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[greatbakerypaperoperator]

Drippin’ [Dream ‘00 line] 

“It's too late to run away, you started this game first.”

It was a joke, you swear. Sharing something like that with your group of horny man-friends was definitely a recipe for disaster. That one little tweet sets off a string of events that prevents you from pretending that you wouldn’t fuck your friends. Because you would, and they know it.  or the one where you’re considered a tease with the shit you share privately online, and they’re just about fed up with the way you act innocent and uninterested in what they’re packing.  ― this fic is based around this tweet.

ao3 | m.list | leave feedback and reblog to give ‘00 line a boner. 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 16.2k 

PAIRING― ‘00 line x afab reader

CONTENT― birthday sex, orgy (?), comedy, use of a camera

WARNING ― mild dub-con, jaemin kinda fruity, full bladder/squirting ―this fic is not entirely inclusive like my others because it’s written for someone specific. reader can be lifted up by the members, when she blushes it is visible to them but colors still aren’t used to describe it, she has huge tits too. don’t like it, don’t read it. 

NOTE―  this is my birthday gift to @neopuppy! I hope it scratches somewhere in your brain but I also hope this means you’re aware of how much I love and appreciate you!! I am happy to have met you and i just need you to know that you’re definitely stuck with me at this point ♡ so, happy birthday to jeno’s real life gf!!! he’s a lucky dude fr. ― not proof read tho lmao

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags :: pussy eating, eager haechan, neglected renjun, confident jeno, (un)solicited dick pics, huge cock jeno and renjun, recording of sexual acts, masturbation, tongue fucking, dirty talk, finger fucking, overstimulation, tit fondling, actual fucking, (forced) full bladder, squirting, blowjob, handjob, unprotected sex, cum eating, cum stuffing, cum dump reader, bunch of horny guys + one competitive horny guy 

~

Scrolling on twitter is a normal part of your night especially when you’re bored. Your birthday is coming up and there’s not really anything planned. Aside from the spamming of messages from family and friends demanding to know what you want, or what you’d like to do, it feels like it’s just going to be a normal day rather than a celebration of your life.

No plans. You kind of just want to enjoy the day alone, relaxing, watching stupid videos, and maybe going for a coffee. 

Unknowing to you though, your future plan is slightly skewed when you run across a specific tweet. You share it as a joke, just like any other thing you’ve shared. Straight into the circle it goes, side eye emoji and all as if to imply something yet again, because you’re good at that apparently. Teasing, as Haechan would call it. 

To you, retweeting it with the side-eye emoji directly into the circle is normal and not asking for it to be considered by your friends. As much as you’d love to lie to yourself and believe that they’re down to earth, they’re really really not.

It’s not like you actively want to fuck your friends, but it’s also not like you wouldn’t. With all of the sexuality you all share online, it’s kind of difficult to not think about them inappropriately on some days. There was once a tweet that Jeno shared with absolutely no context involving some manga panel drawing of a man on a leash with his cute, unassuming girl standing in front of him. 

You hate to say that sometimes the images they share makes you think pretty hard. Learning their kinks, their sexual interests, and wondering if they’ve ever gotten to actually partake in them before. It’s a strange kind of feeling to think about your friends when these types of images pop up. The feeling is definitely arousal, but it’s kind of like a guilty arousal? 

After all, your friends may be constantly sharing their sex lives and blatantly liking all of the porn on twitter that they get off to, but it doesn’t mean they’d want to get you off. 

The funniest part about it is that you truly do view the circle tweets far differently compared to your group of friends. You, thinking they share stuff to show off, to be funny, or just to be a typical horny man. Then you have your friends and how they view it. 

Some of the tweets are intentionally for you to see, for you to get off to. Some are blatantly shared in the heat of the moment as one of them imagines you performing in the content. It’s a game to them really, to see which one will break you first. They love it for the most part, how you pretend you don’t notice. How you play dumb, even when they’re sharing images and videos of two people that could resemble you and said friend if you squint. It’s been this way for years. 

The entire friend group has spoken about you in their own group chat before. They’ve fantasized together about you through text and they’ve even discussed how there’s no way you don’t know what they’re doing. Time and time again you prove them wrong. So fucking aloof even when one of them blatantly makes a suggestion straight to your face. 

Jokes can only be funny for so long before it starts to be serious. 

To Jeno, it’s flooring to see you just a day after you liked one of his nastiest tweets, knowing you saw it, you probably watched the video too all while parading around like it didn’t get you wet or something. For Renjun, he finds it cute that you’re so different online. He almost feels lucky to be able to see that side of you. 

Haechan and Jaemin are the two in the group who will blatantly try to fluster you face to face. You both love and hate it, because sometimes you can’t tell if they’re being serious or not with you. The constant sarcastic and cocky smirks tend to make you lean more towards the fact that they must be joking. 

Either way, that tweet is nothing more than a funny joke to you. Since it was referring to a birthday it really is probably a crime to like, not share it. So, you did. 

Haechan was the first to read it, instantly screenshotting it and sending it in the secret group chat with a question mark. 

Haechan: ??

Haechan: she’s doing it again 

Jeno: she’s too dumb to actually follow through with it though

Jaemin: me first :)

Haechan: shut the fuck up jaemin

Renjun: it’s just a meme 

Haechan: a meme about eating her out for her birthday

Haechan: that she specifically shared to her circle

Haechan: with. the. eyeball. emoji. 

Jeno: he’s got a point. 

Renjun: well

Jaemin: it would be rude if she declined a birthday gift too y’know 

Haechan: do you guys think she would let us?

Renjun: um

Jeno: at some point she’s gonna have to learn that sharing all of this stuff with us is going to end in her getting fucked. 

Haechan: yeah, by me specifically

Jeno: you’d be lucky if she even thought of you when she shared that tweet

Haechan: It's gonna be so funny when you hear her moan my name, you gonna get mad?

Jeno: fuck around and find out.

Jaemin: really though

Jaemin: we should just go for it this time…….

Jaemin: bet she would love it

Renjun: lol…count me in too 

~

The last thing you expected to be waking up to on your birthday was a fucking birthday party. 

You wake to the sound of your front door opening, frantic footsteps, and then your bedroom door swinging open. Before you can even scream out of the assumption that it’s a fucking break in, Haechan is quite literally pouncing on you, shoving his face into the crook of your neck with muffled words of “wake up, baby.” 

You’re definitely awake. 

“How the fuck did you guys get into my house?!” You shout with a raspy, sleep filled voice, trying to focus on the four faces staring back at you and landing a glare at Renjun specifically, standing meekly at your bedroom door. 

He shoots an uncharacteristic smirk at you before raising his keys and dangling them at you. Of course you forgot that he had a key. He’s the only person outside of your family who has a key and it was strictly from when he helped you move in. You forgot to get it back from him all those years ago.

“Might want to change your locks.” Haechan laughs against your neck, lying his body weight against you. 

“What time is it?” You say, relieved now that your place isn’t being broken into, but still trying to shove Haechan off of you. 

He fights to stay in place, grabbing you in a bear hug, holding your arms down at your side, and not letting you go. 

“It’s noon.” Jeno calls out from the other side of your room in a nonchalant voice, letting his eyes search around before he opens one of your drawers. “What’s in here?”

You, again, try to shake Haechan from you as you go into panic mode. What kind of joke is this? Fucking room raiders? 

“Stop looking through my stuff!” You shout, glaring at Jeno, who definitely goes through your drawers now that he knows you have something to hide. 

“Haechan, hold her down,” Jeno laughs, opening another drawer, and then another, before coming to your bedside and looking at you. “What’s in this one?”

Actual panic now.

Before you can even get the words out, Jeno is opening the drawer and letting out a breathy chuckle. 

“Guys, look.” He laughs, glancing over at you before pulling one of the toys out. “You get off with this?” 

Jaemin comes over, looking into the drawer with two other toys that Jeno hasn’t yet pulled from their place. Renjun continues to watch, or stalk, really. 

“Did you wash them?” Jeno asks, waving the dildo in front of your face before bopping you on the nose with it. 

“Of course I fucking washed them!” You continue to glare, feeling Haechan squeeze you tighter to prevent you from moving. 

“Shame,” Haechan laughs at you, and then he very slowly lightens his grip on you. “Wanted to know what you smell like.” He says in a single breath, looking between you and the dildo, in deep thought. You stare at him before taking advantage of his loosening grip and rolling him off of you in one swift motion. 

You ignore the “oomf” sound Haechan makes when his head hits your headboard, and instantly rip the dildo from Jeno’s hands before throwing it back into the drawer and nearly slamming Jaemin’s fingers shut in it. 

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” You narrow your eyes as you look at each of them. You feel annoyed, and quite frankly, a little pissed because this is kind of crossing a line you didn’t even know you had. 

“It’s your birthday,” Renjun smiles, moving himself from the door and finally coming into your room. “You’re not seriously planning to just, like, stay home all day are you?”

“Yeah, actually. I am.” You grouch, rolling your eyes as you sit up and against your headboard with crossed arms. 

“That’s too bad, we’ve got a whole day planned for you.” Jeno says, seating himself next to you and softening his voice. “So get up and go get dressed.” 

If it weren’t for the fact that all four men are practically holding you hostage right now, you’d kick them out and enjoy your birthday as you planned it. Why is this year so fucking different? Why are they all over you like this? Poking fun at your toys, Haechan being weird and gross about it? 

As you get dressed, they make it incredibly obvious that there’s a shift in the air. You feel like prey, four pairs of eyes struggling to allow you to dress yourself without them in the room. You do eventually get them out though, so you can at least do as they say. 

When you open the door for them again, they’re all right there. Jeno, front and fucking center with his dopey smile that seems more menacing today than the usual, soft smile. 

You feel cornered in your own home, by the only people you trust, and you hate to say that it’s kind of getting to you in an uncomfortable way. It’s surprising to admit that you kind of like the uncomfortable feeling they’re giving to you right now.

The sheer amount of attention on you is overwhelming, and you wonder when they’ll let you in on this joke. 

~

The second you step into Jeno’s car, then tension dies down a little bit and the excitement rises. You haven’t done anything for your birthday in years so it’s kind of nice to think that your friends would plan something for you, and not being alone in your apartment with them solidified that they’re not about to eat you alive with a side of A1 steak sauce like you originally thought. 

As the drive starts and continues, you think about the dynamic between you and your friends. From how you met to how you became the group you are now. You realize that for the past few years, most interactions with them have felt more intense than they used to. Still, you’re a believer that women can be friends with men without the weird sexual tension ruining it. 

Until you keep thinking. Piling up all of the sexual jokes and implications they’ve made at you up until this morning.

One time, Jaemin took a photo with you, sent it in the group chat and said “she’s giving out blowjobs for $5 if anyone wants one.” and you’d be lying if you didn’t receive three cash app notifications of five dollars. 

Another time Jeno blatantly gave you a popsicle and told you to show him how deep you can take it in your mouth before laughing and shoving the popsicle deeper when you reached your limit. And god, don’t even get started on Haechan, that motherfucker has blatantly adjusted his length in front of you after staring at your chest for an entire conversation. 

Renjun is another story. The shy one who does a shit job at hiding that he absolutely has whore thoughts. You see it. That $5 donation for a blowjob didn’t go unnoticed, nor did his approval of you accidentally liking one of the porn videos deep in his retweets.

Still, you prefer to think that you wave off the jokes face to face despite how difficult it’s become to dodge said jokes. 

You turn to look at Jeno for a moment, noting his calm face as he drives, then you turn slightly to see the three in the back seat on their phones. Jeno’s phone is buzzing at lightning speed, and the boys in the back are typing miles per minute. 

You narrow your eyes. 

“What are you guys planning?” 

Jeno flashes a smile at you. 

“It’s a surprise, don’t try and ruin it for yourself.” He smiles wider at the implication that you really do always ruin this type of thing by pretending you don’t want it. That you don’t want him. 

You continue to glare at them, one at a time, and each of them just beams at you before you cross your arms and slump yourself back against the seat. 

“Better not be anything weird.” You grumble. 

“Define weird.” Jeno comments before moving his hand from the steering wheel and lying it against your leg. When you stiffen up against him, he rubs a gentle circle against the flesh of your thigh before continuing. “Relax, we already know you’re a freak.”

You whip your head around at the laughter, feeling flustered at how they’re not keeping the circle in the circle. Except, they are. It’s just being voiced now, and your leg is being caressed at the same damn time. 

“My favorite was when she shared that video of the girl getting her head pulled back by the hair, and dude spit in her face,” Jaemin says with a shrug, eyes still glued to his phone. “Went straight to the bookmarks.” 

You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and when you go to protest, Haechan jumps in. 

“What about the video where the girl took it in every hole? She even had a dildo because apparently she just wasn’t full enough.” He ticks his tongue when he says it, examining the way you shift in your seat. 

“Oh god, I remember that one. I didn’t think you’d be into that–” Renjun laughs, leaning forward between the front and passenger seat. “But you are into that, aren’t you?” He lowers his voice when he asks you.

You shift again, and note only slightly the way Jeno also shifts similar to the way you do at those words. 

“It’s just a video–” You try to defend, but Jeno speaks up and cuts you off.

“Did you get off to it?” He asks blatantly, turning the car onto a wide street and seemingly keeping his eyes on the road. 

There’s nothing but silence in the car and all four of them wait for your answer, but it never comes. 

“So you did.” Renjun chuckles, leaning himself back to the seat and unlocking his phone again. 

You’re kind of at a loss for words at this moment as you stare directly out of your window and try to avoid continuing the conversation. You hate the way your body is reacting to the way they’re talking to you. Of course you got off to the video. Of course you’re into that. It just looks bad when you’re sitting in a car full of men with cocks that seemingly want to talk about how much you’re into it. 

Implications. 

And god, the implication gets worse when you realize where Jeno has been driving this whole time. You can’t even protest either.

“Let’s get our girl some better toys to have fun with.” Jeno comments as he stops the car in the parking lot, turning to look at you and then at his friends as if this is the most normal birthday outing in the world. 

“Your girl?” You ask, side eyeing Jeno and then turning your entire body to look at the other three men in the car.

Suddenly, it feels like an intro to some porn video. Where the poor lonely woman is being eaten alive with eyes in a public space before it pans to her quite literally drowning in a bukakke scene. 

“Just for today, relax.” Jaemin smiles his stupid smile, shoving Haechan at the door of the car as if to force him to open it, and he does. “Besides, the toys you had seemed boring.” He laughs again, before sliding out of the car as well.

So, here you are now, walking into an adult store with four very attractive men, unsure as to why you’re even agreeing to let them bring you here. You don’t know what to do with yourself seeing as you’ve only ever bought toys online. 

 Jeno is the first to drag you away with him as the others disperse around the store. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel awkward, or like today isn’t entirely charged by sexual energy. Unfortunately, Jeno amplifies it with a casual voice and a slouched, relaxed posture as he snakes an arm around your waist and lifts your chin with his thumb so that you look directly at what he’s looking at. 

He barely lets you react to the way he’s being somewhat intimate with you, ushering any protest you could possibly have into a little insecure space in your brain. One that tells you that, based on how he’s acting, he would probably call you stupid if you said he was acting weird. 

Jeno knows damn well though, that he’s touching you right now more than he ever has. Brief hugs and brushes of the body are normal and expected, but this? This is intentionally not normal. He knows you’re picking up on the differences, and actively chooses to let you stew over it. He can see the confusion in your eyes and plays it off as if, yeah, this is normal and you’d make it weird if you decided to say it’s not. You’d be the one making it awkward, not him. 

“How do you feel about that?” He asks, eyes staring straight at an item hanging on the wall and pretending he doesn’t feel the way you let him touch you in the way a boyfriend should. 

“What? The vibrating panties?” You ask, looking at the item directly next to it. 

“Oh,” He chuckles at you, releasing your chin and pulling down the product with ease. “You’re looking at these?” He adds, keeping his other arm around your waist and pulling you right up against his side as he flips the box over and reads it. 

“Eight settings. Three pairs of panties are included–” He nods with a pleased face. “What are you looking at these for?”

You looked at them because it’s what you thought he was looking at too. 

“You gonna wear them to work? Staying wet all day in them?” He smiles, saying these words as if it’s not sexual at all. “I bet you’d wear them in front of me too. Wouldn’t even tell me how you’re getting off, would you?”

He loves the way you react when you’re flustered, looking away from him but not quite denying it or pulling from his grasp. 

“Dirty. I’ll buy them for you. ” He says, keeping hold of the box and reaching for the actual item he was originally looking at. “What about this?” 

You feel like your body is on fire with this one sided conversation. Honestly, your mind is still thinking about what would happen if you wore these panties to work. What would happen if you did wear them when hanging out with him? Surely he’d know, it’s not like you’re capable of hiding your pleasure. 

Still, you try to remain calm. Rubbing your legs together briefly, you stare at the way he tangles a leash in his fingers all while still holding the box with the vibrating panties. His hands are big, and his fingers are long. The material of the leash appears to be flimsy but the collar he grabs just next to it appears to be much stiffer. 

“A leash?” You ask, still not making eye contact but keeping your eyes on his hand and the way he holds all three items with ease.

“And a collar.” He adds, encouraging you to think about both items together, being used with him. 

“What am I supposed to do with that?” 

Jeno smirks, knowing damn well you know what he’s into. 

“You know exactly what you’re supposed to do with it.” He teases you, keeping hold of the toys and letting his eyes devour the way you buckle under every implication. He tunes in to the way your legs rub together, right here in front of him. God, you’re so cute with the way even the slightest implication seems to have you suffering. 

In your head, you do know what to do with these items for him, but the confirmation of Jeno’s words have reality hitting you like a bag of bricks. Is he really implying that these toys are to be used with him? 

And just as you try to mutter up a response, you can feel your arm being tugged at.

“Stop hogging her, dick.” Jaemin seethes through his teeth and narrowed eyes at Jeno, prying you away from him.

You look back at Jeno and his confident glare at you as you’re being pulled away. He seems slightly annoyed with Jaemin for taking you away just as the conversation was getting good but, overall proud of himself for making you think too hard. You practically see the confirmation in his hooded eyes when they trail down your body as you’re being pulled around the corner, up until he’s out of your view and you are forced to look at whatever the fuck Jaemin is trying to show you. 

“Look at this.” Jaemin says in a much sweeter voice to you, grabbing a box and presenting it to you. “There’s a sample thing too, hold on–” He continues, reaching up and grabbing the presumed sample that states “FINGERS ONLY.”

“Go on, try it.” He smiles, eyes staring straight at your hands. 

“You want me to test out a uh–”

“Pocket pussy.” He finishes for you, nodding his head and encouraging you to do it. 

Reluctantly you do, sliding your fingers into the silicone hole. Weirdly enough, you’ve always wondered what the inside of a pocket pussy felt like and well, it’s about what you expected. 

Jaemin’s intense eye contact on watching your fingers slide into that toy did not go unnoticed though. You can see the way they darken at the act in an instant. A once bright looking pervert now matching the word far too much to be comfortable doing this in front of him. If only you knew how he was imagining that this is how you touch yourself. Reluctantly at first and then sliding your fingers in deeper to feel everything it offers. 

“Well?” He asks, feeling his length twitch in his pants at the image. Wondering how much prettier your fingers would look glistening in the arousal that would spill out of you while doing this. “Do you think yours feels better?”

“Wha–” You go to ask, pulling your fingers from the sample and shoving it back into his hands. 

“You heard me,” He laughs as he drops the sample onto the floor and quickly picks it up before tossing it back onto the wrong shelf like an asshole. “Compare it. Give me something to work with here.” 

You dead-pan stare at him, processing the fact that he’s literally asking you what your pussy feels like.

“It’s, um–” You stop yourself again, not avoiding Jaemin’s eye contact this time as his smile fades into something a bit more serious. 

“Not as warm, right?” He asks, “not as wet?” 

Then he leans in to the point that you feel his breath below your ear, blowing gently as he continues his string of questions. 

“Not as tight–” He pulls back to look at you. “Hm?”

It’s insane how fast your little friend group seems to have switched on you. When you compare yesterday to today, the last thing you could imagine was Jaemin saying such a thing against your skin before pulling back, and looking at you with a face that seems to expect a genuine answer to his dirty questions. 

You’ve never felt so….shy before yet, into it entirely. You just don’t know how to process it all happening at once, with multiple people. Jeno, now Jaemin? 

You stare forward at him, cheeks warming up beyond belief as your fingers tingle from the recent silicone hole they fucked into. You think hard for a moment about all of the times you’ve plunged your fingers into yourself, comparing the feeling to the toy. You almost want to tell him that you’re definitely warmer, you’d definitely be wetter, and perhaps even tighter than that toy could ever offer him. 

And just as you were about to become the pick me girl of his dreams, an angel wearing a dick-head costume (Haechan), appears much like Jaemin did before. He prevents you from furthering the conversation, but he does little to nothing to help the warmth you’re feeling between your legs. 

“Stop being a freak,” Haechan stares at Jaemin, having heard the entire conversation and definitely liking where it was going, but also not wanting Jaemin to be the one to get you to break. “Come on, I have something a lot less weird to show you.”

Haechan drags you across the entire store before you can even protest, nearing the entrance. You almost want to get on your knees and thank him, assuming he’s walking you straight out the doors to safety before you realize he’s definitely not. 

“Lace or latex?” He asks, grabbing two skimpy outfits he presumably placed on the end of a rack for easy finding when he wanted to show you. 

“Lace.” You say without issue, still reeling from all of the other questions you’ve been asked within the past twenty minutes. Plus, clothing is much easier to discuss compared to things that fuck your friends, and things that fuck you. 

“Hm,” He stares down the lace outfit on the hanger, knowing for a fact that your tits would look fucking immaculate in it. Surely they’d be bulging out of the top, plush and bouncing with each movement. “If we got this for you, would you actually wear it?”

At this point, the feeling in your gut may or may not be matching the energy they’re giving you. There’s a hint of flirtiness coming to your mind now as you think of how to respond. You’ve flirted with them plenty, so it comes easy this time when you manage to actually answer him. 

“I guess,” You start, noting how his eyes light up. “I don’t see why not, because I do like lace.”

“Would you wear it for me though?” He corrects his question, proud of the way you look a bit confident now, not at all as flustered as you seemed when Jaemin had you back there finger fucking a sample toy.

“In front of you?” You ask, staring down the outfit and reaching out to feel the soft texture of the lace, trying to ignore the hefty price on the tag. 

“Yeah? I expect to be the one to take it off of you.” 

There goes your confidence. He’s so forward and you’re not sure if you can ever get used to such jarring comments toward you by the people you seem to be the closest to. They could talk to you like this all fucking day, and while you’d like it, your first instinct is to buckle, to hide. 

“So quiet now. Why? Because I want to see you in this?” He smirks, rubbing his fingers in circles against the lace before hardening his expression. 

“You can pretend that this isn’t happening all you want,” He narrows his eyes at you and the way you avoid his eye contact, taking a step forward and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I think you’ve gotten your fair share of teasing me online. I think it’s time you finally give it up.” He finishes his train of thought with a frustrated whisper when you pull away from him slightly. 

It’s a lot of information to take in all at once. Jeno implying things, Jaemin asking about what’s between your legs, and now Haechan stating that he wants to see you in lace before sliding it off of you. It’s not entirely insane to be drawn in and then push yourself back. Really, it’s not. You can’t just let them in on the fact that you’re into it though. All of this, you’re so fucking into it.

“You thought I was teasing you?” You ask, finally making eye contact as you look him up and down, taking another step back. “Haechan, it’s just porn. None of it was because of you.”

He tics his tongue at your words, smirking and shaking his head. 

“You’re going to stand there and pretend like you don’t think about it?” He tilts his head knowingly before shaking the lace outfit in front of you. “If we leave here today with this, you’re going to wear it for me.” he continues with a cheeky voice, “and i’ll make you feel so good when I take it off of you.”

And for some reason, you find yourself turning away from him and walking away. You can hear him mutter something at you as you create a bigger distance, and can’t help the smile on your face. Your cheeks are tingling, your body is tingling and there’s a type of confirmation happening right now, that all of those thoughts you’ve had about them before aren’t entirely one sided. 

You find yourself in search of Renjun, the only normal motherfucker in this group. He hasn’t hunted you down within the aisles of toys, sex movies, or lube. He hasn’t pulled you away as if he’s a savior before forcing you to realize you fell into the grasp of another hunter. No, he’s normal. And he fills that role so well too, as you find him near the back of the store standing alone, looking at the most mundane and boring sex toys in the world. Dildos, just like what he saw being pulled out of your drawer this morning. 

“Do you think this one is a good size?” He asks you offhandedly as you stand next to him with a sigh of relief. Almost like he could sense it was you without even checking for himself.

“Yeah, it’s a little big but–” You go to say, comfortably and confidently because he’s not being a weirdo.

“Have you ever taken something this big before?” He looks at you, glancing down to your thighs before smiling. 

“Um, well-” You start, but he interrupts you again. 

“It’s the same size as mine, you know.” 

Anyway, fuck Renjun. 

He’s just like the rest of them, except apparently he doesn’t hunt. He prefers to be hunted himself, he prefers you come to him. A wolf in sheep's clothing, perhaps. 

The sexual innuendos and jokes are a bit overwhelming considering you’ve never been fucking attacked with them before. You really can’t lie to yourself though. As much as you pretend to be unnerved, you love the attention they’re giving you. Years worth of sexual things shared online seems to be making today feel like it was going to happen now or never. All of those stray thoughts you’ve had about each of them as you watched their shared porn and read their dirty words? They’re in the front of your mind right now.

Perhaps staying home all day today was a bad idea, because you find yourself genuinely enjoying the overwhelming tension in the air. You’re quite literally in a sex shop surrounded by friends who are implying they want sex from you. 

Even if it’s all just a prank-birthday thing. You know, like how friends get each other dildos and sex merchandise for a laugh. You can’t help but stare down the bulk of items all four of them begin to pile onto the counter. 

The vibrating panties, leashes, collars, lingerie, dildos, more vibrators, and lube. Not a single condom in sight, not a single pocket pussy either, implying that it can't be purchased because, well, you very well may be the pocket pussy. 

The price goes from fifty dollars to a sum of over six hundred, and none other than Jeno himself pulls out his wallet and slides his card into the machine. Signing his name on the device smoothly, almost prettily, before watching the cashier bag each item carefully and curiously.

You hate to say how attractive it is to see Jeno pay for things specifically meant to be used behind a locked door. He’s paid for your coffee plenty of times, but the act right now is seriously just so…..cocky? With the way his posture is perfect, his confidence is exuding when he presses the buttons, god. Is it the money or is it him doing this to your mind? 

You can’t make eye contact with the woman bagging your gifts, and for some reason find yourself reluctantly making that eye contact with Jeno instead. He gives you that droopy eyed smile, the one he usually gives on a normal, non-sex-fueled day to something endearing you said. Like he didn’t just drop hundreds on things to fuck yourself with, or wear while being fucked. He can tell you’re thanking him though, appreciating him. 

After leaving the store, four big bags being carried by four men, you realize that it’s really not a joke this time. There’s a clock in your head counting down to where Jeno will drive all of you to next. 

“Why’re you being so quiet?” Haechan pokes you from the back seat, pulling some of your hair and forcing your head back against the headrest. 

“What the fuck?” You ask in a panic, turning your entire body to look behind you at him. You can tell he can see the way that little tug had you release a hint of a moan before you started asking him the question so aggressively.  “I’m just enjoying the drive, what? I can’t have a moment of silence to myself?” 

You ignore the chuckle coming from Jeno, driving smoothly and keeping his eyes on the road. Then you glance at Jaemin, who is looking at you much the same way Haechan is. 

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” Renjun asks, leaning up to the center console again. “You’ve been acting kind of weird all day.”

“I’ve been acting weird?!” You huff. The audacity he has to say that you’re the one being weird. 

“You’re just trying to pretend that we don’t want to fuck you like always.” Haechan blurts out while rolling his eyes before Jaemin elbows him in the side. 

You stare at them wide eyed as Renjun slowly leans himself back defensively, as far into the seat as possible. 

“Relax, you act like you weren’t picking up on the hints,” Jeno glances at you as he pulls into another lot. “Secrets out now though.” He shrugs, searching for a parking space. 

“We weren’t even trying to make it a secret, damn.” Haechan rolls his eyes again. “She just likes to play dumb.”

“Or maybe she’s actually dumb.” Jaemin plays off of Haechan’s words.

“Were you guys not planning on letting me have any say in this?!” You ask, voice raised a bit from feeling incredibly flustered. 

“What, you don’t want to?” Jaemin asks, narrowing his eyes at you and trying to search for a hint of a lie when you answer.

“I–” You stop yourself. 

Any normal person would say no, right? Or would a normal person absolutely be down for this? Are you even a normal person? 

“Hm?” Jeno encourages you to finish what you were about to say as he parks and turns off the car. “You don’t want it?” He continues, glancing down and between his legs as if to imply he’s talking more about himself than the group. 

Your eyes follow his and you struggle to swallow around the lump in your throat, averting your eyes to the building that this parking lot belongs to. The fucking mall? 

“I don’t know what you guys are wanting me to say but, this is all a bit too much.” 

The three in the back nod happily at your half-assed rejection, messy hair waving with each nod, and then you look at Jeno as he responds. 

“With all things considered, we know you like it when things are ‘a bit too much’.” He says to you, shutting down any form of rejection you could possibly give. 

You stare at him as he unbuckles and opens the door to get out of the car. Your body is tingling just a little bit at his words. Goddamn that fucking tweet. Goddamn those fucking twitter circles. Goddamn you for having a bunch of horny burn out friends who suddenly feel the need to jump at the opportunity to fuck you that you would have given ages ago had they tried. 

“Always acting like you don’t want it, it’s kind of cute, you know?” Haechan says, pulling himself out of the car now. Jaemin continues his string of thoughts as he gets out of the car after him, “and fucking annoying.” 

There goes any ounce of self respect you could imagine having. Your brain is flooding with everything they said to you in the sex shop and, well, you’re well aware that it’s about to be a birthday to remember.

~

Walking through the mall with your friends should be normal, and it is. But the air is different now, knowing now a hint of the plans they seem to have for your birthday. If they hadn't said all of that in the car, surely you’d know now what the plan was. 

You’re sitting in front of Jeno with your drink, Renjun beside him, Jaemin beside you. Haechan ran off to the bathroom and was in there for a while. You’d make a joke, honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that your phone buzzes and the notification states it’s from him. 

Jaemin silently and curiously watches you open it from the side. 

Silence. Unnerving silence from the entire food court as you glance at your screen for a split second before slamming your phone face down on the table and refusing to look at any of them. 

You feel seen, and you know for a fact that Haechan is probably laughing his ass off in that fucking bathroom stall with the way you leave that image on read. 

“You’re blushing–” Jeno says, watching the way your eyes shift and you suck down your drink like there’s no tomorrow. “Why?” 

You pretend you don’t hear him before Jaemin laughs. 

“Haechan showed her his dick,” He smiles, leaning down onto the table and scooting close to you. “I think you liked it.”

“I barely saw it!” You defend in a tone louder than expected, continuously sipping your drink until it’s nearly empty. 

You can’t bear to make eye contact with any of them right now, not after seeing a raging cock like the one Haechan is sporting. He’s a menace, truly, and it’s not that you wouldn’t have wanted to see it or anything but like maybe sending it to you in such a public space was a dick move on his part.

Sensing the eyes of three men on you right now, judging to see what you really think of Haechan’s junk, you refuse to look up from the table. 

Jeno definitely takes advantage of your blind spots. Wanting so badly to see those cheeks blush the same way they’re doing for Haechan. If anything, for his own ego boost. He wants you to break for him, not for that slut Haechan who is obvious in his attempts to make you want him the most.

Your phone buzzes again. 

“Go on,” Jeno smiles. “Open it.” He encourages you, noting the way you still won’t look up at them. Loving how you’re somehow both entirely shameless and entirely cautious about this situation. 

You realize only now that these men are taking advantage of every single situation. 

Of course you didn’t notice Jeno skewing his phone down and under the table. How could you notice? You’re still trying to comprehend the fact that Haechan is in a bathroom right now raging hard and proud of it.

You don’t even know why you listen to him, opening the text from none other than Jeno himself and seeing a photo of his hand gripping himself. You can see the outline of his length and the way his fingers grip against the sheer size of it. Right fucking here, under this very table. You can see your shoes at the corner of the photo briefly as you stare at the photo a bit longer than you truly meant to. Kind of wishing he had just sent you a raw photo of it. 

Now he can fucking see you imagine what’s under these pants. The lump he’s gripping only offers so much to your imagination and it leaves you wanting more. He knows it’s doing something for you with the way you stare at it, eyes no longer darting over the screen of your phone but pointed at one specific place. 

Your eyes shift up to him on instinct now.

Buzz. 

You whip your head over to Renjun when you see his name pop up on your screen. He does not look at you nor your reaction to the text but is smirking devilishly just like the rest of them. 

You’re a little thankful that his photo must’ve been a picture he took on some other day. You feel relief that at least he’s maybe not entirely hard like Jeno and Haechan are right now. (He is.)

“You guys are pussies,” Jaemin comments, shaming his friends for simply sending photos when you’re right here, looking all shy and reserved as if you haven’t been rubbing your legs together all day. “Come here.” He says quickly and quietly, grabbing your hand as if it’s to warm it up before blatantly pressing it between his legs and flexing his length under your palm.

He’s hard. Like, incredibly hard and it takes everything in you not to grab it. 

Then you hear him chuckle, looking at you and the way you haven’t even removed your hand from him yet. 

“So shameless,” Jeno side-eyes, annoyed. “We’re in public, at least act like you’re not enjoying this right now.” 

You’re quick to retract your hand, feeling Jaemin’s hips shift up and against it until he can no longer chase the feeling of your fingers. 

There, you’re left feeling a mess. The worst part is that they’re not even alone in being turned on right now in the middle of a food court. You regret wearing these shorts, the arousal is easily seeping through your panties and offering a very, very, uncomfortable sensation against you. Each shift of your legs feels like a jolt of pleasure and also a raw and rashed feeling of the denim being too harsh against an extremely sensitive area on your body.

Many times over the years, you’ve thought of each of these men at least once or twice. With all that porn they share on twitter, it really really is hard not to. Never did you expect them all to act this way toward you while together though. It was always a one on one thing in your head, but now? You’ve seen Haechan and Renjun’s cocks, you’ve gotten an idea of how big Jeno’s is, and you’ve blatantly felt Jaemin’s. 

The body tingles are worse now. There’s a burning in your stomach, and it travels straight between your legs. The arousal is there, but a release isn’t. At least not yet. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You jump up. 

Not only is this bathroom break there for like, actual bathroom purposes seeing as how you’ve had a coffee, an entire bottle of water, and now that tasty tea that you just downed within the span of three seconds, but, also because you need to breathe. You need to gather your thoughts desperately, and maybe get a better look at those photos. 

“No,” Jeno laughs, standing up after you. “You’re just trying to avoid it.” He looms over you as he stands, looking down at you with a smirk. “You don’t need to use the bathroom.”

“No, I actually do need to. I just drank that entire tea in less than five minutes thanks to you guys.” 

“That’s too bad,” He says in a mocking tone. “We have places to be.” 

And you just look at him, seeing Haechan appear in your peripheral vision as he talks in an animated way with Jaemin and Renjun. 

~

Store after store, you can feel the atmosphere become heavier and heavier between you and your group of friends. They’re entirely shameless in how they’re interacting with you and at this point, you can barely remember how the dynamic used to be. 

There used to be flirting, but it was all based on a joke. At least that’s what you thought back then. Now, after seeing specific parts of them as they were sitting right in front of and next to you, save for Haechan, all of this flirting seems more like fucking foreplay. 

It feels like torture, watching Jeno spend and spend his money on anything you so much as glance at. Haechan’s hands constantly stay on you in some way. Jaemin? Fucking Jaemin, cornering you alone every chance he gets, whispering things, pressing his dick against your ass when he’s behind you, asking you to touch him again.

You feel like you’re going insane with the amount of nervous arousal shaking within you. Your body loves it, your mind loves it. Every suggestion bursts vividly in your head, to the point that you very nearly feel like all of this could be a dream. 

Then, the very not normal Renjun shocks you when he tries to lace his fingers in yours as you walk. You did find comfort with his warm hands in yours, despite having a photo of his hard cock sitting in a text message. It was kind of grounding, maybe? Reminding you that this isn’t a dream at all. All four of your friends are trying to fuck you. 

Renjun kept fiddling with your fingers as you walked which, arguably, is a bit detrimental seeing as how you’re just a group of five people wandering around a mall with a desperate need to like, fuck something.

Safe to say you’re the one who may have shocked him. Thinking too hard about the way his fingers move and play against you. You focus on his birthmark, the way it contrasts with his skin tone and appears to be more like a bruise than anything else. The way his veins pulse languidly when he squeezes your fingers in his, you wonder if he moves his hands the same way when he’s using them for pleasure.

Renjun looks down at your fingers intertwined through the silence, loving the way you allow him to do this. He knows it’s not forward like everyone else even if he’s chasing the same thing. He likes to study the way you react, testing his own methods and noting how he’s somehow got you not even watching where you’re walking because you’re too busy staring at his fingers laced with yours. 

“What’re you thinking about?” He whispers right up against you as you walk behind the others, shifting his eyes to check and see that they’re not paying attention to this little moment.  

When you look back up at him, your attraction burns in your eyes and he sees that shit instantly.

“About my fingers?” He smirks.

You look away and relax your hand in his, as if to remove it from his grasp, but he takes this opportunity to show you the strength he has in his hands alone, squeezing tighter. 

“You were imagining what they could do to you, weren’t you?” He says it so proudly, like he could possibly be the first of the four to get you to actually incriminate yourself in wanting him just as badly as he wants you. 

“And if I was?” You glare before glancing down again. “What then?” 

“We could slip away right now, into that bathroom over there and I could show you–” 

Bathroom. 

You still need to go to the bathroom, but the arousal of fucking everything right now is taking high priority when it comes to how your body feels. The burn is…interesting when you think about it. You feel heavy between your legs, entirely turned on, and honestly, if he hadn't said that word you likely would have continued to pretend you don’t need to go. 

“Speaking of,” You announce so that the three walking in front turn to listen. “Bathroom break?” 

Jeno doesn’t stop walking, shaking his head.

“No, this is the last stop and the bathroom is like, across the mall.” He offers a genuine excuse, causing you to huff and completely miss the way he smirks at the small win. 

“There was a bathroom just back there.” You protest, halting where you are before turning to look at the door.

“Employees only.” Jeno continues, now turning himself around and walking backwards. “What? Gonna throw a tantrum? Just hold it, stop whining.”

You huff again, looking at Renjun and rolling your eyes.

“Was that for me, or do you actually need to go?” He asks as you try to speed up and walk with Jaemin instead. 

“I actually need to go, but I guess I’ll just deal for now.” Another eye roll. 

Damn, rejected. Still, you admitted to possibly thinking about what his fingers could do for you, and that’s a win in his book.

~

There’s a specific type of effort in the way you pretend you don’t care for what’s going on. You know they don’t believe your act, and they know you know. It feels like a game, and at some point all games come to an end.

The car ride back to your apartment felt like hell. Your body is far more aroused with the need to be filled compared to the need to be emptied. Thoughts of going to the bathroom are so far out of your mind with the way the silence in the car feels heavy and sex fueled. 

Every sound feels like it’s implied to be sexual. Haechan stretched for a moment and every single head turned to him for the sound he made. On any other day, that’s just a stretch. Today though, that’s probably what he would sound like if he were plunging into you. 

Jeno’s hand remains on your leg in a somewhat possessive way. Rubbing his thumb in circles and moving that touch higher and higher as he drives. The warmth you feel under his fingertips are forcing images to bleed into your mind. You wonder if he wants to move them higher, if he wants to tuck his fingers under the fabric and feel around the skin that’s not shown. You wonder if these simple touches would feel just as warm caressing other places on your body. Slipping under your shirt or down your shorts. Running through your hair, holding your chin up to look at him– 

You’re thankful they can’t read minds. You’d blow your whole cover at this moment, as you finally let your mind truly think about what’s happened today, and what will likely happen soon. If you were in your right mind, you think you would be able to understand where all of this is coming from. It truly was sudden with the way they’re acting, but it’s a natural instinct for you to not care why it’s happening, and only care about the fact that it should happen.

There’s no telling what will take place when you get back into your apartment. You can picture it so clearly but then again, you also can’t. There’s so many things you can do with four men at the same time but, the issue is that you want to do all of the things.

“So, you want us all to eat you out.” Jaemin deadpans through the silence. What he says should be a question, but it comes out more like a statement. 

In all fairness, he’s so hard that being quiet right now? Waiting like he has been all day? It’s too much. He needs to talk about it.

Only now do you tear your eyes away from Jeno’s hand on your leg. 

“What?” You ask, searching your brain for any sober thought that would indicate you ever invited them to do such a thing with your own words.

“You said you want us to eat you out on your couch.” He dead pans, sucking in a breath and adjusting himself in the seat to offer his length optimal comfort. 

“No? I didn’t?” 

“Bullshit!” Haechan argues, already pulling up the receipts on his phone and leaning forward to put it directly in your line of sight. “Eyeball emoji and all.”

You stare at the tweet you shared with the implications it gave to your friends. Now, you’re in a car with said friends, on your birthday, after an entire day of sex fueled conversations and acts. 

It definitely was an implication at its finest but it’s not like you knew this would come out of it. This specific tweet seems to have been the final straw for them and you can’t help but feel fucking proud of it. 

“Technically, I didn’t say that.” You still try to keep the energy you’ve had all day, but Jeno’s hand offers you a squeeze against your thigh and instantly you’re turning your head to look at him. 

“But you do want it,” Jeno says, pulling into the lot of your apartment building. “And we’re going to give it to you.”

You stare at him much like you have tried to avoid all day. 

“But–” 

“Stop.” He warns, cutting you off from any argument you try to form. “You want it.” He repeats again, this time letting his eyes scan you for a moment.

He’s not wrong. If anything, you want it more now than you did three seconds ago based on that tone of voice alone. That cold, scolding, deep voice that would make you agree to anything he says anyway. 

You don’t even turn to look at the nods of approval as Jeno shuts you down. Instead, you wait for him to park.

~

First things first, bathroom. Except that’s not anyone else’s priority. You wouldn’t be able to go even if you started running for the door. 

Why? Because the way Jaemin closes in on you before the front door is even closed. Shamefully, his eagerness does manage to push that need for a release into the back of your mind for just a little longer. 

After a full day of fantasizing, wanting, and needing, Jaemin made damn sure he was the first. Kicking his shoes off and helping you to get yours off before blatantly ignoring his friends and swooping you up in his arms.

You briefly glance back at the others, offering a pleading look of “save me please” but, there is no saving to be had here. All three of them have a dark look in their eyes, leaving the bags of gifts bought for you right there at the door as they watch Jaemin give in to his fantasy first. 

That, he does. There is no room to protest, to play games, or pretend like you’d push him away. Because you won’t, and he fucking knows it. 

He carries you to the couch with such ease, tossing you down onto it and adjusting you before you can do it yourself. 

You can’t look away from him. For a moment it feels like this instance with him is entirely hidden. Like there aren't three other guys watching the way he pushes you back against the couch, falls to his knees, and spreads your legs with a strong grip. 

“Oh fuck,” He comments to himself, noting the way you smell from the day of their hard work on arousing you. He stares directly between your legs and loves the way your shorts have ridden up to the point it must have been uncomfortable. “Look at you.” 

You can’t bear to admit the blatant truth of what he’s seeing. These shorts have been dampened over and over again today. You’d be shocked if they were dry. You can imagine how pathetic you look right now too, pussy nearly on display already while still being fully covered.  

On instinct you shoot your arms up to cover your face as if to avoid this embarrassment. The confirmation of wanting this all day, just like them, is shameful. Even as Jaemin unbuttons your shorts and starts to tug at them, you can’t help the way you feel like you’re spiraling. 

You want this so badly, and now Jaemin has the dirty, messy, wet proof. 

“So shy,” You hear from behind you, now feeling another pair of hands pull your arms from your face and hold them at your side, as he dips down to your neck from behind the couch. “You tried to hide it but,” He continues, blowing softly at the spot at the dip of your neck. “You were squeezing those legs together all day wanting someone between them, weren’t you?” 

Goddamn Jeno for being a talker. Fuck Jeno for having these strong hands and holding you down for Jaemin to toy around between your legs. Curse that man for having such a sensual voice as he talks to you, dumbing you down to the point that all you can do is fucking agree with him. 

Jaemin listens intently to the way Jeno talks to you as he continues to bask in the scent. Your shorts are now crumpled to the floor and your blatant arousal was evident in all forms of the word. Your panties leave nothing to the imagination, soaked to the point of not being able to hold any more of that dripping heat. They rode up much like your shorts did, exposing both lips and folds to envelope the fabric tightly as if you were intending to gain some sort of friction from them throughout the day. He thinks that you were, quite literally, fucking yourself against these flimsy panties for the majority of the time you spent with them, pretending that they weren’t rubbing against your clit the entire time. 

He hums from between your legs, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs to spread your legs out more. Haechan comes over now, wanting to see what it is that has Jaemin entirely speechless and holy fuck, anyone would be. 

Your folds are glistening in wet, unsticking and settling around your tightly stretched panties in a different way now. Haechan makes no attempt to pretend it’s not a beautiful sight. 

He’s the first to moan at the image of how pathetically horny you got for them. All while trying to hide it, parading around all fucking day with your panties hugging that clit in a way you wished he was– for sure. Him. You want him the most, and he’s going to fucking give it to you. 

“Aww,” Haechan coos, his eyes scanning you entirely. “You really do want me to eat it, don’t you?” 

The heat that runs down your body at those words is more telling than the small sigh that forces itself out of your throat. Your entire body jerks at the feeling of goosebumps reacting to his words, and for some reason, you shoot your eyes to Renjun as if seeing him right now will calm your embarrassment. It doesn’t though. Renjun is looming near the entry of your living room, staring blankly at what’s been revealed with the heavy length in his pants twitching and making itself known to you. He appears to be waiting for your response.

You don’t respond. How could you? There are no words in your head right now. Not with all of the sensations you’re feeling, not with all of the eyes on you. You try to offer a nod, feeling pathetic, but your hips answer for him.

Haechan watches the way they buck up at his words and instantly he’s shoving Jaemin over with a confident chuckle, slotting himself between your legs alongside him. He shows no shame in the way he hooks his fingers under the panties, digging in deep just to get a hold of them. You can feel his knuckle bump your hole and you clench at the feeling. Then, as if he’s making a show of it, he groans as he stretches your panties out of your folds and away from your body. 

“Damn,” Haechan says nearly in unison with Jaemin, both entirely too eager to be in a shared space between your legs right now. They barely even acknowledge the other, but there is a silent form of encouragement between the two. 

Never did you think you’d find your eyes glued to the way Haechan slips the panties off of you, or the way Jaemin pockets them instantly. Like they’re working together, even if not on the same team.

You breathe in audibly at the air that hits you. It’s cold, sending a shiver down your entire body. Jeno feels those goosebumps under his hold on you, his cock twitching wildly in his pants at seeing how you’re just letting this happen.

“So, so, dirty,” He starts in a whisper against your neck, so silent that it almost feels like he doesn’t want the others to hear. “I knew you’d get off to this.” 

You release the smallest of groans and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s calling you out or if it’s because someone down there just slid their fingers up your slit. 

Holy fuck, whose fingers are down there doing this right now?

Haechan is beaming up at you, giving himself the title of public enemy number one because he definitely centered himself between your legs and shoved Jaemin out of the way entirely. He wants to be the first one to taste you, and he fucking means it. 

He shows no shame in how desperate he is, which kind of makes you feel a little better as you watch him and his head of messy hair nearly lose sight of the goal while he spreads your pussy apart repeatedly just to see you clench around nothing.

God, he adores seeing your body reacting to what he’s not yet giving. The way you clench, the way your legs tense with each slide of his fingers. He’s inspecting the damage of your untouched and utterly soaked pussy as if it was entirely his fault that you’re in this state. 

The other’s let him have this one though, because they know for a fact that when they get between those thighs, they’ll humble him with confident ease. 

Jaemin, specifically, believes this. Taking defeat in being shoved from between your legs and losing his chance at being the first to fuck his tongue into you. The image of Haechan doing his thing is enough to give him the confidence to do twice as well when it’s his turn anyway. 

He busies himself instead.

There, as Haechan slides his fingers up your slit before landing right on your clit and pressing harshly against it, Jaemin unlocks his phone and opens his camera without a single hint of hesitation. His other hand goes straight to his jeans, skewing them down to let his cock spring free. Then, he’s reaching for your soaked panties and simply…hanging them off the head of his length as he records the scene in front of him with an eager glint in his eye. 

“Mm, look–” Jeno says as he nudges your cheek, holding you down more now in case you make an attempt to lunge forward and knock that phone out of his hands. “You must look so good down there for him to wanna record you like this.”

You don’t even protest, because the clench of your pussy that’s being recorded in 4k would tell on you. Jaemin’s eyes are glued to the screen of his phone as Haechan continues to spread you open, exploring, feeling. Your eyes are tuned in to the only bare cock in the room now, seeing your panties shield the majority of it but loving the imagine of how tall his length stands, and then, finally–

“Oh? What was that?” Jeno perks up at the now, louder, sigh you release from your shamed lips. “Do you like what he’s doing?” He adds, trailing his eyes down to see exactly what caused you to make such a pretty sound.

You moan a confirmation, feeling a warm pair of lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly. The sounds of Haechan’s pleased hum at the taste only amplifies the touch beyond belief. Your entire body tingles at how insane all of this feels. Lips on you, Jeno’s voice in your ear, Jaemin recording it for later use, and Renjun slowly inviting himself to join? 

Your legs immediately try to close around Haechan’s head when he continues to assault your clit with small grazes of his teeth, and wouldn’t you know it, Renjun finally approaches. Taking the struggle of your legs as a fucking invitation. He holds your legs with a stronger grip than you ever imagined he could have, spreading them wide enough that your ass nearly lifts from the couch.

 The stretch of how wide he spreads them burns, and you try to look up at him in a pleading way but he's too busy pressing his surprisingly large cock against the side of your leg as he watches Haechan lick against you.

Haechan is appreciative of what Renjun offers to the scenario, feeling your pussy spread out across his lips and chin. It’s enticing when he doesn’t have to spread it open with his fingers, and it’s hard not to lick the entirety of it as he abandons your clit. Tongue slipping through each fold, licking flat right against your hole, then pressing in slightly before returning back to your clit and skewing his head to really get at it.

So, this is actually a thing that is happening. All four of your friends are entirely tuned into you and you’re being held down as if you’d run away. As if you’re not enjoying it. Goddamn, you are though. 

In a split second decision, you prove that by overpowering Jeno and his weaker hold against you now. Seeing as how he was entirely lost in watching the way your legs and stomach tense at whatever Haechan’s tongue was doing. You rip your arms from his grasp and instantly grab Haechan’s hair, holding his face down and against your clit. Rubbing his nose in it, bucking your hips up against the pressure of his lips and tongue, wildly chasing what his lazy tongue struggles to offer. 

There’s the desperate need to fuck all of your friends that you’ve been hiding, and it’s showing. 

Jeno chuckles, nodding against your neck, still not touching and waiting for you to just fucking moan louder. More than Haechan, just overpower his sounds so he doesn’t have to hear how fucking good you taste, or how good you smell, or how good your pussy must look down there. 

Still, you don’t give them everything they want. You stay reserved in the sounds you make in terms of reactions, even as you use Haechan’s face like a toy. Even as Jaemin audibly gasps at what you’re doing, even as Renjun releases one of your legs out of a desperate need to hold the other one against him so that he can feel some type of release. 

Haechan knows his friends are jealous of him at this moment though. He’s lucky to feel your fingers tugging against his hair, he’s blessed to have your clit bumping his lips. He can feel your pussy drip against his chin the more you ride his face, and goddamn he must be doing a good job at being used. 

That, he is. You only struggle more and more to not moan at the feeling of the way he just…lets you. If you knew he was always this submissive when it comes to eating pussy, you would have jumped on his tongue years ago. 

Jaemin continues his recording, trying to zoom in and out to get a good angle that doesn’t involve the boners of his own friends, eventually deciding that he simply doesn’t care if Renjun is in the frame fucking that monster he’s got in his jeans against your leg. You’re the center of the world right now, and he’s a part of this just like his friends. 

He tries not to focus on the image of Haechan gripping your couch for dear life either.

Slowly though, he begins to realize there’s a strange type of arousal in this room, one that isn’t entirely burning just for you. There’s something about seeing Haechan being used, seeing Jeno try to remain in control, whispering cocky little words into your ear, like he’s not pressing his cock against the back of that couch, seeing Renjun blatantly lose his composure against you when he’s never so much as hinted to the others that he was into this sort of thing.

Jaemin really feels like he’s going insane over the realization of how alluring this situation is, how alluring his friends are, how alluring he must be.  

The speed of which he tosses the panties from his cock and shoves Haechan out of his way is not to be discussed. He feels a fire behind his thoughts at this moment that surely, Haechan won’t mind. Surely, you’ll not feel that split second of abandonment that’ll take place in the time span it takes for him to replace Haechan’s lips.

He forces his phone into a dazed Haechan’s hands who lazily raises the camera up to see Jaemin take his place. The way you barely even take a breath, the way you don’t even react to the change of mouth against you– goddamn, Haechan may very well fall into obsession with you at this moment. 

Replacing him with Jaemin like he’s trash? Why does he love it? The way you grab Jaemin’s hair the same way you did to his own? Is that what he looked like when you did that? Spreading your legs and fucking against his face? Seeing it from a different angle, with a different person to Haechan, makes him believe you may be the sexiest woman he’s ever had the pleasure of licking.

And if you knew of the crisis happening below, perhaps you’d be able to focus on that more than the sound of Jeno’s deep sighs against your neck. Really, maybe you would have realized that the hair tangled in your fingers is now Jaemin’s. 

Your brain focuses solely on the way Jeno’s lips brush against your skin, the wet feeling of his tongue darting out every few minutes, whispering deep mutterings of the things he loves about what’s happening. Words like “I can hear how wet you are, is it for me or for them?” and “You want more, don’t you? I could bury myself so deep for you–”

It’s kind of crazy how Jeno’s words somehow feel more intense than Jaemin’s tongue on you. There’s something within his words that feel damning. Like he’s belittling his friends despite blatantly seeing how they pleasure you. Like there’s a promise sprinkled in that after all of this, he would be the one you’d think about the most. He would be the one to leave the lasting impression. 

Arguably, he already has. Spending his money on you without question, calling you out in a way that shows he knows exactly what game you’re playing. You think that if you let Jeno have at you, it may very well be a lasting impression on everyone, not just you. 

Still, you try to focus on Jaemin’s lips through Jeno’s muttering. 

You can feel the way he uses more tongue than Haechan and you know your hips are chasing his mouth right now. You can also feel the vibrations of his moans against you and while that is a heavenly feeling, Jeno’s small grunts penetrate straight through that pleasure and center itself once again. Briefly, you almost imagine it’s Jeno between your legs.

You’re moaning softly right next to him, hips chasing a feeling that he’s not even offering to you but god these sounds are for him. You’d never tell Jaemin that the moans aren’t directed at the beautiful work he’s giving to you though. Never. 

These moans are for Jeno to react to, to take in, to use as encouragement. And he eats it up, tensing himself against your couch and finally using his hands for something other than helping you hold Jaemin’s head in place. 

He runs them up, now moving his head to the other side of your neck and leaving small kisses there as he lifts your shirt up, up, up until it’s bunched up under your arms. There, he cups the flesh of your chest and uses his pointer finger on both hands to tease your already hardened nipples through the fabric of your bra. 

He’s thought about playing with your tits so often, now that he can do it? He’d be damned not to savor it while his friends are busy fucking themselves and being used by you. 

He teases, and teases, and fucking teases.

“Sensitive?” He whispers against you at the way you arch your back into his touch more than the way your hips fuck up. 

You nod mindlessly, throwing your head back against the couch. Then, finally, he pulls your bra up too. An uncomfortable fit against your collar bone but his warm hands overpower the feeling of fabric that you’d rather have removed completely. 

At first, he just holds them in his hands, feeling the weight of them, bouncing them, and then caressing them. 

“Could drive me insane with these.” He whispers against your neck in a pleased sigh, pinching one of your nipples before mindlessly playing with them. “I’d like to slide my dick between them and feel how fucking soft they are,” He continues, losing his train of thought as he stares down, imagining how the slide would feel. “Fuck, so pretty.”

At that moment, you think he might have lost composure. The sound of his voice indicates that he was really thinking about it. You can feel the couch budge at the way he tenses up against it, and that paired with his teeth biting against your neck, you feel like the most desired person in the room. Which is true. 

The more Jeno talks, the more you find yourself willing to give him just about anything he asks for. His big hands grope your chest in such a firm way, blatantly showing interest in the way he touches and plays with them. Every fleshy expanse of skin there is warmed up by his hands and it’s not strange at all to feel incredibly turned on by it.

Haechan audibly moans at seeing your tits jiggle in Jeno’s hands, probably ruining the video he’s recording but god damn. He knew they were huge but they’re pretty too and that’s just the ultimate combination when it comes to tits for him. 

Just as Haechan goes to make his mouth useful again against a different part of you, Renjun takes what he needs. Which is fair, Haechan thinks, knowing that he’s already gotten to taste you, the least he can do is let Renjun suck some titties. 

Jaemin, is still below enjoying himself and shockingly, Haechan is keeping to himself as he records, slipping his hand down his pants just to edge himself every few minutes as he watches the situation unfold. Almost in a daze at how insane it is that finally, you’re letting them see and touch you like this.

Feeling Renjun finally put his mouth on you though? Damn. Feeling three of the four touching you is a lot to take in but you still manage to do it. Jolts of pleasure are sent straight to where Jaemin continuously grinds his lips against your clit. Renjun shows no shame in inviting himself onto the couch next to you, swatting one of Jeno’s hands away and laying claim on one of your tits, immediately sucking against it and feeling himself spiral at the way you arch into it. 

Jeno can’t say he’s too pleased with that though, staring straight at the way everyone has had their lips on part of you, but all he’s gotten was your fucking neck? All he’s gotten was to hump up against this couch to satiate his needs, and feel your nipples? 

Renjun doesn’t notice the dark look on Jeno’s face, but Haechan sure does as he double takes at both the image on the phone screen and Jeno. 

He recognizes that look and knows for a fact that Renjun better open his eyes and pay attention, or–

“Jaemin, get her off or move–” Jeno says, halting his fingers on your nipple as he backs away from the couch and now comes around in full view.

You stare, feeling Renjun continuously suck against your nipple, sending ripples down to your belly. Jeno’s pants are much tighter than before, and you can see the outline of his cock much like when you saw the photo he sent you.

It looks even bigger than before and your mouth nearly waters for it. The eye contact he’s keeping with you doesn’t do anything to help the situation either because he loves the way you struggle to decide on if you want to meet his eye or stare at his length. 

There, he grabs himself, thrusting his hips playfully toward you with a quirk of his brow, as if to suggest you could have more than just his tongue if you ask. 

You take in the implied suggestion, releasing Jaemin’s hair and struggling not to shove him clear across the room just to see what Jeno has to offer to you. It’s honestly like no one else in the room exists when he stands between your legs, looming over you and not at all falling to his knees. 

You, Haechan, and Jaemin watch as he stands there, making a show of unbuttoning his pants to get his cock out. Renjun remains in his own little world though, sucking your nipple as if his life depends on it while shoving his pants down and shamelessly fucking into his fist. 

Then, Jeno makes his move. It’s not exactly unwanted but damn, he really fucking goes for it. Dropping his pants to the floor and gripping Renjun by the hair, pulling him away from you as well.

“You got what you wanted while I had to watch,” Jeno comments harshly at his friends, grabbing your legs and pulling you down to wrap them around his waist. “Now, you watch me.”

Instantly, your pussy is throbbing at the image of how huge he is. His cock lays easily against you, heavy and leaking as it twitches to be inside of something. He’s going to fuck you. Jeno is going to fuck the life out of you. This wasn’t at all in the plan, then again, was any of this in your plan for the day? 

Do you want Jeno to fuck you? Your eyes scan the room, all three men and a camera pointing their eyes at you. There seems to be a bit of a hopeful glint in each eye.

You nod weakly, watching Jeno take a good look at your pussy before smirking. 

“So wet for this, no wonder they were moaning more than you were,” Jeno smiles, staring down at your hole before licking the tips of his fingers and dipping them into you without so much as a warning. “Feels good to finally have something to fuck, right Birthday girl?”

You’re speechless, wincing at how deep he buries his fingers. Never realizing just how perfect they’d reach inside of you. He bumps areas inside that you desperately need with so much ease.

Oh, oh fucking no.

There’s that burn. The reminder of a different release, pressure building up at lightning speed as your wet walls squeeze his fingers. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Jeno comments at how tight you’re squeezing his fingers. “How long have you wanted me?” He continues, ignoring the other three in the room and paying no mind to them.

You can barely answer, your body reacting in all sorts of ways that it never has when it comes to a pair of fingers and dirty words. Perhaps it’s the sudden burn of needing to get to the bathroom, or perhaps it’s just Jeno. He leaves no room for any of that though, as he continues to chase what he wants. 

“You want me?” He asks, urging you to nod, leaning over you and gripping your cheeks with one hand to look directly into his eyes. 

His other hand pulls from your pussy and he coats his length in that wet that soaks his fingers. There, he tugs, leaking just like you are for it. 

You blink up at him, sparing a single glance at the others and hoping that they don’t protest when you ultimately nod your head innocently.

“Take it then.” He seethes the words through his teeth before instantly adjusting his length and sliding into you in one go. Bottoming out entirely and holding himself there. 

The sound you let out is embarrassing and slightly choked. The stretch of him inside of you makes you shake, your legs falling open from around him at the weakness in your muscles trying to adjust to the intrusion. 

His two fingers were not enough to prepare for how thick he is inside of you. Every twitch he offers hurts, every breath he takes feels like he’s already fucking you senseless and you genuinely couldn’t muster up a single word of “wait,” if you wanted to.

Because you don’t want him to wait. You like the searing pain of fullness both inside of your pussy and bladder. It’s overwhelming and almost blinding to feel so utterly out of control of your body. 

“Oh, my god.” Jaemin whispers out, experiencing first hand how huge Jeno’s cock is and the way he makes it fit into you. 

He can see how tight you are around him, knowing for a fact that if Jeno were to jerk his hips back, your pussy would resist it. He shifts his eyes to the other’s in the room, seeing how Haechan has blatantly abandoned his phone and propped it up on the table to get his pants off, probably because he wants to see if he can fuck you after Jeno.

Renjun is just fucking gone, already having a fair share of cum on his shirt and breathing hard as he stares directly at the point of entry in a dazed and hopeful way. 

Then there’s himself. Jaemin wants to fuck something so goddamn bad that he’s actually a little upset that he left that store without a pocket pussy. If Jeno gets to do what he wants, why the fuck can’t he?

So, he not so reluctantly finds him moving to his feet and over to you– avoiding eye contact with Jeno as he kicks his pants off followed by his shirt and lounges next to you on the couch. 

He’s reluctant to reach for you at first, but when Jeno relieves that pressure inside of you for a moment and slams back in, he finds himself immediately reaching for your hand and lying it directly against his cock simply because of the sound you make.

You can barely think straight through the stars of Jeno’s cock spreading you open so slowly like this. He barely pulls out before pushing back in when you feel Jaemin grab your hand. You do your best, honestly, with all things considered. Opting to simply hold his cock tightly so that he can at least fuck into it. And that he does, especially when he hears the continuous string of whimpered moans spilling from your lips.

Jeno really does pay no mind to Jaemin because the point is, he’s the one who has his cock in you. They can take what they can get but he’s going to take exactly what he wants. 

You’re incredibly tight around him, strangling his cock in such a beautiful way despite still dripping around it. The slide is harsh when he pulls back again. He looks down, watching the way your pussy grips him before pushing back in a bit harder this time. 

“God, fuck,” He groans, gripping your legs and now pushing you back and fully onto the couch. He crawls over you, somehow managing to plant his cock even deeper when he thrusts this time. “You can barely take it–”

The way he moans breathlessly makes you feel proud despite your body feeling as if it’s on fire. Not a single mouth on your clit has gotten you close to orgasm because of his words overshadowing it. Now, though? With his cock bumping repeatedly against the softest spot in your pussy? You’re fucking shaking. 

His moans do little to help the situation as you clench tightly, panicking slightly at the familiar feeling in your gut.  You shoot up, nearly knocking heads with Jeno and abandoning Jaemin’s pathetically needy cock all together when you continue to push Jeno away. 

He barely budges, forcing his cock in and out of you, smiling at your panic. This is what he was waiting for, he can see exactly what you’re trying to do. 

“Just take it,” He laughs slowly, picking up the pace of his hips and watching that panic in your eyes. “Let it go.” 

You can’t bring yourself to do it. That burning sensation in your bladder making itself far too known when his cock bumps that spot inside of you. You aggressively shake your head. 

“Come on, let it go.” He encourages, now snaking his hand down and rubbing your clit at such speed that really, it’s not intentional. 

Your body tenses and you let out that breath you’ve been holding through this. On instinct your body pushes, it shakes, and you let go. Jeno knew exactly what he was doing throughout the day too, so he’s fucking beaming when your pussy forces him out along with the gushing liquid of your long awaited release. 

“God, so messy.” He compliments you, trying to force his cock back into place to feel that release in its full intensity. “Let it go, drench me–” He continues to talk, losing his goddamn mind at how soaked he’s getting. Fucking so harshly past your clenching walls, burying himself as deep as he can go just to feel the way your pussy jerks him off in an attempt to push him out.

He rumbles out a pleased sound, side eyeing Jaemin and the way he sits there fisting his own cock at a speed that is likely very painful. He can’t bear to turn to see the other’s though, but hopefully they know now who is calling the shots here after this.

It goes on for so long that you can barely even open your eyes by the time your body stops releasing. You choose not to comment on what just happened, knowing full well that you’ve never squirted in your life and feeling embarrassed that Jeno fucked you for a total of four minutes to force that out of you.

The relief you feel inside of you right now is…interesting to say the least. Still, you choose not to focus on the fact that Jeno is fucking beaming at you, still fucking into you, and the wet sounds below are far more telling than any porn you’ve ever watched. 

The room falls into silence save for the slapping of Jeno taking you for all you’re worth and the sounds of palms hitting the base of their assigned cocks, and– oh?

“You’re just taking it–” He groans out, short of breath as he drives himself deeper, harder, and then suddenly emptying you completely.

“Renjun,” Jeno says, lazily pumping his cock as if he didn’t just go fucking feral on top of you, and then abandon you.

You’re shocked at how fucking fast Renjun jumps up though, following orders as if he was born to do it. 

No words are spoken after that, all Jeno does is nod his head to the space between your legs and immediately you feel Renjun’s hands gripping your thighs and his tongue lapping away at the mess. 

Your legs start to shake again, feeling sensitive to the point that your hips try and fight to get away from his relentless probes of the tongue. He won’t let you go, holding you down and letting his lips follow wherever your hips go. 

You can’t get away, all you can feel is Renjun’s mouth cleaning up every single drop of that embarrassing mess that Jeno created, and the desperate whines that are coming from your lips only drive Renjun to eat harder. Making out with your clit in the way he’s wanted to do all fucking day, stiffening his tongue and tasting the insides of you, fingernails digging into your flesh just to prove how badly he needed this. 

It all happens so fast, a second orgasm approaching at the speed of light when Jeno coos out at the both of you. You both look pathetic, and it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. 

Renjun goes, and goes, and fucking goes until– you realize how close he is. 

So close that, despite already having gotten off once without so much as letting anyone know, he’s standing to his feet and instantly fisting his cock. The speed of which he does it allows your clit to swell even more at the image despite your orgasm trickling back down. 

You focus on his face and the way his brows knit together, his mouth falls open, and then– a breathy moan. You can feel it spill, dripping down your slit and onto the couch. You’re shocked he has so much to offer as you lay there shaking, watching him empty himself entirely onto you. 

And then, the fucking whiplash you feel when Jeno moves him out of the way and, quite literally, drags you onto the floor before spreading you out wide for ultimate use. 

As long as he gets his cock in you again, they can do whatever they want for their release. 

You’re so silent, never feeling more like prey than you do now when you feel Jeno tuck a cushion up under your ass and fuck Renjun’s cum right into you in one slow and languid thrust. It’s animalistic in the way this turned from them trying to pleasure you into now, them trying to pleasure themselves. 

You can barely comprehend the way Jeno forces you to take his size again. Your mouth is left hanging open and Haechan uses that as a damn invitation, pressing his length past your lips and bumping the back of your throat. He holds your head there, feeling your throat constrict around him and releasing a long awaited moan that he’s been needing since he originally got to taste you. 

Relief is what they’re getting right now, and for some reason, you don’t feel ashamed at all with the way you let them. You’re a fucking mess despite Renjun cleaning you up and then promptly dirtying you twice as much. You open your eyes through your gagging at Haechan. 

He pauses at that. Staring down at the way the tears start to run down your cheek, but you’re implying with your slow blinks that you feel good. 

“Fuck, it’s just like the video–” Haechan chokes out, fucking his hips into your mouth at a rapid speed, reminding himself of that video you shared with the girl needing to be filled in every form of the word.

And you know, Jaemin would totally take you up on that offer, forcing all of you to stop just so he can get under you and fuck into that same hole Jeno has claimed, but, well, listen.

He’s so fucking close. He’s been edging himself this entire time and he will be damned to spill anywhere near someone else’s cock. Why? Because he’s way too attracted to everyone right now and he’s a bit concerned about getting off to someone other than you right now.

Which, that’s a hurdle he can deal with when he gets to it. He, instead, takes this opportunity to go for your hand again. Obsessing over the way your weak fingers grip him in an instant, dragging up and down his length with the help of Jeno’s insistent and harsh thrusts. 

He watches the way you moan with stretched lips, the way your legs lift to wrap around Jeno’s waist to try and hold him in place and then– Oh? You gain your composure back and grip his cock like you’re hell bent on milking him dry.

He groans with a smile, sinking down on his knees next to you and letting you work him up just like you’re doing for the others. 

You’re going with your hands, with your mouth, and with that tight little pussy of yours apparently because everything else happens in a blur.

To Renjun, he takes it upon himself to grab that phone and be sure to capture every messy second of what happens. 

First one down is Haechan. Once again, he grips your head and holds your face flat against his abdomen when he releases deep into your throat. His hands shake as he struggles not to suffocate you like this. He could feel you swallow around each spurt of his cum, utterly spending him of all energy before he releases you and lazily throws himself back against your floor in a huff.

Then, Jaemin. Despite being in his head, promising himself that your hand was good enough for him to finish, he couldn’t resist the absence of a cock in your mouth at that point. He immediately replaces Haechan, being far more gentle with the way he fucks himself against your tongue. Didn’t take long at all to have his hips stutter. He was more particular about his release though, snapping his hips back when his orgasm approached and jerking himself off right there against your face. He intentionally misses your mouth, wanting to see it drip down your cheeks and chin and onto those tits that have been long abandoned by now.

Which is a shame because he really likes those.

Then, Jeno, pulling the power moves he always does. 

He waits, and he waits, changing his pace time and time again to prevent you both from releasing. He does this until you’re practically gone. Your eyes roll back, your mouth is slack, and he can tell you have no thoughts at all in your head when you start babbling. Finally, he rubs your clit.

There, he holds himself off as your orgasm sends you straight into another dimension. You tremble through it as your entire body falls limp and out of breath and only then does he pull out and release the most pornographic, deep, moan you’ve ever heard in your life.

The amount of cum he releases on you is fucking obscene. To be fair, you drenched him first but holy fuck does he lay claim to as much of you as he can. 

It spurts up to your tits, some lands on your belly, a majority of it spills directly onto your clit and thighs.

You can’t help it when your fingers move to trace some of it around even more, feeling entirely sticky both inside and out. You help him lay his claim on every other part of you, even going as far as smearing that cum on your clit and gently dipping it inside of you with the tips of your fingers.

Jeno, out of breath and fucking watching you do that takes in a pained breath.

“Don’t” He warns, amazed by you. “Don’t do shit like that.”

You tilt your head with a dazed smile, pushing your fingers in deeper as if to ask “why not?”

He shakes his head, a smile creeping up on his face.

“Always such a damn tease.” 

~

a/n: there was a lot more i wanted to add to this, such as jeno getting his chance to eat and stuff, but i was writing too much so I hope you liked it anyway!

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

Aughhhh my new obsessionn

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

Morning Routine [nsfw]

(Wakatoshi Ushijima x F!Reader)

a/n this is something i wrote and edited today in a single run >.< I wanted to release a haikyuu fluff fic for my tumblr debut but i was just possessed by something this morning and rolled outta bed and just typed this up hehe.. reblogs and comments appreciated!! i have like 12 unfinished works rn and i am busting my ass off to get those finished and published! please be on the lookout for more from me!

summary:: wakatoshi has a bad habit-- his morning routine revolves around you. more specifically, cumming to the sounds of you. warnings:: wakatoshi is highkey a creep/stalker but this fic is fluffy i promise music rec!:: 2fast by superm <AKA the song i listened to when writing> word count:: 1.9k

6:33 AM, the blinking clock reads. 

He doesn’t even need an alarm now. 

Silently, Wakatoshi rolls over, reaches over to his nightstand and grasps the two items he needs most– lube and toilet paper. 

Sighing, he sits himself up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, and, as if awaiting instructions, goes very, very still. 

In a way, he is waiting for orders. You just aren’t aware that you’re the one giving them. 

6:34 AM. A mere minute before you’re up and he can get started with his day. It doesn’t feel right, yet he can’t stop. Shaking his head, Wakatoshi shifts his weight around, impatient. 

I should stop. 

There it is. That nagging voice of reason that scolds him every morning. But really, at this point, he can’t function normally without you. 

There’s a certain amount of stress that comes with carrying the title of ace. All the papers praising his skills, cheering fangirls, and words of encouragement from coach only added to the ever growing expectations that people had for him. 

Luckily, when he was a senior in high school, Wakatoshi had discovered what best alleviates this pressure– not meditation, not Tendo’s comics, but sexual relief. 

Every morning, a quick handjob does the job, gets him into prime condition. He even checked with his primary doctor to ensure it’s safe and healthy to release everyday– “you’ll be fine, Wakatoshi, as long as you don’t consume too much porn,” the old man had advised kindly. 

He took the doctor’s words to heart– since he had discovered this method of relief, Wakatoshi had never viewed porn. Some of his teammates laughed at him when they found out he almost religiously avoids it, but he doesn’t want to contaminate his brain with potentially intrusive or disturbing visions. His imagination has always been enough, after all. 

Until he met you.

In a way, you’re both a blessing and a curse– probably the latter, he admits to himself. Because since he’d met you months ago, the only thing that’s been able to get him up is you. 

He’s never slept so well, his skin has never looked so clear, and, most importantly, his condition on court has never been better. He’s considered the possibility of you being a goddess, or possibly his guardian angel and can only rule those out with the fact that you, like him, masturbate. 

More accurately, masturbate. Every. Single. Morning. 

Then he hears it. The first soft moan. Wakatoshi glances at the time– 6:37 AM. You’re getting a slightly late start today. 

No matter. He lifts his hips, gently rolls down his gray sweats to his lower thigh. He’s already hard. He doesn’t even have to touch himself now to get excited. Your quiet voice and the thoughts of you are enough.

Poor you. You’re unaware that despite residing in a luxurious, single-person room reserved for school athletes, the walls are criminally thin. 

Wakatoshi pops open the lid of the lube, squirting a glob into his warm hand. He throws aside the bottle, barely registering as it bounces off the bed, only intent on listening into the sounds of you and your body. 

When he first grasps his cock, he has to hold back a groan. Despite it being an everyday routine, he still feels the same surge of pleasure as when he first started this nasty habit months ago. 

You're breathing slightly more heavily now, and he hears the sounds of your fingers inserting and exiting your body at a familiar pace. He follows along, carefully stroking up and down. 

He wonders where you’ve learned this from, because you always go at the perfect pace. Somedays, you go slower, teasing yourself, pausing just before you orgasm, but it’s always. 

It’s always exactly what he needs.

God. He knows this is wrong, even as he pumps faster with his left hand to keep up with your quick fingers. It feels so good. 

Next door, you’re beginning to let out soft cries.

He presses his thumb against the tip, holding back a moan of his own as he envisions you jerking him off. 

He’s seen your hand before– extra soft from being in gloves for multiple hours daily as a fencer. 

Thinking about your sport has him thinking about his, and now he’s back to thinking about how wrong this is. But he can’t help it, he’s already tried to give it up once– yielding horrible results. 

The day he held back and skipped a morning fap session with you was also the hardest day of his life. He had found himself unable to focus in lecture, especially grumpy towards Tendo’s typically bearable antics, and worst of all, all his hits were off. 

“Your schedule must be off,” his captain had said, casually tossing a ball high into the air.

“Bad sleep? Rough morning?” 

Wakatoshi had blinked at him wordlessly, wondering how the tall setter had guessed accurately. 

“It’s fine,” the third-year had reassured him, “just get back on track tomorrow.”

With that, Wakatoshi had found himself ‘back on track,’ masturbating with– no, to you– every morning. 

You’re moaning out loud now, almost whimpering. His cock pulses in his hands, veins bulging, growing hotter and heavy. Fuck, he just wants to see you right now. Your cute face, your sexy neck, gorgeous arms... 

He can almost see it now– your smooth thighs shaking and twisting as your small hands would grasp your pillow. He’d make you feel so good, he just knows it. He’d lean against you, kiss your neck and ear before whispering how good you are, how you’re making him cum, how much he loves you! 

You’d cum, and he wouldn’t stop. He’d want to see your eyes roll back over and over again, and he’d memorize every inch of your face.

Wakatoshi holds back another groan. His fisted hand feels so good against his cock, especially as it imagines it’s your tight pussy. 

Contrary to what Tendo believes (the only one to know about this bad habit) it wasn’t just your soft moans and quiet gasps that had him clenching his sheets as he lifted his hips.

He had long fallen for you, since you had first locked eyes with him in the long hallway. 

There was something about you. The way you always smile up at him gently– not in the way that other girls smile at him, as if they want something (usually his number)– but a genuine smile, eyes crinkling slightly.  

This unexpected attraction was only exacerbated when you sat next to him at the first-years’ dinner party. You smelled so fucking good and listened to his words with actual interest, asking him about his family and laughing at his lame jokes.

Unfortunately, he was also scared. 

He had heard about the countless rejections you’d dished out since the first day of university. 

Despite his perceived sexual ignorance, Wakatoshi knew everything there was to know– he was popular, too, in his own right. Tall and lean, there were girls throwing themselves on him left and right. 

But he only wanted you. 

Today, he must be extra stressed (especially with that upcoming psychology exam that he hasn’t studied for yet) because he’s so, so close, yet can’t seem to finish. 

Fine then. 

He leans over, grabs his cell phone. He only does this in emergency cases, which occurs about once or twice a month. 

Swiping up, he’s greeted by his photo gallery, opened the night prior for this cause. 

In his locked gallery awaits dozens of photos of you. 

Obviously none were taken by him! 

Wakatoshi’s a creep, but one with manners and boundaries. 

This gallery is cluttered with headshots of you from the school’s official website, silly photos of you that were sent into the college athlete’s group chat, and his favorite– photos of you from your close friend who sells them to him at fair prices, starting at $10 minimum. 

None are suggestive. But they still rile him up, maybe because the only connection he has with you is through your early morning activities. 

Wakatoshi desperately taps on the newest picture he bought for $40, quadruple the usual price– he can hear your breath hitching, and he knows you’re almost done. 

He wants to finish with you so bad. 

He was going to save this picture for next week, when he knows you’ll be gone for the fencing nationals and he’ll have to cum without you for an entire miserable, dreadful, god-forsaken week–

but he doesn’t care now. Nothing matters. 

It’s a glorious photo– when he heard your friend had it, he had grabbed her by the shoulders and demanded a price. 

You. On the beach. Under an umbrella. Lying on a purple towel.

He had paid an extra ten dollars for the motion picture– so he could watch you go from ass up onto your back, breasts jiggling and cheeky smirk in full action.

That’s enough. 

He holds his fist tight–one more pump and he’s finished, but he wants to make sure you’re cumming first– and he hears it– to his relief, you’re moaning and whispering– “‘m cumming!” 

Yeah, he’s cumming too. His hips lift again, and he drags his closed fist downwards against his wet cock. His vision blurs. 

“Fuck!” 

He can’t help it, today’s orgasm is especially strong, taking control of his full body. He’s shaking, mind barely in control as he continues to slowly pump to ride out the whole orgasm. After all, that’s what you’d do, right? You’d keep riding him, even as he finished and begged you to stop. 

Thank God we came together.

Sometimes, you bait him. More often than he likes, you switch it up, holding yourself back and not allowing yourself to cum before masturbating all over again for an even more powerful orgasm. Those days suck– when he’s already softening, cum all over his large hands, and you’re still going. 

He hears your bed squeak, and he sighs– as soon as it starts, it’s already over.

6:45 AM, his phone reads. Wakatoshi tosses it aside.

Thankfully, he had pulled his phone away in time, avoiding tainting the device with his release. A few times a month, he gets careless and cums onto an open picture of you, causing him to have to run through his shower extra fast so he can leave time to wipe down the device.

Rolling off the bed, he heads towards the shower leisurely. It’s also become a part of his routine to time his shower. It makes him feel even more intimately connected to you. 

Wakatoshi’s grateful you take long showers– you’ve never taken less than 24 minutes to shower, typically, they last about 34 minutes on average. That gives him the time to jump out first and wait to exit his room at the same time you depart from yours. 

Under the heat of warm water, he’s usually consumed with thoughts of you, impossible thoughts, like maybe you know. 

The wall between you and him is equally thin, and your hearing may be as equally good as his…

Maybe you know, and you like masturbating with him. 

And then, just as a precaution, he douses himself with cold water at the end of his shower, and those thoughts dissipate with the steam escaping towards the vent. 

Like everyday, Wakatoshi laces his shoes, sprays on his favorite cologne (that your friend claims you like) and inhales, bracing himself to see you. 

As he hears your feet shuffle, he pushes his door open first, stepping out into the warm hallway.

“Good morning, Wakatoshi!” You greet, eyes brightening. He nods, gulping. That’s an acceptable form of greeting, right?

As the two of you walk towards the elevator in silence, Wakatoshi can’t help but hope that this morning routine won’t be coming to a stop anytime soon. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n and that's a wrap :,) i really hope you liked and sorry the ending is highkey shit LOL as i kept editing i kept adding and removing more and more and honestly that's kind of my biggest weakness:: i'm never satisfied with my work and i'm scared ppl won't like it ... but i'm trying to overcome that!

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

No Sense (Sakusa Kiyoomi x F!Reader)

summary::: sakusa has never encountered a clean object, much less a clean human being. so why is it that you, the first-year new manager of Itachiyama's volleyball club is? word count::: 3.4k music rec::: love 119 - riize warning?::: sakusa's kind of an ass & can't communicate

This really isn't like him. It really isn't like the one and only Sakusa Kiyoomi to find someone attractive at first sight. More alarmingly, it really isn’t like him to find someone clean. 

He's always known he was different. While other kids chased each other and rolled around the dirt pavement of the playground, Sakusa refused to step into the sandbox or touch the playset. It was disgusting. Couldn't they see? It was only when he entered elementary school that he learned he was the only one with this ability: being able to physically see germs.

The dirtier something was--and unfortunately, most things in this universe are really fucking dirty-- the darker the glow around them became. The subway seats, the door handle to his classroom, the reusable utensils from restaurants were all surrounded by darkness, so dark he felt sick. His backpack, the clock hanging above the chalkboard, and Motoya Komori, his closest friend and cousin, all classified as semi-dirty, with a light gray surrounding them. In his life, he's only seen two things without a ring of germs. His body after a nice, long, 40 minute shower and… you.

It doesn't make sense. Even newly bought scissors still inside their packaging are slightly dirty (from being exposed to the particles of the factory they're from, duh). So why? Why is it that a random first-year didn't have that dark glow around her? New people (whose hygiene habits were a mystery) were always especially dirty, surrounded by a shadow composed of gray and black.

It just doesn't make sense.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, they're introducing the new manager today!" Ito Asahi, the 2nd-year outsider hitter, calls out as Sakusa and Komori walks in. 

Sakusa takes a glance around the gym. Today, it’s especially clean, uplifting his sour mood from being touched intentionally by some girl from class 2-B. Komori notices and smiles playfully.

"Looks like you can forgive and forget Nakamura now, right?" He murmurs. 

"Who?"

Komori sighs, feeling sorry for the short-haired girl in love with his brainless cousin. 

"Never mind."

"We're welcoming our new manager. She just transferred," Iizuna, Itachiyama’s captain, says as he rolls out the volleyball cart from the closet.

"Be nice,” he says, glaring at the club’s center.

Sakusa frowns under his mask, forehead wrinkling.

"You're the reason why Azuma-san quit. I'll be watching you." 

Sakusa grimaces harder. Nothing escapes Iizuna's line of sight, unfortunately. It pays off during matches, but outside the court it’s nothing but a hindrance.

Besides, it wasn't his fault that the grubby-handed manager had repeatedly mixed his jersey with everyone else's, loaned his water bottle to the new first-year players, and, worst of all, used his phone to make a call.

The final straw was when the 3rd-year girl had handed him a used towel. Less than 30 seconds after the exchange, Sakusa had her pressed against the wall and whispered some not-so-kind, germ related insults that led to her filing for her retirement the next morning.

"Who is it?" Komori asks, flopping onto the floor and beginning his stretches. Iizuna grins, rolling a ball in his hands. Iizuna knew you well as a distant family friend, and knows you'll fit in well.

"She's a first-year with a ton of experience as the former manager of Ushimi Middle School," Haga, the backup setter, cuts in, leaning over to help Komori reach his toes. 

Iizuna’s response fades out as Sakusa's mental encyclopedia goes to work.

"Ushimi Middle. Bokuto Kotaro," He says, taking off his mask. Haga smirks, knowing the wing spiker had memorized the magazine introducing the top Japanese high school players.

"Yeah, she's close with Bokuto. They apparently dated," Hirota chimes in, emerging from the stands. Hirota, never one to shy away from gossip, watches as Sakusa raises his eyebrows.

Disgusting. You dated that energetic, owl-freak who looks like someone who doesn't wash their hands after eating? You must be at his level of contamination. Internally groaning, Sakusa can only hope you'd wear gloves around him.

"Relax," Komori says, “we don’t know if that’s true.”

"That means she likes older guys, huh... think I have a chance?" Asahi says, promptly being slapped on the back of the head by Iizuna.

"Group up!" A shout from their coach, Hirata-sensei, gets the boys to line up in three rows. Aces and third years at the front, first years at the back. Iizuna walks next to the coach, holding a new manager jacket.

It's silent for a moment, and the door swings open as Sakusa picks at his thin cotton shirt. Why is there lint on it? He should get a new lint roller, this brand wasn't cutting it. And switching detergent brands was also a mistake, this new one makes his skin itch…

The first years begin murmuring behind him.

Sakusa refuses to look up, though. He's not ready to see the grime surrounding you.

"Hello," a voice calls out. "I'm l/n y/n. I'm a first year, and I transferred this semester. I previously was manager of Ushimi Middle. I'll try my best... If you have any concerns or special requests, please don't be shy to talk to me."

Cheers, and Sakusa hears Iizuna welcoming you and passing you the jacket. Coach suddenly calls him out.

"This is Sakusa Kiyoomi, our ace. Be wary as you approach him and his belongings." 

Sakusa looks up to glare at his coach and the newbie.

He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times just in case.

You're clean. Clean. There's no ring of germs floating around you. It's what he sees after getting out of the shower. It's not possible.

"Kiyoomi?" Coach says. Sakusa blinks. What?

"Uh. I'm Sakusa Kiyoomi." He hears his teammates behind him whispering and giggling, no doubt misunderstanding his shock.

You smile, and he feels his gut twisting.

"I've heard a lot about you, Sakusa. I look forward to working with you! I'll take care of your things."

You're kind of cute. He doesn't know how else to describe you, he's never examined a girl. He's seen many girls in his life, more than a dozen have approached him in just this past year-- all quickly rebuked. He's not a virgin (thinking about his past experiences makes him gag), but something makes him feel like a shy boy experiencing his first love.

Your eyes are bright and your smile is almost blinding. When has he gotten so cheesy?

As coach introduces the other aces, Sakusa can't take his eyes off of you as you giggle at Komori's stupid introduction (he suddenly feels a surge of anger towards his innocent cousin). 

It doesn't make sense.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's been almost a month since you've begun your duties as manager, and it's going great! You couldn't have asked for a better group of players. 

And yet, despite the easy-going attitude of the overall team, one thing (yes, he doesn't even qualify as a human) always messes with you.

Sakusa Kiyoomi.

The only student who you were not able to warm up to. Everyone else on the team was incredibly friendly, requesting you call them by their first names. Tsukasa takes good care of you, Motoya purchases the always-sold-out cafeteria sandwiches for you, and Asahi helps you prepare for exams. But Sakusa refuses to even look your way and snaps when you touch his towel or water bottle (even with the disposable gloves you purchased at the mini-mart). 

It hurts, being shunned by someone who you admire so much. You've known about him and his skills since middle school, and when you were accepted into Itachiyama, you were thrilled at the prospect of supporting someone so dedicated to his passion. But this player (who you curse internally) glares at you, watching as you head towards the benches.

I won't touch your stuff, relax, you think to yourself as you pick up Haga's bag. What more could you do? You've tried different methods to approach him, washing your hands more often than usual, using hand sanitizer as you approach him, and even changing your shampoo and body wash to a brand he prefers (thanks to Motoya’s intel). 

And yet, he still stares at you like you’re a freak.

“Hey, be careful.” You jump as Sakusa presses up behind you, staring at his sports tape in your gloved hand. You frown. For a germaphobe who despises you, he sure gets close sometimes.

“I am!” You snap, and despite your anger, you gently place the tape into his bag. With that, you turn away quickly, running off to refill his water.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Yeah, you’re an asshole.” Komori says, sighing. “You’re acting like a fucking first grader, Kiyoomi, one of those kids who teases the girl they like.”

Sakusa nearly drops his sandwich. 

Really? Is that how he comes across? 

“Is it obvious?” 

Komori’s mouth drops. He had simply been teasing. Who had replaced his cold and calculated cousin with this honest and socially-conscious Kiyoomi?

“Wait, really? You really like her?” Komori leans in. 

Ugh. Sakusa pulls away quickly, packing up his belongings as the bell rings. 

No. He’s just interested in why you’re clean. 

That’s the only reason. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“y/n!” Sakusa barks. You flinch. He’s in an especially prickly mood thanks to the upcoming practice match with Nekoma. 

Without hesitation, you begin to sanitize your hands as you rush over to where he’s sitting.

“Wipe my face for me,” he demands, much to your shock as you near him. His gorgeous face (sculpted by God himself, no doubt) is covered in a light layer of sweat.

You gape, eyeing the towel folded perfectly on top of his bag. Never in the past three months have you seen anyone touching Sakusa, not even with gloves on. Even Sakusa himself rarely touches his own face, only to put on and take off his mask. 

“Hurry up,” Sakusa breathes impatiently, placing his bottle on the floor. 

Wait, are you really allowed to touch him? What’s going on? Are you in an alternate universe?

“Uh–” you fumble as your scattered mind tries to collect itself. “Let me get my glov-”

“Shut up. Just wipe it off,” he says, closing his eyes and bowing his head. 

“Idiot,” he murmurs. That snaps you back, and a rush of adrenaline fills your body as you gulp.

Time’s moving in slow motion. 

You carefully pick up his towel, a soft, red item that always smells of Sakusa’s laundry detergent and is free of lint. 

You reach up, gently patting his face. Starting from his chin, then above his thin lips, the sides of his nose, his forehead where those adorable two moles lie. 

“Done,” you whisper, taking a step back. You let out a huge sigh of relief, realizing you’ve been holding your breath this whole time. 

Sakusa’s eyes slide open and he peers down directly into yours.

Again, time stops. 

As he wordlessly turns away, you feel your stomach fluttering. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Why does he treat you different?

Your friends can only think of a few logical explanations to his strange behavior over this past month. 

“He’s warmed up to you,” one of your friends proposes. 

Another one scoffs. 

“He probably got scolded by the coach for being rude to you.”

Your best friend, Yuyuka, has the most realistic theory. 

“He was replaced by aliens.”

Yes, that must be it. Because wiping his sweat for him, refilling his water bottle gloveless, and handling his club jacket and jersey has become your responsibility. 

You so badly want to ask Sakusa–no, Kiyoomi, which he casually demanded you to refer to him as, why. 

Why does he let you do these things? Why does he allow you to use his precious phone to make emergency calls? Why do the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at the sight of you scrubbing his favorite volleyball clean? 

Why did he hug you secretly after the team’s victory against Aoba Johsai last week?

You still can’t forget the way his slightly damp body held you for one, two, three seconds behind the gym before he gently shoved you away.

 “What could it be, Komori…” you breathe aloud, head clouded with thoughts of Kiyoomi and his gorgeous face. 

Your trusty informant, Komori, internally gags. While he loves you and Kiyoomi, it sure is irritating to have you gush about Kiyoomi to him in one ear and Kiyoomi ranting about you in the other. 

Could you two just confess already? Komori thinks, sighing. 

“Honestly? You’re basically dating already,” Komori retorts, glancing through the door to make sure his gossip-hungry teammates are out of range.

“Just ask him out. I swear it’ll go well.”

Your head snaps up towards the talented libero. 

“No! I mean, I just can’t be sure… It’s just so weird! Like he hates me and sometimes he’s nice, but then he just pushes me away…” 

Komori rubs his temples. That stupid ass tsundere. 

“Oh! By the way… y/n, are you also… a germaphobe?” You frown. 

“Of course not. Why? Has he asked? Does he ask about me?” You ask, eyes brightening. Komori shakes his head. 

“It’s just weird. I mean, Kiyoomi said that you’re clean.” Your eyebrows furrow. 

What does that mean?

As if reading your thoughts, Komori begins to explain. 

“That guy… he can see germs. It’s weird. I mean, he thinks even I’m dirty, but he said from the start that you’re–”

“Komori!” A furious Sakusa shouts from the court. “Break’s been over for 29 seconds!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Listen, I’ve figured it out,” Yuyuka says in a whisper. The two of you are hiding at the top of the stairwell, plotting the ‘ultimate Sakusa Kiyoomi x l/n y/n plan.’

“Men… they require a push-and-pull. You’ve always been at his mercy, right? Since the beginning you’ve always admired him.” You nod intently. 

“Exactly! So now you’re gonna ignore him.”

You squeeze your hands together. Could you really do that, though? Wouldn’t that just irritate him? But more importantly, you didn’t want to do anything to hinder his athletic performance on court–

“Stop overthinking!” Yuyuka scolds as you pout. 

“But…” 

“You got this! I swear, this’ll work. If he likes you, he’ll ask you directly what the problem is.”

As you head down the stairs and towards the volleyball gymnasium, you can’t help but wonder why, despite her romantic wisdom, Yuyuka has never been in a relationship. 

–-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since you’ve talked to Sakusa, touched his face, handled his water bottle and ball and had your hands on his sports tape. 

Since you’ve begun this ignore-Kiyoomi-until-he-confesses nothing has happened, other than him glaring at you from across the court every moment you’re in his sight.

Yuyuka’s words ring in your mind. See, he doesn’t like you. You’re always the one to initiate! He doesn’t care about you, girl. Just let him go. 

You feel tears welling in your eyes as you mop. Seriously, why are you even this upset over a situationship? Pathetic. He never liked you in the first place. It was just a one-sided misunderstanding. Even when you had walked home together, after all, it was at Komori’s insistence. 

But then why had he purchased a Christmas gift for you?

Wait, it couldn’t have been that he had just received those chocolates from other girls and pawned them off to you, right? That sounds like something he'd do.

Fucking asshole. 

“I can find someone else,” you mutter to yourself. “Yeah… I can find anyone else, stupid Kiyoomi…”

Lost in your thoughts, you envision yourself dumping him into a pit of mud. That makes you smile.

“Watch out!” 

You don’t get the chance to react as a blue volleyball flies towards you at what looks like 500 mph. 

“Oof!”

The ball collides with your left shoulder, sending you backwards. You stumble and fall on your butt, humiliated and in pain. 

Stupid Kiyoomi!

Now you know he really hates you– no one on the team hits this hard!

“y/n!” The team is rushing towards you as you clench your shoulder. 

“I’ll take you–” Iizuna calls out, but he reaches you first. 

“Kiyoomi.” You whimper.

Sakusa’s panting, and bright red, but without hesitation, leans down and sweeps you into his arms, bridal-carry style.  

“Here we go,” he mumbles as he takes you away, towards the back of the gym. 

You close your eyes, burying your head in your hands, shoulder throbbing. God! Anyone but Kiyoomi would have been fine, why’d it have to be him, and why’d they all have to see you being wiped out by a single ball, so embarrassing…

“You’re a dumbass, huh,” Sakusa says as he lowers you onto the bench. Your eyes burn. It’s his fault, and he’s degrading you? 

“Seriously. How many times have we told you not to fucking stand there, it’s dangerous, and watch your positioning on court–” 

“It’s your fault!” You shout at him. The loud gym awkwardly goes quiet.

Sakusa’s eyes widen, but you just can’t stop yourself. 

“You hit it! Why’s it my fault? You’ve been ignoring me!”

Now tears are really streaming down your face. 

Your bottom lip is quivering, and Sakusa hates himself that even in your vulnerable state, he’s only consumed with thoughts of biting it. 

“But it wasn’t– I didn’t–” Panicked, he looks around wildly, making eye contact with his cousin, who shakes his head as he ushers the rest of the team out of the gym. 

Now, in silence, it feels like for the first time, Sakusa can really see you. Not as just the strangely clean manager, but as a confused and heartbroken girl. 

“Sorry.”

You take in a small inhale, wiping your eyes. Sakusa reaches forward, grasping your hands. He gently taps your tears away with the sleeve of his sweater. In a shift motion, you suddenly find yourself in his lap, to your surprise. 

“Kiyoomi! I’m not clean,” you mumble, “I fell on the floor of the gym, in a spot where I haven’t mopped yet–”

“I don’t care.”

You sit here awkwardly, relishing the feeling of the body heat radiating from his chest. 

“Um… ” you start, squeezing your hands into fists.

“I like you. Sorry. I’ve– well, I’m an asshole. I know. And I’ve tried really hard to be more open. But it’s really hard. Not that that’s an excuse, Komori already chewed me out, so I know already. I fucked up, but since the start–” 

You can’t help it, you’re pressing your lips against his. 

“Wait, y/n, I–” You lean in again, twisting your body carefully so you’re sitting sideways.

You reach up, taking his face into your hands. His curly hair is even softer than you anticipated, no doubt thanks to his carefully selected conditioner. 

Sakusa takes a deep breath, looking into your clear eyes. It’s like you’re seeing into him, through him, at the real him– a socially restricted germaphobe riddled with flaws. 

But it’s as if you don’t care. 

He’ll tell you about his problems later, but for now, he closes his eyes and lets you steal his lips again. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ooh, it’s so loud,” You whisper to your boyfriend, grasping his hand tightly. As you glance over, you can’t help but smile as you study Sakusa masked up and wrapped up in his hoodie. 

It’s the Spring Tournament opening ceremony, meaning that there’s a hell ton of dirty, dirty people. He feels like throwing up, typically he stands in the corner, away from the masses of excited athletes and viewers, but he just doesn’t want to leave your side, especially because who he knows is here– the team’s first opponent, Fukurodani, that boasts a dirty simpleton who also happens to be your ex. 

“y/n, I feel sick,” he groans, slumping against you. You giggle, massaging the top of his head with your fingertips. 

“y/nnn!” A loud shout rings down the hallway. A familiar silhouette– 

“Kotaro!” A grin spreads across your face as your ex and trusty partner in crime, Bokuto Kotaro, skips down the hall towards where you’re standing with Sakusa. 

“Aw, it’s been so long, y/n, I’ve missed you!” Bokuto shouts, excitable as ever, inching closer. “Seriously, why’d you have to switch districts? Lemme get a hug!” 

You’re shaking off your boyfriend’s arm when Sakusa suddenly shifts, creating a barrier between you and the owl-headed athlete. 

“Gross.” 

Bokuto looks taken aback, frowning as he identifies the grumpy man on your shoulder.��

“Sure, sure, I’ll go wash my hands before touching her,” he grumbles, spinning on his heels. 

“No need,” Sakusa says, pulling you closer as Bokuto marches away, arms folded. 

“You can ask for a hug when she has to console your loss.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n urgh i give up. sorry this is so shit. i give up. i've been working on this for so fucking long and it's just so bad. so cringe. but hope you liked or this helped you pass your time LOL this is probably the worst thing i've ever written

*i hate this so much i just skimmed thru it in my final read-through so there may be errors if there are just lemme know pls*

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

somethin' new (miya twinsxF!reader) <NSFW>

a/n i'm working on like 3 other fics rn but i found this in my drafts and thought it was good enough to publish (with a LOT of polishing ofc). I'm new to smut writing so I'm very insecure abt this but i hope u enjoy

summary::: your older brother atsumu likes watching porn. and the twins like trying shit out on you. aka porn w plot osamu focus bc he's best boy word count::: 2.9k warnings/triggers!!!::: non-con, step-cest, stockholm syndrome-ish, the miya twins are really fucking mean and possessive, double penetration (my fave! <33)

People think the Miyas are scariest when they lose, when they're arguing with each other, or when they're distracted during a serve. 

But you know them better–actually, you know them best.

They're scariest when they're fucking you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I was watchin' porn yesterday and I wanna try somethin' new," Atsumu announces as he walks through into the living room, tossing his volleyball bag onto the couch. 

Osamu rolls his eyes, continuing to flip through his textbook at the kitchen table. 

"Why the hell would you watch porn when you got ‘er right here?" Osamu snaps back, hardly glancing up. Atsumu’s eyes shift to you as you squirm on Osamu’s lap uncomfortably. 

Osamu continues casually stroking your pussy with one hand as the other holds you down. 

You’re shaking– he’s been at this for twenty minutes now, reading his lecture notes as he continuously edges you. You haven’t given in yet, though. 

You know he’s just waiting for you to beg him for it.  

It's still hard to believe that you’re dripping on his lap and he won’t stop memorizing vocabulary for his upcoming exam.

As a final year university student, Osamu’s been under a lot of pressure. What better way to alleviate it than to play with his favorite toy?

Atsumu takes in the scene in front of him, smirking when he makes eye contact with you. You quickly turn away.

Although the twins share you, it still feels wrong when one of them catches you in the act with the other.

“Ya sure you don’t even wanna hear? I know you’ll like it, ya freak,” Atsumu says, now glancing at his brother.

You shiver at Atsumu’s words and Osamu frowns as he moves his hand away from your lap.

"Fine. Out with it, asshole," he murmurs, finally distracted from his studies. He shoves his papers aside, full attention on you now. From the corner of your eye, you see Atsumu light up. 

It’s almost comical to see the twins this way.

Always fighting, always competing— but when it comes to you they're a single organism.

"I was watchin' my favorite porn star-- ah, don't be jealous, y/n! I only watch her for inspiration because she's freaky-- and I saw her take two in one hole." 

Your eyes widen.

You wouldn't be able to take it.

"No, please," you whisper, holding your breath. Osamu’s body flexes under you reflexively.

When have you become such a pussy?

You were always the outspoken, little step-sister who fought her brothers tooth and nail for the last slice of cake. 

Nobody could have excepted them to fuck the brat out of you within a month of moving in together.

Osamu surprisingly agrees with you.

"Nah. I'm not into rubbin' dicks with you," he says, both hands on your chest now. The thought of being that close to a naked Atsumu makes him grimace.

Atsumu rolls his eyes.

"I'm not into that shit either, but I wanna see her take it." You wince as Osamu pinches your nipples, hard. He's gone completely silent, which isn't a good sign. 

“It’ll be a little painful, but I know she’ll be able to pull through,” Atsumu continues, carefully watching Osamu’s expression.

The Miya fans would be shocked to discover that Osamu's a sadist, more so than Atsumu. 

While Atsumu wipes away your tears, Osamu enjoys watching them stream down your face.

When Osamu doesn't respond, Atsumu sighs and rubs his head, frustrated. He’d been looking forward to this since last evening, when he had to jerk off to the sounds of you and Osamu going at it.

"Fine then. I'll try it myself with a toy. I bought a new dildo for her, ya know. And it's bigger than you."

No further words are needed—Osamu pulls his hands out of your shirt, and you feel him physically fuming behind you.

He's possessive, stupidly so, and hates when Atsumu buys you disgusting silicon toys and shit. 

He really doesn't understand his twin sometimes. 

Why buy toys, why watch porn, when you, his adorable, precious little bitch, exists? 

Osamu would rather lose a game at nationals before you cum off a piece of vibrating plastic. 

And he won't admit it, but deep down he's scared. Scared that it'll satisfy you better than he can. 

The less competition, the better. He's already competing with Atsumu on a daily basis.

Atsumu, who can make you squirt faster than he can. Atsumu, who makes you laugh. Atsumu, who, Osamu knows, you favor.

Maybe it's because the little shit handles you just a little better in bed. 

Osamu picks you up from classes, purchases expensive jewelry and takes you out to get sweets every week, you still shy away from his touches.

So Osamu has given up-- if you're gonna hate him anyways, he'll do whatever he wants. 

And that’s why you’re always left a humiliatingly wet mess whenever he uses you. 

"Fine. Ya better take a shower first, you fuckin' freak," Osamu says, pushing you off his lap. 

Atsumu smirks, cracking his fingers and wrists.

"You be preppin' her, 'Samu."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It feels good, but you don't want to admit it.

You’re lying on your shared king-sized bed, trying to hold back tears and moans as Osamu eats you out, pumping three of his long fingers into you quickly. 

Between the two of them, Atsumu can get you to cum faster. But Osamu gets you to cum harder. His every move is calculated–from every lick to every moment of rest he gives you.

Osamu's on a mission to get you to beg.

"Samu, please," you breathe, gripping the bed sheets. You feel him smiling, and you grip at the bedsheets. All the teasing he’d been doing before Atsumu got home is quickly catching up to you. 

“What was that?” He asks, his dark eyes taking in the conflicting emotions washing over your face. When you don’t respond, he leans back and slaps your pussy, hard. Your eyes widen in pain, and you can’t help the squeak that you release, to his satisfaction.

You’re wet, and he knows it’s not a fluke. You want him. He hasn’t trained you over this past year for nothing.

“‘You aren’t bein’ too mean, are ya?” Atsumu asks, stepping out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. He’s shamelessly naked, hard from hearing your cries from the shower. 

Atsumu surveys your body, admiring the marks his twin has placed on you. 

A small part of him is thankful his brother is willing to play the role of mean cop. Atsumu gets to reap the rewards of consoling you—although he too enjoys seeing you covered in bruises and left in tears.

He’d never hurt you himself though. He likes cuddling with you and loves the way you laugh at his lame jokes too much. 

Osamu snaps him back to reality, standing up as he wipes his shiny lips with the back of his hand.

“She’s ready.”

Atsumu grins. His brother is strangely meek today---probably from you refusing to go to his practice game the other day. You had enjoyed a nice picnic date with Atsumu instead (although that ended with you shaking and moaning in Samu’s arms that night).

“I guess I’m first?”

“Ladies first.”

“You’re a bitch, ya know that?” Atsumu spits, rubbing his dick with his left hand and soaking his right in your wetness. Osamu laughs, pulling off his shirt in a smooth motion.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop shaking. The thought of having two of them in a single hole is almost too much to wrap your head around. With Osamu’s length and Atsumu’s girth, you’re sure you won’t be able to take it. 

What if you tear? Surely they’d stop if you beg hard enough.

For now, you can’t do anything but accept this. 

From what you’ve observed, when the twins are playful in bed, you shouldn’t resist.

Lost in your thoughts, you gasp as Atsumu yanks you towards him—he’s sitting at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. You gulp as you find yourself hovering above his dick, facing Osamu, who’s busy tossing Atsumu's towel onto the ground.

“Aw, baby. Calm down, won’t ya? You know it hurts more when you’re nervous.” 

Atsumu brings your face towards him, grip so tight you couldn’t turn away if you wanted to. 

His rough hands, thick from years of volleyball training, gently smoothes out your hair, and he begins to press kisses on your jawline. The motion is so welcoming that you momentarily forget he’s the one to propose this in the first place.

Osamu sighs, frustrated.  

“Get on with it, won’t ya?”

Atsumu frowns at him, pulling away from you. 

“And that, ‘Samu, is exactly why she likes me better than ya,” he says, slamming you onto him in a single motion.

It hurts!

You groan, fingers twitching. It hurts already, he’s especially hard today. What’re you going to do when it gets to the meaner twin?

Atsumu pets your clit, grinning as he feels you begin to melt into his chest. He knows exactly how you like it. That spongy spot, right… there. Your groan turns into a moan as he shifts his hips, aiming to reach deep inside of you. 

Osamu doesn’t break eye contact with you as he slowly gets onto the bed. He’s in no hurry, unfortunately. 

If he wasn't such an asshole, you'd find him hot.

You really do love his gorgeous eyes and gray hair. 

"Stop bein' a dick and get on with it," Atsumu says. He scowls at his brother, who continues to simply stare at you. 

Both of them know Osamu doesn't want to actually hurt you. He'd never break you.

You're too precious.

"W-what?" Your shaky voice intrudes into his thoughts. 

You've gone red and stopped clawing at Atsumu's unrelenting hand.

Did he say that out loud? He must have, because Atsumu is laughing now.

Fuck. 

This isn't the time to be embarrassed, though.

Osamu reaches forward, lining his dick next to his brother's. 

To be honest, he was never opposed to the idea.

Yeah, Atsumu's a disgusting pig, but he's his twin. 

There's an unbreakable bond between them and knowing they share so much DNA sometimes makes Osamu feel as though they're just one person in two bodies. He’s honestly willing to try anything that Atsumu proposes (except get him off, of course, he’ll leave that to you).

Taking a deep breath, he begins to push, using his precum as lube.

Fuckkkkkk.

Osamu's pretty sure everyone had the same thought at that exact moment.

It's so tight. It's so warm. It’s hurting you, for sure. But it feels too good to stop. 

For you, it’s suffocating, being stuck between two muscular twins. And, once again showcasing their unspoken connection, they begin to carefully move in and out of you at the same pace. 

It hurts now, and tears are burning behind your eyes, but there’s that little voice in your head telling you to just relax and enjoy it—it’ll feel good.

Why? Why does it have to feel so good when this is all wrong?

Fundamentally, twins shouldn't be sharing the same girl, at the same time.

That same girl should especially not be their little sister whom they've been older brothers to for a decade.

But what does it matter now?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atsumu's in heaven. This is better than he imagined, actually. He’s decided that he’ll take the easy route, playing with your soft breasts and sucking hickies into your neck. His dick has gone still as he simply enjoys the fast pace Osamu fucks you at. 

While there’s a slight burn against his cock every time Osamu moves, the pain only intensifies the pleasure. 

Osamu’s eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on watching his dick pump into you. He wants to curse out Atsumu for being so lazy, but at the same time— he’s always liked to be in charge. 

That voice was right, because it’s feeling good now. Your brain buzzes pleasantly and you’re losing control of your legs. 

Atsumu's moaning into your ear, Osamu's grunting with every push, and you feel hyper aware of every motion as you're slipping away. 

The dull lights of the room begin to blur.

You're crying now. Your toes are curling and drool slips out of the corner of your mouth. How stupid you must look right now.

How long has it been? 5 minutes? 5 hours?

It has to be at least that long or else the numbness that you’re beginning to experience down there doesn’t make any sense.

Atsumu has resumed his efforts in making you feel good, overstimulating every fiber of your being as he wipes away your tears and nuzzles your neck. It’d be an innocent gesture if he wasn’t rubbing circles onto your clit.

Osamu has been working like a well-oiled machine, admiring your broken face and how good his lower half feels, circulating adrenaline throughout his body. 

Just looking at you, choked up and crying, is enough. 

"I'm cumming..." he whispers. No, he’s not. He can’t. 

Not before his stupid twin does. And certainly not before you do. 

"Come on, baby, beg for it," Atsumu whispers into your ear, as if he can read his brother’s thoughts. 

Maybe they do have some sort of telepathy. Atsumu reaches forward and gently pushes down on your lower belly. You groan immediately. The slight pressure has your walls rubbing against their dicks even tighter now, and Osamu’s now grinding against that spot you love.

You’re gonna cum. Or pass out. Maybe both. 

"Please!" You shout. Fuck pride. "Please, please, please, ‘Samu, please cum."

Annnd he’s coming. Osamu reaches out, grasps your neck, and squeezes. 

Your cries are the only thing he can hear, loud enough to drown out Asumu’s words, and he’s losing sensation in his hips—

“Fuck, I love you, y/n…” Osamu says, admiring the way your eyes roll to the back of your skull. 

Even as your eyesight flickers, you make out this confession, lips automatically parting to moan. 

You tighten as Osamu releases in you, Atsumu following suit shortly after (something he’ll bully Osamu about later, no doubt).

There’s a certain stillness in the room as Osamu immediately slips out of you and turns away. Post-nut clarity’s setting in, and he realizes he’s not as fond of dick rubbing with Atsumu as he was a few minutes ago. 

Atsumu’s still panting in your ear, and, after a few moments of rest, gently eases himself out of you. Unlike his usual self (who insists on cuddling with you after the deed, no matter how much bodily fluid you’re covered in) he allows you to roll away from him, still recoiling from the strong orgasm.

Surprisingly, the lazy asshole leaps off the bed first today. 

“I’ll be taking a shower first. Alone.”

You muster enough energy to glance at him, then at Osamu. It’s so awkward you’d run out of the apartment if you could. 

Osamu knows his brother is being especially kind today, letting him speak to you in private.

As Atsumu strides towards the bathroom, he catches Osamu’s eye and winks, smirking at Osamu’s middle finger.

Osamu can basically hear his twin’s inner voice— this is just payment for the fuck.

You shut your eyes, registering the closing bathroom door. Now that the pleasure has subsided, you realize that you’re just in pain. Your chest and hips, especially, from Atsumu’s relentless teasing and Osamu’s rough handling. 

Damn it. You’re meeting with your friends tomorrow, how’re you going to hide these marks on your neck from them? 

From the way Osamu had choked you, you’re almost certain there’s going to be a bruise. You do have that leftover, crusty concealer that Atsumu got you a few months back—

“y/n, do you hate me?”

Osamu’s deep voice interrupts your thoughts. 

Your mouth instinctively opens, but you hesitate.

No. 

“No.”

Because you really don’t. Despite everything they put you through, you can’t bring yourself to hate them. 

Osamu lets out a silent sigh of relief, turning back to look at you. 

“Do you love me?”

You can’t answer him as quickly this time. 

Osamu and Atsumu were your brothers. They had been by your side for all of your childhood.

 They were the first ones to teach you how to ride a bike, how to multiply and divide, how to cook rice. 

They had been your first love. And even now… you’re relieved they’re with you, not in the bedrooms of other girls.

“I… do,” you admit. Fuck. You’re crazy. You know that. But you do. 

Even though you don’t want to admit it, you’re just as twisted as your brothers. You bury your head under the covers as the heat rushes to your face. 

“I wanna marry you.” Osamu suddenly announces, ripping back the blanket you’re holding to your face. He examines your blushing cheeks, and reaches down to grab your hand. 

Yeah, it’d look much fucking better with a shiny ring. He should look into a jewelry maker first thing tomorrow morning.

“Nope. I already called dibs, ‘Samu,” the blonde haired setter interjects, throwing open the door as if awaiting his cue. 

“Like months ago. Actually, years ago.”

Osamu frowns, prepared to retort back that actually, remember that you didn’t even like her when we first met her? You told dad you didn’t want him to marry mom because you didn’t want a sister, you little–

“We’re all Miyas here,” you say, predicting another fight. Despite your tiredness, you can't help but smile. 

Yeah, you do love them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n fun fact: i wrote this while meeting with my business class project group two semesters ago >.< depraved shit FR.. also no final read-through as usual bc i'm literally cringed out by my own writing LOL

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

here for you (yan!Suna RinatroxF!reader)

a/n this has been a wip for so long... enjoy! i'm working on a atsumu [nsfw] fic so be on the lookout for that next (unless adhd takes over and i start working on a different one instead)!

summary:: As a pro athlete and model, he's nice enough. And yet...there’s something in your gut that says you should stay away. word count:: ~4.4k warning(s):: non-con (no smut/SFW), suna's a grade A creep/stalker, yandere!!, isolation, stockholm syndrome, horror??(i tried to make this scary but it's really not lol) Music rec:: joke's on you - charlotte lawrence

As an aspiring journalist, your dreams had all but come true when you were hired as an intern at the most prestigious sports media center in Tokyo. 

You get to shake hands with athletes you see on television daily and most importantly, you had received an actual assignment. 

Gone were the days of running around to get your manager coffee and spending the day shredding documents. Instead, you had been tasked with creating an in-depth piece into the most popular athlete of the year— Suna Rintaro of EJP Raijin. 

You still vividly remember your first time meeting him. 

You’d been star-struck— a tall, gorgeous man you had only ever seen through a screen was standing in front of you. 

Smiling. Holding out his beautiful hand for you to shake. 

Despite his casual demeanor, there was something off about him. Maybe it was your nerves, or the cold air circulating in the office, but there was a tug in your stomach that was warning you. 

At the time, you had plastered an excited grin on your face and scolded yourself. 

But looking back— his eyes were quite cold, weren’t they?

You just can’t explain why you feel sick whenever you see him. In fact, despite the great task ahead of you—interviewing and writing up an article on Suna— you had been avoiding him. 

There’s just something in you that dreads looking into his sharp green eyes.

It doesn’t help that in spite of your best efforts, you strangely run into him everywhere-- on and off the court.

“Suna?” 

Your voice comes out squeaky and clearly nervous.

Are your eyes deceiving you? Why would he be here, in the middle of the cereal aisle, at the small grocery store next to your dingy apartment? You have to do a double take before you can confirm that yes, it is in fact him.

It’s late, and it’s only you, Suna, and the tired store manager. Though, at this moment, it feels like it’s only the two of you in this world. 

“Oh. Hey, y/n,” Suna says casually, flashing you his famous smirk— the one that has his fans screaming and crying. He’s on his knees, reading the back of a granola cereal. 

Suna turns back to the aisle in front of him, finally placing a box into his basket. Your brain registers it as your favorite flavor (the unhealthy, chocolate-y type that you’re sure athletes shouldn’t be eating). 

What a coincidence. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You live on the edge of Tokyo, an unfortunate 30 minute subway ride to get to the sports arena you’re working at. And you know, from Suna’s player profile, that he lives in a luxurious high-ceiling apartment only a few blocks away from there. 

“What do you mean?” Suna asks, frowning. He seems genuinely confused. 

Are you the crazy one? 

“Oh, it’s just… so random, you know?” 

Your throat is tightening now and you feel unable to even swallow.

There are alarms blaring inside of your head, as if every fiber is irrationally telling you to run.

Suna glares at you, sharp eyes studying your smaller stature. 

God. Another reason why you don’t like this man— he’s just too difficult to communicate with. 

“You live quite far away, right?” 

Seconds pass and you’re beginning to worry you’ve said something wrong or offensive when Suna finally stands, sighing as he turns toward the registers. 

“No. I just moved to Kamikitazawa.” 

You feel that tingle again. 

“What a coincidence!” You say, recovering quickly.

Fuck. You sound especially stupid right now. 

But could you help it? Suna, a multi-millionaire, moved into your apartment building? The one inhabited by broke college students and poor retirees? 

Was he struggling financially? Did he have a secret child like some rumors alleged? Wait, is he—

“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

Suna and you are standing at the cash register now, and he turns to gently smile at you. You feel yourself softening. 

Why were you scared, anyways? He’s a world-famous athlete and model. 

Your premonitions have been wrong in the past— like when you thought your boss, Kuroo, would be upset with you accidentally deleting his PC files. 

“I see,” you murmur, “well… the apartment is kind of… there’s a lot of problems, you know?” 

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You sound like a broken radio.

There's an awkward silence as you and Suna both try to find the words to say. 

This is why you hate talking to him, he expects you to do all the work!

"You should know that the third elevator isn't that good. It always gets stuck on floor two. And the garbage chute at the end of every hall is kind of hard to open. You have to," you make a pulling motion, "really yank, ya know?"

Silence. Suna stares at you blankly.

You're just an absolute loser, aren't you?

He's gonna cringe, or worse, tell your advisor that you're being overfamiliar with him, an athlete 5 years your senior…

As you stand in your cheap winter boots, shivering, Suna suddenly laughs.

It's not the quiet chuckle you see him release when he's joking with Komori, but a head-throwing, mouth widening laugh.

"Uh..." you stutter, nervous.

It takes a full minute before he finally stops, silently pink at the face.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," he says, lifting his shopping basket. 

You nod repeatedly, nerves subsiding.

"Wanna walk back together?" Suna asks. 

You hesitantly nod. Why not? It's late and dark, and though the neighborhood is calm, it never hurts to have a walking buddy.

On the walk home, to your surprise, Suna begins to talk about his team and compliments you for your article on the top liberos. You’ve never seen this side of him. There’s a reason why he’s so beloved— he’s a mystery.

You’re nearly zoning out as the two of you reach your apartment complex. 

"Am I boring you?" Suna suddenly asks.

It's such an unexpected question, you falter for a second.

"No! I'm just... I feel relaxed. I like hearing your voice," you say, surprised.

Suna lets out a sigh of relief as he punches in the door code to the building. 

"So. As I was saying, you want me to give you a ride tomorrow?"

"What?” 

"A ride. To the arena." He says, enunciating every word as if you're a child. 

"It's okay," you start, “I—”

"Take the subway, yeah. But it's a hassle, right?"

No, it's not. In fact, it's pretty nice, seeing strangers off to their desired destinations.

But it's as if he can read your mind.

"I’ll give you a ride." 

It's not a question anymore.

"Alright," you murmur.

The short journey to your floor is now awkward, and you’re wishing you had turned down his offer to walk together. 

The two of you are almost at the end of the hallway now, at your apartment door. To your horror, Suna doesn’t continue walking.

Instead, he simply turns around and reaches for the doorknob of the apartment just across from you. 

Strangely, you’re just now noticing just how narrow and dark this hallway is. 

Under the cheap fluorescent lights, you can only see the man in front of you. Suna’s pale hands flex as he easily readjusts his heavy grocery bags, reminding you he could take you out in a moment.

“Wow. Looks like we’re neighbors, huh?” Suna says, stepping into his flat.

You’re blinking up towards him, breath cut short.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

Funny. He didn’t sound surprised. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You're just tying your hair when the doorbell rings.

"y/n, you ready?" 

Who would’ve imagined hearing the Suna Rintaro’s voice at 9 AM.

You sigh as you take a final glance into the mirror. You couldn’t completely hide the dark eye circles from your lack of sleep— who’d be able to sleep after learning a celebrity lives practically next door?

Taking a deep inhale, you push open your front door.

You instantly feel yourself healing as you take in Suna. It’s a similar effect to watching your favorite idols perform on stage— good looks work wonders on your tired body.

Suna leans against the wall, wearing a pair of black sweats and a thin blue hoodie. With a start, you can't help but notice it's almost a couple set with your blue sweater and black skirt.

"Good morning," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. You nod in response. 

As you walk down the hall together to the elevators, you can't help but flush. Is this what it'd be like to have a boyfriend? As a student dedicated to her craft, you’d never felt the urge to date, remaining single your entire life. You can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be Suna Rintaro’s. 

“Oh! What’s this!” Kiana, a middle-aged woman, calls out as you and Suna wait for the elevator. 

“y/n! You never told me you got a boyfriend! And such a handsome one, too! Oh, if I was only a little younger…” 

You and Suna make eye contact and you blush, quickly turning towards the smiley woman, ready to retort.  

“We’re—” You barely make out a word before Suna suddenly takes your hand.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Suna Rintaro, y/n’s boyfriend. I just moved into apartment 306.” 

At his words, both your and Kiana’s eyes widen.

Yours in confusion, hers in wonder as she recognizes the handsome stranger. 

“I know you! I know you! You’re Suna, from that team! Oh, my son is such a fan! I can't believe you're living here! He’ll be so excited."

As Suna and Kiana make small talk, you try to discreetly shake your sweaty hand out of Suna’s grasp. To your bewilderment, he continues gripping onto it, so hard you can feel his short fingernails digging into your soft skin. 

To your relief, the elevator chimes, and as Suna waves goodbye (you do too, out of habit), you gasp as he yanks you into the elevator.

"What was that?" You ask, nervously looking up at your ‘boyfriend.’ 

Suna’s eyes are hard as he stares down at you, but he’s glowing all the same, as if he’d just received a gift. 

“Saying we’re a couple. What was that about?”

Suna hums innocently. 

"I just thought it would be most convenient to tell her that. People will see us together from now on." 

No, they won't. 

“It would confuse them to have to explain you’re an intern.”

Was that so complicated?

But with his mischievous smirk and the way he taps his foot against the elevator floor, you just can’t find the courage to refute. 

“Alright… but could you let go?” You ask uncomfortably.

"Ah, right," he says, letting you free. 

You rub your hands together, easing the circulation back. 

Strangely, it feels especially cold without his grip on you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wake up." 

Awakening with a start, you rub your eyes. 

You can't help but admit you could get addicted to free rides with Suna. 

His car is just too nice; the seats are fluffy and he turned on the heater to just the right temperature and there's soft piano playing from the speakers.

How long have you been out? 

Taking in your surroundings, you're surprised to find you're already at the Tokyo Volleyball Arena. You almost jump in shock as you realize what’s warming your lap— a box of your favorite strawberry waffles. 

“What’s this?” You question as Suna wordlessly hands you a fork. 

"I thought you might be hungry.” 

Suna slides a cup into your open hand— matcha. 

So he is a nice man, after all. 

“Wow, Suna! Let me please pay you back!” 

Your stomach grumbles as you take a bite of the sweet breakfast. 

“No, no, it’s on me.” 

How could you make it up to him? Maybe you should bake him cookies or something… you shift in your seat, frowning as you realize your bare thigh is strangely damp. Rubbing your thighs together, your eyebrows furrow.

“Oh,” Suna says, biting into his scrambled eggs, “sorry. That was me, I got some coffee on you while you were sleeping, so I wiped it away," he says sheepishly, gesturing towards the pack of wet wipes in the glove compartment.

He looks embarrassed, avoiding eye contact, so you don't push it any further.

He's kind of cute, you think.

It kind of feels too perfect– the plush comfort of Suna’s luxury car, the sweetness of the waffles, and the delicious matcha, albeit slightly salty.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, y/n, which movie should we watch?" Suna calls from your couch. 

You're in the kitchen, preparing popcorn in your small microwave.

"Studio Ghibli!" You shout back, stirring the hot chocolate, “I have a whole bunch downloaded, just choose one.” 

It's become a regular occurrence for the two of you to spend much of your free time together. At first, Suna had gently coaxed you into spending time with you under the guise of doing more research for the article you’re writing about him, but now you’ve grown to genuinely enjoy his company.

From morning rides to office lunches to casual dinners, it's like your life has been consumed by Suna. Your gut had been wrong, after all, because Suna treats you like a girlfriend— although you’d long shook away that silly thought— he’d never see a younger, broke student that way. 

But despite your brain knowing everything is just fine, your heart has yet to be rewired. It still pounds with discomfort, as if it knows that fundamentally, something’s wrong. 

You just can’t identify or place a label on that problem. 

More recently, you’ve been getting hit with strong deja vu from that one night at the grocery store months ago. 

As if it’s only the two of you on this planet. 

Sighing, you take your place next to Suna, glancing at your phone. It remains still, screen dark.

“What’s wrong?” Suna asks, frowning. He pushes up his black glasses, running his fingers through his damp hair.

You hesitate. It’s fine to share this, right? After all, it feels like Suna’s all you have right now.

“Well… I’m not sure why, but I think my friends are mad at me. For the past few months, they’ve been silent. They don’t really respond to me anymore, and when they do they just say they’re busy.”

Suna nods, reaching for your hand. You welcome the warmth of his fingers, blinking back tears.

“And even worse, my family hardly contacts me. I used to call my mom basically everyday. I think there’s something really wrong, Suna, I’m really worried.”

“How long has this been going on?” Suna has the movie paused now, full attention on you. He gently strokes your hair and the kind gesture has tears pooling in your eyes.

“For a few months… maybe… four? I didn’t realize it at first because of how busy I’ve been at work and with the article I’m writing on you,” you mumble, allowing Suna to embrace you. 

He’s gently rocking you back and forth now, rubbing your back, whispering kind words into your ear, telling you it’s okay and they’re probably just busy too…

Minutes pass before you finally look up, eyes widening as you take in his facial expression. 

Despite his sweet words, Suna’s eyes are completely blank and there’s a questionable, small smile on his face. You barely recognize him.

“y/n?” 

You blink, and take in an inaudible breath as you stare at Suna. 

He cocks his head, confused. He looks at you with nothing but affection and concern, thin lips pressed into a frown. 

Your heartbeat slows as you realize that, yet again, you’d just been seeing and feeling things wrong— whenever you’re around Suna, it’s as if you lose sense of your surroundings. 

Smiling, you sniffle as you wipe away your tears. 

“Sorry for getting emotional at movie night.”

Suna grins, giving you a final gentle hug before turning back to the television.

“Don’t be. I’m always here for you, y/n.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Q: Suna, this question has been long requested by your fanbase. How do you express love? 

A: Dedication. I give my all to my lover, no questions asked.

Oh, and I don’t like to share.

There’s suddenly a knock at your door, causing you to jump. You put down your laptop, where your open article draft sits nearly complete. 

The lightning storm outside has you shaking and you just wish Suna was here, holding you and laughing at his silly responses to your even stupider interview questions. 

Another knock at the door. 

Strange— Suna’s practice runs for extra long today for his upcoming tournament. Maybe he finished early. 

“Suna, why didn’t you call before practice finished? We could’ve gone out for dinner,” you scold as you pull open the door. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

Standing in front of you is your furious older sister, drenched from the rainstorm outside. 

“Oh my god! Come in!” You say, alarmed. You reach towards her wrist, but she remains planted in place. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

She’s angrier than you’ve ever seen her. 

“How could you tell us to fuck off? You really think your journalism is that important? Your writing isn’t more important than family, you asshole! It’ll never be important!” 

Taking a deep breath, your sister lets go, immediate regret evident on her face. She opens her mouth to apologize, but you’re not having any of it. 

Anger is coursing through your body now and you shove your sister away, causing her to stumble against Suna’s door. 

Your family has never supported your career— from when you were just a child, you’d had to work hard for your own future. 

So this is why they had shunned you? Because they can’t stand seeing you successful? Because you had moved away from the countryside to make something out of yourself in the city?

Tears stream down your face as you tremble.

“My writing is important,” you whisper. Your sister nods quickly, opens her mouth again—

“Don’t come by anymore. Don’t consider me a part of the family anymore.”

“No, I’m sorry— I think there’s a miscommunication, y/n! Wait!”

Slamming the door on her shocked face, you stumble towards the couch. 

It feels as though you’re going to die— the room spins as your lungs strive for air and your vision is becoming increasingly blurry. 

The sound of rain and your sister pounding on the door intertwine, and as you bury your head into a pillow, you really just wish Suna was at your side. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“y/n?” 

Someone’s tugging at your sleeve, and you glance up, blinking uncomfortably at the bright lights of the living room. There’s dried tear streaks on your face and you’re sure you look like a miserable ogre, but Suna looks at you with nothing but compassion as he hugs you, alarmed.

He’s slightly damp—probably a combination of sweat from practice and the rain outside—but you hold onto him eagerly as he eases you onto his lap. 

“What happened?” 

You shake your head, explaining what had happened in the few hours when he’d been gone. 

Suna’s furious on your behalf, jaw tight and fists clenched. 

“Thank god I told your sister to fuck off. She was standing at your door, yelling curses and threatening to call the police,” he mutters.

Tears spring to your eyes again. This only confirms the reality of your life now— your family (and probably friends, too) absolute despise you. 

 “Don’t worry, y/n. I’ll always be here for you,” Suna whispers. 

His words are somewhat like a relaxant to you. Taking a deep breath, you lean into his chest, sighing. 

“I don’t think I can write anymore, Suna. I don’t want to. What have I been working towards my whole life?” 

Suna remains silent for a moment, studying your sorrowful face, before leaning in to brush his nose against yours. Your eyes shift, admiring his gorgeous olive ones.

“Your journalism is amazing, y/n. And… if you hadn’t worked so hard, we might’ve never met, right?”

You smile sadly.

“I guess…”

“y/n, how about you wrap up your article tonight? You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

You gesture towards your open laptop on the coffee table. 

“It’s done, but it’s shit. My sister’s right, it’s not worth anything,” you say, embarrassed. You’ve always known you were talentless, which is why you’ve always worked harder. But it amounted to nothing in the end. 

You press your cold hands against your burning eyes as Suna picks up your laptop, skimming through what you’ve written about him. 

If even he hates it… that’s it. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to go on. 

“y/n, will you look at me?” 

Suna’s gently tugging at your hands covering your face. Biting your lip nervously, you let him take your hands into one of his. 

“Want my honest opinion?” He asks, placing the laptop onto your lap. You nod, staring down at the bright screen.

“This is the best thing anyone’s written about me.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. 

“Don’t lie.”

“y/n. I’m serious. This shows exactly the side I wanted the public to know about me. It’s intimate, but written formally enough to be taken seriously by the media.” 

When you don’t respond, Suna sighs sadly. 

“I guess you don’t want the opinion of a dumb athlete, though…”

Frantically, you look up, shocked.

“Of course not! Suna, your opinion is everything to me!” 

Relief settles in your stomach as Suna grins, eyes shining. 

“Really?”

“Of course! Thank you… That really means a lot to me.”

Suna nods, rambling about how much he loves that sentence here, the use of punctuation there…

“What’s wrong?” He asks, noticing you look down again. 

“I… just feel like I have nobody but you, Suna.”

Suna smiles at you, waving towards the polaroids of your friends and family hung on the wall. 

“I’m sure they’ll come around again, y/n.” 

Your nose crinkles as you cringe at the photos. You want them gone. You want all of the references towards them gone. 

You want to get out of here.

“I hate this apartment, actually. They helped me decorate it and everything,” you sigh.

“Well then, how about we move out together?” 

You fiddle your thumbs, headache threatening to return.

“I don’t have that type of money,” you say, frustrated. It’s easy for a world-class athlete like him to just up and leave, but you’d never be able to, not unless you dropped out of school and found a job elsewhere. 

“y/n, I’ve just remembered. I have an apartment near our stadium, right? How about you move there for the rest of your internship?”

You hesitate. Intruding into the home of a man you’re not even in a relationship with? While the offer is tempting…

“Don’t worry about anything, y/n. Don’t think too hard about it.” 

Suna’s gently rubbing circles onto the side of your hands and you feel like melting away, exhausted. 

All that crying and anger has truly taken a toll on you. Your eyelids flutter as you finally nod.

“Okay.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure?” 

Now that it’s come to actually burning the photos, you’re hesitating. Aside from the few photographs on the walls, your apartment is completely bare, all of your belongings now residing in Suna’s luxury condo.

“y/n. You don’t need them anymore.”

You pause, the lighter in your hand feeling heavier by the second. With this, you’re truly erasing all parts of your former family and friends. Just then, your phone buzzes— you barely need to look at it to know it’s a string of curses from your ex-best friend. 

Suna grimaces as he deletes the message, examining you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re right, Suna. I don’t.”

You watch as the pictures go up in flames, holding back tears. 

Looking around your now empty apartment, Suna wraps his arm around your shoulders. 

“I always thought your walls would look better bare.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In and out. 

In and out.

There’s something so comforting about the way you breathe. 

You’re lying motionless on Suna’s large bed, curled into a ball. 

Adorable.

Sighing, Suna collapses next to you, admiring your eyebrows, the curve of your nose, your lips…

When was the last time he’d felt this content? Reaching out, Suna gently tucks your hair behind your ears, admiring the small s shaped earrings adoring them. 

Bringing you here was the best option. It’d taken him a little longer than he’d hoped, but now you were truly in the palm of his hand.

He’d almost slipped up a few times (your gut was much smarter than you) but everything had worked out, hadn’t it.

Since the day he’d first met you nearly a year ago, Suna knew you’d be his. 

He’s not sure why, but there’s this thing about him— sometimes, when he sees something, he wants it. 

And he’ll do anything to make sure it’s entirely his.

You mumble in your sleep, rolling over to face the large windows that present the city of Tokyo below his feet. 

He has it all now. 

His phone vibrates— messages from your concerned father. 

Rolling his eyes, Suna silently reaches over to your phone, which lies innocently next to your small hand, and unlocks it (the password being his birthday, obviously). 

Without hesitation, Suna begins wiping out all traces of the code he’s implanted into your phone. 

There would be no more reason to reroute your messages to himself anymore.

Next, Suna makes sure all of your family and friends’ contacts are blocked. 

Ensuring your safety is a top priority of his. 

He squeezes your device in his large hand, wondering if he should just break it. 

If Suna had it his way completely, he’d rather you not have a phone at all. 

Tossing your phone back onto your side of the bed, Suna smirks as he unlocks his own device. 

Desperate messages from your sister pop up, warning you of your tall neighbor, he threatened to kill me if i didn’t leave y/n please get away from him and go to the police!

Suna slides his thumb across the screen, removing the messages from his screen, and disconnects his phone from yours.

After all, you wouldn’t be getting contacted by those nuisances anymore. 

Almost done, then he can sleep peacefully with you—Suna sends the email he’s been working on: a PDF attachment of your final draft of your article on him and a short message of your resignation as an intern, written by yours truly. 

Turning over, Suna locks the bedroom door, smiling. 

There’s no need for anyone else. 

Not when he’s always going to be here for you.

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

villain pt.1 (bakugoxf!reader) [NSFW]

a/n this was originally supposed to be a single fic but i wanted to see how ppl liked it lol. pt 2 is already in the making (and i promise it's more spicy than this one)

summary: harley (you) realize that joker (your boyfriend) is in love with batman (bakugo). If only harley also knew batman’s obsessed with her. —> inspired by this short  word count: 4.9k warning(s): bakugo’s literally just a horndog

“I swear, Ren, if you pull anything like that again…”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes as he pulls away from your grip. 

“Enough, y/n. I always get you out, don’t I?” 

You frown, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. 

“You try getting caught and being put into jail multiple times in a single month. It’s not funny,” you sigh. 

You don’t even know what it’s like to be tied up by Bakugo fucking Katsuki, you want to add. 

But you keep your mouth shut. 

Ren’s already in a bad mood, jaw clenched tight as he walks faster. You’re almost jogging at this point just to keep up with his pace.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath. 

Ren hardly glances at you as the two of you enter your cheap apartment complex, walking silently up the two flights of stairs to your front door.  

You cringe as you round the corner—on your front door is a familiar piece of white paper, the contents of which you already know by heart.

Late rent notice: Dear tenet, your rent was due on the 7th of February. As of the date of this letter, your payment is 4 days past due. 

Frustrated, you rip the paper off of the metal door as Ren reaches over and enters the pin. 

Your jaw drops as he walks inside carelessly, unbothered with the notice. 

The two of you have been dating for almost a year now; you’re long used to his carefree nature. 

That’s what first drew you to him. 

Now it merely disgusts you. 

“Ren,” you cautiously call out as the door shuts behind you, “I think it’s time to give it up.”

Your boyfriend tosses himself onto the wrinkled couch, pointing towards the fridge. Frowning, you head over and grab him a cold beer. 

“Thanks babe.”

You collapse next to him, relishing in the fluffy texture. After being in a holding cell for a few days, you’ve definitely missed the warmth of your home. 

“I know you’re mad, and I understand. But we learned something new from last time, didn’t we? Dynamight was literally showing off his weaknesses! If we just—”

“Ren, stop it! That was the last time. I’m done. Seriously.” 

Your boyfriend is pouting now, reaching over to hold you in his arms. You want to fight back, you should. 

He jumps into his usual rant about how much he hates Dynamight; that asshole, always flaunting his wealth and looks. He’s just a shitty hero with a shitty quirk.

Meanwhile, you’re fighting back tears of frustration. 

How had you gotten here?

A year ago, you had seemingly met the man of your dreams at the villain rehabilitation center (looking back, maybe that hadn’t been the best idea). 

You had been working there as a volunteer and was popular with all of the residents as a bright psychology student and aspiring therapist.

Despite the havoc these wannabe villains had wreaked across Japan, you had treated all of them with kindness and respect, hoping you would be able to make a positive difference in at least a single person’s life. 

How naive you had been. 

“Hey, y/n,” Ren smirks as you gently open the door to the small office. 

You exhale— this one villain has been bothering you more often recently, and he was just too cute for his own good. 

“Takanashi Ren. Your counseling appointment isn’t until later this evening.”

“Aw. I can’t give my favorite therapist a visit?” 

You grin at him, pushing your dark rimmed glasses up your nose. 

“I’m not a therapist yet,” you retort, stepping back as Ren pushes back from his chair, striding over to you. He has you cornered to a wall, and the muscles of his arm flex dangerously, reminding you of his crimes. 

Despite this, all you can notice is how bright his eyes are— gosh, you just love the way they twinkle.

“I’m sure a smart girl like you’ll achieve all your academic dreams. I just hope I’m out of here on time to watch you cross that stage.”

And with that, you’d fallen head over heels for a cringy, third-rate villain with no plans for the immediate future. But the more time you spent with him, you truly felt as though you’d met your match. 

He was intelligent. Witty. Funny. 

Most importantly, he was different. His ideas for a liberated world— where all quirks were considered equal and everyone had the freedom to use their quirks as they wanted— was just unlike what you’d ever considered. 

If only you had paused for a moment and asked him just how he would create that world. 

It had been too late when you had realized what you had gotten yourself into. Now, you spend your days as a college dropout, supporting your boyfriend in his schemes that always end in failure and with you in handcuffs. 

But you had already sworn to devote yourself to him. 

Question. Would you die for me?

Yes.

That’s too easy. Would you live for me?

… Yes.

“y/n, are you listening? We’ll stake out at his condo. I’ll do all the work, babe, you just have to stand watch. I’ve already planned it all out. ”

There it is, that strike of pain in your heart. 

Dynamight. 

That’s all your stupid boyfriend cares about. 

You’re already shaking your head, refusing furiously— but he’s begging, begging! 

… And you sigh and look away. 

“Last. Time.”

You peek out of the corner of your eye to see Ren’s face brighten. 

He really is just as pretty as when you first met him a year ago. 

“I promise, y/n. Last time.”

Fuck Ren and his promises.

From the moment you had scaled Dynamight’s luxurious condo, you had known your boyfriend had skimped on doing his research again. 

There’s no way we’re gonna get away with this.

Stuffed in a large delivery box, you only pray that Ren’s mailman cosplay is good enough to get through the lobby. 

Nervously holding your breath, you cringe as your boyfriend flirts with the ladies at the front desk and wheels you into the elevator. 

Tap tap tap. 

Three gentle knocks on the front of the box and you know it’s your turn.

“I’ve just disabled the hallway cameras,” Ren whispers as he pulls the box open. 

You step out eagerly, stretching, before turning towards the door. 

The corners of your mouth twitch as you suddenly remember why you hate rich people. 

Dynamight’s door just screams narcissism— who really needs a gold plated front door? 

Bakugo, the nameplate reads. The dreaded name you hear on a near-daily basis. 

You scoff as you reach into your pocket and pull out your decoding tool, placing it on the keypad in a single, practiced motion.

Ren taps his foot impatiently as you work with the machine— you only let out a breath of relief as the door buzzes and swings open what feels like an eternity later. 

You’re already sweating as your heart thumps with discomfort and fear at being at the hero’s homebase. 

Comically, it feels as though the two of you have just broken into a villain’s lair. 

“God, babe. You’re the best,” Ren murmurs, pushing you aside. 

He’s a little too eager to ruin his nemesis’ life. 

Ren rushes inside of Dynamight’s home, barely holding back his immediate laughter as he spots the marble dining table. 

He’s already poking around as you carefully close the door quietly behind you, tiptoeing into the large house. 

“Can you believe this man? He’s so fucking full of himself,” Ren spits as he stares at the various newspaper clippings of Dynamight adoring the bookshelves.

Forget that— if you were Dynamight, you’d be living like this too. 

This is life you had envisioned for yourself. 

Gorgeous white pillars uphold a high ceiling and there’s a leather couch in the center of the room. A giant television sits in front of it, almost mocking you. 

One day… When this was all over, would Ren want to live like this with you?

“Come on, babe. We gotta find the data,” Ren says, heading towards the closest door to him. 

The initial excitement has worn off and he’s now refueled by hatred. 

Right. The data. 

If you could just get your hands on the data of all of the current Japanese heroes, that would be the biggest data breach in the history of the World Heroes Association. 

You and Ren would go down as super villains— a title you still weren’t sure if you wanted. 

You repress these useless thoughts, though, and trail Ren around the large home as he throws open doors. 

“Are you sure he’ll even have it?” 

“Yeah, there’s no way a top hero wouldn’t have access to this— Damn! A basement. You think he’d keep his PC down here?”

You think back to your encounters with Dynamight, shivering as you remember his piercing red eyes meeting yours. 

Your boyfriend heads down without hesitation as you follow him, nearly jumping when he yelps in joy. 

“His computer’s right here.” 

You swallow as you turn your head around the dark basement, eyes not yet adjusted to the dark. 

Ren presses the power button of the computer and the entire room lights up from the bright screen. 

Couch, television, gaming consoles, mini fridge— this must be his man cave. 

“Alright. Get on it, babe,” Ren says, stepping back as the flickering monitor. 

Sighing, you lean down, plug in your trusty usb stick into the PC. This was going to be a long day. 

WARNING. 

You jump for real this time, letting out a surprised shout as the machine blares a loud alarm. 

Holy fuck, what’s going on? 

Before you can move, the heavy door to the basement suddenly slams shut— you hear the metallic locks clicking in place.

You glance at Ren in desperation, but he’s not looking at you, only frowning at the computer.

“Get on with it. We have at least 15 minutes, I’ll find a way out by then.”

You don’t bother protesting. Despite his easy going demeanor, you know Ren cares about you.

“Don’t worry, he’s in Korea for a conference,” he reassures you as he steps towards the staircase.

BOOM. 

You scream as you’re pushed back by an explosion, groaning in pain as you strike the side of Dynamight’s large desk. 

Collapsing on the ground, dust arises on either side of you. 

Your ears are ringing and your vision is hopelessly blurry.

When you muster up the strength to touch your stinging face, you wince as your hand comes back bloody. 

Ren. He was closer to the door. 

Your eyes widen as you roll yourself onto your side, trying to reach up to the chair next to you for help—

“Fucker!” 

You gasp as your vision clears and you take in the sight in front of you.

Dynamight has your boyfriend pressed onto the floor and strikes him in the face, once. Twice. Three times. 

Ren tries to fight back, but he’s basically hopelessly laying there, taking in the blows. 

It’s clear you’ve caught him off duty— Dynamight’s clad in nothing but a tank top and shorts. 

Despite that, he dominates your boyfriend easily. He’s kneeling on Ren’s stomach, one hand pinning down your boyfriend’s shoulder and the other punching his face at a sickening rate. 

You do nothing but watch as you watch Ren’s eyes flicker, then shut. 

Adrenaline courses through your veins, taking away the remaining rationality in you.

Pushing yourself onto your feet, you throw yourself at Dynamight, whose eyebrows merely raise as he registers your face.

You pull out your knife, swinging for his neck— Dynamight throws up his arm, blocking your attempt— before you can react, you’re pinned to the ground next to your boyfriend. 

“You… asshole…” you hiss, airflow momentarily cut off.

You struggle against Dynamight's strength, grimacing. You’re on your stomach, hands pinned behind your back. You try to kick him, but the strength in your legs fails you. 

Dynamight lets out a small laugh as he sits on your ass and your eyes widen as you feel his dick through his pants grinding on you purposefully. 

Fucking pervert. 

You turn your head to your side, glaring into Dynamight’s blood-colored eyes. The corners of his eyes are pointed upwards, he’s grinning madly. 

Leaning forward, Bakugo rests his right hand next to your face. Your immediate reaction is to lunge at it, trying to bite, but he pulls back quickly, yanking on your wrists. Your body arches upwards and you wince at the slight pull. 

“Easy. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Despite your slowly subsiding anger and hatred towards the man on top of you, you feel yourself blushing against your will. 

You hate how he talks to you. You silently remind yourself to take a recording of it next time and report him for sexual harassment. 

While you’re fuming over your current situation and mumbling profanities at him, Bakugo leans back and admires you.

You look really good like this— actually, you look perfect. Your eyes are slightly moist, cheeks flushed and lips a delectable pink. Bakugo’s mouth is watering at the sight. 

He’s already hard. He’s been aching in anticipation since he first got the alert that you broke into his home. 

What would happen if he were to just… 

You’re staring up at Bakugo again, watery eyes meeting his narrowed ones, and he feels a shiver run down his spine as he admires his reflection in them. 

“Can you let me go already? You’ve won, we get it,” you huff, cheeks inflating. 

He wants to stuff them full with his cock.

Easy, Dynamight. You’re a hero. 

He glances down at you apathetically, although his cock is throbbing. 

You ignore it the best you can, although you’re turning pink again.

You shift from side to side, hoping you won’t have to beg him to let you go. 

You’d rather die than do that.

Smirking, he clicks his tongue as he reaches forward with his right hand and strokes your face. 

“Give me a reason. You’re imposing on my home, doing who knows what?” 

Your teeth find his hand this time, sinking into the hardened flesh.

You bite down as hard as you can, wishing he’d just let go of you. Your jaw is just beginning to ache as you muster the courage to look back up at him.

Your blood runs cold as you notice his unchanging expression— he looks almost bored. But something flashes in his eyes.

Fuck, maybe you shouldn’t have done that. 

As you pull back, you squeak as he grabs you by your hair, sliding forward to sit on your wrists.

One hand holds your head upwards, while his other holds your face. His hand engulfs your entire jaw as he forces you to look into his eyes. 

“I could take you right now, but I’ll save that for later.”

From a distance, you hear the shouts of policemen and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Bakugo lets go and watches as your head falls back onto the floor.

You’re so caught up in the commotion you don’t catch his next words.

“You’ll be begging for it soon, anyway.”

You can do nothing but watch in handcuffs as Ren’s eyes open hazily and focus on you. 

“y/n, I’m so sorry,” he starts. 

You shake your head, smiling sadly at him. Was it really over? 

No, you promised you’d always be with him—

“Dynamight.” 

Your boyfriend’s eyes have shifted from you onto Dynamight, the one person that has been on his mind obsessively for the past few years.. 

Ren’s shouting at Dynamight now, who merely laughs in response. 

You don’t even notice that Dynamight’s staring at you.  

All you notice is that you’re not in Ren’s line of sight anymore. 

The words of policemen and Ren start swirling together as your heartbeat slows.

He’s not in love with you, is he?

You can hear your heart physically shattering.

He’s in love with Dynamight.

Bakugo’s still embarrassingly hard as he readjusts himself, sighing as he looks around his ransacked home. 

The police have taken longer than he’d hoped, making sure to photograph everything.

Even more irritatingly, the medics had tried to heal your teeth marks imprinted in his arm, which he had pulled away quickly. 

“I’m going to save this as evidence during the trial,” Bakugo had quickly lied. 

The young medic had blinked in confusion, but nodded eagerly, not wanting to defy the number one hero’s demand.

When his agency had first received the tip that you and Whiplash would be attempting a data breach, Bakugo had rolled his eyes and hesitated on flying back in early from his vacation.

You and Whiplash were shitty, third-rate villains, if you could be even labeled as such. 

You would always be deserted by your boyfriend, who’d dip the moment Bakugo stepped close to the crime scene. You (with your gorgeous, angered face that turns him on so fast) would be left behind for Bakugo to handcuff. 

Bakugo still remembers the first time he’d been called to a scene with you and Whiplash. 

One year ago, two petty, new criminals had attempted to rob a series of homes in upper Tokyo. 

Bakugo had been whisked away from his date with a pretty newscaster and was irritated to hell— he had been working all night sweet talking to the girl and was surely going to get laid— but when he had gotten to the scene, still pulling on his gloves, all thoughts of regret flew out the window.

“Get me the fuck out of here!” 

The female villain is shouting as she kicks her legs. 

The scene is laughable— her upper half is tapped in the tights washing machine and Bakugo takes his sweet time striding over to you, admiring the curve of your ass and the way you shake as you try to free yourself. 

“What happened here?” 

Bakugo smirks. He’d heard that the male villain had gotten away but the female was still somewhere on the premises. 

He’d been incredibly lucky to find you first. It’s hard to hold back from slapping your ass and ripping those black tights off of you, but Bakugo swallows and moves to touch your hip instead.

You squeak in surprise as you feel two fingers tracing a triangle onto your upper thigh. 

“Stop touching me, pervert! You sick freak! I have a boyfriend! I’ll kill you if you try anything!” 

Your scream is slightly muffled as you bang your hands on the sides of the circular machine.

Your back is aching from being bent over for the past ten minutes and you arch your back, holding back a pained moan. Whoever this asshole was, you were gonna rip him a new one when he freed you. 

Bakugo frowns as ‘boyfriend’ echoes inside his head. 

Were you being truthful or were you just trying to scare him off? 

It’s taking everything in him to not grind against you and with every passing second Bakugo feels closer to losing the battle with his sex driven core.

After another moment of deliberation, Bakugo reaches out, yanking you effortlessly out of the machine. 

God. 

You were just as pretty as he’d hoped. Face flushed and sweaty from being inside a confined space for so long, you collapse on your ass and fan yourself dramatically, taking in big gulps of fresh air before looking up to glare at him. 

“Fucking freak! What sort of perverted police officer are you?” You demand, frowning as Bakugo silently holds his hand out. 

A few seconds of silence pass before you awkwardly take it, allowing him to help you up. 

“Thank you,” you mumble as you wipe your hands on your shirt. 

Your eyebrows are still furrowed with frustration as you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Ugh… you’re so adorable, Bakugo wants to just squeeze you to death. 

Now he really wishes he hadn’t helped you out. You were helpless, bent over just perfectly, practically inviting him…. As his imagination runs wild, he feels the blood rushing towards his groin. 

Oblivious, you stretch your sore body, letting out a soft moan. You’re strangely relaxed, as if you were simply meeting an old friend. 

“I’m going to be arresting you now. Turn around,” Bakugo sighs, shifting his balance from foot to foot. If only he wasn’t an up-and-coming hero.

Your eyebrows raise and the ends of your lips quirk upwards. 

“Isn’t there something else I could do to get out of this?” You tease, turning around and holding your wrists behind your back.

Fuck. Is that you wiggling your ass or is he just seeing things? 

Bakugo’s breath hitches. The cold cuffs in his hands are only furthering his imagination. He’s about to pounce on you, but as he’s deciding which piece of your clothing he’ll rip away first—

“Don’t get any ideas, perv. That was a joke.” 

You giggle at his silence, looking back to glance at his face, which pales in humiliation.

You’re still laughing as Bakugo curses under his breath and shoves you harshly into the police car. 

You wouldn’t be laughing when he fucks you silly—which, he swears, he will one day. 

Since your destined meeting, you had been on Bakugo’s mind. 

Every. Single. Day. 

Your pout. Your delicate hands. Your arching back. Your whines and the way you try to fight back every time he walks you to the police van.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just a phase.

To Bakugo’s horror, when he met up with the same newscaster from that night, he found himself unable to get hard, no matter how much she sucked him off. 

He could have waved that off as an anomaly, but six girls later, Bakugo finally had to admit he may have a problem on his hands. 

Bakugo knew the solution to his ED and meaningless infatuation with you.

He was sure all he had to do was fuck you. Easy enough— he’s confident in his sex appeal.

But you were also an impossible target.

You and your villain boyfriend moved around constantly, living under various aliases. 

And when Bakugo could finally meet you (about once a month, when your boyfriend’s plans were foiled once again) you were whisked off into police custody before he could even bring up sex. 

How was he even supposed to get to that topic, anyways? 

Hey, y/n. I only get hard when I see you cry. Or, actually, when I just think about you at all. 

Wanna bang?

Bakugo halfheartedly (almost unconsciously, this is just an immediate reaction to seeing you) discards his shorts and briefs as he leans against the back of the couch. 

Staring up at the ceiling, he’s now regretting letting his agency call for backup. 

He’d had you under him, in his own home. He even had a condom ready in his shorts— something he’s started carrying around since last year in hopes he’d get ambushed by you randomly.

It’s unfortunate he couldn’t take things further with you, but for tonight, his imagination and thoughts of you would have to suffice. 

He almost saw you cry…

Bakugo’s almost drooling at the memory of your teary eyes as you stared at your boyfriend, who was dragged away into the back of a van despite his protests.

Fuck. What does he have to do to make you cry? 

He throughout beating up Whiplash would be enough, but maybe you didn’t like your boyfriend as much as he thought— that makes him smile. 

“Ugh…” 

Bakugo can barely hold back a soft moan as his cock hardens quickly, now standing in his hand. 

It’s hot, and typically Bakugo would shed all his clothes, but tiny specks of your blood decorate his white top. It’s like you’re basically touching him.

He admires the bruising teeth prints on his right hand, the one that’s now slowly stroking his dick. 

Your mouth was on his hand. His hand. The thought alone makes him want to cum.

Bakugo allows himself a full stroke, groaning as he presses himself deeper into the couch.

It almost feels as if he’s simply overstimulating himself, as if he’d already cum— that’s how strong you were as a stimulus. 

With how much you tease, you’d start with the tip, wouldn’t you? 

Bakugo gently holds his cock at the base with his left hand and thumbs the tip, rubbing his rough thumb against the wet precum. 

He’d manhandle you, he’s imagined it countless times, it’s what a girl like you needs. 

In his imagination, you’d be a pillow princess. He’s confident about this. 

Your attitude, the way you demand he frees you… it all points towards you being a menace in bed.

You would saunter into the bedroom, wearing nothing but thin lingerie (in his favorite color, dark orange, almost red). You’d smirk as you climb onto his bed, making yourself comfortable. 

Your pretty eyes would narrow as he walks in shirtless with a raging boner. 

You would be sitting there, legs outstretched for him to grasp. 

Bakugo would grab your ankles in each hand, focusing on kissing your precious feet before moving upwards. 

He’d press his lips against your shin, your knee, then suck your plush thighs, savoring your taste. 

He’d maintain his eyes on you throughout, admiring the way your lips part slightly and your heavy breaths. You’d glare at him when you notice him staring at you— you’re always fighting back, aren’t you?

But in bed he’s the one in control. 

He’d get to your panties and give your clothed clit a lick, pinning down your legs that threaten to close. 

Bakugo would suck, embracing the taste of lace and your juices leaking from across the other side of clothing. 

Contrary to popular belief, Bakugo wasn’t that full of himself. 

In bed, he only has one priority— your pleasure. 

Bakugo allows himself to slightly loosen his grip and start stroking his entire length slowly, just like how you’d do it. 

Just a few singular strokes feel so good, his entire body lights up, electricity running up his spine. 

He runs his thumb along the one long vein from the base of his cock, shivering. His cock is getting heavier in his hand and a familiar pressure is slowly building in his stomach. 

After a few moments, Bakugo would finally push aside the flimsy fabric, licking your clit directly. 

He’d be fisting his cock while doing so, like he’s doing now, stroking to the rhythm of his flattened tongue. 

He’d be almost drooling at the taste, sometimes letting himself wander to your hole and slip his tongue in your tightness. He’d continue alternating between sucking and licking, relishing in your increasingly loud moans. 

Your legs would begin to tremble beneath him and you’d start begging quietly despite your stubbornness.

Your eyes would start to roll to the back of your head— and that’s when he’d stop, pulling away entirely, still stroking himself, tightening his fist around his heat if necessary to prevent himself from releasing. 

You’d whine and maybe kick him, legs weakened from your ruined orgasm. 

A little edging never hurt anyone. 

It only makes the pleasure of a shared orgasm stronger. 

Bakugo would tease your hole, nudging at the entrance with the tip of his leaking cock. 

Without warning, he’d thrust— you’d groan from the intrusion, grasping the sheets. 

He’d start moving mercilessly, pulling out his length to the tip before slamming it back in, over and over. He would quicken with your moans fueling his pace. 

He’d lean over to capture your pretty lips with his, intertwining your tongues. 

Fuck, Bakugo really isn’t going to last, especially with his new favorite mental photograph—you lying on your back helplessly. Bakugo’s mind does the photoshop for him, removing the debris from the explosion and placing the two of you on his bed.

He’s stroking himself fervently now, at the same pace he imagines himself fucking you at. 

You’d be shaking under him, holding back your tears. And, in typical y/n fashion, your pride would force you to hold your moans back. You’d be pressing your trembling hand against your mouth, wouldn’t you? You would be biting down on it, with the same teeth that were clamped down on his own hand earlier.

You’d cum as he rubs his thumb roughly against your clit, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth dropping open. 

Bakugo would make sure to ride you out throughout the entirety of your orgasm before allowing himself to fall into how tight and wet you are and reaching his peak himself. 

“y/n… I’m cumming…” 

Bakugo bites back a groan as his eyes close, lips almost breaking from how hard he’s clenching down. 

Continuing to pump, Bakugo’s hips lift as he thrusts into his fist one final time—his orgasm is so strong, it feels as though he’s losing control of his entire body, shaking as he feels his cum squirt and his cock pulsing from the base. 

When Bakugo finally gathers his energy, he opens his eyes, blinking uncomfortably at the harsh lights of the living room. There’s warm cum now cooling all over his hands and the coffee table in front of him, only adding to the list of things he has to clean up after your little home invasion. 

Sighing, Bakugo stands up, grabbing a tissue and wiping the traces of his release away. 

It’s a little humiliating.

Yet another day of having to imagine you writhing under him to get off. 

Bakugo won’t admit it— he never will— but honestly, it’s not as bad as he makes it out to be.

But he knows the real thing will be better. 

Now, if only he could get his hands on you… 

a/n yeah so i rewrote this whole thing on 4 hours of sleep so its prob shit and the formatting is wonky but whatevs.

STAN ENHYPEN STREAM SWEET VENOM (ENG VER)

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

so disgustingly nasty— neuvillette thinks he's so horribly foul when his hand fists his dripping cock to the alluring thought of your exposed figure quivering under his much larger one.

he squirms now, dragging his teeth against his bottom lip as lewd strokes gather on his shaft which made him drip messily between his knuckles as he imagines it being you instead— in fact, the one who'd please him.

would you be so kind and lend him a hand? or scrap that, you should maybe just sit on him, keep him warm until you're gushing of his creamy cum, a rush of stinging twitches compelling him to groan out your name as he exhales through a boneless relaxation of his hand fucking his dick hard and feral, his face glazed with sweat as everything neuvillette really wanted was to feel you move up and down on him until your parted mouth drips from the corners of your delicious lips.

his fingers white with warm cum when he imagines how ethereal you'd look as well— easily dropping up and down and bouncing on his lap, those pretty tits of yours on display which he can always play with, maybe take one in his mouth until you're squirming in slight pain when he decides to tease a nipple with his sharp canines, all fused perfectly with your walls crushing on his cock, easily masking him with a trace of deluge.

his eyes are bright with a deeply veiled pleasure when neuvillette moans out again, his hand furiously clutching on his cock harder— imagining you, always and always and always and fuck, your tight grip on him would be so overflowing, or your sounds when you feel the full length of his cock bulging through your sensitive skin, most deliciously how warm he'd feel all deep into your guts, broad thrusts against your weeping cunt until neuvillette was penetrating the depths of your skin.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

been a disgraced, degenerate smutty 2d man loving whore for the past 5 years and here's the proof❤️❤️

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

Holy shit man's is so hot

atsumu x afab fem reader. Nsfw mdni

"D'awwww, look at 'er, babe!" Atsumu coos and pinches at your skin. "She's drooling! She's so cute when she's like that."

"Atsu, I love you, but can you not talk about my pussy like it's an infant?"

Your boyfriend has the gall to look affronted by your sensible request.

"She, baby, she," he corrects you and then pretends to push a pair of fake glasses up his nose, using his finger as a makeshift pointer to casually run through your slit as he speaks. "Yep, just as Dr.Atsu thought. She drools, she's cries, and if you leave her alone for too long...she weeps for her Daddy. Sorry to break it to ya dollface, but yer pussy is a baby."

"... God, you're so weird," you groan and throw your head back, covering your face with your hands as Atsumu pets your pubic bone.

"Ya love it," he grins up at you, throwing in a cheeky wink for good measure, and honestly? You can't exactly disagree with him.

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

I didn't know I needed these friendships

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

hq idol au !!

sakusa - osamu - kunimi - kageyama - ushijima

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

Fandom is a fantastic thing and it’s made my life better but it’s so hard to explain to Regular people what happened to my brain this past year like “there’s this old man…from a tv show….and i think he’s sexy….other ppl think he’s sexy too…..we are friends bc we like to sexualiZe him….” is not the kinda icebreaker you can say in social situations generally.

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

Fluffy smut just hits diff 🫣🫣🫣🫣🥰🥺

want you here

pairing: wakatoshi ushijima + female!reader

content: wakatoshi's never sent nudes before and he hopes he's doing it right

author's notes: SOBSOBCRYCRYSCREAMING screaming crying throwing up,,, fellow wakatoshi stans, if you wanna be friends, hit me up bc FDSJFASJK i am S U F F E R I NG writing for this MAN.

continuation found here and here

MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT!! please be respectful and do not interact!!

A lot of men send dick pics… A lot of men send videos…

Not Wakatoshi though.

He’s never felt the need to.

Or that’s what he tells himself.

Because he doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know how he would even go about doing it.

Because what does he even do exactly? Does he just send you a picture of his cock? Does he have to do it at a certain angle? Does he have something next to it to compare it to?

Even though you’ve been dating for a couple years, is he even allowed to send you a picture or send you a video? He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable – but this trip for sponsors is making him miss you terribly.

He knows he’ll get to come home to you again in just a couple days, but he misses you. He misses your little adorable smiles and giggles. He misses the way you squeak when he lifts you up off the ground and spins you around when he’s won a match and you run out to him on the court. He misses the way he hugs your waist from behind in the kitchen and you have him be your test subject and you spoon feed him new recipes you’re trying.

He misses the way your soft, supple body feels against him when you’re under him. He misses the way you whine and whimper when he teases you (but he always gives in before too long – you tend to make him cave so quickly). He groans lowly as he remembers what happened before he had left for this trip – you riding him in the back of the car before the flight – the pitch black windows concealing what was happening from passers-by. You had sniffled and sobbed about how much you’d miss him and he tried to calm you by kissing your tears away and reminding you it would only be a week, but it had escalated into him having to run through the airport at the end, because he couldn’t just leave his poor, sweet beautiful baby without filling her up.

Wakatoshi’s heart swells while he tells his teammates goodnight before they go to their separate hotel rooms, because he knows what will come next. Wakatoshi has been calling you every night to talk to you, even though you two are texting each other throughout the day every day so far. You talk so much more than he ever has, but he loves that about you. Your voice has a calming quality to it as you go about telling him about your day and he has you on speakerphone as he undresses.

You make him laugh as you tell him a funny story about what you and your best friend did today, and he’s putting his dirty clothes in that all too tiny laundry bag the hotels offer. He brings his phone into the bathroom with him when he takes a shower, your voice over the phone making him feel like you’re really there. You have a bad habit of running in and out of the bathroom at home while he’s showering after practice sometimes, but in your defense, your shitty reality shows has you bouncing with details you can’t wait to tell him. He finds it adorable though.

Because of his build, clothes are uncomfortable to him sometimes, so he likes to sleep without any. He smiles to himself when he untucks the comforter and top sheet from the bed, because you’re talking to the cat that you had adopted about a year before you met him, which by association was now his as well since he moved in a year ago. You’re telling her that ‘I JUST fed you’ and ‘No, Daddy isn’t here to feed you whatever you want’ and ‘Do you wanna talk to Daddy?’.

Wakatoshi chuckles when he hears little ‘mrrps’ and ‘reows’ on the other end of the phone.

“She wants you to come home.” You tell him, putting her back down on the floor.

“Oh?” He says, “And you don’t?”

“We both want you to come home…” You correct yourself, falling back onto the bed and throwing your hand over your eyes.

His laugh makes your whole body shimmer with need.

An hour has passed and he knows he should be going to sleep because he has to be up asininely early, but he likes to stay on the phone with you until you’ve drifted off to sleep – your cute lil’ snores being his lullaby as he himself becomes too tired to stay awake any longer.

You let out a yawn after you finish telling him about your day, and your voice has taken on a different quality now – Wakatoshi can’t exactly put his finger on it, but there’s something about it when you’re a little more tired that gives it a more sultry quality.

He rubs his hand up and down over his chiseled stomach, watching his cock stir to life. He tries to ignore it, but it only grows and throbs more the more you talk in that obliviously sensual way. He pictures how you probably are right now. You like to sleep in his clothes when he’s away so you probably are swimming in one of his t-shirts, nothing underneath it.

“I miss you…” He murmurs, tucking his phone between his shoulder and ear.

His thumb circles the head of his cock as precum dribbles out, and he unhurriedly spreads it around.

“I miss you too…” You whisper back into the phone.

And Wakatoshi doesn’t know what overcomes him, but he wants you to see him like this right now. He wants you to see how he’s under your spell so easily and how much he needs you right now.

“May I send you a video?”

You move your arm away from your face and blink up at the ceiling.

“Of what?”

You sit up, reaching for your soda on the nightstand. He’s taking a moment to answer you, so you’re wondering just exactly he’s up to. You hear a grunt over the phone as you twist the cap off your soda and bring it your lips.

“My naked body.” He’s breathless.

You spill your soda all over yourself, hoping Wakatoshi didn’t hear, but your sudden swearing gives it away. Because you definitely shouldn’t be having it this late when you’ve got work in the morning, but he isn’t here and so he can’t stop you, can he? Will you regret it later when you can’t sleep!? Probably! Are you still gonna do it?? Of course.

Wakatoshi worries he’s upset you – he knew this was a possibility that you wouldn’t want to be sent a picture of a video, but he can’t lie, his heart hurts a little bit.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his hand stilling.

“Yeah!” You’re a little agitated because you’ve spilled soda all over your favorite Toshi sleep shirt – the one that still has traces of your favorite cologne on him.

You slip the shirt over your head and toss it into the hamper, and then fling yourself down on the bed on his side, inhaling deeply and trying to take in his natural scent through his pillow. Two more days… Just two more days without him.

“Do… Do you not… Do you not want a video?” He asks when you haven’t said anything else.

You completely forgot why you spilled soda all over on you in the first place.

“Of course I do. Why would you think you couldn’t?”

“I heard women don’t like receiving things like that. I want your permission first.”

“Baby, we’ve been together for two years and we’ve fucked hundreds of times… Yes, of course you have my permission.” You roll over onto your back.

“Okay,” He says, “I’ll call you back in a little bit.”

What? Why doesn’t he just FaceTime?? And then you remember how adorably and horribly inept your sweet big boyfriend is to electronics, so you sit there and patiently wait.

About fifteen minutes have passed and you’re scrolling through Instagram when you get a notification that Wakatoshi has sent you a video.

The thumbnail makes you want to throw your phone across the room.

-

When Wakatoshi hangs up, he can’t lie, he panics because now he doesn’t know what he should do. Here he is, his cock in his hand and he’s looking around the room wondering where he should actually do this for you. He looks in front of him and the large mirror with nothing in front of it that shows his image back to him of him reclining on the bed gives him an idea.

He scoots himself to the edge of the bed, his feet planting firmly on the plush carpet below. He spreads his legs wide enough that he’s comfortable and opens up the camera on his phone, his leaky wet cock head filling the screen immediately. He’s wondering why his camera lens is so zoomed in, but he remembers he had taken a picture of a cute dress in a local shop that he wanted to buy for you before he left.

He zooms out, adjusting the angle and praying to god that he’s doing this right. The way he’s holding his phone, it looks like you can see what he’s doing from his point of view but also you can see everything in the mirror.

He moans low when he remembers how much you like it when he fucks you with just the tip, his hand returning to his cock now. Your little pussy grips it so well as the head of his cock just goes back and forth, sucking him in and trying to make him stay in when he pulls back out, and you’re trembling as your fingers shakily play with your clit and he’s holding on to your ankles, bending your legs and keeping you there, the ache delicious as he holds you there and only fucks you with his fat head.

He loves the squelching noises that happen every time he pulls out, his thick cock head shiny and wet as you beg him to quit teasing you, your cunt puffy and shiny with slick as it makes it’s way down between your ass cheeks and onto the sheets below. He loves when he spreads your legs apart, still holding you up, and he moves his huge cock between your little folds, the entire length of his cock giving you constant stimulation to your clit and you’re making his balls sticky with your slick as he continues to move.

And you’re crying and sobbing and shaking when he teases you like this, and he loves that he has this control over you because he’s not even properly fucking you. But at the same time he hates it because he’s the one who’s under your spell. It takes all his self control to not grab at you and thrust into you so deep that you take it all in one movement, your tears staining your face and you sobbing into his cheek as you tell him it’s so big but you’re still begging him to keep going.

Two more days… Just two more days away from you.

-

You stare wide-eyed at the thumbnail below you, still not clicking on it. That bastard man. That big tiddied tall bastard man having the audacity to send the spiciest fucking nude you’ve ever been sent and you can’t see him for another two whole days.

You press play and immediately stop breathing when a particularly loud groan blasts from your phone speaker, you quickly turning your volume down and hoping the neighbors didn’t hear it. You continue to watch as Wakatoshi’s strong hand moves up and down his fat cock, tight strokes happening as his hips cant upwards.

Your fingers tremble as you turn up the volume a little bit more, and Wakatoshi’s heavy breathing fills the air.

“W-want you here…” He moans.

You don’t know where to look because while you want to watch his body in the mirror, you can’t stop staring at his forearm moving at the side of the screen. The veins in his arms bulge and he groans a little louder as he’s got his cock in a vice grip now, slow and steady strokes. There’s something so wildly intimate about seeing him like this from two different points of view.

You want to scream because you glance up at this reflection in the mirror and see there’s more than enough space for you to be between his legs, and you’re desperately wishing it was you there instead of his hand. You loved it when he slapped his cock against your face lightly, his masculine natural scent surrounding you and you becoming drunk on it as your nails dug into his thighs. You loved when while you were deepthroating him, his large hands would gently sweep your hair away from your face, holding it up for you and making it into a makeshift ponytail, your little mewls making his body feel like it was on fire as you tried to fit all of him in your mouth. You would end up gagging on it, of course, he was just so big, but you still tried your best.

Your cheeks burn as Wakatoshi continues to talk over the video, his hand focusing on the head of his cock now, moaning about how your little mouth feels so good when you’re stroking him with your hand and his balls are in your mouth, he says he loves it too when he’s watching you struggle to take all of him and he loves the little faces you make.

“F-fuck…” His posture changes, as he tries to sit up more, “Cu- I’m cu--.”

You hold your breath as Wakatoshi’s hand moves faster now and he chokes on a grunt when cum paints his abdomen, his stomach muscles tensing as he has his cock in a death grip. He groans and you watch more cum fly out, and you involuntarily moan when you hear a squish as some of it lands higher on his torso, his phone amplifying the sound.

You’re speechless as you watch his reflection breathing heavily in the mirror before he throws himself back onto the bed and you see the ceiling of his room before the video ends.

You close the video and see the text he had sent right after he sent the video.

You don’t have to, but I would like it very much if you sent one back.

You shout when your phone falls down and onto your face.

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

H O L Y 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

☆ THE ACCIDENT - BAKUGOU x FEM!READER

“You said you want to work off the debt,” he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice reduced to a breathy growl, “I can think of some work for that bratty little mouth.”

☆ SYNOPSIS | You hit pro hero Dynamight’s car and can’t afford to take care of it. He gets an idea for how you can work off the damages — but you gotta do it right here, right now.

☆ WORD COUNT | 6.5k

☆ RATING | nsfw +18, minors & ageless blogs dni!

☆ CONTAINS | dark content, (extremely) dubcon, noncon elements, blackmail, degradation, humiliation, breath play, lots of spit play, oral (bkg receiving), rough facefucking, public / voyeurism kinda, nonconsensual photo, fantasizing, use of degrading names (bitch, whore, slut), bkg is an overall asshole + physically intimidates reader

☆ A.N. | this is extremely self-indulgent lol — and also my first time posting a fic, kinda nervous ! i have plans for this to become a series ~ hope you enjoy ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You would never admit it out loud, but you tended to be a distracted driver. After a long day of work, it was easy to slip into the comfort of your own mind as you sped down the mostly empty highway. Your fantasies kept you company on the drive, the haze of daydreaming like a plush blanket for your tired mind. It was nice — it made the drive go by faster, but it meant you probably weren’t as attentive of a driver as you should be.

That’s why, as you’re making the commute home through the back roads like you always do, you don’t notice the army green sports car barreling towards you from behind in the next lane over. Engrossed in whatever fanfiction situation you’re cooking up in your mind, you start to merge into the right lane, anticipating an upcoming turn. You glance at your rear view mirror as you do, not bothering to look over your right shoulder or put your signal on — you hadn’t noticed any other cars on the road with you for miles anyways. Except there was another car on the road with you and it was going way over the speed limit, racing into your blind spot before you can get a glimpse of it.

It all happened in a split second — you couldn’t even register exactly what had happened. The piercing sound of tires screeching and metal scraping fills your ears, then you’re gripping your steering wheel, desperately trying to keep control of your car as it veers off of the road and into uneven dirt. You press your foot on the brake instinctively, your steering wheel jerking in your grip as your car lurches over the dirt then finally comes to a harsh stop that makes your body hurl forward from the momentum.

You pant, your heart fluttering in your chest and the high of adrenaline keeping you from forming a coherent thought. Your eyes dart down to your body and your hands finally come off of the steering wheel — you had been gripping it so hard it hurt — so you can pat yourself, looking for any sign of injury. No pain, no blood — you sigh, relief setting in. You realize your airbag hadn’t deployed, so you reach up and pull down the visor above you, flipping open the mirror and inspecting yourself in case you’d injured your face when you’d lurched forward. All seems fine — except for the man you finally notice in your mirror stomping up to your car.

You quickly put your car in park, unbuckle your seatbelt and jump out. The man is already yelling, arms gesturing wildly as he rounds the driver’s side of your car.

“—fuckin’ IDIOT, what are ya fuckin’ BLIND?! Don’t know how to use your damn signal, or are ya just STUPID?!”

You put your hands up in surrender as the man continues his ascent, “I-I’m sorry,” you squeak, “I didn’t see you—“

“No shit sweetheart, ya didn’t even fuckin’ look!!”

He’s in your face now, your back pressed against the side of your car as he towers over you. You’re not exactly a tiny person — you’re pretty average sized, actually — this guy is just huge. The sleeves of his black t-shirt strain against his bulging muscles as he points sharply behind your car. “Look at what you did to my car,” he growls, his face inches from yours as you flinch away from him.

You turn your gaze towards where he’s pointing and finally see it — an expensive looking dark green sports car with bright orange racing stripes decorating its side. It’s parked slightly perpendicular to the road, the front of it angled downward, having been driven into a ditch. The driver’s side door is still ajar from when the man had thrown it open, and music blares over the car speakers — angry rock music that’s all rolling drums, gravelly guitar rifts, and deep guttural vocals. This car looks luxurious next to your weathered Honda Civic, all suited up and shiny — except, of course, for the gnarly scratch all along the driver’s side. You wince at the sight, and the man in front of you laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“Yeah, see that shit? I should wring your little fuckin’ neck!”

You look back at him, the adrenaline rush kicking in again. This man has some audacity. You stare him defiantly in his crimson eyes, straightening up with new-found courage. Cowering under an asshole man was not like you, after all.

“What the fuck is your problem?! The ‘roids really hittin’ today or what?”

“You little —“

“You need to fucking relax dude. And back the fuck up off me!” You emphasize the end of your sentence with a shove, planting both palms on his firm chest and pushing as hard as you can. All your strength barely moves him, but his eyes widen for a split second in shock and he takes a small step back.

You’re able to get a good look at him now that he’s given you some distance. His ash blonde hair is unruly and dense, sticking up at odd angles. His facial features are angular and cat-like with high cheek bones and an intensely sharp jawline. He is very muscular, his shirt pulled so taught against his chest that you can see the definition of his pecs. His biceps have to be about the size of your head and his forearms are thick, tattoos covering his left arm down to the elbow, protruding veins running down to his clenched fists where silver rings decorate his fingers.

Your eyes travel lower. He’s wearing gray joggers that hang low on his hips, and even though they’re slightly loose you can still tell how muscular his legs are underneath. He moves to adjust his sweats, and down his right pant leg a faint outline bobs against the fabric.

You snap your eyes back up to his face and are met with an infuriating smirk. His red eyes look down at you, still filled with fiery rage — and something else you can’t quite place.

And that’s when you recognize him.

“You’re Dynamight.”

His resolve cracks, his smirk turning down into a grimace.

“You’re fucking Dynamight,” you continue with your own smirk now spreading across your face, “Mr. golden boy pro hero Dynamight! Holy shit — I wonder how the commission would feel about you threatening a civilian. I wonder how the internet would feel about you threatening a woman!”

“Look, lady —“

“No, fuck you! I’m sorry I hit your fuckin’ car, but you have no right —“

“Yeah, you hit my car,” he barks at you, rage taking over once again, “so don’t get all fuckin’ high and mighty with me! D’you know how much that custom paint job is gonna cost to fix?!”

Your face falls and he sneers, lip curling up to reveal a sharp canine as he continues berating you.

“You wouldn’t fuckin’ know with your shitty little beater! So I suggest you shut your fuckin’ mouth and get me your insurance and ID, now! And don’t make me ask twice.”

You’re biting the inside of your cheek now, taking in just how royally fucked you are. Your insurance payments are already almost more than you can afford, an incident like this was sure to really screw up your finances. You could try to leverage exposing him and putting in a complaint with the commission again to get him to let it go but, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew it wouldn’t really be that much leverage. You knew about Dynamight — how he was notorious for being a huge dick, to say the least. He must already have a phone book full of complaints, and yet he was still one of the top pros in the nation. The commission clearly didn’t care enough to properly discipline him, and no matter how many videos of him cursing out civilians surfaced on Twitter, his merch still always sold out in minutes. The man was damn near untouchable.

“Well?” he says gruffly, pulling you out of your thoughts, “I’m waiting.”

“I…” you trail off, looking down at the floor as you deflate, “would rather not get insurance involved. Can we settle this between us? I’ll pay for the damages out of pocket?”

Dynamight laughs that unhumorous laugh again. “Oh yeah? Gonna pull ten racks out of your ass to fix that custom paint job? That orange color was formulated especially for me — they call it Dynamight Fuel Orange. Costs a pretty fuckin’ penny. You got that kinda money lyin’ around?”

You’re looking at him now, eyes wide, and he’s crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk. That stupid fucking smirk, it makes your blood boil — but you have to negotiate with him, try to be nice about it. Maybe he’ll take pity on you.

“Look, Dynamight, sir…” you say softly, noticing his eyes darken a bit at the moniker, “you’re right, I don’t have that kind of money. But I also can’t afford to have my insurance go up right now….”

He snorts, not faltering as he starts to pull his phone out. “Not my problem, sweetheart. If you don’t wanna give me your information, I’ll just call the cops —“

“Please, no!” You’re invading his space before you realize what you’re doing, putting your hand on Dynamight’s forearm to stop him from fishing his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. He looks at you wide eyed, surprised by the intrusion, but doesn’t pull away from you. You stay there like that, your small hand gripping his taught forearm as you crane your neck to look up at him. “Please, Dynamight. There has to be something else I can do. I can work off the debt somehow…”

Bakugou looks you over as you prattle on, listing ways in which you might be able to exchange free work for his mercy. Your boldness has surprised him twice now — how fearlessly you had yelled at and pushed him earlier, and now, how easy it was for you to get in his space and grab him. You were a fiery little thing and your insolence infuriates him, but it also makes him a bit curious about you.

He takes in your face — the way your eyes look at him with such conviction, darting around when you’re trying to gather your thoughts, then looking up into his eyes again without fear. He watches your tongue dart out to wet your plump lips, the way you take your lower lip between your teeth when you’re trying to choose the right words. He notices the slight blush on your cheeks, whether it was from your closeness or the summer heat he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t noticed before, completely blinded by his own anger and adrenaline, but you are… honestly cute.

He looks down further, taking in the slope of your neck and the way your collarbones are only partially visible, disappearing under your shirt. Where he’s standing, he has a perfect view down your v-neck top. Your breasts are sitting pretty, skin glistening from the light sheen of sweat that’s developed, protruding then receding slightly as you take quick breaths. He can see your bra from this angle, the way it hugs your chest and hides away more than he wants it to. Your bra is black, lacy.

He wonders if your panties match.

Something you’re saying grabs his attention, making him turn his gaze back to your face.

“I’m a teacher. That’s why I can’t afford —”

Bakugou snorts, “They let you teach kids dressed like that?”

You look down at yourself, confused. What was so offensive about your v-neck and jeans? “Yeah? It’s Friday, we’re allowed to dress casually on —“

“Your tits are practically fallin’ out of that shirt,” he says, his lips curling up into a smug smile as your head snaps back up, mouth agape. You finally let go of his arm, moving your hand to cover your chest.

“Y’know what, fuck you,” you’re turning back towards your car now, fuming again, “I don’t need your misogynistic bullshit. You can just have my insur—“

Bakugou grabs your wrist suddenly, pulling you along as he stomps back towards the front end of his car, which is still sitting in a ditch. You claw at his grasp, stumbling along behind him. “Let me go, asshole!” you screech, unable to shake his vice-like grip. He pulls you down into the ditch with him, then reels on you, a crazed look in his eyes that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Looks like my front bumper’s dented too,” the blonde says, voice low and gruff. Your eyes dart over to his bumper — but there is no dent. “W-where? I don’t see a —“

Without letting go of your wrist, Bakugou turns, brings his knee up high towards his chest, then launches his foot down onto the shiny front bumper of his own car. The metal crunches under the force, leaving behind a brand new dent as his foot returns to the dirt floor.

“See it now?”

His expression is different from the anger you’d seen earlier — it’s completely unhinged and it’s scaring you now. The wild look in his eyes paired with the menacing grin spread across his face is making your skin crawl. You shrink under his gaze, trying again to pull from his too-tight hold on your wrist.

The way you’re trembling and pulling away has Bakugou stiffening. The pure unadulterated fear he can see in your eyes as they widen, replacing the defiant gaze you had had just moments ago — it was absolutely delicious. He was just going to let insurance handle this little mishap, but you just had to be a brat, thinking you could stand up to him. Now he was going to put you in your place, and Gods know he was going to enjoy it.

“Looks like the bill just went up, sweetheart,” he spits the pet name, like it tastes bad in his mouth. “Your insurance ain’t gonna like that. Do you even have a plan that will cover this much?”

You’re stammering now, eyes welling up with tears as you try to push his hand off of your wrist. He’s gripping you so hard you’re certain his fingertips will leave bruises in your skin, his hold temporarily immortalized on your body. He pulls your wrist into his chest, and you’re forced to step forward into him. You’re so close now that you can feel the heat coming off of his firm body, you can smell the musky-sweet scent wafting from his skin — his face so close that you can see the gold specs littering his crimson irises, his breath fanning across your face.

“You said you want to work off the debt,” he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice reduced to a breathy growl, “I can think of some work for that bratty little mouth.”

With that, Bakugou’s grip snaps from your wrist to the back of your hand and he pulls it down towards his crotch, closing his hand over yours and forcing you to grab onto his half-hard cock through his sweats.

A sound of protest starts to leave you but gets caught in your throat when you feel it — the action so swift and so bold that your brain can’t fully process. You look down at where your hands are joined, as if to check if this is really happening, then back up at the red eyes that are boring into your own. Dynamight’s pupils are blown out, dark voids starting to overtake the crimson, and a fiendish smile plays on his lips. The look in his eyes is wild, hard, cocky — you realize he’s fully enjoying this display of power and he’s daring you to defy him. Something about him leering over you, making you feel like nothing more than prey to this well-trained predator, has you… completely turned on.

He’s moving your hands around slightly now, pushing and rubbing at his dick through the cotton fabric. You can feel it starting to stiffen, growing in your hand. It’s not even fully hard yet and you can tell that it’s big — bigger than you’ve ever had. You know you should pull away, scream at him, jump in your car and take off, but you just can’t. You’re frozen there, entranced by the feeling of him growing in your palm and completely hypnotized by the sadistic gleam in his feline eyes. Your body is starting to heat up, your face flushing, a familiar tension growing between your thighs that makes your head fuzzy.

“Well?” Comes Dynamight’s gruff voice, ripping you from your thoughts. “I ain’t got all day. Want me to let the damages go or not?”

Your voice comes out small, weak. “H-here? Right here?” Your eyes dart around at the road, half expecting to see cars lined up on the side of the road, a crowd forming silently to watch you defile yourself for this asshole. But there’s nobody, no cars as far as your eyes can see.

Bakugou grunts in response. “Did I stutter? Get on your knees.”

You know you shouldn’t do this. This road was usually pretty desolate, yes, but there was still the occasional car or semi-truck that blew through. Who’s to say they wouldn’t see? Who’s to say they wouldn’t slow down and snap a picture? Somehow the thought, as mortifying as it was, had a knot forming deep in your core — was it humiliation you felt, or arousal? Or was it the dizzying combination of both?

You don’t protest, your mind swimming with desire and the possibility of getting out of this situation scott-free. You just lower yourself, eyes on his as your knees come to rest on the hard ground. Dynamight snickers — there’s nothing he loves more than winning. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he breathes, “What are ya waitin’ for? Pull my dick out.”

His harshness is a spell and you are fully enchanted — if he told you to throw yourself into traffic in that voice, with that look in his eyes, you might just do it.

You mutter an “alright, asshole”, but move to follow his orders anyways. You hook your fingers into the stretchy waistband of his joggers and pull down, his half-hard cock bouncing up at you with new found freedom — he isn’t wearing boxers. His dick is so pretty (because of course it is), sitting long and weighty between his shredded legs. The white shaft has faint blue veins running along it, the light pink head smooth and shiny in the sunlight. He’s well groomed, his balls hairless and taught against his body, the dark blonde curls above his shaft trimmed and trailing up delicately to disappear under the hem of his shirt.

“Ya ever sucked a dick before?” comes the snide voice above you, “Gotta do more than just look at it, princess.”

You glare up at him, snatching his dick up in your right hand and giving it a sharp tug. He lets out a small groan, stepping forward a bit involuntarily. His cock is now right in your face, so close you can smell his musk and see a bead of pre cum leaking from his tip. He’s hardening quickly in your hands — he must have enjoyed the mean treatment, that bit of pain. You smirk to yourself.

You stroke him a few times, feeling the smooth skin in your hand, and look up at him through thick eyelashes — he still has the same hard expression on his face, but he’s watching you intently, taking in how small your hands look around his cock. You stick your tongue out and lean forward, giving his tip an experimental lick, tasting the saltiness of his precum as you swirl your tongue around the head.

He’s fully hard now, standing at attention right in your face, so big in your hands that you can’t fully wrap your fingers around it — and it’s curved slightly upwards. You can’t help but imagine how well that curve would hit your g-spot as he’s fucking you deep, his palms pressed against the back of your thighs as he pushes you open wide. You’re aching between your thighs now, and your face flushes as if he can somehow tell — the battle between wanting to hate this asshole pro hero and wanting him to fuck you senseless is raging in your mind.

You pull his dick upwards so you can press your tongue to the underside, giving his shaft a long, wet lick from the base to the tip. Once you get to the tip, you angle it back down and take him into your mouth in one swift motion. He lets out a groan, brows furrowing slightly as he watches his dick disappear between your lips. “There you go — ah fuck — knew you were a slut,” his voice rumbles low in his belly as you begin bobbing your head back and forth at a steady pace, massaging him with your tongue and slurping shamelessly. You’d sucked a dick before in your day, you knew that if you set a good pace and made it sloppy that it would be over with quicker, easier. If only you’d known that Katsuki Bakugou would not be the type to make anything easier for you.

A strong hand on your head makes you stop and peer up at its owner. The giant man leers over you, his hulking form blocking out the sun as he casts a shadow down on you, and his domineering presence somehow feels stronger now, more menacing. He’s smirking down at you, eyes blown and dark — filled with something you can only describe as predatory. The hand on your head grips your hair, pulling back so his cock pops out of your mouth and your neck strains backwards. His other hand finds your exposed neck, wrapping around it possessively.

“Open that little whore mouth.”

His voice is low, quiet, but you hear him loud and clear. You oblige, eyes wide, and feel the hand on your throat move to grip your cheeks. He leans over you, eyes on your tongue, and purses his lips. You’re too entranced by how pretty he looks leaned over you like this, blonde hair falling forward around his face, eyelids low, plump lips pressed together. Before you can even register what he’s doing, Bakugou spits into your mouth, a long string of clear liquid falling from his lips onto your tongue.

You gasp and the man above you laughs, gripping your hair hard in his hand and pulling it back down then swiftly shoving his dick back into your spit-filled mouth before you have time to react. He ruts into your face hard and fast, holding your hair tightly so you can’t pull away. The head of his dick bullies the back of your throat, his length moving in and out of your mouth with each relentless buck of his hips.

He’s panting and grunting with each thrust, filth falling from his lips as he begins letting his primal urges take over. “God yeah — fuckin’ whore — lettin’ me use your mouth like this — fuck — just keep that bratty mouth open —“

You don’t know if it’s his words or the way he’s using you so roughly, but you can feel your whole body heating up from the fire that is burning deep inside you. Your pussy feels painfully untouched and slick between your legs. You can feel it clenching around nothing as this handsome hero degrades you — bullies you in the most hypnotic way. You want to know how he’d bully your insides.

The way he’s abusing your throat is causing it to produce an uncomfortable amount of thick saliva. You gurgle around him, spit bubbles forming at the corners of your mouth and overflowing so your drool is dripping slowly down your chin and onto your chest. It feels like you’re starting to drown yourself, more and more thick spit pooling in your mouth and the back of your throat as he shoves into it ruthlessly.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Bakugou pulls himself out of your mouth and puts his hand palm up in front of your face, just below your chin. “Spit,” he commands. You look up at him confused, and he cocks an eyebrow, giving his hand a small shake. Finally understanding, you collect the saliva pooling in your mouth and reluctantly spit it into his open palm. A wicked grin spreads across his face and, with his other hand wrapped tightly in your hair to keep you from pulling away, he roughly rubs his spit-covered hand all over your face. You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, surprised by the feeling of the thick fluid being rubbed over your mouth, cheeks, forehead, eyes — you know your makeup must be smearing around as it mixes with your spit.

Bakugou chuckles darkly, squeezing your jaw between his thumb and forefinger and moving it around so he can take in his handiwork — your skin glistening with spit and black makeup smeared around your eyes, your cute little face ruined. He’s drunk off of your destruction. He wants to ruin you more, reduce you to a sloppy mess and make you lose every ounce of that infuriating attitude and dignity until you’re nothing more than a used up whore. Nothing made his dick harder than being the one to destroy a pretty little bitch with an attitude — a pretty little bitch like you.

He finally wipes your eyes with his dry thumb and you blink, peering up at him through wet lashes.

“You look so much prettier like this.”

He straightens back up and tangles a hand back in your hair, gripping his dick in his other hand and rubbing it over your ruined, slippery face. The action feels so nasty — so degrading — and yet you’re panting below him, feeling your arousal radiating at your center. You just know that if you stuck your hand down into your panties that you would be completely soaked — and you’re almost tempted to, the need to feel friction between your legs getting stronger as the sensation of Dynamight’s weighty cock dragging along your face taunts you.

He can see you squeezing your thighs together, the way lust makes your eyes glaze over, and he snickers. “This turnin’ you on? Nasty bitch.” He grabs the base of his thick cock in his hand and brings it down on your cheek with a wet thwap thwap thwap.

“Open.”

You obey, and he shoves his length back down your throat in one swift motion, holding your head down, your lips pressed against wet blonde curls, until you’re gagging around him. You try to pull away, pressing your palms to his thighs and pushing, but he’s so much stronger than you.

“Stay there,” he grunts, “Ya wanna pay me back right? ‘m takin’ your breath as payment.”

You still, finding your body automatically going along with his sadistic little game. It was like your brain was hard-wired to want to please him — or maybe the mix of arousal and oxygen deprivation swirling around in your head was making you more pliable. You hold yourself there as long as you can, his cock filling your throat so full that he’s blocking your airways completely. You furrow your brows, trying your best to hold your breath and keep your throat from rejecting him, but you’re not able to hold him there for long before you’re choking around him and trying to pull away again.

He lets you, pulling your head back with his hands, and you take in a deep, raspy breath. As quickly as he’s gone, he’s back again, the familiar feeling of rigid, wet skin against your tongue returning as the blonde slides himself back down your throat. He fills your mouth up easily, his tip pushing past something hard in your throat until he’s blocking your airways again.

He bottoms out in your throat again with a groan. “Take it — fuck — take it all,” he moans as he wraps his hands up in your hair and starts moving your head back and forth against him shallowly. You’re gurgling around him, making lewd, wet sounds involuntarily as he uses your head like his own personal toy.

The panicked feeling from being deprived of air for too long returns and you slap his thigh twice, to which he groans and pulls your head off of him again. You’re gasping, sputtering, coughing, saliva covering your face, dripping down your chin and neck, globs of it rolling down the slopes of your breasts.

Wet sounds fill the air as Dynamight strokes his cock in your face, so much spit covering it that it’s gathering in his hand and dripping onto the dirt floor in fat globs. With his free hand he lifts his shirt up, ducking his head down slightly to bring the front of it over until the fabric is resting behind his neck, half removed so the sleeves are still wrapped around his brawny arms. Your eyes rake up his body, appreciating the way his abs tighten as he pleasures himself, the light sheen of sweat that makes his pecs glisten, the way his strong arm flexes with each stroke of his hand.

He was the closest thing to a God you had ever witnessed, and you were so captivated that you were ready to lay all of yourself at his feet.

You stick your tongue out and press it to his tip as he jerks himself off, looking up at him innocently to let him know you’re ready for more. He growls at your expression, how much of a mess you are covered in spit, makeup ruined, hair askew, and his slick cock jerking over your desperate face. The hand that isn’t pumping is brought up to your face, cupping your wet cheek as Bakugou looks down at you intently. He hasn’t even properly touched you and you look like this. He runs his thumb over your tongue, which is dripping spit onto your heaving chest, then pushes it in further, prodding at your mouth and pulling at your cheek. You swirl your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan is pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of his own slick hand, your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. “Mmm messy fuckin’ slut…”

He thinks this is the best you’ll ever look, and he wants to see you look like this all the time — no, he wants to see you look even more used up. He wants to be your undoing.

“I might just have to keep you…”

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a pop and leans down as he strokes himself, his lips finding yours in a sloppy kiss. Slippery lips, spit, teeth — his tongue explores your mouth in the same way he does everything: unabashed, feverish, domineering. Even his mouth is a bully, tongue strong, teeth nipping at your lower lip. You respond with a fire of your own, sucking his lower lip into your mouth harshly and biting down hard enough to draw blood. He growls and pulls away, but instead of anger on his face there’s a sly smile, his mouth and chin slick with saliva. His eyes are glowing as he straightens back up, bringing his pulsating dick back to your face.

Bakugou puts his hands on either side of your head, easily encasing it, and lines himself back up with your lips. With a low moan, he’s pushing himself back into your mouth. You take him willingly, tongue out, eyes trained up on him, and you moan around him, appreciating the way his girth fills your mouth up and makes your jaw ache.

He ruts into your throat, wet sounds filling your ears as he fucks into your face fast and hard. Your throat is burning, jaw sore, your chin wet from his balls smacking into it over and over. You focus on breathing through your nose when you can as he continues his assault on your throat. He’s groaning, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, fingers splayed out on the sides of your head as he loses himself in your warm, wet mouth.

You can’t look up at him now, too focused on trying not to drown in spit and dick, but if you could you’d see how beautiful he looks like this — his eyebrows furrowed and his pretty lips open slightly as he lets pleasure overcome him, his cheeks slightly flushed from the physical exertion. He doesn’t look angry or annoyed like this — he looks angelic, euphoric, like he’s in the most beautiful pain.

You know it before he tells you, the way his pace becomes erratic and his hands grip your head a little too hard — he’s nearing his end. He’s panting and grunting and babbling over you, his balls tightening as he quickens his thrusts even more. “Shit — so fuckin’ good — filthy fuckin’ bitch — ah yeah — yer such a mess for me — you like that shit huh — ugh gonna blow my load all over your face — bet you’d love that shit huh slut?” You moan your agreement, but the sound is lost around his cock, coming out as more of a high-pitched gurgle. He chuckles, but it turns into a long, low groan when you bring one of your hands up to massage his spit-soaked balls.

“Ngh-nasty bitch…” He moans, voice losing its edge as you work your hand over him, coaxing his orgasm out. And then he falls apart — head thrown back, brows stitched together, face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead and chest. With a flex of his abdomen and a final push into your throat, he’s cumming. Hard. You feel him pulse in your throat, feel heat on your tongue, taste bitter saltiness — then you feel hot, wet ropes falling over your face, one after another. He’s practically whining as he squeezes his spasming dick, releasing rope after rope of white-hot cum all over your already ruined face. His hand is wrapped up in your hair, keeping you in place for him as he comes down, squeezing the last bit of spunk out of his softening dick and letting it fall onto your outstretched tongue with an unceremonious flick of his wrist.

Even though it wasn’t your orgasm that had just happened, you’re completely high, eyes glazed over and panting, tongue still stuck out and absolutely covered in spit and cum. Your mind is so hazy and your cunt is aching something fierce, you simply can’t focus. Bakugou laughs as he’s pulling his sweats up.

“God, look at you.”

You’re coming back down to earth just in time to see a phone in your face — Dynamight snaps a picture of you as he laughs.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of how you look and where you are, the arousal that had previously had an otherworldly grip on your consciousness finally dissipating. You swallow and it burns the back of your throat, the smell of cum filling your nose. You feel slimy, your throat aches, your knees hurt. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He grins at you, leaning down until you’re practically nose-to-nose. “I said I’d let the damages go. Not that I’d let you off the hook. Now I have this —“ He turns his phone around, the screen lighting up with the picture of your ruined face. “— to keep you on my leash. And it’s a tight one, sweetheart.”

With that, he turns on his heel and starts walking towards the road, his thumb tapping on his phone. “Better get out of here before the tow shows up. Unless you want the driver to see what a whore you are.”

—

After taking a particularly long shower and pouring yourself a hefty glass of wine, you finally settle into your couch. You’re trying to shake away the shame that’s beginning to snake it’s way into your mind. How could you let a man — especially a man as fucking douchey as pro hero Dynamight — bring you to your knees like that? You’ve now realized that there was no way he hadn’t been driving way over the speed limit (how did he sneak up into your blind spot like that?) so the accident most likely wasn’t completely your fault. That means that you probably would have shared mutual blame and you would have been off the hook anyways… right?

The accident aside, your stomach is twisting just thinking about how depraved you had been. You let that man use you in every sense of the word and it made you feel dirty. But what was making you feel even more dirty was the fact that your mind was completely fixated on him, even now, and the feeling in your stomach was definitely something more than just disgust. The image of him hunched over you, sweaty and panting, with a cocky smirk on his face every time your eyes met — the sound of his grunting, the way he cursed at you and let the filthiest, meanest things you’ve ever heard just fall from his lips like it was nothing — the smell of his musk, sweet with a hint of spice, engulfing you more and more as he worked up a sweat — all of these things are like heroin to you; You hate yourself for it, but you want more.

Your body heat is rising again as the images of him flash through your mind. That sickeningly sweet twisting of your gut that radiates all the way up your body until it settles in your neck and face — maybe you were just sexually frustrated, needed a release and then he’d fade from your mind. You start to fish in your bedside table drawer for your vibrator as you pull your phone out for something other than him to get you going, but freeze when you notice an unread message on your lock screen. It’s from an unsaved number. You slide your thumb up on the screen, tap in your passcode, and click the familiar green icon. The message is sitting right at the top, waiting for you, taunting you. The text in the message preview makes your heart drop: Attachment: 1 image. You hold your breath and click — and it feels like your insides have dropped fully out of your body and onto the floor.

Looking back at you in the message thread is you — well, a version of you. You barely recognize yourself, your eyes glazed over, unfocused, and your mouth wide open, tongue stuck out in a heinously lewd expression. Your eye makeup is smeared and your features are obscured by the slick all over your face — spit — and the globs of white that are mixed in, covering your cheeks, your lips, sitting on your tongue, reaching all the way up to your forehead and in your hairline. Can this fucked out, messy, cum-covered person really be you? You know it is, because the memory of it is making your cunt ache.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch the dreaded 3 dots pop up below the photo — the person on the other end is typing. You wait for what feels like hours before the dots disappear and are quickly replaced with a new message:

“Better answer when I call, princess.”

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

suggestive. college au boyfriend!bakugou. installment II “poor timing”

He’s barely awake when he picks up his phone from where it’s charging near the bed, blearily sliding in one of his amplifiers as he presses it to the side of his head.

“Th’fuck are you callin’ me at 2am for?”

Kirishima pauses from his side of the line, curious male voices leaking into the speaker that irritate in their familiarity. “Are you just waking up?”

“What the fuck else would I be doing?”

“That’s what I’m wondering too.” He plops himself on the large bean bag sitting in the middle of his roommates floor, after knocking on his door for what felt like hours. Kaminari starfishes against his comforter, and he has to snap a few times to stop Sero from going through his friend’s stuff.

“Dude, where are you?” He asks. “Your truck’s not in the parking lot. Are you at a hotel?”

Bakugou stays silent for a long moment, fleeting as it is, it's a little disconcerting, and the chat runs empty as the sound of a running fan hisses through the static.

He sighs, brief movement stirs sleepily under his bicep and he figures it’s best to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “I’m with ____.”

“You’re-“ Kirishima stammers a little. “Can you say that again?”

“I’m at _____’s apartment.” Bakugou repeats himself - he’s obviously trying to be quiet.

“No fucking way! Dude?!” Kaminari chimes in from somewhere in the room, because of course he’s on speaker. “Like is she right next to you?”

“Can you be any fuckin’ louder?!” Bakugou whisper-yells.

“She totally is, isn’t she?” Sero chimes in. “Did you two fuck?”

Kirishima grimaces up at him from where he’s sitting. “Don’t be crude.” Though, he hesitates a moment before speaking a little closer to the speaker. “Wait, did you?”

Bakugou kisses his teeth. “What the hell was so fuckin’ important that you had to call me at two in the morning anyway?”

“Well, those of us who weren’t out getting some wanted to know if you wanted to play DnD. Since it’s the weekend and all.” Sero says.

“But I guess now you’re too good for the loser club, now that you’re some bigshot with a hot girlfriend.” Kaminari pouts.

Bakugou audibly scoffs. “I was never a part of the loser club to begin with.”

“Says the guy who’s gonna make us look for another DM in the middle of a campaign.” Kirishima retorts. “Seriously, you couldn’t have picked a better night to fuck ____? With you two gone Jirou’s gonna wanna take over your post - and she always gives us the worst scenarios.”

“They’re not that bad.” Bakugou jumps a little when the hand around his waist slithers to wipe at her sleepy eyes, cursing hushedly before the men hear him quietly apologize away from the speaker.

His three friends blush as a familiar voice leaks softly into the receiver.

“What’re you doing…?”

“…Nothin’, angel. Go back to sleep.”

The three squeal in unison.

Bakugou kisses his teeth again, whispering angrily into the speaker. “Shut the fuck up. And don’t call me this late, again!”

Click!

[greatbakerypaperoperator]

| kinktober week one | ♱ don’t make me say it ♱ | atsumu miya x reader |

synopsis: “it’s not your fault osamu is the better twin, atsumu just rubs you the wrong fucking way.”

wc: 2.6k

cw: enemies to lovers (but still kinda enemies), pet names (baby, angel), unprotected sex, degradation, d/s dynamics, hatefucking, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, dick slapping, mentions of masturbation, fingering, exhibitionism, facials, swallowing, humiliation, ATSUMU I HATE U SO MUCH KISS ME. NO MINORS.

author’s note: my god he is so annoying. this one goes out to @kweenkatsuki​, her monoma fics are probably my fave “enemies who fuck” fics i’ve ever read. This one’s filthy, im afraid.

♱ find the rest of my kinktober masterlist here ♱

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