of rounds, spanking, size kink, breeding kink, biting, huge dubcon alert, multiple of orgasms and tit slapping and other stuff. ^.^

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 note : tysm! i’m glad you enjoyed my writing sweetie. And I don’t really have a secret lmao! i’ve been writing long stories ever since I was 11. also reader is implied to be chubby and curvy! also not proof read (as always).

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

You should have noticed it earlier—the way the birds had stopped singing, the way the wind had died down as if holding its breath. But you were a bunny, and a very stupid one at that. Soft and slow and terribly, terribly unaware.

That was why you didn’t realize you were being hunted until it was far too late.

A branch cracked. Your ears twitched, your breath hitched, and then—

A massive force slammed into you from behind, knocking you down into the dirt. Your heart pounded as you scrambled to flee, but it was useless. Large, clawed hands pinned you down, pressing your softer, squishier body into the earth. A deep, rumbling growl ghosted over the shell of your ear, and your instincts screamed.

Predator.

Your body locked up in fear, trembling beneath the sheer weight of the beast above you. You had heard the stories of the lion-king before—the ruthless ruler of the wilds, the monster who tore through his prey with teeth and claw. And yet, when he dipped his head, sniffing along the side of your neck, he didn’t bite.

He inhaled. Deeply.

And then, to your absolute horror, he groaned.

“Fuck,” the lion rumbled, his voice thick, heated, laced with something primal. His heavy tail coiled around your thigh, holding you in place. His hips rolled against yours, and you felt it—the thick, hard shape of him pressing against your ass. “You smell too sweet to eat, little rabbit.”

His tongue flicked out, running a slow, wet trail up your throat. You shuddered, trying to shrink away, but his hands only gripped you tighter, claws grazing against your skin.

“You’re lucky,” Mydei murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Your breath hitched when he grinded against you again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel just how big he was. Your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly despite the fear still prickling at your spine. His hand moved, fingers dragging down your stomach, teasing at the plush softness there before dipping lower.

“Gonna ruin this dumb little bunny cunt,” he growled. “Make you scream for me.”

You whimpered, but there was no escape.

The lion had caught his prey. And he wasn’t letting go.

A rough hand forced your back into an arch, making you whimper as your ass lifted higher. Mydei chuckled, low and dark, his heavy tail coiling tighter around your plush thigh. The fur was deceptively soft against your skin, a contrast to the ruthless grip he had on you.

“Look at this,” he murmured, his large palm sliding over your hips, groping the softest parts of you like he was testing his prize. “Built to be fucked. You were never meant to run, little thing—just to be caught.”

A sharp smack landed across your ass. You yelped, lurching forward, but he dragged you back with ease. Another slap—harder this time—sent a hot sting rippling through your body, making your legs twitch. Your fluffy tail twitched too, betraying you, and he laughed.

“Sensitive,” he mused, palming your sore flesh before delivering another punishing slap. “You get wet from this, don’t you?”

You shook your head, ears flopping as you whimpered, but you both knew the truth. His fingers slid lower, past the heat pooling between your thighs, and—fuck—he found you already slick.

“Stupid little thing,” he purred, rubbing slow, teasing circles against your clit. “What kind of prey gets wet for their predator?”

You gasped as he slid a thick finger into you, then another, stretching you open in cruel, lazy strokes. Your walls fluttered, trying to take him deeper, trying to milk something that wasn’t even inside you yet. Mydei groaned, nosing against the base of your fluffy ears, dragging his teeth lightly along them.

“Bet you’ll take my cock just as easy,” he murmured. “Gonna make you mine. Stuff you so full, you’ll never be able to run again.”

Your thighs trembled as he pulled his fingers away, leaving you empty and aching. Then—something hotter, heavier, pressed against your entrance. You gasped at the sheer size of it, instinct screaming again, but his tail tightened around your thigh, holding you still.

“You’re made for this,” Mydei rasped, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your slick folds. “Made to take my seed, to be bred nice and full.”

He thrust in, stretching your pussy open, forcing a ragged cry from your throat. Your fingers clawed at the dirt, your ears pressing flat against your head as your walls clenched around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him.

"That’s it," he groaned, his grip on your hips bruising. “Gonna make you all mine, little thing.”

And with another rough thrust, he set a brutal, unrelenting pace.

Each thrust was brutal, knocking you forward only for Mydei to yank you back onto his cock, forcing you to take him deep. Your plush thighs shook, your body burning with overstimulation, but he didn’t let up.

“Ngh—too much—” you gasped, voice breaking between ragged moans. Your ears twitched wildly with each slam of his hips, your tail fluffing up in distress.

“Too much?” Mydei echoed, voice dripping with mockery. His claws dragged down your sides before settling on your tits, gripping them roughly, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. “You’re dripping all over my cock, little thing. You love this.”

You whined as he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before slapping your tits, making them bounce from the impact. Your body betrayed you—each slap sent a fresh pulse of heat straight to your core, making your walls clamp down even tighter around him.

"Fuck," he growled, his tail curling possessively around your thigh. “Look at you. Dumb little prey, taking my cock so well. Taking it like you were made for it.”

Your arms gave out, leaving you to slump forward onto your elbows, tits pressing into the dirt. Mydei loomed over you, his golden mane brushing against your back as he fucked you harder, deeper, his breath hot against your nape.

"You’re mine," he groaned, one clawed hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you in place. "Say it."

You could barely think, barely breathe, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His cock was splitting you open, dragging against your walls in a way that had your stomach twisting in knots. Making your ears flattened as your tail fluffed up.

“Mydei—“ you whimpered.

His hips snapped forward, making you scream.

“Say it.”

“I—I'm yours!” you sobbed, voice breaking into a desperate wail. “Yours—your prey—your—ahhh!”

His teeth sank into the side of your throat, claiming you fully, and your vision went white as you came hard around his cock, your walls milking him greedily.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic. His hands clamped down on your hips, holding you still as he drove into you one last time, pressing himself deep.

Heat flooded your insides as he spilled inside you, thick and so much—your already-sensitive body trembled as you felt it seep even deeper. His cock throbbed, pumping more and more into you, and Mydei let out a pleased growl, licking over the fresh bite mark on your throat.

“Mine,” he murmured again, his hands smoothing over your plush body, possessive and satisfied. “And now… you're bred.”

His tail remained wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated and wrecked, but Mydei wasn’t done with you. His cock still twitched inside your soaked, swollen cunt, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he shifted his weight over you. His tail curled tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread open, forcing you to take every last drop of his seed.

“You look so fucked-out already,” he murmured, one large hand smoothing down your spine before gripping your hips again. “But I’m not done with you yet, little prey.”

You shivered as his hand ghosted lower, spreading your ass to watch his cum leak out of you. He groaned at the sight, his claws digging into your plush flesh. “Already dripping, and I haven’t even knotted you yet.”

Your ears twitched weakly, your breathing still ragged as you turned your head to look back at him. Your wide, dazed eyes shimmered in the dim light, glassy and unfocused—doe-eyed and utterly lost. Mydei sucked in a sharp breath, his cock throbbing at the way you gazed up at him, helpless and ruined.

“Fuck,” he growled. His hand suddenly snaked around your waist, dragging you up off the dirt. You gasped as he pulled you flush against his chest, your legs barely able to hold you up as his cock throbbed deep inside your cunt.

“You’re looking at me like you still don’t get it,” he murmured against your ear. His palm slid up your soft belly before grabbing your tits, squeezing, toying with the sensitive flesh. “You thought I’d stop after one round? Thought I’d just let you go?”

You whined, jolting as he suddenly slapped your tits, making them bounce under his grip. Your whole body jiggled from the impact, heat blooming across your skin, and Mydei “groaned” as his cock twitched inside you.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers before giving another sharp slap to your tits, watching them jiggle in his grasp. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill—“

His other hand suddenly slammed against your lower belly, pressing down right where his cock stretched you open. You gasped, your walls fluttering around him as he chuckled darkly.

“Feel that?” he purred. “Right here. My cock, stuffing you so full.”

You sobbed, your hips twitching as he began grinding against your overstimulated clit, pressing down on your belly with every slow, deep thrust.

“Too much—Mydei, please—”

“Please?” he mocked, nosing along your flushed cheek. “Please what, little prey? Please keep fucking you? Please breed you again?"

Your mind was fogged with pleasure, your body trembling in his grasp, but you still managed to choke out a desperate, ruined—

“Yes!”

Mydei snapped.

His tail tightened around your thigh as he slammed you back onto his cock, spearing you open, making your tits bounce wildly with each punishing thrust. You could do nothing but whimper, drool spilling from your lips as your walls spasmed around him, milking him for more.

“Fuck—you’re perfect,” he groaned, licking over your ear before biting down on your shoulder, claiming you. “Gonna fill you up again. Gonna knot you—make sure my seed takes—“

You let out a choked cry as he pressed his palm against your belly again, feeling himself inside you, knowing he was going to breed you until you couldn’t take anymore.

Until you were nothing but his.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

i feel like i died a very long time ago and now nothing thats happening is real

lev with an oral fixation ☝️😩 he can’t sleep unless he’s sucking your tiddies or anything tbh. and when y’all are doing the nasty he’s always sucking on your neck or when your in control he’s sucking on your fingers🏃‍♀️

Lets just say when you and Lev first started to dating you noticed it 

but you didn’t say anything simply because he was always sucking on a lollipop or whatever was in his hand 

It really didn’t take a huge notice until you two started sleeping together 

He seemed to focus more on your tits than anything else and finally you brought it up one night 

“Lev?” You ask twisting your fingers in worry, that maybe mentioning it will end badly 

“Yeah baby?” He asks turning to look at you that stupid candy hanging from his lips 

“Why are you always sucking on my tits and that candy all the time?” The question was a silent one 

The silence that filled the air after that was one that almost made you retract the question 

“Oh…well.” He blushes and laughs nervously while rubbing the back of his neck 

You drop your gaze but you hear the loud sigh and look up seeing the lollipop was gone and a wobbly smile was there instead 

“I…I have an oral kink..or fixation whatever you want to call it and i like having things in my mouth, fuck i can’t even fall asleep without something in my mouth.” He admits 

Yeah…that wasn’t the answer you were expecting and the images and behavior of everything starts to play back in your mind 

“Really?” You ask making him nod and walk over to you towering over you in a domineering kind of way 

He smirks and reaches out his fingers crazy your tits causing your nipples to harden 

“It get’s especially hard at night to control, even more so when you’re next to me at night. It’s so hard not to suck on your tits….god.” He groans and you feel your self clench 

“Bed?” You ask breathless 

His eyes snap up to yours making him nod fast as you both rush to bed clothes being thrown off 

After that he always had your tits in his mouth when he could, whenever they got sore he would switch it off for the lollipops 

Of course, you had a switch dynamic where he would either suck on your tits or when you were in control he would suck on your fingers 

and god if that wasn’t a pretty sight you don’t know what is 

Lev also loved to suck on your neck and leaving marks, it was a sense of pride but he got off at the fact he could remember sucking that mark into your skin 

He was able to control it in public, there was one instance where he couldn’t take it 

you were wearing a tank top and he could see the faint marks on your neck but also the tank top did wonders for your breasts 

he dragged you into an empty bathroom and ripped your top down and went to fucking town 

let’s just say, you didn’t go back for lunch and went straight home 

Lev has this polyrod pictures of your tits and neck with his teeth, tongue and mouth marks all over and those are his comfort pictures 

Don’t ever ask about them if you see them in his wallet he will just smirk and wink 

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.