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kinkyuus · 4 years

Note

I would like to get ploughed by Oikawa thank you

Word Count: 7,048AO3 link here

I finally got the guts to finish the snippet I posted a few months back, phew. This can also be read as a sequel to my Tendou oneshot here!

***

Oikawa's car screeched into a halt ten minutes after the first clap of thunder and five minutes after the rain started pouring outside.

"Fuck," he grumbled to himself as he took out his keys from the ignition. Fat raindrops pelted the windshield and he could barely see the street lamp that illuminated the otherwise bleak expanse of the corner avenue.

What he could recognize in the low visibility, however, was the atrociously green pick-up that you had inherited from a deceased uncle, parked just right across the street. Oikawa retrieved his phone, which he haphazardly tossed into one of the empty cup holders, to check for the time... One-thirty in the morning. Jesus.

Pulling up the hood of a jacket he blindly plucked out of his closet, he got out of his car—making sure to lock it as he jogged towards the only pub around this part of town. The rain was coming down hard enough that Oikawa could feel the cotton material soak through within seconds, but he was immediately given reprieve by the flimsy canopy of a nearby waiting shed, where he found you staring vacantly at the bright screen of your cell phone.

Oikawa let out a heavy exhale as he studied you, brows knitted in frustration. Both of you have finals tomorrow, for god’s sake. Why on Earth did you call him at such an ungodly hour?

But it was as if you'd read the question in his eyes the moment it surfaced. He could somewhat make out the dried tears that ran down your face like cracks of lightning, and the sight made a peal of suspicion bubble in his chest.

“It’s…over,” you spoke quietly, but Oikawa heard the way your voice trembled even with the rain obscuring your words. “He made up his mind.”

He found it pitiful, honestly—how he already knew what you were talking about even if you offered him no context at all. The puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks were testament enough, and suddenly, he was in the mood to beat a certain Lit major to an inch of his life.

The setter sighed, taking a seat beside your sniffling form. Up close, he could already smell the alcohol on you, and he didn’t really get why he was still surprised by it. What was previously Aoba Johsai’s most trusted manager was reduced into a lovesick college junior that thought intoxication could make the weight of her problems easier to carry.

“(Name)-chan, can you drive?” he asked.

You turned your head to look at him, lips twitching but not quite forming a smile. “Do you think I’d have to call you if I could?”

Oikawa laughed airily, forcing himself to look away from your face. His chest constricted at the sight of your still glistening eyes and he’d rather not gaze upon a reminder that he wasn’t able to spare you from that heartbreak.

He knew it. He knew he should have been more disapproving of your somewhat dysfunctional relationship with Shiratorizawa’s Guess Monster, like Iwaizumi and then rest of his friends had advised. You and Oikawa were the only ones that went to the same university, so the least he could do was look after you like you did so for them all throughout high school, right?

Another thunderclap rumbled in the distance, followed by streaks of lightning rooting themselves across the sky. The rain didn’t seem like it had any plans of letting up any time soon, and he’d rather not sit around waiting for it to get worse.

Oikawa immediately shrugged of his jacket, tossing it to you. “Here.”

You managed to catch it in your hands before sparing him a confused stare. But nonetheless, you pushed your arms into the sleeves of the garment, which he’s now come to realize was at least a size too big on you.

“Can you walk at least?” Oikawa got back on his feet, holding out one hand.

“Yeah,” you told him as you stood up with a noticeable wobble in your legs.

He pursed his lips into a thin line as he offered out his whole arm for you to latch onto. You mumbled a quiet thanks under your breath, your grip on his arm almost tight enough to cut off circulation, but Oikawa didn’t have it in him to make a fuss.

“We’re going to have to run, alright, (Name)-chan?” he said, to which you responded with a single nod.

When he was sure that you were somewhat sober enough to make a run for it, Oikawa bolted into the downpour, making sure to maintain a pace that you could keep up with. The raindrops were like tiny icicles that seared his skin in pinpricks, and the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to dry himself until he gets home only soured his mood. But Oikawa reminded himself that you were there with him, clinging onto anything (in this case, his arm) so you wouldn’t crumble from whatever grief you felt from your still fresh falling-out.

He wasn’t the most understanding person in the world—he knew this, but given that he felt indebted to you for being Seijoh’s manager, he supposed he could make an exception. If it had been any other person, he might have switched off his phone the moment it started ringing half an hour ago.

Finally accepting the fact that his clothes were sopping wet and that his hair wasn’t at its most flattering state, Oikawa unlocked his car, carefully guiding you to the passenger seat in the process. But before you slid yourself inside, your gazes met for a moment, and he couldn’t quite paint the look that flashed across your face.

Oikawa slammed the door to the passenger seat with little force (he just got the hinges on that fixed) before jogging towards the driver’s side. He almost fumbled with the door handle with how slippery it’s become, but he thankfully managed to get in without much of a hassle after.

“God, this is so disgusting,” he muttered to himself before jamming his keys back in the ignition. He could practically feel the water from his clothes seeping into the intricate upholstery of his seats.

“Sorry,” you told him sheepishly, face burning with a heat he wasn’t familiar with. He never seemed to see you flustered in high school at all but Oikawa told himself that it was probably just the alcohol.

“(Name)-chan, if I minded helping you out of that pickle, I never would have gotten out of bed in the first place,” Oikawa explained as he backed up his car. “Where are you staying by the way? Don’t in-campus dormitories have curfews?”

In the corner of his eye, he could see you turning your head to him with a noticeable pout on your lips. The setter heaved a long sigh, but he already knew that no one else could really offer you a place to stay at such short notice but him.

“You’re a damn schemer, you know that?” He laughed.

You sighed, leaning your head against the window with your mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Always have been, always will be.”

***

Oikawa’s apartment was, by no means, extravagant. He spent a significant chunk of his allowance maintaining his car, so he couldn’t really afford any of those high-end properties uptown. But it was certainly above average, if he did say so himself.

“Just leave your shoes on the mat to dry,” he told you as he handed you a towel while you were seated on his sofa. Though your clothes were just as soaked as his, he didn’t have the heart to tell you to please not sit down so you wouldn’t get rainwater on the couch. Not when you’ve had such a rough night.

“I’m just going to hop in the shower.” Oikawa jammed his thumb in the direction of his bathroom. “If you want to freshen up, too, I can lend you some of my clothes after you finish.”

You nodded at him after saying the nth thanks for the night, and then he was off to rinse the dried up rain from his skin—leaving you to your own devices in his living room.

You’ve been to his apartment at least once before. Though the two of you didn’t exactly spend every waking minute together, you and Oikawa remained pretty close. After all, he was one of the few familiar faces you’ve encountered since you started studying in Tokyo.

Well…Tendou was another one, but he certainly didn’t classify as someone you’d willingly hang out with anymore.

Shaking your head, you stripped yourself of the jacket Oikawa lent you. The familiar, masculine scent that you’ve associated with him since high school still clung to his clothes. He’s always had the most distinct smell out of the four idiots, but you didn’t really know what to make of that information. That’s when you promptly decided to do his lovely apartment another double-take.

The last time you came over, it was only because you had to borrow some reading material on a course both of you took a few semesters ago. You didn’t really have the time to marvel at his humble abode like you did now.

Oikawa was someone you'd never think would give home furnishing a second thought, but he certainly styled his place with minimal flourish that’s enough to raise a few compliments. There were succulents sitting on top of his coffee table with some sports magazines stuffed underneath. The rug on the floor complemented the ivory walls, and a modern-looking chandelier hung overhead. Given that he probably spends most of his time studying or training at school, the absence of a TV was completely warranted. And the place even came with its own kitchenette along with a dining set that’s good for two.

With a sigh, you dried yourself as much as you could while still wearing your rain-soaked clothes, occasionally dabbing the towel onto the sofa, since you’ve gotten the spot you were sitting on quite damp. Your movements were still restricted by the bite of alcohol, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been a few hours ago—shortly after Tendou had left once he’d settled things between the both of you.

You were still hyper-aware of the way your eyes still puffed up after your tear-jerker fiasco at the pub. The owner had to kick you out just so you wouldn't ingest any more beers than you can handle. Not your proudest moment, really, because why would you be so torn up about someone who wasn't even your boyfriend to begin with?

“Stupid Satori,” you grumbled, fingers tightening around the towel. “If you never had plans on making it serious…why wait three fucking years to end it.”

Once you were satisfied with the half-dry state you’re in, you decided to tinker with your cell phone—actively avoiding to linger too long on your last text conversation with the carmine-haired bastard. The last thing you needed was another reason to think about him. Oikawa already saw you at your lowest, and you really had no plans of making the same mistake again.

But from the way you let Tendou wrap you around his fingers for the past three years without putting up a fight…you were pretty sure that Oikawa already had an idea of how pathetic you could be.

About twenty minutes ticked by in deafening silence before Oikawa finally came out of the bathroom—a haze of steam coming out along with him. You were about to ask if it was okay if you could borrow his clothes now, but the words got caught in your throat once you took in the undressed state he was in.

This was definitely not your first time seeing a man—especially Oikawa—scantily clad with a towel around his waist. You’ve had to suffer through numerous incidents of accidentally walking in on them in the locker rooms in the past, after all. (Seijoh's infuriating captain and the others often took their sweet time in the showers that Coach Mizoguchi always had you fetch them so he could close up the gym.)

But there was something about the way the fluffy white towel hung low on his hips that had your eyes trained on him far longer than what was appropriate. Your gaze slowly made a trek up his lean torso, shaped from years of intensive volleyball practice, and stopped on his angular face. Warm, brown eyes regarded you with a hint of curiosity as Oikawa gently toweled his hair.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before coughing awkwardly to the side. “N-No. It’s nothing. Could I, um, borrow something to wear?”

There was a second’s delay in Oikawa’s response, but his face immediately lit up with the reminder once he realized that you were still shivering in your own clothes.

“Yeah. Hold on,” he pleaded before padding over to his bedroom, closing the door behind him only to re-emerge a few seconds later. In his hands was a neatly folded crewneck that you were all-too familiar with.

“You still have that?” You couldn’t help the scowl that made its way to your face as he handed you an aquamarine Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club sweatshirt. “Mine already gave out halfway through sophomore year.”

Oikawa smirked. “Just means I take care of my stuff better than you do, (Name)-chan.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you traced the still-intact embroidery on the front. Your lips turned up into a small smile, countless memories of the boys still fresh in your mind.

“I don’t have a dryer so you’ll just have to leave your shirt out on the sofa,” he informed. “And, ah, I obviously don’t have any underwear to lend aaaand my sweats are too long for you.”

“I get it, Oikawa, you’re taller than the Tokyo Skytree.”

He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but think that the way his lips curled into a wide smile was sort of endearing. When he told you he’d just get dressed for a minute and that you could change in the living room, you thanked him yet again before the door to his bedroom slammed shut with the lock clicking in place.

You drawled out a soft noise in irritation as you stripped yourself off the Led Zeppelin t-shirt you chose for tonight, realizing it was one of the many pieces of clothing you snagged from Tendou’s closet.

“Stupid Satori and his stupidly great taste in shirts…” you cursed under your breath as you neatly laid it out to dry.

Outside, you could still hear the rain’s steady rhythm beating against Oikawa’s window. Though he drew the curtains earlier, you were able to catch a flash of lightning followed by the low rumble of thunder in the corner of your eye. You hadn’t noticed before, but the room was absolutely freezing. Well, yeah, you were clad in nothing but your damp cotton shorts and a bra, but damn. Didn’t he turn up the thermostat?

You were startled by the sound of soft knocking coming from Oikawa’s door. “(Name)-chan, are you decent?” the setter asked, and you couldn’t stop the snort that escaped you. Only Oikawa would do something like knock from the inside of his own bedroom.

“Uh, give me a sec,” you answered, immediately pulling the sweatshirt over your head. The slide of the softest polyester you’ve ever felt against your skin was a welcoming feeling—making you regret not taking care of your own when you still had it.

The faint traces of musk that were on Oikawa’s jacket came off much stronger on his sweater, and told yourself that it definitely wasn’t weird that you took a long whiff of the scent from the neckline. The fact that his sweater was big enough that it reached the middle of your thighs made you contemplate about removing your soaked shorts, but you decided against it the next moment after. There was no way you were going semi-commando in Oikawa’s presence.

“I’m all good,” you called out before laying out the towel on the sofa so you could take a seat without wetting the cushions even more.

Oikawa came out of his room with a towel slung across his shoulders, looking as fresh as he’d always been. For some reason, he chose to pair his old volleyball club shirt with his university track pants.

“Should I ring up Iwaizumi and the others?” you joked. “For someone so into collegiate volleyball, I didn’t think you’d still have any high school memorabilia left.”

He gasped, placing a hand on his chest in feigned offense. “Are you kidding? If it weren’t for my time in Seijoh, I never would have made the cut for the starting roster here.”

“Sure, Mister Best Setter of the Year for three consecutive years in junior high.”

“Didn’t Iwa-chan say if you flatter me too much, it’ll get to my head?” Oikawa grinned before sauntering over to his kitchen. The setter then began rummaging through his cupboards in the next minute. “You want anything? Coffee? Snacks?”

“Honestly,” you began, shying away from his gaze, “I kind of just want to sleep.”

Oikawa peeked from behind the cabinet to spare you a bizarre look, but nonetheless, he shrugged before closing it altogether. “Alright. I’ll take the couch—”

“Absolutely not.” You didn’t mean to talk over him like that, but nope. There was no chance in hell you were you letting Oikawa crash on the sofa when he’s the one that was kind enough to offer you a place to stay the night. Clearing your throat, you told him, "I-I mean, it wouldn't be fair, I guess..."

There’s a bemused glint in his eyes that was rubbing you the wrong way. He leaned against the sink with his arms folded across his chest, lips curled into a smirk. “Would you rather sleep on the couch, then?”

You gulped, zoning in on the sensation of stiff cushions underneath you. Sitting on the couch was one thing; it was tolerable, but it was probably a secondhand that didn’t feel appropriate to sleep on. You’ve never been one to nitpick about where you slept, but the buzz of your earlier swigs of beer already dispersed—leaving you with a fatigue that slowly settled in your bones as the minutes passed by.

“How about…we, um, sleep together?”

His smile scaled even wider. "Oh, (Name)-chan, you sly fox.”

Quite used to his innate narcissism, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t be a jackass or I might not-so accidentally kick you off the bed.”

“Alright,” he relented, raising his palms up in defeat. Oikawa walked back in front of his bedroom door, dramatically placing one hand on top of his stomach and putting out the other to present his room like some bellboy. “I’ve learned the hard way to never doubt what you say you’ll do to me, so come on in to your suite, ma’am.”

You scoffed, but followed suit, nonetheless. "You are so not getting a tip for this."

***

Sleeping in the same bed with Oikawa didn't seem like too terrible an idea when it popped into your head half an hour ago. He didn't seem unwilling, either, so it at least gave your reasons a little more weight.

You took it for granted that lying right next to him in his queen-sized bed was an outlier for you. An in-between, just until the rain eventually let up and you could go back to the comfort of your own sheets. But when Oikawa was already fluffing up his pillows and spreading the comforter wide enough for two people, you couldn't help but feel a prick of unease bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" you asked him, more to distract yourself from the fact that you probably could sleep separately than to sate your curiosity. If you wanted to, you could have the bed to yourself, and Oikawa would have to settle with his stiff couch for the night. But you buried the thought in a deep pit of denial before you could even consider speaking up about it.

Oikawa sighed, sparing you a pointed look. "(Name)-chan, we've been together since high school. If you think I'm still uncomfortable around you, then you truly hurt my feelings."

"What are you..." Your train of thought faltered, before shaking your head. "Oikawa, I just—ugh. Never mind."

He was looking at you bizarrely now, that handsome face of his twisted with pronounced confusion. It was borderline criminal, really—how you found it sort of...endearing as he wondered why you were acting so weirdly about the sleeping arrangement that you had proposed, yourself.

Fortunately, he didn't press the matter further. Oikawa merely shrugged off your reluctance as he eased himself onto the mattress, patting the spot next to him with the obliviousness of a child.

"Come on," he said. "If you're forgetting, we have finals for Art App tomorrow. Gotta squeeze in as much sleep as we can, don't you think?"

Shit. Right. Instead of studying religiously, as you should have, you opted to get shitfaced over a guy who probably never even cared about you as much as you thought instead. Optimal life decisions right there, if you did say so yourself.

Without much coercion, you climbed to right next to him, awkwardly squeezing yourself under the covers. Oikawa seemed much more relaxed than you were as he typed away on his phone. He stared at the screen with such concentration that it ended up piquing your curiosity about who he must be talking to at this hour.

But the intoxication had already run its course. No longer did you feel the buzz of alcohol that clouded your judgement several times this evening. Nothing else mattered—just the scent of freshly laundered sheets, the soft pillow beneath your head, and the man who's always looked out for you at the corner of his eye for years.

"Good night, Oikawa."

When the setter had pulled himself together enough to wrench out a coherent reply, your breathing had already evened out—soft snores filling his ears. Smiling to himself, Oikawa placed his phone back on the nightstand. Sending borderline death threats to your not-so ex-boyfriend could wait tomorrow. He rustled the comforter with caution, careful not to wake you when you already looked so comfortable in your slumber.

"Good night, (Name)-chan."

***

You woke up again not thirty minutes since you'd fallen asleep.

It was the shorts. Your damn shorts were still soaked in rainwater and the fact that Oikawa still hadn't turned off the thermostat didn't provide any of the comfort you were lacking.

You were in no place to make demands—you seriously weren't. The poor guy had to get out of bed and drive through the massive downpour outside just so he could pick you off the streets. He'd even offered you a place to stay for the night. That in itself took away your right to be as irritated as you were as you jostled the sheets from underneath, feeling your face burning with embarrassment as you slid your shorts down your legs.

The whole time, your gaze was trained on Oikawa's dozing form beside you, praying to any god who was listening for him not to wake up. It wouldn't do harm to sleep in your underwear right next to your friend of six years if he didn't know it, right?

Cool air spread across your bare thighs the moment you were rid of the garment, causing a shiver to skid through your spine. Once you'd laid out your shorts on the floor to hopefully dry by sunrise, you wrapped your body tighter around the comforter, scraping off as much body heat as possible. The rain still persisted outside, and you had a feeling that it would definitely last until morning.

"You know that the four of us have always been against you dating that asshole, right?"

The low timbre of Oikawa's voice nearly had you jumping out of his bed. Slowly, you turned around to glance at him with wide eyes. On his side of the bed, Oikawa gazed at the ceiling, his eyes painted with an emotion you couldn't put your finger on. When he shifted his line of sight towards you, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

"Yeah," you replied, shifting away from him as far as you could.

Oikawa frowned, turning on his side so he was facing you directly. "Why? Why'd you let him get so close to you when we'd already told you several times that he was bad news?"

"Oikawa," you sighed, unable to pull your focus on the gravity of his words because you were in your damn underwear. "I-I don't really want to talk about this."

"So when are you going to own up to the fact that we were right about Tendou all along?" he challenged, rage beginning to sizzle in his voice. "(Name)-chan, you mean a lot to us. Don't you know how much it hurts to see you throwing yourself at a guy who'll never love you back?"

You stared at him almost vacantly, feeling each word lancing through your heart. Oikawa seemed to have caught on with how you received his question just now, eyes softening with apologetic regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No," you interrupted. "No, you're right, Oikawa. You guys were right. I'm the stupid little girl who believed I could be the one to change Satori. I was dumb to expect any kind of genuine affection for a man who only kept me around for sex. I mean, what kind of fucking idiot just lets some guy like that play her like a fiddle for three years, right?"

The setter brandished you with a hard-eyed stare. "Stop twisting my words."

"But that's exactly what you want to say to me, isn't it?" The volume of your voice was hardly acceptable at three in the morning, but you couldn't bite back the scoff that escaped you lips. "Didn't it ever occur to you that I didn't want to be in that situation? Don't you know how hard it was to tear myself away from him?"

Oikawa's gaze faltered, his mask of ire slipping completely. When he didn't rebut with a clever reply of his own, you continued, sitting upright on his bed as your throat constricted with emotion.

"Give me a little more credit, will you?" you pleaded, voice almost cracking. "If it was hard for you to see how I grovelled at the feet of that...that asshole, you could only imagine how much self-loathing I've accumulated over the years."

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of rain beating against his window. Oikawa was staring at you like he was yet to process everything you just told him, but frankly you were too tired to wait for him to gather his senses. With a shuddering breath, you turned your back to him, folding your legs closer to your chest for more warmth. Your heart was beating off the charts from that little outburst, but at least that could generate some more needed body heat.

"Are you cold?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sighing, you turned to face him again. There was an unreadable look on his face that had you frowning at him. "You're asking me that now?"

Ignoring the sarcasm in your tone, Oikawa patted the spot next to him with such an apathetic look, you weren't sure if he was being serious.

"No, thank you," you rasped, turning to your side once more.

When you were at the point where consciousness and slumber smudged at the edges, you felt Oikawa press himself closer to you as he draped a strong arm around your frame. The heat of his body was foreign. You've never been this close to him in the last six years you've been friends. But instead of weaseling yourself out of his grasp, you found your body relaxing into his warmth.

You fell back asleep in minutes.

***

Given that your body didn't have any plans on letting you get any decent sleep tonight, you awoke to the feel of Oikawa's even breaths fanning your neck. Your eyes couldn't parse through the darkness, but you're aware that the rain has stopped, but the sun was yet to break through the horizon.

Oikawa's body was warm behind you. He must be awake; you could tell from the way his hand holds your hip. His thumbs were stroking up and down, and it took you a moment to realize that he was teasing the ridge of your underwear underneath the covers.

You didn't think. Not about right or wrong, or even about the consequences of what you were about to do. You only relished in the feeling of your bodies flitted together like two pieces of a puzzle.

You arched your back in a wordless approval of his grip, seeking out more of his heat, more of the soothing feeling of being touched by someone you'd like to think cares. You felt Oikawa's heart race from where his chest was pressed against your back, his breathing coming out more ragged than it had been minutes ago.

The setter moved with you, warm hand slipping to rest on your thigh, holding you against him. Oikawa buried his face in your neck, and you instinctively reached up, fingers seeking out his soft hair.

You understood that the hardness pressed imposingly against your rear was proof enough that he wanted this just as much as you did—that he was just as willing to risk your friendship for a night of poorly thought-out decisions. The unspoken agreement made you a little bolder, jutting out your ass for some friction in between. Oikawa hissed at the movement, biting into the skin of your neck hard enough to hurt.

You wanted to ask for something, but you couldn't find your voice. You were afraid that you would break the spell, and that you would have to face the reality that will crash on you sooner if not later. You squirmed against him as he began rocking his hips against you on his own accord, rubbing your thighs together for some form of reprieve, anything to distract you from the growing heat between your legs. Desire surged through your veins, hotter than any fire could ever hope to burn.

Then, surprisingly, he slid his finger into your warm, inviting heat.

You let out a breathy sigh without meaning to, your grip on his hair going tight for a moment before relaxing again.

Oikawa seemed experimental with his probing, like he was simply spreading your slick. You half-expected an underhanded comment from him because you felt the way the setter startled at how wet you were. Even you were surprised.

You wanted nothing but to push yourself back on his fingers, but you were afraid; afraid of ruining something that shouldn't have been tampered with like this. Afraid of never being able to look Oikawa in the eye again once the passion has died down and the spell was broken.

The finger he'd slipped inside you was followed by another, thrusting slow and steady, spreading heat through your body with only his touch. You felt his shallow breath on the nape of your neck, and the gentle undulation of Oikawa behind you. Ever-so-slightly, he ground himself against you, the motion almost inviting you to push back on his fingers, just like you'd wanted to so badly.

Oikawa spread you open with a third finger, and you were vaguely aware of the sounds you've been letting out for who knows how long. Quiet gasps, throaty moans, all tumbling out of your lips without consent.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, low and muffled against your shoulder. The words almost sound accusing, but his voice came out strained.

You knew better than to seethe—the shudder in the roll of his hips giving him away. You're not sure you could snap at him if you wanted, anyway. Not when his palm ground against you, against something that made you feel like you were fracturing glass that needed to be shattered.

You tried to angle your leg to get more of that, to speed the collapse, and he bit the nape of your neck like a reward. Oikawa's fingers quickened, even though you haven't answered him.

"Don't—" you began, chasing after something bright behind your eyes, something that had your legs shaking. You meant to say don't stop, but his fingers curled inside you and it turned into a moan.

There was something needy in your eyes as you twisted to look at him over your shoulder. Oikawa's hazel-brown gaze was feral, like he was delighted with the way your body responded so deliciously to his ministrations. You could feel the hand that wasn't coaxing release from you hiking up the sweater he'd lent, giving one of your breasts a gentle squeeze.

"Please." Your voice sounded so breathless, it was pathetic. Curling your fingers against his hair, you brought his face down to mould your lips to the shape of his.

Oikawa was a languid kisser—just how you liked it. He knew when to lick into the crevices of your mouth in a way that had you arching against his fingers; knew when to take your lower lip between his teeth to draw out lovely moans from you.

Before you could register what was happening, Oikawa had stilled, his grip on you going loose, and that pulsing glow inside of you was dimming. Receding like a wave that you had been waiting to let crash over you.

There was a rush of shame as you bucked your hips, needy against his hand while holding his arm in place. Your whole body feels fever-flushed when he chuckled, but at least he curled back towards you, and started to finger you again.

You arched, angling yourself until you can feel the bulge of his cock squeezed between your thighs. The pace of Oikawa's fingers was harsh now, and his own breath was stuttering. The rhythm of his hips was slower, more steady, and his length rubs against you so tantalizingly, so satisfyingly, if not for the layers still between you.

You twisted once more, silently pleading, and he answered by meeting you halfway. Your mouths collided messily, your lips falling open mid-kiss as his fingers hit something deep and his palm digs against your clit just so. You moaned into his mouth and he breathed into yours, both of you rocking your bodies against one another.

"Tell me what you need," he rasped.

You would like to think you didn't know, would like to maintain some semblance of morality and decency. But you nudged his arm away, just enough to pull your underwear down and kick them around one ankle.

Oikawa doled out his approval with a satisfied hum and a whispered, "Good girl."

You should be afraid of how the pet name sent delicious shivers down your spine. How your relationship with Oikawa was spiralling deeper and deeper into something unsalvageable. But you couldn't parse through the possibilities that may come when the sun rises. Not when Oikawa was tugging down his own sweats. Not when he was gazing at you like a lion closing in for the kill.

Your shared heavy panting filled the room as you both move together. His hand on you rear guided you into place and you tilted your hips to help, lining him up against your entrance.

It was as if your brain blanked as you sunk down on his length. The stretch of Oikawa's cock was mind-numbing, so painfully different from Tendou that you found yourself grappling at the dregs of your sanity. But there was something in your core that took satisfaction at being filled, something that only Oikawa could fill right now. The dreadful thought of fucking one of your best friends was thrown out of the window when the setter thrusted his hips, slow and careful—as if you were made of spun glass.

The sensation of him dragging his cock against your walls was overly gratifying. It scratched the unnamable itch, but stoked flames of desire at the same time. It's nice to feel your own thoughts pushed out of your head with every drawn out thrust, like you no longer have to think about anything else—like you couldn't if you tried.

There was only Oikawa, his whole body hunched over you, cock hitting so deep, you couldn't segregate right from wrong anymore. You couldn't think; you could hardly breathe, writhing back towards him with each thrust.

You turned around to kiss him again, and his mouth thankfully captured yours. He's less decisive with his motions now, the setter's mind splintered between ploughing his cock into your dripping cunt and dragging his tongue against your own.

Oikawa shifted on the bed, withdrawing his cock from your heat for a moment before sprawling you across the surface so you were lying flat against your back. You whined at the loss, but the setter immediately pacified your need with a single, merciless thrust. You were so wet that the slide was so easy, so languid that you were left wanting nothing else but his cock.

It was surreal, seeing Oikawa, of all people, rutting against your cunt with eyes screwed tight like he's found heaven in between your thighs. Soft, pink lips were parted with bliss, hewing his focus on nothing but the sensation of your walls clenching around his throbbing length. Your fingers trailed up his impressive chest, before your hands laced themselves together behind his nape.

Oikawa's eyes shot open in surprise, but the half-lidded gaze returned when you pulled him down for another kiss.

"Please, Oikawa," you moaned against his mouth. "Please."

One of his fingers found your clit surprisingly fast, teasing the small nub with enough friction that didn't hurt. You sobbed, trying to push back against him for more, more of anything he could give you.

"That's it," he said, voice hoarse with strain, breaking the kiss to latch his mouth onto the column of your throat. The urgency of his movements gave away his pretense of control.

When you came, it is an exploding star, bursting behind your eyes. Your legs shook with tiny tremors. You felt yourself squeezing down on him. Felt him falter and then still, buried inside you, his fingers still rubbing you with a careful pressure as you rode out the waves of it.

"That's it," he murmured again, as the dark of the room slowly came back into your vision.

Your chest heaved as you clung on to what semblance of reality your mind could hold onto. White noise buzzed in your ears like cicada on a hot summer day, but the man above you didn't have plans on giving you a longer grace period.

The only thing grounding you, keeping you from falling back asleep on the spot, is Oikawa's cock, still hard, still filling you up.

It doesn't startle you that he began moving again. It startled you that the feeling of it was suddenly overwhelming, impossibly more intense than what you had been sure was the peak of sensation. You gasped, your whole body shuddering around him.

You were still hyper-sensitive, but he didn't give you time to recover. It's too-much, bordering on pain, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to stop, couldn't even will your body to lean away from him. It's the cusp, the knife-edge that still leaned towards pleasure, and that deep, deep satisfaction at having all of your worries forcefully thrown from your own head.

You wanted to curse, but even now the words don't come to you. You wanted this to last forever, just like you wanted it to be over. You wanted to come again. You wanted Oikawa to fuck you until you forgot everything else in the world, everything complicated and overwhelming. You wanted Oikawa to fuck you until he comes.

His hand rose to rest on your lower stomach, palm flat as he pulled you towards him; you could hardly even try to match his rhythm, anymore.

Oikawa breathed out your name in a tone you've never heard him make before—it was desperate, almost pleading. You met his gaze head-on, watching the desire permeate in his beautiful brown eyes.

The setter grunted, his grip on your hips going hard as you felt him fall apart. He came in ribbons inside of you, painting your walls with his slick hot emission that had you arching your back in sheer pleasure. His name sounded broken in your voice, and he answered your call with another kiss, just barely a peck on your lips, before collapsing right next to you on the bed.

You felt like you were melting. Your own ragged breath made stark contrast to how relaxed the rest of you were. Oikawa's chest rose and fell against your back in deep, dramatic movements, and you tried to match the rhythm with your own breathing.

You shared the same intake and exhale of breath. Your bodies slowly cooled, cold in the insulation and colder still with your sweat against the air. The wet between your legs was starting to feel uncomfortable, and you were acutely aware of your underwear still hooked around your ankle.

At the corner of your eye, you could see the room brightening slightly from the windows. From the little leeway granted by Oikawa's thick curtains, you could see the sky lighting up with a gentle glow outside. The setter seemed to have followed your line of sight before draping an arm over his eyes with a groan. The giggle that slipped from your mouth was unwarranted as you fell back on the sheets.

Oikawa glanced at you from where he was lying down, eyes weighted with fatigue as he asked you:

"You want to take make-up exams together instead?"

#haikyuu!!#oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #reader insert #one night stand #haikyuu x reader #nsfw #scenario #anon #this is long

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kinkyuus · 4 years

Note

Not really a question but I love your Aesthetic.

I try my best, anon

#tea time #anon

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kinkyuus · 4 years

Text

Oikawa Content!

Yep, you read right. We’ve got some pretty boy smut brewing and here’s a little snippet :3c

---

“Should I ring up Iwaizumi and the others?” you joked. “For someone so into collegiate volleyball, I didn’t think you’d still have any high school memorabilia left.”

He gasped, placing a hand on his chest in feigned offense. “Are you kidding? If it weren’t for my time in Seijoh, I never would have made the cut for the starting roster here.”

“Sure, Mister Best Setter of the Year for three consecutive years in junior high.”

“Didn’t Iwa-chan say if you flatter me too much, it’ll get to my head?” Oikawa grinned before sauntering over to his kitchen. He began rummaging through his cupboards in the next minute. “You want anything? Coffee? Water?”

“Honestly,” you began, shying away from his gaze, “I kind of just want to sleep.”

Oikawa peeked from behind the cabinet to spare you a bizarre look, but nonetheless, he shrugged before closing it altogether. “Alright. I’ll take the couch—”

“How about…we sleep together?”

“Oh, (Name)-chan, you sly fox.”

Quite used to his innate narcissism, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t be a jackass or I might not-so accidentally kick you off the bed.”

“Alright,” he relented, raising his palms up in defeat. “I’ve learned the hard way to never doubt what you say you’ll do to me, so come on in to your suite, ma’am.”

#haikyuu!!#its actually a sequel......#to what i wont say #heehee #oikawa tooru #the theres only one bed and two of us trope #sorta

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kinkyuus · 4 years

Note

I really loveeedddd your sakusa fic and I want to give you a lot of love and encourage since your starting this blog❤️❤️💜💜💜💙🧡🧡💛💚💚💙💜💜💙💚💛💛🧡🧡❤️❤️ Can't wait to see what more amazing works you post!!❤️🧡🧡

Thank you so much! That Sakusa fic was posted literally seven months ago, though, and I’ve just been going in and out of hiatus. My second semester starts in a few days, so I’ll probably start going ghost on everybody again, but hopefully I’ll manage to squeeze some time into writing :’(

#tea time #anon

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kinkyuus · 4 years

Note

thats a nice icon uve got there :3 feel like writing for tendou? just maybe what he would be like after a frustrating game or a jealousy awakening?

Word Count: 7,534AO3 link here

This is me addressing all the Tendou thirst in my askbox. Sorta.

***

“I hate these training camps.”

Coach Mizoguchi eyes you with vague interest when you slump into the empty seat next to him by the bleachers. “If Coach Irihata catches you complaining, he’ll be very sad, you know.”

You groan, stretching out cramped limbs until you feel a satisfying crunch from your weary joints. A tired sigh follows your attempt at temporary relief. “Coach, you’re well aware that I’m more than happy to be Seijoh’s manager, but these stupid camps just make the responsibilities branch off to Shiratorizawa, too. That wasn’t in the job description, as far as I recall.”

“Cheeky as always, are you,” he simpers. “I’m afraid their coach doesn’t deem it necessary to have a manger since the members are able to fend for themselves.”

You’re unable to suppress a snort. “That makes sense. Our captain has the brain of a five year-old sometimes.”

“I’m right here, (Name)-chan,” Oikawa cries out, immediately whisking himself into your direction. “What do you mean I have a brain of a five year-old? If anything, that’s Iwa-chan!”

“Don’t go framing me for your crimes, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi’s gruff reply is accompanied by a signature smack to Oikawa’s head. It happens so often, you wonder if the setter has finally gotten used to his best friend’s mild yet constant violence. “You’re the bane of (Surname)’s existence.”

Oikawa gasps at the ace’s brazen words and turns his brown-eyed gaze to you. “Is it true? Does (Name)-chan want to quit because I’m annoying?”

His dramatized tone is met with a blatant eye-roll. “No one said anything about tendering my resignation, Bakawa.”

“Iwa-chan, you lugged her in on the insult train!” Crocodile tears slide on the captain’s cheeks. “You’re cruel!”

Iwaizumi shakes of Oikawa’s grip on his jersey, shoving the setter away with a grunt. “Get in position. You’re being an eyesore.”

“But the game doesn’t even start until—”

“Shut up!”

From where you’re seated, you can clearly see Hanamaki and Matsukawa sniggering to themselves at the duo’s antics. Oikawa’s sudden outbursts and Iwaizumi’s damage control are practically routine now if you’re being honest. And even if the rest of the players are pains in the ass in their own ways, you’ve always came to love each batch of teenage boys you had to manage ever since you started studying in Seijoh.

You’re a third year now and graduation is right around the corner. In sixth months’ time, Aoba Johsai’s volleyball club would be structured very differently from how it is now, as it had been in the previous years. Each transition came with farewells that needed to be bid, but you’ve known the bitter taste of parting with senpais since your first year. The only difference now is that you’re the one leaving along with four of the team’s key players.

As you zone in on your thoughts of the crunching days left before the Spring Interhigh and, by extension, graduation, your eyes sauntered over to the other side of Shiratorizawa’s court where the home team’s players are doing warm-ups for the next practice match. Your gaze latches onto a particular middle blocker whose back is turned to you.

For some unfathomable reason whenever your eyes drift to his crimson-haired splendor, Tendou always manages to catch you staring, as if your gaze is enough to penetrate into his awareness every time you look at him. He turns around, face splintered into a grin he sends your way, but his attention is immediately robbed by their first year wing spiker with a bowl-cut.

There are other reasons why you loathed training camps between Aoba Johsai and Shiratorizawa besides the added workload. You’ve participated in these camps since your first year, so you ought to be used to the strain of handling two teams on your own for a weekend. But a more troublesome feat is shoved on your plate when you met the rival school’s genius blocker.

Nothing was particularly off about him during the first bout of introductions. At the time, most of you were still awkward sixteen year olds that were first timers in a joint training camp. Players exchanged names and greetings, and since you were part of Seijoh, you were also introduced. The boys of Shiratorizawa were polite and soft-spoken, but when it was a certain Tendou Satori’s turn to shake your hand, there was something about the soft but wicked glimmer in those carmine eyes that stuck with you.

“…another manager.” It takes you awhile to realize that Coach Mizoguchi engaged you in conversation in the midst of your reverie. You blink, muttering a half-hearted apology as you ask him to repeat what he just said.

“I said we’re thinking of getting another manager,” he supplies. “Forgive me, I should have proposed it to Coach Irihata earlier so you didn’t have to juggle all the responsibilities by yourself but…”

“Your most trusted manager is graduating and it just dawned on you that you’re going to have to find a replacement soon?” you continue for him.

He nods, scratching the back of his neck with a sigh. “There are a lot of girls in Aoba Johsai that would be willing to take the position, but I’m quite concerned about their intentions.”

You immediately catch his drift. Everyone knows that Oikawa’s charm is a double-edged sword, resulting in the unwarranted resumes piling up in Coach Irihata’s office, pleading for the coach to take them in as managers for the team; all of which have been dutifully rejected.

“You should give them a chance, coach,” you insist. “Oikawa’s going to be leaving soon anyway. They might not be as bad as you think.”

“This is partially your fault, might I tell you.”

A pout settles on your lips. “But why?”

Mizoguchi drags a hand over his face, exhaling a heavy breath. “You’ve raised Coach Irihata’s standards for a manager way too high. I’m afraid he might not even take anyone in after you.”

“What can I say?” You grin, heart swelling at his indirect praise. “I’m practically an olympic medalist at rounding up a pack of rowdy teenage boys.”

“That you are,” he agrees.

***

Incidentally, when lunch time rolls by, you end up falling in line at the cafeteria behind Tendou himself.

“Oh, manager-chan, it’s you again~” His mouth curls into a placid smile. “Is it just me or did you shrink?”

You click your tongue, grabbing a tray from the pile at the edge of the counter. “You just grew taller, Tendou-san.”

He hums at your formality, brows arched. “Always so polite, manager-chan. That’s what I like about you.”

“I’m glad that a typical human reaction caters to your interests.”

“Oh?” His eyes crinkle at the edges at your brazen afterthought. “So you can be a wise-ass sometimes.”

When the man overseeing the teams’ meals gives him his portion, Tendou makes it a point to sneer at you one last time before heading over to a table occupied by Ushijima and Semi. You think nothing of the bizarre exchange when you slide into a spot claimed by two of your friends.

“Is it just me or is Tendou warming up to you every year?” Hanamaki surmises, timed with the snap of your chopsticks.

A frown graces your lips, brows creasing at his words. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugs. “I mean, compared to the other guys in Shiratorizawa, he seems pretty invested in our beloved manager.”

“I don’t like him,” Matsukawa grumbles with a mouthful of vegetables lodged in his cheek.

Hanamaki snickers as he gives his shoulder a few pats. “As a middle blocker, you’re probably just feeling inferior to him, my friend.”

“What does my being a middle blocker have to do with it?” He frowns, swallowing his food.

“Uh, maybe it’s ‘cause the enemy middle blocker had more guts to make a move on (Name)-chan than you, Mattsun,” Oikawa implores as he dropped his lunch tray next to yours.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “Funny. We all know that (Surname) is like a sister to us”

“Don’t worry, man, I’m with you on this one,” Hanamaki insists as he snatches one of Matsukawa’s wagyu cubes, stuffing it into his mouth before his friend can notice. “That guy has the crazy eyes.”

“Crazy eyes?” you echo.

Hanamaki nods gingerly and Matsukawa sighs, obviously familiar with the farfetched concept. “The fundamental rule to the crazy eyes is that you shouldn’t date an otherwise attractive person if they have said crazy eyes. I told Mattsun that the girl he dated once in junior high had them and he wouldn’t believe me.”

“Just because she turned out to be a closet yandere doesn’t mean that crazy eyes theory is true.” Matsukawa lifts his shoulders in a nonchalant gesture.

Oikawa hums beside you, chewing his lunch thoughtfully. “You have to admit that Guess Monster-chan does have that little deranged look on his face whenever his guess blocks are right. Iwa-chan hates it when his spikes are predicted by him.”

The captain’s input garners an ‘I-told-you-so’ expression from Hanamaki to which Matsukawa retaliates by rolling his eyes a second time.

When Iwaizumi settles in his seat, barking at Oikawa for cutting him in line, the topic of a crazy-eyed middle blocker is more or less deserted. The boys are talking about a TV show that aired last night but their discussion became muted in your ears when you find your gaze wandering back to the table at the far end of the room.

Tendou’s bouffant hair sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the otherwise conventional hairstyles and colors of those seated around him. Just how much hair gel did he have to use to get it to look like that? This time, he’s too engrossed in conversation with Semi to notice your swift glances. But before you could study him a little more intently, the sound of a fist colliding on the table rouses you from your trance.

“If Tendou tries anything funny, I’ll skin him alive, (Surname).” The threat to Iwaizumi’s words didn’t sound empty, but you know that the ace isn’t that much of a barbarian to actually carry it out. Your head cranes to the side at his unbridled display of irritation. Ah, maybe the others filled him in on Tendou’s prominent advances while you were busy ogling said middle blocker.

Oh, man.

Oikawa jeers at him. “Iwa-chan, you’re only that riled up ‘cause he shuts you down so often, it’s embarrassing.”

The insult is met with a jab to the setter’s side, eliciting a pained yelp from Oikawa. Matsukawa and Hanamaki snicker to themselves at yet another display of idiocy courtesy of their captain and vice captain. You shake your head, finishing the rest of your meal with no leftovers to spare since you’re going to need the energy. The first day of camp is always the most brutal after all.

***

Every year, each practice match between the two powerhouse schools in Miyagi never ceases to amaze you. All the versions of each team cultivated over years’ worth of training had their own redeeming qualities—both for Seijoh and Shiratorizawa alike. But this was probably one of the best plays you’ve seen in all the training camps you’ve supervised.

The intensity in the air crackled like a smoldering flame. You feel like if you so much as blink, you’ll miss something important. The game is at its fifth set, and while it surely isn’t anyone’s first time playing a five-setter—save for the first years—neither team is giving their opponent any leeway for victory. Both contenders are baring their fangs at the other, knowing full well that even if this is just a practice match, so much more is on the line.

But of course, this rivalry is all fun and games until someone gets a nasty injury, which is exactly what happens when Shiratorizawa secures their match-point.

“You may have broken some of my fingers, but the point’s still ours, ace~” Tendou’s jeering laughter mingles with the sound of the whistle tweeting for a timeout.

You immediately rush to his side along with the coaches present to check the severity of his injury. Spots of blood are seeping through the bandages he always wraps around his slender fingers, and a frown settles on your face at the way his right pinky twitches when you brush it. You can hear Iwaizumi scoffing from the other side of the net, shortly followed by Oikawa’s teasing voice.

“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” you say, tugging on his other wrist lightly. “Don’t move your fingers. The swelling might get worse.”

“Manager-chan, so eager to get me alone.” He chuckles tauntingly as you lead him out of the gym. The doors click loudly back in place and the sound bounces across the empty hallway. You walk brusquely with Tendou in tow, and it takes you a moment to realize that you have no idea where Shiratorizawa’s infirmary is.

When you cast Tendou a timid stare, about to ask him to show you the way, he simply grins at you. “The school nurse has her day-off on weekends. You’re going to have to treat me, yourself.”

“What?”

Injuries aren’t a rare occurrence in these camps, which is why the coaches reminded you to pack a first aid kit in case the hosting school’s infirmary isn’t operational You didn’t expect that you actually had to use the aforementioned first aid kit to treat Tendou, of all people.

Though you’re appalled with the idea of having to sit through his hawk-like stare as you treated him, you don’t really have much of a choice. Clicking your tongue, you grab ahold of his wrist to veer yourself up to the second floor, where Seijoh’s rooms are located. Once you reach the classroom at the end of the hall, you pull him inside and slammed it shut.

“That desperate, aren’t you?” he teases.

“Shut up and take a seat,” you tell him before crouching down to retrieve the kit that’s sitting idly beside your rolled up futon by the chalkboard. As you make your way to set it on the desk Tendou decided to occupy, he makes a sound of realization.

“This where you sleep, manager-chan?”

Your brow hefts at his curiosity, but you grunt in affirmation, regardless. You pull out the seat from the neighboring desk, dragging it closer so you could work on his injury. The gaze he fixes on you is rather expectant as he patiently keeps his fingers immobilized on the desk. At least he isn’t making things difficult for you aside from the occasional off-handed comment.

Tendou is surprisingly quiet as you unwrap the sullied bandages, save for the small hiss that escapes him when his injury meets the cool air of the classroom. Setting the bandages on top of the desk, you carefully examine his digits and, as you thought, there’s an uneven laceration on his pinky. Flecks of dried blood stick to his skin, but the wound seems to have closed up already, leaving a purpling bruise and a little swelling in its wake.

“Can you move it?” you ask, your voice as gentle as the way your fingers grasp his calloused hand.

He hums, flexing all five of his fingers with no difficulty. “The pinky hurts like a bitch though.”

“Figures.”

Given that Tendou can still move the injured finger, you manage to rule out the possibility of any broken phalanges, which eases the tension that you hadn’t known was creeping in your posture. You crack open the first aid kid, plucking a few swabs of cotton and a bottle of disinfectant. A sharp scent cuts through the air, making you wrinkle your nose, but once it scatters, you’re suddenly aware of how Tendou smells like sweat and waning aftershave. You hadn’t noticed earlier, since you’re too occupied with the state of his fingers, but this is quite different from the scent that Seijoh’s four idiots usually carried after a difficult match.

You’d never admit to it, but he smells…good.

“You’re fumbling,” Tendou points out with a flare of mischief in his tone.

“You’re imagining things,” you rebut as you force your hands to stop quaking under his gaze.

Once you’ve cleaned his fingers up, you dispose of the cotton balls next to his bandages. The next step is to splint his fingers to hasten the healing process. With a sigh, you tear open a pack of thick popsicle sticks, retrieving one to carefully place it underneath Tendou’s fingers.

You can feel the weight of his stare as you rummage around the kit for some fresh bandages, and it takes a copious amount of willpower just to keep up the indifferent expression on your face. When you finally find it, you tape up his pinky and index finger together with the splint to guarantee that he won’t get any ideas of moving them at all.

“Do your boys get a lot of injuries, too?” He chuckles once you’re done patching him up, examining your handiwork with awe. “You seem to know what you’re doing, manager-chan~”

“It’s just basic first aid,” you say, getting up to throw away his old bandages and thecotton in the bin. “I couldn’t do shit when Oikawa got that really bad knee injury.”

His brows shot up to his hairline. “Oh? So that’s why he always wears unmatching knee pads. Taichi and I bet on the reason behind it. Guess I lost then.”

A surprised gasp escapes you when you decide to humor him as you tidy up. “The Guess Monster, losing in a bet?”

Tendou laughs airily. “You’re a lot more fun when you’re not around those four, huh?”

Just as you’re about to put the first aid kit back where you found it, you pause, sparing him an inquisitive look. But before you could even ask him the question lodged between your teeth, Tendou is already halfway towards the door, waving the hand you just bandaged in farewell.

“Oi!” you stomp over to tug him by the elbow. “We’re not done yet! Don’t go swinging it around either. It won’t heal if you do that! And—”

Tendou cuts you off with his haughty laughter. “I know the protocol for this so don’t sweat it, manager-chan. Fuss about me more and I’ll start to think that you actually like tending to my wounds.”

Your grip on him falters, making you realize how tightly you’ve grasped him. An embarrassed squeak makes its way past your lips as you scoot a few feet away from him, but your timidness only serves to fuel Tendou’s already burning ego when the curve of his condescending grin scales even wider.

“Thanks for the fix, manager-chan,” he says before turning his back to you. “I should get injured more often.”

You cross your arms over your chest, frowning. “And why’s that?”

He turns his head enough to grant you a glimpse of half of an outstretched grin. “So I don’t have to make excuses to get you alone, of course.”

***

On the second night of the training camp, you find your boys staying up past their bed time.

“What exactly are you doing?”

Oikawa perks up at the sound of your voice. “Oh, (Name)-chan, you’re just in time! Hey, Mattsun give her a deck.”

“We’re already playing, idiot,” Matsukawa sighs as he swats Hanamaki’s fingers away. “Makki, that’s cheating. Quit ruining the integrity of the game”

“UNO!” Iwaizumi screeches, slamming down one of his cards on top of the messy pile that’s situated in the middle of all of Seijoh’s players, who are seated together in a circle.

Kindaichi, who’s sitting to the vice captain’s right lets out a frustrated groan as he ruefully draws four cards from the tidier stack. “Iwaizumi-san, why do you have so many draw four cards? That’s the third time you’ve laid divine punishment on me.”

“Just pray you’ll get a reverse card so you can get your revenge.” Iwaizumi shrugs.

To Iwaizumi’s left, Oikawa shrieks, “Hell no! If you reverse the flow, Iwa-chan’s going to prematurely put me in my grave. We’ve already lost today’s match, so could you please let me have this victory?”

Yahaba frowns at their captain’s sentiment. “Oikawa-san, how does your victory in an UNO game compensate for our team’s loss in a practice match?”

Hanamaki snickers. “Gives him a reason to continue wallowing in his pride, I bet.”

“Don’t ignore me like I’m not here, you jackasses,” you interject, raising the volume of your voice.

All their heads turn to you, surprised eyes meeting your arbitrary glare.

“It’s lights out,” you deadpan. “You’re going to do those hellish reps first thing tomorrow. You guys ought to get some sleep.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out in spite. “Make us.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to invest yourself in the state of your nails. “I think I’m in a mood to tell the cafeteria staff to cut off your protein for the rest of the camp. You guys are a bunch of meat heads as is, anyway.”

Matsukawa’s eyes narrow into slits. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would.”

Iwaizumi is the first to give in, tossing the one card he has left on his person into the pile. He hauls himself onto his feet and walks over to the corner to presumably grab a futon. “The guy who has most cards cleans up,” he announces placidly.

Kindaichi lets out a frustrated groan as the rest of the boys dump their own cards onto his hands.

It takes less than three minutes for them to settle themselves under the comfort of their futons, obviously taking your threat to take away their meat privileges at face value.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” You pitch in a teasing smile.

“You’re a demon, (Name)-chan,” Oikawa huffs, turning his back to you.

“Good night, you ingrates.” With that, you conclude your rounds for the night.

The hallway on the second floor is more or less deserted. A tired sigh makes its way past your lips as you twist your neck around to ease a few strained muscles. You pad silently to the end of the hall where your room is, sparing a glance at the high windows of the coaches’ room. Given that the lights are switched off, their meeting with Washijou seems that it’s yet to be adjourned.

You have half the mind to look for them to inform that the boys are all tucked in already, but you’d rather not get lost in the massive grounds of Shiratorizawa in the middle of the night. The oncoming fatigue from running around campus doing several errands is beginning to seep into your bones, too.

You stifle a yawn as you slide the door to your room open, but it’s interrupted halfway when you see Tendou sitting behind a desk in the far corner, nose buried in the pages of what seems to be this week’s issue of Shounen Jump.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hiss, shutting the door behind you in case someone walks by.

Upon hearing your voice, he sets down the magazine, grinning at your apprehension. “Can’t I pay you visits when I feel like it, manager-chan?”

“No?” you state in a matter-of-fact tone that you hope is enough to shoo him away.

It isn’t.

Tendou rises from his seat and you notice that he traded his training clothes for a pair of sweats and a white crew neck with Shiratorizawa’s crest embroidered on the chest pocket. Your manager instincts kick in for a moment, and your eyes went to the hand you just patched up yesterday. Tendou isn’t wearing the bandages nor the splint anymore.

The way his sandals scraped against the floor as he makes his way towards you snaps you out of your trance—the smile he dons too encroaching for comfort.

Instinctively, you back away, intent with putting as much distance between you as possible. But each step you took backward, he met with another step forward. Your futile effort is realized once your back hits the door. Gulping, you stand your ground, putting on the most convincing pissed off expression you could muster in an attempt at masking the agitation that crawled beneath your skin.

When Tendou manages to minimize the space that separates you, he braces both of his hands on the walls on either side of your head, effectively trapping you. His lips are curled into another one of his eye-crinkling smiles again, and from the way his gaze bore into your very soul, you couldn’t help but blurt out—

“Is creepy stalker your default personality?”

You expect that too-confident smirk to falter, for his perpetually provocative mask to chip away as he burst out laughing at such an accusation. You could laugh this off like it’s just one of his usual games, and you could kick him out of your room so you could get a much needed good night’s sleep. But instead of the whimsical reaction you’d hoped for, his eyes droop half-lidded at your words, tongue swiping his bottom lip.

“And if it is?”

Your lip quivers and you don’t know if it’s from anticipation or fear or both. Tendou tilts his chin up in a gesture of dominance, his teasing smile turning feral. He leans close enough until you can feel his breath fanning the shell of your ear.

“Who would have thought that Seijoh’s tough manager could look so vulnerable?” The sound of his voice so achingly close sends a shiver skidding across your spine and you’re yet to decide if the sensation is pleasant or not. You open your mouth at a desperate attempt to tell him to stop, but the plea evaporates from your tongue when one of his arms snake around your waist to pull you flush against his slim frame.

Taking advantage of your stunned silence, Tendou touches your forehead with a single finger from his free hand, dragging it down the bridge of your nose and onto the swell of your lips. As you forcefully tame the thundering sensation in your ribcage, you actively try to convince yourself that there is absolutely nothing erotic about the way he gently scraped the blunt of his nail on the bottom line of your mouth.

He slots himself in between your thighs with ease, and the fact that you just let him do as he pleases leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. The hand that he dragged across your skin assumes its previous position braced on the wall, and you find yourself hopelessly imprisoned under his carmine-hued stare.

“You’re being pretty quiet, aren’t you manager-chan?” He laughs flippantly,

Tendou leans even closer, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Each breath from him is hot against your skin, eliciting a squeak from you as you placed your hands on his chest at a reluctant attempt to push him away. But for some reason, you couldn’t find the strength to do so, merely settling with fisting the cotton material in your fingers as you grit your teeth in frustration.

“I don’t remember you being this forward, Tendou-san,” you half-joke, following it up with a laugh that betrays just how rattled you are.

You refuse to meet his eyes when his head rises to face you, knowing full well that you’ll be entranced with them should you stare at this close a distance. Tendou has already put you under his spell, slowly planting seeds of interest within you for three years now. The last thing you need is a catalyst that will finally make you succumb to those intense and borderline sultry glances he sent your way in the short spans of time you’ve spent with him.

His fingers probe your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Those eyes of his almost pierce into your very being, and you’d be lying if you said you don’t find those blood red pools beautiful.

“Hm, I wonder,” he pauses, mulling over his words with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Why is manager-chan not throwing a fit? Eita-kun has always told me I’ve got no sense of personal space.”

“He’s right, I’m afraid,” you tell him dryly. “Also, I have a name, you know?”

“I know. But manager-chan just has the riiight ring to it.” A chuckle resonates somewhere low in his chest as he tucks in a tuft of hair behind your ear. “The idea of being balls deep inside a rival school’s manager spurs me on more than you know.”

Ah, there it is. His proclamation of love.

“Why now?” you question softly.

Tendou’s brow quirks. “Would you rather I ravished you earlier, then? Where’s the fun in that?”

Thinking about it now, you knew. You knew this was coming from a mile away. Three years’ worth of stolen glances and a tension so thick it could suffocate—all of it lead to this moment.

Your breath hitches in your throat when his lithe arms wrap themselves around your waist, tugging your hips flush against his own. He gazes at you with a desire you almost mistake for madness.

The descent of his lips on your own is the most agonizing five seconds of your life. You can see him, feel him ghosting the crescent of his mouth over yours, only separated by a hair’s breadth. Below the perpetually sleepy look in his eyes is a flame that’s licking your own hunger into life. You trade your grip on his sweater to lock your fingers at the nape of his neck, closing your eyes as you beg whatever god is watching for forgiveness.

“My, manager-chan. You’re getting quite into this, aren’t you?” Tendou chuckles.

“Shut up,” you grumble, heat creeping from the base of your neck. “Just shut up and do what you have to do.“

His lower lip juts into a pout. “Eh? You’re making it sound like you’re doing this against your will. That’s mean, manager-chan.” You can feel his slender fingers crawling up your shirt—his icy touch making a delicious shiver skidding up the length of your spine.

“Look at me,” Tendou says, and even if you refused his command, you still find yourself lost in the deep red of his gaze. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel a thing; that you don’t want this as badly as I do.“

The sultry baritone of his voice makes your blood sizzle in your veins, making you bite the inside of your cheek in sheer anticipation. He’s gazing at you under half-lidded eyes with a patience that looks like it’s about to snap any moment now. But five heartbeats pass, and he still won’t come in for the kill.

He could’ve done as he pleased with you already—could’ve ravaged you, as he said, instead of beating around the bush like this. But Tendou isn’t a monster that took whatever he desired. That’s all the confirmation you need when you decide to say:

“I want this.”

Tendou lets out a sound that sounds like a laugh and a sigh in the same breath. And you’re yet to know that it’s the last semblance of anything human you’re going to hear from him until he’s done with you.

Once he’s secured the green light, however, Tendou doesn’t waste any time. He slants his lips on top of yours without much preamble, pinning your arms against the wall as he licks into every crevice in your mouth. You match his rhythm almost perfectly, sliding your tongue against his in a languid pace as he grinds himself in earnest against the friction of your track pants. Tendou surrenders his hold on one of your arms so he can creep his free hand further up your shirt. With skillful fingers, he manages to undo the hooks of your bra in one try, and you make a mental note to ask about that a little later.

He purposely breaks your union for a moment to help you out of the clothing that’s obstructing his view of your body, and you’re all too willing to comply. You don’t think, don’t want to scrutinize the situation or parse through a catalog of end results. You just want him to unravel the coiling heat in your stomach and nothing else.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs before latching his mouth on the sensitive skin of your neck, just above the irregular thrum of your pulse. You get to work, too—pulling down the straps of your bra to discard it to the floor. Your breasts press against Tendou’s clothed chest as he marks you with his teeth. A soft moan reverberates in the back of your throat as you tug on his stiff hair, making sure his scalp burns at your aggressiveness. You manage to garner the reaction you want when he growls against your skin.

The middle blocker eventually disconnects from your neck to admire his own work—a dark red splotch that will definitely be seen if you don’t wear any concealer. But keeping your escapade a secret is the last thing on your mind when you press your mouth against his. This one’s far messier than the first; all teeth and tongue and carnal desire. Your fingers begin working on the strings of his sweats and he’s more than willing to strip himself off them so you could palm his erection through plain black boxer briefs. He’s impeccably hard, that much you can tell between the barrier of fabric between his throbbing cock and your hand. Tendou lets out a broken moan when your fingers give him a tender squeeze.

You pull away from his hungry lips as you sink onto your knees. Tendou blinks for a moment, taken by surprise by your eagerness, but he doesn’t voice out any complaints once you pull his boxers down and his hardness strains against his firm stomach. You gaze at his engorged cock in awe before giving him little kitty licks to spite him.

“If you keep doing that, I swear you’ll regret it,” he threatens, but his voice sounds hoarse as he does. The gleam in his eye almost turns feral once you hollow your cheeks to accommodate him in the warmth of your mouth.

Tendou groans in delight as he pulls his sweater over his head, tossing it to the side without care. His hands then tangle themselves in your hair once you’ve established a regular pace, bobbing your head up and down without breaking eye-contact. His mouth is curled into that same, sleazy smile he always wears on regular days, as if he isn’t being sucked off by a rival team’s manager at the moment. He looks so composed that it infuriates you.

You decide to take things up a notch, slathering more saliva onto his cock until you can feel the tip poking the back of your throat. Now, you don’t have the best gag reflex, but you do know how to regulate your breaths so that you don’t end up a sputtering mess underneath him. To your elation, Tendou lets out a choked up noise once you take him in deeper. A manic grin spreads across his lips and the way that look alone sends a shock of pleasure right into the apex of your thighs is criminal.

“Had I known that you’ve got that good of a mouth on you… I never would’ve waited so long.” He hisses through gritted teeth as he fists your hair in his hands.

Your hands seek purchase on his toned thighs, his muscles rippling under your fingertips as you slowly build him up for release. The fabric of your panties feel as if it’s slick with your essence, and you nearly squirm in anticipation as you wonder how Tendou’s dick would feel once he buries it deep into your core. The mere idea has you moaning around his cock as tears race down your cheeks.

“You look so pretty with your mouth wrapped around my dick, manager-chan,” he sighs as he lets go of your hair to swipe his thumbs beneath your eyes. “Come on, that’s enough.“

Tendou’s mouth bows into a crooked smile once you get back on your feet, restless hands wasting no time as he hooks his fingers on the waistband of your track pants. For a moment, his ministrations falter and he meets your eyes to silently secure your permission. For some reason, his consideration makes your heart swell. But you aren’t able to pay the feeling any mind because once Tendou rids you of the rest of your clothing, the first thing he does is tease your sopping entrance with the pads of his fingers.

"Fuck.” His voice sounds deliciously breathless as he lathers his fingers in your juices. “You’re this wet from sucking me off? You’re an even bigger pervert than I made you out to be.”

“What’s it to you?” you challenge, wrapping your arms around his shoulders once more to bring him closer.

You take his earlobe in between your teeth and Tendou chuckles at the way you softly nip at his skin. In retaliation, Tendou sheathes two fingers into the tight heat of your pussy without warning, making you cry out in surprise. You throw him a dirty look that immediately melts into something headier as he slowly, lazily intrudes your body like he was born to do so.

“Manager-chan, you know I’ll do my best to shut you up every time you try to be a smart-ass, no?” He smiles before taking his fingers out of your wetness so he can manhandle you so that your back is facing him. Tendou presses his chest against you, forcing you to lean forward and brace your hands against the wall before you. The position you’re in makes you feel so bare, so exposed.

And you absolutely love it.

Tendou lets out another soft laugh; one hand, he uses to massage your left breast, while he moves to trace lazy circles around your throbbing clit. The sound that forces its way out of your throat is unintelligible, and you wonder just how he was able to reduce you to such a pitiful state—Aoba Johsai’s reliable manager, wrapped around the fingers of Shiratorizawa’s Guess Monster.

“(Name)-chan, you in there?”

The sound of Oikawa’s voice outside is enough to make your body go rigid. From the way Tendou suddenly halts his ministrations, you can tell that he’s just as stunned as you are. Whipping your head behind you, you gaze at him with a question in your eyes: What the fuck do we do?

Instead of offering a solution, however, Tendou’s lips only curve into a wicked smile as he guides his still hard cockhead at the slick between your thighs. To your horror, he begins grinding against your entrance, and you have to bite your lip to prevent any weird noises from spilling from your mouth.

“(Name)-chan?”

“What is it, Oikawa?” you manage with a high-pitched voice that you hope he won’t comment on. Tendou lets out an airy laugh before moving your hair to one side so he can nip at your neck to throw your mind into a haze.

“Ow, Mad Dog-chan, quit it. Ah, Kyoutani was asking for some water. Do you have some in there?"

Instinctively, your gaze flickers to the water bottles lined up in the other end of the classroom. You made sure to empty them out before cleaning, so you aren’t exactly lying to Oikawa when you say, "Nope! T-Try the cafeteria. They might s-still be open."

You can hear Oikawa humming in contemplation outside, and the vague noises Kyoutani makes before he stalks off further away. But it’s only one set of footsteps you hear.

”(Name)-chan, are you okay?“

At the same time the captain asks you the question, Tendou roughly bites down on the spot he’d been teasing as he simultaneously sinks his cock into your welcoming heat. You aren’t able to stifle the half-moan, half-yelp that tears its way from your lips, and you shoot the carmine-haired blocker a death glare that he only returns with a firm thrust of his hips.

"Y-Yeah—don’t come in!” you warn the setter outside in advance. “I’m, uh, changing! I just s-stubbed my toe. It’s okay, Oikawa."

"Hm. Alright, if you say so."

You aren’t able to relish in the sound of Oikawa’s waning footsteps because once the captain takes his leave, Tendou slams you forward. The intrusion of his cock sends painful shocks rippling across your nerves because of how agitated you are from the idea of getting caught. Tears catch in the corners of your eyes, but you don’t have the heart to tell the monster behind you to slow down; not when his merciless thrusts are sending you into another realm altogether.

"I never liked any of those boys of yours,” Tendou admits, voice raspier than earlier. “They’re always around you like fucking guard dogs."

Even if he’s knocking the breath from your lungs each time pile-drives the reason from your consciousness, you manage to let slip a taunting laugh. "Are you jealous, Tendou-san?”

“Oh, you sweet little thing,” he coos, forcing you to tilt your head to the side so he could mesh your mouths in a hurried kiss. When he pulls away, his manic grin morphs into a gentle smile that you somehow think is more dangerous than the former.

“You wouldn’t like to see me when I’m jealous."

***

"Morning, (Surname)—whoa,” Matsukawa interrupts himself before observing you a little closer. “You look like roadkill. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?"

The other boys sitting on your shared table murmur in agreement. You shake your head in lieu of a vocal answer as you slide yourself next to Hanamaki. Thankfully, they don’t probe you for questions as to why you didn’t show up during the morning exercises. But Oikawa, who’s sitting right across from you, has his hazel eyes fixated on the vague spot where you spent the entire morning trying to cover up a bruise that you’d never let anyone know about. Fuck. Can he see through the concealer?

Whatever conclusions the too-observant-for-his-own-good captain may have drawn from your disheveled state, he doesn’t voice out any of them. Instead, he teases Iwaizumi about the fact that he tried to race Ushijima around the Shiratorizawa oval and failed. The ace’s violent reaction is enough to draw the other three’s attention away from you, and with that, you’re able to eat your breakfast in peace.

As the boys file out of the cafeteria for today’s practice matches, you decidedly offer your help to the cafeteria staff in tidying up—not quite ready to face a certain, red-headed middle blocker again just yet.

That’s until that certain, red-headed middle blocker takes matters into his own hands and approaches you, himself.

"Good morning, Fujioka-san!” Tendou greets the middle-aged woman you were helping clean the tables. “Manager-chan’s doing a good job, huh?”

Fujioka spares him a warm smile. “You’re right on that one, isn’t he, (Surname)-chan?”

“H-Huh?” You blink out the confusion in your eyes. “Uh, yeah. It’s nothing, really.”

“Oh, give yourself more credit, dear,” she insists. “Just because you don’t have to help around in the kitchen, doesn’t mean your efforts should go unnoticed. She’s taking care of so many teenage boys. Right, Tendou-kun?"

You can feel Tendou’s fingers skimming across your bare thighs, making the events that transpired last night burn through the back of your mind. The table in front of you thankfully manages to shield the blocker’s antics from Fujioka’s view. Damn it. You just had to wear shorts today, huh?

"Yup! Manager-chan surely takes good care of us athletes,” Tendou agrees with glee, as if he isn’t giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“I’ll leave the two of you be now,” Fujioka bows as she gathers the tray of dirty dishes in her hands. “I’ll give these to the dishwashers. Run along now, (Surname)-chan. You’ve helped out enough.”

Before you can even utter a single word in protest, the older woman is already striding off to the back kitchen, leaving you completely under Tendou’s mercy.

“Say, manager-chan,” he begins, already directing himself to the exit, “practice matches don’t start for another half-hour. And my dorm room’s pret-ty close, if you know what I’m saying.”

The nuances of what he’s trying to imply hit you in a split second, and you ought to be mortified by them. But instead of disgust, all you feel is the same, rippling anticipation that’s churning in the bottom of your stomach. Your thighs still hurt. Your insides still feel like mush. You have absolutely no reason to go at it a second time with this guy.

Still, you decided to pull Tendou closer by the shirt.

“This is the last time,” you hiss in his ear.

But the same, sleazy grin he puts up tells you he knows that neither of you believed a single word you just said.

“Of course,” he plays along, chuckling to himself as the double doors to the cafeteria closed behind the both of you.

#haikyuu!!#tendou satori #tendou satori x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #scenario #anon #nsfw #idk abt u guys #but im kinda pleased w how it turned out #LMAO #public sex #public

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kinkyuus · 5 years

Note

Can I have the reader cheating on her bf (Kuroo) with Daishou 'cause Kuroo's cheating on her with some other girl and Daishou's canon gf is cheating on him too? HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE. If it doesn't, just listen to From Eden by Hozier uwu

Word Count: 4,000AO3 link here

Wow, this one is overdue as fuck! Sorry it took me so long :’( As you all know, I’m super hesitant to write smut (even if the sole purpose of this blog is so I could practice yet I aBANDONED IT) but that still doesn’t excuse how long it took me to fill this FFFF

***

The sky outside is overcast, promising the arrival of the storm that’s been brewing over the past week. Your bedroom has darkened several shades as the threat of rain closed in, yet you couldn’t be bothered to peel yourself away from the sheets to turn on your bedside lamp. Not when there’s a statuesque figure dozing softly beside you with an unfamiliar serenity on his face that you’d prefer not to disturb.

Your eyes then wander onto the nightstand where a framed picture of you and Kuroo sits idly in the scarce lighting. How long has it been since that photo was taken? Two, three years? You aren’t very sure, but you are, however, certain that in times like this, it’s supposed to be facing downwards, away from view.

The stress that you’ve been accumulating over the past week was the prime suspect for your forgetfulness, you suppose. Once the announcement for class suspensions was disseminated on-campus, you immediately rushed back to your apartment to catch up on a few hours of sleep, only to find one man quietly sitting by the foot of your bed as he stared into the same, dreary horizon outside your window. That man was not Kuroo because Kuroo was patient, whereas Daishou was not. The moment the door to your bedroom clicked shut, he pounced at you in a way a predator would after diligently waiting for prey to lurk into his territory. Your back had collided against the door, and you were completely under his mercy as he whispered all the filthy things he wanted to do to you through open-mouthed kisses.

Heavy raindrops began to pelt against the window, one-by-one at first until it became a cacophony of sounds that’s nearly deafening. A sigh tears its way from your lips as you let yourself stare at the tousled, viridian hair that’s pooling on top of the dented pillow beneath Daishou’s head. Lightning streaks across the sky in the preceding moment, illuminating the glistening sheen that still mattes his pale flesh. His breaths are deep enough that you can tell that he’s definitely asleep, and there’s something about the steady rise and fall of his chest that ensnares your gaze on his peaceful form.

When a clap of thunder booms throughout the room, it makes Daishou stir ever-so-slightly, face twisting with resistance as he turns to his side. It grants you a full view of his back and the way the muscled expanse of skin ripples at the effort of finding another comfortable position. A prickle of heat boils in your chest when you hear him murmuring something incoherent amidst his slumber before the room lapses into another bout of silence, save for the downpour that persisted across the city. You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat as you hesitantly reach a hand towards him, fingers gently toying with the silken tufts of his hair. The reaction it garners is nothing short of endearing—the tension in his shoulders ebbing away at your minimal touch.

The wealth of happiness that fills you was but a pinprick of a sensation, one that’s easily overwritten by a too-familiar dread that sinks its claws into your skin every time you let yourself think of the man next to you as more than just a source of the affection you craved (but never received) from your boyfriend. Because that’s all Daishou was supposed to be, wasn’t he? A substitute for a devotion left unfulfilled?

You ignore the slide of smooth sheets as it slips down from your chest, quietly padding closer to the window. You know Daishou well enough that you could gauge from his snores alone that he wouldn’t be waking up any time soon. The soreness of your muscles and the slick that still drenched your thighs is a testament to the prior effort he’d exerted. You lift your head to watch the rivulets of rain bead down the glass, branching off in several directions at once. The awareness that your unit isn’t placed in a very high vantage point lingers in the back of your head. But you pay it no mind, even if the off-chance that Kuroo might just suddenly decide to drop by comes to fruition. But the complacence is only there because you know, right this moment, Kuroo is committing just as grave a sin as you have somewhere uptown, where that pretty med student from Miyagi is renting an extravagant penthouse. What’s her name again? Kiyoko? You don’t really know, nor do you want the confirmation.

As far as infidelity goes, you’re quite certain that you’re doing the worst of the two evils even if Kuroo is the first to play his cards dirty. At least he chose someone that didn’t have any ties with the both of you prior to his unfaithfulness. Out of all the men you could have approached in your search for solace when you accidentally found out about what your boyfriend was doing behind your back, it just had to be his high school rival.

“Hey.”

You startle at the rough, sleep-laden voice that resounds from behind you, but you don’t spare Daishou so much as a backwards glance. The sheets rustle at his groggy movement, and you can hear his footsteps coming closer until you can feel the heat coming off his skin. His breath fans against the hollow of your neck where he lazily latches his teeth over the thrum of your pulse, deft fingers tugging your hips closer to his.

“I thought you were out cold,” you tell him with a breathless moan when he roughly bites down on your neck.

You can feel him grin against your skin, swiping his tongue over the spot he’d just bitten. “You were thinking too loud. It woke me up from my beauty sleep. Pretty rude, if you ask me.”

Unable to suppress the chuckle that’s bubbling in your chest, you let your head fall back on his shoulder, giving him more leeway to litter your neck with a motley of future bruises that you’d have to conceal with scarves and turtlenecks for at least a week. This goes on for a while until you could feel the hardness of his cock press imposingly against your ass. But before you could get the chance to comment on his sudden vigour, he asks, “What’s on your mind, hm?”

“This and that,” you offer nonchalantly. “Nothing you should worry about.”

Daishou hums, the sound reverberating across his chest as he detaches his lips from your skin. “You’re making that face though.”

“What face?”

“You know, the one you always make when you’re second-guessing this whole arrangement.”

You blink for a moment, realising that you still had a bad habit of undermining Daishou’s ability to read people like open books. Deciding that there’s no use concealing your thoughts from him when it’s so evident in your own body language, you turn to face him, reaching up to curl your fingers in his hair before softly pressing your mouth to his slightly chapped lips. He tenses for a fraction of a second at the unexpected gesture. But Daishou eventually lets himself loose in the feeling of your teeth tugging at the lower line of his lip, groaning in approval.

When you pull away, much to his dismay, you stare at him like you’re trying to figure him out.

“How do you do it?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Do what?”

You flop your arms across your chest as you shift your gaze back to the rainy skyline of Tokyo. (The way your movement tantalisingly presses your breasts together a little difficult to ignore.) “How do you live with the guilt of knowing that you’re doing the exact same thing Mika-chan’s doing to you?”

“I’d hardly call what I feel guilt.” He laughs airily, snaking an arm around your waist before pulling you flush against his chest. “It’s more like poetic justice, really.

You frown at him. "How is it justice when she doesn’t even know her precious Suguru is up to?”

Daishou’s mouth twitches into a smile that crinkles his eyes while his hands move slowly to the apex of your thighs, stroking the wiry hairs that coiled across your sex. “I don’t really know the nuances, myself.” He leans closer to you ear and drops his voice an octave lower. “All I know is that we both want them to have a taste of their own medicine whether or not they know about it.”

“W-What’s the point if—nggh!—they don’t know, then?” you ask him shakily as Daishou nudges your folds apart and slicks the pads of his fingers with your juices. He uses his free arm to support your weight when your hips buck into his hand.

“You’re asking me that now?” He chuckles darkly, thumbing your clit with agonising figure-eights. “But if you want a straight-up answer, then there’s an appeal to it, I guess—taking care of a pretty, committed woman while her lover is balls-deep into someone else; while my own lets herself come on some other asshole’s dick.”

“God, you have a sailor’s mouth,” you groan as he plunges a finger into your weeping hole with ease.

He smirks. “You weren’t complaining when I was going down on you the other night, now were you?” Daishou slides in a second finger and your walls instinctively clench around his slender digits. The pace he’s set is languid, but it makes your knees buckle underneath you, prompting you to brace your palms across the windowpane.

“Aren’t you an exhilarating sight?” he praises, swathing his tongue across the shell of your ear as your toes curl into the cold floor. “Getting finger-fucked right where everyone can see. What would good ol’ Kuroo say if he sees his woman spread open for me like this?”

When Daishou curls his digits right where you want him to, softly grazing that spot inside that made stars burst across your line of sight, you’re unable to suppress the high-pitched keen that bubbles in your throat. “P-Please, Suguru… More!”

“I asked you a question,” he reminds, toying with your clit in unison with his thrusts. “If you want more, you have to be a good girl and answer when someone asks you something.” To make a point, Daishou halts his ministrations entirely, eliciting a disappointed whine from you.

“I don’t care!” you practically scream. “Just please, please make me come, Suguru.”

There’s a mocking intonation that accompanies the sound of his laughter, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, thrusting your hips into his hands to encourage more friction. Catching you by surprise, Daishou shoves in a third finger into your weeping cunt, and his emission from your earlier tryst makes the slide a lot easier than expected.

“Look at you, panting like a bitch in heat and I haven’t even used my cock,” he taunts, one hand shifting to roughly roll one of your nipples between his fingers. “You get off on this don’t you? Letting another man defile you in ways Kuroo won’t even begin to think about?”

His words should sting—you know they should. But the need to feel something akin to remorse is eclipsed by the arousal that’s dripping down your thighs as Daishou steadily builds the foundations of your impending orgasm. His talent for manipulating people to his will on a volleyball court branches off to his other agendas, and you can’t really say you’re putting up a good fight.

Just when you’re already feeling the sweet release about to boil over beneath your skin, Daishou withdraws his fingers. As your lips frame around a helpless plea, he roughly grabs your wrist and manhandles you back onto your bed. The mattress dips further once Daishou slots himself in between your legs, slanted eyes roving over your pliant form beneath him.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, the way he gently strokes your hair a stark contrast to his earlier mercilessness.

“Fuck me open, Suguru,” is your breathless reply. “I want your come inside me.”

He chuckles, leaning closer as he teasingly rubs the head of his cock over your swollen clit. “A minute ago you were being consumed by your guilt again, no? What happened? What made you so depraved all of a sudden?”

Having him this close to you lets you get a whiff of the faint scent of that fancy perfume he practically bathes himself in whenever he wants to have his way with you. Given that you’ve been mating like rabbits practically all afternoon, the cologne was overshadowed by the scent of sweat and come. But the musk that clings to his skin sends your mind into a haze, and you’re unable to resist the urge to lose yourself in your own lecherous desires. Coherent thought is almost nonexistent at this point—it’s only you, Daishou, and the knot in your belly that aches to be undone.

He promptly decides to be merciful, forgoing his teasing to line his cock with your wetness. Without any sort of preamble, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning at the way your walls accommodate him so well. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck for purchase when his hands find their way to your hips with a grip that’s meant to bruise.

“If you keep squirming like that I won’t be able to last very long,” he pants, holding your body in place as he pistons in and out of your sopping core. You’re all too willing to heed his request, staying still as he uses you like a fuckdoll.

Daishou’s eyes flutter closed as he swears colourfully at your compliance. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’re willing to do anything to get fucked like the cockslut you are.” He leans down to add more to your growing collection of hickeys, nipping the sensitive skin of your neck with the intent to leave his mark on you. Daishou paints you in reds and blues, swathing you with sentiment so tangible you can taste it on your tongue. You cling to him like he’s the only force anchoring you to your own sanity, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the rhythm of his thrusts seemingly brushes across every raw nerve-ending that thrums beneath your skin.

He lifts your hips higher, angling you in a way that he brushes that same spot he never fails to find. You close your eyes, nails digging unforgivingly into his back as he plants pleasure so deep inside you that it would take days to sweat it out. Your leg catches on the picture frame on your nightstand and falls to the floor—the sound of shattering glass magnified over a hundred times. Daishou tenses at the interruption, and you’re momentarily plucked out of your haze of depravity as well. But when he makes a guttural noise at the back of his throat, he forcibly drowns you back into mind-numbing pleasure when he makes one particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out in glee.

All too soon, he takes his cock out of your slick heat, roughly moving you around so that your ass is in the air and your face is pressed on the unruly mattress. Daishou places a hand on the swell of your ass, giving it a hard smack that jerks you forward. Though you loath to admit, you can feel yourself growing even wetter at his rough treatment.

“Who’s making you feel good?” The question cuts sharply through your ears as he fists your hair in his fingers, tugging on it almost painfully. “Whose dick is going to make you come?”

“Y-You!” you all but weep, fisting the sheets until your knuckles turn white with effort. “It’s your cock splitting me in half. S-So fucking good—oh!”

“Can your boyfriend turn you into a whore like this when you’re alone with him? He can’t, can he?” Daishou sneers in an almost sinister way. “I’m the only one who can make you feel like this. You’ll never want anyone else.”

If you were in a better state of mind, you would have scoffed and told him that he’s being full of himself. Even if it’s meant to spur you on, that’s a bit of a tall assumption. But now, with saliva dribbling down your chin as you gasp yourself back into breathing, every word that comes out of his mouth is the gospel truth. When you’re trapped between the jaws of his carnal ambition, there’s no room for thinking things through anymore.

“Suguru!” you say his name like he’s a foreigner’s god—someone you shouldn’t be praising, yet you crave for the most. Something seems to snap inside him at the way the syllables of his name lolled from your tongue, and he sets a pace so punishing, it makes tears catch in the lines of your lashes.

It feels as if he’s stolen your soul straight from your chest, but you’d gladly hand it over to him if it meant feeling like this for the rest of your days. Daishou fucks you like you’re the only two people in the world—like you don’t belong to someone else and neither does he. Reason is an active voice that speaks in the back of your mind, but it’s always dulled whenever the man above you is generous enough to take care of you the way you deserve. You dare to look over your shoulder, expecting to see that wild, wrecked look on his face whenever he’s inside of you. But instead, you notice that there’s something different in his eyes this time, something almost broken but just as violent as the storm that’s raging outside.

“You’re mine,” he imposes forcefully as his thrusts went even deeper, hitting spots you never even knew existed. “I don’t fucking care what anyone else says, you belong to me.”

The possessiveness in his tone is all it takes to bring you over the edge, and you can feel your pussy tightening around his hard cock, still pinpointing his own release without paying any mind if it would overstimulate you. Your body shakes and convulses, moving in a way it’s never done before until you collapse boneless against the mattress. Your consciousness is in tatters and all you can do is breathe.

Daishou uses you like a doll, driven by the sight of you collapsed half-unconscious beneath him. Your cunt is a wet, sopping mess between your legs and his passage is easy and slick. He fucks you like a sinner that doesn’t want to be forgiven, his skin searing as his abdomen coils tight and hot. It doesn’t take long before he spills into capitulation inside you, filling your womb with another round of his spend as he drawls out a low moan.

When he’s emptied himself inside, Daishou lets himself fall back next to you on your abused bed, breathing deeply. You can feel his come dripping from your thighs and you can’t tell if it’s disgust or elation that’s festering in your chest. You turn to look at him. Usually, Daishou always had a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face whenever he finished filling you with his seed—it’s a pride thing, he said once. But when your gaze shifts back to his exhausted frame beside you, he’s staring up at the ceiling like it has the answers for all his questions.

“How do you live with it?” he asks hoarsely without looking at you.

You groan as you attempt to sit upright, looking down at the bruises he left in his wake. “What do you mean?”

“How do you live with the guilt?” he says more specifically, and you raise your brows in surprise when he clarifies.

“Barely,” you tell him, eyes shifting to the broken picture frame on the floor. Shards litter the surface and you’ll have to clean that up a little later. But you’re momentarily distracted by the way the glass splinters the photo inside the frame with cracks and uneven jags. Kuroo’s wearing the smile you fell in love with—the one that makes his eyes disappear. He had one arm slung across your shoulder as you grinned at the camera, holding up a stuffed cat he won for you when you went to the carnival one summer. The sight lances through your chest. This is probably all that’s left of your relationship with him, isn’t it? Jagged cracks and memories so distant, you barely remember the last time you felt loved.

But even though Daishou came along, the love he gives you still isn’t the kind you’re looking for.

“You know,” you begin, “sometimes when you act all possessive with me in the heat of the moment, I think you’re not actually talking to me in your head.”

Daishou snorts out a laugh, draping an arm over his eyes. “Am I that obvious?”

“Like crystal,” you drawl.

He laughs again, it sounds a bit breathier this time, but also a little more strained. “I’m sorry.”

You slap his chest lightly. “The fuck are you apologising for?”

“Don’t take me for a fool,” he says, getting up so he could face you. Daishou’s hair fringes over his face, slightly obscuring the regret that’s dancing across his eyes. “I see the way you look at me, you know. It’s kind of the same way you used to look at that idiot house cat before we started fucking around.”

You scoff. “No need to paint me to be such a hopeless romantic, you asshole.”

He smiles. It looks a bit pained, but he smiles, gaze lingering at the mess of shards on the floor. “All that big-talk about poetic justice from me and I’m the one who couldn’t unlove the person who betrayed me.”

You didn’t expect for him to feel the way you do. With such fucked up foundations, a relationship between the both of you would only go into ruin, if not worse. But you don’t tell Daishou any of that, opting to leave his proclamation hanging in the air along with the smell of sex and debauchery. You’ve done this with him more times than you could count, but this is the only instance when both of you were a little more honest with your feelings.

Both of you get dressed in silence, but not exactly the uncomfortable kind. Daishou helps you clean up the broken frame, while you made your bed. Outside, the rain has come to an end, and the setting sun could be seen splintering light through the clouds in the distance. Daishou offers to take you out for dinner, but you politely decline, insisting that you have some readings you have to catch up on. You know for one that he’s going to go back home to Mika once he leaves, so you’d rather not hinder him from going where he actually wants to be. Once he exits your apartment, the sound of the door closing shut rings in your ears so loud, it almost gives you a headache.

You’re alone again, as you always have been in the past few months. But the silence is filled when your phone rings by the dresser where you last placed it.

“Hey, babe!” Kuroo greets cheerily. “Just finished studying with Kenma. Want to grab some dinner?”

Break up with him. He’s not worth it. He doesn’t love you—

“Tetsurou, you left your jacket under the bed. Again,” a small, feminine voice scolds on the other line. The sound is faint, and you nearly miss it (but you don’t). A couple of noises follow after, like Kuroo is shielding his phone’s microphone with one hand.

After a few moments, he’s back on the line and asks, “Well?”

Break up with him. He’s not worth it. He doesn’t love you.

“Sure,” you tell him, hoping he doesn’t hear the way your voice cracks with emotion. “How’s mackerel pike by the baywalk sound?”

#haikyuu!!#daishou suguru #kuroo tetsurou #reader insert #cheating #haikyuu hc #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #nsfw

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kinkyuus · 5 years

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if it's alright, can I request nsfw (like kinks and stuff) for the ngc squad?

sure! just follow it up on another ask which kinks you’d like (if you want a specific kink for a specific boy, it’d be better~)

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kinkyuus · 5 years

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Guess monster!

Voglio confessare il mio amore a Kato-san. Does he have bones? The theme music is perfect for this scene. With anew fell in love with Tendo.

You can repost this, but give me credit, please. :)

#tendou is highkey my favorite character to write about #but that doesnt mean #im good at it #SNKDKDS BUT LOOK AT THSI IM SO EXCITED

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kinkyuus · 5 years

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just wondering if ure gonna post the atsumu scenario from that anon's request ting hehe

Hi! Yes I will! I’ve just recently got off a writing hiatus so it took so long :’( talk about hyping this blog up for nothing 😅 but rest assured, everything you guys sent in both kinkyuus’ and turooketsurou’s inboxes will be posted~

#tea time #anon

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kinkyuus · 5 years

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Alive?

Yes, just a little busy JSJSJSJ

#tea time #anon

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kinkyuus · 5 years

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» Word Count: 2,507 words Cross-posted on AO3

This was an ask from the main! Thank you for requesting :3 (Note: I’m posting them separately ‘cause reasons. Sakusa’s going first!)

“Could you please not sit on my bed in your outside clothes?”

The edge to Sakusa’s muffled words unknowingly triggers the reflex to roll your eyes at him. “For the record, you’re more disgusting than I am at the moment, Kiyoomi.”

He grunts, narrowing his eyes into a glare as he shifts under the covers. A sigh escapes your lips when your gaze drifts onto the sheets of paracetamol on his nightstand. God forbid the day Sakusa Kiyoomi catches the flu. Yet here he is, confined in the solitude of his room as he paves his way on the road to recovery.

Komori made it a point that Sakusa wasn’t allowed to step inside the common room at the risk of spreading his affliction to his other housemates. But something tells you that it was the libero’s sly attempt at payback because everyone knows that Itachiyama’s resident germaphobe is brutal when he’s in the vicinity of a sick person, not letting them five meters near him at all times. How the tables have turned.

Your eyes then saunter back to the poor creature in front of you. The mask he donned limits your glimpse at his face, but you can tell from the flushed color of his skin that he certainly isn’t at top notch condition. Sakusa is pale, but it turns out that there’s still room for desaturation when he’s running a fever.

“Is Komori at practice?” he asks in a throaty voice, hauling himself into a sitting position with his elbows.

“Probably,” you offer, pulling out your phone from your pocket with the intention of leaving Komori a text message. “No one was lounging in the common room when I got here.”

Sakusa’s eyes meet yours and nods. “Why are you here?”

You shoot him a bizarre look, crossing your arms over your chest as your bottom lip swells into a pout. “Am I not allowed to visit my boyfriend when he’s sick?”

His face mask shifts, giving you the idea that he’s wrinkling his nose under its guise. “I still believe you’re ensnared by today’s standards for a relationship.”

“What do you mean?”

Sakusa spares you a pointed stare. “You told me last week that you have other matters to attend to today. Did you really cancel your plans just to see me in this pitiful state?”

Had he uttered those words to anyone else, they would take offense. But you’ve been around him long enough to understand that he truly means no harm when he questions other people’s intentions for their kind gestures. Your lips tug into a sly smile as you quickly typed in a message to Komori, informing him that you dropped by their dorm to give the quarantine patient a visit.

You turn to Sakusa once the message delivers. “You know how other people become concerned when a person close to them gets sick?”

His face contorts, furrowing his brows. “What about it?”

“Well, just imagine the worry I felt when I found out that the person I know that’s least prone to any kind of illness winds up under house arrest because of a flu.” Your hand inched closer to his on the smooth covers. When your fingers touched, a familiar warmth spread across your chest when Sakusa didn’t jerk away from the contact.

The tension on his face relaxes at your sentiment. He heaves a sigh, carding his other hand through the inky tufts of his hair. Sakusa then proceeds to mumble something incomprehensible under his breath.

“What was that?” you urge, scooting a little closer to him.

“The rain,” he articulates gruffly. “I jogged in the rain yesterday.”

You blink, but your surprise lasts for a second when it’s overtaken by a fit of giggles spilling from your lips. Sakusa steels his gaze at your reaction, but you don’t think much of it.

“That’s all right, Kiyoomi,” you coo. “A person’s immune system isn’t perfect no matter how much you avert yourself from bacteria.”

His glare doesn’t ease up, frigid hostility outlining his features. Sakusa hates being belittled in any way even if it was meant as a jest. But you’ve mapped your way around his quirks and habits a long time ago. You knew the protocol when his annoyance is beginning to sizzle.

You kick off your sneakers before climbing under the covers with him. The sudden invasion of his space chinks the armor of his belligerence, making him drop the hard-eyed stare he’s been holding for a while now.

Your arms weaseled themselves around Sakusa’s broad shoulders, holding his feverish body closer to you. He grunts once but doesn’t make any moves that suggested he wasn’t pleased with your forwardness. If anything, he seems to be leaning into your touch.

“If you keep glaring at me, you’re going to get wrinkles when you get old, Kiyoomi,” you chide, nuzzling yourself further into his chest. As expected from the clean freak, he faintly smells like a laundromat. But his own distinctive scent mingles with the fabric softener, diffusing an aroma unique only to Sakusa himself.

This time he doesn’t make any noise in retaliation. Instead, Sakusa shifts to his side to face you. Even through the several layers of clothes in between, you can feel the taut muscles shifting under his sleeve as he settles his arm around your waist. The intensity of his gaze makes you squeak and you’re forced to put a few more inches between the two of you. However, your sudden timidness doesn’t escape his notice.

“Do you not like it?” He arches an eyebrow.

“‘Course I do, stupid Kiyoomi,” you grumble, hiding your reddening face in his chest. “I’m just not used to it when you cuddle me back so soon.”

His dark eyes soften at your proclamation. He clears his throat, resting his chin on the crook of his neck. The fabric of his face mask brushes against your skin and you’re hyper aware of the steady breaths filtering through it.

“Komori once told me I could be a downer at times,” he admits.

You hum as you reach a hand out to drag the mask beneath his chin, exposing his chiseled face to the cool air of his bedroom. Something akin to distress flashes across his eyes for a split second but you have the mind to ease him with a soft peck on the corner of his mouth.

“You think I’m still bothered by your perpetual hostility, Kiyoomi?” You giggle.

“Perpetual?” he echoes, craning his head to the side.

“Everyone calls you a genius, but you’re totally oblivious off the court.” You sigh.

“I am not very sure I like the sound of that, (Name).”

His words are met with a playful smack to his chest. As you drink in the sight of the boy before you, you wonder why everyone thinks of Itachiyama’s ace as an indecipherable force of nature. It’s probably because most only saw him reaping victory after victory in each volleyball game the team competed in. The way he carries himself with unrivaled gallance may have contributed to his image significantly as well. But at the end of the day, Sakusa is still human. He’s capable of falling ill like this; capable of being spread vulnerable. He even laughs at the occasional joke from Komori shared over lunch sometimes. Sakusa is no god, but not a lot of people are given chances to get to know him in a different light, and frankly, he doesn’t want to be thought of as anything less either.

You’re simply one of the lucky ones who get to witness him without his walls up and barbed.

As he leans in to ghost the shape of his lips onto your own, you can’t help but grin at the way his eyes dip half closed at the sight of you.

“I don’t remember you being this impatient, Kiyoomi,” you tease, trailing a finger across the pair of beauty marks dotting his forehead. It’s only when you’re this close to Sakusa that you can fully observe him eyeing you with subtle desire through thick lashes that would make any woman envious.

“Blame it on the fever.” The sultry purr that underscores his words spell out a challenge, and you want nothing more than to take it.

Note to self, make Kiyoomi run in the rain more often. Fevers bring down his inhibitions.

The warmth of his lips slants over yours without a moment’s hesitation. Your fingers immediately entangle themselves in his mess of curls, tugging lightly to encourage more ferocity. A groan rumbles somewhere low in his chest as he yanks at your waist, not allowing an inch of you to remain out of his grasp. You sigh against his mouth and Sakusa takes advantage of the opportunity to slither his tongue inside. His appendage swirls with your own with a sloppiness that feels foreign to you. But his eagerness only serves as a catalyst to the growing heat in the pit of your stomach.

One of your legs hooks itself around his hip, pressing your bodies flush against each other. His skin is hot to the touch and you’re slowly becoming engulfed in the flames of his unspoken desire. But Sakusa doesn’t have to utter a sound to let you know just how deep his hunger plunged. The evidence is in plain sight—his impending arousal springing forth from his sweatpants.

Momentarily, you break away from the union of your lips, to which he responds with an aggravated click of his tongue. Before he can resume his assault, you climb over his body, accommodating his hips on either side of your thighs. From this view, you can clearly see that the short exchange dyed his previously flushed face a few shades redder. Wild locks of his obsidian hair spill across his pillow in loose ringlets. Sakusa’s respiration comes in quick, uneven breaths as his fingers dig into your hips at his waning patience.

“I think…” You tilt your head downward, eyes penetrating through him. “I’m starting to like you better when you’re sick.”

Sakusa simpers for a moment, composing himself so that his back is pressed against the headboard. The look in his eyes beckons you closer and when you comply to his wishes, one of his hands find purchase tangled in your hair, while the other holds your hips in place. You aren’t able to stifle the moan that resonates in your chest when he begins sucking greedily across the column of your neck, fisting your hair to grant him ample access to the tenderness of your skin.

He pulls away for a fraction of a second to completely remove the face mask, discarding it in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Kiyoomi,” you mewl when he bites down particularly hard on a sweet spot, igniting your desire for more friction between your legs.

A soft growl escapes him before he finally captures your lips once more, trapping the lower line of your mouth between the edges of his teeth. He surrenders his hold on your hair and teases the fabric on the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing the skin of your hips.

“May I?” Sakusa’s voice is raspy and very much unlike him, but his plea is met with your urgency to simply feel him without any barriers of clothing separating you from each other’s need.

He drags the material of your clothes over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you on the bed. Sakusa’s lips curve into a lazy smirk, one finger hooking beneath the strap of your bra to bring it down from your shoulders. He mirrors the action on your other shoulder, but his attempt to completely liberate you from the confines of the cotton material is intercepted by your hands prodding underneath his own shirt.

“I want to feel you,” you plead, desperate.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip before hastily ridding himself of his own clothing. Your lips part in a breathless gasp at the sight of him bare. Volleyball truly does wonders to a high school boy’s body, and that’s evident in the prominent lines and contours that mar Sakusa’s chest and abdomen. Your eyes lock with his in a heated gaze, and you can see a sheen of sweat lining his forehead.

You chuckle, leaning closer to his ear. “I was told that the best way to cure a fever is to sweat it out.”

“That’s a complete lie and you know it, (Name).”

When the sound of Komori’s voice sings in your ears, you violently jolt away from Sakusa, clamping your arms over your chest at a pathetic attempt to shield the last shred of dignity you have on you.

The libero chuckles as Sakusa glares at his intrusion, draping his blankets over your half naked form. “Komori, I thought we made it a point to knock if we have business with each other.”

Komori shrugged. “I did. You’re just too caught up in the throes of passion to hear, I guess. Plus, you didn’t put a sock on the doorknob.”

“A sock on the…?” you trailed off, suddenly recalling their house rule of stuffing a single sock on the outside doorknob to let all the house’s residents know that the denizens residing in a room aren’t to be disturbed. You’ve always remembered that one precaution whenever you came over to pay Sakusa a visit while feeling a little frisky. But today, you had no intention of jumping your boyfriend since he’s sick. All the actions leading up to this moment were driven by the mad temptation that permeated the air, and God—

“I’m going to give you five seconds to get out of here, Komori,” Sakusa speaks flatly, the threat in his words as clear as day.

But like you, Komori isn’t the least bit fazed by the ace’s ill-disposed words. “No can do, Sakusa. The coach wants a word with you.”

“I’m sick.”

“Not sick enough to want to bone (Name), though.” Komori shrugs. “I think you can haul yourself to the gym, given that she gave you the ample energy boost.”

The scowl Sakusa gives him provides you a sense of comic relief. Just a few minutes ago, you were about to dive into your own pooling desire, but now your plans have been abruptly derailed.

“Go.” You pat him on the shoulder, tossing him the shirt he discarded earlier. “I’ll wait.”

He narrows his eyes at you. Then at Komori. But he ultimately resigns himself to his responsibilities with a defeated sigh. Sakusa climbs out of his bed, putting his shirt on as he glares at his teammate.

“I still have to grab something from my room,” Komori informs. “Tell me when you’re done kissing her goodbye, Sakusa~”

When the door closes behind him, Sakusa pulls you to your feet. Confused, you let him do as he pleases. But when he leans down to your ear, the heat of his breath sends a shudder rocketing across your spine.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

#haikyuu!!#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu hc #scenario #sick fic

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