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Summary
“Drink, Atsumu. Now.” His tone was low, and just tittering on the line between a suggestion and a demand.
A shiver crawled up each of Atsumu’s vertebrae, settling in his chest, and Atsumu knew somewhere in the recesses of his mind that maybe they shouldn’t have come here.
That perhaps Oikawa actually was dangerous.
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or, the one where sakuatsu become oisuga's playthings and are eternally grateful for it