Sometimes I’ll Just Randomly Shout, “yeonggue Was Robbed!” Because As A Matter Of Fact, He Was

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

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🤧😍💞

ok but can we talk about how perfectly accurate yoonbin drew himself

polluted geto suguru, gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna, kamo choso/f!reader word count: 11k warnings: 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT, recreational drug use (weed), dubious consent, slight sexual coercion, sex under the influence, gangbang, oral sex (f! and m!receiving), double penetration (oral and vaginal), biting, spitting, creampie, snowballing, pussyjob, fingering, choking, squirting, hair pulling, generally rough sex, implication of non-consensual filming/photography, shotgunning, college!au, no curses!au, slight dumbification, ft a cameo from nanami. a/n: this is a continuation of a drabble i posted ages ago (the first few hundred words of this fic!) feel free to skip that if you’ve already read it. also these tags alone are sending me to hell. enjoy! never talk to me about this again! crossposted to AO3

“D'ya want some?” Gojo asks up at you, his head in your lap as you tap at the screen of your cellphone idly, leaving a heart on a friend’s perfectly filtered photo that only makes you feel a little bitter when you look at it.

“Hm?” you ask, glancing down towards him as he peers up at your face. He has a bag of gummy candy resting on his tummy, and you part your lips and stick your tongue out slightly, asking for one of his sweets.

He lets out a little heh at your expression before popping a pink and blue candy–dusted with a sweet-sour crystalline coating–into your waiting mouth.

“I meant the weed,” Gojo answers your earlier hum only once you begin to chew the treat he’d just fed you. He sticks his thumb in his mouth, licking it clean of the tangy sugar that clings to it. “D'ya want some?”

“Oh,” you reply, eyes flickering to the other side of Gojo and Geto’s dorm room where Choso is seated on the floor, a pillow on his lap and an old DVD case on top of it. He’s diligently packing the ground up weed into a rolling paper–little bits of green clinging to the tips of his fingers like the sugar had to Gojo’s. “I don’t think so.”

You really shouldn’t.

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communal property [pt. 1] /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou (18+)

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too? [Part 2]

A/N: The ‘you deserve two boyfriends’ meme but make it college AU. Y'all don’t even know how excited I got about this…it’s embarrassing…but ngl this is the good kush 😌

Tags/warnings: college AU, baby’s first poly relationship, soft??, exhibitionism, Tendou is a tiny bit shady with that sharing is caring mentality

They really do share everything, so you guess it makes sense that they end up sharing you.

At first—meaning, when you first start dating Tendou and Ushijima is just his intimidatingly hot roommate who seems like he’s constantly glaring at everyone—you think it’s weird. They have the same major and every semester when they enroll, Tendou plans their schedules so they can take at least half of their classes together. He texts Ushijima to set up times for lunch and dinner so they can eat in the cafeteria together, they meet up to walk to volleyball practice together, and (even before Tendou brings up the poly thing) Ushijima’s usually around when you’re with him.

They share stuff, too, not just their schedules. Their dorm suite (which is about 10 times nicer than the regular rooms on the same floor—it’s student athlete privilege, and yes, you’re bitter about it) is littered with items that always seem to fall under collective ownership. Boxes of energy bars and whey protein powder lining up the walls in neat stacks; medals and trophies and flags from high school volleyball; the singular bottle of body wash and the accompanying 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner they keep in their bathroom—all of it belongs to both of them. You ask Ushijima once if there’s anything he wouldn’t share with Tendou, and he has to think for a while before answering.

“My toothbrush,” he says seriously. “But if he asked, I would let him use it.”

They’re close enough to the same size that they can share clothes sometimes, and since they have a single closet with no system of organization, it’s really hard to tell whose is whose. This gets you in trouble when you start dating Tendou—if you think about it, it might be the reason the three of you ended up together in the first place.

The jersey incident, as you refer to it in your mind later on, occurs a few weeks into your relationship, when Tendou’s at an away game for the weekend and he leaves you a voicemail telling you he misses you. Everything’s new and shiny and you like hearing that he hates having to be away from you, so you dig his old high school jersey out of the back of his closet for the sole purpose of taking a racy pic to send to him. It’s gigantic on you—figures, since Tendou is stupid tall for some reason—but you tie up the hem under your tits and let it slip off of your bare shoulders and the effect is pretty cute.

And hey, you figure you may as well go all the way and dress up to cheer your boyfriend on, so you beg your roommate to let you borrow the ‘slutty cheerleader’ costume she wore on Halloween: itty bitty pleated white skirt, thigh high socks, hair tied up in pigtails and sparkly white pom-poms to complete the look. You put your camera on auto-timer and take way too many pictures, and when you’re decently satisfied with the results, you send them to Tendou along with your usual good luck, I’m cheering for you! text before the game.

It takes him about one minute to respond.

> holy fuck (y/n)

> jesus

> r u trying to make me cum in my fucking pants

> Attachment: 1 image

It’s a blurry selfie of him in his team uniform, substantial dick print clearly visible through the shorts. You flush, grin, and preen at your ability to give your boyfriend a hard-on from hundreds of miles away without even showing that much.

Unfortunately, that’s not all.

> where did u even get that shirt? u know its wakatoshis not mine right lol

< Wait, are you joking? you ask back, horror dawning on you as you twist around in front of a mirror to check the number on the back. Did you actually just send your boyfriend a sexy picture wearing his roommate’s shirt? You don’t want to believe it, but sure enough the back of the jersey reads SHIRATORIZAWA 1. You may be clueless when it comes to volleyball, but you’re pretty certain that 1 is the captain’s number, and Tendou was not the captain of his high school team. Shit!

> ya lmao mines at home, thats definitely wakatoshis

< OMG no!!! please don’t tell him 😰 You immediately pull the jersey off and bury your face in your pillow as your roommate looks on curiously. Knowing Tendou, you’re never going to live this down.

> dw abt it

> he thinks its hot lol

You can actually feel the blood draining out of your face. < WHAT!! You showed it to him???

> hes sitting right next to me😂😂 dont be mad please baby

< I hate you so much Tendou I’m seriously going to kill you

> wakatoshi looks all flustered, wanna see?

< No I hate you

Tendou sends the picture anyway. Ushijima does not look flustered in the least. He looks as serious and vaguely annoyed as he does every time you see him, and all you can think about is the fact that your boyfriend’s best friend saw you wearing that stupid cheerleading outfit and his old jersey and he probably thinks you’re a moron.

You refuse to answer any of Tendou’s texts until he comes back and apologizes sincerely. You can’t look Ushijima in the eye for way too long. And despite many requests, you absolutely do not let Tendou fuck you in the cheerleader costume.

Weeks later—ages—you’re sitting one of the dryers in the laundry room quizzing Ushijima on terms for your upcoming biochem test while he folds his clothes, and you lose your train of thought when you see the accursed Shiratorizawa jersey in his hands. You’ve always felt awkward over that stupid photo, but you decide now is as good a time as any to get it out in the open and lighten the mood.

“Hey, do you remember that time I thought that was Tendou’s? You know, when I…sent him that picture… He said you might’ve seen it by accident.” Your voice trails off, but you’re impressed at how well you’re faking nonchalance.

The dryer churns under your thighs and somewhere behind you there’s another student humming Kendrick while they fold their clothes. You keep your gaze firmly glued to the flashcards you’re going through so you don’t have to make eye contact, but out of the corner of your eye you can see Ushijima stop folding the jersey and look up at you. “Ah… Tendou showed it to me.”

That little shit. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was kinda hoping you’d forgotten by now.”

“I didn’t.”

His voice is closer than you thought and you look up reflexively. Ushijima is standing in front of you. He’s so big, you think despite the fact that this is not exactly a revelation (honestly, you think it every time you see him). His face looks the same as usual, but there’s a charge in the air. Some kind of tension, the kind you’re used to in different contexts but you barely recognize here because Ushijima is your boyfriend’s roommate.

You know you look like a mess (it’s midterm season and you’re too busy to do your own laundry) and the only reason you’re even here is that you and Ushijima are in the same biochem section and he is 100% definitely going to fail without your help, but somehow all of that falls away and you don’t feel like you’re sitting in the basement laundry room with ugly fluorescent lights flickering above you and half a dozen other students milling around. The way Ushijima is looking at you isn’t the way a guy looks at ‘some girl who’s dating his friend’ or whatever.

“I’m not going to forget,” he continues.

He’s watching you like instead of sitting on a dryer in sweats and a dingy old camp t-shirt, you’re wearing the same slutty cheerleader costume from the photo: made up like a beauty queen, pom-poms in hand, tits pushed up against the loose fabric of the jersey you’re wearing that’s about half a second away from falling off entirely. His jersey. Ushijima’s eyes move over you and you have to fold your legs and for some reason the thought crosses your mind that he’s about to kiss you, and no, of course that doesn’t make sense, but as soon as you think it you can’t stop thinking about it.

He’s going to kiss you. He’s going to kiss you. Ushijima’s going to kiss you.

He reaches forward and you shy away at the last second—only to feel like an world-class idiot once again when his hand closes around the stack of index cards at your side. “Heterotroph hypothesis,” he says flatly.

You breathe out a quick sigh, trying to feel relieved and not the tiniest bit let down. “Uhh…early life forms—something about the first life form, right? They couldn’t produce their own food, so they were heterotrophs…”

Ushijima flips the card around to read the back. “Correct.” And that’s that.

///

You didn’t start going out with Tendou thinking that you’d end up in a throuple with the two stars of your college’s volleyball team, but honestly, it’s not like there aren’t signs.

The jersey incident is the first, unless you count the fact that most of the stuff Tendou invites you to do is stuff he’s already doing with Ushijima. Late night study date at the library? You show up and Tendou’s there with Ushijima already, the two of them claiming an entire 6-person table with their papers strewn out everywhere, disagreeing about the meaning of one of the practice exam answers (they’re usually both wrong). Coffee date before class? Tendou’s late, but it’s cool because you can tell he literally sprinted to meet you at your favorite bench on campus, bringing with him you the iced coffee you asked for along with his ever-present roommate. It takes some getting used to, but you like Ushijima so you don’t mind.

Sometimes you think it’s weird that they’re friends. Other than being tall and playing volleyball, they really don’t have much in common. Ushijima has to be the polar opposite of your goofy, cheerful boyfriend, who can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life…then again, maybe that’s why they’re so close? You know through Tendou that there are a lot of people on the team who respect Ushijima, but it seems like it’d be hard to develop an actual friendship with the guy. Figures that Tendou—who doesn’t give up when he’s interested in someone, as you can attest to firsthand—would be Ushijima’s closest and oldest friend.

They’re not all different, though. You discover a third similarity between the two of them when you go to their first home game and see them really play for the first time: talent. It’s crazy—you’ve never been into sports, but you don’t need to be to see how good they are at what they do. The ball moves so fast you barely understand what’s going on, but there’s no mistaking how often the announcer says each of their names as they score point after point after point.

You learn a lot of things at that match: what a ‘guess blocker’ is, what Tendou’s face looks like when he scores (it’s pretty similar to his sex face—is that weird or cute??), and that Ushijima is one of the best spikers in Japan. The way he slams the ball down into the opposing team’s court doesn’t even look real sometimes. You keep wondering if the volleyball is going to pop like a balloon under the force of his hand.

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima leaving the locker room in the stadium. You’re still pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face, I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never seems to care) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. It was super loud when you hit the ball—wait, are your hands okay? If I hit something that hard I’d probably break a finger.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made him smile!

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah…” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

It’s not the first. And it’s definitely not the last. Tendou drops plenty of hints that the two of you should actually be the three of you; you just don’t get it. You don’t even get it when he forgets to lock the dorm room door a few times while the two of you fuck in between classes—he’s got you sitting on his face, whining, whimpering, panting his name while he slithers his long tongue over your clit, and Ushijima just…opens the door and walks in.

You tense up, and not just because Ushijima is witnessing what you look like naked and getting ate out like your pussy is a five course meal with extra dessert—you tense up because you’re about to cum, the kind of climax where you couldn’t stop it if you tried. And you try, you try to hold back, you try to lift your soaking wet cunt off of Tendou’s mouth, but your thighs are too weak and anyway he’s holding you down right in place to tongue-fuck you into literal oblivion—

—so you can’t help it, okay? You can’t help locking eyes with Ushijima, who looks completely dazed at what he just walked into and you can’t help panting out his name because it’s the only fucking thing in your stupid fucking brain— “U—shi—ji—ma?” you gasp, and then you’re squeaking and you’re tipping over that edge and your cunt is quivering around the slick muscle of Tendou’s tongue inside, goddamnit you are going to kill him for not locking that door, except who cares because he’s still licking and you’re writhing in his grip with his fingertips pushing into the fat of your thighs while he keeps you in place, and your boyfriend’s roommate is looking at you!—

And then Ushijima disappears out of the bedroom and you hear the door of the bathroom slam shut. Tendou’s grip eases, and he rolls to the side on his narrow twin bed to make room for you to fall back down flat onto it.

“You…didn’t lock the door.”

“No way,” he laughs, wiping his mouth. “Wakatoshi has a key, y’know. It’s his room too.”

The most annoying part is that Tendou does not look the least bit remorseful. You growl and attempt to push him off the edge of the bed with your foot (unsuccessfully). “You could’ve put a sock on the doorknob! Or texted him!”

“Aw, come on. We sexile him so often I feel bad…I thought he’d be out for longer.” Tendou rubs a circle on your back, still suppressing laughter, but that doesn’t help your frayed nerves.

“He saw—everything! He totally saw me cum, and I said his freaking name—“ You roll onto your stomach and stuff your face in Tendou’s pillow to muffle a scream. “Oh my god. I want to die. I wish we could get struck by lightning right now.”

“It’s okay, babe! It’s not that big a deal, I promise.”

You glare at Tendou, who inexplicably seems to believe what he’s saying. “Shouldn’t you be jealous or something? Another guy saw me naked.”

“Wellll…I’d be jealous if it wasn’t Wakatoshi.”

Ugh, what is that supposed to mean? You frown, irrationally annoyed at the implication that Ushijima would have zero interest in your naked body. “Yeah, I get it, he doesn’t see me like that. But it’s still embarrassing.”

“…You think Wakatoshi doesn’t see you like that?” Tendou shifts himself to hover over you, smirking down at your body. “He went to the bathroom, right? …What do you think he’s doing in there?”

What is Ushijima doing in the bathroom? You can hear the shower running through the thin wall between the two rooms. It’s the middle of the day, and he didn’t come from the gym. “He’s showering?”

“Hm…so Wakatoshi came in and saw you—“ Tendou punctuates this with a kiss on the side of your neck and you shudder. “You, the hottest girl on the fucking planet. Naked. Cumming. And you said his name.”

“Um—it was an accident...” Fuck, you shouldn’t be letting Tendou mess around with you while Ushijima’s probably like six inches away through the wall, but you have a bad habit of getting caught up in Tendou’s pace.

“You did. You moaned Ushijima all sexy—you know how sexy your voice sounds when you cum?” Tendou sighs and slides his hand up your inner thigh, hooking it over his hip. “Wakatoshi hasn’t heard a girl moaning his name in a while. What he’s doing right now…he probably can’t help himself.”

“So you think he’s—“ You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut and try to stop yourself from picturing Ushijima in the shower, water dripping over those perfect muscles while he…um…does some self-care. “Oh my god.”

“Aww, you like that? Me and Wakatoshi both want to fuck you…that makes you horny, yeah?” You can feel Tendou shuffling with his sweatpants and pulling his cock out to line it up with your bare tummy while he layers kisses over your cheeks and gropes one of your tits. “We should give him something to jack off to… I bet he can hear everything. I bet he’s dying to hear what that cute little voice sounds like when my dick is stuffed up you instead of my tongue…”

No. Nope, nope, no way. Tendou’s too fucking good at this. Your pussy is twitching—dripping your juices sticky all over your thighs, but you also feel like you might spontaneously combust if he keeps talking. “I—I have to go back to my room,” you blurt before you can change your mind.

Tendou blows out a low sigh, then laughs and falls back to the side and pushes his hand through his hair like he never really meant any of it. “If you insist, princess.”

“You better apologize to him for me,” you say, rolling your eyes as you wiggle back into the pair of shorts you abandoned on the ground.

“Sure, okay. But the option’s open! Believe me, Wakatoshi wouldn’t mind.”

Wouldn’t mind what? you think. Somehow the obvious answer escapes you.

That is, until you meet them for dinner a week later (you’ve been avoiding Ushijima, and by extension you’ve been avoiding your boyfriend too) and Tendou decides that it’s time to be upfront, so as you’re sitting across from them at the booth in the dining hall trying to sneak leftovers into your backpack because you’re running out of meal points, he just comes out and says it.

“So (Y/N)— have you ever heard of polyamory?”

➠ [Part 2]

Oblivion

💌Yandere!Katsuki Bakugo x F!Reader💌

4.1k words

A commission for @jitsukawaa

Summary:

To Katsuki, the fact that you’re oblivious to your surroundings is both a blessing and a curse.

TW for: Dubcon

Tags:

College au, quirks still exist just fill the rest of the plot in in your head, cunnilingus/oral sex, dubious consent, bakugo having some subtly strange behaviours and some not subtle ones, thank you for commissioning me :D

———

You’d always tried your best to let him do his thing, unless it interfered with your daily life.

Because Katsuki had weird relationships with pretty much everyone. Eijiro, you’d seen that friendship in action during one of your classes. The way that Katsuki would silently offer him a pen, expecting no words of thanks or appreciation. Eijiro knew Katsuki well and thus did not say anything, knowing it would only irritate him.

Ashido had told you that he was a lot more explosive in high school. Apparently her friend group had slowly worked around those issues and managed to befriend him, even if it didn’t seem like it.

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tw: non con ish, toxic relationship

i need nate jacob’s complex bakugo or something

just… i know he gets massive character development later on in the manga, but if he had gone down the other path and given into his jealousy i could totally see him becoming a possessive, toxic masculinity ridden POS who has a death grip on his doe-eyed, nympho gf.

he walks behind you in the halls like a doberman, making other dudes who look at you cower with just a glare. everyone knows not to mess with bakugo - no one is stupid enough to think they’d get out with all their limbs un-exploded if they did - and to fuck with you, to talk to you, is fucking with him. bakugo doesn’t like people touching what’s his and you’re the most precious thing he owns.

bakugo is an angry guy, but something about you calms him down. you’re a pretty little thing - light, flirty, sexy - with baby soft skin and a smile that makes his chest tight. everyone wants you. you know it, he knows it, but nonetheless you stick by his side. his pet, his princess. god does it do something for his ego.

when he’s looking into your eyes he sees something good, something sweet that loves him back. he feels a swell of pride in his chest whenever he wraps a hand around your waist and you let him pull you in, or when you don’t fight when he grabs your wrist -burning small warning marks with his quirk - and tells you that you aren’t going out with your friends tonight. you worship him and he protects you. it works.

he wants to hoard you, consume you. he wants your life to be revolved around him and him alone. when he takes you to bed he spends hours between your legs, eating you out like a madman, forcing you to scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. “katsuki! katsuki! katsuki!” well into the small hours of the morning, until he’s positive your mouth knows how to say nothing else and the noise becomes more of a plea for mercy than an aroused encouragement. then he fucks you like an animal, thrusting into you violently, kissing you with tongue and teeth and saliva dripping down your chin, growling that you’re his and you’ll only ever be his.

and you, being the pretty, agreeable bitch you are, of course nod along, digging your fingers into his back as he cores you out.

but ultimately you aren’t surgically attached to him and you do have enough autonomy to leave, which, considering how HORRIBLE he is would probably be something that crosses your mind at least a few times. if you should choose to do that, prepare for his wrath. you can change all your classes, hide behind your friends, stay home all day - it doesn’t matter. bakugo will find you - he’ll break in through your bedroom window if he has too. crawling on top of you, pinning you down to your childhood bed, reminding you with flame dripping from his eyes that he wasn’t fucking lying when he said you’re his. now you’re gonna be good and lay still while he reminds you.

Lost Nuance

College AU Uvogin x fem! Reader

This plays in the same universe as the college AU with Shalnark! I had a large part of this already written in my drafts, but it eventually got to this 5k piece. 

This is a bit darker than my average piece, so take the warnings into account. Contains nsfw, yandere, violence and other disturbing themes.

“-so I think that’s it. D’you need help with anything else?”

“Nah, I think it’s fine. Only need a passing grade anyway.”

You laughed as you packed your books, your back already lamenting having to carry all this home. “That’s the spirit.”

“What’s the rush though?” He leaned backward in the cheap chairs provided by the library, and you wondered how the plastic was holding up. “Usually I have to beg we stop.”

“The dance is tonight, remember?” Your friends and you had all already gotten dresses and suits, planning to spend the afternoon dressing up and eating together. It had been a while since you’d seen the lot of them, so you were looking forward to some quality time. Uvogin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system. I have plans for once.”

“Who would’ve thought? Someone asked you?” He dug into his pockets, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, waiting for you to nod that the librarian wasn’t near. “You’re leaving the nest, y/n.”

You weren’t asked by anyone, but you didn’t want him to make fun of you, so you kept quiet. He got caught every week with another girl so you couldn’t exactly expect him to understand that it simply didn’t seem to be in your stars to meet someone. Everyone you even tried to approach looked at you as if talking to you was already life-threatening.

He lit up the cigarette.

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i like yandere fics because i would much rather be locked in a basement and subjected to unspeakable horrors than work

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄-𝐓𝐎-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄, 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄-𝐓𝐎-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 Yandere Married Boss x Secretary Reader

⟡ AN: RAHHH. IT'S FINALLY HERE. This took me way longer then it should have but I'm really proud of it. The title is a reference to this song if you care. Enjoy. ⟡ TW: 18+ ONLY, NON-CON, Older Male/Younger Female (mid 30s, mid 20s), Abuse of power (Boss/Employee), Infidelity, Face-Sitting, Cunnilingus, Switch Man, Switch Woman, PIV sex, Manipulation, Roofies, Kidnapping, Mentions of Divorce, Mentions of Pregnancy

Every quarter, your company’s HR department sends out an employee satisfaction survey, and every quarter when you reach the “What is your favorite part of working for our company?” question, your answer is the same.

You love the community. Your colleagues are respectful and hardworking; willing to go the extra mile to ensure deadlines are met. You feel as though your work contributes to something larger and that your efforts don’t go unnoticed by your employers. 

Very cute. Very professional. It would be the perfect answer if it wasn’t all bullshit. 

Your coworkers are fine, but not worth a twenty minute commute and shitty benefits. What actually keeps you slugging into work every morning is far less… admirable. It isn’t something you could write on a company survey without consequences, at least.

Your favorite part of your job is bouncing on your boss's cock.

You never intended to be an office siren. When you applied for the job all you wanted was to make rent. This was your first “adult” job, so in adult fashion, you tried to keep things professional. 

Emphasis on tried.

It's just... how could you work to your fullest when you were spending all day fantasizing about those toned forearms pinning you down? How were you supposed to answer emails when you were busy wondering if he looked better in or out of his suit? Everyday he sat five feet away from you looking so pent-up and fuckable, could you really be blamed for getting distracted? The hit to your productivity was a detriment to the company. You were just being a responsible employee by fixing the issue.

Yes, he’s ten years your senior. Yes, there’s a blaring ethical issue with a boss fucking his secretary. But he’s a man of childrearing age and you’re a fertile young woman; it’s not your fault you have biological urges.

Besides, it’s not like he’s absolved from blame. You certainly don’t force him to lie down on the couch in his office and pull you onto his face. The desire for you to cum on his nose is entirely his own.

“Fuck, Y/N.” his groan vibrates up into your core, pulling the knot in your stomach tight. One rough hand lies at your waist, following your hips as they roll against his mouth. The other works at his perked up cock, lazily tugging up and down as he devours your cunt. “That’s it baby, ride my fuckin’ nose.”

He’s been at it for nearly half your lunch break now, lapping and sucking at your folds in lieu of his actual meal - not that you’re complaining. How could you, when his tongue is so adamant? It flicks through your folds greedily to earn more of your juice, savoring the salty-sweet taste he’s become so addicted to. Every slurp, lap and suck is catered specifically to your preferences.

You've done well with him. When you first took him under your wing he’d never even eaten pussy before, in fact, he’d only ever slept with two women. Not for lack of desire, he told you, he just never had the time or confidence to flirt in his twenties. Before he knew it, time got away from him and he was past the age where hookups are deemed socially acceptable. 

Your heart broke for him. A man as handsome as him shouldn't be having mediocre sex. So you, being the selfless woman you are, offered to help him make up for lost time. 

It only took one blowjob for him to overlook the ethics of the situation.

With a gentle hand, patience, and lots of encouragement, you’ve turned the businessman into a first rate manslut. He fucks and eats pussy like a veteran now and he’s always eager to get more practice, he drags you onto his face nearly every time he calls you into his office.

He’s come a long, long way, your little pet project.

Inadvertently, you thrust your hips forward, grinding your clit against the bridge of his nose. His tongue burrows itself into your hole, and that’s enough to send you over the edge. Your belly goes taut, your thighs clamp around his ears and you bite your lip to stifle your scream as the contractions roll through your body. Each one sets off fireworks. Fizzing and popping like sparklers in your tummy. Mind-numbing, toe-curling, perfection.

He’s an absolute mess when you climb off of his face. Completely blissed out, face dripping with juices and saliva, glistening in the light pouring through the window. The collar of his pristine white dress shirt is drenched and wrinkled, most likely ruined, but he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. No, his hungry eyes haven't left that cute little mound between your legs.

“Bend over the desk.” he growls, leaving a smack on your ass as you pull yourself up, and despite the sting you can’t help but smile at his confidence. He’s a far cry from the man he was before you got your hands on him.

You decide to reward him with a little show; swaying your hips teasingly as your stilettos click across the floor, obediently laying yourself over the smooth mahogany, keeping a light arch in your back so he has a nice view of your ass. 

You smile coyly at his reddened face, “You coming, Boss?”

His adam's apple bobs and he makes his way over, eyes dark and dilated, cock leaking beads he positions himself between your legs.

“We only have fifteen minutes before my lunch ends,” you purr, “You think that’s enough time to make us both cum?”

"That’s more than enough~" he growls, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking back so he can purr in your ear, "Do you want my cock in this tight little cunt, Y/N? Do you want me to fill you up?"

You frantically nod, accentuating the act with an exaggerated whimper and needy roll of your hips.

"Beg for it then." he hisses.

If you were in a sadistic mood you might test how long you could make him hold out, but you feel like indulging him today, so you look back at him all teary and doe-eyed. "Please, please, please, Sir. I need your thick cock in my tight little cunt! I can't - Ah! - I can't take it anymore!"

A loud groan tumbles past his lips as he lines himself up, tracing the fat head up and down your slit,  “Slutty thing. That’s alright baby, I’ll give you what you—”

The clink of something falling off his desk interrupts the thought. The object in question rolls a few feet across the wood floor before wobbling in circles and finally lying flat.

His wedding band glitters innocently in the afternoon sun, silently mocking its owner and his mistress.

Ah, the elephant in the room.

Yes, you know he’s married. If the ring wasn’t enough of a tell, the picture of the two of them on his desk is. He's about a decade younger in it, grinning wide as she presses a kiss to his cheek. They took it in France during their honeymoon, he told you. 

You’ve never met his wife, but you can tell from the picture that she’s the quintessential college sweetheart. The type of girl who’s never drank, smoked or had a cavity. The kind of girl you propose too at the park and settle down with in a white picket fence suburban neighborhood. The kind of girl who says “Not tonight, honey.” when you ask to have sex at the end of a stressful day.

In layman's terms, she's boring.

And clearly, she isn’t taking care of him correctly. He was so obviously pent up when you started flirting with him, just a glimpse of your cleavage was all it took to get him rock hard.

Of course it’s morally reprehensible, but you could argue that making him work his dull 9-5 everyday for nothing in return is wrong too. Somebody had to help the guy out. If she wasn’t going to do her job then you’d have to do it for her.

The guilt nearly killed him at first. The day after the first blowjob he dragged you into his office and furiously—or maybe desperately—started pacing up and down the room. Giving you the “We can’t do this. For Christ’s sake Y/N, I’m married.” speech, whether he was lecturing you or himself, you aren’t entirely sure.

Still, you listened patiently as he rambled, and eventually you decided it was best to back off. It was a disappointment for sure but you'd get over it. You were too hot to be meddling in people's marriages anyway. 

At least directly meddling.

You didn’t make any more blatant advances, but you did start wearing dresses and skirts that fell a tad too short to be considered work appropriate. The necklines of your tops started plunging too, showing off as much cleavage as you could without HR getting up your ass. And you suddenly became very clumsy. “Accidentally” dropping things whenever he was around, or leaning over his desk just enough to give him a nice look down your shirt. 

Five days. He only lasted five days before he pulled you into his office, all but begging on his knees for you to fuck him.

And well, you aren’t to blame if he’s the one who instigated.

You watched with a smug grin as he slipped off his wedding band and took off his pants, wasting no time straddling his lap and sinking down on that poor, needy cock. You rode him like a mechanical bull, chest filled with pride as you looked at that stupid picture of him and his wife. The victory made your orgasm all the more sweet.

You always get what you want in the end.

Despite your literal and metaphorical grip on his balls, however, his wife remains a thorn in your side. Your boss has gone completely soft staring at that dumb ring, thinking of his dumb wife who probably couldn’t suck a dick to save her life. No wonder he’s cheating, the bitch pisses you off and you’ve never even met her.

Holding back an exasperated sigh, you give his tie a gentle tug, shifting your expression to something soft and comforting as he turns back, gently tracing your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin to gently tilt it up. And though he obeys the silent command, the shame swimming in his eyes makes your smile waver.

It irks you, for some reason, how upset he is by this. Maybe that’s selfish. Maybe you should have more sympathy, but you can’t push past the desire to keep him for yourself. You may have won, but did you really if his heart is still hers? 

That’s something to address another time. Getting him hard again takes precedence right now, you’re not going to let that bitch get between you and his dick.

You pull yourself off of his desk, grabbing his hand gently. He follows you to the couch—far more hesitantly then you’d like—but he doesn’t complain when you lie him down and climb on top. He never complains when you climb on top. You leave a sweet kiss between his eyebrows and the cute, attention-starved thing burns bright red. Adorable.

“You’re alright.” You caress his stubbled cheek, lulling him with honey-sweet kisses; a siren coaxing a sailor to his doom. “It’s not your fault you have urges, remember? You’re a grown man, it’s not healthy for you to be so pent-up.” 

His throat clicks with a heavy swallow when your hand moves down, gently wrapping around his soft penis, stroking it with feather-light touches, teasingly biting your lip. The rod in your hand fills out shamelessly, and like a bad habit, his eyes flick back down to your pretty cunt. You can tell he’s itching to touch, his morality holding on by a thread, but he’ll always fold to you in the end. You, and your torturous little pocket of bliss.

“That’s it baby.” you purr, picking up his trembling hand and placing it over your clit, “Little circles, just like I taught you.” and as soon as his hand starts moving he’s putty in your hands again, any remaining penitence completely snuffed out.

He’s hypnotized. Pussy-whipped. Rubbing your little pearl with rough pads, working it like a joystick and groaning licentiously as you trace the head of his cock up and down your folds. You line yourself up, leaning forward so you’re hovering just a few centimeters away from his face, close enough to feel his hot breath on your lips.

“We both know she can’t give you what you need. But I can. I’ll make you feel so good~” you purr. One hand finds it's way up his shirt, his heart races in his chest, pulsing wildly under your touch. You can't help your lips from curling up.

You lower yourself so your hole swallows just the tip and his breath hitches beneath you. You clench in response. Just a little squeeze to remind him who makes him feel good, who his cock really belongs too. And if the bubbling moan that passes his lips is anything to go by, he got the memo.

Carefully, with a teasing sort of breathiness, you drag your lips over his neck. Nibbling lightly at his sensitive pulse point and tracing a little heart over his pecs with a sharp, manicured nail before ghosting gently over his ear and cooing with an almost maternal softness, “Just relax. Let me take care of you, okay?”

He melts.

He all but whimpers as you drop yourself down, white-knuckling the sofa, so overwhelmed you swear his eyes start tearing, and when you finally reach the base he groans like he’s seen heaven. You don’t think about his wife, or his ring, or the morality of it all while you bounce on his cock. Not a flicker of guilt passes through your mind when he bucks and fills you with his cum. Why should it? Your job is to ensure your boss's needs are met while he's in the office, and you’re doing just that. His life after five pm is none of your concern, really.

—

About two months later you find an unassuming sticky note on your desk, scrawled over in his chicken-scratch handwriting.

Come to my office at 5, we need to talk.

It strikes you as odd. Normally he’d just come talk to you about any arrangements, lay a gentle hand on your shoulder and bend down to whisper something filthy in your ear, but your boss is nowhere in sight. Not on the office floor checking up on his employees, not in the break room making idle chatter while he refills his coffee, your boss stays holed up in his office all day, and when you walk in to give him his schedule for the upcoming week he only grunts in acknowledgement, never looking up from his computer.

Something is clearly wrong. Normally, he can’t keep his hands off of you—you never leave his office without a slap on the ass and a promise to make you regret wearing whatever curve hugging skirt you put on that day—but he seems to want nothing to do with you, or rather, he seems to be avoiding the fact that he does. The blatant disregard pisses you off, frankly. You put effort into your makeup today.

But more than that, his sudden indifference is unsettling. You can’t put your finger on why; he’s never given you reason to believe that he’s resentful, and despite his dour, professional persona he’s about as intimidating as a newborn kitten. Still, the tension in his office is thick. Thicker than you realize. When you step out you're surprised to find your lungs are aching from holding the breath you walked in with.

You spend the better part of your day trying to convince yourself that you’re just feeling ill. You aren’t nervous. There’s no reason to be. The gut feeling telling you to walk out at five today is just the byproduct of spoiled eggs at breakfast. You’re in control. You always are.

Still, when five o’clock comes your heart is pounding. Alarm bells clang in your head, screaming that something bad is going to happen if you walk through that door. Briefly, an interview from a true crime documentary you once watched plays through your head—the victim was lamenting how she regretted not listening to that “gut feeling” before she got kidnapped—but that’s ridiculous. You know your boss and you’re certain he’s not a kidnapper. The notion itself is ridiculous. You’ll be fine. You’ve been fucking him for three months, him acting weird doesn’t mean today will be any different.

After a few deep breaths you open the door and as promised, he's waiting for you, but not how you expected him to be. Normally, he’d be rolling his hips into his fist by now, impatiently demanding you get on your knees in front of him, but today he’s fully clothed, penis nowhere in sight. Instead, his hands cup a white mug of steaming liquid—an identical one that you presume to be yours sits on the opposite side of his desk—and he seems… tired. Pale and weighted; certainly not aroused in any way.

“You can sit, you know. I’m not angry at you.” he calls vacantly from across the room, not looking up from his cup.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you realize you’ve been staring. With a thick swallow, you make your way over to him, mustering up as pleasant a smile as you can. When you finally sit and get a good look at him, however, the grin drops. 

He looks… awful. Weary and bleak, with red, puffy circles around his eyes like he’s recently been crying, his hair is mussed and a five o’clock shadow is growing on his chin. It’s jarring, to say the least. He’s normally so put together, you can’t remember if you've ever seen him disheveled. He’s a hard man to shake typically, his job demands it, but he looks utterly distraught. For a brief moment, you feel kind of bad.

Gross.

A halfhearted chuckle leaves his mouth, “I’m sorry. I must look pretty pathetic, huh?” 

Immediately you straighten, rectifying your smile. You can’t show cracks. There are no cracks, “Not at all Sir. What can I help you with?” 

A meaty hand waves you off. “Don’t bother with professionalism. We both know we aren’t here to talk about work.” He runs a hand through his already mussed up hair and shuts his eyes, pausing a moment, taking a long breath. You can't tell whats going on in his head - if he's thinking deeply or steeling himself - but you aren't left to wonder long before he exhales and flicks his gaze back to you. “Here," he says, pushing the second cup towards you, "Take a drink. This might be a lot.”

“Oh no, I’m not thirsty–”

“Drink.” he interrupts, and you’re startled by how sharp the command is. It’s far cry from the playful orders you’re used to receiving when he growls at you to get on your knees or bend over his desk. Instinctively, you find yourself rushing to obey.

When you bring the mug to your lips, his face relaxes. The alarm balls start jingling in the back of your head again.

“I’m going to be blunt about this,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “My wife found out about the affair and she wants a divorce.”

Oh. That is a lot.

It takes you a few seconds to process what he’s saying, a few more for it to sink in, but when you’ve finally got a stable grasp on the information, the faucet of emotion is turned on. It doesn’t twist off until your body is on the verge of overflowing.

But not for the right reasons.

Your heart should be sinking, guilt twisting in your gut like a knife. You should be on your knees, groveling in shame; apologizing with your whole chest for ruining this poor man's marriage—but you aren’t. Not a flicker of remorse fills your body.

You feel positively giddy.

Elated. Euphoric. You are on cloud fucking nine. Months, you’ve been waiting for this day; when you could finally take your medal and put it around your neck. It’s not really a matter of him being yours, moreso confirming that you’re hot enough to break up marriages. Fuck the morality of it all. You did it. She’s gone. You won. 

You aren’t tactless enough to start jumping for joy, however. You do your best to put on a genuine-seeming soberness and reply, “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

He shakes his head, eyes down-turned, “I’m equally if not more to blame. What’s done is done.” 

He stands then, aimlessly walking to the window. It’s all rather dramatic, you feel, but you're not the one who’s marriage just got destroyed. Quietly he looks across the skyline, face clouding with regret as he speaks, “You should have seen her, Y/N.” You really wish you had, “I-I could see her heart breaking in her chest when I admitted to it.”

Oh, the delight that runs through you when you hear that crack in his voice—it makes you dizzy.

“I managed to find an apartment somehow between then and now. I’m in the process of moving in. I thought it was only right to give her space. God, the poor girl…” His cheeks are wet when he turns back to you and another jolt of glee zips through your body. But this one is stronger than the first one. It makes you wobble a little in your chair; you have to clutch the armrests to keep yourself upright.

The bells have started clanging again—painfully loud—and your heart beats in time with each stroke.

“Seven years. We’d been together seven years.” he laments, walking back to you and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. It’s searing hot, burning into your skin like an iron. You try to jerk away but your body goes slack and when you try to pick yourself back up again, you can’t. No matter how hard you strain and lift, your muscles won’t move.

A sick, crawling dread fills your chest, the kind you feel when you get to the very top of a rollercoaster. It creeps up your spine and wraps around your chest, squeezing the air out of your lungs. You can hear your pulse in your head now. It's so loud you almost don't notice his large hands hook under your armpits, hoisting your limp body back up onto the chair like a ragdoll. 

You glance up at him but immediately regret it. His face… he looks like a madman. Pale and wild; eyes manic and pupils dilated. He swallows heavily, breath shallow and frenzied as he rasps, “I don’t think I could live without a wife again, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do.”

The bells are deafening now and any ounce of joy you might have felt earlier has been drained to oblivion. You aren’t fine anymore. You need to run. You need to scream. Anything.

But you made the realization all too late. Your vision is going spotty and he’s already hoisted you up in his arms. Despite every muscle in your body fighting with all its might, you can’t make yourself move.

For the first time in your life, you’re completely powerless. 

The last thing you remember before being swallowed by the dark is his hot breath puffing against your ear:

“You promised you’d take care of me, didn’t you?” 

—

You wake up to the feeling of something warm and wet on your clit.

In your groggy, half-conscious state you don’t have the capacity or desire to figure out what it is, all that matters is that it feels good. It flicks lazy little shapes over the twitching bud, enveloping it and your folds in a warm, welcoming heat, and for a moment, you think you could die happy just like this. Your hips instinctively buck up towards the source and a low, wonton moan passes your lips. 

“Mmm, thats it darling. Good girl~”

Your eyes fly open.

Every ounce of blood drains from your face when you see his head bowed between your legs, cheeks messy and shiny with your slick, hips rutting needily against the mattress. All at once, your memory comes rushing back.

Your first instinct is to fight, but your limbs still won’t obey you—even if they would, a shift of weight reveals that your hands are bound tightly to the headboard of the bed.

The bed. There’s no bed in his office. Where the hell are you?

It’s all you can do to let out a low, displeased whine. Weakly shimmying your hips away from him only to have them immediately yanked back. He peaks up from your legs, cheek warm and flushed pink with lust, “Shh honey, calm down.” he purrs, not breaking eye contact as he gives your clit a sweet peck, “Just relax and let your husband make you feel good.”

Husband.

Husband.

Your heart picks up in your chest, galloping like a racehorse as you try to process his words, though, you doubt any reasonable length of time would be enough to truly digest their implications. “W-what?”

He noses gently over your inner thigh, carefully pressing a chaste kiss to the soft plush, “Your husband, dear. And you’re my wife~” he hums pleasantly, licking a long lazy stripe up your slit with the flat of his tongue, “I’m sure you can feel the ring, right?”

Your heart drops as you shift your fingers. On your left hand, a cold band of metal topped with some kind of stone wraps around your ring finger, the realization sends a bout of vertigo through your body.

He must notice the horror on your face because he chuckles. “It was short notice so I had to use hers, but I’ll buy you a new one if you want…” he trails absentmindedly, too focused on laving at your cunt to give the thought, or your panic, his full attention. 

He’s eating you out just like you taught him too. The irony could make you cry.

A knot the size of the watermelon grows in your stomach. Whether it’s from the fear or your equally distressing impending orgasm you’re not sure. Regardless, it’s there, and your head is spinning, and he’s starting to climb on top of you and take off his—oh god.

You cry and struggle as much as your leaden body will allow but he easily counters it all with one steady hand on your belly, the thumb of which he moves to nurse your spit-soaked clit with easy circles. “I know it’s sudden,” he coos, paying no mind to your cries as he pulls out his hard cock, “But you wanted this, didn’t you? You’re the one who chased after me so desperately after all. I know you were just jealous of her.” 

Loud, wet sobs curl up your throat as he rubs his cock up and down your dripping folds, hypnotized by the lewd, clicking sound your juices make. “P-please.” you beg, trying your best to buck him off of you, “M’ sorry! I-I didn’t mean to—Please let me go.” 

A displeased hum then, “It’s too late for that, honey, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll take good care of you.” his frown flips into a soft smile. “You’ll take good care of me too, won't you? just like you promised.”

You feel like you might faint. The blunt head is pushing against your entrance now, threatening to sink into your heat, and though you’ve taken his cock hundreds of times, you’d rather stick your hand into an open flame then take it again. “P-please.” you blubber, “I’ll do anything, just please—Ah! S-stop!”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, only continues his rambling. “You’ll take good care of our children too, I'm sure.” those deranged, lovesick eyes bore into your skull, “Oh, baby. You’re going to look so beautiful when you’re pregnant, I can already tell. So, so pretty, all swollen and glowing~”

Now, you start screaming. Half of it is incoherent, but what else are you supposed to do when you can’t fight and the delusional psychopath who kidnapped you is threatening to force you into fulfilling his domestic fantasies? You nearly choke as he leans over your body, pushing into you softly with a low, heady groan. “You can’t!” you cry, near hysterics, “Please, you can’t! I’m sorry! I’ll do anything! I’ll-”

“Shhhh,” he cuts you off, clamping a rough hand over your mouth, then bottoms out inside of you with one languid push. You feel like you’re on fire, like a million ants are crawling up your skin and down your throat.

Beads of cold sweat trickle down your back as he rocks into you. Behind his mitt you plead for him to let you go, but he doesn’t notice - or more likely, he doesn’t care. “I think I want three." he muses, "Two girls and a boy. But we can have more if you’d like. What do you think, darling?”

He removes his hand then and you greedily suck in air. It proves to be a difficult task, however, with his dick poking it all back out with each snap of his hips. Finally, you collect yourself enough to make one final attempt. You stare up into his eyes, hoping to somehow access whatever humanity might remain there. “Please. I don’t want kids. I want to go home.”

He pauses, ceases his thrusting, and stares back down at you. For just a moment, your chest swells with hope.

But then he laughs. A sick, evil chuckle that rings through your bones, punctures your lungs and splits your heart straight down the middle.

“Oh honey, you are home.” he croons, a snap of his hips punctuates the sentence. “And of course you want kids. All husbands and wives who love each other very much become Mommies and Daddies. Besides—”

His hips start driving into you with a brutal sort of ferocity, and he grins so wickedly you swear you can see the devil in his eyes.

“--Won’t it be cute to tell them how Daddy and Mommy fell in love at work?”

higuruma hiromi, nanami kento, satoru gojo, izuku midoriya, kirishima eijiro, kaminari denki, kotaro bokuto, tooru oikawa, kuroo tetsuro, erwin smith, armin arlert

Who's your bias?

I’m trying so hard to be loyal to Yoonbin and Junkyu right now but Yoshinori will always have a special place in my heart