you shift nervously in the leather chair across from higuruma in his office. he listens intently as you describe your stalker's behavior - spilling your guts out to the man you think is your savior. it started so sweetly, you know? you tell him, the anonymous flowers left on your doorsteps, the admiring notes left on your car. it felt like an harmless secret admirer. like someone out there just got you.
until the behaviour started changing. the flowers became wilted and dead. the notes turned possessive, detailing what you wore that day, who you talked to. and it just started getting so private, like you're being watched for twenty four hours.
you hesitate but end up telling him everything, he's just so concerned about you, and he does seem like a trustable lawyer, so you didnât want to hide any details from him. you tell him about the worst part, the thing that made you finally break down and call him. you talk about your underwear going missing from the dryer, only to reappear on your bed, stretched out, stained. you confess how you found photos of yourself on your desk. sleeping, sometimes even half naked. you tell him how you wake up feeling a little weird and there's a lingering smell like someone has been here. you're so scared, so vulnerable, and higurumaâs just nodding, taking notes, the perfect fucking professional. like he's the perfect picture of a concerned lawyer. "that's not good, when did you first notice the change in behavior?" he asks, he's so so methodical, scribbling notes on a legal pad.
so professional for someone who knows the exact date it changed. the exact date that stalker became so bold and a little insane after watching you flirt with a random man at the bar.
so professional for someone who knows your daily routine - what time you wake up, or go to shower, what days you have off and which drink you always order at the bar, and so much more.
so professional for someone who remembers the exact feel of your panties, how he pressed them to his face and inhaled your scent before wrapping them around his cock that night. he remembers the thrill of slipping into your apartment, the soft click of your bedroom window, the way his dick got rock hard just watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept. he even has a photo of you right now inside his pocket and he has a dozens more like that, safely stored in a locked drawer at his home.
but you don't know anything.
"i don't really remember when it changed," you say, sounding innocent. "it just happened." you're trying so hard to remember, so fucking oblivious that the man who's going to save you is the one who left you feeling so violated.
higuruma hums, his voice calm and steady. "did you keep any of the notes? we need to establish a pattern."
"no, i don't know why but they just disappear.." you say disappointedly.
but he knows. he knows you didn't keep the notes, because he collected them all himself the next day while you were at work.
higuruma looks at you, "well, this is deeply disturbing," he says, his voice low and serious. he leans forward, putting on his most reassuring voice. "we'll build a case, get a restraining order. you'll be safe."
god, you're so fucking stupid. so innocent. the way your face lights up with relief, a small smile gracing your lips as you look at him like he's your savior. you look at him, really look at him, with those big, tear-filled eyes, and you give him a small, grateful smile. "thank you for listening, mr. higuruma. i feel... safer already."
of course you feel safe around him. you're supposed to feel safe. he is your savior after all. though higuruma doesnât understand why'd you need help. why'd you want protection when you never needed to be saved at all. he's a little angry that you needed to be saved - from him. but he's still grateful that out of everyone, you came right back to him. right where you belonged.
you've always been safe with him, you're just too stupid to realize it.
but oh how he wants to shove every fucking thing off his desk, bend you over it, hike up that skirt, and show you exactly what kind of danger you're in. he wants to hear you say his name like that again, but gasping and crying it out while he's buried inside you he wants to make you cry out for real, to feel your body clench around his cock as he whispers in your ear exactly how he's been watching you, how he's touched your things, how he's been touching you.
you're sitting there thanking him, completely unaware that you're smiling at the devil himself, and he's fighting the urge to show you exactly what kind of help he can really give you. the thought of your innocent trust mixed with his depraved lust makes him so fucking hard he has to shift in his chair, hiding the strain against his trousers.
"of course," he manages, his voice a little rougher than he intended. "anything to help my client."
if only you knew. you're not just a client. you're his. and all he can think about is how good it felt to be that close to you, how he's the only one who truly sees you.
now, you're begging him to save you from the monster, and he's just wondering how much longer he has to keep up this fucking charade before higuruma can finally have you for real.
you have to make friends online so you can see stuff that reminds you of the kinks and fetishes they have and you can think of them fondly with a little wistful sigh
geto whoâs oh so gentle with you. brushing your hair out of your face, pressing soft kisses on your shoulders, a hand on the small of your back while you walk. how could you be surprised that a man with so much gentle nature must be rooted in rough and untamed sex after hours? usually soft hands pressing you so hard into the sheets. dark bruises and marks left all over your skin. pushing you to your absolute limit. the duality dizzying and addicting all in the same breath.
i need to get fucked sooooo fucking bad itâs driving me insane i just need someone to push my head down into the pillow and pound this wet pussy until my eyes roll back and i cant speak anymore. the urge to be fucked and bred literally woke me up lord please
suna x reader cw:suggestive, angst, mentions of flings, break up/situationships, nostalgia, mdni
what could have been. wc 1k
for the last months that you could remember, all you did was eat, breathe, and sleep suna rintarĆ. peacefully coexisting in each others world with a sort of ease akin to settled states. your hand in his hair, draped over the couch while some documentary played mindlessly on your television. late night drives where you sat up and stood through the sunroof, your hair blaring in the wind and a smile adorning your face, bright enough to convince you both that this was enough.
this arrangement had bloomed out of need. out of desire for something real, and suna was so easy. he was giving and kind, always attentive to you and seemed to be one of the only ones who could see you. it made sense, neither of you wanted anything all that serious, you were graduating at the end of the term and he was signing to a national team. to fill the space both of you craved, with no strings attached and no label to show for it. for a while, it was innocent.
stolen kisses behind closed doors, laughing with no fear of how ridiculous the smile looked on your face. shared meals and ice cream licked off of each others lips. shared beds and waking up far too late in the morning to do anything about the day, drowning in each others presence. you kept it on the low, while others asked you about your crush you only sighed and shook your head, telling them you had no such thing. sunaâs teammates tugged at him and asked him to spill who the special girl was, to which he said he wanted to be single anyway. it was easier this way, thatâs what you had both agreed on.
right? because thereâs no reason for the strings holding your heart together to tug and wretch when you see suna tagged in pictures at parties where other girls pour alcohol into his mouth. thereâs no reason for suna to care when you blow him off to go hang out with another guy, the same guy youâll spend a week fucking the memory out of with him. but he doesnât care, and neither do you, and no, you donât talk about it. you let the weeks spin by and lull you into a comfortability that blinds you from the deadline that is your situation.
the thing about situational agreements is that they always fail. you pretend you donât feel the way his hand fits in yours perfectly, you pretend it doesnât affect you when he doesnât ask about your plans after graduation, he pretends not to care when you purposefully donât accept his follow request on his volleyball account for social media. itâs a weird dance you both partake in, because on lonely nights where you donât spend time together, you picture a life in which you were both ready to commit. where this wasnât out of the facade of necessity, that you had met him in the right circumstance. but the curiosity got the cat, and now youâre trying on your cap and gown in front of him while he sends over final contracts for the team heâs signing.
you donât talk about it when he doesnât come to your graduation. you didnât ask him to. but your eyes still searched for him in the stands, especially when he knew your family wouldnât be there. you donât talk about it when youâre not there for his signing day, even when he told you he wanted a picture with you there. no, because the next time you see him itâs all said between desperate kissing and pressing each other into sheets on borrowed time. furrowed brows and begging, begging for more, because what you have isnât enough and you both know it.
his bags are packed in his room, you sit on the edge of the bed and watch your feet dangle in the air. you hear him zipping his backpack, you pretend you donât hear how loud your heart is.
âsuna,â something pangs dangerously close to admission in your heart. he hums and pauses to look at you from across the room. âdo you ever think about-â you cut yourself off to bite your lip. itâs painful, but you think it would be worse if you wouldâve said it anyway.
in his mind thereâs one hundred things you couldâve said. one hundred things he couldâve replied with. but he doesnât push, not when you donât continue and mutter under your breath that itâs nothing. because thatâs the thing about suna, about you, about you both, you donât push the boundary line. you tip toe on the precipice of honesty and truth. but neither one of you dares to take the leap. so you spend that night lost on his mouth and begging for a goodbye worth crying over. it doesnât come.
you stare at the instagram request months later. something aches inside your heart with the shape of his name. thereâs so much left unsaid, and maybe itâs for the better. you pretend you donât notice that he picks your favorite number as his jersey number. itâs coincidence. you pretend he doesnât post nostalgic photos once a year, a few of which include candid photos of you from unsuspecting angles that no one would know was you aside from him, especially when theyâre posted on your birthday. he pretends not to see the bubbles pop up in your text thread because he too, is sitting in waiting. he pretends not to see the profile view with your username on his professional account almost every day.
thatâs the thing about the two of you. you exist liminally. in a timeline where neither of you had the courage to say what you really meant. your hearts intertwined and beating the rhythm that only belonged to the both of you for quite some time. now lost in the past of what you were. forever drowned to the sound of cowardice and fear that what you had, would never be found again.
a/n: been feeling sad so this feels like iâm a towel with all my sadness wrung out. hope you like!
suna x reader cw:suggestive, angst, mentions of flings, break up/situationships, nostalgia, mdni
what could have been. wc 1k
for the last months that you could remember, all you did was eat, breathe, and sleep suna rintarĆ. peacefully coexisting in each others world with a sort of ease akin to settled states. your hand in his hair, draped over the couch while some documentary played mindlessly on your television. late night drives where you sat up and stood through the sunroof, your hair blaring in the wind and a smile adorning your face, bright enough to convince you both that this was enough.
this arrangement had bloomed out of need. out of desire for something real, and suna was so easy. he was giving and kind, always attentive to you and seemed to be one of the only ones who could see you. it made sense, neither of you wanted anything all that serious, you were graduating at the end of the term and he was signing to a national team. to fill the space both of you craved, with no strings attached and no label to show for it. for a while, it was innocent.
stolen kisses behind closed doors, laughing with no fear of how ridiculous the smile looked on your face. shared meals and ice cream licked off of each others lips. shared beds and waking up far too late in the morning to do anything about the day, drowning in each others presence. you kept it on the low, while others asked you about your crush you only sighed and shook your head, telling them you had no such thing. sunaâs teammates tugged at him and asked him to spill who the special girl was, to which he said he wanted to be single anyway. it was easier this way, thatâs what you had both agreed on.
right? because thereâs no reason for the strings holding your heart together to tug and wretch when you see suna tagged in pictures at parties where other girls pour alcohol into his mouth. thereâs no reason for suna to care when you blow him off to go hang out with another guy, the same guy youâll spend a week fucking the memory out of with him. but he doesnât care, and neither do you, and no, you donât talk about it. you let the weeks spin by and lull you into a comfortability that blinds you from the deadline that is your situation.
the thing about situational agreements is that they always fail. you pretend you donât feel the way his hand fits in yours perfectly, you pretend it doesnât affect you when he doesnât ask about your plans after graduation, he pretends not to care when you purposefully donât accept his follow request on his volleyball account for social media. itâs a weird dance you both partake in, because on lonely nights where you donât spend time together, you picture a life in which you were both ready to commit. where this wasnât out of the facade of necessity, that you had met him in the right circumstance. but the curiosity got the cat, and now youâre trying on your cap and gown in front of him while he sends over final contracts for the team heâs signing.
you donât talk about it when he doesnât come to your graduation. you didnât ask him to. but your eyes still searched for him in the stands, especially when he knew your family wouldnât be there. you donât talk about it when youâre not there for his signing day, even when he told you he wanted a picture with you there. no, because the next time you see him itâs all said between desperate kissing and pressing each other into sheets on borrowed time. furrowed brows and begging, begging for more, because what you have isnât enough and you both know it.
his bags are packed in his room, you sit on the edge of the bed and watch your feet dangle in the air. you hear him zipping his backpack, you pretend you donât hear how loud your heart is.
âsuna,â something pangs dangerously close to admission in your heart. he hums and pauses to look at you from across the room. âdo you ever think about-â you cut yourself off to bite your lip. itâs painful, but you think it would be worse if you wouldâve said it anyway.
in his mind thereâs one hundred things you couldâve said. one hundred things he couldâve replied with. but he doesnât push, not when you donât continue and mutter under your breath that itâs nothing. because thatâs the thing about suna, about you, about you both, you donât push the boundary line. you tip toe on the precipice of honesty and truth. but neither one of you dares to take the leap. so you spend that night lost on his mouth and begging for a goodbye worth crying over. it doesnât come.
you stare at the instagram request months later. something aches inside your heart with the shape of his name. thereâs so much left unsaid, and maybe itâs for the better. you pretend you donât notice that he picks your favorite number as his jersey number. itâs coincidence. you pretend he doesnât post nostalgic photos once a year, a few of which include candid photos of you from unsuspecting angles that no one would know was you aside from him, especially when theyâre posted on your birthday. he pretends not to see the bubbles pop up in your text thread because he too, is sitting in waiting. he pretends not to see the profile view with your username on his professional account almost every day.
thatâs the thing about the two of you. you exist liminally. in a timeline where neither of you had the courage to say what you really meant. your hearts intertwined and beating the rhythm that only belonged to the both of you for quite some time. now lost in the past of what you were. forever drowned to the sound of cowardice and fear that what you had, would never be found again.
a/n: been feeling sad so this feels like iâm a towel with all my sadness wrung out. hope you like!
something so attractive about the glances you and the man you âhateâ give each other from across the room. the snarky remarks. the slamming doors. the heated kisses in empty hallways. the groaning and screaming to âget the fuck outâ. the way you know exactly which drawer they keep extra shirts in for you to throw on. the blocked contacts. the extra toothbrush in their cabinet. âheâs such a fucking dick.â to losing yourself under him.
>> "can i...?" (roommate/bsf!yuuji x chubby!reader)
i reread @eikyuuni 's yuuji fic at least three times a week, so please consider this my contribution to "itadori yuuji just DOES things without thinking"
tags: itadori yuuji doesnt think when he asks for things, roommates/bsf!yuuji, nipple play, a very curious best friend who sometimes is a little too curious, this is 2k words of FEVER DREAM YUUJI SMUT
there WILL be a part two. just you wait.
"hey, can i ask you something?"
he's always been that way. curious. overly curious.
but you always let him be that way, because it's who he is. and because you've never been able to say no.
"yeah, what's up?" you mumble absentmindedly, staring down into the sink as you wash dishes.
"can i touch your boobs?"
you pause, watch as water rushes over the now-clean plate. push the faucet handle down and set the plate out to dry. turn to face him.
he has the decency to look embarrassed, eyes glancing around the kitchen nervously and cheeks starting to warm under your gaze.
"what?"
"it's just-" he twiddles his thumbs, runs his fingers through his hair. "i've never touched a girl's boobs before."
somehow, that's more shocking than his request.
"what?" you let out a breath, a laugh of disbelief mixed with it. he furrows his brows, eyes turned down in that way you can't resist.
"it's not funny," he whines, pouting slightly. "i just never got around to it."
"never got around to groping a girl?" you continue to tease him, but you're already drying your hands on a dish towel, already giving in. already weak to his requests, just like you always have been.
he looks disgruntled, but he's still here. still waiting for an answer.
"i don't mean it in a gross way," he mumbles. "just curious."
you step right up to him, warm with endearment. "i didnt say no, yuuj."
his gaze finally finds yours. no more than a quick glance, but it's enough.
he shifts his weight, swallowing. "soâŠ"
you slide between him and the countertop, patting it with one hand. he's quick to react, hands finding your waist and lifting you up onto it without even thinking.
you settle there, pretending that having itadori yuuji stand between your thighs isn't entirely nervewracking.
he's always been tall and strong, from high school through college and even now, years after. obviously, you'd noticed. but your size difference had always gone unmentioned.
where his body had always been firm and solid, you'd always been soft, supple. you're a bigger girl, so your thighs had always been twice the size of his and your body had always spilled over your clothes in ways his never would.
but he'd never given you any indication that that was ever a bad thing. sure, your friends would never comment on it, because theyre good people. megumi would never admit to being cautious about touching you because he's not sure if you're comfortable with so much as a simple hug from him. nobara would never admit to glancing nervously at you when you accidentally step into a store that certainly doesn't carry your size. and that's okay. you're okay with that.
but yuuji's different. he isn't cautious, and he isn't nervous. he's touchy, almost annoying so. he fidgets constantly and bounces his knee all the time. he toys with your hair and pulls you close when you watch tv, and you never get the sense that he's careful of your weight. in fact, you kind of think sometimes that he hasn't even noticed it.
and maybe it's just because he's stupidly strong, but he never seems to think twice about picking you up if you need something. ever since you moved with him into that cheap, rundown college apartment all the years ago, and even now that you're both adults with a better place and better jobs, he's been quick to do that. if you need something from high up, he'd rather lift you than reach for it himself. if you're too lazy to get out bed but he wants to hang out, it's all too easy for him to barge into your room and scoop you up like you weigh nothing.
so maybe you're a little bit spoiled now. maybe you don't mind asking him to lift you up, just like you did a moment ago. maybe you don't shy away from curling into his side on the couch and putting on his hoodies when you're cold, even if theyre a little snug around the tummy.
maybe thats why youre okay with this objectively insane request. because if he were someone else, it would take several weeks and a lot of liquid courage for you to let him touch you.
but this is easy. because he's yuuji.
"alright, go ahead," you breathe, leaning back on your hands and pushing your chest out.
yuuji's eyes drop to the curve of your breasts, gaze trained on the way they spill over your tank top.
"wait, so," he swallows, hands twitching on your sides. "can i touch under your shirt? or just over?"
you lift your eyebrows and laugh. "already asking for more?"
"sorry," he laughs, shaking his head. "stupid question."
"well," you hum. "see what you think first. and then we can talk about it."
you dont mention that you notice the way his eyes light up. you just smile encouragingly when he nods and breathes out nervously.
"yeah. okay. cool." his fingers knead anxiously into your waist, and then he slides his palms up your sides.
you'd been mentally preparing to feel his hands on your breasts, because you know from experience how sensitive you are. but it all goes out the window when he cups you through your shirt.
your breath catches, and your thighs clench around his hips noticeably. he's kind enough not to point it out, too busy staring down at your chest in awe. his hands cover your tits completely, which sends a rush of heat straight to your core. you're not sure that any man you'd ever been with has had hands this big. you find yourself staring down at them, the same way he is.
"wow, i wasn't-" yuuji shifts, swallows. "i didnt know theyd be this soft. are they all soft like this? or is it just you?" he steps closer, pushes his hips absentmindedly into yours. your heart flies into your throat. he's not even hard, and you can still feel him.
nervously, you shift away, just to maintain some sense of propriety, but he drops one hand to your waist and all but drags you back.
"wait, where are you going?" he breathes, eyes still trained on where his hand is kneading you through your tank top. "come back."
you swallow a gasp when he slides your hips flush to his and goes back to the task at hand like he doesn't even realize what he's doing. you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white and cheeks burning when you feel the outline of his cock fit snug against your core.
stupid sweatpants that hide nothing about what's under them. stupid thin baby shorts that leave you with nothing but the knowledge that itadori yuuji's dick is massive, just like his hands.
"yuuj," you croak. "maybe we should-"
a whine builds in his throat, audible and petulant. "no, c'mon, not yet," he pleads. "i still wanna try it under." his skin flushes a deep red, almost like hes finally realizing what hes asking. "if that's okay."
why are you never able to say no to this man?
"okay," you sigh. "just for a few minutes, okay?"
his shoulders tense and his breath catches in his throat, like he can't believe youre letting him do this. you cant believe it, either.
"yeah, of course." he swallows, fingertips already curling around the straps of your top and sliding them carefully off your shoulders. he tugs gently on the low collar, slipping the shirt down and under your breasts. your bra stares back at him, and he freezes, unblinking.
you watch his eyes flick between the cups and the straps of the bra, like he's fighting an internal battle trying to figure out if he's allowed to ask for more than this.
your nerves ache beneath your skin.
"just do it, yuuji," you whisper, barely audible.
he doesnt ask what you mean. he just pushes at the straps with slightly trembling fingers, watching the cups drop low. his face radiates heat as he pushes your bra the rest of the way off.
his body reacts to the sight, even if he doesn't say it.
you can feel it perfectly, the way his cock twitches once and starts to harden, slow but noticeable.
you both stare down at your exposed tits, breathing roughly and saying nothing.
your arms start to tremble, from propping yourself up and also from sheer nerves.
yuuji noticed, his fingers tracing your wrist. "you're tired," he whispers, and then he reaches for your shoulders. "lie back."
well, thats a bad idea, certainly.
"wait, it's okay-"
but he's already nudging you down onto the countertop, grabbing you by the waist and sliding you closer again.
you feel the full length of him, warm and heavy and now quite hard, resting against your core. and hes got your legs spread wide for him to fit, eyes fixated on the way your tits spill out over your skin. once again entirely unaware of what he's doing to you.
it doesn't take much more for you to crack.
your spine tenses when he pushes his palms against your breasts, cupping and moving and playing with them all too curiously. his hands are warm and a little rough, just the way you like them, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing.
when your nipples harden against his skin, he grunts quietly and nudges his hips further into yours, eyes wide with amazement when he cups his hands underneath your tits and pushes them together to get a better look.
and then he bumps his thumbs up against them, circles them softly just to see what happens.
what happens is that your body twitches under him, thighs clenching tight around his waist and back arching off the countertop as a moan slips past your lips.
it echoes between you like a humiliating admission.
his breath is heavy, weighed down by something serious. that same something is in his eyes, dark and bordering on hungry as he stares down at you.
he whispers your name.
you have to get out of here.
"wait," you try, laughing nervously. "okay, just wait. let me breathe for a second."
he blinks, and that something heavy is gone, like he can hear the nervous tremble in your voice.
"okay," he breathes, helping you sit up and sliding your clothes back into place with ease. "you okay?"
"yeah," you say, keeping your voice light. "sorry. it just got a little-"
"yeah," he laughs, scratching at the back of his head. "my bad. i was kind of-"
"it's okay." you keep your eyes on him, as much as you want to hide. because you dont want him to think he's done something wrong. "im good, yuuj. just need a breather."
his eyes search yours, and then he nods, sighing in relief. "okay. yeah." then he laughs again. "i probably could use a breather, too."
he helps you off the counter, lifting you with ease and setting you carefully on your feet.
"i should probably go to bed," you say, glancing at the clock. "early morning, or whatever."
"yeah, me too."
you scurry away before your legs give out on you, slamming your bedroom door shut and spending the rest of the night hiding beneath your blanket.
he texts you an hour later.
[11:58 PM]
yuuj: can we do that again tmr?
your body aches for him.
you: yeah
you: sure
he takes a while to answer.
[12:09 AM]
yuuj: can we do more?
your fingers tremble as you slide one hand past the band of your panties and finally touch yourself.
you: yeah
you: we can do anything you want
when you bury your face in your pillow and shove two fingers into your cunt, you try your very best not to listen to the sound of yuuji moaning your name on the other side of the wall.
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