synopsis: tennis!au -you shouldn't be letting your boyfriend's rival feel you up in the locker room, and you certainly shouldn't be getting on your knees for him, especially given the history between the two of you
warnings : mdni, smut, fem! bodied reader, reader has she/her pronouns, degradation, cheating, oral (m! recieving), public sex, pussy jobs, hair pulling, reader is called a good girl
song rec : fetish -selena gomez
"and we're back folks! that was some first set- of course, we are in the US Open semi-finals, and it is sakusa and terushima on the court!"
the crowd roars as you adjust your sunglasses and pick up your honey deuce to take a sip, eyes trained on terushima sitting on the bench with a towel over his head. unwillingly, you find your gaze pulled towards the player on the other side of the umpire's chair, sakusa kiyoomi uncapping a bottle of electrolytes before tilting his head back and bringing the bottle to his mouth. you take another sip, watching the strong column of his throat move as he gulps his water.
"this infamous rivalry's brought everyone together today. over in terushima's box, is, of course, his beautiful girlfriend- joined by his high-school friends!"
you raise your head and smile, raising your honey deuce as the cameras pan over to your seat at the commentator's words. in the row behind you terushima's friends holler and whistle, waving a banner with his face on it.
"terushima's partner is pretty private, so it's a real treat that we managed an interview with her before the match- she's had some fun stuff to say about this rivalry and today's match."
you watch as you pop up on the big screen, dressed in the blue and white dress you'd picked out specially for this match- makeup and hair fresher than it currently was. the string of diamonds around your throat winks in the light as you nod at whatever the interviewer was saying.
"what do you think about sakusa? he's given your boyfriend quite a good amount of grief this season."
the video-you laughs at the question, red lips curling upward. "well, he's been a household name for some time now. yuji thinks more about him than about me, if we're being frank."
"do you think his victories are earned? sakusa's won 5 out of the 6 times they've met so far, and their rivalry goes way back to their juniors days."
"sakusa's definitely a really good player, and he's improved a lot since his defeat at last year's wimbledon final. i- we, yuji and i both think he's someone to watch out for, especially if he can clean up his net play a little more. he, for sure, has the potential to surpass the big 3."
the interviewer raises her eyebrows at your admission, and Arthur Ashe clamors in real time. you sink your teeth into your lower lip, as the other screen shows sakusa's reaction to your words. as usual, the man is stoic, showing no signs of having heard your praise. however, his sharp eyes are focused on the screen showing your interview, having stopped all his inter-set preparations.
"and what about terushima? do you think he can surpass the big 3?"
you're silent for a touch too long before showering yuji with praise, however it doesn't seem like anyone except you had noticed the pause. yuji's grinning from his bench on the court making kissy faces at the screen. he has everyone's attention.
you swallow, shifting your focus back to sakusa, who's no longer looking at the screen, but has his eyes trained on you, a faint smirk evident on his face. well, that pause hadn't escaped everyone's notice. kissing your teeth, you avert your eyes- taking another sip of your honey deuce. arthur ashe titters one final time before silence settles again as the players take their positions, sakusa's serve.
"and at 144 mph that's this season's fastest serve yet! i would not want to be the one who faces that serve, that's for sure."
you lean forward, taking off your sunglasses as the men enter the fifth and final set, sakusa breaking in the first game itself. you, as well as the rest of the centre court, watch with bated breaths as the game gets tense- so focused that you completely miss the dark clouds rolling in and the thunder rumbling ominously. there's not a moment of notice as the sky opens up, the downpour brutal. fat, cold raindrops assault your senses as you scramble for cover- dress already sticking and hair frizzing. making your way down the stairs into the gallery, you hear the commentators announce the official postponement of the match.
going down a level further, you push open the double doors to reach the locker rooms. surprisingly, there's no one around. there's a clang of a locker closing somewhere, and you walk towards the sound- your heels clacking loudly. turning the corner, you freeze as a pale, muscular back- scattered with moles- comes into view. sakusa kiyoomi stands with his back to you, shirtless, with his shorts riding low and a towel slung over his shoulder. at your sharp intake he turns, hooded eyes pinning you in place.
"sorry, i um- i'll just-"
you shouldn't be here. (you've been here too many times to be anywhere else.)
he says nothing but keeps his eyes on you as he towels his hair. your gaze unconsciously strays to his biceps as they flex at the motion, before snapping back to his face. he stares at you for a moment longer, before throwing his towel back into the locker and slamming the door shut. you feel heat creeping up your cheeks as he turns to you again.
"why are you here again?"
"sorry, i just- i thought-"
he keeps quiet, cocking his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. you stammer once more before shutting up.
"sorry. i'll leave."
you feel a lump in your throat at his curt words, but you have no right to be upset. you know that very well. you're almost at the corner when his words cause you to stop.
"the big three?"
you pause, memories of younger kiyoomi talking about his dreams flashing through your mind. swallowing, you turn around.
"you know you could do it. coming from me it means nothing."
"nothing?"
you pause again, feeling your neck prickle with heat against his intense stare. he hasn't moved an inch, yet you feel cornered- like prey.
"it should mean nothing."
he scoffs at this, taking a step closer.
"is that what helps you sleep at night? do you say it before you slip your hand into your panties imagining it's my dick inside you, or do you say it after- as long as there's no guilty conscious right?"
you blink at his words, before retorting sharply, "kiyo you can't speak to me like that, watch your words-"
"so i'm kiyo again? what happened to sakusa? you said it so sweetly in the interview. i'm a regular at your perfect white picket fence household, right?"
you step back, hitting a locker, unaware that you'd been backing up. he's in front of you before you can blink, pressing up against you, one hand gripping your waist the other flat against the locker beside your head. leaning closer his breath fans across your face as he pants, still breathing deeply from his match.
"you show up- as you always do when he's playing against me- wearing the dress i bought you, the dress i fucked you in- wrapped in diamonds i bought you, diamonds that rest where my hands used to-
and that's fine. that's perfectly fine. but showing up here? in this locker room? and saying your words mean nothing to me?"
you whimper, eyes falling shut as he grips your face, smearing your lipstick with his thumb. the scent of his cologne mixed with his sweat crowds your senses, dimming them. slipping his thumb into your mouth he presses against your tongue. you obediently part your mouth, pressing your thighs to relieve some of the pressure. sakusa scoffs again, slotting his thigh between your legs, allowing you to press down and rut against him.
"what a slut, do you get wet like this for everyone? or am i just special baby? do you let every fucker who plays against your darling boyfriend feel you up in the locker room? does the idea of you getting fucked by someone he'll lose against turn him on too?"
your eyes roll back as you moan, sliding a hand to your breast, before it's snatched back by kiyoomi, pinned against the locker. his touch is too familiar for you to consider him as sakusa, he's always been your kiyo.
"you're going to get off humping my leg like a dog in heat baby, i know you can do it," he coos, grip on your face tightening.
you whimper at his words, grinding down harder. everything feels so hot, with kiyoomi pressing his body against you- weight heavy. his scent is everywhere.
"actually- i don't think you deserve that."
your eyes fly open as he shifts his thigh and moves away, leaving you cold and slumped against the lockers. you breathe heavily, fingers scrambling for purchase behind you to keep yourself upright.
you open your mouth to say something, anything- but you draw blank. what can you even say?
kiyoomi stands still in front of you, arms crossed- but with his shorts tenting it's clear he's not entirely unaffected. his dark eyes remain fixed on you, but he says nothing. the two of you remain suspended like this for a few heartbeats. you see his adam's apple bob as he swallows once, twice- before taking a step back.
"you should leave. he's probably waiting for you."
you should leave. he's definitely waiting for you.
you nod slowly, straightening your spine. taking a deep breath, you reach for your bag which you had dropped sometime during and dig through it for a tissue. your makeup must be a mess.
glancing back at kiyoomi you pause- watching as he sinks down on a bench and leans back to rest on his elbows. his legs part as he breathes, chest rising- erection still straining against his shorts.
the sight is so familiar, your heart aches. your mouth feels dry as he drops his head back, revealing the strong column of his neck.
your panties stick uncomfortably, pussy still throbbing. your breasts feel heavy as you drop your bag again, turning towards him. heat trickles down your spine as you reach for the zipper of your dress, unable to move your eyes from his physique. your dress pools by your feet as you step out of it, now dressed in nothing but your panties, heels, and his diamonds.
kiyoomi still hasn't moved.
teeth sinking into your lower lip, you reach to unbuckle your heels, your brain on autopilot. now barefoot, you pad towards kiyo, sinking to your knees in between his parted legs.
you should leave.
you reach forward to mouth at kiyo's erection, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his cock through the fabric. above you kiyo still hasn't moved, but he sighs, carding a hand through your hair. pressing a hand to his thigh for balance, you move to pull him out, continuing to mouth at his shaft. leaning forward you take him in your mouth, slowly easing him in until you feel him hit the back of your throat. eyes watering, you breath slowly, sucking him the way you know he likes it. you feel kiyo tug at your roots, and you look up at him, eyes locking. his eyes are hooded and impossibly dark, mouth bitten red as he pants.
"my pretty girl, so good for me, only for me," he slurs, grip on your hair tightening. you moan, taking him deeper, swallowing him. kiyo groans, head tipping back again. you slip your hand into your panties, desperate for some friction, moaning again. before you can move however, you find yourself being lifted straight up onto his lap.
now straddling him, your pussy slides against his dick, as you grasp his shoulders for purchase.
"you just couldn't stay away could you? what a filthy little whore. what would those reporters say if they could see you now, hmm? tennis's favourite girlfriend is nothing but a cock hungry slut, but not for her boyfriend, no- for her boyfriend's rival," he coos.
"kiyo, fuck," you whimper, everything is too much.
he moves you again, this time standing up to push you against the locker once again. your legs tremble as you lean back. he slaps your tits, as you jerk, gasping.
"kiyokiyokiyo, please," you whine, unsure what exactly you want him to do. yanking your panties down, he pumps his cock once, before tapping the head against your clit. bullying the head between your lips, he groans, rutting against you.
slapping your tits once again, he grips his cock, inhaling sharply- and he cums all over you pussy and panties. you whine again, reaching to pull his head down, needing to kiss him.
"fuck. fuck, you're so-," he pants into your neck. you nod deliriously, you need to cum so badly it hurts.
the doors clang loudly.
"yo, sakusa, you in here? the weather's cleared up, they're sayin' if it's cool with the both of us we can continue in 30 minutes."
the two of you spring apart, alarm bells ringing in your mind as you pull up your panties. rushing to your dress, you struggle to put it on.
kiyo shoots you one last look, before calling out, "sure man, you mind letting them know on my behalf? i'll be right up."
the footsteps stop just you're stumbling into your shoes.
"of course my guy, no problem."
the doors open again, and you sigh in relief.
"say, you wouldn't have seen my girl anywhere, would you? she's disappeared."
you freeze again, but sakusa's moving past you now, rounding the corner with his tennis bag hung over his shoulder.
Happy 1k followers, I hope your blog will bloom more. Pardon my English because I'm not a native. Can I get match 19 with Sakusa Kiyoomi? I think he's into rough sex😅
you and sakusa had an argument earlier before he left for training. there was a new girl among the msby staff, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from twitching every time you saw how close he was with her. what made it worse was how sakusa never seemed to flinch at her touch—especially knowing he was usually so reserved, so careful around people, except with you.
“you don’t have to watch everything i do,” sakusa had said earlier, his voice low but sharp, like a warning. “it’s just work.”
“just work?” you snapped, crossing your arms, trying to steady your voice while your chest felt tight. “you didn’t even flinch when she touched your arm. is that just work too?”
he paused, jaw tightening, dark eyes locking with yours. “you’re imagining things. it’s nothing.”
“nothing?” your voice cracked slightly, frustration and hurt twisting together. “it doesn’t feel like nothing, kiyoomi. it feels like you care more about her than me.”
he looked at you like you’d crossed some line you didn’t realize existed. “i’m not… caring more about anyone. stop twisting things.”
a silence followed, heavy and suffocating. a few more tense words, a sharp glare from each of you, and then sakusa grabbed his bag and left, muttering about training. the door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the apartment. your chest ached, your stomach knotted, but you refused to chase him, to apologize, or even answer if he called.
instead, you tried to distract yourself. you sank into the couch, flipping through channels without really watching, the TV a dull background noise. you picked up a book, but the words blurred as your thoughts kept drifting back to him. to her. to the way he didn’t flinch. the image of his calm, composed expression while she laughed with him burned behind your eyes.
in an attempt to keep busy, you started cleaning. dishes, countertops, the small pile of laundry you’d been avoiding—all of it. your movements were methodical, precise, almost mechanical. the house would be spotless, but it wouldn’t fix the hollow ache in your chest.
calls and texts came in, dozens of them, but you ignored every one. each vibration of your phone made your stomach twist with guilt and frustration, but you kept scrolling past, refusing to answer. you wanted him to feel it. wanted him to realize how much it hurt to see him act like that, to be that untouchable with someone else.
lunch came and went. normally, you would have brought him a warm meal, insisting he eat something homemade, teasing him for eating too little. but today you didn’t. the usual ritual—the one small thread of connection in a busy day—was gone, and the apartment felt emptier for it. you felt the tug of regret and longing, but you swallowed it down. not today. today he needed to notice.
you tried to keep yourself busy for the rest of the afternoon. a book, then another, pacing a little when the thoughts got too loud. at one point, you paused by the window, staring at the street below, imagining him walking back from training. imagining him brushing past her again. the jealousy flared, hot and painful.
your phone buzzed again. a text from him: “answer me.” you stared at it, fingers hovering, before tossing the phone back onto the table. not yet, you thought. you couldn’t. you wouldn’t. you needed him to feel the weight of this, just as you had felt it.
the evening sun started to fade, and the apartment grew quiet. the tension that had been simmering all day pulsed through your veins, tight and unyielding. you knew, somewhere deep down, that this wouldn’t stay cold forever.
the door clicked open, and your stomach twisted. sakusa stepped in, carrying his bag, shoes neatly kicked off by the door. he paused, scanning the apartment, dark eyes narrowing slightly. “you’re home,” he said, voice low and measured—but you could hear the edge of something sharper, something frustrated.
“yeah,” you muttered, not lifting your eyes from the tv screen. your tone was flat, detached.
he moved closer, dropping his bag by the sofa, and sat down next to you. “you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said softly, each word deliberate, like a warning you couldn’t ignore.
you didn’t respond. your fingers absently turned the pages of your book, deliberately avoiding him. sakusa exhaled slowly, jaw tight, clearly holding back irritation.
“i tried calling you. texting you. even lunch—” he paused, glancing at the counter where his usual meal would’ve been. “you didn’t come.”
still, you didn’t answer. the cold shoulder was deliberate, a barrier built from jealousy, hurt, and frustration. your chest ached from the effort, but you refused to give in.
he shifted slightly closer, letting his hand brush yours ever so slightly. you flinched, heart stuttering at the contact. “hey,” he murmured, low and firm. “look at me.”
you only shook your head, closing your book with a deliberate snap. sliding off the couch, you moved toward the kitchen, pretending to busy yourself tidying magazines. every step was measured, deliberate, a silent challenge.
“seriously?” he murmured, a quiet growl under his breath, mixing disbelief and frustration. he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on yours. “you’re not even going to talk to me?”
“i’m fine,” you said flatly, not meeting his gaze, forcing yourself to sound indifferent even as your stomach tightened.
the silence stretched, thick and suffocating. sakusa’s dark eyes followed your every movement, calculating, tense, his jaw tight. finally, his voice dropped even lower, rough and husky: “you’ve been avoiding me all day. i’m right here. stop acting like this.”
you paused mid-step, heart hammering, but turned your back to him, picking up a stray cushion to rearrange it. your movements were deliberate—slow, controlled—every shift of your body a wordless reminder of the distance you were keeping.
sakusa’s hand shot out suddenly, catching your wrist gently but firmly, spinning you around to face him. the grip was strong, possessive. “don’t—” he started, voice rough, eyes dark and dangerous. “don’t do this to me. look at me.”
your chest heaved, heart thudding violently, and for a moment the apartment was suspended in silence. he was close—so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension coiling like a spring ready to snap.
“answer me,” he whispered, low, each word commanding, needy.
you swallowed hard, forcing your gaze to meet his, feeling the pull of all the pent-up frustration, jealousy, and longing. every inch of him radiated a mixture of possessiveness and desire, and despite your stubbornness, it made your chest ache with want.
he leaned closer, dark eyes boring into yours. “you think giving me the cold shoulder will work?” he asked, voice dropping to a growl. “you think ignoring me will make me leave you alone?”
you shook your head, trying to resist, but your legs trembled slightly. “i… i’m not ignoring you to—” your voice caught.
“then what?” he interrupted sharply, though not unkindly. “you think this is fair? letting me sit here, wondering if you’re upset at me or at… her?”
you flinched slightly at the mention of the staff girl. your lips parted, but no words came.
sakusa’s hand tightened slightly on your wrist, then released, moving to gently tilt your chin up. his thumb brushed over your cheek. “look at me,” he repeated, more insistently this time. “stop hiding. stop pretending.”
you finally met his gaze, and the fire in his eyes made your stomach clench. the anger, jealousy, and desire that had been simmering all day coiled between you both, palpable and raw.
he exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly, just enough to let you move—or maybe to give you the illusion of choice. “this… this cold shoulder,” he murmured, voice low, rough, “it won’t last. not with me.”
your heart skipped a beat. the apartment felt smaller somehow, tighter, the air charged with tension, your bodies just inches apart. neither of you moved, both aware that the storm was about to break—one way or another.
“stop this, omi,” you whispered, struggling against him, trying to put some distance between you. he was bigger, stronger, and every inch of him radiated control. your hands fisted at his shoulders, trying to resist, though you knew it was useless.
“no,” he said, low and firm, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “we’re going to fix this.”
before you could protest further, he closed the small gap between you, pressing his lips to yours in a demanding, possessive kiss. your knees weakened under him, your body betraying your stubbornness. his hands immediately found your hips, strong and guiding, tilting you to match him perfectly.
the tension from earlier, the jealousy, the cold shoulder—it all exploded as desire. you gasped as he sank into you, slow at first, then pulling back just enough to tease before thrusting again. your body bounced on him instinctively, matching the rhythm he set, guided by the firm hold of his hands.
he grunted low in your ear, the sound vibrating through your chest. “that’s it,” he murmured, voice rough, possessive. “just like that… don’t stop.”
your nails dug into his shoulders as he kept you moving, controlling the pace, letting you feel every inch of him. the earlier fight, the coldness—it all melted away, replaced by this raw, urgent connection.
“omi… god,” you moaned, your voice trembling as the sensations overtook the last of your restraint. he responded immediately, hands tightening slightly on your hips, guiding you harder, deeper.
the room was filled with the sound of your breaths, the slick slap of skin, and low growls and murmurs, his voice punctuating every motion. you clung to him, gasping, moving in perfect sync with his thrusts, your body and his fitting together like it had always been inevitable.
then sakusa lifted your hips, gripping firmly, and started pistoning into you upwards—fast, hard, unrelenting. every thrust drove you into the mattress, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set the merciless rhythm.
your body trembled under him, heat and pleasure blurring every thought. you tried to move, to grind back, but his hands held you steady, controlling every motion.
“kiyoomi—too much,” you moaned, voice strained and shaky, desperate.
he growled low, lips brushing your ear. “don’t fight me, baby,” he said, voice husky, possessive. “i’m taking care of you.”
he continued, unyielding, lifting and driving into you, each thrust sharper than the last. your body bounced on him instinctively despite yourself, skin slapping against skin, breaths ragged and uneven. the sound of him, of you, of your bodies colliding filled the small apartment, thick and heavy with raw desire.
“baby—you feel so good,” he murmured, dark eyes locking on yours, lips brushing your forehead in a possessive kiss mid-motion. “so tight—all mine.”
you shivered, nails dragging down his back as he drove into you harder, controlling, relentless, your moans lost among his low growls. every movement pushed you closer, heart racing, body burning, the earlier tension of the argument and cold shoulder transforming into urgent, consuming need.
sakusa suddenly flipped you both over, his strength grounding you as he settled on top. his dark eyes glinted with possessive hunger, and before you could react, he lifted your legs, resting them on his shoulders. the new angle made you take him deeper, stretching around him perfectly, your walls tightening with every calculated thrust.
“baby—you feel so fucking good,” he growled, lips brushing your jaw as he leaned down, hands gripping your hips and guiding you with precision. “all mine—so tight for me.”
you gasped, nails raking down his back again, your body arching instinctively into him. every hard, fast thrust pushed you closer to the edge, building the coil of tension in your stomach tighter and tighter. your chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, your moans getting louder, breathier, lost among the sound of skin slapping against skin and his low growls.
“kiyoomi—please,” you whimpered, trembling, your hips moving involuntarily, unable to resist the sensations coursing through you.
he smirked, dark and possessive, hearing the desperation in your voice. “don’t fight it, baby,” he murmured, voice husky, one hand dipping lower to stroke you from below while still guiding your hips. “i know you’re close—i can feel you.”
your body quaked violently as you reached the edge, heat pooling and coiling inside, your walls clenching around him. and then it broke—your climax hitting hard, releasing in waves, squirting over him without warning. your cries were loud, desperate, and raw, your body trembling uncontrollably beneath him.
sakusa’s eyes darkened, a low groan escaping him. normally, he hated things being messy, precision and control always mattered to him—but looking down at you, trembling and wet for him, completely undone, he couldn’t help the surge of possessive satisfaction. he loved it when you got all messy for him—his, claimed, and only for him.
“baby—so fucking good,” he groaned, thrusting harder, matching your movements, his own release building with each movement. his muscles tensed, his hips pistoning faster, low grunts and growls filling the room, until finally he came, groaning your name, filling you as his body shuddered over yours.
he collapsed against you, forehead resting on yours, breathing heavy, chest pressed to yours. the room was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and your shared release, sticky and messy—but intimate, possessive, and entirely yours.
“you’re heavy, omi,” you whined, pushing lightly against his chest. he chuckled, deep and low, before lifting himself off you, letting you catch your breath.
“i’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, voice soft but husky, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
you huffed, turning your head away, still flushed and stubborn. sakusa’s hand cupped your chin, tilting your face back to meet his gaze. his dark eyes softened slightly, but the edge of possessiveness never left them.
“look at me,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips captured yours in a deep, lingering kiss. your hands rested on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath as he held you close.
he pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours again. “i know you’re still upset,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “but you’re mine, baby. and i don’t like it when you push me away.”
you swallowed, feeling the heat of embarrassment and lingering desire, but the tension melted just a little as his hands roamed gently along your back, soothing and grounding.
then he stood slowly, still holding your hand, and went to the bathroom. a few minutes later, he returned with a warm, damp towel. kneeling in front of you, he gently cleaned you up, carefully wiping away the mess, taking his time as he brushed his lips across your shoulders and neck. every touch was both tender and possessive, reminding you that he was yours, and only yours.
“there,” he murmured, hands lingering on your thighs, careful but commanding. “all cleaned up. nothing but you, baby.”
you blushed, eyes dropping, voice quiet. “i… i’m sorry, kiyoomi… for being so jealous… and for ignoring you.”
he smiled, dark and low, brushing another soft kiss over your temple. “don’t apologize for being mine,” he whispered. “i like it when you get possessive—when you show me i’m yours. it’s… sexy.”
you shivered slightly at the words, heart racing, but the warmth of his presence made the lingering embarrassment fade. he pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you, rocking you gently as he rested his chin on your shoulder.
“come here,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses along your neck, tracing patterns with his lips as his hands held you close. “feel me, baby. all of me—yours.”
you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. the storm of emotions from the day—the argument, the jealousy, the cold shoulder—they all melted away, leaving only warmth, intimacy, and the knowledge that you were completely his.
he leaned back slightly, holding you with both arms around your waist, and whispered, teasing but tender: “you really are something, baby. all possessive, all mine… i love it.”
you let out a small laugh, burying your face into his chest. “all yours, omi,” you whispered, finally letting yourself relax completely in his arms, the weight of the day lifted by his steady presence.
he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, murmuring against your hair, “always, baby… always mine.”
he stayed like that for a long while, cradling you, brushing hair from your face, whispering small reassurances, until the apartment felt calm again—just the two of you, warm, close, and completely wrapped up in each other.
✦ synopsis. your lives have always unfolded together, and for sakusa, it's a life he wouldn't trade for anything else.
✦ content. 9.4k words. kiyoomi sakusa x f!reader. childhood friends to lovers. coming of age. slice of life. fluff. reader has ehlers-danlos syndrome. stage accident mention. brief hospital scene. mentions of being disabled for a while (kiyoomi takes care of you for the entire time dw). fluff. smut. encompasses childhood to the professional timeskip.
✦ foreword. hello... i have not written for haikyuu in god knows how long, but this piece was commissioned by my lovely @haruchiyos aka the number one kiyoomi fan in the entire world <3 writing this made me realize how much i missed haikyuu, and how i'm planning to drop by the tags again :3c
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Komori finds Sakusa one summer with a volleyball clutched in both hands.
It looks too big for him, the material scuffed smooth from use. Come play, he says before jogging toward the rec center. Sakusa hesitates as he thinks of all the ways this could go wrong—the sweat, the noise, the strangers. But the sky feels too wide, too blue, too empty to say no.
The ball hits the floor with a hollow thud that reverberates through his ribs. Komori’s laugh cuts through it, easy and light and so utterly careless that Sakusa almost envies it. He mimics the motion of Komori’s hands, uncertain but trying, and when the ball finally arcs clean over the net, something tight in his chest comes loose.
After that first session, they meet after school with their shirts sticking to their backs, counting how many volleys they can keep in the air without dropping. Sometimes they don’t even talk; the rhythm of the ball is enough. The sun sinks low and turns the rec center windows gold, and for the first time, Sakusa doesn’t mind staying somewhere that isn’t home.
One afternoon, Komori brings you.
You’re his neighbor, he says, as though that’s reason enough. You stand in the doorway with your backpack slipping off one shoulder. Sakusa looks at the smudge of blue paint near your knuckles and immediately decides you’re going to touch everything.
You do. The walls, the volleyball, even the sweatband on his arm. He flinches back with a scowl when you do, and you only tilt your head with a breathless laugh. You really hate people touching you that much? you ask, and nothing about it is teasing or mean.
Somehow, that makes it different.
You don’t look at him strangely whenever he wipes the ball before every serve. You don’t tease when he keeps a mask folded neatly in his pocket. You simply watch him with quiet interest that’s neither overbearing nor intruding. When Sakusa finally snaps, “What?” you only shrug.
“Doesn’t it hurt? Your wrists bend so far back. It’s kind of amazing.”
There’s no mockery in your voice, only that soft earnestness that somehow slips past his usual defenses. It’s such a small thing—so small it shouldn’t matter—but for some reason it does. You don’t make him feel like a spectacle, and that’s enough to let you stay.
You stick with them as the days bleed in a haze of late sunsets and scuffed shoes. Sometimes you sit cross-legged at the edge of the court, sketching in your notebook. Other times you join in, missing half the passes but laughing too hard to care, and even Sakusa finds himself smiling, though he hides it behind a shake of his head.
By the end of that summer, the rec center feels like a second home. The three of you don’t bother keeping score anymore. The ball just keeps moving back and forth, until the sky turns orange and someone finally says, Same time tomorrow?
Somehow, you always show up.
Years fold over like pages.
Junior high arrives, sudden and loud. Sakusa has grown taller, Komori talks more than ever, and you’ve joined some club he can’t remember the name of. The rec center still smells the same, but everything else has started to shift—your laughter, the way Komori has gotten better at digging for saves, and how time keeps pulling the three of you in different directions without asking first.
Still, you convene at Komori’s backyard towards the end of your last year. A little get-together before you all started high school, as celebrated with a bowl of neatly cut watermelon slices courtesy of Komori’s mother.
You’re talking about a recently concluded softball tournament and Komori keeps interrupting with mouthfuls of fruit, insisting he could hit better than anyone on your team if he actually tried. You throw a seed at him and he ducks with a shit-eating grin. The air feels soft, swollen with that strange fullness that always comes near the end of summer, when the world feels both endless and about to change.
It’s only when the laughter fades that you mention the injuries. Something about your knees, your shoulder, how you keep bruising too easily. You say it with a small laugh, one that sounds borrowed, and Komori snorts as he shoves another slice of watermelon into his mouth.
“You’re just getting old,” he says. “You do too much—softball, dance, what else? Maybe you’ve got early arthritis or something.”
You groan before punching him in the shoulder, and the sound of Komori’s yelp dissolves the tension before it can settle. He throws a rind at you in retaliation; you fling one back, laughing so hard you forget to hide the small grimace that flashes across your face when you reach too far.
Sakusa doesn’t laugh. He just watches.
He doesn’t know how to care out loud, so he does it silently—in the stillness between jokes, in the way he keeps his eyes trained on your hand as it steadies on the porch railing. He doesn’t ask are you okay because he’s never known how to make the question sound like anything other than intrusion.
When you catch him looking, you smile faintly before heading down the steps and calling goodbye over your shoulder.
He doesn’t breathe a word about it. Not to Komori. Not to you.
When you all start high school in Itachiyama, Sakusa is almost convinced that summer was just one of those hazy memories that sunlight distorts.
Because you’re standing in front of the blackboard when he walks into the classroom on the first day, in your neatly pressed uniform with your hair tied back. As though nothing is remotely wrong. Komori spots you first and shouts your name, waving so wildly the teacher has to remind him to sit down. You laugh until your eyes crinkle and for a brief moment, it feels like everything’s back where it was.
But when Komori asks where you’ve been for the rest of the summer, you just smile and tell him you were resting. He keeps trying to pry until you threaten to throw your shoe at him, and the conversation drifts elsewhere. Sakusa doesn’t press. He never does. But as you pass him a notebook later that week, your sleeve slips back, and he catches the faint trace of a bruise near your elbow, one that looks weeks old but still hasn’t faded.
It stays that way through high school: the unexplained bruises, your offhand excuses, and the distance that settles without meaning to. Sakusa doesn’t have time to wonder. His world has more or less narrowed to volleyball. He can’t remember when the goal to be Japan’s best high school spiker became so clear, only that now it’s the axis his life turns on.
But even with the sport devouring most of his time, Sakusa still keeps a close eye on you. It’s never intentional. He just notices things. The way you lag behind after school, weighed down by your dance bag; how you skip meals when you’re caught up in choreography or homework; the faint tension in your shoulders that never quite fades.
He tells himself it’s habit, the same focus he brings to the court. Reading his opponents and anticipating weaknesses from the other team is second nature to him. Still, he ends up carrying your bag more often than not, or shoving a sandwich into your hand on the walk home when you forget to eat.
Komori always tags along, teasing Sakusa about playing pack mule. “You’ve never offered to carry my stuff.”
“Kiyoomi’s got a soft spot for me,” you laugh, bumping Sakusa’s shoulder with your own. “Don’t you?”
He scoffs behind his mask but doesn’t bother to deny it.
Your walks home become a pattern, with Komori narrating the day, you listening with a half-smile, Sakusa quietly pacing beside you both, carrying what you can’t. Sometimes you fall behind when your leg starts acting up, and he slows down without thinking as Komori’s voice drifts ahead like background noise.
He doesn’t ask questions. You don’t offer answers. But he keeps watching anyway, because that’s what he does—on the court, in life—always ready to catch what might slip through.
Until the final match for Spring Nationals coincides with your senior recital.
You’d been rehearsing nonstop by then. Komori complained that they barely saw you anymore, and Sakusa noticed how your steps had turned uneven, as though you were favoring one side. You laughed it off whenever they asked, claiming it was nothing, just overuse. Though they were skeptical, there wasn’t much room for worry when they were too wrapped up with Nationals and the chance to end high school with a championship.
When the day comes, you’re on stage while Sakusa is under the stadium lights. You wished them luck that morning, eyes bright despite the stiffness in your smile. “Be the best ace and libero Japan’s ever seen, got it?”
He thinks about that all through the match. How certain you sounded, how easily you said it. How you always believed in him, even when he didn’t.
They lose by two points in the fifth set—a loss that sticks to the ribs; a loss that feels personal.
Sakusa sits on the locker room bench long after the noise has faded. The floor is littered with towels and athletic tape. Komori is talking somewhere beside him in a quiet hush until his phone rings. He doesn’t tell Sakusa who it is, but his face drains as he listens. Komori’s voice lowers into something Sakusa’s never heard before, and when he hangs up, all he says is:
“She’s in the hospital.”
They don’t even change out of their uniforms—just took their gym bags and bolted out of the venue before their coach can put a word in.
The train ride blurs by in fragments: the burn of streetlights, Komori’s silence, Sakusa’s hand clenched around his silver medal until it digs into his palm. When they finally arrive, the halls smell like wilted lilies and antiseptic. Your mother meets them at the lobby, her smile thin and tired.
“She’ll be happy to see you,” she tells them as they all head towards your room.
You were half-sitting when they enter, one leg propped up in a brace that looks far too heavy for you. Your hair is still pinned from the performance, though it looks a little crooked now. The moment you see them, your mouth trembles with the threat of tears.
“You came,” you whisper.
Komori grins weakly. “Of course we did.”
Even now, your laughter comes easily—a small, shaky sound that breaks halfway through. The tears follow shortly after and Sakusa can only stare. You never cry. Not when you lost softball matches, not when you were hurt. But now, your hands are covering your face, and your shoulders shake with each heaving breath.
“I didn’t want to disappoint her,” you choke out. “My partner—she worked so hard, and I thought I could handle it. I didn’t want to be the reason it all fell apart.”
Komori reaches for your hand without hesitation. Sakusa just stands there, his medal still cold even through the material of his jersey. Then, slowly, he set it down on the side table beside you, next to the cup you’d nearly knocked over.
“Guess we both lost today,” he says quietly.
Komori scowls at him. “Seriously? That’s what you say?”
“I-it’s fine, Motoya," you sniffle. “Kiyoomi’s trying.”
Sakusa doesn’t correct you, even though he’s not sure if he is. The words left his mouth before he could think—like a reflex, the only language he knows when things start to hurt. He meant it as comfort, some kind of shared solidarity in losing, but now it just sounds detached and insensitive.
Komori pulls a tissue from the side table and presses it into your hand, murmuring something light and easy that earns another small, trembling laugh from you. He’s always been like that—able to smooth out the air with nothing more than a smile and a well-timed joke.
Sakusa stands off to the side as he stares at his hands. They’re calloused from years of hitting powerful spikes, his nails trimmed to neat half-moons. His hands are meant for control, precision, and power. Not—whatever this is.
Care, Sakusa realizes, doesn’t come as naturally to him as it does to Komori. He doesn’t know how to hold it, how much pressure to apply before it starts to break.
So he stays quiet.
He listens as Komori fills the silence with stories of their match, how close it was, how they would’ve won if not for one bad serve. He watches you smile through your tears, your fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. Every so often, your gaze flickers toward the medal he left beside your bed.
When you finally fall asleep, the room settles into stillness. Komori sighs, sinking into the chair at your bedside. Your mother stepped out sometime ago to give you three time to yourselves, and Sakusa isn’t sure if he’s grateful or not for her discretion.
“You really could’ve said something nicer,” Komori mutters.
Sakusa hums in acknowledgment. He wants to explain that he meant to tell you he understood, that the words had simply twisted on the way out. But all that escapes is a quiet:
“I know.”
Komori glances at him, his expression softening. “You’re not bad at it, you know. You just… care weirdly.”
Sakusa doesn’t answer. He looks at the rise and fall of your breathing instead, and the way the lamplight catches on the curve of your brace. He thinks about how Komori reached for your hand without hesitation, and how he couldn’t.
But maybe—he thinks, as he adjusts the blanket a little higher over your shoulder—this is enough.
Your lives start to pick up the pace after that.
Graduation comes in a blur of half-hearted goodbyes, those everyone swears aren’t final even when they know better. College follows close behind, and you, Sakusa, and Komori still find yourselves orbiting one another when you end up going to the same university, tethered by the quiet years that came before.
By then, your world has slowed in a way that none of theirs could. The Ehlers–Danlos diagnosis explains everything—the constant bruises, the injuries that never seem to heal right, and the way your body always seemed to betray you at the worst times. It makes sense now, but that doesn’t make it easier.
You spend most of your first semester in a wheelchair, only transitioning to crutches when your joints allow. Even through your harrowing schedule of physical therapy appointments and new medication, you manage to smile through all of it, though Sakusa can tell the edges don’t always reach your eyes.
He and Komori make sure you never went through any of it alone. Between volleyball training and lectures, they learn to fit you into the rhythm of their days—Komori with his relentless chatter and easy charm, Sakusa with his quiet vigilance and steady hands.
It was Sakusa who made sure the path to your classes is accessible, who memorized the ramps and elevators across campus before you even got there. It was him who learned how to fold your wheelchair properly after you hurt your wrist one morning, and him who started driving you to class once he got his license, because “the trains are crowded, and you hate people bumping into you.”
You laughed when he said that. “You just want an excuse to drive your fancy car.”
He only shrugged. “Maybe.”
By your second year, the doctor finally deems you strong enough to forego the crutches, and the three of you celebrate with takeout in Komori’s apartment. He pops the cap off a bottle of sparkling juice like it was champagne, spraying half of it across his kitchen floor while you squealed and laughed until you were breathless.
Sakusa watches you wipe at your face, cheeks aglow as your hair sticks to your temples from giggling so much. It hits him then—how different you look now. The shadows under your eyes are gone, replaced by warmth and color.
You traded dance for film, the stage for sets and editing suites. Oftentimes, you would even tell him stories about shoots gone wrong, professors who play favorites, and classmates who thought artistic vision excuses bad lighting on set. He never understood half of what you said, but he likes listening anyway. You talk like the world still belongs to you, even after everything it has put you through.
Sometimes, when he picks you up from late classes, you’d sit in the passenger seat talking about your latest project long after he’d parked in front of your house. Your eyes always shine in the streetlight, hands moving animatedly as you speak.
Sakusa would find himself staring longer than he should.
He doesn’t know what to make of it at first—the tightness in his chest whenever you smile, the way he catches himself checking his phone for your messages, the small irritation he feels when Komori makes you smile more than he does. He chalks it up to habit and all the years of watching out for you. But habit doesn’t explain why his heartbeat trips every time you look at him too long, or why he starts noticing the way your perfume lingers in his car.
In the end, it’s Komori who finally calls him out.
They were cooling down after practice one afternoon, the gym still echoing faintly with the sound of squeaking shoes and distant whistles. Komori, toweling his hair dry, shoots him a knowing look.
“So,” he starts casually, “you gonna tell her?”
Sakusa frowns. “Tell her what?”
“That you’re in love with her.”
His head snaps up on reflex. “I’m not—” He stops, scowling when Komori raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what this is.”
“Right,” Komori tells him, dragging the word out. “That’s why you pick her up every day even when you don’t have class, and why you threatened to fight that guy who said she was cute in her Film Theory class.”
“He was staring at her weirdly,” Sakusa muttered.
Komori grins as he tosses the towel over his shoulder. “Uh-huh. Totally not love.”
The thing that Komori calls “love” starts small and invisible, like dust motes floating in the morning light. But little by little, it burns deeper, until it colors everything in his life.
You still show up to each of their games. Even when midterms pile up or your projects keep you up editing until dawn, you’re there—tucked somewhere in the stands, hands cupped around your mouth as you cheer. You never scream loud enough for him to hear, but Sakusa always finds you anyway.
After games, you text him simple things like Proud of you or That cross shot was insane. He tells himself they’re just words that anyone would send a friend. Still, he reads them more times than he’d ever admit.
When you move into your own apartment closer to the university, you insist you can handle it. “It’s only a five-minute walk from campus. You don’t have to drive me anymore.”
Sakusa nods, deciding he’ll walk you home anyway.
The path you take winds along the edge of campus, lined with lilac bushes that bloom heavy in the spring. You like to stop there to talk about whatever crosses your mind. Every time, Sakusa listens quietly, hands tucked in his pockets as you prattle along. The scent of lilacs linger in the air, and sometimes, he catches it later on his sleeves and thinks of you.
When you unlock your apartment, he always waits until you’re safely inside before heading home. You tease him for it every time—“You know, this isn’t a crime-ridden city.”
He only shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt to make sure.”
What you don’t know is that he often lingers by the lilac bushes on his way back to his car, tracing your footsteps in his mind, and trying to name the feeling that’s taken root in his chest.
Sakusa starts visiting more often to help out when he can. You’ve always been particular about cleanliness—your routines neat, your space spotless. But on bad days, when your joints ache or fatigue sets in, you still push yourself to scrub and wipe and polish.
He doesn’t comment or scold you like Komori probably would. He just rolls up his sleeves and joins you to wash the dishes while you vacuum, and rearrange your bookshelves so everything lines up just right. Sometimes you protest, telling him he doesn’t have to. He just says, “I know,” and keeps going.
You make tea when you’re done, and the scent of chamomile fills your little kitchen. Then you sit side by side on the couch with your legs tucked under a blanket. The world feels slower then, smaller in a way that feels right and as you reach for your mug, your fingers brush his. You laugh, soft and startled, and Sakusa looks away quickly. But later that night, long after he’s gone home, he still feels the warmth lingering on his skin.
Sometimes he wonders if you notice the small things he does for you—the way he leaves extra groceries on your counter when he visits, or how he always wipes down your doorknobs before he leaves. But he never brings it up. Caring, for him, is meant to be quiet.
You, on the other hand, fill silence like sunlight. You make his world brighter without trying. You tease him out of his head, send him photos of stray cats you meet, tell him to “live a little” every time he hesitates to go out.
So when Komori rents out a small bar near campus for his birthday, you somehow convince Sakusa to come along. He doesn’t even drink that much, but Komori’s grin and your hopeful expression are a dangerous combination. In the end, he lets himself be dragged there anyway.
The night unfolds easily at first. Laughter, clinking glasses, their teammates crowding around a pool table. You perch on one of the bar stools, nursing a light drink while talking to one of Komori’s upperclassmen. Sakusa keeps half an eye on you between conversations, more out of habit than jealousy—or so he tells himself.
Things shift gradually when that bastard starts leaning closer, his hands wandering in places they shouldn’t. You inch away with a polite smile, but Sakusa catches the stiffness in your posture anyway.
Before he can stop himself, he’s already on his feet.
“Hey.” His voice cuts through the music. “She’s clearly uncomfortable.”
The upperclassman blinks, half-drunk and slow to register the warning. “Relax, man. We’re just talking—”
“The way you’re touching her doesn’t really count as just talking,” Sakusa replies, stepping forward just enough to close the gap between them. He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s something sharp in his tone that even he doesn’t recognize.
The guy scoffs and mutters something under his breath that Sakusa doesn’t quite catch—but it’s enough. Maybe it’s the alcohol burning in his veins or the months of quiet patience finally snapping, but he grabs the man by the collar before he can think better of it.
Chairs scrape. Komori’s already halfway across the room, hands up in alarm as he attempts to placate him. You’re on your feet too, with a hand wrapping gently yet insistently around Sakusa’s wrist.
“Kiyoomi. It’s fine.”
He doesn’t move at first. His jaw ticks as he breathes sharply through his nose. The bastard stammers something that sounds like an apology, but Sakusa doesn’t care to hear it. All he sees is the flicker of discomfort that crossed your face minutes ago, and it feels like a flintstrike in his chest.
“Kiyoomi.” Your voice softens. “Let’s go.”
That’s what finally makes him release his grip. You pull him out through the side door, the muffled bass fading behind you until the only sound left is the buzz of streetlights outside of the bar.
Sakusa braces his hands on his knees, breathing hard and half-expecting you to start scolding him for overreacting. But curiously, you don’t. You just watch him from where you stood, the glow from the lamppost catching on your hair as you breathe out the softest of laughs.
“You know,” you murmur, nudging his arm, “you’re kinda hot when you’re mad.”
He stares at you incredulously. “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe a little. Still true, though.”
You slide down to sit on the curb, yawning as Sakusa sinks down to join you. The adrenaline’s long gone now, replaced by the soft exhaustion that comes after long nights and too much to drink. Within minutes, your head droops against his shoulder. Sakusa sits still for a while, watching the rise and fall of your breathing as the city buzzes all around you.
When you finally doze off, he exhales through his nose, more fond than frustrated. He mutters under his breath, standing carefully before crouching to lift you onto his back. Your arms loop around his neck out of instinct, your breath warm against his skin. He carries you to his car like that, ignoring Komori’s incoming text asking where you both disappeared to.
That can wait in the morning.
Sakusa’s relationship with you is… simple.
There isn’t a better word for it, really.
It’s nothing like the over-the-top dramas one of his teammates keeps bingeing between matches, nor like the slightly dramatized scripts you complain about.
He confessed to you on that trail lined with lilac bushes while walking you back home on your third year of college. It wasn’t planned. Sakusa was fully intent on taking his feelings for you to the grave. But something about the way the sunlight hit your hair on that one spring day as the flowers swayed all around you made him falter. The words I like you tumbled out without another thought.
He expected the worst—a polite smile, a kind rejection, something gentle but final. You’d always laughed so easily at Komori’s jokes; it wouldn’t have surprised him if your heart had found its way there instead.
But the rejection never came. Instead, you exhaled a soft, breathless Finally, before pulling him close, your perfume mingling with the scent of lilacs heavy in the air.
Since then, your lives unfolded side-by-side—just the two of you coexisting in the spaces between work, sleep, and the small domestic routines you’ve built over the years. Even now, with his name known across volleyball courts and yours flashing across film credits, there’s something steadfast about the way your worlds still revolve around each other.
After college, you both moved somewhere close enough to the city that you can walk to your studio, but far enough that Sakusa can breathe after long training sessions. The place is small but warm, lined with your framed photographs and his neatly arranged trophies, and the faint scent of flowers and detergent always lingering in the air.
It becomes home in quiet ways. You cook dinner while he wipes down the counters. He folds laundry while you edit footage on your laptop. Mornings start with the smell of coffee and breakfast; nights end with the steady rhythm of your breathing against his shoulder as you fall asleep before the end of whatever documentary you insisted on watching.
Your schedules rarely match, but you both make it work. When he’s away, he texts you photos of hotel breakfasts and gym selfies with teammates that love his personal space as much as he does. In return, you send him clips from shoots, half-finished edits, or voice clips about how much you hate the new floor director for your most recent project.
Once, that same director cornered you outside the studio after an exhausting day, pressing too close as he complained about deadlines and creative disagreements. You told Sakusa about it later in passing, more amused than upset.
He didn’t say much at all in the moment, but the next morning, he showed up at your set under the guise of dropping off lunch. You caught the director’s expression faltering when Sakusa greeted him politely, except the sharp gaze that accompanied it was anything but.
Later, as you ate together in the break room, you nudged his knee with yours. “You’re not subtle, you know.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
You laughed as you reached for his hand. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I just wanted to.”
Sakusa also makes it a point to attend your film events, even the ones where he has to wear a suit and smile for photos beside people who talk too fast and drink too much. You never ask him to come, but he always does and he thinks you love him a little more for the effort.
He’s met your friends, too—writers, cinematographers, a few producers who still can’t believe you’re dating a professional athlete. He listens when you talk about them, remembers their names, and even goes out of his way to greet them when you host get-togethers.
Komori still drops by when he can, usually unannounced, with snacks and stories from his own V.League team. The visits are fewer now, but when he’s there, it’s like nothing has changed. You still laugh until your stomach hurts, Sakusa listens with the faintest smile tugging at his lips, and for a while, it feels like you’re all in his backyard stuffing yourselves with watermelon again.
There’s a quiet rhythm to it all. A life you’ve both built piece by piece, without the noise or spectacle that fills most people’s stories.
But there are also times when that steady rhythm falters.
Like tonight.
The arena lights are blinding, and the air thrums with the kind of tension that only comes with a Schweiden Adlers matchup. Reporters crowd the sidelines, cameras flashing as the MSBY Black Jackals huddle mid-court, and Sakusa tries to focus on the game plan. He should be thinking about tactics or Ushijima’s serves or Kageyama’s unpredictable sets. Instead, all he can think about is you.
You, sitting somewhere in the stands despite your packed schedule. You, who barely managed to squeeze this match into your calendar before your 3 a.m. flight. You, who should be asleep or packing or doing literally anything else besides watching him play volleyball.
But that’s who you are. You always show up, and because of that, all Sakusa can think is: don’t humiliate yourself in front of her.
“Oi, Sakusa.” Bokuto leans over. “You’re all tense. You nervous or something?”
Across from him, Miya flashes that same, shit-eating grin that normally would have earned him an eye roll from Sakusa on a normal day. “Nah, he’s just fired up. Look at him—our Omi-kun’s got that in love and trying not to screw up face again.”
Sakusa scowls. “I don’t have that kind face.”
“But you kinda do!” Bokuto insists. “It’s all—” He scrunches his eyebrows together in a tragic imitation. “—‘If I mess this up, my girlfriend will break up with me.’”
Hinata bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, he’s totally right! You’ve got the same expression I get when Kageyama watches me hit a straight across the net!”
“Focus,” Sakusa mutters, adjusting his sleeve like it can hide the flush creeping up his neck.
But it’s no use. Miya’s still smirking, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Guess we’ll just have to make sure Omi-kun gives his girlfriend a show, huh?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Thank ya kindly.”
As they take their positions, Bokuto elbows him once more, grinning too wide for comfort. “Don’t worry, man. We’ll make you look really cool.”
Sakusa exhales through his nose, shaking his head, but there’s a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t need to ask where you’re sitting; somehow, he always finds you in the crowd. Front row near the middle with a camera in hand, hair pulled back neatly, smiling so softly it hurts. You wave when you catch his eye and mouth something he can’t quite hear over the roar of the crowd, but he knows it’s good luck. It always is.
The whistle blows, and just like that, the noise fades.
Sakusa jumps, blocks, digs, and spikes, but threaded through every move is the quiet desire of wanting to make you proud. Every serve feels a little sharper, every point a little sweeter, and when the scoreboard tilts in the Black Jackals’ favor, he catches Bokuto’s smug grin from the corner of his eye.
“See?” Bokuto yells over the crowd. “Love’s the ultimate motivator, baby!”
“Shut up,” Sakusa says, but he’s smiling when he says it.
By the time the match ends—with the Black Jackals victorious and the crowd on their feet—he’s drenched in sweat and his heart is racing a million miles per hour. The team celebrates, the reporters swarm, but all he’s looking for is you.
You’re already by the railing, beaming with pride as you snap a quick photo of him with your camera. Sakusa crosses the court without thinking, ignoring the teasing whistles and Miya’s dramatic “Go get her, lover boy!”
“You were amazing,” you tell him as soon as he’s close enough to hear.
He huffs, trying to hide the way his ears are pink. “I didn’t want to embarrass myself.”
That earns him a laugh. “You know you never could.”
When you lean forward to kiss his cheek, he thinks—yeah. Maybe Bokuto was right.
Love is the ultimate motivator.
You and Sakusa get home just in time for dinner, both of you still buzzing from the energy of the game. The arena’s roar lingers in your ears, and the echo of whistles and cheers follow you all the way back to your apartment.
“You know,” you say, glancing over your shoulder as he locks the door, “most people would go to their team’s victory party after a game like that.”
Sakusa sets his bag down neatly beside yours. “Most people aren’t me.”
You huff a laugh, brushing past him toward the kitchen. “Bokuto’s going to FaceTime me later to complain that you ditched.”
“He’ll survive.”
Your well-kept routine comes easily—him setting the table while you heat up leftovers, your shoulder brushing his arm as you move around the small kitchen. The TV murmurs quietly in the background, tuned to a rerun of some random talk show neither of you are really watching.
Over dinner, you tease Sakusa about that one serve from Hoshiumi that he barely saved (“I thought you were gonna pull something dramatic, you know? Fall to your knees or something.”) and he just gives you that flat, unimpressed look that makes you laugh harder.
When the dishes are done, you lean back against the counter with your arms crossed. “You should still go, though. It’s your team’s win. They’ll think you don’t care.”
“I do care,” he says simply.
“I mean about celebrating with them.”
He exhales, already half-turning toward you. “They know where to find me.”
You give him that look—the one that means don’t make me force you. “Kiyoomi.”
“I’ll go next time.”
“You always say that,” you counter gently. “Go on. You deserve to enjoy it too.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking toward your half-packed suitcase on the couch. “You have to leave in a few hours.”
“Three a.m.,” you confirm. “So I’ll be packing anyway. Go on, I’ll be fine.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Not quite pouting, but it’s something close—eyes soft, the corners of his mouth turned down just enough that you can tell he doesn’t want to leave. You laugh quietly before saying, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like a sad weasel.”
That earns you a faint scoff, but before you can tease him further, Sakusa steps forward and cups your jaw. The kiss happens naturally like so many things in your relationship have.
He tastes a hint of salt and mint gum, your lips warm against his. It deepens slowly, his hands sliding to your waist, yours finding their way into his hair. The world shrinks to the small space between you and it’s in moments like this when Sakusa doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
Your hands start to move, sliding up his arms and over the fabric of his dri-fit shirt. Sakusa thinks you’re getting bolder by the second when your fingertips slip beneath the hem. You trace the taut lines of his abdomen, the muscle carved by years of relentless training, and he exhales a quiet, shuddering breath against your lips at the contact.
Your back meets the wall as he presses in, one knee slipping between thighs. His mouth slants against yours with more intent, like he’s finally stopped thinking and started feeling.
Sakusa knows your body’s limits; he always has. But it doesn’t stop the heat curling through him, the fire that burns as he grips your hips to lift you just a fraction off the ground, easing the pressure on your joints without thinking.
“What happened to guilt-tripping me into going to the victory party?” he murmurs after pulling away, lips brushing yours with each word.
You let out a breathless laugh, and the sound reverberates against his chest. “We can always celebrate here,” you whisper, eyes alight with that same easy mischief that’s always undone him. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt again, like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him all over.
Something in his chest flutters at that—relief, want, the quiet certainty that this is where he wants to be. Sakusa scoops you up carefully with one arm under your knees, and the other supporting your back. You yelp in surprise as you loop your arms instinctively around his neck. Your face finds the crook of his shoulder, breath warm against his skin, and he holds you like he’s been waiting all season just to feel you this near.
As much as he’d like to pin you right there against the wall, and lose himself in the desire simmering in the pit of his stomach, Sakusa reins himself in. He’s too attuned to you—the way your body sometimes tires quicker, how one careless angle could leave you sore tomorrow. The bedroom’s better. There’s a mattress he spent hours picking out, pillows arranged just the way you like them. Somewhere he can take his time the way you deserve.
He carries you down the short hall, your weight familiar and light in his arms. You pepper kisses along his jaw as he goes, murmuring something teasing about him being a show-off, and he huffs a quiet laugh, kicking the door shut behind you with his foot.
The room is dim, washed in the soft amber light of the bedside lamp you must’ve left on earlier. It spills across the rumpled sheets, the half-open notebook on your nightstand, and the quiet remnants of your shared life.
Sakusa lowers you onto the bed with careful ease, following you down until his weight settles over you. His mouth finds yours again in another breathtaking kiss. His hands slip beneath your shirt, palms warm against your skin as his thumbs trace odd shapes along your waist, touching you with the same precision and intent he brings to everything that matters.
“Are you sure?”
He asks it quietly, his voice roughened by want but steady—always so steady. His forehead rests against yours, and you nod before the words even form, fingers tightening in the curls at the nape of his neck.
“I’m sure,” you whisper, and it’s all the permission he needs.
Sakusa kisses you again, and again, and again. His hands slide higher under your shirt, pushing the fabric up inch by inch until it bunches beneath your arms. You lift them just enough for him to tug it over your head, and he folds it before setting it on the nightstand like everything else in his life must be ordered, even now. The small act makes you smile against his mouth, and Sakusa would have been embarrassed, if he hadn’t already done this with you countless times before.
He trails his lips down the line of your jaw, the slope of your throat, lingering at the hollow where your pulse flutters. Every press of his mouth is careful, but the heat behind it is unmistakable. When he reaches the edge of your bra, he pauses, eyes flicking up to meet yours to ask again without words. You answer by arching into him, and he unhooks it with a single practiced motion, easing the straps down your arms and discarding it with the same quiet efficiency.
His warm palms cover your breasts in seconds, warm and sure, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks until your breath catches. He watches your face like he’s reading a play on the court, every shift in your expression, every soft sound catalogued and responded to. When you whimper, his mouth latches onto your nipple, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips jerk.
Your jeans come next. He unbuttons them slowly before kissing down the center of your chest and the soft curve of your stomach as he slides the denim down your legs. You help kick them off, and he folds them too, setting them aside before settling between your thighs. His fingers trace the waistband of your underwear, eyes on yours again, and you nod in breathless admission.
He peels the fabric away like he’s unwrapping something precious. The next thing you know, his mouth is on you, no hesitation, no teasing. Just the flat of his tongue dragging up your center, tasting you like he’s been thinking about this all day. You gasp, back bowing off the bed, and his hands slide beneath your hips, lifting you gently to meet his mouth. He’s careful with your body, angling you so there’s no strain on your lower back, no pressure on joints that might protest tomorrow.
Sakusa’s tongue circles your clit with devastating precision, flicking then soothing with broad, lazy strokes. One of your hands fists in the sheets; the other finds his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you. The vibration sends a jolt through your spine, and he does it again, like he’s learned every sound you make and filed it away for moments like this.
When he slides a finger inside you, it’s meant to be a test. You’re slick and ready, but he still watches your face, waiting for the slight widening of your eyes, the parting of your lips that tells him yes. When he gets your implicit approval, a second finger joins the first, curling just right and you moan, hips rolling to meet the rhythm he sets. He keeps it steady and unhurried, even as your thighs start to tremble.
He pulls back only to murmur, “Tell me if it’s too much,” before his mouth returns to continue the onslaught, fingers stroking in time with the flick of his tongue.
There’s something addicting in getting to feast upon you like this—laid bare on the bed you’ve been sharing since you decided to let your life entwine with his. He loves feeling your thighs clamp around his head, loves losing himself in the tangy taste of your arousal as you thrash and whimper beneath his touch.
You’re close, so close, and he knows it. He feels it in the way you tighten around him, the way your breath stutters and your thighs start to twitch. But Sakusa doesn’t speed up. He just keeps that perfect, maddening pace until you’re coming apart on his mouth with a soft cry, his name breaking on your lips like a string of prayers.
He stays with you through it, licking you gently through the aftershocks, fingers still moving until you sag against the pillows. Only then does he pull away to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then your hip, working his way back up your body until he’s hovering over you again.
“Good?” he murmurs.
Your cheeks burn the moment the haze clears, the sight of his chin glistening with you too much, too intimate. You sit up just enough to yank his shirt over his head in one clumsy motion, the fabric catching on his curls before you hastily swipe it across his mouth, his jaw, and the faint sheen on his cheek. He lets you, eyes half-lidded and amused, and the corner of his mouth twitches as you mutter something about him being gross.
“Better,” you declare, tossing the shirt aside like it offended you. Sakusa huffs a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling low in his chest, and catches your wrist before you can retreat.
He flashes you a small, slightly patronizing smile. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, and he kisses the inside of your palm like it’s forgiveness.
The lamp paints gold across the lean lines of him as he strips off the rest, the sharp cut of his hips, the faint bruises from blocks and dives that you’ve traced a hundred times. He doesn’t preen; he just watches you watch him, something soft and possessive flickering behind dark eyes.
Sakusa reaches between you then, guiding himself with the same careful hand that blocks serves and folds laundry. The blunt head catches at your entrance, and you exhale shakily, but then he stills.
“Condom,” your boyfriend mutters. He shifts back onto his knees, the loss of contact making you whine softly, and pulls open the nightstand drawer. The foil packet is already waiting; he tears it with his teeth, rolls it down with practiced efficiency while his eyes never leave your face. You watch the flex of his fingers, the way the latex snaps into place, and something warm coils tighter in your belly.
When he settles over you again, skin to skin, he nudges your nose with his. “Still sure?”
“Always,” you breathe.
He lines himself up once more to press into you, the stretch eased by slick and patience. You muffle a quiet whimper into the curve of his neck as he sinks inch by inch until he’s seated fully, stretching you wide and perfect. He doesn’t move right away. He simply lets you get used to the sensation. One hand braced beside your head, the other cradling the back of your thigh, keeping your leg hitched gently at his hip so nothing pulls wrong.
When you roll your hips experimentally, he groans and finally starts to move.
The pace Sakusa sets is unhurried—deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot inside you, his rhythm steady like a heartbeat. You cling to him like a lifeline, nails digging half-moons into his shoulders, and he drops his mouth to yours to swallow down every sound you make. The bed doesn’t creak; the mattress is too good for that. There’s only the soft rustle of sheets, the quiet slap of skin, and your breath hitching in tandem with his.
Until he shifts his angle, and you gasp and your back arches.
Sakusa stills immediately.
“Too much?”
“No—just—” You shake your head, guiding his hips with your own. “There. Like that.”
He obeys, rolling into you with that same devastating precision, watching your face like it’s the only play that matters. When your breath starts to fracture, he slips a hand between you, thumb circling your clit in slow, firm strokes until you’re trembling again, clenching around him like a vice.
The first moan you let out is small, almost accidental, just a soft, broken “ah” that slips past your lips when he drags over that spot again. Sakusa’s rhythm falters for half a heartbeat; his eyes darken, pupils blown wide. He swallows hard, and he knows you feel the way your noises make his control fray at the edges.
You do it again, louder this time, a whimper that curls in the back of your throat as he fills you deep and slow. “Kiyoomi…”
His name cracks in the air between you, and something in him breaks. He’s not rough, he’s never rough, but the restraint he’s been holding like a leash loosens. Sakusa’s hips snap forward once, harder than before, and you cry out. He immediately stills once more, breath ragged against your neck.
“Shit, sorry—”
“No,” you gasp, nails scraping down his back, urging him on. “Don’t stop. Please—”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Sakusa picks up where he left off, but there’s a new edge to it now, a hunger he usually keeps locked down. Every thrust is still careful, still mindful of the care he’s learned to treat your body with instinctively, but the pace quickens just enough to make your head spin. You can’t help it; the sounds spill out of you, raw and needy, little gasps and moans that climb higher with every drag of him inside you.
“Fuck,” he breathes as though the word was punched out of him. “You sound—”
He doesn’t finish. Just buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he thrusts again, and again, and again. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, and you moan his name like a plea.
“Kiyo—oh god, right there—”
He growls, low and wrecked, and angles his hips just right, hitting that spot over and over until your voice breaks on a sob. Your hands scrabble at his shoulders, his hair, anywhere you can reach, and he lets you pull, lets you claw, lets you fall apart beneath him.
“So good,” you choke out, barely coherent. “Feels so good…”
That does it.
His control splinters. His thrusts turn sharper, deeper, like he’s chasing the sound of you unraveling. His hand slips from your thigh to grip the headboard until his knuckles turn white, using it to leverage himself harder into you. The bedframe gives a soft thud against the wall, once, twice, and you moan louder in shameless pleasure, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
He’s losing it. He can feel it in the way his breath stutters against your skin, the way his hips jerk unevenly for a second before he reins himself back in. His forehead presses to yours, eyes squeezed shut with lips parted as he pants your name like it’s the only word he knows.
“Close,” you whimper, and he nods frantically as he presses his thumb harder against your clit, circling fast and tight. “’m so close, Kiyoomi…”
“Come on,” he rasps. “Let me hear you—”
You fall apart with a broken cry, back bowing off the mattress, toes curling hard against the sheets. The pleasure crashes through you in hot, pulsing waves, each one stronger than the last, dragging you under until you’re trembling, gasping, clenching around him so tight it almost hurts.
Sakusa’s rhythm stutters. His breath hitches sharp against your neck, and then he’s coming too, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep. His hips jerk once, twice, grinding into you like he can’t get close enough, and you feel every pulse of him through the thin barrier of latex. He empties himself inside the condom in long, shuddering waves, each one drawn out by the way you’re still fluttering around him, milking him through it.
His forehead drops to yours, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as he rides it out. Another pulse, another soft groan muffled against your skin, and his hips give one last, involuntary roll before he stills completely, buried to the hilt, breathing like he’s just run a full five sets.
For a long moment, neither of you move. There’s just the sound of your breathing, harsh and synced, and the faint tremor in his thighs where they’re pressed to yours. He stays inside you, letting the aftershocks ripple through you both as his chest heaves against yours. You feel the last faint twitch of him, the warmth trapped in the condom, and it’s strangely intimate—knowing he’s spent and undone all because of you.
Only when your legs start to shake from holding the position does he ease back, slow and careful, pressing a kiss to your temple as he pulls out. The loss of him makes you whine softly, but he’s already tying off the condom with steady fingers, dropping it into the bin by the bed without looking. Then he’s back, pulling you into his chest, your legs tangled, hearts slowing together.
His hand finds yours under the covers and your fingers thread together like they belong there. You press your face to his neck, breathing him in and he holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered.
You’re still catching your breath when you mumble, voice muffled against his chest, “How am I supposed to go on my flight now? My boyfriend just put me through the mattress.”
Sakusa huffs out a laugh. “You’ll live.”
“I might not,” you argue weakly, poking at his ribs. “I should cancel and tell them I tragically perished in battle.”
He smiles into your hair. “That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.”
“You love it,” you murmur, and he doesn’t deny it—just presses a kiss to your forehead, thumb tracing circles on your hip.
After a few minutes of quiet, he shifts on the bed to sit up, tugging gently at your arm. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll help you pack after.”
You groan but let him tug you to your feet. He’s careful as ever—steadying your waist, handing you one of his shirts to wear while you both shuffle to the bathroom. It’s the small things that make it feel so domestic: the way he holds your hair back while you wash your face, how he folds your discarded clothes without thinking, and how he reminds you to drink water before returning to the bedroom.
By the time you’re done, your suitcase sits open on the bed again. You fold shirts while he rolls them tighter to save space. Every so often, he brushes your arm, and your shoulders bump together, but neither of you say anything about it. There’s no rush, only the quiet hum of shared space and the faint whir of the night outside your window.
When the clock creeps past midnight, he drives you to the airport. The city’s still half-asleep and the roads are mostly clear. You reach over once to fix the cuff of Sakusa’s jacket, and he catches your hand, lacing your fingers together on the console until you reach the terminal.
He gets out and insists on unloading your luggage despite your protests. The air outside is cool, carrying that faint, sterile tang of early morning departures. He closes the trunk and turns to you, leaning slightly closer, but before he can kiss you, you shake your head with a grin.
“Not so fast.”
He raises a brow. “What?”
“You have to promise me first,” you say, eyes bright even under the harsh airport lights. “You’re going to the victory party.”
That earns you an unimpressed look that has Sakusa wondering if you purposely want him to suffer in the hands of his godforsaken teammates. He already knows what’s waiting for him there: Bokuto’s drunken yelling, Hinata’s energy turned up to eleven, and Atsumu’s relentless teasing. A special kind of chaos he can only endure sober and armed with saintlike patience.
“Kiyoomi,” you warn when he doesn’t answer right away. “Promise me.”
He sighs before putting his hands up in utter resignation, though there’s a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Fine. I promise.”
“Good.” You rise on your toes and kiss him—slow and lingering, a kiss that says come home to me safely without needing words. When you finally pull away, he chases your lips for half a second, reluctant to let go.
“Text me when you land,” he says quietly.
You nod. “Text me when you get to the party.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat in it—only fondness. You give him one last smile before turning toward the terminal, dragging your suitcase behind you. He watches you go, eyes following until you vanish beyond the glass doors and into the tide of travelers.
For a long moment, he simply stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets, the night pressing close around him. He could drive straight back home, crawl into the sheets that still smell like you, and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a few more hours.
But he promised.
With a low sigh, he unlocks his phone and opens his messages. The screen’s glow catches in his eyes as he types, Is the party still going? before sending to the one person he reluctantly trusts to respond semi-coherently: Miya Atsumu.
He locks his phone before he can talk himself out of it, slips into the driver’s seat, and starts the car.
Because if there’s one thing Sakusa Kiyoomi doesn’t do—it’s break a promise he made with you.
Writing side smut stories is way easier - trying hard to break out of this writer's block for the two ongoing stories.
Warning: smut, Omi is a virgin; on an Omi rush
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Kiyoomi was not only an extreme germophobe but also an extreme rule follower.
When he injured his right wrist from a terrible fall after a last-second spike, it resulted in a fracture that required his wrist to be put in a cast.
“You need to refrain from all activities, even cleaning. You’ve put too much stress on your body and need to rest,” his primary provider instructed, aware of his extreme cleaning hobby.
He was ordered off the roster for the next six weeks before his next X-Ray appointment.
His day couldn’t get worse…
Until he got home and saw an unfamiliar face in his home.
“Who the fuck are you?”
She cocked her head and raised a brow, “I am your temporary cook and cleaner, Mr. Sakusa.” She reminded him that his cook and cleaner, Mrs. Kikuchi is on vacation for the next eight weeks and she is the temporary replacement.
“Oh,” he uttered, remembering that he was going to have a new person filling in. “Sorry, I had a rough day… can you get me something to eat?”
The frown on this person’s face shifted into a smile, “absolutely, what would you like?”
“An omelet, light on the salt and make the egg slightly runny.” He is suddenly reminded of how it took Mrs. Kikuchi weeks before finally getting his request right. Kiyoomi prepared himself for an overly-cooked omelet.
Five minutes later, his eyes widened at the pretty omelet before him. That was cooked perfectly, just like how he wanted it.
He eyed her suspiciously, not knowing why, before taking a bite.
He groaned.
Groaned.
Fuck, this is delicious! He thought, devouring more of his meal.
He struggled to eat with his non-dominant hand but was too hungry to care.
“Would you like for me to cut your omelet for you?”
Kiyoomi blinked, shocked at her question before answering, “y – yes, if you can?”
Y/n nodded and reached to cut his food for him.
His eyes dart between his food and this woman he’s only known for twenty minutes. He can’t remember the last time he had his food cut up for him and can’t figure out why he was feeling hard from the simple non-intimate gesture.
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.
“Can I get you anything for you to drink?” Y/n asked with a smile that had a hint of satisfaction behind it.
His heart rate increased at her smile, and he stuttered, “o – orange juice, please.”
.
This woman was maddening.
Not only did she turn him on and made him horny almost 24/7. She also made him frustrated because she wanted to go out after her shift.
“It’s raining.” He argued, gesturing to the window blurred by the heavy downpour. “It’s too dangerous to go out.”
She called his name, his fucken weakness, and prayed she doesn’t look south cause he felt his cock twitch to life.
“It’s just raining, I’m just going out for my friend’s birthday and I’ll be back.”
After two days, Y/n was staying in his home, with him, in the guest room.
Unlike Mrs. Kikuchi, who came to his house every morning for her shift, Y/n stayed with him since he was going to be home for six weeks for recovery. He calmly, yet desperately begged her to stay with him, giving her the excuse that he’d need her more since he would be home more frequently.
Kiyoomi went as far as making a mess and dirtying himself and his home for Y/n to take care of, just to have her in his presence.
“Yes, I’m aware it is raining, Y/n, and it’s not safe to go out.” He blocked her in with his left arm. “If – if something happens to you…” I wouldn’t know what to do, “I’ll – I’ll go hungry…”
Her mouth curved into a smirk, “Sakusa Kiyoomi, are you only using me for my cooking skills?”
I want to use you and let you use me in anyway way possible, he wanted to answer. Sexually.
“No…” he breathed, his breath heavy. “I just don’t want you to go,” he answered honestly.
Y/n’s fingers touch the bottom of his shirt before lightly trailing up his chest. “Your actions… some might think… you are implying something…”
“Like?” He whispered.
Her fingers suddenly gripped the collar of his shirt and tugged him forward until their lips were mere centimeters apart. “That you want me.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes glance between her eyes and lips and suddenly the anxiety of her leaving him disappeared and replaced with confidence. And horniness. “I do.” He breathed against her lips, “I want you, Y/n. Fucken badly.”
“I can tell, I can feel you.” His bulge was pressing against her belly.
Y/n pressed her lips lightly against his in a soft kiss, to gage out his reaction.
Like a starved and hungry man, he lunged at her, his left hand pressed behind the back of her head as his lips eagerly moved against hers.
Her hands rested at his waist and Kiyoomi groaned, he was ticklish and it felt weird to have someone hold his waist. But he loved it. Only Y/n’s touch. She pulled him against her until he sandwiched her against his kitchen wall.
“Fuck, your lips… taste so good,” he murmured, “I wonder how your other lips… will taste…”
She burst out laughing, her arms wrapping around his waist. “Kiyoomi… you never fail to amuse me.”
He wasn’t sure if her comment was sarcastic or not, but he didn’t care.
“Please,” he begged, just begging for anything.
She looked up at him, his dark eyes pleading also. “You want to taste my other lips?”
“I want to taste all of you.” He knocked his forehead against hers, “don’t go, stay with me. So I can please you.”
Y/n groaned, “how can I say no?”
“Say yes that you’ll stay with me, you won’t regret it.” He pulled her to his living room and forced her to take a seat on his expensive couch. He manhandled her until she was bare and naked in front of him, and he kneeled before her with her legs spread wide.
Y/n can sense the hesitation from him. “Second thoughts?” she half teased and was half serious. If he was regretting it, goodness, it would be an embarrassment for them both.
Kiyoomi shook his head, eyes set on the sight of her bare pussy before him. “I…” he choked, “I… actually haven’t done this before.”
Y/n’s eyes widen, “what?”
His tongue slips out to moisten his lips before biting down on his lower lip, looking slightly guilty. “I’ve never… actually… seen a naked woman before…” Y/n’s surprised look made him blurt out suddenly, “I’m actually… a virgin still.”
“Oh…” her voice emphasized on the word. “I would… have never guessed that.” When he looked disappointed, she quickly added, “I don’t mean it in a bad way!” she corrected. Y/n sat up and cupped his face, “Kiyoomi, you are gorgeous. Don’t think I haven’t seen you prancing around shirtless with your sweatpants hanging off your fucken hips. I would never have thought you were still a virgin.” His eyes stare deeply into hers and she’s unsure he got her message. “Being a virgin is okay, there’s nothing to be ashamed about it.” She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “We don’t… have to do this… please don’t feel pressured to do this.”
He shook his head, pulling away from her gasp and looking into her eyes with determination. “Teach me how to please you, teach me how you want to be pleased… I’ll do it. I’ll learn…”
“Kiyoomi, how did you take care of yourself all this time? I’m sure… you had times when you needed some relief… right?”
His cheeks flushed, before he muttered, “don’t laugh, okay…” when she nodded he answered, “I get off with a sex doll.” He waited for her to laugh at him, to embarrass him.
But she never does.
He peers up at her, not realizing he looked away.
She looked at him with sincerity and caution, “are you sure, positively sure you want to do this?”
He nods.
Y/n let out a shaky breath and leaned back, widening her legs. She used her hand and spread her pussy lips, “see how I’m wet here?” Kiyoomi nodded. “You want to arouse me, get me wet like this, which… you did.”
“I did? How?” He looked up at her like a schoolboy genuinely curious.
“By begging me to stay in tonight, it was fucken hot,” she smiled brightly and then tapped her finger against her clit, “this is the –“
“Clit,” Kiyoomi answered in a whisper.
“Correct,” She relaxed against the couch, “now, touch me, you can graze your fingers against my pussy until you’re comfortable.”
His fingers glide against her pussy, coating his fingers. He pressed this finger pad against her clit, circling it. “I’ve seen… porn where… they do this… do you… like it?”
Y/n hummed. “When you’re ready, you can put a finger inside me.”
Kiyoomi gently inserted a finger and glanced up at Y/n who grimaced, watching his finger slowly disappearing more into her hole. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, “no… feels good.” When his finger was knuckle deep, Y/n instructed him, “you can move your finger in and out if you’re ready.”
He does as he is told, pumping his finger gently in and out of her.
“When you are comfortable… you can add another finger.”
And he does, his forefinger and middle finger are both pumping in and out of her.
“You feel so… soft… and warm…”
Y/n’s hand gripped her knees, keeping her legs spread wide for him. She felt her eyes rolling back at just the feeling of his two fingers and she wanted more. “You’re not so bad yourself…” she murmurs.
She was becoming wetter by the second as he fingered her.
“Can you… take three fingers?” he asked cautiously.
Y/n opened her eyes, “if you want?”
He nodded eagerly and Y/n smiled, giving him the green light.
Kiyoomi inserts three fingers, quickening his pace. “Can… I also use my mouth?”
Y//n tensed, “I haven’t showered yet.”
“So?” he questioned.
“You’re not grossed?”
“With you, no?”
“If you want to.”
“I do,” he smiles before giving kitten licks to her clit.
Her back arched against the couch at the contact of his hot tongue. Seeing her reaction, Kiyoomi shifted his mouth and suckled the little nub hard until Y/n was wreathing against him.
He’s seen how men do it in porn videos and mimic it.
“God, Kiyoomi!” Y/n shouted.
Her pussy began tightening around his three fingers and he lift his mouth, “are you… close?”
She nodded, her cheeks flushed. “Yes… make me cum with your mouth and fingers.”
His eyes remained connected with hers as he suckled her clit and continued to pump his fingers.
“Am I doing a good job?”
“Yes! Yes, Kiyoomi… so good… so good for me.” She gripped his hair, “faster, I’m so close…”
Aiming to please, Kiyoomi brings out her orgasm. She shudders against his fingers and mouth and aside from volleyball and cleaning, he has never felt such satisfaction before.
When Y/n comes down from her high, Kiyoomi gently slips his fingers out and notices her wince.
“It’s okay… just your fingers filled me fully and I feel empty now.” She assures with a smile. She sat up and saw the mess she’d made on his leather couch. She looked at his crotch, he was hard against his jeans. “Should we… take care of that?” She nods at his bulge.
Kiyoomi’s cheeks blushed. “We don’t have to…”
“I want to, but I want you to want it too.” Y/n said sternly.
He nods, “God, I feel so silly.”
Y/n grabs him by his chin and gazes directly into his eyes, “not silly at all. Now, do you want to do this?”
“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat.
Y/n smiled, “good, I’m happy to hear that. It seems like you’ve watched porn, is there a position you want to try for the first time?”
“Here,” he answered quickly, “how you just came in front of me. I want to have sex with you right here.”
“Okay,” Y/n answered, leaning back. “Take off your clothes then.”
He stripped so fast and was naked in seconds. Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off his cock that was standing proud and ready.
Kiyoomi reached for his jeans, fishing out a condom. He swiftly and smoothly slid it on and looked at Y/n, as if waiting for her permission.
Y/n was nibbling nervously at her lower lip, “I haven’t had sex in a long time but I’m ready whenever you are.”
He touched her pussy, feeling her wetness from moments ago. His eyes drop to her breasts, which he has neglected. Kiyoomi reached with both palms and fondled her breast.
A soft moan escapes her lips and Kiyoomi dips to take a perky rosy nipple into his mouth. He suckles and nips before switching to show the other side the same attention.
“The other day when you wore a low-cut shirt… it took everything in me to not push you against the fridge and suck your tits.” Kiyoomi leans forward and kisses Y/n, “let’s take it slow and easy?”
“Okay,” Y/n nodded and tensed when she felt the intrusion of his cock. She felt him pause and she exhaled, relaxing her body, slowly feeling more of him until he was fully inside her.
For a moment they savor the feeling of just being one. Kiyoomi’s body loomed over hers as her body curved against his leather couch.
“God, this feels good, so good…” he murmurs. His head drops against her shoulder. “Can I move now?”
“Yes, yes Kiyoomi.”
Hooking his arms around her body, he began thrusting his hips. His hips began moving faster by the second when he got the rhythm down. He felt Y/n’s nail dig into his shoulder blades and that encouraged him.
“Yes! Yes!” Y/n’s legs wrapped around his waist, wrapping him closer.
His thrusts were becoming so deep that it was shifting his couch, scooting back with each thrust. He unwound his arms from around her and grip the back of his couch while continuing to thrust into her. His Y/n.
Now that he had a taste of a real pussy, there was no going back.
“So good… fuck… so good,” he cooed repeatedly, pounding into her heavenly pussy. “Best pussy ever…”
Y/n looked up into his eyes, a smirk on her lips, “but it’s the only real pussy you’ve had so far?”
Kiyoomi mirrored her smirk before his left hand snaked into her ruffled hair. He gripped the roots of her hair and growled, “the only one I want.”
The smirk on her lips disappeared and he smashed his lips against hers in a hungry kiss.
.
Y/n couldn’t believe the stamina that this man had. However, given that he played professional volleyball for a living, it made sense that his endurance was exceptional.
Even with sex.
He wanted more and more.
They fucked on many surfaces, the coffee table, against his glass window, on his kitchen island…
“E – enough…” Y/n pleaded, her arms trembling as her grip around his neck was slipping from their body sweat. He currently is carrying her, his strong arms supporting her from underneath her knees, making her spread wide and at his mercy, as he bounced her on his cock while standing.
They have used condoms littered all over his place. She didn’t know where he was pulling these condoms from, like had a magic bag full of them somewhere near.
Without withdrawing, Kiyoomi walked over to his kitchen counter and set Y/n at the edge. Slowly, he pulled out and his soft cock slipped out. The tip of the condom was full of milky white cum.
That was the last condom he had.
His breath finally calmed as he gently pushed Y/n’s head back to stare down at her. “Sorry… I got… carried away.”
Her lips curve upward into a tired smile, her eyes barely open. “Yes… you did.” She gently smacked his arm, “can’t believe you were carrying me with your injured arm.”
Kiyoomi shrugged his shoulder and looked at his cast, “it didn’t hurt.”
They laughed in sync before Kiyoomi pressed his forehead against hers. “Do… do you want to spend the night in my bed? With… me?” his voice was full of anxiety, waiting for her answer.
Dating needy MSBY!Atsumu, Sakusa, Bokuto, and Hinata (separate)
contains: yummy MSBY men being utterly obsessed with you and driving you insane in the best ways. f!reader. NSFW HCs, all 18+ smut under the cut! Atsumu will cry if you ever leave him. Kiyoomi is the man of your dreams and idc what anyone says, when he eats it, he does it nasty style. Bokuto is big and feral, and he loves you, send tweet. Hinata’s dick has you under spells.
wc: 5.5k total
Slutty, very in love!Atsumu who truly just loves when you take care of him all the time, in all ways possible.
He was lucky enough to find himself the nicest girl alive, who didn’t mind how much he wanted to hoard all of her attention. It was his dream come true.
He loved how much you cared for him, how easy it seemed to be for you to support him in all the ways that were important to him from day one.
The sweet sticky notes you leave out on the counter on the days you’ll know he’ll be home before you, all the meals you make for him without a care for his pickyness, waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to go with him to the gym when he complained in bed to you about feeling unmotivated, boasting to everyone who’d listen about your superstar athlete of a man, going to every game you’re able to make it to and let him go on and on about all the cool things he wanted to recap once you were on the drive back.
Every bit of your relationship was something straight out of his best fantasies.
He’s terrified of the idea of ever losing you. You were perfect. He loved feeling confident in your love for him, and while all the little things you did served well to reassure him, sex had to be one of the easiest, and quickest ways to make him feel secure in his place in your life.
He was a cocky attention slut at heart, especially for you. If he wanted a reminder that he was still the absolute best in the eyes of his sweet girl, he knew exactly what he needed to do to get it.
He was the type to come back after a long day of training—drained out of his mind and feeling like he wasn’t doing his best for some stupid reason—and treat himself to your boundless affections to get out of his worries.
And what he meant by that was practically mounting you the second he came back home, still sweaty and in his training clothes, having rushed over the moment they were done.
All he needed to perk himself back up was have you drooling over him, saying things like “Fuck, Tsumu you’re so big.”, “You’re so strong.”, “You fuck me so good, please don’t stop.” While he all but ruined you right there on the entryway floor, because he couldn’t make it past your sweet voice welcoming him back without fishing his dick out of his pants.
He made the discovery of his little preference a bit before you started living with him.
The two of you had a pretty heavy argument a few days before you were going to officially move in. It was smoothed out shortly after it happened and you had reassured him no longer being upset the next morning. Despite that, there was something about him still so saddened that he made you upset. He felt like such an idiot, almost ruining his own shot at a wonderful life with you.
He knew you weren’t angry anymore, and you promised him you’d still be bringing your stuff over next week, but there was still something nagging him deep down and it just wouldn’t stop.
Atsumu truly cared about what you thought of him, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if those thoughts were to ever be negative.
The day after the argument, you found him waiting at your job's reception area when your lunch break started. You were whisked away as soon as he spotted you, and treated to a nice little restaurant close by.
He spent most of the lunch repeating apologies for the night before that you took more than gladly, chuckling to yourself at how remorseful he was over something that had undoubtedly been a rather small rock in the road.
“Tsumu, I told you I forgive you. We were both being stupid, there’s no need to apologize anymore.” You reassured him once more, smiling as he took your hand in his across the table.
“I know, I know. I’ll stop it. But couldja swear again ya still love me?” He looked at you with sad puppy dog eyes, and it took everything in you not to laugh.
“I swear to God, I still love you and I’ll never stop.”
“Alright, I’ll calm down now… I’ll calm down some.”
After a nice hour of cheering you and himself up, Atsumu took you back to work; but not before pulling you to the backseat of his car, begging for your praise while pounding you relentlessly in some lonely spot on the back of your office’s parking lot.
Atsumu knew he could’ve waited until you were back home, but he desperately needed to have absolute acceptance to his apologies; and something he’d never doubt to be truthful was the sounds of your wet pussy swallowing his dick whole, accompanied by the feeling of your beautifully manicured hands clinging to his back.
He was more talkative then than he had been any other time you had sex with him, which is an insane feat for Atsumu.
He had you on your back against the plush leather seats, his hands firmly grasping your hips to keep you from squirming away from his deep, oppressive thrusts while he buried his face on your neck.
“M making ya feel good?—don’t run from it, c’mon—No one else could make you feel like this.” He sounded completely wrecked against you, breathy, desperate voice muffled against you, vying for your praise by making you see stars. “No one else can give this perfect pussy what it needs. Ain’t that right, sweet girl?”
He had to bite down on your shoulder to keep himself from moaning loud enough for the entire lot to hear, leg muscles taut and twitching as he felt his high approaching when you started crying out his name, telling him he’s the only one who can fuck you that good.
“Just me. That’s right, baby.” He thrusted in you erratically, arms sliding under you to wrap firmly around your back, arching it just right to pound you at a better angle, dragging his swollen tip against that sweet spot to make you come undone with him. “Tell me ya love me, please ‘m so close—”
Atsumu had gone back home feeling so giddy and relieved, the most stupid lovesick smile stuck on his face the entire afternoon, and still there when he picked you up from work. You had to bribe him so he’d wait until you made it to your house to throw himself at you again.
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Domineering, devoted!Sakusa who had the world’s most patient princess for a partner.
He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to date; he had all his problems with people, he was far too blunt—the warmth and tenderness he now treated you with was completely nonexistent when you first met—he was far too focused in his career and often consumed by it, and yet you didn’t seem to care about any of it.
You treated his filterless honesty as an endearing thing. You admired his dedication and often reassured him of not being bothered by it, as long as he still gave you attention when he was home. You adapted to all his hygienic routines when you moved in with him as if you had been following them your whole life, never judging him for how thorough he was about some things, only chuckling to yourself at certain rules while nodding along.
You were never upset at how quickly he liked leaving parties and events, you didn’t mind how he reserved most of his affection for behind closed doors, you gladly took the smallest bits of PDA he was okay with providing—like holding your wrist while you walked, sitting close enough your knees touched, or keeping a hand on your lower back whenever he deemed it appropriate—all because you knew when you got back home, you’d get all of him, unfiltered, and obsessed.
He was very appreciative of every compromise you made, everything you sacrificed, everything you agreed to; and he went out of his way to show it, wanting to make sure you’d never wake up one day upset about the life you were having with him.
Kiyoomi treated you like something worth caring for at all times, the apple of his eye. When he was home, you could completely forget about touching a single kitchen utensil, he would make anything you pleased and would only let you sit on one of the stools and eye him up.
He made an effort to indulge you in every single request, no matter how big or small, just as long as it didn’t threaten your well-being.
And God forbid you even thought of using your own money for any frivolous purchases your heart desired. He’d let you spend down to his last cent if you so wished; though thankfully for you both, you weren’t keen on bankruptcy.
In general, Kiyoomi was very hands-on when it came to caring for you. In every single way. He enjoyed showing you how truly devoted he was to reciprocating the kindness you graced him with, it was no one’s fault some of his preferred methods for it fell along indecent lines.
It could have to do with the fact that he often worried his lack of affection in public could ever become a problem for you, so he made sure to be all over you the second you were alone.
He took giving you all of him behind closed doors very seriously.
It would start as soon as he was back, immediately at ease at the perfectly pristine penthouse, taking off his shoes, his mask, and setting down everything in their respective places before he made his way to wherever you were.
Some days he’d be slower in his approach, when he found you already unwinding from your own responsibilities.
He’d take your hand, giving it a chaste kiss while pulling you against him, asking you to join him in the shower. He’d start subtle, sweet. Helping you wash your hair, kissing and caressing every inch of your body he could manage to get at while the water remained warm. But before you knew it, soft massages and whispered compliments would end in you stuck between him and the tiled wall, his name leaving your lips like a prayer, while he thoroughly and efficiently showed you how much he loved you.
“Doing so good for me, need you to give me another one before you can take this cock.” Making your knees weak by sucking along your neck, his thumb pressed against your clit while three fingers shove into your gummy walls relentlessly.
And best believe he’d be nowhere near done until you were completely dumb and spent after cumming for the umpteenth time.
After it all ended, he’d carefully dry you down before carrying you to bed while asking what you wanted for dinner, kissing your forehead in the softest way possible, as if he hadn’t rearranged your guts to the point of madness just two minutes ago.
Other times he’d throw subtlety and patience out the window, on the days where he’d find you in the middle of some work task or house chore you still needed to get through, not in the mood to wait until you were done.
He enjoyed it a little too much when he caught you like that, too busy drying off dishes to notice the way he eyed you up when he stepped into the kitchen.
You’d be none the wiser, melting as he pressed a kiss to your temple, arms wrapping around your waist from behind. He’d ask how your day was while peppering the side of your face with more innocent kisses.
“I went to get those new sweet potato treats you said you wanted us to try.”
“You did?” He smiled against your cheek, giving another kiss to it before moving down to your jaw
“Yeah, it took a bit too long to find them. It was a restock day at the store you told me about. There were boxes everywhere with the wrong labels piled on every aisle.”
“You had to be glad I wasn’t there.” He mumbled against your neck, breathing in the soft scent of your body wash still present on your skin.
His hands slowly made their way to your sweatpants, undoing the strings before sliding his hand down your front. “Keep talking.”
He chuckled to himself when you started stuttering out your words, already too excited when the only thing he had done so far was drag his finger along your clothed slit.
“Was just saying it took me a whileee—Kiyoomi!” You squealed in surprise when he yanked down your sweatpants and underwear, a large palm coming to your lower back to make you bend against the counter before you could say anything else.
“I’m listening. It took you a long time because it was such a mess.” He repeated, gaze now stuck between your thighs. He sank down to his knees behind you, nudging you to spread your legs with a simple pat to your inner thigh. “But you still did it, because it was for me. Is that not it?”
“Of course. You—You were so excited hearing about them I wanted to—shit.” You did your best to keep your legs apart when his open palms went up your thighs, all the way until they were on each side of your already willing pussy, one of his thumbs came up to draw tight slow circles on your clit, making you clutch the edge of the countertop, your hole clenching around nothing, all for him to watch.
“You wanted to do something nice for me.” He finished for you, smirking to himself at the soft sounds he was dragging out of you.
“Ye—Yes!”
“Like the perfect girl you are. Always making me happy.” His thumb briefly dipped into your entrance, slowly thrusting in once to slick it up before dragging it back down to keep making you squirm with perfectly measured rubs to your twitching clit.
“I try my best.”
“Do I always make you happy too?” His thumb pressed tighter against you, his other hand trailing up your ass to grope the plush skin, pulling to spread your pussy wider, every bit of wetness dripping out on display for his eyes only.
“Of course, Omi—haah fuck—You make me so happy, baby.”
“Don’t mind if I make sure that’s true, do you? If I make sure you’re happy with me?” Warm breath ghosted over your skin when he leaned closer, waiting for that weak, whimpered agreement to come out of your pretty lips.
“Please do.”
“Thank you, princess.”
Next thing heard in the quiet, cold kitchen would be the completely depraved sound of Kiyoomi spitting on your pussy and subsequently the pathetic whimper that tore out of your throat when his tongue dragged a long, slooww swipe along your slit before burying his face in.
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Obsessed and freaky, but adorable!Bokuto who just loved being with you too much! He is a true believer that if you love someone you will want to live in their skin. And god knows he would if he could.
Ever since you first started dating you had grown accustomed to the feel of Bokuto’s heavy, warm, strong body around you. There was never a time the two of you were out together where he didn’t touch you in some way; hands intertwined together, an arm thrown over your shoulders, a hand on your waist, or even his fingers holding to the belt loops of your jeans, anything he could manage to make you feel close to him.
And as your relationship grew, so did his displays of affection.
At some point he stopped caring about where you were or who was around, if he wanted to feel you flush against him, he would make it happen.
He’d sit you down on his lap while he chatted along with his teammates, be it at your house, theirs, even at bars. If you needed to stand for whatever reason, he’d sit right next to you, hands wrapped around your waist or one of your thighs, with his face resting on your side.
His touch tended to turn towards slightly inappropriate, but it was an accident more often than not. It was slightly automatic, if you will.
If you wore a nicely snug top, he couldn’t help but sneak in a squeeze or two when he saw it, no matter where the two of you were.
One time you came to pick him up from training because his car was getting fixed and you made the mistake of wearing a dangerously showy neckline; he practically jumped upon seeing you, like every other time, but instead of engulfing you in his usual bear hug, he picked you up by wrapping his arms under your butt so you’d be higher than him, burying his face in your cleavage in the process.
A loud “You look so good, baby! I missed you!” coming out muffled from where his face stationed itself. Too caught up in you to pay attention to the whistles and laughs from his friends.
You had a stern talk with him about PDA after that, one that truly just went in one ear and out the other because his attention was solely on how good you looked that day. He only nodded along with a dumb smile, muttering small apologies while his hands slid up under your shirt, fondling your breasts through your bra while trying his best to actually hear the words coming out of your mouth.
Bokuto never meant to be perverted per se, he was just insufferably oblivious to how the lines between his affections and his horniness seemed to blur together. And when he noticed, he couldn't care less.
He just loved touching you, and you can’t blame him for loving his fiancée oh so much!
He’d be the clingiest after long days at work. Hours of running drills, practicing spikes, and lifting weights wasn’t necessarily something that made him want to run back home. He loved it all; what he hated was the days where it all mixed with a dozen other things he had to do—new uniform fittings, preps for press before the next game, meetings about the next tournament and what they all needed to focus on, and a quick drink with his teammates before heading out—making him leave early in the morning while you were still asleep, and return far too late (8:15pm) when you must’ve been done with work and everything you had to do ages ago.
He felt so sad when he thought about all the time you spent on your own—you were fine, his suffering was completely made up—all alone, without his hugs, his kisses, his tickles, the sporadic lick to your face you claimed to hate but he was sure you loved. It must be so terrible for you!
Late nights like that he’d find you laying on the couch, legs sprawled, hair messy splayed out on the cushion behind you, slowly flipping through the pages of whatever book you were currently obsessing over, and he’d be unable to help himself.
Dropping his gym bag on the floor, phone on the coffee table, and throwing himself at you. He smelt like a mix of sweat, his cologne, and whatever drink he quickly dawned before coming back to you.
“Kotaro, baby.” He’d hum in response, carefully closing your book and putting it aside before smushing his face in your chest, warm hands sliding up your sides from under your thin top. “You’re crushing me.”
“‘M sorry. I missed you though.” He’d make no effort to move at first, keeping his whole body weight on you and only letting up after hearing you say you missed him too.
Then he perked up, pushing himself up on one of his elbows to keep some weight off you while his other hand came up to your face, brushing away loose strands of hair before kissing your nose “How much did you miss me?”
“A lot.”
“What’s a lot?” He’d ask, making you chuckle when he tried to bite back a smile, this was a serious matter only. “A lot like you were counting the seconds until my return just now or a lot like you couldn't stop crying the moment you got home and realized I wasn’t back yet?”
“You’re never gonna believe me, Ko. I did both things.”
“I knew it.”
You laughed when he started attacking you with kisses, having given him the answer he needed. Of course you missed him to the point of tears, just like he missed you!
He covered your face in small quick smooches before finally bringing his lips to yours.
One thing about Bokuto is that he didn’t care for giving you short, sweet pecks when he felt clingy like this. He kissed you the way you’d expect of someone like him, completely overpowering, all-consuming, and as passionate as everything else he did.
The kind of kisses that took your breath away and made you too distracted to notice his hands already working your clothes off, pulling down the straps of your tank top and dragging it down enough to free your tits, rough hands groping shamelessly.
He’d break away only to fully take the top off and pick you up to switch your positions, sitting down and plopping you on his lap, so you'd straddle him.
If you tried to stop him—why would you do such a thing—the only thing you’d get out of him would be his hands firmly digging on your hips, helping you slowly roll them against him, his hardening bulge perfectly pressed against you.
“Baby, give Ko a second, yeah?” The words came out rasped, shooing off any more attempts at slowing him down. “Just need a minute.” He’d murmur before bringing you forward with another mean roll of your hips so your tits were right on his face, slowly licking around one of your perked buds when he leaned in before fully taking your nipple in his mouth.
His warm tongue sucked eagerly while one of his hands came up to grope your other breast, rolling the neglected peak between his index and thumb.
His fingers dug on your skin while he slobbered over your tits, moving from one to the other; he switched between sucking on them and leaving hickeys around the soft skin, moving up to your neck every so often to do the same thing. Sharp canines dragged along your pulse point, a silent, exciting threat keeping you pliant above him while his hips bucked up with every new grind of yours, precum already leaking past his underwear.
And don’t even get him started on how it was when he had to travel. Away games when you were too full with work to come with? His own personal hell. And yours too. It’s like he knew just how terrible he was going to be when he came back that he had to make sure you were just as bad as him by then.
He’d call you first thing in the morning, saying he hopes you had the best day ever, telling you how he misses you so much it makes him want to throw himself at the ocean—even though it has only been one night—how he can’t wait to be back home and cuddle with you all weekend long. All tooth rotting cuteness that was only bound to crumble the longer he went on without you.
That same day you could count on those kind of messages to start flooding in the moment your lunch break started.
“Hey baby!!!”
“Have you been thinking about me? I’ve been thinking about you”
“Miss that pretty face and your sweet pussy”
“And your tits!”
“Think you could send me a picture? I only have old ones, and I marked you up so pretty yesterday, I wanna see that again”
He holds off on just that at first, keeping you eager for his return over texts, teasing compliments, obscene comments, and maybe one or two pictures of his dick straining in his boxers.
Then on the last night before he returned, like clockwork, you’d get a call once you were already cozy under the sheets, some time after he texted you goodnight.
Low, breathy. “Hey, baby. Weren’t sleeping yet, were you?,” coming out from the other line, followed by the unmistakable sound of him stroking himself, hard. Small groans leaving his lips, not caring to pretend. “I miss you so much, angel. You have no idea.”
“Can’t even wait to come back tomorrow, Ko. You’re so needy.” You chuckled lightly, though your words came out strained, he sounded so goddamn good.
“All for you.” He rasped out, his breathing ragged as he picked up the speed, every word out of his mouth growing progressively nastier the closer he got. “Gonna make you feel so good tomorrow, make you sit on my face and ride it til you’re tapping out.”
“Fuck, I wish I was there with you.”
“Wouldn’t have to use my hand if I was laying there next to you, would be using you instead. And you’d love it, right baby? You love taking this fat cock in that cute little pussy of yours.”
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Irresistible, proud owner of a hypno dick!Hinata who wasn’t needy at all, at least he didn’t think so.
He met you shortly after coming back from Brazil, and like most of his infatuations, his feelings for you hit him hard and all at once. He made no effort to hide or downplay being interested in you.
He got your number the day you met without a second thought. He asked you out on a date after only two days of talking, and he was the perfect gentleman all around from the start.
He never hid how excited he was to be with you, bringing you gorgeous flowers every day he saw you, a different kind each time so that you’d have a unique bouquet at home. He kept an extra umbrella with him on rainy days because you always forgot yours. For the first few dates he asked for permission to kiss before dropping you off at home, blushing every time you said yes. He invited you to all his games, even practice ones, always running to you at the end, sweaty and adrenaline-filled asking you if you saw that really cool block he made near the end, it was very cool, wasn’t it? Do you think he’s cool? Please say yes.
He was sweet in a way that made it impossible for you not to swoon, and that continued on far past the first dates. Once your relationship was more serious, and you moved in together, you could’ve sworn Hinata became ten times more affectionate than he already was, and even more excited to be near you, if that was even possible.
He was stoked about every step of the process. Unpacking both of your things in the new apartment was to him of equal excitement to being at an amusement park for the first time when you’re young; every time he set one of his things next to yours he’d turn to you to boast about it. “Look! That’s your toothbrush, next to mine. Isn’t that nice?”
Hinata didn’t think he was needy, because he didn’t have to be. He was just so goddamn cute you couldn’t not throw yourself at him.
Every stupidly sweet sentence, every content sigh thrown your way, every surprise hug he pulled you into that made you melt against his embrace, everything about him was enough to make you pull him in for delirious kisses that almost always ended in something way beyond just kissing.
Now, he wasn’t completely unaware. He knew you had the softest spot for him and he did take advantage of it sometimes. He just loved the fact that you only needed the smallest of encouragement to ask him for more, it made him feel wanted, and desired. He loved that.
And so, whenever he did feel particularly mushy, and like he wanted every part of you to himself as soon as possible, he would take out all the little tricks that worked perfectly to get you under him.
Lingering for a little too long in the bathroom while you were showering to ‘look for something’ and talking about how glad he was he got off early that day because he was so spent and couldn’t wait to come back and see your pretty smile, how much he really wanted to kiss you, until you'd break and ask him to join you, his clothes already discarded long before you even made the offer.
Bringing you to join him on the couch when you came back from work on his days off, helping you rid of your shoes and tenderly pulling your feet to his lap, massaging them while letting you know he already ordered your favorite food, and had a nice movie picked out for the two of you to watch. He’d slowly massage up your legs until his hands were dragging along your inner thighs with just the right amount of pressure, bottom lip stuck between his teeth in restraint while he patiently waited for you to plead him to go higher.
Or his favorite, whenever you were out on the town with him. He was always happy whenever you agreed to come out with him and his friend group, the sight of you, his absolute treasure, mingling with those he loved most like you had known them all your life. It brought a sweet, fluttery ache to his heart that made him need to have you, all of you, quickly, please.
So he’d give you that look that never failed to butter you up, the world’s most lovesick ‘I can’t believe it’s you who hangs the stars in the sky’ kind of look.
“Stop that.” You warned him, yet still pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Already knowing all too well where this was headed.
“Stop what?” He wrapped an arm around your waist, brought you to his side to kiss you back, a small innocent peck on your lips.
“We can’t leave yet, it’s still early.”
“I didn’t say we had to leave, we could just sneak away. For a moment?” He pouted, a plea that only lasted another second before he laughed at the glare you threw his way. “I’ll be good, I just want to feel you. I love you so much.”
You rolled your eyes, pursing your lips together to keep from smiling at how terribly sweet he sounded. “Just for a moment, and we’re not fucking.”
Whoever Hinata swore on when he agreed to that last part must be confused as to why they’re suddenly coughing, because that promise only lasted about five minutes.
One, two, three kisses and you were already on top of him on the passenger seat of your car, panties thrown somewhere in the backseat and two of his fingers knuckle deep in your pussy while you made quick work of undoing his jeans.
“Can I be inside you now, pretty?”
You weakly shook your head, hand wrapping around him, using the precum dripping down his tip to stroke him out in that teasingly delicious way he loved. “We have—oh just like that—have to be quick, baby. They’re waiting.”
“We’ll be back after I feel you make a mess on my dick. How’s that?”
You wanted to smack the eager grin on his face, he knew as much. But he also knew you were too down bad for him to refuse.
The second you nodded he pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the loss of contact.
He brought them down to his dick, smearing your wetness around it while you positioned yourself above the tip. He could only thank God the parking lot was deserted because the sounds that came out of both of you the moment you sank down on him were straight up pornographic.
Anyone who had the displeasure of hearing the two of you would’ve thought you’re fucking for the very first time after not seeing each other for years. But that's just how Shoyo was when it came to you, a completely desperate, yearning freak.
“So fucking good, you’re so perfect for me, pretty.” His hands went under your skirt, fingers digging on your ass to hold you in place while thrusting up into you like a fleshlight, the squelching sound of you creaming around him while you cried out his name being like music to his ears, the sweetest melody in the world.
He leaned up to capture your lips in his, sweet incoherent nothings muffled through the kiss. “All mine, all for me.” It was all completely uncoordinated yet oh so good the way he was hitting it just right, pussydrunk out of his mind and still so in tune with giving you exactly what you needed. “My perfect girl, love you so much, so so much.”
18+ sakusa and his raging size kink . . . ❤︎ ⋮ requested.
sakusa kiyoomi has the same thought every time you’re mad at him — that it’s hard to take you seriously when you’re this… cute. you didn’t necessarily have to be petite. he was the one who was huge, towering over you all the time. so when you would rant and nitpick on him while looking up just to look into his eyes? he gets achingly hard, cock twitching in his pants, trying to keep his cool.
“keep sulking if you want.” sakusa drawls, leaning against the doorway. “but it’s hard to take you seriously when you’re glaring at me from way down there.” you spun around to snap at him, only for his hand to catch your chin and tilt your face up. “go on, keep running that little mouth.”
“why? can’t handle me? and here you are acting all big and mighty.” you provoked, swatting his hand off your chin. he grabs your wrist when you try to walk past, tugging you back and tossing you onto the bed. “what the—“
“can’t handle you? we’ll see about that.” he muttered, hovering over you. he pulls your shorts off in one motion, leaving your panties hanging around your ankle as he forces your legs apart, wider than you can hold on your own. he uses his body to keep you trapped under him, his words a silent retort to your provocation. sakusa lined himself up against your entrance, teasing you with his tip before attempting to push in.
“never making things easy for me, aren’t you? barely fits inside, you feel that?” he groaned, pushing your knees to your chest, keeping your legs spread to grant him deeper access. he slammed into you, hard, making the bed creak loudly. you let out a sharp gasp, followed by a delayed cry when he plunged in deep, back arching off the sheets. in just one thrust, he had you screaming, nails raking down his forearms. “oh—fuck, ‘omiii! too—aahh—too deep!”
“too deep?” he scoffed, a smug expression playing on his face. “who can’t handle who now? look at you.. can’t even take me without shaking.” he pounded into you relentlessly, ripping helpless noises out of your throat. you looked pathetic, sobbing from the sheer force of him ruining you, every drag of his thick, veiny cock against your throbbing walls blurring your vision. the headboard hit the wall with loud thuds, the same motion mimicking the way his mushroom tip battered your cervix mercilessly.
he was in total control, switching positions effortlessly — flipping you on your stomach, holding your hips up, fucking you sideways — everything was unspoken proof of how easy it was to handle you, reminding you of who he was.
you were at your limit, blinking the remnants of your consciousness away when you conceded to him. “‘omi—can’t—can’t move—“ you were breathless, weakly grasping onto the sheets as his pelvis collided with the curve of your ass from behind. “still wanna talk? where’d that mouth go?”
you shook your head frantically, body jolting as you tried squeezing your words out, feeling the familiar wave of pleasure wash over you again. “n—no—! no more—aah—hnngghh—fuckk!” your moans came out slurred and needy, too overstimulated to speak properly when you dripped over the mattress with him still fucking you brutally.
“done?” he asked, watching your body fall limp, his thrusts slowing into gentle, deep strokes. you couldn’t answer, body twitching and brain still fuzzy from your previous orgasms. he laid beside you, pulling you into a tight embrace with your walls still pulsing around him. “still mad?” he teased, stroking your head lovingly. “‘omi.. you’re such an ass.”
and the fond chuckle he let out said enough. “yeah? takes one to know another.”
izuku midoriya starts tearing up as soon as his cockhead pushes into your gummy walls.
his body shudders as he threatens to collapse on top of you. various pleas and whines escape his mouth, your name on his tongue like a prayer.
“please, oh fuck— you’re so tight for me”
“you’re so so perfect, my love”
“please! god, you’re so beautiful”
he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. but he knows he’s pleading for you.
and that’s all he can think about.
izuku’s hair falls in front of his eyes like a curtain, but his lovesick haze can’t be hidden behind the strands.
his hand grip yours tightly as he thrusts his tip in and out of your pretty hole. it’s too much for him, his dripping mushroom tip leaks and dribbles into and around your cunt as proof.
his free hand slides down your body, caressing your breasts and lingering along your tummy. finally, it reaches its home between your thighs. izuku’s thumb rubs sloppy circles around your clit, as he shakes from pleasure.
his forehead drops to meet yours as fat tears squeeze themselves out of his eyes and onto your cheeks.
“can i? oh please, baby, can i?” izuku babbles.
he’s trying to take it slow, to tease you even more with his painfully hard erection, but he was fraying at the edges. every choked out call of your name begged you to let him sink into you.
once you let him, izuku was eager to push the rest of himself into your warm pussy. his balls hit against you, heavy and aching.
his thrusts quickly transformed from slow and cautious to sporadic and desperate. every moan floated above the squelches of your pussy sucking him in and the slap of skin against skin.
his thumb that circled your puffy clit began stuttering, as did izuku’s hips. he was shaking, face buried into your neck because everything was too much to handle.
“please, baby. fuck, i need you! cum with me, please!” he cried, hot tears falling against your skin.
your pussy clenched around him deliciously, and he was a goner. izuku sobbed into your neck while he emptied himself into your fluttery cunt, hot and filling.
as you came, he kept humping you desperately, his sensitive cock dragging along your sloppy walls.
izuku didn’t bother to pull out as he kissed up your neck to the spot below your ear.
suguru's hair always gets caught on you ! ｡°(°¯᷄◠¯᷅°)°｡
his hair is everywhere.
it’s on your pillow in the morning, tangled in the bristles of your hairbrush, stuck to the sleeve of your sweater when you pull it off. and more often than not, it’s caught in your jewellery—thin strands of black silk wound tight around the chain of your necklace, looped through the tiny hoop of your earring, knotted around the clasp of your bracelet like it’s trying to keep you tethered to him.
you’re on the couch when it happens again. he’s sitting on the floor between your legs while you scroll through your phone, and you lean forward to kiss the top of his head without thinking. the second your necklace dips, you feel it snag.
“shit—hold on,” you mutter, already reaching for the chain. geto doesn’t move. just tilts his head slightly, like he’s used to this by now.
“what’d i catch this time?”
“the little heart one. again.” you try to work the strand free, but it’s looped too tight. “this is the third time this week. your hair’s a menace.”
he hums, low and unbothered. “you say that like it’s my fault.”
“it is your fault. you’re the one who refuses to tie it up at home.”
“you said you liked it down.”
“i do. i also like not having to perform surgery on my jewelry every night.”
geto reaches up without looking, his fingers finding your wrist, guiding your hand away. “leave it. i’ll get it later.”
“you’ll forget.”
“i won’t.”
you sigh, leaning back against the couch. a few minutes pass. then you shift, trying to get more comfortable, and your ass lands squarely on a thick lock of his hair that’s fanned out across the cushion.
“ow—fuck,” he hisses, jerking forward. “you’re on it again.”
you lift up immediately. “sorry! i didn’t see it.”
he twists around to look at you, one eyebrow raised. “you never see it. it’s like you have a sixth sense for finding the exact strand that’s gonna make me bald.”
“maybe your hair’s trying to escape,” you say, fighting a smile. “maybe it’s tired of being sat on.”
geto stares at you for a long moment. then he stands, towering over you, and leans down until his face is inches from yours. his hair falls forward, a curtain of black that brushes your cheeks, your shoulders, your chest.
“if it wanted to escape,” he murmurs, voice low, “it wouldn’t keep getting caught on you.”
you swallow. “that was weirdly romantic.”
“wasn’t trying to be.” he kisses you once, slow and deep, then pulls back just enough to speak against your lips. “now move over. i’m sitting up there with you, and if you sit on my hair again, i’m making you braid it.”
“deal,” you say, already scooting aside.
he settles beside you, one arm slung around your shoulders, and you spend the rest of the night carefully avoiding every strand that spills across the cushions—mostly. you only sit on it twice more. he doesn’t complain either time.
summary: two years had passed since you first met gojo satoru, and it was two years of having an agonizingly one-sided crush on the white-haired genius. for the most part, you were okay with keeping it down and acting like the nights you spent fantasizing about what it would be like to be his were normal. you were fine keeping it hidden until something between the two of you shifts, and you're left wondering if this crush you have on him is truly as delirious as you think.
genre: 18+, nerdjo, slow burn, angst + happy ending (duh), fluff, eventual smut (nerdjo being a munch), some mention of insecurities but nothing major
word count: 33k (oops)
note: nerdjo bu set in oxford! art credit! @to00fu
jjk masterlist
It began at one of the English department get-togethers.
Two years ago, when you felt like you had to come to every single event in the hopes of striking expeditious luck at one of them. And it’s not that you particularly disliked these events, but they weren’t the first thing you’d think of when it came to how you’d prefer to spend your free time.
The weather was just getting chilly enough where you’d rather stay in your dorm and wrap yourself in three blankets and a sweater, and the year had been dragging on long enough where you’d rather just talk about the wonders of Shakespeare and his sonnets in the confines of your next research paper and not with academics who made you feel inferior.
You had been invited weeks in advance, and yet you still found yourself dreading being here, the more it led to it, and even more when you were in the thick of it. Awkward small-talk with students you’ve seen around briefly and stiff handshakes with male professors who think that they have better places to be were just mentally taxing, and you counted the seconds until it was all over.
Thankfully, it was busy enough that you could slip into the background without many people even noticing you were there, but not so crowded that you could just slip away entirely without somebody asking where the great Dr. Howard’s research assistant had gone. And anyways, it wasn’t too horrible. You had taken to silently recounting Othello in your mind moments before everything changed.
There was a small tap on your shoulder. It startled you at first, and you looked around in your small corner to see a man waiting patiently behind you, a sheepish look on his face as you tried to gather yourself up.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, and you blinked out of your stupor as you tried to recall in your brain if you had met him before to save yourself from the embarrassment of him having to re-introduce himself, “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
He looked familiar. His eyes were a deep amethyst, his smile was soft and kind. His dark and shaggy hair was tied behind his head in a small bun, and his ears were adorned with multiple piercings. Although many at Oxford, especially the men, tried to appear as blank as usual, he seemed apt and content with going against the stuffy and old notions.
You must have seemed confused because the man stuttered as he introduced himself.
“I’m Suguru,” he restarted, his hand leaving his side as he extended it to shake yours, “I think we had the same English survey course last semester.”
Your confusion melted away into a wide smile as you shook his hand, his own eyes crinkling around the edges as he grinned back, letting out a breath of relief as you nodded insistently, shaking your head at your own self.
“Right, right, Suguru! I remember you!” You exclaimed, setting your cup down to the side as you watched him tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, “You sat a little bit in front of me, right?”
His head ducked down momentarily as he chukked, putting his hands in his pants pockets as he nodded.
“I did,” he chuckled slightly, “Right in the line of fire for when Howard needed to pick on someone.”
Your lips quirk up slightly as you nod, remembering how the professor you work for now used to terrorize your class and quiz random students on particular syllables and grammatical imperfections in the reading they were supposed to have done.
The class was small, as were most major-specific courses you were taking. Although you didn’t have many of your friends in the class, you had gotten a good sense of who was in there and who Dr. Howard preferred to pick on. Suguru, for the most part, did the reading and did his work, so he came out unscathed compared to some of the other students. He sat near the front with some of his own friends, and you had talked to him in passing a couple of times when the class as a whole would band together to compare comments on assignments. He was kind, from what you remembered, which is probably why you felt your shoulders growing less tense the more you two talked.
“That’s her style,” you say, shrugging as you fiddle with your fingers. “It took a while to get used to it,” you admit. Suguru rolls his eyes at your humility, remembering clearly just how much Dr. Howard favored you, but he doesn’t say anything as he lets you continue, “I don’t know if you’ve had Creemer yet, but he’s worse with his cold calls and isn’t half as nice.”
“I have him right now for rhetoric and grammar,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head in dismay, “He’s…sadistic, I think.”
You giggle, nodding feverishly at the statement as you recall your past couple of classes with the hellish professor, an infamous name for many English majors and someone that you try to avoid at all costs if possible.
The party, or gathering, as it said on the invitation, drones on in the background as you look around to see if anybody is looking in your direction. Most of the time, you can do what you want, but seeing that Dr. Howard had warned you before tonight that somebody from the department might want to swarm you to ask questions that you most likely didn’t have answers to, had put you on edge.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, motioning to the rest of the people with a knowing glint as you politely smile, shrugging your shoulders as your lips press tightly together. Whether it be your shy nature or how you preferred smaller crowds, it must’ve been evident on your face that you weren’t necessarily having the most amount of fun.
“I am,” you answer, wincing at the way your voice sounded warbled, “I’m trying to make the most of these opportunities, I guess.”
Suguru’s head dipped in understanding, taking a sip of his drink as he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning in slightly as he lowered his voice.
“These things drag on for a bit, though, yeah? I’m feeling my fingers prune from how long I’ve held this glass.”
You let out a sigh of relief, sharing the same sentiment as the two of you share a knowing look.
“I…I, um, I heard that Howard chose you to research with her, though, right? That’s gotta be pretty cool,” Suguru asked after a beat, bringing you back to the conversation as his head tilted slightly, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you swallowed. He seemed kind, not asking the question bitterly as some other people have.
You nodded again, trying to contain your smile as you leaned against the stone pillar next to you. Letting out a small hum, you swallow again, trying to scope out what sort of place he was coming from.
“It is,” you answered, biting on the inside of your cheek as you were still reeling from being selected from such a wide pool of applicants and such a rigorous interview process to work on her next paper analyzing More’s work through a modern lens, “It’s…strenous, sometimes, but I’m having a lot of fun working with her,” you fidgeted with your fingers, “So yeah, it’s pretty cool.” You say sheepishly.
Suguru smiled at your hidden enthusiasm, the tip of his boot nudging something on the ground. He went to usher you to continue before his eye caught something behind your shoulder, his eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as his smile grew even wider, his hand raising in a wave.
“Sorry,” he apologetically muttered, and you craned your neck around to see what it was, or rather who it was that Suguru had seen, “I think my friend just arrived.”
That’s when you felt your breathing stop.
The bustling group of students and faculty members almost seemed to part theatrically for the man walking towards the two of you, but you couldn’t even blame them.
He stuck out like a sore thumb, with his icy white hair and strikingly beautiful eyes. His lengthy frame made him nearly a head taller than even the tallest man in the room, and his wide shoulders helped him wade through the bodies as he navigated to his friend. His face seemed stoic, bordering on bored, but you couldn’t help but widen your eyes in shock at seeing the most devastatingly gorgeous man to ever exist. He adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose, his lips moving in quiet apologies as he tried to move through the people without bumping into them.
You suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that it had been days since you had last had a good night's sleep and that the bags under your eyes were most likely even more evident in the dim lighting of the old hall, and how your sweater was lumpy from being shoved in the back of your closet for so long. You swallow thickly as Suguru quickly excused himself as he stepped away and walked a bit away to hug the stranger, exchanging some words with each other as you stood awkwardly to the side.
You watched them silently as they talked for a little bit more before Suguru stepped away, his hand on his friend's back as he, for some horrifying reason, seemed to guide him towards where you were stiffly standing as the two of you made eye contact before you became aware of the way your eyeballs felt in your socket and how heavy your tongue was in your mouth.
When Suguru finally pulled away from the modern-day Adonis, you felt like a creeper and a loner as you wondered whether or not to leave or stand in the corner while they talked, but ever the kind person that he was, Suguru led the man by the back to where the two of you were with a wide smile on his face.
“Sorry about that,” Suguru abashedly apologized, chuckling deeply as he rubbed the back of his neck, “But this is my friend, Satoru,” he said brightly, pushing the man a little harshly towards you as you stared at him silently.
The man, Satoru, gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding once in your direction as he looks around, looking uncomfortable and shifty. Suguru rolled his eyes, sighing deeply as he patted his friend's back.
You grinned back, swallowing the spit in your mouth as you felt him stare at you once he was done looking at the room, your cheeks heating up. You felt his eyes drift over your outfit, at your posture, and the way your hands were clasped tightly together. This stranger assessed the way you swayed slightly, awkwardly, not knowing how to fill the silence as you tapped the tip of your battered shoes on the ground. When he was done, his chin lifted again, his stare lingering on your blinking face as you glanced between him and Suguru, waiting for somebody to say something before you imploded and left with the lingering scent of your vanilla body spray.
Seeing that he was fine with checking you out, you took the time to do the same. He seemed like one of the generational students of the school, the ones whose parents and grandparents and cousins and siblings all came and went and made something important with their lives. They weren’t hard to detect, especially him, with his steamed jumper and his creased pants. His leather shoes were shining back at you, and though his hair was somewhat messy, it seemed to be classily messy, unlike what you and some other students would call freely messy.
“I force him to come to these things with me,” Suguru explained, but you could barely hear him over the rhythm of heartbeats in your ear as you tried to fly, appreciate the man a few feet in front of you, “Our friend Shoko sometimes comes, but she had things to do tonight.”
The man’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly, his brows drawing tightly together as he glanced at his friend with a look.
“I had things to do too,” he muttered, his voice deep as you felt your heart stupidly tumble at the sounds.
Suguru snorted, shaking his head as he shrugged indifferently.
“Sure,” Suguru replied sarcastically and glanced at you, his brow slightly raised at the way you had gone silent, his lips quirking slightly when he noticed the way you couldn’t stop staring at his friend, not voicing anything as his hand on Satoru’s shoulder loosened, “Just act like you want to be here for twenty minutes, yeah?”
You bit your teeth into your cheek, a finger raising slightly as you pointed to the newcomer's face.
“I like your glasses,” you said brightly, your smile gentle as you fidget with your own, watching the way his striking eyes moved over to you again, squinting slightly as his hand raised upwards, as if he had forgotten that his glasses were even there, “They frame your face really well.” Your head tilts a little as you try to place something, “Where’d you get them? If, if you don’t mind me asking. Mine is so old and dingy, and the rims are basically glued on, and I’ve only had them for a few years.”
“Erm, well, thank you,” Satoru says stiffly, not used to the direct attention and compliments, his cheeks slightly dusted with pink as Suguru watches his friend struggle for words, taking the glasses off as he turns them to the side, trying to read the logo, “These are, erm, from Cartier. But I usually wear contacts, anyway.”
You let out a startled laugh, not a stranger to hearing students at this place don expensive items, but this being the first time you’ve seen one of them bashful about it.
You nod, your smile still there, softer as you take in his slightly awkward nature and let him put the glasses back on before you continue.
“Contacts are more practical,” you agree, even though you’ve always had a phobia of things touching your eyes and would never wear contacts unless somebody forced you, shrugging as you say, “But I’ve always appreciated the look of glasses.”
Satoru gnaws on his lips, nodding quietly as Suguru starts talking about his friend's major (biochemistry, you came to find out), and how long they’ve known each other, but you could only feel your stupid feelings when Suguru stayed, his friend included, and talked with you for the rest of the evening.
That was your sophomore year.
Nearly two years passed after befriending Suguru alongside his small group. He introduced you to Shoko after that night, swearing up and down that the two of you were destined to be near each other. And we weren’t wrong, not in the slightest. You two girls bonded strangely fast, as if you were twin flames that were being fanned out. Suguru and Satoru seemed to mirror the two of you, but the group functioned as a whole, for the most part. You spent so many nights over at their dorms that you could walk around blindfolded and still find your way to the others with no issue. It was fun, it was what you had dreamt of for so long. It was something that you were fine with, more than content with, ending your university career in a couple of months.
Well, everything for the most part, you could consider it as such if it wasn’t for your debilitating and soul-crushing feelings for the stranger you met that night.
It’s been four semesters, and you still don’t think Gojo Satoru has a clue. Which, in all honesty, is for the better.
Although his stoic nature spares nobody, it feels as though you're always on the worst end of it. With his lingering stares that seem to border on questioning why you were even there whenever he sees you, to the way he grows dim and quiet around you, it feels like you’re actively attempting to hurt yourself the more you fall in love with the little things you hadn’t noticed the day prior.
Even worse, you know deep down that such feelings are most likely, under this sun and every other universe, with most certainty and heavy grief, unrequited.
But you’re fine keeping it down.
You were fine until recently.
—
“I’m debating switching majors.”
Shoko declared from the couch, her legs hanging off the side, knocking occasionally on your shoulders as you crane your neck back on the cushion form where you were seated on the ground to look at her upside down.
“To what?”
She shrugged, rubbing at her eyes as she held her neuroanatomy textbook in one hand, her phone in the other as she scrolled through the different majors Oxford offered, as if she wasn’t a semester away from graduating.
“Film?” She read out, and you snorted, rolling your eyes at the prospect of Shoko going into film, “Hm…maybe art history?”
“Gave up on the med school dream?” Suguru quips from the other side of the couch, knowing fully that Shoko was just going on another one of her tangents as she shifted slightly to shove him harshly with her socked foot.
“I’m sure your counselor wouldn’t mind,” you reply, looking at her as she glares, her eyes falling back to her phone as she peers at the screen. She looked boredly a little bit before her eyes flitted upwards slightly, squinting as she read the new notification.
“Satoru said he’s going to be here in a few minutes,” she muttered, reading the next message, “And that he wants you,” she nudged Suguru with her foot again to motion that it was him that Satoru was referencing in the text, “To move to your bed so that he can do his work on his side of the couch.”
Suguru peeked up from his doom scrolling to look at Shoko, his eyes narrowed in a glare as he let out a huff of annoyance.
“His side?”
Shoko shrugged, her knee knocking on the side of your head as you knock it back, the book you were reading resting in your hands as you listened to Suguru mutter distastefully about how this was his dorm and that Satoru had no right claiming his couch, but you heard him shuffle to his feet nonetheless.
You tried not to show any peek of interest when the infamous name was called out, but it was hard not to. It had been two grueling years of mulling over your childish crush, yet the sound of his name could still send pulses to your veins that you were sure were minor heart attacks.
Because it was Gojo Satoru. You wanted to bang your head against the coffee table just hearing it.
Truth be told, you weren’t a stranger to having crushes. It was normal, it was human. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself when you were sprawled out on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as you tried not to think about the way his fingers ever so slightly grazed your wrist when he handed you some chopsticks earlier at the restaurant.
But your crushes came few and far between, and you preferred keeping it that way. Seeing that you were too terrified to ever admit them, and the few, very few times you have, they’ve backfired horrifically, you try not to catch feelings as much as possible. But there was something about Gojo, something beyond reason, that pulled you to him.
At first, you bargained. You tried convincing yourself that it was just his appearance that was drawing you in, his suave looks that made people’s heads turn whenever he entered a room. But you have seen him at four in the morning with his old band tees (a sight that still made you swoon), with his hair crusted with glitter and his eyes pink with eyeshadow as Shoko attempted to put him in drag. Even then, he was insanely gorgeous, so you knew it had to be beyond that.
When you had finally accepted that it was a mind-numbing and life-ending crush that you were feeling towards him, you finally gave in and decided to admire the tall brute from afar. It helped that the two of you had gotten somewhat closer over the past two years, but out of everyone in the group, he was the one you talked to the least. In your defense, he didn’t have much to say to anybody, and that was just his nature. He spent most of his time studying and researching, and the other time watching, observant as other people gossiped. It wasn’t his forte, and nobody pushed him.
So you took in his quietness and his stoicism, appreciated his god-like looks and his overwhelming presence. That was fine.
What made it even worse was that he was so unattainably perfect in other ways that your crush festered into something that made you scream into your pillows and throw your balls of clothes at the wall as you wallowed in self-pity.
Everyone at this damned university was intelligent, and you had made amends with them early on. But you loved men who were smart, guys who could actually hold a page down and dissect it and make the most of it. And worst of all, Gojo Satoru was probably the most intellectual person you have ever met, and will ever meet. It seemed like his memory was photographic, his mind working twenty thousand times faster than the regular brain as he computed formulas and equations at speeds that you couldn’t fathom. He made biochemistry seem easy, something that you sometimes felt guilty for not pursuing. And sure, it didn’t help that you were on the other side with your texts about Russian classics and books diving deep into the restoration period, but even Shoko, who could rival Gojo at times, would begrudgingly admit under her breath just how stupidly genius he was.
Therefore, when you put those things together, his charming looks, his bookish self, his brooding structure, and just everything else, it made him unattainably perfect.
And that’s when you get the man you’ve been hopelessly in love with since the moment you saw him at that wretched party that wasn’t a party.
So, when Shoko read off his texts, there was good reason why she looked at the top of your head, a knowing look in her eyes as she playfully nudges you again, watching as you threw her a dark glare to just keep it down seeing that she was the only other soul who knew, despite you trying your best to hide it, about your feelings towards her other friend.
“Did you hear that Toji is graduating a semester late?” Suguru asked, leaning back against his pillows, his long legs strewn along his bed as he chewed on some gum.
You and Shoko both hummed, not looking up from your respective tasks, having found this information out weeks in advance.
Suguru groaned in annoyance, his chest vibrating with the noise as you snorted, rolling your eyes as he threw a small pillow at your head. It bounced off the side of your face, but you didn’t look up from the page you were on, too engrossed to hear the door behind you click open and heavy footsteps suddenly thudding through the dorm.
You shuffled against the couch, your back feeling stiff as you tried to get comfortable, not knowing that the man of your dreams was moving around somewhere behind you as he hung his coat up (vintage leather, something you found out as he grumbled about getting it wet when Shoko and Suguru insisted on walking in the rain once), kicked off his shoes, and slung his bag around as Shoko craned her neck to see what he was doing.
“Hey,” Shoko called out, and your eyes widened slightly when you heard a familiar voice grunt back a tired greeting, trying not to look as your ears suddenly sharpened to pick up on the sound of him pulling on his sweatshirt as he rounded the couch, standing at the opposite end as he plopped his backpack on the cushions.
You finally allowed yourself to peek over, your eyes following his figure upwards until they landed on his face, and your fists balled in frustration at how pretty he was even when he was simply existing.
Gojo sent you a small, tight-lipped and courteous nod, polite and curt as he looked between you and Shoko, glancing back at the bed where Suguru was lying, his fingers barely lifting from his phone as he gave his childhood best friend a lazy three-fingered wave.
“Why’re you here?” His blunt question was directed at Shoko, something that held no bite but mere wondering as he situated himself on the soft cushions, his large hands feeling around his bag as he opened up the zipper to get his laptop.
“I thought that it was allowed,” Shoko replied dryly, “Apologies.”
You chuckle softly, flipping the page, trying not to let his signature cologne distract you from the words in front of you.
“How was your lab?” Suguru asked, sounding monotone as his thumb swiped on the screen.
You watched as Gojo gave him a glare, his nose wrinkling, something he often did when he was frustrated but didn't want to ruin his outward appearance, and rubbed at his tired eyes. His hair was messy with goggle indents lining the upper half of his face.
“An offense to my intelligence,” Gojo grumbled, his face illuminated by the glow of his laptop as he clicked around a little bit, “I can’t believe some people have made it this far.”
You flipped another page, not fully having read the contents of the last one, but in an attempt to seem indifferent, tried to keep up with your regular reading pace as if anybody was keeping track.
Watching as he riffles through his bag again, you know, almost like clockwork, what he’s going to pull out. His routine is one that you’ve familiarized yourself with despite your best judgment, and you know that what comes next are his glasses.
Glasses are normal. You have your own pair that you only wear for lectures and outings, but forgo them for times like this because they sit a little too heavy on your nose. But his glasses are something else.
They elevate his face ever so slightly, but so much so that it makes you want to keel over and scream. They accentuate his perfect nose with the perfect crook and his freckles that sometimes sit just beneath the frames. He looks even more dashing, if that was even possible, with the way he looks up sometimes, and the lenses make his eyes seem even more blue.
He took them off for labs and put them somewhere safe. In moments like this, you were reminded of just how truly stunning this man really was.
Gojo unfolded the two prongs, holding them up to a source of light as his nose wrinkled again.
Smudges.
You watch silently as he dives back into the bag, his long fingers searching through his pockets for something you knew you always kept on hand for yourself and deep down, for him.
After a few seconds of not finding the microfiber cloth that you both silently cherished, you gave in, pulling your own bag towards you as you unzipped the smaller pocket, pulling it out stealthily and motioning for Shoko to hand it to Gojo.
He took it, his face going so far to relax momentarily as he went to clean the lenses, his head nodding once in quiet appreciation in your direction as you allowed yourself a nod in return.
Shoko looked at you with a raised brow, and you chose to hide behind your book.
“Was it Lainey?” Suguru asked, looking over at his friend, the name piquing your interest as you cast a quizzical look at Shoko, but she shrugged, watching Gojo as his expression soured. He handed you back your little cloth, muttering a thanks under his breath as his bitter gaze found Suguru, as if he was cursing him silently for bringing up the sensitive subject.
“What do you think?” He grumbled out, his right eye almost twitching as his fingers stretched out, typing something quickly as Suguru huffed out a laugh, noting how you and Shoko were both confused, and his smile only grew.
“You didn’t tell them?” Suguru asked, a gleam in his eyes as he shuffled to sit upwards, his back resting on the headboard, “Oh, this is class. Do you two know Lainey? Lainey Andrews?”
You cast a look at Shoko, your lips pursing as your eyes squinted, trying to recall the familiar name.
“The ginger?” Shoko asked, her head tilting to the side, her hair falling around her shoulder, “Pixie cut?”
Suguru nodded, his shoulders raising as your brows furrowed before your mouth slightly fell open when your head bobbed quickly, snapping as you matched the face to the name.
“Oh, Lainey!” You exclaimed, “She’s really pretty,” you added, remembering her bright green eyes and the spattered freckles that made her look like a painting, “She’s also crazy smart - she’s double majoring in bio and poli sci."
Shoko laughed softly under her breath, giving you a small look because this was somewhat typical of you to know random people, with nearly everyone on campus having had a conversation with you at some point during your four years here.
Suguru raised a brow, clicking his tongue as he pointed his phone at Gojo, seeming like he was already anticipating one of his sly comments.
“She’s also just crazy,” Gojo muttered, looking above his laptop, above his wispy lashes at you and then to Shoko, “She spent half of the lab playing with my hair.”
Your book almost fell out of your hands as Shoko sat up with a barking out a stunned laugh, your hands mirroring each other as they flew to cover your mouths in shock, and Suguru nodded again, his eyes wide as he clicked his tongue.
Another thing about Gojo? He hated being touched. Despised hugs, only suffered through quick handshakes, and shuddered at the thought of someone touching his face. You’ve seen the way he pulls back whenever someone approaches him with open arms, seen the way he tries to brush people off of him. He can tolerate Suguru and his insistent bear-hugs from time to time, can sometimes allow Shoko to swat a fly away from his face, and for some reason, doesn’t grumble whenever you try to fix his ties before events, but whenever a stranger or someone he isn’t close to attempts to touch him, he grows reclusive for the rest of the day.
“I told her to stop, too,” he adds, his big frame seeming to grow in frustration as he thinks back to it, “It was only after I had to shove her off that she got the hint. I forgot my disinfectant too, so I was just…” he shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted uncomfortably, and you watched him let out a restrained exhale as he dropped it and went back to work.
But, after studying him for as long as you have, you know that he probably washed his hands and his face a couple of times after that. You know that he also wouldn’t feel complete without some sanitizing wipes and a good shower, so you do the closest thing to that and fish out a hand sanitizer from your bag, an item that you refused to move around without due to your own cleanly nature, which was ironically something else that you and Gojo silently shared, and passed it to him, knowing that he was probably itching till he was able to shower again.
Your friends sometimes joked that you had a Mary Poppins bag, but it came in handy for times like this.
Gojo’s ears perked up at the sound of your rumaging, his eyes almost brightening at the sight of the hand sanitizer, and you pinched it between two fingers before throwing it his way, watching as he effortlessly caught it and began spraying his large palms with the lavender scent.
“Thank you,” he mumbled again, his voice slightly losing the edge it had from before as he passed it back to you, and you smiled, nodding once before you zipped it back up.
You tried to ignore the way Shoko was staring at you.
“Lucky us that we don’t have labs, huh?” Suguru called out, throwing another tiny pillow in your direction, but this time you dodged it, moving your head down slightly so that it would miss. You huff a bit, looking over at Suguru as he shrugged, winking as he went back to his phone.
Suguru was another English major, the reason the two of you got familiar in the first place. He liked to say that the two of you balanced out Gojo and Shoko, but you just thought that it pushed you even further down the list of potential people your pathetic crush could be interested in.
There were a couple of things that you had come to terms with if you were going to crush on him. One was that you had to know in full certainty that nothing was going to come from it. You weren’t going to risk the friendship, no matter how small, by going and confessing and having everything be messy. Two, was that you weren’t going to feel, or at least try not to feel, jealous if he entertained the idea of pursuing something with someone else. And three, was that Gojo Satoru was so incredibly picky when it came to potential partners, that it might be impossible for even the most amazing people to snag a chance.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, eyes squinting as you tried to make out what one of the characters was saying, “You didn’t have to do that project with Armie.”
Suguru hummed, his brow raising as he thought back to your shared class and the project that paired you up with people you didn’t know, Suguru getting the better end of the stick while you were stuck with someone who insisted on plugging the project prompt into a generator.
“Didn’t you report him?” Satoru asked, his eyes still trained on his work, but the question was now directed to you given the fact that he had sat in on a couple of your tirades in which you would drone on about how the boy was nearly about to graduate and still couldn’t cite sources when he, in one of his brief moments of providing comments, would reiterate to report it to the professor.
You sank into your spot, giving him a suppressed look, one where your eyes met before you shared a glimpse with Suguru. Your friend rolled his eyes from across the room, shaking his head in annoyance as Satoru looked between the two of you.
“She said that she didn’t want to ‘be a bitch’,” Suguru said, restating the words as his fingers move up and down in the air, quoting the statement you had said to him moments before you had to present the assignment in front of the class, shushing him as you pushed him away, insisting that even though you had done the entire project on your own, that it wasn’t worth the hassle to make a report with the professor and potentially have someone out for you, “I said otherwise, but she,” Suguru gave you a pointed look, “Said she’d cut my hair if I made it a ‘big deal’.”
Satoru’s eyes lingered on the side of your face, and you purposefully kept your head ducked and the book closer, so close that it was nearly touching your nose, as you tried to shield away their judging eyes in embarrassment.
“You need to stop caring about what other people think,” Shoko said as she shoved you with her knee, this time just a little bit harder because she knows you and knows what you hide in the fear of making others think something of you that wasn’t good, “I really think your professor would’ve heard your case if you made it.”
You groaned, swatting at her leg with your book as you shuffled away, backing into another corner as you tried to readjust to the new position.
“Yeah,” Suguru added, resting his phone momentarily on his chest, “I think it would help if you were more selfish.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the prospect.
“I just hate confrontation,” you murmur defensively, gnawing on your bottom lip as you flip a page, “And, plus…you have to give me some credit - at least I told him that he was being frustrating,” you say, pretending to ignore them, your eyes re-reading the same word over and over again until you were confident that they were going to drop this subject, this horse that they’ve beaten multiple times, one that ended with you assuring them that you were going to speak up more until it all looped back again to times like this.
“Speaking of confrontation, did you ever get a refund for that ticket?”
There was a beat of silence before you let out a frustrated groan when Shoko reminded you of the one task you had forgotten to do in the past couple of days, your head falling to your knees as your palms jammed into your eyes.
“No, oh my god, you’re so right,” your voice is muffled as you bookmark your page, your fists clenching at your own mistake as your eyes crack open, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot to follow up on that!”
Shoko chuckled, rolling her eyes as Suguru and Satoru shared a look, them now sharing confusion as you writhe on the floor at the thought of knowing you could’ve saved a couple of bucks had you not forgotten to call up the school of drama help center for accidentally buying an extra ticket to the showing of The Beggar’s Opera. And, seeing that it was Tuesday and just days before the theatre program, one that needed funds, was about to perform, the deadline for your refund was most likely up.
“So does that mean you need me to come with you next Saturday?” Shoko offered, her lips quirking up slightly as your head shot up, nodding quickly as your hands flew to hers, shaking them feverishly.
“Would you? Would you really?” You ask, and her laughter grows, shoving you off playfully by pushing your forehead back to where you were sitting.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says with a sigh, winking at you before she goes back to her phone, and you settle back in your seat as you gnaw on your lips, thinking back to how on earth you could have possibly messed up so bad when you so usually only buy one ticket for yourself, but you push it aside, thankful that your dearest friend was at least going to make use of it.
You, Suguru, and Shoko shared a small laugh and went on with the conversation, but you heard a low, deep noise, something only you could hear, as Suguru and Shoko returned to bickering about which major Shoko was best suited for.
The sound made you glance up briefly, looking over the pages to see Gojo still staring at you, his lashes fluttering before he snapped back to it and went back to doing his work.
Minutes turned into a few hours, and the room was filled with the occasional story and laughter, but mostly the four of you worked together on different assignments, sometimes looking up as you would recall something from the past couple of days that you were saving to tell them in person.
It seemed like everything was going smoothly until Suguru got a notification on his phone, his face lighting up as he swiveled out of his bed, jumping onto the floor as he tugged his shoes on, not explaining anything as the three of you glanced up, waiting.
“My food’s here,” he said over his shoulder, practically gleaming as he cocked his head in Shoko’s direction, “Come down with me, will you? I need some help.”
You scoff, smiling to yourself as you try to imagine just how much food he had ordered, but careful not to be too loud because you knew he would be sharing it with you all after some choice complaints were heard.
Shoko grumbles, but obliged, lifting up from the couch as she stretches, nudging you playing with the tip of her foot as she throws a pillow your way, walking towards Suguru as he holds the door open for her, the two of them calling out some brief goodbye as they head down to the lobby.
When the door clicks behind them, you’re suddenly aware of the fact that it’s only you and Satoru left, and you let your stare linger on the wall for a bit before you look away, suddenly sheepish when you catch his glance from his seat on the couch.
He clears his throat, eyes flickering from his screen to the book in your lap, the highlighters strewn around you, sticky notes sticking out from between the pages, and he points a finger at it.
“What’re you reading?”
Your brows raise slightly, and your chin ducks down to the book, and you sit up a little straighter as you place a bookmark in the middle of your page you lifting the cover, letting him read the cover as he adjusts his glasses over his eyes.
“Oh,” he says, his voice holding a lithe of acknowledgement as he slowly sets his laptop to the side, shifting slightly closer, “I’ve read this, I think.”
Your head tilts a little, lips quirking a little bit at the sides with a small smile as you look back at the cover.
“You’ve read The Norton Anthology, Volume C before?”
His mouth parts, closing it before he gapes at you, and your grin turns into a big smile, waving it away as you shake your head, shrugging at his stammering expression. He’s so cute when caught in a lie.
“I’m only kidding,” you swear, setting your book down, your knees pulled towards your chest, arms wrapping around your legs, “I’m sure you’ve had to read something like this for one of your previous classes.”
“You’re bothersome,” he murmurs, but his voice holds no bite as you let out another barking laugh, rolling your eyes as he tries not to smile, “I’m only trying to be polite.”
You purse your lips together, giving him a questioning look as he shoots you one back.
“I didn’t know politeness was in your artillery,” you quip, and he scoffs, moving his glasses upwards as he rubs at his tired eyes, resting backwards into the cushions as his legs part, and you try not to let your eyes linger on his thighs.
“I have a reserve for choice people,” he says, opening his eyes back as he looks back at you, yawning as he moves on, “How was your presentation?”
Your smile falters for a second as your stare turns questioning, chewing on your lips as it turns into something sweeter, something smitten because he’s asking about the presentation you had mentioned once in passing the last weekend you had hung out, stressing over your slides and sources, and trying to seem nonchalant as you finger traces little patterns on the floor.
“It was good,” you tell him, trying not to seem too prideful as you murmur, “My professor said it was exactly what he was looking for.”
His face shifts, no longer annoyed as you try not to appear bashful, but his teeth shine as his rosy cheeks pull upwards as he gives you one of those smiles that makes you feel warm and happy and giddy.
“Yeah?” He asks, shifting a little bit as he waved his teasingness off, rolling your eyes as you groan, nodding exaggeratedly as you go back to organizing your highlighters and pens, but he seems intent on pushing this: “Didn’t you say it was the hardest assignment of the class?”
You look up at him from above your lashes, trying not to smile again as you shrug indifferently, done with arranging your stationery based on colors as your knees knock together, throwing a pillow his way that he effortlessly catches.
“I mean, everyone told me that it was really, really hard, so-” But you’re cut off by the door swinging open, and the two of you crane your necks around to see Shoko and Suguru arguing over something irrelevant, food nestled in their hands as they close the door behind them with a slam.
They start telling you two about the delivery fee and the outrageousness that one of the containers had tipped over, but you’re still busy thinking about how Satoru remembered something so trivial, giving them quiet hums as they spread out the food on the small coffee table, and trying to act normal.
Like you have for the past two years.
—
The week passed as it usually does, with papers, readings, and assignments that needed to be completed at an unmanageable rate.
You had expected the usual and mundane things, and for the most part, that’s what came your way. Nights spent in each other's rooms as you finish up your work, spliced with moments where you would all talk, days filled with going to lectures and walking around campus till you found a quiet study spot. Things that you could predict and plan for.
For the most part.
Another thing that your little group would occasionally do was meet up at the end of the week at one of the pubs around campus, most of them serving mediocre food and somewhat better drinks, and offer you all a time to reconvene after a usually stressful couple of days.
The pub was small and quaint, but you enjoyed the warmth and laughter that muddled together to make the ambiance somewhat private. Either Suguru or Shoko would arrive there early and try to secure the usual spot at the booth near the end of the establishment, seeing that either of them didn’t have classes on Fridays, while the other three would meet up outside of Satoru’s biophysical chemistry class and walk there together.
Which is why you found yourself back on that Friday, sitting next to Shoko, settling into your seat as she clambered in after you. Suguru almost pushes Satoru in, impatient to sit down and get back to talking, and you watch as the white-haired man sits in front of you, his hands clasped together as he stares at the wood-grain of the table.
“How were classes?” Shoko finally asks, looking between you and Satoru as she takes a sip from her drink.
You sigh, shrugging as your fingers play with the bottom of your cup, the condensation slipping down as you rub at your tired eyes.
“Fine, I guess,” you say, drinking some water as you wipe at the corner of your lips, “My professor could’ve ended the class, like, twenty minutes earlier than he did.”
She nods solemnly, patting your thigh in solidarity as she passes the bowl of crisps towards you, nudging you to take one to help settle your stomach after having back-to-back classes, knowing how hangry it made you.
“Is this the professor who needs you to see a classical play?” Suguru asked, taking some of the snack as his arms crossed on top of the table, leaning in slightly as you licked some of the salt from your lips, nodding.
“Yeah,” you heave another sigh, elbowing Shoko as you continue, “Which is why I’m seeing Beggar’s Opera next week. I mean, the theatre program did a couple of Shakespeare ones earlier this semester, but…ugh, I just can’t watch another performance of Romeo and Juliet.” You murmur with a groan, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as Suguru hums in agreement.
“You don’t like Shakespeare?”
Your eyes shift over to the man in front of you who asked the question.
Your brows furrow slightly in the middle, lips pulling into a small pout as you shake your head, playing with the ring of water your drink had left as you itch your nose, trying not to focus too hard on the pretty pink color on Gojo’s cheeks because of the slightly toasty feel of the room.
“I do,” you say slugishly, “It’s just that when the only work of his that tends to be popular isn’t The Tempest, I get a little annoyed.”
Suguru snorts, shaking his head as his fingers wag at you.
“That’s not even nearly his best stuff,” he argues, and you roll your eyes, your head tilting badly in annoyance after knowing what this was going to lead to, “I can’t believe you still think that it outweighs Richard II.”
Satoru and Shoko’s eyes bounce between you and your ink-haired friend.
“I’d rather die on the hill of petty magic versus royal family drama,” You quip back, your brow slightly raised.
Suguru huffed, shaking his head in dismay as he lightly shoved your foot underneath the table, a small smile on both your faces.
“Is Tempest the one with the shipwreck?” Gojo asks, his head tilting slightly as his glasses lean on his nose bridge. You nod, grinning at the fact that someone in the group was able to identify such a classic piece of literary work.
You open your mouth to agree, but Suguru beats you to it.
“How do you know that?” He glances sideways at his friend, his brow raised in slight shock as Shoko snorts.
Gojo shrugs, his elbows resting on the table as the fabric of his sweater tightens around his arms, making him look delectable and otherworldly. You have to tear your eyes away from it before it becomes too noticeable.
“We went to the same secondary school,” Gojo argues, saying it as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world, “I paid attention…clearly more than others,” he adds under his breath, causing you to drop your hand to your mouth to hide the satisfied grin from when Suguru deflated in slight embarrassment.
“Oh, speaking of blast from the past,” Shoko shuffles, looking at her phone screen as if suddenly remembering something, “Vi’s coming back for break.”
You watch as Gojo and Suguru stop their silent bickering by messing with each other's stuff as they look up to Shoko. Suguru’s thin brow shoots upwards, his mouth turning into a surprised line as Gojo stares blankly, an unreadable expression on his face as you poke Shoko’s thigh, shaking your head in confusion.
“Who?” You murmur, your eyes squinting as Shoko looks at you, her mouth slightly dropping as she also remembers that you didn’t grow up with them.
“Vivienne March,” Suguru explains, beating someone once again to explain something because he could never hold onto a piece of information for longer than three seconds if he knows that somebody in his vicinity doesn’t know it, “She went to school with us for, what? Five, six years?” He looks between Gojo and Shoko, and they both nod, Shoko unlocking her phone as she goes to pull up the girl's instagram to show you what she looks like, “She’s his ex,” he murmurs as if secretly, pointing at his friend next to him as you feel something in your gut shift, but he clearly doesn’t tell because he leaves that point entirely.
“But I thought she preferred to stay in America till her spring semester was over?” He asks, confused, waiting for you to be done looking, as he waits for Shoko to explain it.
You take her phone gingerly, looking at the girl's account as you carefully click through her posts. You’re greeted with an aesthetic array of photos, some of her friends, some of her cat, and pretty pictures of old brick buildings and fall trees. But your eyebrows slowly move up your face when you see her.
Your thumb swipes through each post as you see her stunning hair framing her face in freshly done curls, her eyes striking and delicate as she wanders around a bookstore. Her outfits are always perfectly curated, and her makeup delicately done to accentuate her already natural beauty in a way that makes a part of you, something you tried to bury and starve, twist with envy at the effortlessness of her perfection.
“Guess she had a change of heart this year,” Shoko says, taking her phone back from your outstretched hand, turning it off as she placed it face down on the table, “She texted me this morning saying that she was ‘gonna be here for December and some of January and that she wanted to catch up.”
“You would like her,” Suguru directs his attention back at you, his words matching the genuine smile on his face, “She’s super bright and bubbly. And she’s so funny. Oh, and she's, like, insanely smart. She graduated from Cambridge when she was nineteen, and she’s doing grad school at Harvard.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Shoko hums, “I mean, she almost came here if she didn’t get the call from Harvard,” she nudges you with her shoulder, “But I don’t know how much he,” she points her eyes to Satoru, watching the way his mouth slightly parts at being called out, “Would’ve appreciated that, though.”
He scoffs, his tongue poking at his cheek as he leans in slightly, his arms crossing the table as Suguru snickers.
“I have no issue with Vivienne,” he argues, his brows pulling into a cute little frown, “She was just…”
“What?” Suguru juts in, Shoko scoffing a laugh next to you as Gojo only peers at him from the side of his eyes, “Madly in love with you? Was going to pick Oxford to be with you? And you were…what, days away from breaking up with her when she came sobbing to us that you have the emotional intelligence of a rock?”
Your eyes widen slightly, looking over at Shoko for confirmation, one she returns with a faint grin. Despite the sunken feeling in your heart, one that you often get whenever you are reminded of the fact that, unfortunately, literally everyone is also in love with Gojo Satoru, you have to control your face not to giggle at the statement.
Gojo makes a noise deep in his throat, the tips of his ears slightly pink from the added attention.
You swallow as you try to grapple with all this information. But, as always, the conversation moves on and you push everything back as you find yourself smiling once again, listening to how Suguru animatedly tells the story of how he bombed one of his essays because he forgot which citation format to use, and you try to not make it obvious how you’d peek over at Shoko now and then and see who it was that she was stalking, probably some girl from her class that she was plotting on.
The music lolls on in the background, the pub getting more packed with students and tired workers, and you find yourself content with listening to your friends tell you about their week, taking small sips from your straw as you grin and laugh as poke Shoko’s thigh whenever a cute guy, devastatingly never as cute as Gojo, walks by the table, and she, gripping your knee whenever a girl her type flashes her a look from over their shoulders.
“I think I’m wanted somewhere else at the moment,” she whispers, leaning closer to your ear as you follow her line of sight to a girl sitting at the bar, her long blonde hair thrown over her shoulder as she steals the occasional glance at your friend, “I’ll be back.”
You giggle, pushing at her to go as she swats your hand away playfully, sending you a wink as you send one back, watching her go as Suguru and Gojo watch silently, sending each other knowing looks before Shoko disappears behind the other booths.
“Well, if she’s going, might as well take this time to piss,” Suguru states, putting his hands on the wood as he hoists himself up, sending a cheeky little smile as he imitates Shoko’s sashay, “Don’t wait up.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to watch him leave as if to draw out the silence that will inevitably follow, seeing that it’s just you and Gojo remaining. Your fingers play with your empty glass as you glance back to him, sending him a small smile as you feel chagrin already seeping into your veins.
He clears his throat, his eyes darting from your face to your arms, his tongue poking his cheek as he swallows. You wonder how much he’s dreading the awkward silence that has the possibility of ensuing.
“Water?”
Your eyes squint at the sudden question, looking down to the long finger he has pointed at your glass, and you look back up at him, wondering if he was stating the obvious or if your feelings for him had made you delirious and unable to compute anything that comes out of his mouth.
“Do you want some more water?” He explains, and you feel your cheeks heat again at your blunder, “I’m going up there to get a refill anyway.”
You nod gratefully, swallowing your feelings down as you glance up at him, handing him your empty glass with ice sloshing around as your smile wobbles.
“I’d appreciate it, thank you,” your voice dips slightly as you grin stupidly the longer you look at his long lashes and his pink lips, somewhat glad that he was getting away so you could less opportunities to screw up, and you watch as his beautifully large hand wraps around the glass like it was nothing, sending you a small nod as he crouches slightly so that the overhanging light wouldn’t hit his head on the way out.
Leaving you alone, you pull out your phone, also thankful to have a little moment to yourself as you quickly try to catch up on the notifications you had gotten in the past couple of hours, as the noise around you mixes, adding a comforting ambience as you lean against the old walls, your head leaning against your fist.
You were so engrossed in your own little bubble that you didn’t notice the figure hovering near the other end of the table, only noticing the man when you looked to the side, thinking that either Suguru or Gojo was back, only for your eyes to widen in shock and surprise to be greeted with an unfamiliar face.
Letting out a small noise, adjacent to an audible gulp, you sit up straighter, looking bashfully at him as you turn your phone off, taking in his slender frame and the rectangular-framed glasses that sit wonkily on his nose as he fidgets nervously with the hem of his lumpy sweater. Ironically, having everything that Gojo has but wearing it so drastically differently that you have to snap yourself out of the comparison.
The boy's hair is slightly parted, light blonde, and his eyes framed with what seemed like brown lashes. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and his smile is lopsided as he scratches the back of his neck.
Cute in a schoolish way, you think.
“H-hi,” his voice is high, squeaking and wobbly as he leans on the booth, not knowing what to do with his arms as he uses the back of his hand to push his glasses upwards, “Hi, I just…”
Your head tilts slightly, curiosity filling your eyes as you give him a gentle smile, waiting patiently for him to find his words.
“I’m Kento,” he stammers after a second, scratching behind his ears as a red flush settles over his high cheeks, “I’m sitting over there,” he points to a table behind him, and your neck cranes to see a group of boys his age all staring at his back, “And I just thought-”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but pauses, his gaze drifting to something, or rather someone, coming his way, and you’re too focused on the way sweat dots at his hairline or the way he fidgets with the hem of his sweater to even notice the full glass of water sliding in front of you from the other side of the booth.
Your back straightens as your head whips to the side, eyes widening when you realize that Satoru had returned, his one drink nestled in his hand as his stare bounces between you and, who you evidently had just discovered, Kento.
Blue eyes flicker over your face, a moment's decision faltering in his mind as he slithers into not his original seat in front of you, but next to you, his large frame taking up half of your side of the both as your brows furrow in confusion, lips pulling into a tote as your eyes squint at the way he hunkers in like it was normal.
Is he okay? You try not to have your heart burst out of your chest and flip flop around on the table like a fish out of water at being in such proximity to Satoru, but you don’t even have time to think about that as the rest of your mind falters, trying to make sense of this behavior.
One of his beefy arms unravels from his side as it stretches above your head, resting atop the cushioned seats as he sighs deeply through his nose, taking a sip of his drink as if he hadn’t interrupted anything, and his chin turns over to the boy, waiting.
Kento stammers, even worse than before, as he pushes back his spiky hair with a hand, looking between you and Satoru as you blink slowly, not really knowing what to do, awkwardly lingering in your seat as you wonder if anybody’s going to talk.
“Everything alright?” Satoru asks finally, his voice slightly lower than usual, somewhat taunting but hard to tell, seeing that his face was blank, thick as it almost bounces off Kento’s skull, his cheeks turning into a bright pink as you lets out a small exhale of air, something resembling a shocked laugh at the strange and sudden shift in his behavior.
“I, uh, I,” Kento’s voice wobbles as he seizes up Satoru’s size and his overall presence, a strange look of shock and even awe as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, not fully knowing what was going on as Kento’s head dips in embarrassment, “I’m sorry…I didn’t know, uh, that you, you were…yeah…sorry…”
His arm raises in a small wave, quickly turning on his heels, the back of his neck almost red as you blink rapidly, letting out a small huff of air as your neck almost snaps towards the man next to you, stammering as you try to find your words.
Satoru looks at you, taking another sip.
“What?”
You scoff, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you stumble over a slew of words.
“What? W-what do you mean what?” You let out a bewildered laugh, looking across the pub at the boy and his group of friends that almost seem to be comforting him, their hands on his shoulders as he profusely shakes his head, “What the hell was that for?”
His white brows pinch in the middle, as if he doesn't understand your startlement, as if you were the one being crazy.
But you weren’t being crazy. Not in the slightest.
You brushed it off the first time Satoru scared off a guy who was talking to you. You thought it was strange, sure, how in the middle of your lively conversation of John Milton and Paradise Lost that he wandered from the other side of the room, suddenly attached to your side, his height towering over the other guy as he quieted down and scurried away. You just chalked it up to him being bored, despite how annoyed you were.
The second time, a guy was seconds away from putting his phone in your number when Satoru’s voice rang in your ears, and you watched, horrified, as he peered down at the guy's cracked phone screen, scoffing at the fact that he was listening to some stupid band he disapproved of.
Then there was the time when you were at this same pub, getting some drinks for Shoko, waiting at the counter, flirting with the guy next to you when Satoru found his way back to you, as if pulled by a magnet, and asked the guy if he always chose to talk to girls he didn’t know with a fresh hickey on his neck. (That one you weren’t mad at, more so embarrassed).
But it’s happened countless times. At the pub, at gatherings, at galas he’s invited you to as his plus one because he said nobody else could make it, at the library when he came a little too early and a guy from your class was sitting next to you, at the cafe, and at the small party he threw last year.
And if you weren’t so in love with him, you’d be madder than you were. You knew he was just being a protective and caring friend, not wanting you to get hurt, but you knew you’d have to start moving on from this debilitating crush, and he wasn’t making it any easier.
“I just asked him if everything was alright,” he explained, his tone bordering on bored as he pulls out his phone, checking the time as he angles his body slightly to look at you better, and you're somewhat aware of the fact that his arm is still somewhere above your head, “He’s the one that scurried away.”
Your mouth drops open, your palms jamming into your eye sockets as your head hits the table, banging it a couple times as you try to pull away from him, slightly angered, slightly, and very, ever so slightly, internally flustered at something you definitely should be flustered over.
“You…you scared him away!” Your voice is muffled as you groan, not caring much as you shoot him an angry and bitter look.
Satoru’s lashes flutter slightly, his pink lips pulling into a confused line as you shove his knee with your own, realizing that you were, in fact, not joking and were seriously considering the idea of giving that blubbering mess a chance.
“Are you - are you serious?” His thumb jabs in the general direction of where he had gone, “Him?”
You roll your eyes, chest heaving with a sigh as your forehead continues to rest on the cool tabletop, the tip of your nose rubbing against the varnish as you groan.
Deep down, you know that this crush of yours is fruitless and useless. It’s never going to get anywhere, and the only thing it can offer you is more hurt and rejection. You know that you are so far from his type and out of your league that he’d never see you as more than a friend, if that, but you continued to have it because it lit a fire inside of you that you sadistically enjoyed.
That being said, you would prefer, at some point, to have a romantic moment, even if fleeting, and having the man you’ve been in love with for two years chase away the only guy who’s had the balls to come up to you made you irrationally annoyed for some reason that you didn’t fully understand.
“He…he seemed nice,” you argue, your eyes closing shut as your hand shifts, and you rest your cheek on the back of it, your back bent at an angle as you look up at him from your position on the table, “And he was cute-”
Gojo cuts you off with a startled laugh, a disbelieving one as his eyebrows shoot upwards, showing more than the five emotions you usually see him with as genuine shock laces his features, and it only spurs on that angry fire inside of you as you press.
“What? What? He was cute!” Your head lifts quickly from its spot on the table as your body shifts to look at him even better than before, trying not to notice the cute wrinkle of his nose or the frosty irises of his eyes that are looking so intently at you that it could knock the air out of your lungs if you stare long enough, “And I…I don’t know, I think he wanted to talk to me!”
Gojo snorts, his arm tightening around the cushion behind you, his hand dangling off the end, his fingers dangerously close to the side of your ear as you swallow thickly.
“Well, of course, he wanted to talk to you,” his other hand pushes his glasses upwards, the veins on the back of his hand evident, “ I just can’t believe that he’s someone you’d want to entertain.”
You stutter, hurt flashing across your face as it pulls into sour bewilderment.
You’ve barely talked to Satoru for more than a couple of minutes at a time about classes or projects or annoying classmates, and you can’t believe your luck that the first conversation between the two of you that stemmed outside of those points is about this.
“What, what’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice dips slightly, embarrassed, as his own expression slightly shifts at your tone.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly not expecting this to blow up in his face as it did, and he sighs, retreating to his old, composed self as he explains himself.
“Look, I have him in a couple of my classes,” he starts again, lips pulling into a thin line as he looks over his shoulder to Kento and then glances back to you, “He shows up late and never does his work and always asks to most ridiculous questions,” Satoru adds and you try not to have your lips quirk at the sudden revelation, not wanting to give in and let your foolish feeling stake the wheel and guide you to forgiving him, but it’s not use as he continues, “I just figured that…someone like that isn’t someone good for you. Even if he did just want to talk.”
Your mouth dries up, and you try not to let your head burst and remind yourself that he’s thinking about this from a friend's perspective, something kind and caring and companionly, but not in the way you would want from your crush, but Satoru is still waiting on your response so instead you swallow everything down and your lips tote, avoiding eye contact as you attempt to seem indifferent despite your outburst.
“How ridiculous are his questions?” You finally ask, peeking over at him from where your gaze had been training on the ice in your water, and you swear you see a flicker of surprise take over his gorgeous features, as though you were going crazy with the way his blankness faded momentarily and gave way to a little smile.
He sighs, this time lighter, his hand behind you shifting ever so slightly to push at the back of your head, gingerly but in a teasing way as you try not to smile a giddy smile, one that doesn’t reflect the fact that you couldn’t really care about the guy who had come up to talk to you when Satoru cared enough because he didn’t think he was good enough for you to talk to.
“Even more ridiculous than asking if adding ice to rice would help it steam up more than if you used water,” he says, picking up his drink as he nurses it over his mouth, fighting back a smug grin at the way you sputter, pushing him roughly as your cheeks heat up again for bringing up one of your late-night queries.
“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll give you this one!” You rub at your eyes, shoulders hunched, “But you have to stop scaring off every single guy that tries to talk to me! He could be a normal guy who’s going to come up, and you’re going to disapprove of him just because he wears mismatched socks or only writes in pen!”
Satoru snorted indifferently, proving your point that he didn’t seem to care.
“Writing solely in pen is psychotic behavior,” he grumbled to himself, recalling the time one of his classmates had the gall to ask you for your number before he quickly shut it down, inserting himself in the middle of the conversation until the guy gave up and left.
You groan, head dropping back onto the table as you tap it lightly, a quiet thud reverberating in your tiny corner of the room.
“One of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that the reason you shut people down is different from the reasons I shut people down.” You say, moving your arms upward so that you could set your cheek on it, looking at the empty seats in front of you instead of the man you’ve had a crush on, sputters.
“What do you mean?” His voice drops a little bit, and you angle your head to look up at him, brows pinching in the middle as you let out a little laugh, something sardonic as you shake your head to yourself.
“You…” you pause, stopping, sighing to yourself as you try to control your words before you say something you’ll regret, “You have like…perfect people coming up to you. And if you choose to reject them, that’s up to you, I get it. But last week you turned a girl down because she said that Star Wars was a waste of money,” the two of you share small laugh because you can recall just how red he got, embarrassed but peeved when somebody just offended his entire lifeline, but you continue, “It…it’s just,” you press your lips together as something in your chest clenched, “I don’t really have that luxury. I don’t have perfect guys coming up to me with little quirks, you know? There’s always something wrong with them, even if I don’t see it then. Like they don’t show up to dates or they make fun of my major, or just…only want to sleep with me, and then when they find out I don’t want that, they leave. And any of the sane ones that have small issues, you’re always there to shoot them down!”
You stop, taking in a deep breath as you try to regulate your emotions, refusing to look at him right now as you let some pent-up feelings loose, just grateful that he hasn’t left and decided to let you figure this out on your own.
“Look,” you glance at him, giving him a small smile, “I’m thankful that you care. Really, I am. But…but I just want to experience something…with someone, y’know? At least once when I’m still in university. I’m almost twenty-one, and I haven’t even had my first kiss!” Despite how embarrassing it is, it slips out, and your chees heat up as you hurry on with your ramble, “And if it has to be with something who asks stupid questions or says my name wrong on the first attempt or doesn’t know what my favorite color is, I guess I’m just gonna have to bite the bullet and take that risk. I,” you look away, back to focusing on the leather cushions in front of you as you gnaw on your lip, “I don’t really have any other option.”
Giving it a moment, you let your shoulders sink, going back to playing with the straw wrapper in front of you as you debate whether it would be better to just throw yourself out the window or risk saying something else that you’d stay awake the next couple of nights pinching yourself over.
You heard him inhale exaggeratingly, the arm behind you moving a little downwards in order to hook one of his fingers around the collar of your sweater, trying to grab your attention. You tilt your chin sideways, lips pursed, and attempt not to let his overwhelming presences budge how bitter you were feeling for some reason.
“I think,” he sighed again, gnawing on his bottom lip as he tried to formulate his thoughts, the overhead lamp casting a soft orange light over his face and it made your pitiful stomach churn with desperate want, “I think that if you’re too pessimistic.”
That get’s a dry laugh from you, and you roll your eyes at his statement. Before he’s able to say anything, he gets interrupted by Suguru rounding the corner, sliding into his seat with a wide grin, one that falls when he sees his friend has changed the seating arrangement.
“Why’d you move?”
Satoru paused, tearing his eyes away from the side of your face as he glanced at his friend, his fingers moving upwards as you tried not to look at him and make anything obvious. You hope he doesn’t bring up Kento and your little meltdown, but he seems to read your mind.
“You were bothering me too much,” he mutters, and Suguru lets out a startled scoff, throwing the hair tie around his wrist at him as Sator just flings it to the side. Suguru doesn’t push, though, and starts telling the two of you that he was held up at the bathroom entrances because a couple was having a ‘lover's spat’, his words not yours, and he just had to hear it before he left.
The rest of the night continued as it usually does.
If you could consider the uneven rhythm of your heart as normal.
—
Another week had passed, another seven days of agonizingly slow school work and duties.
It seemed like the days would flicker away at a snail-like pace until it got you to the one day of the week that you actually wished wouldn’t arrive, and would force you to stalk around the limited space of your dorm room as you think about what to wear to the theatre production that’s taking place in thirty minutes.
Your hand was on your hip, feet tapping against the floor as you looked at the two outfits you had hung on your dresser, lips pursed as your eyes moved back and forth between the one that would go better with those pair of kitten heels you thrifted with Shoko, or the dres that you rarely get to wear.
It took a couple more seconds of deciding, but you ultimately picked the more comfortable option, knowing that the university theater was always freezing, especially in October, and that a cute sweater was probably the better choice.
Thankfully, this gave you some more time to fix your hair and touch up your makeup, humming along to the music as your eye kept wandering down to your phone and then to your door, squinting as you turned it over, confused as to what was taking Shoko so long.
Instantly, your eyes widen at the plethora of messages you have from Shoko, a telltale sign that something was seriously wrong, given the fact that she never sent more than two messages at once.
shoko: pick up
shoko: girl ur literally always on ur phone wya
shoko: pls pls pls pick up
shoko: ur making me beg rn pls can u call me back
shoko: pls
You don’t have time to send her one of your stupid stickers, your fingers fumbling around as you look at the five missed calls you have from her, shaking your head in dismay at how it was possible to leave your phone alone for twenty minutes and come back to this.
It doesn’t take more than a ring before she answers on the other line.
“Are you okay?” Your voice cuts through immediately, rushed and worried, your legs bouncing as you hear some people talking in the background, and you can hear the way Shoko snaps at them to hush so that she can hear you better.
“Hi, yeah, no, no I’m fine - hey can you guys just,” she calls out again, hey annoyance dripping form her tone, some shuffling happening over the line as she moves somewhere where the noise is less, “Hey, hi, sorry for the noise,” she starts again and you just hum, eyebrows still pinches together in worry as you wait for her to continue, “I’m really sorry for spamming you, but I have some news.”
The worry on your face melts as you lean back in your seat.
“Yeah…?” you ask, but already predicting what it was that she was stressing out over telling you, but she lets out another exhale, and you could imagine her nodding wherever it was that she was at.
“I’m so sorry but I’m at work right now and,” some clattering happens in the background, the kitchen in great hustle for the Saturday evening rush it usually has at the restaurant she waitresses for, “God, Tommy just screwed everything up with our shifts and I thought he had written me as off for tonight but he wrote me as off for next Saturday and I wasn’t able to fine somebody to-”
You laugh softly, cutting off her rambling.
“‘Ko, babe, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you stress, leaning in slightly as you hear some silverware being unloaded, “It’s so okay, your job is so much more important than-”
“No, you’re more important than this - believe me,” she cuts you off this time, and you can see her standing hunched in the corner, gnawing on her fingernails in stress, “And I promised you I’d come with you and I can’t, and now I…I feel horrible.”
A smile creeps onto your lips, and you shake your head.
“It’s fine,” you stress, chuckling at her incoherent rambles, “I promise. The play’s going to be lengthy anyway, might as well take the time to make some money while you’re at it.”
You hear nothing except the kitchen roaring in the background for a few seconds before she sighs, clicking her tongue as she hums softly.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” you tell her, hearing her chuckle softly over the phone, the disappointment evident in her voice, and you didn’t want to push her over the edge despite the small flicker of disappointment of having to go alone, “I promise you’re not gonna be missing anything.”
“Look, I know it’s not the same, but I was with Suguru when I found out, and he’s said that he could-”
This time, she’s cut off, but not by you.
A knock sounds over your door.
You sigh, smiling at your friend as you slowly rise, “You guys are so sweet, but you should’ve told him I’d be fine. Really, I usually do these things by myself anyway.”
She groans at your antics, somebody calling her name from the back as she tells them that she’s almost done.
“Shit, I have to go, but promise me you’ll tell me about how tonight goes, yeah?” She sounds hurried, and you make a few steps towards your door as you snort, rolling your eyes as you unlock the brass knob, shaking your head at the thought.
“Tell you about what? Oh, like how Suguru has a horrific attention span and can’t…” You swing the door wide open, but you trail off as your mouth hangs slightly, not greeted by your black-haired and eyebrow-pierced friend,
But Satoru.
Shoko seems to have picked up on your silence as meaning that you finally understood what she was talking about, and you can barely register her sing-songy bye as she leaves, the phone in your hand lying limp as Satoru’s brow raises skeptically at your dumbfounded expression.
Damn you, Shoko Ieiri.
“Hi,” you say breathlessly, almost stupidly, as your hand falls from behind the door to your side, tilting your head a bit as Satoru just stares, hands in his pockets, and you shake back to reality, laughing apologetically as your neck prickles, “Sorry, I…I was just expecting someone else.”
His brow arches even more, and you huff out a laugh.
“Shoko just said that Suguru was coming,” you explain, stepping back from the entranceway as his mouth parts slightly.
“Right,” he nods, his hair falling gracefully in his face as you churn in your spit at the magnificent sight of him in his denim jeans and the navy sweater he was in, “I hope it’s okay that I came. Suguru couldn’t make it.”
You blink, wanting to say that you were so okay with him, but you swallow that done as you shake your head, waving his statement away.
“This is…this is fine,” You stammer to say, your smile wobbly. You hope that he can’t pick up on the way that your eyes are roaming over the way his button-up sits comfortably on his broad chest, or the way his glasses look on the bridge of his nose, “I, uh, I just have to do my mascara, so give me like,” you look at the clock behind you. Your eyes bulge at the fact that you have only five minutes left, “Two seconds and I’ll be done.”
He nods, his head tilting slightly to the side as he looks at your face and his eyes travel down your outfit. His hand raises, a finger pointed at your sweater.
“Nice sweater,” he says, something teetering on teasing, and you look down, suddenly realizing that it’s the sweater he had given you last year for your birthday, the one that you had seen months prior after walking past a vintage store and exclaimed how much you liked it, only to be stumped by the price.
Your confusion melts into a wide smile, your head still poking out from outside your door as you survey the material, not noticing the way his eyes soften just a smidge at your flighty reaction.
“Oh - right, thank you again for getting it!” You say cheerfully, an entire evening or perfection and romance already forming in your head as you try not to appear too excited, pointing back to your room as you duck away, “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back, then!”
Satoru nods, giving you a small smile as you shut the door behind you, your back hitting it as you give yourself a moment to reciprocate, curse Shoko and her blasted antics, and calm your heartbeat down long enough.
This was so fine, you tried to tell yourself,
Everything was going to be fine.
—-
The lobby of the Oxford theater was unusually packed, and you even voiced your surprise when Satoru led you in, your eyes wide as you took in all the students, some looking at the programs, others waiting in line for the bathroom.
“Damn,” you mutter, squeezing past someone as Satoru follows behind you, “I didn’t think it was going to be this busy.”
The walk here had been…fine. You had talked for most of it, which you had predicted, and with the few times Satoru would interject and give some comments on the stories you told him about your week, you feel like you told five times that amount of embarrassing and lame jokes, shutting yourself up once after wincing at how terrible it was. Satoru cracked a small smile, though, a pitiful one, most likely to keep you from shutting up the entire night.
It’s strange, just how different you act around him. In attempts to make yourself seem cooler and interesting, you wind up embarrassing yourself even more. You could have sworn that you never acted like this with Shoko or Suguru, or literally anybody else, even your old crushes, but when it came to Satoru, you seemed to lose the sense of normalcy you had come to know.
But you don’t have time to worry about that, now trying to put your attention on wondering how many of the students here are from that stupid class you’re taking right now, and even looking in the sea of bodies confirms that answer when you see some familiar faces. The concession stand in the corner, the one run by the theater department to raise some extra funds, seems to be swarmed, and your stomach grumbles instantly at the smell of buttered popcorn that wafts through the air.
“Where’re our seats?” He’s standing by you now, and you have to crane your neck slightly to look at him. You sift through your tote, pulling out your wallet and opening it to reveal the tickets tucked inside, and hand one to him while keeping the other for yourself.
“Row H,” you read out loud, “You’re seat 18, and I’m 19.”
He nods, pocketing it before he looks back out into the lobby, his eyes focusing on the wide double doors that led you into the theater, watching the ticket taker check the people’s tickets before looking back at the concessions, remembering how much you were raving on your walk here about how good the snacks were.
“Do you still want some…?” He juts his chin towards the hand-made sign that reads Beggars Snacks!
“Hm?” You look back at the table, and you let out a small laugh, “Oh, yeah, right,” you look through your wallet again, putting your ticket there for safekeeping as you glance back up at his gorgeous face, “Yeah, I’ll be back. You can go find your seat, if you want.”
Satoru opens his mouth and then shuts it, glancing at you and then the doors, and his shoulder straightens slightly.
“Right, well….right,” he murmurs, looking a little torn, his voice drowning out by the roar of sound around you two, but you’re able to make out the low grumble of his after being near him for so long, “I’ll…I’ll see you in a few.”
You smile again, giving him two thumbs up as you turn on your heel, your hands clenching in frustration at how utterly inhuman you seem to act around him, somehow making it seem like it was your first day on this planet.
Peeking over your shoulder, you watch as he leaves towards the entrance of the theater, and you duck your head down as you find your way to the large line leading up to the snacks. Coming here for the past four years has taught you to go for the popcorn, pass on the homemade cookies, and snatch up the little boxes of candy if they have them.
Checking your phone as you wait idly, you text Shoko a slew of messages cursing her and her entire bloodline for blindsiding you like this, hoping she sees them after her grueling shift and only feels worse about leaving you like this.
Keep a tab of the line as it slowly moves, you eye the clock, knowing that the show was going to start soon. It seems to dwindle a bit, as some people in front of you and behind you give and leave, deciding it wasn’t worth it, and after scrolling through your feed a little bit more, you find yourself next in line.
Glancing through the snacks, your stomach protests louder, ravenous after a day fueled on granola bars, a pathetic excuse of a yogurt bowl, and some crisps you had lying around, until you feel your hopes and dreams plummet when you see a small sign at the edge of the table that says only cash.
Fucking bullshit, you think angrily, whipping your wallet out again as you rifle through the confines, who still uses only cash? What medieval system was this? They accepted cards last time, this is entirely-
And you could complain petulantly in your head as much as you want, but your face falls as you search through for the third time, coming to the consensus that you didn’t have a lick of cash on you. The person in front of you is almost done, but your shoulders sag as you begrudgingly step away, shaking your head in dismay as you make your way to the theater entrance, flashing your ticket to the ticket taker as he lets you in with a wide smile.
The ushers point you towards aisle H, and you patiently dispute the hate still inside of you, burning. Waiting as those in front of you find their seats, and it doesn’t take long before you’re able to see a pop of hair standing high amongst the rest of the people in the audience.
You move past a couple of people talking as you move closer, almost skidding when you stop instantly, realizing that Satoru was, in fact, not alone.
From this angle, you could see the girl standing in front of him, a wide grin on her face as she laughs at something he says. Your eyes go to his face, your posture falling even more when you see the little quirk of his lips, a sign that he wasn’t necessarily hating the conversation, and the loss of the popcorn feels pointless now as your stomach churns for another reason.
It was selfish to think that you were the only person who liked Satoru, but it didn’t hurt any less when you were confronted with this fact at least once a week. You knew you couldn’t expect anything from this stupid crush, a theorem forming inside your head that you continued to fall for Gojo Satoru just because you liked the sting of knowing you had no shot with him, and seeing other girls and their gleeful smiles at the fact that you probably had a chance is what maybe hurt the most.
You weren’t ever angry at these girls, understanding them completely, even admiring the way they could flirt so effortlessly, and treated you kindly whenever you were near, but it singed a part inside of you that liked to act that you were in this small fictional bubble that you dreamt of whenever he looked your way.
Like he was right now.
Standing awkwardly to the side, at the end of the row, you sway idly in your spot, looking at the two of them and then around, wondering when the lights were going to start dimming and notify you of when the show was about to start.
You hear your name being called, a familiar cluster of syllables from his throat, and you look away from the painting on the wall to the side as you see Satoru throwing up a hand, trying to grab your attention.
When he sees you finally looking his way, he turns back to the girl, saying a few more words as she nods, her smile still soft as she glances at you, a strange look on her face as she sends you another smile, and you can’t help but return it despite the sinking feeling in your gut.
She leaves through the other end, and you mutter a few apologies as you finally make your way down to where he was standing, ducking your head down sheepishly as you fidget with the strap of your tote.
“Hey,” you say meekly, your cheeks heating as you finally get to him, “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
One of his hands waved, shaking his head as he looked back to where the girl had retreated with her friends.
“You weren’t interrupting,” he tells you, and your brows furrow slightly because that was a white lie if you’ve ver heard one, “I knew her from my lab,” he he says, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes trace of your face, falling to your empty arms as they squint, the conversation with the girl suddenly feeling his head as he points, “Where’s your popcorn?”
The past couple of moments seem to flee too as you wring your hands awkwardly together, shooting him a tight smile as you try to appear indifferent.
“Oh, they didn’t take card,” you mumble bitterly, “And I forgot my wads of cash back in my dorm, so,” you shrug, laughing it off as you point to the seats, “But it’s fine, I…erm, wasn’t really feeling it anyway,” a lie, since that was all you could talk about, but you push past him as you sit down, setting your tote on your lap as you look at him, waiting for him to do the same.
Satoru peeks at you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he swallows, not doing anything to sit down as one of your brows moves upwards, confused about the mental turmoil that he was going through, which made him reluctant to sit.
“Everything okay?” You ask slowly, shifting your legs, wondering if he was tight for room, but he just nods, tongue poking through his rosy lips as he glances back towards the double doors as he briefly nods.
“I need to use the bathroom,” he mutters, and you nod, lips pursing in understanding as you look over your shoulders, watching as more people start taking their seats.
“Okay,” you sit back a little bit, your finger pointing behind you to where the bathrooms were, “Well, you, you should probably go, like, now. I think the shows going to start,” you say with a light chuckle and check your phone, realizing that there were only five minutes left till the lights turned off, “In a little bit.”
Satoru just nods again, saying spoke few words before he turns to leave, murmuring apologies to the people sitting down as his long legs knock their knees, and you watch him leave the aisle and go before you turn your attention back to the stage, taking the time to admire the props and the set design, trying to think back to the original story and see if it lines up with how you remembering it starting.
When the overhead lights start flickering, and Satoru isn’t back yet, you churn in your seat, looking over your shoulder every couple of seconds, hoping that he doesn’t have to navigate back in the dark.
You send him a small text saying that it was almost going to be lights out when you see his figure in the corner of your eye, watch as he nears your row with his arms full, and you squint, trying to see through the dimness to see what it was that he was holding.
The closer he gets, the more you’re able to see, and it’s only until he’s lowering himself to sit down that you make out the popcorn bag in one hand, and some boxes of sweets in the other.
He says nothing as he shoves the popcorn into your hand, settling in as he looks around the seat, trying to move the armrests up only to see that they’re stuck in place, completely oblivious to your wide-eyed stare as he lets out a big sigh, resting back as his legs spread out a little bit. He opens a box of Maltesers, adjusting his glasses as he looks at the stage.
“Want some?” He finally says, his voice low as he pushes the red box towards you, and your cheeks are almost on fire as you glance at the paper bag of popcorn in his outstretched hand.
“I…” you blink, holding onto the popcorn so that it doesn’t spill, “Here.” You dumbly give him the bag back, assuming that he had only given it to you so that he could sit down more comfortably.
Only now does he tear his eyes away from the stage, tuning out the voice over the announcements, the regular message of turning off your phones and staying quiet, as his elbow pushes your arm back to your seat.
“Can’t have corn,” he says bluntly, looking over at your startled expression, “It’s yours.”
It’s yours.
Here’s another moment you're going to mull over before another minuscule thing he does happens again, and you spend the next months thinking about that.
“Are you sure?” You whisper, already pulling your phone out to Venmo him for it, but Satoru can already tell what you're about to do as he flicks it away, as if it was repulsive to him, and you don’t have any time to argue because the curtains pull outwards and reveal the actors.
You drag a hand over your face, trying not to look over at him anymore as you begrudgingly accept the kind token, trying to relax in your seat as the show begins, a tentative finger plucking out a popcorn as you bring it to your mouth, hoping that the only person who can what the blood roaring in your ears is you.
—
Nearly a quarter in, and you start to realize just how bad an idea this was.
The play itself was great. The actors were delivering their performance in a manner that felt reminiscent ot the campy nature of the original text, and some people in the audience were keeling over with laughter in certain parts.
You found yourself with a wide smile throughout most of it, recalling some of the bits and others jogging your memory, but you were thoroughly enjoying it nonetheless. The issue was, the person next to you seemed to be despising it.
The rare couple of times you peeked over to see his reaction to a couple of things, you noticed his jaw clenched, sitting straight and uptight as his eyes never left the stage. He barely mustered up a smile during the funny portions, looking utterly depleted during the serious bits, and his hands were clasped together, fingers interwoven as he sighed, unamused.
Every time somebody would do something weird, you’d glance his way and would still see the same stone-cold expression on his face. You were aware that the play itself was over exaggerated and strange at times, but that was the whole appeal of it in the first place. But at times, you tried to view it through the lens of someone who didn’t go in-depth into literature and read the nuances of somebody like Satoru, who would rather spend their free time studying and working on their mountain of assignments, not something like this, and you felt your chest getting heavier and heavier with each second.
When it neared intermission, you could’ve sworn you had nearly melted in your seat, your popcorn done as you glanced over at Satoru when the lights finally turned back on, people around you standing up to leave or stretch.
A beat of silence passes before you clear your throat, mustering up a wobbly grin as you jab a thumb to the curtains.
“Funny, huh?”
Satoru blinks, as if coming back to, and you debate if he had been half asleep. The thought makes you sink even deeper in embarrassment.
“It’s, uh,” he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as he swallowed thickly, “It’s…interesting. I haven’t really seen anything like it before.”
You pause, chew on the side of your lip, rubbing at your eyes as you try to think of anything else to say. You’ve spent time with him alone, sure, but never in a situation where it felt like you had to defend yourself, your background, the whole reason why you were here in the first place, like you are now.
People bustle around the two of you, and he sits up a little straighter, pushing his shoulders back as his neck cracks a bit.
“It’s raunchy and… theatrical,” you try to explain, attempting to seem unconcerned as you fold the paper bag up and set it neatly on the ground, making a mental note to pick it up before you leave. “But I think it’s really interesting given the period it was written and how vulgar, everything is, and the characters are all super unlikable, which you don’t really see in these kinds of productions, and, well, it’s supposed to be funny and…fun, I guess,” your voice dies down, your lips almost chewed raw as you wait for a reaction, a facade of interest, a pitiful acknowledgement to what felt like your livelihood, but he just nods.
You suck in a deep breath, gaze darting around the theater as you try to look at anything else.
Noticing your sudden silence, his eyes leave the stage for a moment as they rake over your expression, see the way your lips pull into a small, worried line, the crease between your brows, something that appeared whenever you were stressed or confused. His face seemed to melt to mirror yours.
“Is there a reason why they keep calling the daughter a slut?” He finally asks, and your eyes dart back to him, and your cheeks puff, blinking slowly as you nod, embarrassed for some reason as you stammer to find words.
“It’s, erm, well, it’s in the original material, but,” your words mesh together as you try to call back on the research paper you did for this piece, your mind blanking as your cheeks heat, “But I think they keep it in because it’s supposed to be a demonstration of the degradation of women and the differentiation between men who also exhibit premarital interest in the sex…and it’s not supposed to be funny but they repeat it a lot, so you kind of become numb to the meaning of the word...” Your rambling quiets near the end as you shoot him another tense smile, wringing your hands together as your lips tremble, looking away as a last resort to save your dignity.
After spending two years with him, you’ve become familiar with his routine and what he expects from his day-to-day life. What some describe as the prodigal son, Gojo Satoru, if not with friends, is usually found in the back of the library, in his dorm, or somewhere quiet with papers strewn in front of him, with his laptop out, typing away. He sometimes goes to benefits and galas, some to attend because of his parents, others because of his biochemistry path, but his time isn’t usually spent at the theater watching vulgar plays.
That’s what you did.
And of course, you didn’t come here weekly. You had to be here for that godforsaken Literature in English class. But this was a part of you, this play, this environment, these exaggerated dialogues are what you spent your time obsessing over. The history and the meaning, and the importance of English literature and writings are your life, and having someone next to you, watching a personification of it live, felt like inviting them into a piece of your mind, even if they wouldn’t view it as such.
But to you, you who liked to overcomplicate and read into things, saw it as such, and your heart was thumping erratically when you realized that Satoru probably saw this, you, as equally insane for enjoying something like this.
And you hated how much the thought made you spiral, made you think of yourself less than when there was a possibility that this wasn’t what Satoru was thinking at all, but the slight chance, the small probability, is what stirred the trepidation in you.
“Are you enjoying it?”
His question brings you out of your mental fever, and you bite your cheek, wondering what the right answer would be. He’s watching you, waiting, and you exhale shakily, smiling poorly as you swallow back some bile.
“I, I am,” you say finally, “It’s just…I did this huge essay on this last year, and I’ve been looking for a rendition of it, but there’s only this old movie that’s so far been made, so…seeing this live is pretty cool.”
He nods, looking at your stalled expression as you keep your eyes trained on the curtains, not wanting to show your internal thoughts on your ever-so expressive face, and he tries to keep his slight confusion at bay for your suddenly reserved self.
As you try to feign indifference by going on your phone, you can watch him from the corner of your eyes, look around, and uncharacteristically fidget in his seat as he debates doing the same as you or talking some more, which, at the moment, you don’t appear content to do. But the more you try to ignore him, the more it seems like your body has a physical reaction to it, protesting your desire to keep to yourself.
“Did you do anything fun today?” You ask, putting your phone down as you scratch at the inside of your wrist. He blinks, looking a little quizzically at you before he clears his throat.
“Well, Suguru had set me up for a double date,” he explains, and you feel your chest tighten a little bit, “But…eh,” he shrugs, “I wasn’t really feeling it,” he drags a hand over his face, “If only he knew where I’d end up instead, huh?” He nudges your elbow with his, a teasing grin on his face, but blood roars in your ears upon hearing his words.
Gods, the man who despised dates and unaccounted occasions and strange meetings would rather take that over this.
You let out a little puff of air, trying to give him a smile as you feel sweat dot on the back of your neck, your palms clammy as you wring your hands together, looking down at your shoes as you try to bite back the lump in your throat.
He’d rather be anywhere else than here, your mind blares, the unspoken words ringing in the small expanse of your heart.
There’s a strange gurgle in your stomach, one that shifts sharply, and you wince. This is definitely not a part of your internal trade, and you hope that when you shift to place a hand on it to try and calm it down. You turn your phone off, pocketing it in your tote, and the sudden movement makes you jerk in pain. You sit back up, hoping that he won't notice.
But, of course, he does.
He angles his body towards you, brows cinched as your eyes twitch barely.
“Are you okay?” His voice his deep, tinged with worry, his head leaning towards you just a bit so that you can feel his minty breath fan across your warm cheek.
You wave him off, shooting him a horrifically terrible smile as you shift, your head tilting to the side as your stomach makes another alien noise.
“Yeah,” you mutter, almost like a question because even you don’t know if you’re alright, “Yeah, I just think it’s the popcorn on an empty stomach.” But even that explanation made no sense. It seems like your stomach is churning even more with each passing second, and you really wish that he couldn’t tell that every moment is a testament to your battle for control of your own body.
“Do you want some water?” He asks, looking over his shoulder to the doors, remembering that the concession stand was also selling bottled drinks, “I’ll get some-”
But your hand shoots out, gripping the fabric of his sleeve as you tug on it, shaking your head as you attempt to situate yourself back in your seat, your act going well besides the slight crack in your face at a particularly painful jab.
“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine,” the lights flicker again above you, and you’re somewhat grateful for them, grateful hat you can’t see the obvious fear on his face at the prospect of you being sick near his very hygienic self, “The shows starting, anyway, so just,” your voice dips a little as you try to contain a groan, “Just stay.”
He goes to protest, but your hold on him is strangely tight for someone so riddled with pain, and his mouth parts to say something, but the glare you shoot him nearly shuts him up.
“Please,” you mutter, the embarrassment from several things thick in your voice as you wince, your eyes melting into something pleading as the applause begins, and his face falls for a second, but you look away, weakly clapping along with everybody else.
You feel tears prickly in your eyes.
And you hope he can’t see the shining gloss when you try to blink them back.
—
When the show ends, you’re nearly debilitated with the pain in your abdomen, and the mortification from having watched Macheath’s other wife battle it out with Polly alongside Satoru. They mix into a terrible combination, one that forces you to come back into consciousness in the middle of the theater, the bright overhead lights nearly sending you into a psychosis.
There must have been something horrifically wrong with either the popcorn or the butter they put on it, because, despite your blurry view, you can see a few people in the audience huddled up in their seats the same way as you, despite the play ending.
Satoru cleans up next to you, taking his boxes of candy and your strewn popcorn bag, and sits back up to look at you nervously.
“Are…are you sure you’re okay?” His gentle tone is one that you barely register as your hands grip onto the armrest. You can barely even muster up a hum, giving him a shaky thumbs up as your stomach gurgles again, this time, audibly.
You try to stand, but your knees wobble, and you grip onto the back of the seat as your head sways. You can feel his grip on your elbow, nearly knocking over some people's bottles beside him from how fast he stands up, and your clammy face looks upward at him, swearing that he looks like an angel with the light framing his hair.
“I,” you clamp your mouth shut, swallowing thickly as you wince, taking a few seconds before you start again, “I have to use the loo.” The declaration comes out as a whisper, an ashamed one, and you can’t look him in the face, even if his nods insistently, an arm of his wrapping around the expanse of your back as he tries to steady you
“There’s one near the concessions,” he tells you, his voice strangely considerate and temperate, head leaning down to get closer to your ear so that you could hear him better, “Do you think you can make it?”
You feel like a child, but you only nod, neck and face flaring up in embarrassment as you allow him to guide you through the aisle of people, not looking anybody in the eyes as you make it out, your legs shaking slightly. If it weren’t for him, you’re sure you would’ve toppled down in pain by now.
The walk out of the theater becomes a blur, letting him guide you towards the bathrooms with one of your hands wrapped tightly around your stomach, as if it would ease the pain, and you feel the two of you come to a stop as you stand next to the ladies' door.
His arm around you falls, and you miss its warmth. He looks crossed with different emotions as you use the wall to hold yourself up, wobbling towards the bathroom as you shoot a look over your shoulder.
“Thanks,” you whisper, your eyes widening and then shutting instantly at how much it hurts your head, “I’ll…I’ll be back.” The words slur in your mouth, and you don’t give him any time to react before you leave through the wooden door and book it to a stall.
The moments that follow afterwards are what you’d expect from a case of bad butter.
You kneel on the floor, heaving everything up, trying to be as quiet as possible so the girls in the stalls around you can’t hear, but it’s not a process that you’re particularly fond of and can feel your will to continue weakening as you leave back on the wall, your head in yours hands as you hear the toilet automatically flush.
At least getting it out of your system seems to have made the painful throbs dull down to an annoying little jab, but you feel like the bulk of the damage has already been done. Satoru was sweet enough that he’d try to never bring this up again, but you knew you’d have to live with the humiliation of this evening for a couple of months before you did something else that would top it.
You let your head tilt back and heave a gulp of air, palms jamming into your eyes as you attempt to swallow, your mouth too dry to produce any saliva. If Shoko were here, she’d at least try to make you laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. But it’s just you and Satoru, and you don’t know if you can even look at him for the next week after tonight.
Giving yourself a little more time to calm down, you heave yourself up from your position on the floor, careful not to touch the ground, and pluck your bag off the hook, miraculously throwing it on before you hunched, so as it wouldn’t touch anything too icky.
You wash and scrub your hands, feeling dirty and still a little sick as you splash some water on your face, hoping the cool water will help snap you back. The girls around you talk, some drying their hands, others touching up their makeup in the mirror. One of the girls next to you watches you through your reflection, her face pale and strands of hair wet as she splashes some water onto her face.
“Popcorn?” She asks, and your eyes find hers through the mirror, blinking slowly as your hands grip the counter.
“Yeah,” you take a deep inhale of air, sharing a small smile with her as you turn off the faucet, “Do you want some hand sanitizer?” You offer, going to reach into your tote, but she waves it off, giving you a kind smile as she continues to wash her hands, probably feeling just as bad as you were.
Giving her a small nod as you go to the paper towel dispenser, you reach around for your phone, opening it up as you quickly send a text to Shoko to update her on where you were, nothing too long, just to be safe, and tap the tip of your shoe on the ground, debating what to do next.
You could go see Satoru, probably waiting outside, and awkwardly explain that you should probably walk back, seeing how his germaphobic personality might not mesh with the fact that you had basically deposited your entire day in the theater washroom. You could also try to sneak away and hope that he was standing somewhere that granted you the option of stealth, but you quickly shook that off, quickly understanding how pathetic and childish it was.
After another moment of thought, you ball up the towel and throw it away, pushing the door open with your shoulder as you enter back into the lobby, the business having died down just a bit, and look around bravely for the man.
Spotting the pop of white near the end of the room, you take a few steps forward before you halt, stopping near a wall that offered you a little bit of insight as to what he was doing as you peeked around the corner.
2 - 0, you think sunkenly, watching the way Satoru talks to another girl, his broad shoulders shielding her from where you originally were, and that familiar ache enters your chest as you play with the hem of your sweater.
You could be sadistic when it came to your unrequited feelings; that much you had made peace with. But the universe was horrifically masochistic for the situations it thrust you into.
His face is a little more stiff than before, but still polite and kind as he cranes his neck to look at the girl. Her hair is pulled into a sleek bun, one that you always envied with how clean and precise some girls were able to make theirs, and watched how her hand lingered on his arm, something you could never get away with without his face falling into contained disgust.
It’s unfair to think this way of this stranger, you remind yourself, after all, if you had the guts, you’d try to make a move on him too.
So, in another moment of decision-making, you get your phone out again, trying to contain the little tremble in your lips as you start drafting a message to him. It’s for the best, you try to reason, telling him that you were too sick and didn’t want to give him what you had. You send another message, saying that you were going to make your way back to your dorm and that you hope he had fun, thanking him as much as you could without sounding pathetic for how much he did this evening and for coming.
You also sent him the venmo transfer for the popcorn you were going to make earlier for good measure.
Where you were presented you an easy way to slip out of the building, one of the exits a little bit behind you, as you rubbed at your tired eyes, wrapping your arms around your torso as you prepared for the cold gusts of wind that were going to hit you the moment you stepped out.
People around you were talking in muted voices, laughter ringing around your ears as you ducked your head down, hoping that this time by yourself could give you some moments of peace, even though you knew that being alone with your onslaught of thoughts was going to do the exact opposite.
This campus was always bustling on a Saturday night, so you never felt too alone as you made your way away from the theater, pulling out your headphones as you geared up your phone to listen to some music before you heard a muffled shout from behind you.
Brows furrowing and your eyes slightly shifted in confusion, you, along with some other students around you, looked to see what the sound was.
To your utter horror and stupefaction, you watch as Satoru whips his head around, as if he were looking for something, or rather someone.
You stand like a deer in headlights, hands raised mid-way to your ears to put your headphones in them as you see him check his phone and then look up again, not caring that other people were looking at him strangely as he runs a worried hand down his face, typing something furiously fast as he looks around again.
Finally, it seems like he found what he was looking for when your eyes lock, and he sends you an ice-cold, deathly glare, one that made you glance around as if it were someone behind you more deserving of such a look, but before you can do anything, he’s jogging over to where you were frozen in place.
The closer he gets, the more you can see the agitation and vexation in his microexpressions, things you’ve taken pride in before in reading, now not so much because you were on the receiving end of them.
When he comes to a halt, phone still in hand, his chest rises and falls a little fast, as if he were out of breath, and he runs another frustrated hand through his white locks as he pushes them back.
Your mouth gapes, and you suddenly remember that you were supposed to be “deathly ill” according to the text you had sent him, and try to make your breathing seem more labored, your posture more haggard, but that doesn't work as he eyes you like he knows.
“Where the hell are you going?” He snaps, and you wince slightly at his tone, and he reels, shooting you an apologetic look despite the fire burning inside of him from the way you’ve been acting this night.
“Back…back to my place,” you whisper, voice hoarse, and he hears it instantly, expression melting as he takes the time to really dissect the way your eyes are slightly bloodshot, your lips chapped, your lashes clumped with tears, and he takes a small step back, taking in a deep breath.
“No, I, shit,” he stammers, restarting, “Are you…” His voice comes out as thick and low, and you almost feel it in your bones as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm his nerves as he gives you a tilted look, “Are you okay?”
This time, he’s not asking because you were exhibiting signs of ailment, but because you had been acting like you were strangers since the moment you saw him tonight. Because your behavior was so off and unlike you, he was struggling to understand if there was something beneath the surface, something that had happened that he wasn’t aware of, that was fueling this shift.
Your eyes seem to waver as you try not to look at him, attempting a nonchalant shrug that is anything but, as you think of how to lower your voice to a deeper register to appear more sick than you really are.
“I feel sick,” you mutter, coughing feigningly as you pull on the straps of your tote upwards, as you clear your throat, trying not to feel the weight of the looks other people were giving the two of you.
A single brow of his raises, one that you know is detecting bullshit as you rub at your nose.
“I’m sure,” he finally murmurs, rolling his eyes at the obvious statement, “I think the entire lobby heard you throwing up your small intestine.” That statement alone almost makes you keel over in shame, humiliation, embarrassment, and disgrace, but he continues, “But…are you…okay? You’ve been…off…the entire night.”
And you know you can’t sidestep this landmine because you know how weird you’ve been acting this evening, knowing that your attempts to make things better have only backfired, and the past couple of hours come screaming back at you, and for some stupid, depressing reason, cause a sting of tears to prick behind your eyes.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as your head falls slightly, your stomach still aching, your pride and confidence bruised, and you can still smell the lingering perfume of the girl he had been talking to, another reminder that you probably didn’t smell like that perfume you had spritzed on so long ago.
“I’m okay,” you murmur, looking at the cracks on the ground, your voice shaking and wobbling and so clearly not true that you tilt your head back up to see his reaction, your face crumpling into a little wet laugh when he seems completely unmoved. Upon hearing your little giggle, his anger fades a bit, but is quickly replaced with another emotion when he hears you sniffle.
“Look, you-” he looks down at his phone to reread the text you had sent him, and his confusion seems to grow even more when he reads another notification, “Did you Venmo me?”
You nod again, weakly, and when you look up at him, you see him fighting back a startled laugh, the quiver on his face making your lips pull up into a wobbly smile, your own emotions turning into something strange as you watch him shake his head in dismay, running a stressed hand through his hair.
“Did something happen today?” He asks, not taunting, never taunting, but something you can’t place as you weakly not, a sheen over your eyes as you tug at your sleeves.
“…no,” you whisper, but the two of you know it’s far from the truth because even you can’t hide the way your lips tremble and your hands shake slightly.
He presses his lips together tightly, his jaw ticking as he takes in your sunken form, something he’s never seen before, and chews on his cheek, thinking.
Sighing deeply, he pockets his phone, not able to look at your texts anymore because they made him too nauseous, and moves to be closer to you.
“Come on,” he says after a moment's silence, “Let’s go.”
You peek over at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you huff out a breath of air, trying to contain your tears as you sniffle again. Your bottom lip trembles slightly, and your stomach still has a lingering ache, but there’s something else that’s causing you to be like this, and you don’t like whatever it is.
He’s waiting, his elbow budging yours, and so you heave a sigh, rubbing at your cheeks as you nudge him back slowly.
“Thank you, ‘Toru,” you murmur, and he pauses, his tongue caught between his teeth because you rarely call him by that nickname, rarely use it unless you really mean it, “For everything. And I’m sorry,” you peek over at him from above your lashes, looking back at the ground at your shoe so you couldn’t see his reaction, “I didn’t mean to spoil your evening like this-” But before you can say anything more he raises a hurried hand, cutting you off.
“You didn’t spoil my evening, love,” he says quickly, his tone soft and teetering on worried, the little title slipping out of his mouth like it was natural, and if you weren’t feeling like a pile of shit, you might have fixated on it more, his eyes roaming your anxious face.
But you insistently nod, your lips pressed together as if you were trying your hardest not to let out a pitiful cry in front of him.
“I-I did,” you voice cracks, and you rub at your eyes as some treacherous tears escape, and if only you could truly see the way he looks like he was breaking seeing you like this, “With you getting the popcorn and then me getting sick and then the s-stupid show,” and he winces because he knows you were enjoying the play, could hear your twinkling laugh and he hates it whenever you feel the need to shut down the things you like because you’re worried other people will judge you for doing so, “And…and I wish you had told Shoko o-or me about your date, I would have totally understood,” you try for a smile, your words choked and wobbly and if only you knew what you were doing as you ramble, “I’m just…I’m really sorry for everything." You finish with a quivering chuckle, your heart shaking like a leaf as you finally meet his eyes, hoping he can’t see the little shake in your breathing when you finally do.
He breathes in deeply, and you can hear the gears in his head turning. But you nudge his side again, wanting to leave it at that. You can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, but you don’t want to look.
And you’re grateful that to some extent, he understands that, even if not fully. He murmurs a gentle come on, his hand gingerly wrapping around your arm as he tugs to next to him, his warmth enveloping you as he leads the way.
—
As much as you insist, the one thing he doesn’t seem to budge on is taking you back to your dorm.
You pleaded with him, begged him not to get him sick, but he wouldn’t listen. It’s almost as if he steered you towards his building, a hand hovering over your back as he led you inside and up the elevator and to his room before you could even have the ability to ditch and run away.
“If you’re going to talk, fine, but don’t think I’m insane enough to leave you alone right now.”
That alone could have sent you into a psychosis if you weren’t so worried about puking all over his bed.
With the way his germophobic and clean tendencies forbade him from going to public restrooms, you’re stunned that he’s even standing near you with everything that has happened this night. He even lent you his old band shirt and trousers from when he was going through a phase.
It was a blur as you spun around his room, rifling through his drawers for towels and soap and things he thought you might want to use in the shower. You stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed, not sitting down on the mattress because you knew how he felt about outside clothes on his sheets, and you said nothing as he handed everything to you, shooting you a shaky smile, one that was tense because you figured he was most likely worried about you staining or ruining one of his clean things. You don’t say anything as he suddenly ducks, his knees hitting the floor as he starts undoing the laces to your shoes, mumbling something about how you bending over might not be the best for your stomach.
He was lucky enough to be in one of the newer buildings, meaning that he had a personal washroom, so he just led you to it and let you know to use the shower and to call out to him if you needed anything. He even had an extra pack of toothbrushes and boxers that he hadn’t touched that he set aside for you.
You watched as he shut the door, the water roaring behind you as it began to heat up, and you silently stripped, neatly folding your clothes as you set them to the side. You took a tentative step inside his very clean shower, letting the steaming water hit you as you stood there for a couple of minutes, reflecting.
Washing your face, scrubbing roughly at the makeup and the evening away, you feel some salty tears bite at your cheek, and you don’t even know why you’re crying right now. Well, in all honesty, you do, and that’s probably what hurts the most.
You’ve never cried over Gojo Satoru before. You’ve never felt like it was so depressingly lost where you’d need to use these muscles and these feelings that you reserve for truly important things, but it felt like tonight was a confirmation and closure all in one. It felt like you slowly came to your senses, realized that despite your wishes, it was fruitless. You just weren’t the kind of girl that he could cherish, at least, not in the way you wanted him to, and you knew it would be selfish of you to ruin any chance another girl could have of him being hers.
It took you a little longer than expected, but you feel like you were slowly gaining consciousness, the reality at hand as you turned the water off, patting yourself dry with the soft towel he had provided you.
You move carefully, brushing your teeth, pulling on the clothes he left you, as you assess yourself in the fogged-up mirror. Your eyes are a little puffy, but you can just tell him from earlier. Your voice is croaky, but you’ll just bite your words back tonight until you can go back to your place in the morning and start distancing yourself from him until your feelings are choked out. It’s time you began moving on, anyway.
Braving the other side, you take a deep breath before you carefully open the door, peeking around the corner until you see him sitting on the corner of his bed, furiously typing away until he hears the creak, looking up from across the room as you sheepishly smile.
He quickly puts his phone away, standing to his feet as he rubs his hands, not knowing what to do as he buffers.
“Was, erm, was everything good?” He motions to the bathroom, and you quickly nod, walking away as the steam from behind wraps around you, your body adjusting to the shift in temperature as your eyes stray to the couch in the corner, pillows and blankets set up in a makeshift bed.
“It was great, thank you,” you say gently, “I’m sorry, again-” But he holds a hand up, cutting you off as he insistently shakes his head.
“Really, it was nothing,” he stresses, his cheeks dusted pink, his glasses discarded on his desk.
You nod again, embarrassed, and smile stiffly, pointing to the couch as you make your way over.
“Thanks for this, too,” you say, but he seems to awkwardly shuffle, his hands behind his back, looking like he wants to say something, and your brow slightly quirks at his odd reaction.
“That’s…that’s for me,” he explains, moving away from his lofted bed as he shows you the changed sheets and the new pillow case covers, what he must have been doing in the time it took for you to shower, “You can sleep here.” He pats the mattress, and you let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head as you move closer to the couch, feeling like the worst person in the world.
“I couldn’t,” you stress, but he’s already moving closer to you, looking like he wants to move you away from the cushions, “I’ve already imposed enough. I’ll sleep here. It’s fine, really, I like couches.”
He opens his mouth and closes it, lips pressed into a thin line.
“You haven’t imposed,” he finally says, as if that’s all he took away from your rambles, and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you wave aside his polite nature and hold your hands up.
“If I sleep on your bed after everything, I’m never going to be able to look you in the eyes again, okay?” You put it bluntly, “So I’ll take the couch, and you’ll take your bed, and it’ll be fine. Okay?”
His tongue darts out, blinking rapidly as if he’s assessing his different options, and he looks at you, to the couch, and then to the bed. He seems like he’s torn, but he figures that the next best thing is to ignore this completely, shaking his head to himself as he moves around you to the cupboards behind your body, shuffling around until he finds what he needs.
“I’m going to wash up,” he mutters, glancing briefly at you as he pulls in his towel to his chest, his new pair of clothes, and you feel your chest tighten at the sudden dismissiveness in his tone, ad if he’s given up with you, and he makes his way to the separate room, “Make yourself comfortable.” He calls over his shoulder before he shuts the door behind him, and you give it a few seconds before you wince, falling back down onto the couch as you pull a pillow to your chest and allow yourself some time to relax before he comes back.
You allow yourself some time to look around, appreciating his tidy room and the mess-free atmosphere. You can smell the lingering scent of bergamot, and you see the warmer on his desk, a candle right under it. The wall that his desk is parallel to is littered with postcards and retro movie posters (mostly Star Wars and Star Trek). There are some polaroids he has pinned up, some with Suguru and Shoko from their years in secondary school, some photos he had taken himself with his camera. His bookshelf, which is nearly leaning over with how heavy it is, is at the end of the couch, and you shift to get a better look at the books he has on his shelf.
You’re so rarely in here, especially by yourself, so you peek around, hearing the water still running, and lift from the cushions, your eyes squinting as you move closer, trying to make out the names on the spines, your curiosity getting the better of you.
Most of the shelves are full of textbooks from previous courses he had taken; therefore, most of them are science-related. Your eyes shift across the spines, seeing some books about botany and a couple about astronomy and astrophysics, a specific interest of his despite specializing in biochemistry. Notes are jammed into the empty spaces, and you make out his cursive on some of them, smiling despite yourself when you pull some of them out, making out his quick scribble from when he was either in class or studying.
The bookshelf itself is insanely tall for no reason, tall enough that you’re sure Suguru or even Satoru, in his sprawling height, would struggle reaching to top, so you have to go onto your toes, stretching your calves as you tilt your head upwards to look at some of the higher shelves, pulling some books out by placing a finger on the top of the spine, careful not to disrupt anything as you let yourself get lost in the names.
Suddenly, in the midst of all the chemistry and biology and Latin names, something familiar catches your eye, a book that was resting on its side on the highest shelf, and you struggle but can wedge yourself up on the edge of the couch to reach it.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
Your eyes widen in spite of your heavy emotions riddling your mind, and you turn it around, reading which edition and publisher it was as you scour through the pages, seeing his little citations in blue ink in the margins. You flip through the pages, each one highlighted and marked for different reasons, similar to the way you read through a book, and you close it shut, feeling like you were somehow intruding on something private as you set it back down in its initial place on the shelf until something else caught your attention.
Familiar titles and authors all paint the top level of his bookshelf, books that have nothing to do with his major or classes or even remotely with something you think he might enjoy reading, and you almost fall as you try to get closer.
A small box at the edge of the shelf piques your interest, and your lips catch between your teeth as you put all of your focus on this task, your nimble fingers moving closer, plucking it from its spot as you hold it gingerly in the palm of your hand, looking back to the bathroom as you hear the pipes groan as he turns the water off, an alarming sound, one that meant that you didn't have a lot of time left.
The box itself is also familiar, this one for more reasons than most, because you remember this box; you gave it to him for his previous birthday. amongst other little trinkets, finding it at a flea market, and thinking he could make some use of it. The wooden grain and the carvings on it were delicate, and your hold is even more careful as you unlock the little latch, the top lifting open as you peer inside.
Your eyes adjust to the sight, something you weren’t necessarily expecting, as what you can only describe as junk littered the inside of it. A ticket stub from a movie he had seen, a dried leaf, candy wrappers, spare coins. You huff a little in disappointment, your nosey nature quelled by the contents within as you rifle around a little more, knowing you should stop and sit down and act like you saw nothing when you feel a glossy texture beneath your fingertips.
Gently, you pinch it between your pointer finger and thumb, pulling it out from beneath all rubble as you hold it closer to your face, your breath catching in your throat.
It’s a polaroid of the two of you.
You remember the night well, a couple of months ago, during the summer. The four of you and a couple of mutual friends had rented a car and had gone up to a cabin, one of the many properties Satoru’s family owned, and had spent the weekend there. Suguru had insisted on setting up a fire and eating around it, and you had huddled up next to Shoko as the night got colder. You remember the voices and the laughs and the squeals as some of the friends, people you didn’t know that well, began chasing each other, and you and Shoko watched, amused. You remember how one of the boys had been carrying a jug of water, one meant for inside, when somebody bumped into him, and he tripped, and the water came falling on you. You remember letting out a small laugh, shocked and forgiving as you assured the stranger that it was okay, shivering, nonetheless, as Shoko laughed uncontrollably.
But above all, you remember how Satoru hurried over from wherever he was, his stare worried that you were hurt, everything shifting when he saw the playful glint in your eyes, the fireplace illuminating your features in red, yellow and orange hues as you shrugged his worries off, his hands on your elbows, steadying you as Suguru took a photo of the moment, of your head thrown back in a laugh and his eyebrows pulled into an anxious line while his lips pulled into a gentle smile, the stars twinkling in the background as he steadied you to your feet.
You distantly recall hearing the click and asking Suguru about the photo, but hearing him say something along the lines of the lighting being too dark, but clearly that was a lie because you were holding the small photo in your hand, staring at it with no problem.
Before you can spend more time thinking about his junk box and what the hell this photo was doing in it, you heard some shuffling on the other side of the bathroom, the door clicking open as you scramble to put the box back, nearly tripping as you jump down, going back to where you were seated on the couch in a flash, appearing to look nonchalant as he stepped out.
You don’t let your eyes linger too long on the way his shirt stretched tightly across his chest, or the way that the water has caused the fabric to slightly stick to his arms. He shakes his hair into a towel, ringlets of water falling as he pushes his hair back. You also try not to fawn too much over his mismatched pajamas, or how his trousers have prints of lightsabers in different colors all over them.
“Hey,” he calls out gruffly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tosses his towel into the hamper, his feet padding over to his desk as he checks the clock and then his phone for any notifications. He sighs, and your throat is dry, heart hammering in your chest as you realize a grave mistake.
In your haste to put everything back, the careful clutch you had on the photo had appeared nonexistent, and you had, for some reason, made the blunder of still holding the photograph of the two of you resting in the palm of your hand.
His back is still to you, and you swallow thickly, shuffling across the couch as you try to deposit it onto one of the nearer shelfs, hoping that if he were to see it he would think it had mistakenly fallen out or something less drastic, but his ears turn towards your movement, looking over his broad shoulders at the way you scramble to dispose of the film.
“What are…?” His eyes pierce yours, and you sheepishly snap around to look at him, your hand going behind you as you shake your head, acting confused as his head tilts to the side, jumping from your seat at the edge of the cushion to your leg, angled towards his bookshelf.
“I was just looking at your books,” you quickly state, trying to cover your ass as lips purse together to give you a knowing look, a white brow rising so high that it disappears in his hairline, one calling you out on your obvious bullshit.
“Hm,” he hums, taking a step closer to you, his skin still glowing from the shower as he makes his way to where you were sitting, towering over you as his arms cross deliciously across his chest, “Then what do you have behind you?”
You feign innocence, blinking as you shake your head, acting dumb as you shrug.
“I,” you scoff, leaning back into one of the pillows as you shrug, “I don’t have anything behind me.”
“Right,” he drawls out, his voice slightly deeper, intimidatingly so as he crouches down a little until his face is to face with you, his fingers moving to poke at your arms, twisting at an odd angle to hide behind your back, “Then you wouldn’t mind if I gave you some medicine, yeah? Something that requires both hands?”
Damn him.
You shake your head, swallowing as you shoot him a shaking smile.
“Not at all,” you stress, shifting uncomfortable as he nods, his eyes raking over your face one last time as he moves to his desk, pulling a drawer out, his medicine drawer, you deduce, and watch as he pulls out a bottle that seems to promise helping with stomach aches, and he turns it over, reading the label until he seems satisfied.
He strolls back to where you’re seated, holding the medicine bottle out towards you as he patiently waits.
You shoot him a fake smile, biting back annoyance as you shift awkwardly, wringing out a hand from underneath your body, the one that’s not holding onto the photograph, as you take the bottle from his outstretched hands. You stare at it, realizing that he’s waiting for you to open it, and if it wasn’t for the unimpressed look on his face, you’d almost wager that he was amused.
“Something wrong?” He asks, fully knowing the answer, and you shoot him a glare.
“No,” you bite back, your other hand moving slowly, careful not to crumble or tear the film as you place it under your thigh, showing him both of your hands as you twist the cap of the medicine bottle off, “See?”
He nods, still unbelieving of your little tactic, as he takes the bottle away from you. You watch as he moves to set it down on the table, assessing the situation as he moves down in one swift motion, not giving you any time to understand what was going on as he loops one hands under your knees, another across your back as he lifts you up and over his shoulders like you genuinely weighed nothing more than a sack of flour and you screamed in horror at the rudeness of everything.
“Freak!” You shout, your face looking at his muscular back as he chuckles, not seeing anything yet as you try to kick his face, “This is so degrading, put me down!” You scream, horrified and mortified as he pinches your calf that was near his chest.
“Stop squirming,” he chides, but his voice is anything but chiding as he swivels around, your body jerking sideways as your head drops, motion sickness from already feeling a little off from earlier tonight, and you weakly punch his back, groaning.
“I’m going to puke all over you,” you threaten, but he just chuckles, shaking his head as he pretends to drop you, only to catch you last minute, his chest shaking with the sound, and you go to snap at him again,
But you feel it, hear it the moment he sees the polaroid you had taken.
He goes tense, his grip on you tightening a little bit out of shock, and he’s suddenly silent. You wince, turning around, hoping he could take the hint and set you down, and he finally does, carefully setting you on the ground as he bends, picking up the photograph from where it had fallen onto the floor, and staring blankly at it.
Your hands clench, chest tightening as his eyes flicker from it to you, his face unreadable as his jaw clenches slightly.
Nobody speaks for a moment, the room suddenly as tense as it was when you first entered, and you watch as he puts the photograph face down on a random shelf, turning back to you as he sighs deeply.
“Were you…Were you going through my things?”
The question shakes you, and your mouth parts as you clamp it shut.
“N-no,” you finally say, “Well, no, not really, but I guess…I don’t…I was,” your head drops to your hands in mortification as you motion weakly to the bookshelf, “I was only looking at your books.” You mutter weakly, not even able to look at him as you keep your stare trained on the books and their titles.
“I didn’t mean to see it, but…” You trail off, thousands of emotions racing through you as you try to deny it in your mind, sadness from before, anger with yourself, and suddenly feel vexation towards him for no particular reason as your eyes snap to his, “God, why do you care? It’s just a photo! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to look, but I saw that thing I gave you, and I had thought you would’ve tossed it away by now, and I just wanted to see what you’d keep in there and…yeah, fuck, okay, I looked! I’m sorry, okay? But…I mean, you keep it as a junk box anyway, it’s not like it’s…like it’s an heirloom!” You’re trying to ration and reason and trying to justify your clearly immoral actions as you ramble again, a terrible trait of yours, as he just takes it, takes your anger and your slew of words and your hurt as you feel your eyes water for no reason again as you hug your arms to yourself.
He says nothing for another moment, his eyes dark and piercing.
And then he moves.
His arm reaches upwards, up to the shelf, up behind your head to where the box was resting on the top shelf, and he slowly brings his hand down, your heart in your throat as he nearly throws the lid open, beginning to pull everything out one by one.
“This,” he’s holding the ticket stub, “This is from tonight.”
Your hands instantly drop to your sides as the anger fades and utter confusion floods your senses.
…huh?
You had just looked at the box; how did you not notice? But you look closer at it, the date and the row and seat number nearly the same as the ticket stub you had thrown away after leaving the theater in a hurry, and your eyes flee up towards him, his chest heaving as he continues.
“This is from when we went to the beach,” he pulls out a chipped seashell, and you recognize the pattern instantly, remembering the one time the four of you had gone to the shoreline, a seashell you had picked up and thought was interesting, showing it to him before Shoko called you away, but you don’t have any time to compute that as he pulls out the next time.
“This is from the candy you gave me during a study session we had,” he pulls out a wrinkled wrapper, “This is the hair tie you left at my place and forgot,” he has a simple black elastic band sitting in the palm of his hand, but he could very much so be holding your pittering pattering heart the more he continues, his voice quivering slightly, and you’ve never heard him ramble like this, ramble like you.
“This is the leaf that was stuck in my hair that you pulled out,” he admits quietly, holding up the dried leaf from the time you had been walking next to him in the fall, the trees shaking in the wind, giggling at his white hair littered with the colorful leaves, “These are the coins you gave me because I didn’t have any change,” he’s holding up the spare sterlings you had lent him when he wanted some ice cream but forgot his card at home, and your eyes move up and down, a strange thumping sound in your ears because you feel like you’re about to faint, and he slows to a stop, his cheeks flushed and his hands shaking as his hand fills with all of the things you have given him over the past two years, things that a normal person would have thrown away or used or given back.
“This…” his lips tremble as he shuts them for a second, looking unlike the person you’ve begun to know so deeply as his fingers wrap around something, pulling out a neatly folded white napkin, unused, as he takes in a steadying breath, “This is the, erm, the napkin you lent me. From the night we first met.”
The box is empty now, but the room fills with moments in time, moments that you would cherish in the deepest parts of your mind before you went to bed, and pretended like they were fleeting and didn't matter so that you could face him bravely the next time you saw him. Moments that you thought he treated like normal moments in time that would pass and would never be remembered again, moments that you didn’t think he would…hold onto.
Not the way you did.
“It’s not…junk,” he admits thickly, “For me it’s not.”
He stops, taking in a deep breath as he pushes his hair away from his face, carefully putting everything back in the box, including the photograph, as he sets it down, turning back to face your stunned expression.
“Look, have you ever seen me without my glasses?”
You blink. Realizing that he’s waiting on you to answer, you blank before shaking your head slowly, and he nods.
“Right, right, well, I used to wear contacts. All the time. Ask Suguru o-or Shoko but…ever since you said that you like the way glasses look, I…I don’t know, I kept wearing them, hoping you’d…” he trails off, his cheeks completely red, the tips of his ears a bright pink as he ducks his head down, scratching his nape sheepishly, whispering, “Hoping you’d maybe say it again.”
Your eyes go wide, and you blink owlishly, swearing you look fish-adjacent with the way you can only give him this look on repeat as he takes your silence as an okay for him to go on a rare nervous tangent of his own.
“When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to tie his tie. He said that I should learn how to do it by myself so that I wouldn't need any help when I grow up.”
You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t get angry at your silence, but simply offers you a small, worried smile.
“I’ve gotten pretty good at it,” he confesses with a farce laugh, something empty and shaky, "But you always ask to tie them, and…I always let you. You’re the only person I feel comfortable with; the only person who it doesn’t feel like,” he shivered, wincing slightly as if his skin was prickling at the thought of other people touching him the way you do, “The only person who can touch me and I feel…okay.”
“I have a shelf of all the books you’ve talked about,” he persists, motioning upwards, and you slowly look around to where The Count of Monte Cristo was sitting, along with all the other books you’ve raved about in the past, thinking he’d only listen and give you kind comments, not knowing that he had gone home and sat down and read them all afterwards, “I stopped drinking whenever we go out together because you said you don’t really like the smell of alcohol on people’s breaths. I…” he rakes his hand through his hair again, a nervous fidget of his as he looks pleadingly at you, “I have my spot on Suguru’s couch because your spot is right next to it.”
“And our friends tell me that I’m not crazy, that…that I might have a chance,” he motions a shaking hand between the two of you, and you allow yourself this time to blink again, “But, I don’t know,” his head ducks as he chokes back some tears, and your eyes widen even more, your eyebrows up in your hair at this point because you’ve been rendered speechless, “It’s like any time I try to get closer to you, you leave or immediately want to be anywhere else or seem uncomfortable and I don’t want you to feel that way, especially because of me.”
When he looks up, his eyes are glassy, looking like a stormy ocean, and you feel tears prickle at yours, your breath lodged in your throat as you try to pinch yourself, swearing that you were in some vision, but this is real, and he’s not stopping, saying the words you’ve only dreamt of.
“I know I’m not really…the kind of person that you’d usually go for,” he explains, his voice dim, “I’m not good with literary nuances or dissecting medieval texts. I can’t read the way you read, and I’m not good with understanding people the way you do, but…I want to be. I want to be that, I want to be good for you.”
Your mouth is wide open as you gape at him, trying to make sense of the words that you could only imagine as you stared silently at him saying to you, saying them to you here. The two of you don’t say much for a second, your eyes blinking rapidly as your mind travels faster than the speed of sound, and you realize that he’s not lying or trying to make you laugh. He’s not confessing his love for another girl, but instead clutching his chest because it felt like your silence was leading up to a personal rejection, and you can barely muster up any actual words as you surge towards him, stopping his rambling as your arms wrap around his neck, knees knocking against his as your lips slam against his.
Your heart plummets as you feel him still, his arms still at his sides as his eyes widen in shock, and you feel like you’ve completely screwed things up, going to step away before his hands shoot upwards, wrapping around your waist and legs as he hoists you up, his lips moving against yours hungrily.
“You’re so…so stupid,” you mutter in between breaths, his lips parting yours, soft and gentle and fast and desperate as they chase the way you taste, wanting to savor the plushness of yours as you mewl at the way his fingers dig into your soft skin, moving you effortlessly towards his bed as the two of you smile against each other, laughing in the air as your back hits the mattress. He fidgets with his glasses, pushing them up with his middle finger, coming a little loose after everything.
“Yeah?” He murmurs, happy, giddy, his eyes bright and alive and electric as he nips at your bottom lip, his own shining with spit as he ducks down again, pressing kisses to your face, and you feel lightheaded, “Tell me how I’m stupid, baby.”
You groan, lightly hitting his chest as he chuckles lightly, his kisses moving to your cheek, across your nose, as your smile turns bright enough to power the sun for the rest of eternity if it were to die in this very moment.
“I,” you huff, your chest burning and your hands tangled in his hair, fisting his shirt as you bring him in impossibly closer, “I’ve had this…debilitating crush on you ever since I saw you,” you admit quietly, and he pauses, his sunset dusted cheeks turning into a wide grin as he huffs out a laugh and push his face away from your as you turn away in discomfiture, “And I’ve done everything to get you to notice me. I’ve embarrassed myself like, twenty times a day, hoping you’d look my way.”
Satoru raises a slender brow, and you have the urge to pull him down by the collar, pressing your lips to his as he happily obliges, his tongue poking out to tease yours as he turns to an even bigger taunting menace as he pulls away.
“I can’t stop looking at you,” he mumbles shyly, ducking down as he kisses your throat, and you shift slightly to give him more access, your breath catching in your lungs as his kisses turn into him sucking in a patch of skin, licking it over when he’s satisfied it’s going to mark. “I could barely focus on the play tonight because I kept looking over.”
You let out a giggle, curling his soft strands of hair around your finger as he glances up to see your smile, pressing a chaste kiss as if he wanted to taste the way your unabashed happiness felt.
“And I try to sound smarter whenever you’re around,” you admit, and he snorts against the skin of your cheek again, enjoying how plush and soft it was, biting it as you squeal, but it was never hard enough to hurt, just experimental, and he laughs, “And you never even acknowledged the number of times I’d bring up a science-y article I had spent the entire night analyzing just for you to ask me about my stupid book report.” You pout, and he attempts to kiss it off of you, his hands roaming the exposed skin of your waist and stomach, hot against your cold self, and he rolls his eyes.
“That’s only because I was having tiny aneurysms whenever you’d do that,” he reasons, his face morphing into something sweet and gentle and something so entirely new and…yours that you wish you could take a picture of it, “And I wanted you to know that I remembered the things you told me.”
You throw a hand over your face, not wanting him to see the gleefulness on your face, but he just wrings your hands away, slotting his long legs in between yours as he lets out another joyous laugh.
“Come on,” he insists, nudging his nose against your jaw, “How else am I stupid?”
You let out an exaggerated groan, biting your lip as you try to think through your muddled thoughts.
“You…you…you kept only the ridiculous things I gave you!” You argue, and he moves upwards slightly, giving you a pointed look, as if you were offending his lifeline or treasures, “I’ve given so many things and…” But you trail off, feeling his large hand gently wrap around your face, turning it to the side so you could see his room from his point of view.
“Look closely,” he softly urges, and your eyes trail across the walls, the shelves, the tabletops, “This room is full of you.”
And he’s right.
The postcards he has up are the ones you gave the three of them from the time you had gone to Paris with your family over the summer, picking out individual ones you thought each of them would like. Vintage telescopes and microscopes you imagined him enjoying, but never enough to actually put them up. The music box that plays the theme of A New Hope, a simple melody from his favorite movie that you had also gotten for his birthday, sits on his bedside table. The books you had found on sale about plant biology, a little thing you thought he might like, rest on top of his bookshelf.
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, and he chuckles at your quiet reaction, dipping down to kiss you again, wanting to nudge those sounds from you, even if he has to take them like this.
“Is this why you’d scare off any guy who came up to me?” You ask, but you already know the answer, just wanting to see the look on his face as he groaned, pinching your side as you giggle at his antics.
“I thought I was being so obvious,” he murmured against your lips, his tongue roaming through your mouth as you part it slightly for him, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling, a string of spit connecting the two of you as he pulls away, “Everyone could see how badly I wanted you.”
You shrug, feeling sluggish from his movements.
“I didn’t,” you argue faintly, and he looks up, white lashes fluttering as he grins, kissing the tip of your nose as he smiles.
“Guess I didn’t either,” he whispers teasingly, “Guess we’re both stupid for that.”
You go to fight back, but you let out an embarrassing moan at the way his hands travel across your stomach, pushing your shirt upwards slightly as your back arches upwards to chase the feeling. His hands are large and travel expertly across your body, as if he’s mapped out the small things that make you squirm and the things you itch for, as if he’s spent the past two years studying you instead of his dusty textbooks, and the thought alone makes you shake with anticipation.
“Can’t believe I waited this long,” he murmurs against the skin of your stomach, kissing the plain of it as you shake with an uncontrollable giggle, “Why didn’t you say anything, hm? Did you like tormenting me like this?”
The question makes you stop.
Suddenly, everything from before comes rushing back.
It seems like it sets off alarm bells in your head, as if you had been functioning through a rose-tinted fog for the past couple of minutes, and suddenly reality hits you because…you haven’t told him for a reason. The months and months of pining after him weren’t just because you liked torturing yourself, but because of your frankly very real fears of rejection for more reasons than one.
After a second, you huff, hands clenching by your sides as you feel a surge of feelings, deep ones that you’ve choked on and tried to hide, and he notices the instant way you tense up, stopping his movements as he glances upwards at you.
“Do you want to stop?” He asks gently, tugging the hem of your (his) shirt back down to cover your stomach, and you let out a delicate laugh, a pensive look on your face as you chew worriedly on your face.
Sighing, you rub a hand down your face, sitting upright with your back resting on his headboard, and turn to look back at his desk, feeling the weight of his stare more than before as heat licks at your cheeks.
“What about…what about the others?”
The question rings through the room, bouncing off the walls, and his brows furrow in slight confusion as you still refuse to tear your eyes away from his desk, your hands resting in your lap, and he moves slowly, his large hands encompassing yours, unraveling your fingers, alleviating the tension you didn’t know was building.
“What others?” Satoru asks after a moment, unjudgmentally, tenderly, and caring, patient as you huff out another shaky laugh, shrugging your shoulders as they fall in a heavy drop, your chest rattling with the emotions you had been trying to kill off from the past two years.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, feel his fingers against yours, and your gaze flickers to his before going back to focusing on something to the side.
“This is gonna sound stupid,” you preface, but his thumb presses into the palm of your hand, a small sign that he wasn’t going to judge anything that came out of your mouth because he just showed you that he kept the first napkin you had ever given him.
“But…” you drop your head into your hands, your voice muffled as you continue, “I see the girls that come up to you. O-or your ex. Vi…right?” You peek up, and his eyes are slightly squinted, nodding slowly, as if he wants you to make your point before he says something, “And they’re just so…ugh, I don’t know…perfect? Like, they seem perfect for you. Either they’re stunning, or they’re in your major, or they’re both, or just…so different, and I feel like I’m…not…that.”
He blinks slowly, piecing this together with the fact that he asked you why you hadn’t spoken up sooner, and his lips tug upwards in a little grin, one that makes you want to roll your eyes if not for the storm brewing inside of you, and he tugs you closer, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as he drops his head onto your chest.
“I think you’ve got it backwards,” he says against you, his voice vibrating off of you, and you feel it shake you to your core, his hand moving up and down the expanse of your back as you hand unconsciously move upwards, back to his soft white locks, “Because none of those girls could measure up to my perfect girl.”
You stop, glad he can’t see the large smile on your face as you head falls backwards, thumping against the wood as your chest swells with joy, and when he looks up, his goofy grin could match yours, and you push him away by the cheek, but he just moves, kissing the palm of your hand as you laugh softly.
“You’re so stupid,” you repeat, but he knows you’re only masking the giddiness you feel as he nods against your hand, his eyes shimmering and bright as he sits up a little straighter, nearly encompassing you with his body as he leans closer, his nose nudging yours as the two of you smile against each other's lips.
“You’ve got that right,” he whispers in the small space of air between you, “I’m such a fool for you.”
You decide then that you don’t give him any more time to talk or say something else that could turn your insides to mush, so you tug him down by his neck, his lips curling upwards as they press against yours.
He seems like he’s experimenting with kissing you, as if he knows you’re learning in real time, and has no qualms taking it slow. He lets you take the lead when you want, lets you dart your tongue out slightly, and opens his mouth to welcome you in. When you get a little shyer, he takes the initiative, hands roaming around your hips, pulling you into his lap as you mewl him again. When he could tell you needed some air, he’d pull away, kissing the corners of your lips, your cheeks that he loved so much, the edge of your brows that would pull into the cutest furrows whenever you were confused, and cherished you the way he’d been aching for ever since he saw you at that stupid English department banquet.
You chase the feeling of his skin on yours, the way his fingers feel when they trace your features, the way his hands run up your arms, the way his palm cups your jaw. Your hands seem to have a mind of their own, his as well, as they drop down to the drawstring of his trousers, running up the smooth and hard skin of his abs, feeling greedy as you run a finger down his delicious v-line. You feel him shuddering beneath you, and you grin evilly, your mouth water as you untie his pants, your fingers running over the white tufts of hair of his happy trail, and your shuffle around a little bit to help him as he tugs up the hem of his old band shirt that you donned, and you almost let out a whine when they suddenly stop, lashes fluttering open to see what he was going to do next.
His forehead drops onto yours, one of his arms pulling you closer to his chest, the other still cradling your face, and you see the way his face has gone pink, a light hue that you rarely see him in.
“Just so you know, this, em, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.”
You let out a stark laugh, your hands pressing against his as your fingers curl around his hair, tilting your head slightly to the side.
“Yeah? How were things supposed to go?” You ask, trying not to sound too selfishly drunk on him as he shrugs, his lips pressing together as he divulges you in his own fantasies, things he’d only think about when it was the two of you together and he’d be wanting to confess his undying love for you while you’d be rambling on about John Milton or another one of your other favorite authors.
He looks shy, and you want to bite him, watching him gather up some of the courage you had kissed away as he takes one of your hands away from his arms, playing with your fingers as he pushes some of his tousled hair away from his face.
“Well, I was planning on telling you how crazy I am about you after this whole day I had planned out,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck as he turns a little red, “I had, erm, bought tickets to the museum you’ve been wanting to go to,” he says, his eyes flickering from your face to the side as his head drops, and you nudge it back up as he chuckles, “The one displaying the original copies of those old books you like so much.”
He swallows, taking a deep breath, and then continues.
“And I wanted it to just be us, nobody else. I would have obviously read up on all the authors on exhibit, so I wouldn’t look like a total idiot when, or if, you had come, and I’d spend the entire time sweating and hoping you couldn’t see.” You giggle, and he squeezes your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of it in a soothing gesture. Your eyes drop, urging him gently to continue because you feel like you’re in a dream, and if he stops, you’re going to wake up from it.
“Afterwards, I’d take you to this restaurant I’ve heard is good,” he grins boyishly, tongue poking in between his lips, “And when we were done, I’d walk you back to your place and…tell you that I liked you then.”
You can’t stop smiling, and he can’t stop either.
“Just…just that you liked me?” you tease, humming as he shifts a little, his arms wrapping around your waist, “Not to be…selfish, or anything, but I feel like this way was so much more romantic with your little box of trinkets and your rambling.” He groans, pinching you lightly as you snicker, but he ultimately shakes his head, smoothing over the place he pinched with his soothing touch.
“No, no,” he mutters, his face determined, as if he was recounting everything he had planned to say, “I’d tell you how much I liked the way you look when you start talking about your day,” his thumb brushes across your cheek, running across the soft hair of your brows, “And how much I like the way you care about everything you do and everybody around you. I’d tell you that I really like it when you tell me about the book you just finished, and how much I admire your kind heart. I’d tell you that I…I like how wonderfully weird you are, and how I wish I could be half as interesting as you are on a regular day. I would have told you how you’re always the first person I look for when I enter a room. And…” his shoulders rise and drop as he pulls you impossibly closer, “I would have really hoped that Suguru and Shoko were right about this because I’d be…a little embarrassed if not.”
You hum, pretending to think as you twirl his white strands around your pointer finger even though you feel like you’re on fire and you can’t breathe and everything feels like it’s burning in the best way possible, try not to freak out because the guy you’ve been in love with basically just admitted the most amazing things to you, so you take a steadying breath, your head tilting as you smile.
“And what if I didn’t want you to stop?” You feel heat blossom across your lungs when you hear his breathing hitch, “After…after you’d do all of that?”
He nods, surveying his different options as his blue eyes turn into a slightly different shade, as if they were dependent upon his emotions, and his hands turn a little heavier as they roam across your stomach, up across the skin of your ribcage, and they stop right under your bra.
“Hmm, well, I would’ve have asked you what you wanted to happen next,” his smile is wicked as his face drops down to your neck, leaving wet kisses until he ends up at your collarbone, right at the neck of your shirt as you nearly whine, feeling his teeth scrape just barely over the soft skin, “What is it you want, baby? What else would you want me to do?”
Your breathing stutters, and you arch your back a little, letting his nimble fingers fiddle with the clasp of your bra, giving you enough time to turn him down, but you don’t; you want, no, need, for him to continue.
“I,” your breath lodges in your throat when he opens the clasps, helping you tug the straps down until your old ratty bra, the comfortable one that you were sure wouldn’t matter being worn tonight because you never imagined something like this happening, but he doesn’t care, setting it to the side as he wait patiently, menacingly, for you to find your words, “I’d probably ask you to…to come up.”
He groans lightly, a mix between a guttural moan and a laugh.
“Yeah?” It’s not so much a question, but a confirmation as you nod, shivering when his hands move back upwards, your chest heaving as you feel his nimble and long fingers cup your tits, his fingers running over your nipples as your head falls to his shoulders, “Then what? What would I have done after I came up?”
You go down, you want to say tauntingly, but don’t have the willpower as his thumb flicks over a nipple, and you whine.
“Eh, you’d, uh, I’d, we, would probably end up on…on my bed and I’d probably be wearing something cuter than this,” you try to say indifferently, and he rolls his eyes because you could be wearing faux feathers glued to the entirety of your body and he’d still think you were the most beautiful woman to ever exist, “And I’d probably be a little more confident telling you what I,” you gulp audibly, your cheeks heating up, “What I want, seeing that you wouldn’t have just seen me at my virtual lowest hours earlier.” And he chuckles, and it feels right, feels like this was meant to happen as his hands fall from your breasts, trailing down your stomach as you shuffle a little, moving to lie back on his pillow as he shuffles to, situating his body in between your thighs, waiting for your next command.
Satoru’s grin turns soft, like he knows what it is you want, but needs to hear you say it for him to feel okay doing the thing that’s setting him alight. His hand moves, taking yours into his again and intertwining his fingers between yours.
“… what do you want, love?” His voice is thick, and it settles deep in your bones as your head falls, squeezing his fingers as you sheepishly mutter something, and he barely hears you, nudging you to say it a little louder as you groan in embarrassment, an arm flying over your face as your head falls back, not able to look him in the eyes as you timidly whisper;
“For you, like…to do stuff,” you murmur so quietly you think that your lips barely even moved, “To…to eat me out or….or whatever.”
When he says nothing for a moment, you peek between your fingers and see his cheeks flushed, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets his chin down on your stomach, his glasses crooked as his brow arched. He moves, gingerly tugs your arm away from your face, and sits down by your side as he presses a chaste kiss to your stomach.
“Yeah….yeah, I think I can ‘eat you out or whatever’,” he says, and you groan ever louder, flicking his forehead as he chuckles, taking your words as the sign to go, go, go, his fingers moving excruciatingly slow as they start to tug the waistband of your pants and boxers (his, again), down, looking up at you for a little assistance, and you lift your hips, allowing him to slide them down fully.
You blink, relaxing that you’re completely bare right now, but he doesn't give you any time to be self-conscious as his pupils seem to blow up with lust, hungrily eating up the way your pussy is glistening with want and need, his cheeks a fiery red as his chest moves in a large exhale, like the air had been knocked from him.
His hand raises upwards to take his glasses off, but you make a sudden movement, as if your body was functioning on autopilot, when your hands wrap around his wrist, stopping him from doing anything else.
“Don’t,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “K-keep them on.”
His white lashes flutter slightly, and he gives you one of his boyish smiles that you love so much, his teeth shining as he presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, nodding slowly as he pushes his glasses back on.
“If I knew that waiting so long for you to tell me that you liked my glasses would have been when I’m about to do this, I think I could have waited another couple of years more.” He says honestly, dropping himself down between your thighs, and your eyes flutter shut, head falling back on the pillow as you feel his warm hands slowly move up and up and up, parting you ever so slightly so he could situate himself better between them.
Your mouth parts when you feel his fingers move on the outside of your lips, collecting the slick, and you hold back a wanton moan, your hands flying up to his hair, tugging him closer. You watch as he pushes his glasses up by using his shoulder to move the frames up, and when his lips suddenly latch onto your clit you actually think you’ve gone insane.
His tongue darts out, moaning like a whore when he finally gets to taste your saccharine taste, his eyes rolling back as he parts your lips, the sound greedy as he moves a thumb to circle your clit, moving down to run his tongue selfishly up and down your pussy for his own pleasure, needing to feel you or else he was going to go mad.
“You taste,” his voice is muffled as he pants against your cunt, using a finger to move up and down the slit, “You taste sweet,” he said it like he was startled, like he had spent hours and hours studying female anatomy and how to pleasure a girl and what to do, but never could have expected this unexpected turn, to taste you and realize that you were sweeter and more delicious than any candy he’s ever eaten before, “Why do you taste so…so sweet?”
You would laugh if you weren’t so turned on, saying some jumbled-up words as he ducks down again, your fingers digging into his scalp as his thumb goes a little faster on your swollen nub, his long pointer finger rubbing at the outside of your pussy, getting ready to push it in.
When he finally does, your walls instantly clamp down on it, and you moan, not expecting the stretch, and he gives you some time to adjust. It’s not like you’re a prude, you’ve at least attempted this before, but your fingers aren’t like Gojo Satoru’s, and you feel like you could come just from this.
“Feeling good, baby?” He questions, and you hurriedly nod, hearing him chuckle.
“Yeah,” you stutter out, your teeth clenched as you feel his finger start to move out, and then your mouth falls open as he starts to slowly pump it in and out of you, a mind-bending pace that has you clenching around him, “Feels good.”
He nods, taking it as confirmation to keep going, and he switches between a finger and his tongue, darting them inside of you. He keeps his pressure on your clit, and you grow impossibly wetter when he leans down to lay a cute little kiss on it, his glasses slowly fogging up.
Gojo Satoru eats you out like you’re his last meal, like he’s been living like Tantalus for his twenty years alive, and finally, the fruit tree doesn’t move from his grasp, and he’s able to divulge like the greedy and sinful man he always has been.
Sometimes the hand that’s occupying your clit moves upwards, pulling his old shirt up and over the expanse of your torso to see your supple skin shake beneath his large palms, and he cups your tits, groaning like a slut when he feels your nipples pebble, and he pinches them between his pointer finger and thumb, twisting a little to feel you squeal, and he grins, softening his touch as he smooths it over, moving back down to your nub as if nothing happened.
You watch from hooded eyes, watch the way his eyes close, like he’s savoring your taste. You see the way he slowly ruts into the mattress, like he was getting off to this, and the thought itself makes you gush even more.
When he’s satisfied that you’ve adjusted to his one finger, he decides to slip another one in, and the size alone makes you whine, the stretch something that causes tears to dart in the corner of your eyes in delicious pain.
“Hmm,” you moan, one of your hands fisting the sheets, the other tangled in his white hair as you guide him up and down, and you can swear you feel him smiling against you, as if your reactions were a symphony to his ears, “It’s not like I really have a metric but…you’re good at this.”
Satoru chuckles, looking up at you, and the sight knocks the air out of your lungs. His cheeks are flushed, wet in the dim lighting of the room, his glasses crooked, and his hair a mess, but he looks positively radiant as his smile flashes bright.
“I hope I am,” his voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it, and it vibrates against your pussy, “I’ve been studying.”
Despite feeling lightheaded, his statement chased you to come to your senses a bit, sitting up on your elbows as you looked at him through furrowed brows.
“Studying?” You parrot, and he nods eagerly, his thumb putting pressure on your sensitive and swollen clit as your mouth falls open in a silent moan, barely able to keep your eyes open as he explains.
“Mhm,” he hums, his nose, the beautiful nose that you want to kiss all over, rubs expertly on the hood of your clit as he presses chaste, sloppy kisses to your cunt, “I read all these posts and books and papers about what the best way to eat a girl out,” his voice is hoarse, licking up and down your syrupy inner walls, his two fingers never stopping their relentless pace as something deep in your stomach begins to build up, “Brushed up on some….anatomy and the sorts.”
You let out a breathless laugh.
Because of course he had.
“You,” your mouth clamps shut when he hits the spongy part deep inside of you that makes your toes curl, your lashes fluttering against your hot cheeks, and you can’t talk correctly but make the attempt to, barely above a whisper as you mutter, “Y-you’re insane.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it as his thumb swirls in figure eight patterns on your clit, his pointer and middle fingers curling upwards, and you can’t really find it in yourself to chide him when he’s making you feel heavenly.
You feel like you’re unraveling at his skillful hands, and it definitely doesn’t help that whenever you have the guts to open your eyes you’re met with the view of Satoru loosing himself in your cunt, as with each second that passed, he was going just as crazy as you were, and it felt like that familiar feeling of an orgasm building, but unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
It’s almost like he knows, because he seems to go faster, switching between licking and his fingers, and your grip on him tightens, and he moans, welcoming the sting.
“Come on,” he presses, urging, needing you to finish around him, to taste your relief on his tongue, “Come on, baby, I know you wanna come.”
You nod, sweat dotting your forehead, your chest heaving up and down with labored breaths, that knot inside of you tightening as your thighs clamp down around his head, your walls pulsing around his fingers.
It gradually builds, but that feeling suddenly snaps, and you jolt, your back arching, moving into him, his fingers never stopping, his thumb and lips on your clit, suctioning in a perfect way that sends you over the edge. You clench tightly around him, creaming, spasming as you gush, your eyes rolling back in your head as you let out the quietest but sweetest moan, and when you feel your orgasms slow to a dull pulse, you fall back onto his mattress, limp as he doesn’t stop instantly.
Instead, he lets his fingers slow down carefully, as if you’d get immediate withdrawal from the feeling of having him inside of you. He kisses your clit once, then twice, and pulls away, connected by a string of spit, slick and your cum, and when you finally have the energy to wring your eyes open, the sight of him wrecked form eating you out makes you even more wet.
You take a few moments to catch your breath, your chest heaving up and down, your hand falling away from his soft locks as it sprawls across your stomach, and you stare helplessly at the ceiling.
Blinking owlishly, you awkwardly scootch upwards until you’re resting on the back of the headboard, and you watch as he brings his fingers up to his mouth, grinning coyly as he moans at the taste of you, and if you could, you’d pinch him, but you just weakly push him with your foot, looking away abashedly.
“Nasty,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice gone, and he coos, crawling towards you, bringing his face towards yours as he nudges his nose with yours, and you’re weak, giving in as he hungrily presses his wet lips to yours.
You can taste yourself on him, and you mewl, feeling his tongue in your mouth, licking inside of you, wanting you to enjoy what he just enjoyed, and your shaking hands grip around his neck. He pulls away a little bit, biting your bottom lip before kissing it, and he rubs a loving thumb across your cheek, his eyes turning gentle as he peers at you through those ocean eyes through those stunning glasses you adore so much.
You don’t trust your voice, so instead you let your hands unravel from his nape, moving upwards towards the expensive frames, straightening them on his nose, making sure they rest correctly on his pink ears, and he watches silently, reverently, as you push him back gently by the chin, making sure that they looked right on the bridge of his nose.
“Hmm, looks better,” you whisper affectionately, kissing the tip of his nose like you’ve always wanted, and that seems to push him over the edge, quickly wrapping his arms around your midsection as he pulls you closer to him, falling back on the bed as he tugs you into his chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck.
At that moment, you feel it, and your eyes blink rapidly from their hazy state as his hard-on pressed against your thigh.
“Hey,” you murmur, poking his side, but he doesn’t seem like budging, his overwhelming heat and size covering you, his thick arms not moving from caging you to him, and you can’t even wrangle free, “‘Toru, what about you?”
He doesn’t even lift his head, just hums against the skin of your neck, his lips busy leaving hickeys all over it, ones you’re going to deeply regret in the morning but can’t seem to care right now except for the boner you’re sure is deeply uncomfortable.
“What about me?” He dreamily replies, his voice barely audible, and you roll your eyes. From this angle, you can see the way his shirt is riding up, his abs on display, the veins leading downward prominent, and his trail of white hair is calling your name.
You wedge your hand in between your bodies as you press against his cock, the movement causing him to yelp and shudder, whimpering against you as you snicker, sure that now he’s going to give you some more undivided attention.
He sits up a little bit, resting his head on his fist, his elbow on his pillow as he peers down at you, his brow slightly cocked, not looking impressed with being tormented like this after treating you so kindly by giving you the best orgasm of your life.
“Not nice,” he reprimands warmly, poking your side as you yelp, his finger much more sturdy than yours, “You’re not really supposed to grab dicks like that, y’know?”
Your cheeks heat at his choice words, and you shrug, feigning innocence as you bring his hand to yours, admiring the large size a syou play with his fingers, feeling more touchy than usual, and you’re ever so glad that he lets you.
“I’m just saying,” you mumble, flashing him a look that sends a nonexistent punch to his gut, the blood rushing south because you look ethereal like this, “Don’t you want me to…return to favor? Tit for tat?”
He chuckles, his thumb moving across your eyebrow, soothing the furrow as it moves down to rub against your cheek.
“We can do tat later,” he uses your terminology and you giggle, your lips pulling into a bright smile because you’re sitting in a post-orgasm afterglow with your crush, and that stupid theorem you had stressed over doesn’t even matter anymore because the impossible outcome is happening right now and you don’t bother with looking normal because you’re feeling anything but, “I still have a date I need to take you out on.”
You try not to gush like an idiot, your head falling into his sturdy chest, and his hand moves up and down your back, tracing stars and circles and hearts and writing his name, as if he wanted everyone to see the invisible ink that’s bleeding from his fingertips into you.
His finger hooks around your jaw, tilting your head upwards so he can see you better.
“You wanna date me?” You ask breathlessly with dizzingly joy, the question holding no weight because the two of you already know the answer, but he indulges you, his head falling to yours, forehead against yours, glasses sitting perfectly on his perfect face that’s pressing against your perfect one.
“I want to be yours,” he murmurs, vulnerability thick in his voice as your lashes flutter, “So, yeah, I want to date you.”
You giggle again, and you lift your head a little to slot your lips against his plush ones.
“I want to be yours too, Satoru,” you say, and he groans, his eyes rolling back like those were the only words he’s been dying to hear, and he lets out a victorious laugh, something happy and sickeningly sweet because the girl he’s been in love with for the past two years just so happens to love him back.
Shoko glides her tongue right between your puffy folds, flicking onto your clit and making you gasp out, head falling back against the pillows that smell just like her.
'Mnh, you like that, hmm?' She's damn near laughing at you, her nails pressing into your thighs, dark eyes lidded and dilated almost black. "Answer, sweets."
"Mhm!" All you can do is arch more for her, for your roommate who you never thought would be drinking your cunt up. You'd come home utterly horny despite your date being the worst, and Shoko's eyes had locked right in between your thighs, where slick was dribbling.
Need help?
Who the fuck were you to turn down that? To gently tug at her silky dark locks as she trails her fingers through that fucking mess you're making, humming on your clit, your juices drooling down her chin.
"Ngh! Shoko!"
She slurps it all up, slender digits pumping inside your needy walls, she can't help but grind right up against that pillow between her thighs, hoping she can swallow all your clear cum before your other roommates get there.
She just knows Satoru and Suguru will be so fucking mad she tasted you first.
Well, their fault for going to an all day movie marathon, even better for her to part your folds and spit on your clit, smiling at your gasp, at your shaky thighs.
"Have you not been eaten out?" You shake your head. "I'll take good care of this pretty pussy, don't worry."
She's dragging the flat of her tongue on your clit even faster, your screams echoing in the apartment as she drinks your cunt right up, her two fingers stretching out your messy hole. The squelches alone are loud and filthy as you feel your core tightening, closer and closer, blood rushing through your ears.
That's when you hear it.
The door opening, two idiot men laughing and shoving each other, but Shoko doesn't relent one bit, no, she keeps fingering you, looking back at the men at the doorway with dropped open mouths, smirking with her slick face.
"Oh you're so mean," Satoru looks at you now, his eyes dilated bright fucking blue - "I wanted to eat her first!"
"Y-you did?" Your brows draw together in confusion, Satoru strips his pants off so quickly it's fucking comical, as that little pink tongue hits your twitchy clit again, you can see his cock slapping his flat abdomen.
Suguru is still utterly mesmerized by the sight of not just you - but Shoko's pussy right in the air.
"I've already had your panties in my mouth," Satoru walks over and leans forward, stroking his veiny cock now, whining out as your mouth kisses the tip. "Please, pretty girl, wear this as your gloss?"
"You're so fucking corny," Shoko mumbles, leaning up to nip your hip with her sharp teeth, Satoru's gliding his tip in and out of your mouth, Suguru moving closer, eyeing the sight of you.
How filthy you must look.
Thighs spread, her head between your thighs, a pink tip leaking white into your mouth. Suguru can't help but glide two fingers and slide them inside Shoko's cunt, leaning over and pressing kisses right along your ribcage, dark hair falling against your skin.
"You're that wet licking her, huh? Slutty pussy," she moans out, her tongue working you faster, but he yanks them right out, making her huff in frustration.
"You're an idiot too," she swears, Suguru sucks her juices off his fingers, just to tug your head away from Satoru's cock, leaning over you now. You're so fucked out and needy, from all three roommates all over you, it's impossible to take it.
"Open f'me, princess," Suguru murmurs, you do just that, opening wide as he spits Shoko's juices right in your mouth, the sight of it having them pause for just a moment. "Mmm... good girl."
You cum right on Shoko's fingers, they all avidly watch - Satoru's milky drops falling on your face."
"My turn," Suguru hums, making Satoru scowl.
"My turn!?"
"I'm not done yet, go jerk off in the corner," she orders, but they really just don't listen.
megumi fushiguro is trying very hard to play it cool.
he’s buried deep inside you, hips pressed flush against yours, when he first notices it—the soft, unmistakable bulge in your lower belly every time he thrusts forward. his cock is visibly pressing against your insides, distorting your stomach just slightly with every slow roll of his hips.
he freezes for half a second.
his usual stoic expression stays perfectly intact, but inside, something feral awakens. his dark eyes flick down to your stomach again, locked on the way the bulge appears and disappears with each thrust. he feels almost dizzy at the sight.
he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t acknowledge it. just keeps his breathing steady and his face neutral. at least, that’s what he wants you to think. in reality, megumi is obsessed.
the sight of his cock making your tummy bulge is doing dangerous things to his self-control. he’s never seen anything hotter in his life. the primal urge to push deeper, to make the bulge even more obvious, is quickly overriding his usual restraint.
without warning, his pace changes.
his thrusts become harder. deeper. more deliberate. each stroke is forceful enough that the bulge in your stomach becomes much more visible. megumi’s jaw clenches, eyes darkening as he watches it intently.
you moan loudly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “megumi— ah! slow down—”
he doesn’t. if anything, he fucks you even harder.
his hand slides down and presses firmly against the bulge, feeling the shape of his own cock through your soft skin. the sensation makes him groan low in his throat—the only crack in his cool facade.
“fuck…” he mutters under his breath, barely audible.
he’s completely fixated now. every time he bottoms out, he watches the way your belly swells with his cock, mesmerized. his usual calm and steady rhythm is gone, replaced by something rougher and more possessive. his hips snap against yours with more and more intensity, chasing that view that makes his brain melt.
you’re trembling beneath him, overwhelmed by how deep he’s getting. “megumi… it’s too much— i can feel you so deep—”
“good,” he replies. his hand stays pressed against your tummy, pushing down gently so he can feel himself even better. “i want you to feel all of me.”
he leans down, forehead pressed against yours, eyes still glued to the way your stomach bulges every time he drives into you. his breathing is ragged now, control slipping further with every thrust.
“you look so good like this,” he admits quietly, almost shyly, even as he fucks you harder. “seeing my cock inside you… fuck, i can’t stop looking.”
megumi’s thrusts turn punishing, hips slamming into you as he loses himself in the sight. the usually controlled boy is gone—replaced by someone completely addicted to the way your body yields to him, marked so visibly by his cock.
he presses down on your belly again, eyes dark with lust. “take me deeper,” he whispers against your lips. “i want to see how much you can take.”
part 1 | part 2 (but can be read as a stand alone)
he wasn’t supposed to find it.
one bored scroll through your phone and suddenly geto was staring at your endless stack of bookmarked twitter porn—eyes wide, heat creeping up his neck.
when he asks to recreate it outright?
you nearly explode.
geto pulls you in so fast you forget you didn’t mark the page of the book in front of you, his lips already on yours. he’s so smooth with it—one hand gripping your waist, the other gently setting the novel on the nightstand without breaking the kiss.
your head spins so fast you almost miss the way his hands settle on your waist, warm and steady. his mouth moves against yours with a quiet kind of urgency, like he’s been waiting for you to crack open just like this.
you clutch at his shirt, trying to pull back even as your body leans into him. the heat in your face is unbearable and you’re pretty sure you’re actually shaking.
he feels it. of course he does. and he only holds you tighter.
geto knows your body language too well. you want something as much as him yet you’re too shy to ask.
the thought goes straight to his stomach.
you break the kiss with a tiny, broken sound you didn’t mean to make. it slips out before you can stop it, and you freeze immediately.
his lips brush your cheek as he breathes out a laugh—a rare one that sounds…fond.
“so cute.”
the words make you want to bury yourself under your blankets.
“d–don’t…”
he kisses the corner of your mouth once, slow, like he’s trying to coax the rest of your sentence out. “don’t what?”
“…say it like that,” you whine softly. “it’s embarrassing.”
his nose nudges yours, breath warm and steady while yours is uneven and shaky. “you’re the one whose secretly a freak,” he grins, “not me.”
mortification drowns you.
your phone is still playing porn in the background, muffled but unmistakable. the sound hits you too late—another layer of humiliation stacking on your chest until you can barely breathe.
you squeeze your eyes shut. “suguru—please— you- it’s too—”
“too what?”
he’s not even pretending he doesn’t know what you mean. his voice is steady, smooth, like he’s discussing something casual and not the absolute meltdown happening in your chest.
you shake your head, face burning. “this is so embarrassing—”
his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. “mm. you keep saying that.” his tone is maddeningly gentle and that calm, low warmth that makes everything worse.
you flinch when his lips skim your jaw again, barely a brush—like he’s testing how sensitive you are. how easy you unravel.
then, in that soft voice that makes your stomach flip,
“...so that’s what you like, huh?”
he says it like he’s asking about a movie.
your face burns. “i—i don’t— it’s just— sometimes—”
his hand slides up your waist, fingers squeezing just a little, like he can’t help himself. like your embarrassment is doing something to him he’s trying very, very hard not to show.
“sometimes what?” his lips ghost your ear. “sometimes you get worked up? you touch yourself watching porn?”
a tiny humiliating sound slips out.
his breath stutters. almost nothing. but you’re close enough to feel it. now you know he’s trying to stay calm and only pretending he’s unaffected.
your phone keeps playing—soft moans—only making everything hotter and more unbearable.
his voice drops, rough at the edges.
“did you think about me when you watched it?”
your whole body seizes. “s-suguru—!”
“tell me.”
when you hesitate, he cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like he’s soothing you through your own embarrassment.
“did you?” he asks again. quieter. needier.
a beat passes before the answer falls from your lips. “i- i mean…yeah…”
the second it leaves your mouth, you wish you could shove it back in. hide. melt. die.
but suguru goes still.
then he exhales—shaky. no call left.
“good.”
before you can react, your back hits the pillows. he follows, caging you in. his hair falls around your face, his breath trembling against your cheek.
“god—” he mutters, like he didn’t mean for it to slip out.
your eyes go wide. “suguru?”
he doesn’t answer.
he just looks at you—really looks—like he’s trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here beneath him, realizing you just admitted thinking about him while touching yourself.
his exhale is low, a shaky sound that lands straight in your stomach.
“you said it,” he murmurs. “you actually said it.”
his hand drags up your thigh, slow and deliberate. you try to hide your face, but he catches your wrists, pinning them gently beside your head.
“no hiding,” he breathes. “not after that.”
his mouth drags along your jaw, slow, almost tender. it’s so at odds with the way his breathing is rough against your skin. his hands slip from your wrists, but only so they can trail down, gliding over your sides, your waist, then lower…
his fingers hook into the hem of your pants.
“don’t look away while i take these off.”
“w–wait—”
“no.” calm voice, frayed edges. “you’ve been hiding from me. hiding how bad you get. hiding what you watch.”
he tugs—not rough, not yet, just impatient.
“you don’t get to hide now.”
your thighs clamp together on instinct, and his eyes drop immediately, darkening.
“be a good girl and let me see,” he murmurs.
when you shake your head embarrassed, he adds urgently, “let me see you. please.”
your thighs part—barely. but it’s enough.
his breath stutters, forehead dipping to yours. “good girl…” it breaks in his throat. “now lift your hips.”
your body reacts before your mind does. that’s all he needs.
he pulls your bottoms down in one smooth, desperate motion.
“fuck—” the word rips out of him.
you scramble to tug your shirt lower, to cover yourself, but he catches your wrist mid movement, grip tight enough that you feel the tremble in his fingers.
“i told you not to hide,” he mutters.
the urgency in his voice hits straight through you—hot and dizzying.
your thighs snap together again, but his warm hands slip between them, pressing the inside of your knees until they fall open.
and then he sees.
your cotton panties, clinging and nearly translucent with how wet you are, the damp patch spread wide, and the outline of everything beneath it.
suguru goes perfectly still. wrecked if he wasn’t already.
“oh…” he breathes, voice dropping, thinning, like the sight knocks the air out of him.
you try to snap your legs shut again, panic spiking, but he catches your thighs—fingers digging in just enough to stop you—and he shakes his head once, slow, almost disbelieving.
“no,” he whispers, eyes locked on the soaked fabric like he can’t look anywhere else.
your face burns and you whine. “suguru stop staring—”
he exhales sharply, the sound strained, like he’s fighting the urge to just tear the last layer off.
“sweetheart…” his voice cracks on the endearment. “you’re soaked.”
your hips jolt at the word, and he notices instantly. his breath stutters, eyes darkening further.
“is this from just kissing?”
his fingers trace the edge of the wet patch, not touching where you’re desperate, but close—so close it feels cruel.
“or from me finding your porn?”
“sh-shut up…” you answer uselessly.
“no,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, the heat of him covering you. “i’m asking.”
his thumb presses against the soaked cotton—barely any pressure, but enough to make your back arch off the bed.
your breath leaves you in a broken gasp, spine arching before you can stop it, the tiny press of his thumb sending a shock all the way through your stomach.
he feels it.
god, he feels it—your whole body jolting under him—and something raw flickers across his face.
“you’re really this sensitive, hm?”
you squeeze your eyes shut, humiliated, overwhelmed. “s-stop—don’t talk like—”
he presses again. right where your clit is. it’s enough to make your breath catch on a sob.
“like what?” he asks quietly, but it’s not calm anymore. it’s tight. desperate. “like i’m realizing how bad you want this?”
“suguru—”
“like i know you didn’t get this wet just from kissing?”
your hips—traitorous things—jerk, under his palm.
you want to deny it. you really do. but your body isn’t cooperating. at all. his eyes flick down, zeroing in on the soaked cotton stretched over your cunt.
“yeah,” he breathes, shaky, “that’s what i thought.”
then he sits back on his heels a little, enough to look at all of you properly.
“that video…” he starts, and his voice cracks on the edge, barely audible over the porn still playing. “tell me what you liked so much about it.”
“w-what?! no—”
“you can,” he insists, leaning in until your noses almost touch. “because i’m going to do it. all of it. but before i do i wanna know which part got you like this.”
his thumb presses into your clit and you gasp so hard he shuts his eyes and huffs for a second, like the sound punched him in the gut.
“fuck— was it when he…” his eyes drop again, breath hitching, “…grinded over her cute lil panties?”
you flinch visibly.
he swallows.
“hmm…” his other hand slides under your knee, pushing it out slightly, opening you more. “or was it when he kept teasing her until she was begging?”
your entire face lights on fire. “suguru—”
he grins slowly. “huh. i guess both.”
one hand goes to your hip. the other to your thigh. and then he slots his body between your legs, hot and heavy, lowering himself until the thick, rigid outline in his sweats presses against your soaked panties.
you choke out a sound you’ve never made before.
his jaw clenches.
suddenly, he pushes himself off you and onto the floor, standing only long enough to shove both his sweats and briefs down in one rough motion—impatient, too wound up to pretend not to be.
he’s painfully hard.
the sight of his flush cock finally freed makes your stomach twist, heat rushing between your legs so fast it’s embarrassing. you’ll never get used to how pretty he is.
you barely have time to gasp before his warm hands are on you—one at your waist, one under your knee—dragging you down the mattress until your hips meet the edge of the bed.
exactly like in the video.
“suguru—” you let out helplessly, legs falling open.
that’s when the porn still playing behind you lets out a sharp, slick sound.
his jaw tics again.
he reaches back, grabs your phone without looking, and shuts it off with a single click.
the silence that follows is too loud.
he throws your phone somewhere behind you on the bed and settles between your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist, the heat of him crowding into your space—until his cock brushes your soaked panties.
“only wanna hear you.”
you whimper.
he drags his tip along your mound—slow, thick pressure.
the head of him drags over your clit through the drenched cotton, and it’s exactly like the video…only worse. because this is him, this is real.
your panties are so drenched the fabric gives under the pressure, molding to his shape. every ridge, every vein, every careful shift of his hips is there—unmistakable even through the cotton.
your fingers clutch at his shoulders, knuckles white.
he feels that.
he likes that you can’t even pretend to stay composed.
his breath stirs over your cheek as he drags himself down the length of your cunt again—a long, deliberate stroke that pushes wet heat up the center of your panties, leaving a thin string of slick stretching when he rocks back.
you choke on a whimper.
he rolls his hips forward again, a little harder this time—enough that the fat tip of him, leaking with precum, nudges the exact spot that had the girl in the video shaking.
your back arches so sharply the pillows rustle behind you.
“mmh…there you go. lemme hear you.”
suguru pulls back only a few centimeters and drags forward again, a slow, grinding pressure right over your swollen clit, the soaked cotton squishing faintly between you.
your thighs quiver around his hips.
the worst part? he keeps the rhythm maddeningly even, like he’s timing each stroke to unravel you.
your panties cling to you, twisted crooked from how soaked they are. each grind pushes the fabric tighter between your folds, forcing slick to spill out around the edges and onto wheres he’s gripping your thighs open.
when the thick head of his cock catches on your entrance through the cotton, you make a strangled, broken sound.
you feel the drag, the pressure—how close he could be to slipping inside if it weren’t for the fabric in between.
he hears it.
he feels your legs jolt.
“look at you, baby…” he coos, “didn’t even need to use lube to get you this wet, huh? like in the video?”
that breaks you.
your mouth falls open in a moan you can’t manage to hold back.
“fuck— su-suguru!”
he grinds again, slower this time—circling his hips just enough to rub the heavy underside of his cock right over your clit again through the ruined fabric.
your whole body jolts.
then suguru’s stretching the fabric of your panties for a second before snapping them wetly against your cunt. he lowers more of his weight, breath unsteady against your mouth.
his hips roll again, a little sharper and a little less patient.
the head of him drags right over your entrance through the cotton, the pressure obscene, intimate, impossible to bear.
you suck in a breath, trembling violently, nails digging into his back.
he swallows hard and you watch the movement in his throat.
“mmh. yes. that’s it,” he murmurs, voice dropping, breath warm against your lips. “show me how bad you need it.”
he pulls back just enough for you to feel the loss…
then pushes forward again with a slow, grinding thrust, using his thumb on his cock to press himself against you so deeply that it drags the drenched cotton higher between your folds, baring more and more of you to him.
your panties barely cover anything now.
you’re practically riding the head of his cock through a soaked, twisted string of fabric without realizing it, completely gone.
and he knows it.
he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
his hips start moving faster—controlled, deliberate—but you feel the strain in the way his forehead drops to yours, his breath shaking across your lips. he wanted to stay composed. he wanted to tease you.
but now look at him.
“sweetheart…” his voice cracks, low and ragged. “you’re— fuck— soaking me through. i bet i could just fuck you now, huh? slip inside easy? you’re so damn wet.”
you whimper, barely managing, coherent thought gone replaced with him him him.
“please—”
the sound hits him so hard he goes still for a second, jaw flexing like he has to restrain himself.
“oh? you’re begging?”
before you can answer, he pulls your panties aside—finally slipping under them—his cockhead nudging directly against your bare, swollen entrance.
your breath stutters violently.
“oh— oh my god—”
his smirk is slow, hungry, unbearably confident. “i’m flattered, baby.”
your head falls back, face hot, “sh-shut up—!”
he drags forward again, the bare heat of him sliding right against you now under your panties—no barrier—just the thick, smooth pressure of him gliding along your cunt, parting you without even entering, smearing your folds with his precum.
you choke on a moan.
he closes his hand around your thigh, pulling you wider, guiding you exactly where he wants you.
“keep making those noises for me,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek. “go on, sweetheart. let me hear you.”
the thin cotton of your panties stretches over the both of you, pulled tight and messy, clinging over his cock as he grinds under them with steady precision—it’s exactly like the porn video you know by heart.
and god.
it’s so much hotter than you imagined.
“shit…” he breathes, barely audible, his composure folding at the edges. “you’re dripping for me.”
your nails claw at his shoulders. “suguru— i c-can’t—”
“yeah, you can.”
his hand slides under your knee, lifting your leg higher so he can grind deeper, slower—letting the thick underside of his cock drag along your clit, then down, then up again in a sickeningly perfect stroke that has your stomach dropping.
your moan stutters out of you, high and unrestrained.
he exhales sharply—almost a curse, almost a groan—before catching your jaw gently, forcing your eyes to his.
“look at me,” he murmurs, teasingly soft. “don’t get shy now.”
you try. you fail. your eyelids flutter shut when his tip slips just a little too low, nudging your entrance again, catching…
he catches your chin.
“c’mon. eyes on me, sweetheart.”
you wrench them open.
the second you do, he rewards you with a slow, devastating roll of his hips that drags the head of him through your slick again.
he drags himself up through your slick again—slow enough to burn—pulling your panties with him so the soaked cotton presses tight around the thick base of his cock under the fabric.
the pressure, the heat, the bare glide of him under that flimsy, twisted strip of cotton? it makes you tremble everywhere.
“s-suguru— please—”
his jaw flexes again, breath shivering out like he’s barely holding back.
his cock drags up, catching your clit perfectly.
then suddenly he’s gone, pulling back from beneath your panties, the loss so abrupt it punches a whine out of you.
your hips lift helplessly, searching for him.
he catches them easily with both hands.
“easy,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. “i’m not going anywhere.”
you’re still trying to chase the friction when his fingers hook into your soaked panties. not pulling them off. just pulling the drenched cotton aside with a finger.
your breath stops.
the cool air hits your swollen folds for just a second before the bare heat of him is there, sliding in, his cockhead nudging through the new opening he’s made.
your voice cracks instantly.
“o-oh— god—”
he exhales through his nose, sharp and uneven, watching himself settle right against your dripping entrance.
“mm,” he hums, almost a groan. “there you are.”
he drags up once, slow, the glide so slick and obscene it leaves you trembling.
but he doesn’t push in.
he doesn’t even try.
he just grinds barely—the thick head of him catching on your entrance, circling it, nudging, teasing, retreating—repeating the exact unbearable rhythm you watched in that video.
your back arches, thighs shaking.
“ugh— please—i’m—”
“i know,” he cuts in, gentle yet cruel.
his thumb presses to the inside of your thigh, keeping you open, steadying you while he drags himself down again, slow enough that your slick clings in a thin, shining thread.
it snaps when he pulls back.
you whimper.
he inhales sharply—like the sound hits him too hard—before leaning over you, lips brushing your cheek as he whispers, “this is how they did it, right?”
another slow grind up, bare heat tracing your clit, slipping lower.
“just like this?”
he stops at your entrance, pressing there…but not entering.
just enough pressure to make you think he will.
you writhe.
a soft chuckle ghosts your ear.
“mm. that’s exactly why i’m not fucking you yet.”
your fingers clutch his shoulders, desperate. he draws the head of his cock back an inch then pushes forward again, directly against your dripping entrance, sliding over it, circling the tiniest bit, letting the blunt head tease the spot that had the girl in the video sighing.
you choke on a moan so high it embarrasses you.
his voice drops to a whisper so low it almost shakes.
“keep begging.”
another slow drag.
another near slip.
another denial.
“i’m gonna tease you worse than he teased her.”
“no!” you whine, so raw and genuine that he grins.
his cockhead circles your entrance again—slow, deliberate—the same exact pattern the man in the video used. your breath stutters, hips jerking up helplessly, and he catches it.
of course he does.
he lets out a low, breathless laugh against your cheek.
“yeah…that’s it.”
another lazy grind, catching your clit perfectly before dragging down over your entrance again.
“that’s why you saved that video, huh?”
you tense, fingers gripping his shoulders, “sugu—”
he shushes you softly, teasingly, nose brushing your temple.
“you like being teased,” he murmurs, voice dipping warm and deep. “you like being made to wait.”
your whole body goes hot.
“n-no! th-that’s not—!” your words come out embarrassingly high pitched and you shut your self up. or maybe he does it for you as his cock nudges your entrance again.
so close yet so far, making you clench around nothing.
he hums mockingly, “you bookmarked seven minutes of a girl getting edged through her panties. and that was your favorite. the only video you liked. don’t tell me it was an accident.”
you whine, the sound high and desperate.
he smiles—slow, hungry, knowing.
“you wanted me to find it,” he adds, breath fanning your lips.“you wanted me to tease you just like this.”
another grind, deeper this time—your entrance opening around the pressure.
“you love it.”
the admission falls from your mouth before you can stop it.
“fuck— y-yes—”
your thighs clamp around him automatically.
his smile sharpens the second your thighs clamp around him, like he’s been waiting for that exact reaction.
“yeah,” he breathes, voice dipping low, pleased. “i know.”
he grins.
his cock nudges you again, slow and intentional, the fat head sliding just barely between your folds—close enough to feel him, not close enough to satisfy, the way he knows drives you insane.
you jerk, hips trying to chase it, but he holds you down with a palm splayed over your stomach.
“easy,” he murmurs, tone dipping into something darker. “look at you. trying to ride it already.”
your mouth falls open at his words, heat pooling deeper in your core, another gush of arousal escaping you.
he pries your legs open again, not giving you any room to hide.
the way he pulls your panties to the side bares the swollen, slick edges of your entrance while he traps his cockhead right against you.
he looks down for one second and curses under his breath.
“…fuck.”
it’s almost silent, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
then he’s grinding again, slow, dragging pressure that pushes right over your clit before sliding down and catching your entrance again, your slick coating the underside of him in sticky, shining strings.
“you want it slow,” he whispers, sounding almost wrecked.
“you want it drawn out—”
his cock catches on your entrance again, not pushing in, just stroking over it…
“right here—”
another drag.
“over and over—”
your nails dig into his back, helpless. back arching,
toes curling, all you can do is beg. “p-please— suguru—“
he laughs softly. but it’s strained, shaky, like teasing you is unraveling him too.
“there it is,” he whispers. “but maybe i can’t do that.”
his cock twitches—an involuntary, hungry pulse—and your whole body jumps.
that finally breaks him.
his hips roll forward, slow but deliberate, and your entrance parts around him, the thick head pushing in just a breath—just enough to stretch you, just enough to make your vision blur.
your mouth falls open in a soundless cry.
his breath hits your neck, hot and uneven. “there you go… letting me in…”
another push—not deep, not even fully breaching you, just easing in and out of the tight, slick ring of your entrance, pushing a little farther each time, coating himself in more of your wetness.
“shit,” he groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “you’re… ugh—clenching so hard.”
your hands slide to his shoulders, shaking. “fuck!”
he lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes dark, blown wide, the kind of desperate composure that’s somehow worse than raw need.
“you want more?” he breathes.
his cock rocks forward, sinking another inch into you—slow, stretching, obscene.
you choke out a moan, legs tightening around his waist.
he smiles, small and sharp and absolutely undone.
“open up for me,” he murmurs, voice low, deep, wrecked as he pushes in another inch, “take it.”
he pushes in slow further, unhurried, no stopping. only his thick cock spreading you open inch by inch while your breath stutters helplessly against his mouth.
your nails claw at his shoulders, not to push him away—just because your body can’t handle the feeling without holding onto something.
“oh—oh my god—” the words fall out before you can think, your voice shaking.
he groans at the sound—quiet, strained, almost like you’re knocking the air out of him.
“yeah…that’s it, baby.” he murmurs, eyes fixed on where your bodies meet. “take it. just take it.”
you’re already trembling, your walls fluttering around him, squeezing, trying to adjust but failing because he keeps pressing deeper.
your mind blanks in flashes—each one hitting harder as he sinks another inch inside you.
your legs twitch around his hips, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
“tight—” he bites off a curse, jaw clenched. “you’re so fucking tight around me.”
another push.
your back arches off the bed—sharp, instinctive—your mouth falling open in a sound that doesn’t even resemble a word.
he braces one hand under your thigh, pushing your knee higher, opening you more, letting himself slide in deeper still.
you feel every ridge, every vein, every impossible inch.
your thoughts scatter—thin, useless things that melt away the moment the next wave of pressure hits.
“suguru—” it comes out broken, breathless, like the syllables barely hold together.
he leans in, lips at your cheek, breathing ragged.
“going dumb already?” he whispers, voice low and full of heat. “and i’m not even all the way in.”
you shiver hard, walls clenching around him so tightly he groans into your skin.
and he keeps going.
inch by inch.
relentless.
your head falls back into the pillows, eyes unfocused, lips parted around soft, helpless gasps. you feel too full, stretched to the point of delirium, pleasure burning through your nerves until thought itself slips away.
he watches you lose yourself on him, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly curved.
“mm… there she is…” he whispers, voice deep and satisfied. “my pretty girl—can’t even think straight, can you?”
your only answer is another shaking moan as he finally sinks the last inch inside you, filling you completely.
your mind goes white.
the moment he bottoms out, your whole body seizes around him—tight, fluttering, overwhelmed.
his breath punches out of him in a low, broken growl against your neck.
“fuck—”
he wasn’t ready for how hard you’d clamp down.
you weren’t ready for how full you’d feel.
your legs twitch around his hips, trembling, flexing without control. he feels every little squeeze.
and god—he reacts.
his hand slides up your thigh, slow, firmer than before, thumb brushing the edge of where you’re stretched around him. he doesn’t move his hips yet—just stays buried inside you, letting the intensity burn both of you alive.
“you feel that?” he whispers against your jaw, voice rougher now—wrecked and trying so hard to hide it. his hands slide up to your tummy where it bulges. “feel how deep i am?”
you can barely breathe, let alone answer. all that comes out is a soft, broken “mmh—”
his lips curve into a slow, heated smile against your cheek.
“look at you. can’t even talk.”
your walls flutter hard at that, squeezing him again. his breath stutters—really stutters—and his hips twitch, the smallest involuntary jerk deep inside you.
it makes you gasp, loud and high.
“shit—” he mutters, grip tightening on your thigh. “you drive me insane.”
your eyes flutter, unfocused, lashes wet with how overwhelmed you are. he watches every tiny reaction—drinks it in like he’s starving.
then he pulls back.
not all the way—just a few inches.
just enough for you to feel the stretch shift, for the thickness of him to slide drag against your walls, and your mouth falls open in a sound that’s half whine, half moan.
his jaw clenches hard.
“yeah… i want that,” he breathes. “give me more of those sounds.”
he pushes forward again, slow and heavy, and your back arches without you telling it to—your body meeting him like you’re begging even if your voice can’t form the words.
he sets a rhythm—not fast, not rough.
deep.
deliberate.
each slow thrust makes your breath snag, makes your thighs shake around him, makes your fingers dig into his back like you’re trying not to fall apart.
you can’t think.
you can’t speak.
you can’t do anything except take it.
“that’s it…” he murmurs, forehead pressing to yours, breath warm and shaky. “go dumb for me.”
your lips tremble around another moan.
he moves again—another slow, dragging thrust that makes your vision blur.
“mmh—s-sugu—” you manage, barely.
he laughs softly, breathless, kissing the corner of your open mouth.
“yeah, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips, voice low and ruined. “let me fuck the thoughts right out of my smart girl.”
“y-you’re—” your voice breaks as he thrusts in again, slow enough to make you feel every inch, “you’re s-saying— ngh—”
you can’t even finish the sentence.
he smiles against your cheek—a slow, wicked thing—but his breath is unsteady, warm, desperate.
“what?” he teases, rolling his hips deeper, forcing another shaky gasp out of you. “too much for that pretty brain? where did she go?”
you shake your head, but it’s useless—you’re trembling, panting, already melting around him.
he kisses the corner of your open mouth again, lips lingering as he thrusts—slow and deep—building pressure that coils tight and unbearable low in your belly.
“don’t hide,” he whispers. “don’t even think.”
another thrust, perfectly angled, rubbing every sensitive spot inside you as your breath catches.
“just feel me,” he murmurs, voice cracking with restraint. “feel how good you’re taking me—” your back arches helplessly.
your moan is so high, so helpless, so wrecked you slap a hand over your mouth.
he immediately takes it away—fingers curling around your wrist, pinning your hand above your head on the pillow.
“no,” he breathes, eyes dark, pupils blown. “don’t you dare hide those sounds from me.”
he pulls back just enough to thrust harder, faster, hips rolling with a deliberate, punishing rhythm.
your walls clamp and release around him, slick coating him more and more with every stroke.
“fuck—” he groans, voice low and rough, nipping at your jaw. “she’s so fucking wet for me.”
his hand drifts lower, thumb brushing over your clit in lazy, deliberate circles while he drives into you, the sensation making your breath hitch violently.
your hips lift on instinct, desperate, trying to chase both sensations at once, and he matches every movement, teasing, grinding, driving you higher and higher.
“pretty girl. ugh— shit.”
you clench around him and his thrusts become sharper. you choke out a sound, lost in the heat and pressure, body quivering, mind completely dumb.
“ahh—fuck! oh god—” your voice shatters into helpless gasps.
he groans against your skin, losing a little of that composed edge, utterly wrecked by how perfectly you’re taking him.
“that’s it…” he whispers, voice low, desperate, teasing, “let go for me, baby. let me ruin you.”
he hitches one hand to your hip, the other still pressing over your clit, rolling his thumb in tight, maddening circles while his hips slam into you, hard and relentless.
your body jolts with every thrust, walls clamping around him, pulling him deeper, lost in heat and friction.
“ah—!” your voice shatters, high and desperate, drowning in the haze of pleasure.
he groans, forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing your temple. “so wet… so perfect…”
he drives into you faster, hips snapping, thumb pressing harder against your clit.
“mmgh—oh fuck—i’m close!” you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, trying to hold yourself together.
he buries himself deeper, following the rhythm of your body, letting every shudder, every gasp guide him.
“let go,” he murmurs, teeth grazing your shoulder, voice low and strained.
your walls clamp around him, slick coating him, heat consuming you, and your cry tears out before you can stop it.
his hips stutter, jaw flexing, breathing ragged, as he rides you through your climax, feeling every tight, trembling motion.
you shiver violently, legs quaking, mind going completely blank.
he presses a final deep thrust, letting you ride it out, hands holding you steady as the last waves of pleasure wash through you.
after a moment, your bodies collapse together, slick and trembling, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, utterly spent.
and then a smile against your throat.
“mm…sorry sweetheart, i think i went a little off script. shall we try again?”
series masterlist | taglist open
if you didn’t read pt 1, this is based on this twitter porn link! (heh don’t open in public…)
those who asked to be tagged and those who commented for part 2! @m1kah4h @chellerambles @outlirs @katsukiskavpav
“ you know i'm not a bad girl, but i do bad things with you.”
summary: your best friend of 10 years helps
you remove your bdsm toys after getting
stuck with it on for 2 hours, having you
overstimulated while he's...stuck with a tent in his basketball shorts:)
tags: itadori yuuji x fem!reader, freaky reader and "innocent" yuuji, switch itadori, gymrat yuuji!!, he gives the best aftercare.
a/n: for the people with the same perverted thoughts as me, this one's for you LOLLL 💕💕
for the experience, listen to so it goes.. by taylor swift!
crying out yuuji's name to help you rid yourself of the very bdsm toys you chose to wear was one of the many events you didn't think would ever happen in the 10 years of your friendship.
it all started a few days ago when you thought that it would be a bright idea to purchase some bdsm toys online, well, to try while yuuji was busy in the gym.
an unexpected truth to be exact, was that you had a disgusting secret you never had a chance to share with your best friend, and it was that you were into bdsm and quite possibly be a freak.
although, while being a virgin and exploring your preferences, you've never had a real encounter with a dominant which made you a tad bit inexperienced. you were just starting out after all.
yuuji never asked you about anything sexual as you and him grew up together from diapers until college. he's never had that though of you, and neither did you towards him. however you knew that he was never into what you were into. he was such a sweet boy, you never imagined he'd delve into bdsm like you do now.
what made him be the one you'd call to was because he was your roommate. living in a bungalow house was fun in it's idea, execution wise, it was hard to find privacy. walls were extremely thin, the slightest of yawns can be heard.
but because of his daily routine of leaving at three in the afternoon, you found yourself dedicating that time to explore your body and it's limits.
and well... it's at its limit.
in squirmish hums, you were sprawled on your bed with a spreader bar latched on your ankles. cuffs tightly securing your wrists onto the bar which made you lay your head down on your pillows and your taut ass waving in the air. slick dribbles all over your sheets where your cunt swallows a purple shaped vibrating dildo you lost the controller to.
dumb now, was it?
while you were overstimulated, your vision was simply blocked with blindfolds, and your mouth encasing a gagball which refrained you from speaking.
was it torture?
no, it really wasn't. it felt good, great even. you were just overstimulated. it was your 5th orgasm when the door clicked and you realized you lost the controller of the dildo, irresistibly stuck in the same position you found pleasure.
whimpers, warbles of your breath, tears gliding your cheeks and heat overflowing your bruised pussy taking in thrusts of the sex toy continuously filled the walls in a monotonous waves of groans.
“ yuu!” a muffled impression of his name making it seem like you were okay yet you weren't. in a way, it held such lustful intentions that you never addressed.
“ngh—hah-fuck..” was all the series of words you could ever execute, gagball intact. yuuji's footsteps drawing closer, you felt a sense of embarrassment basking your body which didn't. “ yuu! help..ngh!” yet it wasn't understandable.
his heavy feet comes to a halt when he reaches the front of your door. a worried knock decorating the small space. “ [name], are you okay?” his voice trembled with care, a sound you knew all too well.
you couldn't bare him seeing you like this, but alas, it was the present.
heavy pants feathered through your lips, curling yourself up and over but restrictions continued to hinder your ability to peel yourself off from such indulgence. “yuu!” you choked, your tongue tasting the plastic of the spherical object jammed in your mouth. turned on even more when the dildo started pulsing harder and faster. “ yuu—” whining, writhing in your place, bed frame wobbling as you stretched upward with your flesh in the air.
“ i'm coming inside, okay? don't get mad..” yuuji quickly says, as if to distract you feom the "pain," the door clinking in unison. “ what's—” he pauses at the sight, his gym bag dropping dramatically on the floor. “—wrong?”
it was a lewd sight. never in his life would he have thought he'd see his childhood best friend like this. blood undeniably rushes to his cheeks and lips parted. how could he control this reaction? how?! parts of your body which he only imagined were now out in display at him.
tears swarmed and distressed the blindfold which you wore— tears that stained your rosy cheeks. sticky saliva building up in the corners of your lips while your muffled out whimpers in what seemed like pleasure and pain danced in his vision and hearing. your wrists and ankles marked with red patches of cuffs complimented the way your slick cunt had its dripping liquid all over the inner most flesh of your thighs. the steel bar glistening with your juices on it.
he was hard.
he could only imagine what it felt like running his thick hand across your hot skin— wait.
yuuji quickly shook those thoughts out of his head, not wanting to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable situation. your head turned where his footsteps laid, suddenly his body made your bed sink down to his weight. there was no point in denying— both of you were nervous and with the way your hearts were panging in embarrassment and desire, it wouldn't be a surprise if both of you suffered a heart attack.
gentle two hands laid your head on his lap, strong fingers calmly untying the gagball from behind your head, his heart skipping a beat again. was there something in the air that made it hard to breathe? yuuji peeled the toy from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two together lingered. he basks in the redness of his cheeks.
to him, you still looked innocent as the day he met you, and he knew this when you suddenly burst into tears out of emotions washing over you. yuuji's eyes softened in your glow, cupping your face with his rough palms with thumbs which drew circles softly on your skin.
“ i—i'm sorry you had to see me like this!” you rambled, it was beyond repair. you were damaged. “ you must feel so disgusted of me now, don't you?” yuuji quickly swept you up, kissing your forehead.
“ it's okay baby, it's alright. don't worry, i've got you.” your voice warbled in intensity, tears drowning out any coherence you can say to him. “ i'm not disgusted, i was just shocked. calm down now, please?” yuuji's rough hands detangled your hair from the blindfold, lifting it up from your face.
“ it's just—” hiccup! “ you took so long standing there! i thought you hated me at that point on..” your sobs continued while the dildo on you still worked you up.
yuuji cooed, “ i can never hate you.” you laid there on his lap worrying away how to disappear from the face of the earth. he, on the other hand, felt the tip of his thumb graze over your glistening lips. with one quick swipe, you stopped whimpering. “ now tell me what i need to do, yeah?” he asks softly.
he couldn't deny that he was growing harder at the sole sight of you. your eyes were sullen and red, upset by the fact you let yourself be seen this way, doe irises that made his heart melt. “yuu... get the dildo out of me..—hagh please!” you bucked backwards, your hips failing on you. yuuji held you securely with his strong arms, but his body was giving out as well.
watching you writhing from the simple toy sparked something within him, like it had been dormant for so long. your constant whimpering paired with how your toes were curling was giving him the final blow, but he chose to remain calm.
he kissed your cheeks as if you were the littlest thing in the world he wanted to protect. “ okay, baby. got it.” yuuji swiftly got up, the bed bouncing back up to its original place.
the sun was setting from your window, the light glazing your room with a golden glow. your eyes which regained its ability to see watched your best friend tend to you slowly.
he sank down near your behind, the tension in the air filling up while you begin to experience what seems like your 6th orgasm yet.
a cold hand firmly sets itself on the curve of your back, two fingers both on its soft pooling dimples and a gentle voice pulling you out your highs. however, it made you feverish, burning, and needy.
“ yuu, i'm so sorry..” whimpering in more sobs, “ so..so so sorry..” but your body wasn't sorry at all— in fact it was reacting to his hand sliding up and down, tracing circles on the curve of your back for comfort. “ shush, it's alright. no need to worry, hm?”
a soft moan escapes your lips. he gapes.
your eyes widened at the friction, feeling the tightness in your stomach coming undone. yuuji watches in curiosity. terrfied at the matter, you squealed, “ y—yuu please don't!”
his hand latches away, cold air now occupying your skin. “ i'm overly sensitive... don't do that, please?” yuuji hums in response, following suit to your request. the room would've been quiet if it weren't for the squelches of your sopping cunt, and yuuji wouldn't have been so turned on if he didn't hear it.
still processing everything, yuuji tried his best to get his mind off the gutter. his hands hovered on the dildo's handle, pressing random buttons to figure out how to turn it off.
but it seems like it didn't.
“ argh—hah—!yuu—ngh!” helpless and powerless you were. your insides were fired with the highest option, rapid thrusts and bursts of pulses indulging within you, groaning in utter pleasure and pain. “s—gh—stop!” you moaned, thighs attempting to rub together as if to say you needed more. you looked hot, yuuji knew that.
he was starting to rethink his life choices. you moaned his name and his dick twitched in his basketball shorts. you started crying yet he felt the urge to flip you over and fuck you raw. you were his best friend!
in a spur of panic, he spams more buttons to turn it off. “ sorry, i... didn't realize it would do that.” for fucks sake, he sounded so breathless. he was sorry but his thick cock sure wasn't. his boxers weren't helping, so tight around him.
you kept on whimpering, squirming on the bed until you weren't. when yuuji finally pulled the dildo out of you, juices squirted on his palms and the sleeve of his hoodie. he licked his lips, a huge lump in his throat hindering his stable breathing to which he gulped.
“ that was your favorite hoodie! fuck—yuuji i am so sorry!” you cried, looking behind you with lips bitten. that hoodie would be his most prized possession now.
his face wore something you couldn't describe, he looked out of it yet so focused. eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “ are you mad?” you say with worry.
“ i'm not,” he smiles softly, reassuring your poor heart. “ i'll remove these from you, 'kay?” you nod at him, feeling drowsy at the wave of your orgasm subsiding.
every swift quips of his hot fingers freeing you from your misery, jolts of your hips accompanied it. the way it grazed you was sensual, intentional, but you weren't going to overthink things.
when he released you from the spreader bar, your body naturally lumped itself with the plush of your pillows. letting the need of sleep fill your eyes. while you were satisfied and free, there sits an itadori yuuji with fingers running through his hair, sweat running his forehead with a fear of realization that he had a thick boner.
a really, really, painfully hard, thick boner.
he was going to die.
the moment you woke up, the sun had already disappeared, the moon's bright glow replacing its golden hues. your body was still compensating with your orgasms and overstimulation, dealing with how you pushed your luck with those toys. embarrassment is an understatement, it was everything you felt but somewhere in the deep pits of your head, it turned you on so bad.
yuuji was himself as always, waking up to clean sheets and a simple white t shirt was expected of him. he never rummaged through your drawers, yet he made your bed and cleaned up your sex toys, placing it atop your desk chair.
he was the sweetest person you know and you made him go through all that. you were so close to killing yourself.
however, from across your room, itadori yuuji had other plans on his mind...well his cock.
squelch! schlurp! fap!
yuuji felt guilty for ever thinking of you in that way, but there he was with his fat dick in hand fisting away. on his free arm, he had the hoodie he wore a while ago, the one you squirted on. he held it tightly between his fingers, inhaling the scent of your sex feverishly.
he was going delirious.
each stroke felt like a wave of ecstacy, imagining it were you felt like drugs. heaving groans and whispers lulled the air into something so lewd. his head tilted, lips parted softly, and eyes shut tightly, while his palms teased the rim of his tip.
“fuck..” in long dragged out vowels, he didn't even deny it anymore how long this pent up frustration lasted. these thoughts were what he pushed in the back of his mind, now resurfacing, he pumps his sad, pulsating dick.
you were crying and helpless, he knew how adorable you looked when you were upset, he always teased you for it. was this now back firing? he couldn't get it off his mind no matter what he did. for fuck's sake he has had this boner in what seemed like three hours now. it was painful.
schlap! squelch! “ argh—hah..” [name], if only he could moan your name out loud. these walls were too thin.
he felt like a pervert for sniffing the sleeve of his hoodie, but you smelled so sweet that he couldn't resist. he was helpless. dying to chase that release as his hands curled and gripped tighter on his cock. would you feel this tight as well? he shook his head, no, you would be tighter.
and alas, the walls were indeed too thin. because now you waddled your way to the front of his room to thank him for helping you, yet were greeted by a disarray of heavy breathing and the sounds of his hands fapping his dick.
oh?
not knowing what came over you, you found yourself standing still next to the door, hand on the door knob without twisting it open. and thighs rubbing together by the lustful sounds his beautiful lips were making. this was bad..this was private. but what are the odds he was masturbating to you?
the wetness from your highs still remained intact, dripping onto your thighs which felt like a sticky and swishing delight. why were you so turned on by your best friend?
moments later, you heard his final groan, whimpering your name that made you squirm in your place. it was confirmed. he was masturbating to you. and now you had the tiniest ounce of confidence to open the door in thick sweat.
“ yuu? are you okay?”
it was a sight. his grey sweatpants were now stained black and the hoodie you thought he threw in the laundry was in his hand. he quickly threw the clothe away from your sight and his cheeks flushed with amber.
“ y—yeah?” he gulped nervously, “ you scared me.” his fingers hooking onto the neckline of his white t-shirt, airing out the fabric in his sweat ridden body.
from your peripheral vision as you closed the door shut, silence filling the space with the gurgles of his air conditioning, you saw he was shifting in his place. “ you still horny?”
his eyes widened, “ what?!— no! of course not.”
not needing anymore of his lies, you slowly went up to him while he got up to hold your hand. “ l-look i'm sorry for barging in your room like that and i'm terribly sorry for thinking of you that way.”
he was deeply sincere, “ i'm so sorry, [name].” you started at both your hands intertwined, he was always this kind. but you were having none of it.
“ that thing over here isn't sorry, you know?” smirking, you saw how his dick twitched underneath the thick clothe of his sweats. “w—what?!” he yelped as your hands found its way on his chest pushing you to the door.
“ let me ask you again, are you horny?”
yuuji warbled, “ no?”
it was frustrating, but you held your ground and lifted yourself on your tiptoes. chest heaving with anticipation. whispering to his ear sensually, “ sure you are.”
that was when it shocked you. yuuji's hands hovered on the curve of your back, now latching his rough palms on your skin and gripping your ass. “ yeah, fuck it.”
it was uncoordinated, heavy, and out of control. despite that, it felt incredible. his lips was luxury, his tongue against yours snapped you in half, and his thick clothed dick rhythmically thrusted in your hips. “ yuu—hah~” groaning against his plump lips, he pulls away and dips his head between your jaw and neck.
“ shit—you're so—” squelch! schlurp!“ beautiful under me, baby..” yuuji inhaled the crook of your neck, hands on your hips grinding you against his sheath. “ this is all you, pretty.”
wet open mouthed kisses on your collarbones and his left hand leaving the plush of your ass to play with your swollen breasts. “ yeah?” breathlessly, you held his jaw with both your small dainty hands, running your fingers through his undercut. “mhmn—” he hummed softly on your skin, leaving trails of hickeys all over your neck. the vibrations of his voice sent an electric current to your spine, leading it to your clit which was still bruised and aching.
“ jus' kiss me now, yuu..” his head tilted up when he stopped kneeling to stimulate your tits, he got up and opened his plump lips to you again. the hotness and slick of your saliva combining with his. yuuji's right hand cupped your cheek, angling him in a way which trembled your legs. “ you taste so sweet f'me..” he growled, “ such a fucking tease.” he says between kisses.
pulling away, a string of saliva connects you to him who was breathing heavily. your eyes— still watery— glowed like a deer's against his irises which stared harder at your beauty. heavy panting between you, and suddenly your being pushed to his desk.
tumble! splash! clink!
the table was cleared with a swift swipe of his arm, and he has you on the desk with both hands behind your lower back and head smushed down onto the wooden vinyl.
spank!
hefty hand prints left your naked butt on display, “ what made you think it was safe for you to try that here, huh?” his lips trailed open mouthed kisses on the indents, rises of your back. the feeling was sensational, unreal even. there were times where you felt like giving out, knees wobbling in place.
“ i thought you would be—hah!” squinting harshly and heavily breathing, through bitten lips you sighed, “ home later.”
thwack!
yuuji scoffs and slaps your ass, “ you know i'm home before five, right?” desire now blinding his head, he grinds the apex of your thighs on his growing bulge. he loved how your flesh rippled with every spank he did.
“ i know— yuu!” you yelped at the springing feeling, like dozens of needles jabbing at your skin yet you felt more turned on now.
“ naughty girl”
“ didn't mean to”
“ of course you didn't ” he chuckled and turned you around, “ right— fuck! right there yuu!”
your back now on his cold desk, and legs spread wide as he continued humping you senselessly through his clothed dick. yuuji kisses you shut, turning your whimpers into muffled moans. squelch! squelch!
he pulls away and licks your jaw.
“ came home just in time for that series you told me we'd watch the other day.”
right! you begged him to watch this new romance series netflix released. but with the busy schedules mixing up, it completely flew over your head. “ i forgot about that..”
“ and we're here fucking.” he grins beneath your feverish skin, all inhibitions out of the fucking window. you giggled softly while watching him ravage your body, “ well— technically we're not..”
hands on his head, his palms kneading your waist, and his lips leaving splotchy wet kisses on your navel, he smirks, “ wanna change that?”
“yes..” you moaned through his teases. principles and everything you've been overthinking are now left in the dark, demanding are your heeding needs.
schlurp! squelch!
his arms are now encircling your heated body, carrying you to his soft bed, laying you down his lap with hands so strong it imprinted on your skin. “ wanna tell me when you started using those without me knowing?”
splotch! thwap!
you've never seen yuuji in this light, demanding and stern. an indicator that he was in fact itadori yuuji, was his sense of humor and free nature. constant smiles and jokes, he was always so gentle towards you.
the heat pooling within you found its way on his grey sweatpants, gliding over his precum collecting on the clothe as well. “ i jus' bought those last week.”
fwop!
he tugs on your lips for entrance, his tongue grazing against yours, after a few heavy sighs you pull away. out of breath, he sighs in disbelief, “ really, now?”
yuuji's brows quips together, cute. “ yes, yuu.”
“you're really into that stuff?” his hands left your hips, running it up your back and onto your waist— schlurp!— heartbeats syncing in the quiet stance of the room, wet squelches of your kisses, yuuji found his way cupping your breasts from beneath your shirt— his t-shirt.
like fire blazing your already hot skin, his lips dragged on your jaw which worked open mouthed kisses to your collarbones. “ yeah..—fuck yuu!” he wasn't guiding your hips anymore, it was all you now. the right friction stimulated your swollen clit, juices lapping up to spread in your entire slit.
squelch! peck!
“ since when?” he asks, both hands beneath your ass, feeling the undeniable wetness of your pussy. “ don't know... 16?” you couldn't give him coherent answers, the pleasure just kept building up in your knotting stomach.
he chuckled in your ear, “ such bad girl, aren't you?” you frown at him and shook your head. “—hah— am not..”
yuuji knows how bad you are at denying things, he's already got you cornered. “ so too, ” he teased to which you rolled your eyes.
“ whatever,” playing with his hair was the most cutest thing you can do while he did sinful things to you down there. your once clear skin was now marked with dozens of purple-ish marks, splotchy wet looking kisses, and bite marks. “ no need to deny such things, pretty girl, i've seen everything i needed to know.”
banter with yuuji was fun and all, but you seriously needed something more, it was a despicable itch that you wanted out of the way.
fwop!
“ hey, yuu?”
schlurp!
“ hm?”
squelch!
“ i really need you and this isn't cutting it.”
fwap!
your best friend's lips tugged upwards, “ so needy, huh?” in that moment, he licks your bottom lip urging with desire.
“ shut up.”
he laughs at your response and pecks your lips, “ okay, baby. be patient, hmm?”
an irresistible pout enters your face, “ but i don't want to wait anymore.” your whines weren't giving him justice either.
“i dont know what's wrong with me [name], when i saw you cry like that, i never thought i would be this hard.” he groaned in your ears while his hard hands controlled your hips.
thwack! thump!
“ i never thought i'd be so turned on when you saw me like that..”
“ me neither” and he kisses you again—slosh!—you stop him, string of saliva connecting you both. you gasped, “ yuu i'm being serious, i need you in me.”
“ yes sweetheart, wait a little longer.”
without saying much words, your vocal chords let out a pitchy load of whines, turning something on in yuuji's system.
“ didn't i tell you to be patient?” his grip grounded you harder on the sudden rise of his clothed cock. right where his fat tip sits proudly against your throbbing clit.
“ hah—fuck!” your eyes rolled back in their sockets and the innermost part of your thighs started to hurt from how spread apart you are. never really taking into account how huge yuuji's body was next to you. “k-keep going like that—please..” he hums in contentment.
“ wear them again for me, yeah?” his low growl fluttered butterflies in your stomach, and you realize he was referring to your sex toys. a giggle escapes from your used lips, “ did that turn you on that much?”
he nods, a little embarrassed to admit it,“ hng—kinda?”
deciding to finally let loose and tease him, you rise from his lap and tangled your arms behind his neck.“ you can use whatever on me, i have more,” whispering sensually in his ears, you nibble on its shell, before gripping his soft chin with your hand and licking his jaw.
“alright, pretty.” he smirks, throwing you on his shoulders. a quick yelp managed to escape your shocked face, lips forming an 'o' when he slapped your ass again. “ think you can keep up with me?”
spank!
you laugh at him kicking the door open and leading you into your room, “ i know i can.”
“ let's see, sweets.” yuuji shuts your room's door tightly and throws you on the bed. “ hey! why so rough?” you got up from the cloud of pillows and see him taking his grey sweats off, then his shirt.
“ i'm having fun seeing you like this, can you blame me?” you shook your head, placing your foot on his chest when he knelt on your bed.
he pouts cutely, a hand on your ankle, “spread your legs, baby, i can't deal with this anymore.” your best friend was always one for teasing. he kept moving forward and you were resisting, now folded in half, yuuji backs up and pulls you towards him with your ankle. “ feel me, [name]?” yuuji whines, grinding your raised hips against his, “ i've been hard for 4 fucking hours, it's too much f'me, you know?”
“can't you remove your boxers yuu?” you cried, tugging on his arms. he shakes his head, “ that's for later, you've got to wait.”
thing is..you already felt him, hard and beating on you, his dick would twitch every few seconds everytime your cunt swallows his curve whole, coating it with your slick.
smooth strings of gasps from your breathy mouth lingered in the air as you threw your head against your pillows, hands gripping the sheets. this was something you've imagined since you hit puberty. sex...intimacy...fucking...you never understood the hype of dry humping, but now you do.
pink hairs frayed everywhere on his forehead, he looked beautiful underneath your light. your best friend held your chin with a hand as he humped you faster, your toes curling and legs now wrapped against his waist to secure him in place.
it was a mess, both of you were a mess. matched sighs, and matched quips of breaths, heartbeats and your cunt against his cock thumping the same way. “ in my drawer, i've got rope and a—hah paddle for— argh— spanking.” your cheeks were mushed together, making you incoherent but yuuji understood you the entire time. “later..” he groans in your ear, hands leaving your body now on the headboard thrusting harder and stronger.
rut!
it was cruel beyond repair, he knew you were coming undone with how tight you were gripping his hips with your legs. “h—fuck—yes!” he absolutely loved hearing your moans, a hand left the headboard and guided yours to his waist, “ push me the way you want it.”
thud!
blinking heavily at him, you hum. with one quick move, he's back to striking your hips with his. each slap of his groin leaving sounds of wet skin bulldozing each other, the squelching being lewder than sex itself. spring wires of your bed were squeaking, bouncing, and jumping, its wooden headboard thrashing against the drywall making it known to your poor neighbors of your current activities.
there was a rhythm established, indulgent ruts of his clothed dick, and you start pushing him harder and he chuckles, “ are you close?”
half-lidded eyes flutter open once more, “ y-yeah...” and they shut again, head sinking further in your pillows. with one last thrust, yuuji holds your hips upwards, lifting you up in the air and guiding it to circle his groin. it was as if he knew your body the way you did. it was coming, and you were preparing yourself for the aggressive wave of pleasure that will be washing over you...
until it wasn't.
and then he dips his head between your legs, wet tongue salivating at the hot scent of your sex. ecstacy and pure stars. this was your first time being eaten out and it felt so good. half of your body was still suspended up in the air while he grasped you with both hands on your hips, thighs now resting on his shoulders. “ h-holy—shit yuu!”
“mhmn..” he grumbles against your clit, an open mouth swallowing the small yet swollen bud whole. you tried reaching for him but it was too high up, a pathetic moan leaves your lips, tears bringing in your eyes. his closed lids and nose resting on top of the fats of your cunt while he worked you up with his tongue was all you ever wished for. “ hagh— so fucking sweet...” his head tips, mouth open and his tongue on display..mixed fluids dripping from his chin and tip of the muscle. “ you're a water fall.” he looked so hot, you knew that.
“ let's make you cum, 'kay?” he quickly dives in your cunt once more, now lapping at your pussy. a bodily function you never denied, hips now bucking into the swole of his tongue. slowly, he lays your hips down on the bed, the straining pain now going away. “hmnh...fuck..”
as you were feeling the buildup collecting in your stomach, his large, rough, palm pressed on it, and then he inserted a finger inside you. your once sleepy posture now wide awake. how was this any different from a dildo? heck, he felt amazing.
while he flattened his tongue passionately, circling your clit before cupping it and sucking harshly, his finger rimmed your tight cunt. “that dildo was small..” your head was spinning, he was incoherent to you, but you hummed.
he smiles softly on your cunt, “it looks sad next to mine, don't worry, i'll make you feel good.” before dipping again into his meal. haughtily making out with your cunt while your back was arching and spasming, it was unthinkable. mind literally blacked out by sex.
when the pads of his finger reached a spongy part within you, he started curling it. your stomach now tangling itself. “ yuu! sh-shit! stay there, please..” his forearms were giving out by how tight you were but kept on going. slurping all the slick while his finger pushed upward, curled, dragged in and out slow and steady.
once he found that rhythm, your eyes were completely shut, focused solely on the feeling of it all. both heartbeats you could hear from your ears panging loudly. “ fuck! yuuji!” you sighed, gasping with tears brimming in your eyes. you didn't even know you could cry while having sex.
soft hot sighs against the cold air, your high was undeniably coming. and as if sparks started flying, your head whips upward with both hands on his hair trying to push him away with heavy breaths. but he kept going, riding your orgasm out while your thighs squeezed against both ends of his ears.
hot liquid sprayed all over his face, he grinned. “ that was quick, right?” you couldn't even think straight anymore. he licked up our cunt and crawled to you, tucking stray hairs behind your ears. “ taste yourself,” now he's making out with you.
surprisingly, it had a tangy taste to it. sweet and salty in a way. your tongue roughed up with his before he pulled away.
after kissing you, he leaves the bed. “ which drawer is it, [name]?” head spinning, you lift your head up, seeing his huge bag in front of your vanity, “ the second one..left drawer.”
both of your hands rubbed your eyes, wiping the sweat and tears. yuuji's knee sinks onto the bed with him occupied by your bondage rope, paddles, and a blindfold. he sets them aside and holds both your wrists, pulling it away from your reddened face. “ we'll need to work on that stamina if you want to do bdsm, baby..look at you already battered up.”
i guess so,” you yelped when he pulled you up, “ how do you want me to tie you up?” through drowsy eyes, you crinkle, “ i think the million dollar question is if you can tie me up properly.”
yuuji pinched your cheeks, “ i guess not.” with a heavy huff, you pulled yourself off the bed, waddling to the desk chair.
“ here, use these on me instead.” you tossed the spreader bar on his lap and sat on the bed. yuuji holds the metal, shuddering over its cold feeling. “ ass up, baby.” quickly obliging in his request, you propped into position.
“yuu?” calling out to him, your bound wrists and ankles let you struggle to see him in a clear view. the desire pitting in your cunt was pooling, the wet sheets colliding against your hot skin. when you thought he'd be holding you with his firm hands, a loud slap bounced glaringly off the room. your hips bucked forward.
spank!
another slap burned needles on your flesh, a blaring red in a shape of a star teasing you. “ f—hu—fuck!” the shivering silicone glided from your lower back exposed, following the grooves and curves of your skin. “does it feel right, baby?” yuuji's voice calls on to you, “ you don't need to answer, sweets, your body does it for me.”
thwack!
lips trembled in utter pleasure and pain, soft whimpers eliciting from your soft lips. yuuji's strong hands now curving your ass with its roughness, the itch now getting worse. it was unbearable. you needed him inside you.
spank!
“yuu! please—hah..” warbling cries danced around his ears, turning him on by the second. he never knew he'd be into seeing you cry like that. his dick painfully twitched in his beat-up boxers. the once grey underwear now turned into a collection of his cum and your slick juices. “ what is it?” he spanks you again— this time with his hands.
“agh! HAH!”
seeing your ass ripple like a pond of water made him fight himself, controlling his demons to not abuse your vulnerable stature. “ you look incredible with my hand mark, pretty.” your best friend, who you once thought was a sweet innocent baby, smirked in your trembling figure. constant vigor of vibrations coming from your limbs struggling to keep up with him.
thwap!
your vision goes white, body going haywire. juices spilt everywhere from the impact, the paddle spanking your swollen cunt electrified your spine. “ yuu!— hiccup!—ahgh!” as you regained your sight, your vision went from the headboard to the ceiling. firm knuckles entangled with a hefty amount of your hair. “be a good girl and wear this f'me, yeah?” it was a sudden movement, and now your vision is blacked out.
slap!
“yuu!” you gurgled through tears, “ it hurts..” whining only made it worst as his hands forcefully bounced on your cunt. “a—agrh!” wails of your cries and intensified sobs satisfied yuuji's dick. “ does it now?” was he a sadist?
the paddle slid from your widened ass crack to the entrance of your tight cunt, the pointy end of the star dragging on your clit. “ like that, huh?” yuuji confirms when he sees you buck your hips forward and thighs clenching together for more stimulation.
fwap!
“ too bad you won't have that..” he smirks, hearing your cries. “yuu!—ple—hah!” your words kept tumbling over each other. “ please what, hmmm?”
spank!
f—hiccup!—fuck me please!” you were beyond tired, overstimulated and edged from his constant ridicule. “please!”
thwack!
visually impaired, you trusted your other senses to know what was happening, and the next thing you felt was being flipped over on your back out in display for him. “hngh—agh!”
thwop!
“ that's the last spanking you'll get, naughty girl.” yuuji's hands quickly freed you from the spreader bar, red marks in your ankles and wrists prevalent now more than ever. by the time his fingers slid on your blindfolds, his lips caught you in a deep trance. “ get back down on your face.” squelch! squelch!
his dick was excited, he was out of control. the heavy feeling in his chest kept banging loudly, annoyingly enough to disrupt his sense of hearing. “ good... that's good..” your thighs now able to squeeze itself together pressured your clit, giving you a sensation that you oh so craved. the tightness and warmth colliding with whatever slick was left.
“ open wide f'me baby..” a thumb stuck into the hole of your ass, lifting you up casually like it was a normal way to carry you. and then, you felt it.
yuuji's fat pink-ish tip gliding along your folds, squelch! schlurp! when it stopped at your gaping hole, a fwop! elicited from both your hot sex. a fat gulp stuck in his throat, he continues. “ argh..hah..so fucking warm..”
tapping on your clit with his heavy dick, yuuji hastily pushes it in your cunt, the curves and hollows swallowing him with a struggle. “fu—fuck! it hurts..” it was a huge stretch, breathing sharply made it worse.
“relax baby, i know you can do it..” you felt comforted by his cooes, a free hand caressing the plush of your ass...spank!— “ since you're such a good girl, you can already deal with a few thrusts, yeah?”
your eyes brimmed shut with tears wallowing the corners of your cheeks, lips trembling, you managed to utter a word, “too! t'much!”
he kept pushing through, testing your limits, “ but you're halfway there, sweetheart..”
the room filled in your undeniable whimpers and sobs, crying for him to either stop moving or start moving. “ hargh—hah..” your mouth gaped open ahead of you, the headboard getting blurrier by the second. “ is..it done?”
“ yes, you did so well, pretty..” low hums vibrated off his chest, “ let's see how much you can take.”
rut!
thwack!
thrust!
“hargh—yuu!—hah fuck!” aggressive sounds of the wooden frame of your bed starting clashing once more, dulling your mind with how hard his hips was bucking against yours. creak! slam! “ your pussy swallows me so cleanly, babe, you feel so great!”
he was hollering, in fact, yuuji could not believe how good you felt. his eyes started rolling into his sockets, balls contorting at this new experience. “ yuu! s-shit!”
there was no point in denying how aggressive and messy yuuji was in bed. the reactions you were giving him were enough to make him rut his dick inside you like a dog humping a bitch. it was too good to be true, back arching and toe curling. and the way he was fucking you, reaching the deepest parts of you, was insane. he was insane.
“so fucking tight —hah—holy shit— princess—hah!” through heavy lidded eyes, his strong hands pulled you up against his chest. now sitting on top of his muscular thighs as he bound both your hands behind your back with one fist and the other sliding down the curves of your waist. he fucked hard. his rough fingers dragged on your clit as he rutted his hips on your dripping cunt.
a soft moan left your mouth, still gaping by how great he felt, “fuck—yuu!” somehow you managed to smile, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “ see how good you taste, hm?” squelch!
your stomach glided with your wet slick against the tip of his fingers and dragged it along the corners of your mouth, “suck it.” and you obliged. eyes closed making out with his fingers.
“not so innocent, are you?” yuuji continued fucking your cunt with skill, thrusting in a strong but quick motion, enough to kiss the end of your cervix and the spongy walls of your pussy. “hmng!—no—hah!” it was amazing. you could do this all day, but bruises would end up showing with how he was manhandling you. his fingers left your lips and dragged down your hips once more. “can you last longer?” he whispers on the shell of your ear, “ i know you can..” thwack! thump! fwop!
the sounds of your sobs mixing in with the sounds of your squelching skins slapping filled the air. he was losing his morals, deviously aching to make you cry for longer. he wanted to hear how sweet you sounded, how innocent your tears would stain your cute cheeks, and he wanted to see how red your lips and eyes would get. it was unbearable, he needed more—yearned for more.
“ feel me?” yuuji's voice pulled you from your trance, a heavy hand pressing on your stomach, “ i'm up 'till here, baby.. can you see?” he grins against your jaw and bites down on your collarbones. distant cries echoes everywhere in the house. your stomach bulged with the tip of his dick.
“yuu—shit! yes..—hah!” your legs were spasming out from his mean, inconsiderate thrusts. the strength left in your body caused you to lean more on the bed, falling away from his back, slumping on the plush pillows.
he frowns, “ you're not going anywhere,” pulling you by your hips, grinding your cunt against his dick in strong circular motions.
“ as long as i've got you, you're staying where i want you to.”
spank!
it was as if the world went 360° when yuuji flipped you over on the bed, now laying on your sheets with your back against it comfortably, you sighed in bliss. however, you didn't realize how badly it felt the moment his dick pulled out from your moist folds, it was aching, burning for him.
“ack!” suddenly, you're folded in half. “ fuck, you feel great..” he loomed over you, lifting your hips in the air while his feet now firmly anchoring him as he quite literally slams his twitching member in your heat.
as if it went on forever, all you could do was throw your head against the pillows dumb fucked and sobbing, “harg—holy fuck!—yuu!” stable slams of his thick cock pecked the pulsating opening of your cervix, the fats of his huge tip scooping the juices from your slick pussy at every time he pulls back only to rut it back in. “ yes... i've got you, i'll make you feel good baby..”
“yuuji!—hiccup!—hah,” your throat was tightening up, salivating at the sensation, he was gripping your ankles so tightly it started turning white. chest heaving and ever needy you were, it was getting harder to breathe with how heavy his hips were crushing you and how he held your legs above your head. “holy—hah!—shit!” against your constant cries is yuuji's groans rattling in his adam's apple. his eyes were shut tight so painfully he started seeing stars through the dark light, dick twitching in your hot slick.
“ taking me so well, so pretty..”
yuuji's wet lips found its way on your calves, sloshing it with open mouthed kisses. the tingling feeling surrounding your already clouded mind. he felt sorry that he had you folded like this, but he was getting close. he needed to cum, he just had to. his manhandling turned you on even more, getting wetter with his precum swooshing inside your tight hole. “ t's feel good, sweets?”
you nod through tears, chin trembling and a sad turned pout with lips bitten, “fu—huah—yeah..” he kisses your heel, “right here baby?”
“mhmn..” whipping your head to the side of your pillows, eyes started to close tightly shut and a feathery moan building up in your throat. in a swift move, yuuji pushes your legs down, hooking it around his hips while his hands grip the wooden headboard again. holy shit.
fwop! thud! squelch!
“answer me with words!” he growls in each word, in each rut of his canine like hips.
“Is it right here?” he can hear your recognizable crying and wailing, but he yearns to hear your throaty voice echoing in his ears. squelch! fwop! " i've got you, c'mon speak.."
" y—he—hah—yes, right there!" you croak out and he smirks, holding your right thigh on his hips, “okay—” and slams his groin on yours unapologetically, earning a series of sobbing from you, of course from pleasure.
“—don't cry like that, you know what that does to me.” he cooes and licks your tears before dragging his tongue from your cheeks to your breasts and sucks on it “ i'm sorry.”
“ stop saying sorry, sweets,” he grins, “ i like it.”
you were near and crying and just whining, overstimulated and bruised, but that unforgiving boy kept on fucking you like a dog. your ass pushes down, thighs squeezing on him with hands on his hips to push him off, “yuu—wai—wait! hah!”
“ we can't stop now, sweets, we're almost done..” he tugs on your lips, wanting entrance and you give it. his hands leave the headboards, hooking it around your back, his warmth encasing you while his greedy dick pushed you to the edge. “hng..hngag” his lips leave yours and he's kissing your neck again, biting down and sucking.
“w—wait! yuu!” you had the crazy feeling yet, wanting to pee, but you know you couldn't. however with him grinding on you, it was impossible to pull away. “ no—no, i know baby, just trust me on this, 'kay?” yuuji smiles, but then plunging himself harder and faster than before.
“hargh!—wai—fuuuuck!” your hands groped his hips harsher trying to push him off with all your might, giving out because of how he fucked you good. “shushh...” his mouth catches your screaming whimpers, hand pushing on your tummy when he lunged deeper in you. stars. absolute stars.
it was innate, it was undeniable, your body just had a mind of its own curling your legs around his waist to keep him closer.
“w-wait— sweetheart i'll cum inside you if— you—hah!” you shook your head, “ do it,” in your throaty voice his eyes darkened.
thwack! fwop!
schlurt!
his hips suddenly went faster, probably the fastest he could ever ride you. grip on your body tighter and hands of your own pushing his ass harder to fuck you deeper. then— “ fuuuuck!”
splurt!
“ shit..hah..” his balls contorted against your heat, dick twitching in your cunt milking him dry. he strikes you once more, only to be greeted by a flash of hot clear liquid exiting your urethra, squirting all over his groin. “t—that was amazing...” he groans, tongue licking his dried lips caused by it gaping. you were flushed in embarrassment.
“why?” he asks curiously, wiping sweat from your face with rough hands. your hair which blocked your vision now cleared when he tucked them behind your ear, “ i'm embarrassed..”
he chuckles, “ now you're embarrassed?” a look of disbelief in his face mixed with a tinge of amusement.
you frown, “ i just.. peed on you!”
“ sweetheart, that wasn't pee,” yuuji smiles, leaning down to kiss you with a palm on your cheek. “ then what was it?”
he shrugs, “ doesn't look like pee, you just squirted..fuck i'm worn out,” slumping next to you, he scoops you with his arms. “ me—hah..too.” yuuji smirks in a way you knew all too well. “ fuck off!”
“ just saying!— it's understandable you're tired, i mean, taking my dick and all.. must've been new.”
“ eat shit.”
yuuji laughs, “ right,” kissing your warm cheek, now with his hands looming behind your left knee, lifting it up to accommodate his dick that was still.. surprisingly hard.
“fuck..” he pulls out slow and steady, pushes it in passionately. “yuu...i'm still sensitive..” but you wanted it as much as he did. “ play with your clit, [name].”
nodding through drowsy eyes, your fingers spread your slick folds and encircled your swollen bud. he was fucking you in a way he didn't a while ago. it was the right pace, a kind of pace that made you think he loved you. and he did. it was stable, not a fast fuck. his tongue caught your earlobe and nibbled, then licking your jaw as he thrusts into you with a slow rhythm.
sloppy yet controlled lunges continued.
“you close?” he asks, sleep in his voice. you hum in response and moan softly, “ in me..please?” yuuji snorts, “ don't have to tell me twice.”
it was exciting, gentle, and you felt amazing. like the prettiest girl in the world. a few moments later, he cums inside you and you're at peace.
“let's get you cleaned up, baby.”
then he pulls out, a puddle of cum and your liquid splashing onto your sheets. “ can you walk?” your hands propped your weight up, “ yeah..wait..”
with a sloppy attempt to pull yourself off the bed, you waddled outside your bedroom, cum dripping onto your bruised thighs. yuuji watched you from afar, eyes sharpening at the sight. he didn't notice how wide your cunt gaped now because of his fat dick, before he fucked you, it was just a slit. was he going delirious? he wanted more, seeing how used it was with his cock. looking down, he groans.
he's hard again.
your neighbors knew that you guys were childhood best friends so maybe...hearing your moans out loud dead in the night must've been downright horrifying for them.
yuuji followed you to the bathroom shortly after your waddles, the sounds of water splashing into the basin of your shared bathtub filled the marbled walls. “ where's your bath bombs?” he turns around and sees you hunched over the counter top, eyes observing your hickey ridden body.
“oh—” he promptly laughs awkwardly, “—so i may have overdone it.”
you glared at him, “ seriously?!” his hand whips upward as if he was guilty, “ what? you were so hot back there— i couldn't control myself, okay?”
“ how the fuck will i go to my lecture tomorrow? what the— on my jaw too?!”
he whines cutely, “ sorry, my bad! it was my bad!” yuuji stood behind you, hands on your hips pulling you close to him, “ look at you, so pretty..” his head was behind yours, inhaling your neck. “ you've got no idea how many times i've imagined you in my arms,” squelch!
his tongue flattens on your collarbones, swirling into an 'o' before suctioning it sensually. “ yuu..” his sharp breathing fanning on your skin, “ hmmn?”
“ you're giving me hickeys again..” you groaned in pleasure, “ you just smell so sweet, its tempting.”
an amused sigh escapes from your lips, “ and you're still hard.” he shrugs, “ so? cat's outta the bag.”
“ shut up..hah..” he fingers slid its way onto your folds, “ never.”
“ you still down?” he asks, gently circling your cunt with widened fingers. “mhmh.” he smiles on your skin, confirming your shared desire. “ that's right...”
in a short amount of time, you were bent over on the counter with only your hands gripping the slippery curve of the porcelain sink to stabilize you while yuuji was massacring your pussy.
fwop! thwack!
you didn't believe it was possible to be lifted off the tiled floors so easily, but apparently your best friend could do it effortlessly.
the heavy weight of his hands controlling your hips to rise from the floor as he scoops his to lunge inside you in a sweet angle made your eyes see stars all over the mirror.
“ spread wider, baby, js' like that..” he then grinds harder, feet grazing the tiled floors before being pulled up in the air with a rhythm. “ good girl..”
“yuu....fuck!” he was thrusting faster, sloppily like he wanted to cum so badly, and you were close too. eyes clenching together, knees wobbling in weakness, and lips leaving fog against the cold mirror, you reach your high.
“ seriously i don't think i can live normally after this...” yuuji kisses your cheeks, “ the bathtub's full.”
he plunged into the sea of lukewarm water after throwing in a bathbomb. “ sit?” he pats on his lap, sloshing the liquid on impact.
“ no.”
“ stop being silly, come here [name] im gonna clean you up.”
“ you might just fuck me again, i'm still sensitive you know?”
he laughs, “ i promise i won't.”
lies.
“ alright.”
you sink down on him, getting comfy with how perfect the water felt. “ your hair's a mess..” yuuji says behind you, gathering your locks with his hands. it felt weird because of his huge palms. “ that's because of you.” you uttered plainly. “ oh, i know.”
“ you cocky little shit.”
“ but you love me, right?”
silence answered for you, hums of his low voice cascading with the water. “ did i hurt you?” his thumbs spun spirals on your shoulders, “ i'm sorry if i did— that was my first time doing..all that.”
your eyes widened, “ you're a virgin?!”
yuuji shakes his head, “no— i meant, doing that bdsm thing..” of course he was no virgin, who were you kidding? that guy fucked like it was second nature. “hmm, okay, well to answer your question, you didn't hurt me. it was perfect.”
“ was it?” he asks, dragging his knuckles along your tight muscles, you nod. “ yeah..though i wouldn't know how to tell the difference of good and bad 'coz i'm a virgin—well— was.”
“i... didn't know that.” he slumps, feeling guilty all of a sudden, “ and i was so rough with you and you were crying and—”
“ oh, just shut up! i'm the one who's into that shit, why are you shocked and guilty?”
yuuji pursed his lips, but then you say, “ i know you got turned on by that..freak.” he chuckles awkwardly, “ yeah, i won't deny that.”
he finishes massaging you, now he's scrubbing your body with soap, hands gently lathering bubbles across your back.
“ did you really mean what you said?”
“ i said a lot of things, which one?” water dripping echoed in the bathroom, his hands reaching for a pool of it then splashing it on your skin.
“that you thought about me every night?”
“ um actually, i think about you everyday.”
“ okay nerd”
“ hmph!”
you turn back to kiss his cheek, sinking on him more as you found a comfortable spot.
he was done scrubbing your upper body and now he's just cleaning your waist then his hands were on your pussy. needy ass.
“ hey i can do that myself!”
“ okay? well i'm here so let me do it for you.”
“ no!” your pitchy tone was testing him.
he just adored teasing you didn't he? his hands rested on your hip bone, tapping the water. “ how is this any different than fingering you, hmm?”
“ i dont know, you tell me.”
“ alright.”
he then starts sensually touching you again. heavy breaths and calculated looks. you found yourself reaching for his bicep, turning around to look at him and he looks at you. huffing with panging hearts, you say, “ one more?”
“ jus' one more f'me 'kay sweets?”
and you repeated him, “ one more.”
he has your hands bound behind your back, his ankles spreading your legs wider and right hand on your clit. this is a feeling you can never get used to and you find yourself wanting it everyday. haughty sighs elicited from your lips, and your head is leaning to the right while his mouth occupies your neck.
his rough fingers enters you, one by one, plunging deep and steady, then replaced with his fat cock.
“let loose, baby...i have you..” your hips bucked backwards, itching for the curves of his dick. his groin meets yours when he thrusts upwards only when you slam yourself down on him. Sounds of water sloshing and the stirring of your pussy distracted your ears. “hah—fuck..yuu..”
“ i love you,” he whispers in your ear, fucking you gently now, finishing inside your cunt. “ i love you too.”
you knew your boyfriend was obsessed with ass when you started dating him. like, painfully obvious.
the way he’d “accidentally” brush his hand over your ass when you walked, the way he’d stare when you bent over to tie your shoes, the way he’d straight up groan and bury his face in it the second you two were alone.
you were used to it.
but lately? you’re starting to think boobs are countering that obsession real hard.
you remember the first time you saw yuji get hard because of them.
he took you out on a trip to see his grandfather, this old house tucked deep in the woods of japan. after dinner with his family (his grandpa telling the same stories for the third time, yuji’s laughing too loud), you two finally got to the tiny guest room. futon already laid out, one lamp on, super quiet except for the crickets outside.
you’re standing at the little wooden dresser doing your skincare, wearing nothing but one of his oversized white t-shirts. it hits your mid thigh, soft from a million washes, and you’re not wearing a bra because who brings a bra on a cozy trip like this. you’re talking about your day, rambling while rubbing moisturizer into your cheeks.
“—and then my boss was like, we need the report by tomorrow, and i was like dude i already sent it last week, are you even checking your email—”
yuji’s behind you, supposedly getting dressed after his shower but you hear him shuffling, you hear his towel dropping, sweatpants going on. but his voice comes out all strained when he says,
“uhh yeah… whatever you do babe just don’t turn around right now.”
you pause, fingers still on your face. “huh? why?”
“just...”
of course you turn around.
and yeah. he’s rock hard. sweatpants doing absolutely nothing to hide it. his face is flushed, eyes glued to your chest. because every time you raise your hands to rub the cream into your forehead, your tits move under that thin white shirt. nipples hard from the cool night air, completely visible. the fabric shifts and they jiggle just a little and yuji looks like he’s short circuiting.
“fuck,” he whispers, hand already hiding himself through his pants. “i was trying so hard not to look but— your boobs are right there and they’re so… shit.”
you laugh, half embarrassed. “i thought you were an ass guy, babe.”
“i am,” he says, voice cracking as he steps closer. “ but these…” his hands come up, big and warm, cupping your tits through the shirt. thumbs brushing over your nipples and you shiver. “these are starting to look prettier. look at them. bouncing while you do your little skincare shit. unfair… imagine how big they’ll get when I put a baby in here “
he pushes the shirt up slowly, eyes locked like he’s in a trance. leans down and takes one in his mouth, groaning loud against your skin. the other hand slides down to grab a handful of your ass, squeezing hard like he needs both to survive.
“can’t choose,” he mumbles, switching to the other nipple, sucking messier. “need both. need your ass in my hands while i’m sucking on these. is that too much to ask?”
you’re already wet, knees weak. he walks you back until your thighs hit the edge of the futon and gently pushes you down. flips you onto your stomach so your ass is up but your chest is still pressed to the blanket.
he pulls your (his) shirt up to your waist, spreads your cheeks, and spits right on your pussy before sliding in deep in one thrust. “there we go… fuck that’s good.” but even while he’s pounding you, one hand keeps reaching around to grope your tits, pinching your nipples, making them shake every time his hips slap against your ass.
“love this ass— love how it bounces on my dick— but these tits? god they’re so soft” he’s rambling, voice all broken and horny, spanking your ass then immediately reaching under to squeeze your boob again.
he cums hard, buried deep, moaning into your shoulder while he keeps playing with your tits like stress toys. then the golden retriever comes back. he flips you over, cuddles you against his chest, kissing your forehead, your neck, then your boobs all gentle.
“sorry i got weird,” he whispers, cheeks pink. “you just… you’re perfect everywhere. i’m actually down bad for every part of you.”
you run your fingers through his hair and feel him twitch against your thigh again already.
“we’re not sleeping tonight, are we?”
he grins, face already going back between your tits. “nah.”
this man is equally down bad for both and we love him
hii senpai 🥺 could you please write buff himbo yuji with an oral fixation? like he just loves to have your fingers in his mouth when he fucks you 🥺 love your writing tysm!
✦ 虎杖悠仁 ／ mdni
itadori yūji ; oral fixation
don’t even get me started on yuji with an oral fixation, because god he would be so fucking cute. it’s gotten better now that he’s older, but he still has something in his mouth way too often — hoodie strings, plastic straws, the thin silver chain he wears, or you’ll notice that he’s grinding his teeth.
he’s like a puppy, and you often find yourself placing chewing gum or candy in his mouth to protect those perfect white teeth that he has. he’ll blush a bit because he never notices when he does it, thanking you with a kiss. but one place that he doesn’t have to control his oral fixation is when he’s in bed with you.
he yaps a lot and he always has to have his mouth on you, but you love it, and he is so in love with you. if you’re on his lap, his mouth is on your neck whether you’re alone or not. yuji is a needy little thing and he’s not very shy about it.
if he’s on top, he’s kissing you, your throat, always taking ample time to tease and suck on your perfect, hardened nipples, and laying his tongue in every divot that he can find as he works his way down to your precious pussy. yuji will eat you out for hours if you let him, and sometimes you do. and if you’re on top? then it’s wherever that you allow him to kiss you, usually your lips or your chest, but he also loves to run his tongue along the notch in your neck, licking and nibbling on your collarbones.
yuji is an absolute eater, and if he can’t have your fingers in his mouth because it’s occupied with your pretty little clit, having them threaded in his hair, gently pulling and clawing is a close second — click here to read how he satisfies his oral fixation by eating you out.
he always begs you to put your fingers in his mouth, whether he’s in control or not. and it’s not always with words, but sometimes begging with his eyes or his hands, his gaze anxiously searching for it, or taking your fingers in his and guiding them to his soft, pink lips.
he especially loves it when you’re riding him, usually with your index and middle fingers pressing down on his warm tongue, graciously sucking on your pretty, manicured digits, keeping lustful eye contact while he whimpers and whines with his mouth full. he’s just so cute.
he also loves it when he has you in a mating press, his forehead pressed against yours or his handsome face in your neck, just gently sucking and groaning deep in his chest while he pounds you into the mattress with all of his strength. you keep him grounded, tethered to reality even when it all feels so good that he’s convinced that he’s dreaming.
there’s just something about how much bigger he is than you, but wanting you to have that slight control over him. you get to decide when and if he gets to speak or make any noise at all, if you’re soft, if you make it hurt, if you want him to fuck you hard or slow just with a subtle cue. he can’t get enough, and he never will.
“p-please, baby, I can’t describe it but I just need you to touch me, just let me taste you, please, pretty girl,” he whines, and he’s over you with your thighs folded into your chest, completely dominating your smaller frame, but he’s giving you the control.
“shhhh, I know, baby boy, I know, it’s okay.” you whisper, and he has to close his eyes before they roll back because he’s in such bliss right now, kissing your hand before he takes three of your pretty fingers into his mouth, moaning while he picks up his pace. he’s rutting into you like he’s in heat, desperate to feel you cum on his big, thick cock, and to hear his favorite sweet noises from you.
he also usually cums harder like this, loudly crying your name with a shuddering breath, his muscular thighs shaking while he empties his full, seed-heavy balls inside of your perfect, tight cunt, completely filling your womb with his milky warmth. you can still feel him twitch inside of you, and he’s hard again within minutes because you just get him so worked up. he’s nearly hyperventilating so you shush him, kissing him and playing with his soft, silky hair, letting him suck and lick on whatever he wants to help him come down while he whimpers and shivers in your hold.
he’s such a good boy, and he loves you with his whole heart.
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 the best player on the team never loses, at least that's what he thought, up until losing her. whether its for good or not, remains uncertain. or the one in which yuuji itadori's girlfriend puts a pause on their relationship, where you fail to resist him one last time. (2.7K) | magnetic - jock bf yuuji masterlist.
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. college au, not canon compliant, characters are in their twenties, angst, established relationships, break ups or being on break, insecurity, marking, fingering (f!recieving), creampies, car sex, unprotected sex, reader is emotionally avoidant lol and wears glasses, yuuji is trying his best. jock bf yuuji itadori, weird girl & fem reader. part of series but can be read as a stand alone.
🏁 team radio ! ⋆ this was originally meant to be a drabble but the emotions got the best of me wooooo !! i had fun writing somthing spicy n sad, i like showing that their relationship has its ups and downs! i hope u enjoy anway! click for more.
being on a break with jock bf yuuji. it’s only supposed to be temporary, a moment for your heart to heal because lately it feels like he doesn’t understand you. why you feel out of place amongst his friends, how their girlfriends leer at you when he isn’t looking. it’s embarrassing enough as it is, being the odd one out, the one people look at and wonder why the campus’ most popular jock is even with her. you know he isn’t mean enough to do something about it. so you put things on pause one night in his truck, after a game, after he’s won. you tell him you need space and yuuji doesn’t take it well.
he’s been broken up with before but not like this. not in limbo when his heart is still yours and yours is still his and he’s not allowed to touch it. being on break feels like sinking to the bottom of a lake with a weight tied to your ankle. heavy in his chest, to the point where he can’t breathe. yuuji drives to your dorm in the rain, varsity jacket soaked through to the bone. to the point where he looks like a wet puppy, pink locks damp and shaggy over his warm eyes. he stands outside your window for at least twenty minutes to beg for you to take him back, convincing you to sit in his car and just … talk.
but you don’t end up talking, it’s never just talking. with yuuji he kisses you like there’s a world out there that doesn’t matter — slips his hands under your clothes and brushes your open wounds like his hands are magic. sealing them up with fragile tape and glue. his presence often overwhelms you with warmth and kindness, but covers up anything ugly that you feel. itadori doesn’t let you breathe, he fills your lungs and takes up space when all you need is to cry.
“missed you, baby,” he purrs into your mouth, running his tongue over your teeth. “can’t believe you left me.”
your own ends up down his throat within a matter of seconds and his deft fingers inch down the front of your jeans — stroking past your panties and pinching your clit, rolling it lovingly. pretending like the mess of insecurities and hurt isn’t snowballing between you. even though you’ve told him he had to earn you back. the rhythm is too familiar, too comfortable and after all he’s the only one who knows your body. been the only one to touch it. the only one who gets you to cry into the depths of a storm and cum all wet and syrupy into the seat of his palm — blistering hot lips burning their claim into your neck.
his clothes are stoggy and water logged and heavy but it doesn’t stop the two of you from crawling into the backseat — the heavy rainfall rivalling the dull thud of your heartbeat as it pitter platters against the roof of itadori’s truck. like always, he’s all consuming — reaching every far thought in your mind as though he’s the sun rising in the east of your dreary night sky. there’s no time to think about how you look lying against sticky black leather, underneath the jock, no room to worry about whether or not you still turn him on. if he still wants you like he always has.
yuuji pops the button on your jeans and tugs them down, pulling the gusset of your panties tight against your wet cunt. when you shudder beneath him, eyes glossy and vacant of all the turmoil he’d seen before, the jock doesn’t hesitate. damp clothes are stripped and damp skin is eagerly pressed against yours — the rain tastes fresh on his lips from and despite how hot yuuji is, physical heat burning through you, he’s cold from the outdoor shower as well.
the stretch of his cock as it pushes into your fluttering hole is a sort of comfort to the ache you feel in your chest. the kind you get when you’re about to cry and the world that you know is collapsing around you. yuuji fills you wholly, to the brim with cruel ever-lasting affection and of course, his milky shaft. it hurts so good, to have him like this after weeks of keeping him at arms length. unread texts, liked instagram messages, fleeting glances between lectures.
you’ve missed him, oh you have, every lunge of his hips forcefully crashing into yours feels like it’s full of the love you’ve always craved. you clench harder, squeeze tighter when yuuji pulls back from your suctioning sopping mound, throbbing against the ribbed walls that swallow him down. “knew my girl would come back to me,” breaking away from your swollen lips, yuuji kisses down your neck and nibbles at your earlobe, breath soft and balmy against the bare skin there. “can’t be without you, without this perfect body underneath me. don’t go,” he begs, stomach muscles rippling against your abdomen, taut with pleasure. “don’t leave me again.”
the truck that you’ve laughed in, loved in, rocks with an unspeakably passionate rhythm — windows fogging from the heat of your sensual escapade. you feel almost whole with yuuji bullying his way into your cunt, carving you into the shape of him until you feel his tip bleeding arousal deep against your g-spot. except something doesn’t feel right, the ease at which you’ve let him after everything you’d expressed went unaddressed.
does he even care that his friends hate you? that you’re not like him?
the thought makes you sniffle his name as if it’s the last time, wailed with the howling winds as you roll your hips upwards — matching his powerful and wild bucks, lewd squelching sounds adding riffs over the slap of skin on skin and ruffling fabric. you’re consumed by him, devoured including all of your doubts — to the point where your back arches from soiled leather and your shaky hands have no choice but to ground themselves in yuuji’s sodden hair.
“that’s it baby, that’s… fuck — that’s it,” itadori whispers, his voice thickened with ardour and rough around the edges. “say my name, scream it. it’s yours, fuck it’s all yours. this body, this heart, this dick. ‘m all yours,” he pumps into you harder, faster — pelvis tacked to the cute little nub hidden between wrecked folds. coated in a nasty mix of your essence and his precum. it runs in a sweet stream down the length of your slit, slipping over your asshole. betraying you. because that’s all it takes, a little candied chatter from yuuji and you’re back underneath him when you know your heart needs the distance to heal.
“fuck, fuck, fuck,” the jock whimpers, words wrapped tightly in ecstasy — cracking like he’s about to shatter. you know that he’s close, you’ve bared witness to his peak more times than you can count. it’s a sight that feels like it should belong to you, but you can’t help but think of the others who had yuuji before you. you cry out, tears sharp at the edges of your eyes — unsure if they’re because you feel so good or because you hate the way your mind works. how it steals away the loving moments like this and fills them with insecurity.
yuuji switches to grinding, pressing that mushroomed tip against the squishy spot along your walls that has your chest heaving and a high pitched squeal tearing in your throat. “mhm… yeah baby? that’s the spot?” itadori hums, pleased with himself. proud. hips jerking forward again just to have your pussy lock and unlock around his swollen base again. “make it wet baby. cum for me, cum on this cock. make it yours.” that’s all it takes to have your glass window shattered, your high bursting through you like shards of a vase thrown to the floor. white floods your vision and your release trickles out of you in a hot rush you can’t even process. making a mess of the leather. soiling yuuji‘s dick and half kicked off clothes. you sob this time, needy and pained and desperate — mouth falling open in agonised euphoria. “g-god i missed how you sound when you cum for me. never wanna let that go.”
he wouldn’t if he could. he’d keep you trapped under the guise of his suffocating love without ever looking back at his mistakes.
you lay limp, dazed and like jello as yuuji chases his own rightfully earned orgasm. slamming into you feverishly, pulling smaller spurts and streams of sweet nectar from your ravaged mound as he picks up speed. loses coordination. “i love you, i love you, i love you so much.”
he chokes out, his own scream muffled as he plants his hot face into your neck. yuuji cums after you, just like he always does. putting your pleasure first where he sometimes forgets the rest of your feelings — as though the sex he’s so good at can make up for what he lacks. the sex he’s had with the girls you worry about, the girl that you’ve become. itadori pants weakly as white hot pours into your womb, sticky and thick — pushed further along your rippling and sensitive wounds by a few hearty thrusts. the arm you had wrapped around his neck loosens as his seed pours out of you onto the backseat — but your eyes stay closed.
because if you open them, you won’t have the heart to leave him here in this far. to face the reality. that you’re so weak for yuuji that you can’t even stand your own ground. that your love for him outweighs your logic to the point where it hurts.
all two hundred and something pounds and six foot, three inches of him collapses on top of you — a usually welcomed weight that now feels suffocating. your nose scrunches as if they'll hold back your tears and you tilt your head to the side, avoiding yuuji's face.
“i meant it, you know?" he speaks shakily, regaining his breath whilst trying to nuzzle his nose against your cheek fondly. “i missed you. us."
“i know.”
you sit up then, swiftly before the dam breaks and the emotion leaks. yuuji mirrors you, confused as you shuffle around the backseat in search for your clothes. his breathing fails to even out —evident in the way his blushing chest rises and falls in rapid succession, panicked because you're panicking. too fast, too swift. as though you want to leave the moment behind and not look back.
a gaping silence stretches through the car, honeyed eyes that lose their warmth track your every movement and the jock sits shirtless. more nervous than he has been for any game or test in his life.
yuuji pierces the quiet, speaks before the clap of thunder. “can we please just get back together?”
“not yet.” your head shakes, just like your voice as you shrug on your tank top. your fingers brush his jacket, you'd always reach for it after intimate moments like this — yuuji watches you hesitate to grab it before retracting entirely.
but he forces the fabric into your grip, he's your boyfriend for christ's sake. he'd never leave you out in the cold rain.
“then when? why are you doing this to me? to us?” yuuji itadori would never yell at you nor shout if he could help it, despite being the outgoing and charasmatically loud guy that he was. yet, its not the volume of his voice that makes you jump. its the tinge of hurt that frays it's edges.
“because," comes your frustrated sniffle as you swipe at your face with the back of your trembling hands, effectively pushing up your glasses — overcome with every bitter, green sensation that's been tormenting you since you went on break. "i love you so much that id forgive you for anything and that’s not fair,” you exclaim, eyes wild and lips swollen. you're sure you look a crazed mess but itadori thinks you've never looked more beautiful. “i can’t.. i can’t get over the shit in my head and you always ignore it. kiss it better. fuck it away. i need… i need you to understand it.”
“but i do—"
“no, yuu. you don’t.” you snap, quivering. “i can’t pretend to be someone im not, someone who fits into your world because i love you, yuuji.”
the regret hits you like a freight train and the tears start to fall faster than you can stop them. clinging to the plastic frame of your glasses. because it’s so easy to fall into his sticky honey-eyed trap. you’re like a mouse to cheese, bees to pollen, moths to candle light. constantly seeking him out for validation, approval and leaning on him a little too much.
yuuji’s left confused. torn between wanting to comfort you and leaving you be — he doesn't know when he stopped being your person. when he stopped noticing what was wrong before you even had to say. its an idea that makes him feel insanely sick to his stomach already filled with dread. he doesn't want this to end or for this to be it, yuuji needs you. like plants need sunlight and nutrients and air and water. he needs you.
he doesn't get it. what went wrong and why can't he fix it. the thoughts become even more frenzied when you finish tugging on your clothes and pulling your hand away from the seedy mess you've left him. didn’t you say that you loved him? your body welcomed him home like he’d never left — and now he doesn’t understand it, why you pull away and act so eager to rush out into the rain.
“baby, you never had to pretend. you're perfect just the way you are,” yuuji tries. yearning. longing. he looks as though he'll break. "baby please—"
“don’t—" rolling your shoulders like you're trying the shed the weight of his doe eyed and emotional stare, you warn the jock with an air of finality. then you reach for the door handle, your only escape. “i’ll call you.”
you could stay and pretend that yuuji being who he is, adored by who he is... is something that you can ignore. that the people he surrounds himself with aren't the ones feeding you doubts. you can play pretend and make believe but it won't stop the venom from reaching your heart, and yuuji can only soothe you, suck out the poison so much before he gets hurt too.
you need to leave and figure out if life is better this way, without you in his. if his team can get a long better, play better without you iterfering with their star.
“when?" the car door clicks open before itadori can stop it, you move to slam it shut but he pushes it wide open as the sky opens up it's floodgates. he yells after you as you trudge out, wrapped in his stupid jacket with his stupid number plastered wetly across your back. “it’s like you don’t even have a phone anymore. you never answer my texts, my calls. shit! we haven't spoken in days" itadori tumbles after you, shrugging on his t-shirt that instantly tacks to the outline of his body -- the scratches and marks you'd left on him evident through the water-logged material. "i had to drive here to see you. my... fuck, my own girlfriend! and i... and i can’t — i don’t know how to be without you.”
now you're at a standstill, a cross roads. you halfway back to your dorm's entrace. yuuji by his car. both of you caught in the rain.
you're thankful for it, at least. it's hard to see your tears in the pouring rain.
you woudn't want yuuji to know that you're cyring again.
“i don’t know. i don't know what you want me to say, yuu,” you whisper over the icy rain's pitter patter. “i’ll just… i’ll call you.”
turning on your heels, you dart back into your dorm builidng, not daring to look back and watch yuuji's big heart break.
you always be that weird girl, you'll always self destruct.
and yuuji will always be the jock that didn't care about social standings, the one that always loved you whole heartedly and the one that would always wait around... until you were ready for him to diffuse you.
end. - reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!
FRATBOY .ᐟ YUJI 's semi comprehensive guide on how to get through life when your athlete girlfriend puts you on sex ban.
CW. requested ┈ college au / est relationship with a dumbass bf / suggestive / fluff!! / aged up ! yuji
TIP #1: BANG YOUR HEAD ON THE DOOR
Yuji stands by the bathroom door with his jaw practically on the floor. He stares at you through the mirror with nothing but pure disbelief written all over his face.
“But why do I have to suffer?” he whines.
“I don’t need your dick distracting me,” you say flatly as you splash water on your face. You glance at him through the mirror. “Besides, it’s only a few days. I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“A few days? That’s an eternity to me!” He groans while gently banging his forehead against the door, once, then again. “I might have a stroke. I’m actually going to have a stroke.”
You laugh as you watch him pout like the world is ending. “Stop being so dramatic.”
He lets out a long, defeated sigh. His shoulders slump as he slides down the door a little. “I don’t deserve this kind of misery.”
You just shake your head, smiling to yourself as you dry your face. Even if you're already used to his nonsense, you're still fond of it.
TIP #2: SUFFER IN "SILENCE"
You and Yuji have been dubbed as the strong couple. Literally. You play center in hockey. While Yuji, apart from being a frat member, does track and field.
Your days are never really boring. In fact, both of you even consider going to the gym a date.
While you do bar pull ups, Yuji silently watches you with awe with arms crossed. His posture is straight like he’s witnessing something worth watching.
“Damn that recoil,” he mutters to himself, eyes tracking every movement a little too closely.
Much to his surprise, his frat brother Todo hears his whisper. He immediately steps in and extends a fist bump, startling Yuji.
Todo gives him a knowing smile, fist still hovering in the air. “I see you, brother.”
Yuji’s eyes go wide. He blinks once. Then twice. Before chuckling and bumping fists back, cheeks already warm.
“Babe!” you yell from across the room. “Can you spot for me?”
Yuji snaps out of it instantly and turns to you. “Huh? You’re lifting today?”
“Yeah.” You nod. “Might as well lock in on my workout while I'm at it.”
“Alright.” He perks up as he jogs towards you. "Coming!"
As you start your sets, Yuji does his best to focus. Truly. Unfortunately, his eyes betray him because they stay glued to your ass.
It takes you a moment to notice, but when you do, you catch where his eyes are at in the mirror and lift a brow.
“…Are you checking me out?”
Yuji nearly swallows his tongue. “N-no! I mean— yes— but not in a creepy way!”
You stare at him.
“It’s more like… appreciating you,” he adds quickly. “Y'know– uhh– Athletically. Respectfully. With love.”
But you don’t look convinced.
Both of you lock eyes through the mirror. You suspicious, while he looks like he's visibly buffering. The thing about Yuji is that he always has something weird to say. And he looks like he’s fighting it.
You sigh. “Say it.”
“...I was wondering if,” He drags it out, squinting like he’s solving a math problem. “if I ate your ass, would that make you cum?”
You blink. “…I don’t think so? No.”
“Oh.” He nods immediately. “Right. Right, that makes sense.” Then his brows knit together again. “But if I put a finger in—”
You rack the barbell and click your tongue. “What’s with you and my ass today?”
Yuji straightens, relieved to finally explain. His hands start moving as he talks.
“It’s just cause your ass is fat and jiggly,” he says earnestly. “And it wobbles every time I hit it from the back or when you workout.”
You wince. “Wobble?”
“Yeah!” He nods hard. “Like this—”
And then, without shame, he demonstrates, making his whole body wobble in place.
"What the hell is your problem!" You burst out laughing. “I thought it was something like this?” you say, copying him, doing your own exaggerated wobble.
Yuji gasps. “That’s it! That’s exactly it!”
Both of you burst into laughter, earning a few confused looks from nearby gym goers. Yuji double over, laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
“I love you,” he says between laughs, shaking his head. “But I swear, this psychological warfare will be the death of me.”
You grin. “I think you're doing okay.”
TIP #3: TRY BEGGING ON FACETIME
You lean your head back, eyes closed, taking slow, steady breaths. The team is doubling their efforts for the upcoming championship, and losing is not an option. Not when the seniors are giving everything they have for their last game.
You only open your eyes when your phone buzzes beside you.
One look at the caller ID makes your lips curve into a small, tired smile. You pick it up without thinking.
The call connects, and Yuji fills the screen, already beaming like he’s been waiting all day. He’s shirtless (of course he is), but he looks too happy for you to even comment on it.
“Hi,” you mumble tiredly.
“Hey, babe,” he says brightly. “Are you on your way back to the dorms?”
You shake your head. “One more round, then we’re done for the day.”
He nods. “So… break time?”
“I wouldn’t call it a break.” You glance away, narrowing your eyes. “Not when Maki’s going extra hard on us. Feels too much, honestly.”
Yuji hums. When you look back at the screen, something about his stare feels off. It's very familiar, but not enough for you to place it right away.
“Babe,” he says slowly.
“Yeah?”
He looks down, sighs, then mutters almost too quiet, “M’really hard.”
You blink. “What’d you say?”
He leans closer to his phone, whispering a bit louder this time, “I said I’m really hard, but you’re out in public.”
You laugh under your breath. “Give me a second.”
You dig through your duffle bag for your AirPods, then scan the rink to see your teammates are all huddled together. 'Perfect.' You think to yourself.
You take that as your cue and hurry toward the bathroom.
As you walk, Yuji keeps whining through Facetime.
“Just need you to watch me cum,” he pleads. “Or we can do it together since I miss seeing your face when you cum.”
You tilt your phone away slightly, just in case. “I told you, your dick is distracting me, and I need a clear head before game day.”
He drags his hands through his hair and tug at it. “You’re acting like my dick is the bane of your existence.”
You snort. “Yeah. It is. At least for this week.”
You push into the bathroom and slip into an empty stall.
Then, you lift your phone again and fix him with a look. “Listen. I don’t have much time.” Yuji nods at every word, completely focused. “I don’t want anything to do with your dick right now,” you say firmly. “But I can meet you halfway.”
His grin spreads slowly. “Go on.”
“I’ll send you my tits,” you say, smirking. “And since you’re cute, I’ll throw in a free pussy.”
Yuji’s eyes light up. He clasps his hands together like his prayer has been answered.
“YES! YES! THANK YOU!” He even kisses his screen, making you laugh. When he finally calms down, he looks at you with that same soft smile. “Wanna grab pizza after training?”
You squint. “What do you want in exchange?”
“An ass pic.”
You grin. “Deal.”
TIP #4: IF #3 FAILS, JUST SUPPORT HER HOCKEY GAME
Yuji has always been supportive of you since day one.
You just didn’t expect him to haul his entire frat to the game and force them to support your team like the bribe was worth it. Somehow, he ropes every single one of them into holding up a ridiculously long banner that stretches across the stands: LET’S GOOO!
It’s crooked, it’s uneven, and Panda's holding his letter upside down.
You spot Nobara pointing at Inumaki, laughing so hard she’s nearly crying when he starts howling at the top of his lungs.
“That’s the energy we need,” Maki nudges your side.
You snort. “Really? I thought it was distracting.”
"That's my girlfriend right there! The hottest one!" Yuji yells out loud.
Your teammates chuckle, but before anyone can reply, the buzzer screams through the rink.
The games just started, and instantly, it already starts off ugly for your team. The puck keeps ricocheting off boards as both teams fight for control.
Your skates cut sharp lines across the rink as you skate your way to pass it on to Miwa. Your lungs are burning, but you still push forward. When Mai barrels toward you, you dip your shoulder and slip past her, barely avoiding a hit that would’ve sent you crashing.
Up in the stands, Yuji grips the railing with his eyes glued to you.
"Fuck shit up, babe!" He yells from the stands.
The whistle shrieks when a harsh hit sends Momo slamming into the boards. You barely get time to breathe before another period starts. It already feels like you’re halfway through the game when it's just starting.
Then Yuji's fear happens.
You angle toward the puck just as an opponent shoves you mid stride. Next thing you know, your skates slide out from under you, and you go down hard, helmet knocking against the ice as you skid.
Yuji gets on his feet instantly when the referee signals a warning.
“What the fuck?!” he yells. “That wasn’t even her fault!”
You slap your helmet once in frustration before pushing yourself back up.
"A bunch of stupid fucks! All of you!" Yuji yells at the referee.
Beside Yuji, Megumi grabs his arm and yanks him back into his seat. “Sit down before you get her benched.”
Yuji’s jaw tightens. “This is so unfair.”
The game continues with the opposing team pressing harder, firing shot after shot.
Nobara blocks three pucks in a row. One of her blocks even sends the puck in a rebound. Even with the pain flairing, you still push through and throw yourself in. You don't have any plans of stopping. Not now.
“This is bad,” Yuji mutters, dragging his hands through his hair. “This is real fucking bad.”
It's now the final period, and score stays tight. Everything feels heavier now because one mistake could end everything.
Sweat drips into your eyes. Your legs shake every time you stop skating, but the moment the puck moves, your adrenaline pushes you to start chasing again.
Then, you see an opening when the puck breaks loose at center ice.
The moment you start booking for it, a defender lunges at you but misses. Another one brushes your shoulder, but you don't fall this time. The noise fades until all you hear is your own breathing and the scrape of your skates against the ice.
Yuji and Yuta are on their feet and shouting in hopes it'll ease their nerves.
With only a few seconds remaining, your team clears the puck, and blocks every shot with everything they've got.
Then, the buzzer blares and confetti rains down, but you stay in your spot as you heave. The win doesn't full sink in yet. You stay frozen in disbelief, and the noise around sounds muffled.
It's your boyfriend’s tight embrace finally brings you back.
“You’re a fucking champ!” he laughs, squeezing you hard. “I knew you’d win!”
He spins you around, and you laugh helplessly, clinging to his neck. When he finally sets you down, he cups your face and peppers you with kisses, uncaring of the crowd or his friends' teasing.
“Hey—” you say between laughs, “—chill out?”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, grinning like an idiot. “Just… really happy for you.”
TIP #5: IF GIRLFRIEND WINS SAID GAME, YOU ALSO WIN
Yuji guides you slowly and carefully.
“Don’t peek,” he says while barely holding back his excitement.
“You literally put layers of eye masks on me,” you laugh.
You hear the soft click of the door opening. Yuji places both hands on your shoulders, steering you carefully inside his room like you’re made of glass.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Just… trust.”
When he finally lifts the covers from your eyes, you blink and freeze.
The room glows softly with purple LED lights lining the walls. Popcorn bowls sit neatly on the coffee table, and his laptop is already open on Netflix. Your heart warms with the effort Yuji did in putting everything together. It's simple, cozy, and very thoughtful.
Your lips part, words completely failing you.
You look at him with glassy eyes. “Babe…”
Yuji immediately wraps his arms around you and presses a soft kiss to your lips, like he’s nervous of your reaction.
“You like it?”
You giggle, scrunching your nose. “I love it.”
He pulls out the chair for you like a dork, fluffs the pillows behind your back, then drapes a blanket over your legs even though you didn’t ask. When he hands you a bowl of popcorn, he makes sure it’s the one with extra butter just the way you like it.
Your eyes wander around the room again, slower this time. Then you frown.
Yuji immediately notices and crouches a little to meet your gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are the condoms?” you ask with a lifted brow, but he only blinks at your question.
“Oh. I— uh—” He scratches the back of his head, ears turning red. “...didn’t think of that.”
You sigh softly. “You know we never do it raw.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I just thought you’d be really tired today, so I planned this instead.” He gestures to the setup with shoulders slumping and an awkward smile. “Human Earthworm marathon and chill.”
You stare at him for a second. "Human Earth– what?"
All this time, you thought he was gearing up to get absolutely pussydrunk and all the freaky things he'd randomly blurt out. Turns out, he just wanted you comfortable and relaxed.
“I’m sorry if I didn’t meet your expectations,” he mumbles with a defeated sigh.
You cup his face gently and kiss the tip of his nose.
“No,” you say softly. “This is perfect.”
Yuji finally breaks into a relieved smile as he pulls you into his arms because that was all he needed to hear.
But then you tilt your head and add teasingly, “The ambiance, the snacks, and my cute…” Yuji’s smile stretches wider as you trail off. “…worm.”
His smile freezes. His brows shoot up, then twist together in confusion. A second passes, then his eyes widen.
“Is that a compliment?!” he blurts out, genuinely distressed.
You break into laughter. “Babe!”
“No, because worms are important to the ecosystem,” he says quickly, gesturing with both hands. “They’re, like, vital. And–” Then, he immediately shuts his mouth and slowly squints at you suspisiciusly. “Wait. I don’t know if I should feel loved or deeply offended.”
“Loved. Definitely loved.” You kiss his cheek, still smiling. “You're my worm.”
Yuji relaxes immediately with a grin as he pulls you closer.
“We're like Human Earthworm 3!” You blink at him so he explains. "Cause it's the most romantic installment."
"...Sure?"
wia says: BIG YUJI'S BIRTH MONTH YIPEE! shout out to sportsnet on youtube for the crash course + thank u mcdavid for making my research interesting lol
