𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙧

He watches you cry.

Of course, you don’t know that. The walls of the bathroom stall are too high, the gaps too thin. But he sees the quiver in your fingers when you wipe at your face, the way your breath stutters when you try to suppress the sobs. He hears everything.

Oikawa doesn’t know what it is about you that makes him feel this way. It pisses him off. You piss him off. Walking around campus with that blank, dead-eyed stare, like you’re above everything. Like you don’t care. Like you don’t feel. It makes him want to crack you open.

He was never subtle about it. The insults, the mocking, the casual cruelty of the golden boy. That time he tripped you in front of the entire student council and watched you eat shit on the marble floor. The “accidental” coffee spill that ruined your only white shirt. The rumors he started—oh, he was so creative. A freak who gets off on getting bullied. A girl who likes to be hurt. The irony was delicious.

And yet, you never reacted. Not really. That bothered him. That wasn’t fucking normal.

But now? Here?

Here, he sees you break.

And Oikawa has never been more in love.

Later, he corners you outside the library.

You don’t see him coming, and that’s his favorite part. The way your back hits the wall, your mouth parting in startled panic. It’s almost funny—your dumbass body registers fear before your brain does.

“What the hell—”

“Shut up.” His tone is casual, bored, like he’s barely interested. But his eyes burn.

You try to shove him off. He’s stronger.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” He leans in close, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “Crying in the bathroom like some weak little bitch. You’re embarrassing.”

Your body stiffens.

He watches your pupils flicker—humiliation, anger, fear. Oikawa feels high.

“I wonder how many people heard you,” he muses. “Bet someone was listening. Maybe some pervert with his dick in his hand, jerking off to your sobs.”

Your stomach clenches. He grins.

“How cute would that be?” His fingers skate along your waist, pressing just slightly into the fabric of your uniform. “The campus freak, getting off on being bullied. I bet you like the way I treat you.”

“Shut up,” you whisper.

His cock twitches.

It’s unfair, how easy you make it for him. How fun it is to watch you squirm.

You flinch when he reaches into his pocket, retrieving his phone. He holds it up. Presses play.

Your own voice fills the space between you.

—don’t—please don’t do this—

You go rigid.

Your breath hitches.

Oikawa tilts his head, watching your face drain of color. His lips curl.

“Say,” he hums, “how much do you think the guys would pay for this?”

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