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kiyoomi-levin · 2 months

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villain pt.1 (bakugoxf!reader) [NSFW]

a/n this was originally supposed to be a single fic but i wanted to see how ppl liked it lol. pt 2 is already in the making (and i promise it's more spicy than this one)

summary: harley (you) realize that joker (your boyfriend) is in love with batman (bakugo). If only harley also knew batman’s obsessed with her. —> inspired by this short word count: 4.9k warning(s): bakugo’s literally just a horndog

“I swear, Ren, if you pull anything like that again…”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes as he pulls away from your grip.

“Enough, y/n. I always get you out, don’t I?”

You frown, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself.

“You try getting caught and being put into jail multiple times in a single month. It’s not funny,” you sigh.

You don’t even know what it’s like to be tied up by Bakugo fucking Katsuki, you want to add.

But you keep your mouth shut.

Ren’s already in a bad mood, jaw clenched tight as he walks faster. You’re almost jogging at this point just to keep up with his pace.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath.

Ren hardly glances at you as the two of you enter your cheap apartment complex, walking silently up the two flights of stairs to your front door.

You cringe as you round the corner—on your front door is a familiar piece of white paper, the contents of which you already know by heart.

Late rent notice: Dear tenet, your rent was due on the 7th of February. As of the date of this letter, your payment is 4 days past due.

Frustrated, you rip the paper off of the metal door as Ren reaches over and enters the pin.

Your jaw drops as he walks inside carelessly, unbothered with the notice.

The two of you have been dating for almost a year now; you’re long used to his carefree nature.

That’s what first drew you to him.

Now it merely disgusts you.

“Ren,” you cautiously call out as the door shuts behind you, “I think it’s time to give it up.”

Your boyfriend tosses himself onto the wrinkled couch, pointing towards the fridge. Frowning, you head over and grab him a cold beer.

“Thanks babe.”

You collapse next to him, relishing in the fluffy texture. After being in a holding cell for a few days, you’ve definitely missed the warmth of your home.

“I know you’re mad, and I understand. But we learned something new from last time, didn’t we? Dynamight was literally showing off his weaknesses! If we just—”

“Ren, stop it! That was the last time. I’m done. Seriously.”

Your boyfriend is pouting now, reaching over to hold you in his arms. You want to fight back, you should.

He jumps into his usual rant about how much he hates Dynamight; that asshole, always flaunting his wealth and looks. He’s just a shitty hero with a shitty quirk.

Meanwhile, you’re fighting back tears of frustration.

How had you gotten here?

A year ago, you had seemingly met the man of your dreams at the villain rehabilitation center (looking back, maybe that hadn’t been the best idea).

You had been working there as a volunteer and was popular with all of the residents as a bright psychology student and aspiring therapist.

Despite the havoc these wannabe villains had wreaked across Japan, you had treated all of them with kindness and respect, hoping you would be able to make a positive difference in at least a single person’s life.

How naive you had been.

“Hey, y/n,” Ren smirks as you gently open the door to the small office.

You exhale— this one villain has been bothering you more often recently, and he was just too cute for his own good.

“Takanashi Ren. Your counseling appointment isn’t until later this evening.”

“Aw. I can’t give my favorite therapist a visit?”

You grin at him, pushing your dark rimmed glasses up your nose.

“I’m not a therapist yet,” you retort, stepping back as Ren pushes back from his chair, striding over to you. He has you cornered to a wall, and the muscles of his arm flex dangerously, reminding you of his crimes.

Despite this, all you can notice is how bright his eyes are— gosh, you just love the way they twinkle.

“I’m sure a smart girl like you’ll achieve all your academic dreams. I just hope I’m out of here on time to watch you cross that stage.”

And with that, you’d fallen head over heels for a cringy, third-rate villain with no plans for the immediate future. But the more time you spent with him, you truly felt as though you’d met your match.

He was intelligent. Witty. Funny.

Most importantly, he was different. His ideas for a liberated world— where all quirks were considered equal and everyone had the freedom to use their quirks as they wanted— was just unlike what you’d ever considered.

If only you had paused for a moment and asked him just how he would create that world.

It had been too late when you had realized what you had gotten yourself into. Now, you spend your days as a college dropout, supporting your boyfriend in his schemes that always end in failure and with you in handcuffs.

But you had already sworn to devote yourself to him.

Question. Would you die for me?

Yes.

That’s too easy. Would you live for me?

… Yes.

“y/n, are you listening? We’ll stake out at his condo. I’ll do all the work, babe, you just have to stand watch. I’ve already planned it all out. ”

There it is, that strike of pain in your heart.

Dynamight.

That’s all your stupid boyfriend cares about.

You’re already shaking your head, refusing furiously— but he’s begging, begging!

… And you sigh and look away.

“Last. Time.”

You peek out of the corner of your eye to see Ren’s face brighten.

He really is just as pretty as when you first met him a year ago.

“I promise, y/n. Last time.”

Fuck Ren and his promises.

From the moment you had scaled Dynamight’s luxurious condo, you had known your boyfriend had skimped on doing his research again.

There’s no way we’re gonna get away with this.

Stuffed in a large delivery box, you only pray that Ren’s mailman cosplay is good enough to get through the lobby.

Nervously holding your breath, you cringe as your boyfriend flirts with the ladies at the front desk and wheels you into the elevator.

Tap tap tap.

Three gentle knocks on the front of the box and you know it’s your turn.

“I’ve just disabled the hallway cameras,” Ren whispers as he pulls the box open.

You step out eagerly, stretching, before turning towards the door.

The corners of your mouth twitch as you suddenly remember why you hate rich people.

Dynamight’s door just screams narcissism— who really needs a gold plated front door?

Bakugo, the nameplate reads. The dreaded name you hear on a near-daily basis.

You scoff as you reach into your pocket and pull out your decoding tool, placing it on the keypad in a single, practiced motion.

Ren taps his foot impatiently as you work with the machine— you only let out a breath of relief as the door buzzes and swings open what feels like an eternity later.

You’re already sweating as your heart thumps with discomfort and fear at being at the hero’s homebase.

Comically, it feels as though the two of you have just broken into a villain’s lair.

“God, babe. You’re the best,” Ren murmurs, pushing you aside.

He’s a little too eager to ruin his nemesis’ life.

Ren rushes inside of Dynamight’s home, barely holding back his immediate laughter as he spots the marble dining table.

He’s already poking around as you carefully close the door quietly behind you, tiptoeing into the large house.

“Can you believe this man? He’s so fucking full of himself,” Ren spits as he stares at the various newspaper clippings of Dynamight adoring the bookshelves.

Forget that— if you were Dynamight, you’d be living like this too.

This is life you had envisioned for yourself.

Gorgeous white pillars uphold a high ceiling and there’s a leather couch in the center of the room. A giant television sits in front of it, almost mocking you.

One day… When this was all over, would Ren want to live like this with you?

“Come on, babe. We gotta find the data,” Ren says, heading towards the closest door to him.

The initial excitement has worn off and he’s now refueled by hatred.

Right. The data.

If you could just get your hands on the data of all of the current Japanese heroes, that would be the biggest data breach in the history of the World Heroes Association.

You and Ren would go down as super villains— a title you still weren’t sure if you wanted.

You repress these useless thoughts, though, and trail Ren around the large home as he throws open doors.

“Are you sure he’ll even have it?”

“Yeah, there’s no way a top hero wouldn’t have access to this— Damn! A basement. You think he’d keep his PC down here?”

You think back to your encounters with Dynamight, shivering as you remember his piercing red eyes meeting yours.

Your boyfriend heads down without hesitation as you follow him, nearly jumping when he yelps in joy.

“His computer’s right here.”

You swallow as you turn your head around the dark basement, eyes not yet adjusted to the dark.

Ren presses the power button of the computer and the entire room lights up from the bright screen.

Couch, television, gaming consoles, mini fridge— this must be his man cave.

“Alright. Get on it, babe,” Ren says, stepping back as the flickering monitor.

Sighing, you lean down, plug in your trusty usb stick into the PC. This was going to be a long day.

WARNING.

You jump for real this time, letting out a surprised shout as the machine blares a loud alarm.

Holy fuck, what’s going on?

Before you can move, the heavy door to the basement suddenly slams shut— you hear the metallic locks clicking in place.

You glance at Ren in desperation, but he’s not looking at you, only frowning at the computer.

“Get on with it. We have at least 15 minutes, I’ll find a way out by then.”

You don’t bother protesting. Despite his easy going demeanor, you know Ren cares about you.

“Don’t worry, he’s in Korea for a conference,” he reassures you as he steps towards the staircase.

BOOM.

You scream as you’re pushed back by an explosion, groaning in pain as you strike the side of Dynamight’s large desk.

Collapsing on the ground, dust arises on either side of you.

Your ears are ringing and your vision is hopelessly blurry.

When you muster up the strength to touch your stinging face, you wince as your hand comes back bloody.

Ren. He was closer to the door.

Your eyes widen as you roll yourself onto your side, trying to reach up to the chair next to you for help—

“Fucker!”

You gasp as your vision clears and you take in the sight in front of you.

Dynamight has your boyfriend pressed onto the floor and strikes him in the face, once. Twice. Three times.

Ren tries to fight back, but he’s basically hopelessly laying there, taking in the blows.

It’s clear you’ve caught him off duty— Dynamight’s clad in nothing but a tank top and shorts.

Despite that, he dominates your boyfriend easily. He’s kneeling on Ren’s stomach, one hand pinning down your boyfriend’s shoulder and the other punching his face at a sickening rate.

You do nothing but watch as you watch Ren’s eyes flicker, then shut.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, taking away the remaining rationality in you.

Pushing yourself onto your feet, you throw yourself at Dynamight, whose eyebrows merely raise as he registers your face.

You pull out your knife, swinging for his neck— Dynamight throws up his arm, blocking your attempt— before you can react, you’re pinned to the ground next to your boyfriend.

“You… asshole…” you hiss, airflow momentarily cut off.

You struggle against Dynamight's strength, grimacing. You’re on your stomach, hands pinned behind your back. You try to kick him, but the strength in your legs fails you.

Dynamight lets out a small laugh as he sits on your ass and your eyes widen as you feel his dick through his pants grinding on you purposefully.

Fucking pervert.

You turn your head to your side, glaring into Dynamight’s blood-colored eyes. The corners of his eyes are pointed upwards, he’s grinning madly.

Leaning forward, Bakugo rests his right hand next to your face. Your immediate reaction is to lunge at it, trying to bite, but he pulls back quickly, yanking on your wrists. Your body arches upwards and you wince at the slight pull.

“Easy. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Despite your slowly subsiding anger and hatred towards the man on top of you, you feel yourself blushing against your will.

You hate how he talks to you. You silently remind yourself to take a recording of it next time and report him for sexual harassment.

While you’re fuming over your current situation and mumbling profanities at him, Bakugo leans back and admires you.

You look really good like this— actually, you look perfect. Your eyes are slightly moist, cheeks flushed and lips a delectable pink. Bakugo’s mouth is watering at the sight.

He’s already hard. He’s been aching in anticipation since he first got the alert that you broke into his home.

What would happen if he were to just…

You’re staring up at Bakugo again, watery eyes meeting his narrowed ones, and he feels a shiver run down his spine as he admires his reflection in them.

“Can you let me go already? You’ve won, we get it,” you huff, cheeks inflating.

He wants to stuff them full with his cock.

Easy, Dynamight. You’re a hero.

He glances down at you apathetically, although his cock is throbbing.

You ignore it the best you can, although you’re turning pink again.

You shift from side to side, hoping you won’t have to beg him to let you go.

You’d rather die than do that.

Smirking, he clicks his tongue as he reaches forward with his right hand and strokes your face.

“Give me a reason. You’re imposing on my home, doing who knows what?”

Your teeth find his hand this time, sinking into the hardened flesh.

You bite down as hard as you can, wishing he’d just let go of you. Your jaw is just beginning to ache as you muster the courage to look back up at him.

Your blood runs cold as you notice his unchanging expression— he looks almost bored. But something flashes in his eyes.

Fuck, maybe you shouldn’t have done that.

As you pull back, you squeak as he grabs you by your hair, sliding forward to sit on your wrists.

One hand holds your head upwards, while his other holds your face. His hand engulfs your entire jaw as he forces you to look into his eyes.

“I could take you right now, but I’ll save that for later.”

From a distance, you hear the shouts of policemen and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Bakugo lets go and watches as your head falls back onto the floor.

You’re so caught up in the commotion you don’t catch his next words.

“You’ll be begging for it soon, anyway.”

You can do nothing but watch in handcuffs as Ren’s eyes open hazily and focus on you.

“y/n, I’m so sorry,” he starts.

You shake your head, smiling sadly at him. Was it really over?

No, you promised you’d always be with him—

“Dynamight.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes have shifted from you onto Dynamight, the one person that has been on his mind obsessively for the past few years..

Ren’s shouting at Dynamight now, who merely laughs in response.

You don’t even notice that Dynamight’s staring at you.

All you notice is that you’re not in Ren’s line of sight anymore.

The words of policemen and Ren start swirling together as your heartbeat slows.

He’s not in love with you, is he?

You can hear your heart physically shattering.

He’s in love with Dynamight.

Bakugo’s still embarrassingly hard as he readjusts himself, sighing as he looks around his ransacked home.

The police have taken longer than he’d hoped, making sure to photograph everything.

Even more irritatingly, the medics had tried to heal your teeth marks imprinted in his arm, which he had pulled away quickly.

“I’m going to save this as evidence during the trial,” Bakugo had quickly lied.

The young medic had blinked in confusion, but nodded eagerly, not wanting to defy the number one hero’s demand.

When his agency had first received the tip that you and Whiplash would be attempting a data breach, Bakugo had rolled his eyes and hesitated on flying back in early from his vacation.

You and Whiplash were shitty, third-rate villains, if you could be even labeled as such.

You would always be deserted by your boyfriend, who’d dip the moment Bakugo stepped close to the crime scene. You (with your gorgeous, angered face that turns him on so fast) would be left behind for Bakugo to handcuff.

Bakugo still remembers the first time he’d been called to a scene with you and Whiplash.

One year ago, two petty, new criminals had attempted to rob a series of homes in upper Tokyo.

Bakugo had been whisked away from his date with a pretty newscaster and was irritated to hell— he had been working all night sweet talking to the girl and was surely going to get laid— but when he had gotten to the scene, still pulling on his gloves, all thoughts of regret flew out the window.

“Get me the fuck out of here!”

The female villain is shouting as she kicks her legs.

The scene is laughable— her upper half is tapped in the tights washing machine and Bakugo takes his sweet time striding over to you, admiring the curve of your ass and the way you shake as you try to free yourself.

“What happened here?”

Bakugo smirks. He’d heard that the male villain had gotten away but the female was still somewhere on the premises.

He’d been incredibly lucky to find you first. It’s hard to hold back from slapping your ass and ripping those black tights off of you, but Bakugo swallows and moves to touch your hip instead.

You squeak in surprise as you feel two fingers tracing a triangle onto your upper thigh.

“Stop touching me, pervert! You sick freak! I have a boyfriend! I’ll kill you if you try anything!”

Your scream is slightly muffled as you bang your hands on the sides of the circular machine.

Your back is aching from being bent over for the past ten minutes and you arch your back, holding back a pained moan. Whoever this asshole was, you were gonna rip him a new one when he freed you.

Bakugo frowns as ‘boyfriend’ echoes inside his head.

Were you being truthful or were you just trying to scare him off?

It’s taking everything in him to not grind against you and with every passing second Bakugo feels closer to losing the battle with his sex driven core.

After another moment of deliberation, Bakugo reaches out, yanking you effortlessly out of the machine.

God.

You were just as pretty as he’d hoped. Face flushed and sweaty from being inside a confined space for so long, you collapse on your ass and fan yourself dramatically, taking in big gulps of fresh air before looking up to glare at him.

“Fucking freak! What sort of perverted police officer are you?” You demand, frowning as Bakugo silently holds his hand out.

A few seconds of silence pass before you awkwardly take it, allowing him to help you up.

“Thank you,” you mumble as you wipe your hands on your shirt.

Your eyebrows are still furrowed with frustration as you bite the inside of your cheek.

Ugh… you’re so adorable, Bakugo wants to just squeeze you to death.

Now he really wishes he hadn’t helped you out. You were helpless, bent over just perfectly, practically inviting him…. As his imagination runs wild, he feels the blood rushing towards his groin.

Oblivious, you stretch your sore body, letting out a soft moan. You’re strangely relaxed, as if you were simply meeting an old friend.

“I’m going to be arresting you now. Turn around,” Bakugo sighs, shifting his balance from foot to foot. If only he wasn’t an up-and-coming hero.

Your eyebrows raise and the ends of your lips quirk upwards.

“Isn’t there something else I could do to get out of this?” You tease, turning around and holding your wrists behind your back.

Fuck. Is that you wiggling your ass or is he just seeing things?

Bakugo’s breath hitches. The cold cuffs in his hands are only furthering his imagination. He’s about to pounce on you, but as he’s deciding which piece of your clothing he’ll rip away first—

“Don’t get any ideas, perv. That was a joke.”

You giggle at his silence, looking back to glance at his face, which pales in humiliation.

You’re still laughing as Bakugo curses under his breath and shoves you harshly into the police car.

You wouldn’t be laughing when he fucks you silly—which, he swears, he will one day.

Since your destined meeting, you had been on Bakugo’s mind.

Every. Single. Day.

Your pout. Your delicate hands. Your arching back. Your whines and the way you try to fight back every time he walks you to the police van.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t just a phase.

To Bakugo’s horror, when he met up with the same newscaster from that night, he found himself unable to get hard, no matter how much she sucked him off.

He could have waved that off as an anomaly, but six girls later, Bakugo finally had to admit he may have a problem on his hands.

Bakugo knew the solution to his ED and meaningless infatuation with you.

He was sure all he had to do was fuck you. Easy enough— he’s confident in his sex appeal.

But you were also an impossible target.

You and your villain boyfriend moved around constantly, living under various aliases.

And when Bakugo could finally meet you (about once a month, when your boyfriend’s plans were foiled once again) you were whisked off into police custody before he could even bring up sex.

How was he even supposed to get to that topic, anyways?

Hey, y/n. I only get hard when I see you cry. Or, actually, when I just think about you at all.

Wanna bang?

Bakugo halfheartedly (almost unconsciously, this is just an immediate reaction to seeing you) discards his shorts and briefs as he leans against the back of the couch.

Staring up at the ceiling, he’s now regretting letting his agency call for backup.

He’d had you under him, in his own home. He even had a condom ready in his shorts— something he’s started carrying around since last year in hopes he’d get ambushed by you randomly.

It’s unfortunate he couldn’t take things further with you, but for tonight, his imagination and thoughts of you would have to suffice.

He almost saw you cry…

Bakugo’s almost drooling at the memory of your teary eyes as you stared at your boyfriend, who was dragged away into the back of a van despite his protests.

Fuck. What does he have to do to make you cry?

He throughout beating up Whiplash would be enough, but maybe you didn’t like your boyfriend as much as he thought— that makes him smile.

“Ugh…”

Bakugo can barely hold back a soft moan as his cock hardens quickly, now standing in his hand.

It’s hot, and typically Bakugo would shed all his clothes, but tiny specks of your blood decorate his white top. It’s like you’re basically touching him.

He admires the bruising teeth prints on his right hand, the one that’s now slowly stroking his dick.

Your mouth was on his hand. His hand. The thought alone makes him want to cum.

Bakugo allows himself a full stroke, groaning as he presses himself deeper into the couch.

It almost feels as if he’s simply overstimulating himself, as if he’d already cum— that’s how strong you were as a stimulus.

With how much you tease, you’d start with the tip, wouldn’t you?

Bakugo gently holds his cock at the base with his left hand and thumbs the tip, rubbing his rough thumb against the wet precum.

He’d manhandle you, he’s imagined it countless times, it’s what a girl like you needs.

In his imagination, you’d be a pillow princess. He’s confident about this.

Your attitude, the way you demand he frees you… it all points towards you being a menace in bed.

You would saunter into the bedroom, wearing nothing but thin lingerie (in his favorite color, dark orange, almost red). You’d smirk as you climb onto his bed, making yourself comfortable.

Your pretty eyes would narrow as he walks in shirtless with a raging boner.

You would be sitting there, legs outstretched for him to grasp.

Bakugo would grab your ankles in each hand, focusing on kissing your precious feet before moving upwards.

He’d press his lips against your shin, your knee, then suck your plush thighs, savoring your taste.

He’d maintain his eyes on you throughout, admiring the way your lips part slightly and your heavy breaths. You’d glare at him when you notice him staring at you— you’re always fighting back, aren’t you?

But in bed he’s the one in control.

He’d get to your panties and give your clothed clit a lick, pinning down your legs that threaten to close.

Bakugo would suck, embracing the taste of lace and your juices leaking from across the other side of clothing.

Contrary to popular belief, Bakugo wasn’t that full of himself.

In bed, he only has one priority— your pleasure.

Bakugo allows himself to slightly loosen his grip and start stroking his entire length slowly, just like how you’d do it.

Just a few singular strokes feel so good, his entire body lights up, electricity running up his spine.

He runs his thumb along the one long vein from the base of his cock, shivering. His cock is getting heavier in his hand and a familiar pressure is slowly building in his stomach.

After a few moments, Bakugo would finally push aside the flimsy fabric, licking your clit directly.

He’d be fisting his cock while doing so, like he’s doing now, stroking to the rhythm of his flattened tongue.

He’d be almost drooling at the taste, sometimes letting himself wander to your hole and slip his tongue in your tightness. He’d continue alternating between sucking and licking, relishing in your increasingly loud moans.

Your legs would begin to tremble beneath him and you’d start begging quietly despite your stubbornness.

Your eyes would start to roll to the back of your head— and that’s when he’d stop, pulling away entirely, still stroking himself, tightening his fist around his heat if necessary to prevent himself from releasing.

You’d whine and maybe kick him, legs weakened from your ruined orgasm.

A little edging never hurt anyone.

It only makes the pleasure of a shared orgasm stronger.

Bakugo would tease your hole, nudging at the entrance with the tip of his leaking cock.

Without warning, he’d thrust— you’d groan from the intrusion, grasping the sheets.

He’d start moving mercilessly, pulling out his length to the tip before slamming it back in, over and over. He would quicken with your moans fueling his pace.

He’d lean over to capture your pretty lips with his, intertwining your tongues.

Fuck, Bakugo really isn’t going to last, especially with his new favorite mental photograph—you lying on your back helplessly. Bakugo’s mind does the photoshop for him, removing the debris from the explosion and placing the two of you on his bed.

He’s stroking himself fervently now, at the same pace he imagines himself fucking you at.

You’d be shaking under him, holding back your tears. And, in typical y/n fashion, your pride would force you to hold your moans back. You’d be pressing your trembling hand against your mouth, wouldn’t you? You would be biting down on it, with the same teeth that were clamped down on his own hand earlier.

You’d cum as he rubs his thumb roughly against your clit, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth dropping open.

Bakugo would make sure to ride you out throughout the entirety of your orgasm before allowing himself to fall into how tight and wet you are and reaching his peak himself.

“y/n… I’m cumming…”

Bakugo bites back a groan as his eyes close, lips almost breaking from how hard he’s clenching down.

Continuing to pump, Bakugo’s hips lift as he thrusts into his fist one final time—his orgasm is so strong, it feels as though he’s losing control of his entire body, shaking as he feels his cum squirt and his cock pulsing from the base.

When Bakugo finally gathers his energy, he opens his eyes, blinking uncomfortably at the harsh lights of the living room. There’s warm cum now cooling all over his hands and the coffee table in front of him, only adding to the list of things he has to clean up after your little home invasion.

Sighing, Bakugo stands up, grabbing a tissue and wiping the traces of his release away.

It’s a little humiliating.

Yet another day of having to imagine you writhing under him to get off.

Bakugo won’t admit it— he never will— but honestly, it’s not as bad as he makes it out to be.

But he knows the real thing will be better.

Now, if only he could get his hands on you…

a/n yeah so i rewrote this whole thing on 4 hours of sleep so its prob shit and the formatting is wonky but whatevs.

STAN ENHYPEN STREAM SWEET VENOM (ENG VER)

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #mha smut #my hero academia #bnha bakugou #bakugo fic #dynamight #bakugo katsuki #bakugou smut

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kiyoomi-levin · 3 months

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here for you (yan!Suna RinatroxF!reader)

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

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

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

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

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

You still vividly remember your first time meeting him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suna?”

Your voice comes out squeaky and clearly nervous.

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

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

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

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

What a coincidence.

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

Are you the crazy one?

“Oh, it’s just… so random, you know?”

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

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

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

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

“You live quite far away, right?”

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

“No. I just moved to Kamikitazawa.”

You feel that tingle again.

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

Fuck. You sound especially stupid right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You should know that the third elevator isn't that good. It always gets stuck on floor two. And the garbage chute at the end of every hall is kind of hard to open. You have to," you make a pulling motion, "really yank, ya know?"

Silence. Suna stares at you blankly.

You're just an absolute loser, aren't you?

He's gonna cringe, or worse, tell your advisor that you're being overfamiliar with him, an athlete 5 years your senior…

As you stand in your cheap winter boots, shivering, Suna suddenly laughs.

It's not the quiet chuckle you see him release when he's joking with Komori, but a head-throwing, mouth widening laugh.

"Uh..." you stutter, nervous.

It takes a full minute before he finally stops, silently pink at the face.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," he says, lifting his shopping basket.

You nod repeatedly, nerves subsiding.

"Wanna walk back together?" Suna asks.

You hesitantly nod. Why not? It's late and dark, and though the neighborhood is calm, it never hurts to have a walking buddy.

On the walk home, to your surprise, Suna begins to talk about his team and compliments you for your article on the top liberos. You’ve never seen this side of him. There’s a reason why he’s so beloved— he’s a mystery.

You’re nearly zoning out as the two of you reach your apartment complex.

"Am I boring you?" Suna suddenly asks.

It's such an unexpected question, you falter for a second.

"No! I'm just... I feel relaxed. I like hearing your voice," you say, surprised.

Suna lets out a sigh of relief as he punches in the door code to the building.

"So. As I was saying, you want me to give you a ride tomorrow?"

"What?”

"A ride. To the arena." He says, enunciating every word as if you're a child.

"It's okay," you start, “I—”

"Take the subway, yeah. But it's a hassle, right?"

No, it's not. In fact, it's pretty nice, seeing strangers off to their desired destinations.

But it's as if he can read your mind.

"I’ll give you a ride."

It's not a question anymore.

"Alright," you murmur.

The short journey to your floor is now awkward, and you’re wishing you had turned down his offer to walk together.

The two of you are almost at the end of the hallway now, at your apartment door. To your horror, Suna doesn’t continue walking.

Instead, he simply turns around and reaches for the doorknob of the apartment just across from you.

Strangely, you’re just now noticing just how narrow and dark this hallway is.

Under the cheap fluorescent lights, you can only see the man in front of you. Suna’s pale hands flex as he easily readjusts his heavy grocery bags, reminding you he could take you out in a moment.

“Wow. Looks like we’re neighbors, huh?” Suna says, stepping into his flat.

You’re blinking up towards him, breath cut short.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

Funny. He didn’t sound surprised.

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

You're just tying your hair when the doorbell rings.

"y/n, you ready?"

Who would’ve imagined hearing the Suna Rintaro’s voice at 9 AM.

You sigh as you take a final glance into the mirror. You couldn’t completely hide the dark eye circles from your lack of sleep— who’d be able to sleep after learning a celebrity lives practically next door?

Taking a deep inhale, you push open your front door.

You instantly feel yourself healing as you take in Suna. It’s a similar effect to watching your favorite idols perform on stage— good looks work wonders on your tired body.

Suna leans against the wall, wearing a pair of black sweats and a thin blue hoodie. With a start, you can't help but notice it's almost a couple set with your blue sweater and black skirt.

"Good morning," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. You nod in response.

As you walk down the hall together to the elevators, you can't help but flush. Is this what it'd be like to have a boyfriend? As a student dedicated to her craft, you’d never felt the urge to date, remaining single your entire life. You can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be Suna Rintaro’s.

“Oh! What’s this!” Kiana, a middle-aged woman, calls out as you and Suna wait for the elevator.

“y/n! You never told me you got a boyfriend! And such a handsome one, too! Oh, if I was only a little younger…”

You and Suna make eye contact and you blush, quickly turning towards the smiley woman, ready to retort.

“We’re—” You barely make out a word before Suna suddenly takes your hand.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Suna Rintaro, y/n’s boyfriend. I just moved into apartment 306.”

At his words, both your and Kiana’s eyes widen.

Yours in confusion, hers in wonder as she recognizes the handsome stranger.

“I know you! I know you! You’re Suna, from that team! Oh, my son is such a fan! I can't believe you're living here! He’ll be so excited."

As Suna and Kiana make small talk, you try to discreetly shake your sweaty hand out of Suna’s grasp. To your bewilderment, he continues gripping onto it, so hard you can feel his short fingernails digging into your soft skin.

To your relief, the elevator chimes, and as Suna waves goodbye (you do too, out of habit), you gasp as he yanks you into the elevator.

"What was that?" You ask, nervously looking up at your ‘boyfriend.’

Suna’s eyes are hard as he stares down at you, but he’s glowing all the same, as if he’d just received a gift.

“Saying we’re a couple. What was that about?”

Suna hums innocently.

"I just thought it would be most convenient to tell her that. People will see us together from now on."

No, they won't.

“It would confuse them to have to explain you’re an intern.”

Was that so complicated?

But with his mischievous smirk and the way he taps his foot against the elevator floor, you just can’t find the courage to refute.

“Alright… but could you let go?” You ask uncomfortably.

"Ah, right," he says, letting you free.

You rub your hands together, easing the circulation back.

Strangely, it feels especially cold without his grip on you.

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

"Wake up."

Awakening with a start, you rub your eyes.

You can't help but admit you could get addicted to free rides with Suna.

His car is just too nice; the seats are fluffy and he turned on the heater to just the right temperature and there's soft piano playing from the speakers.

How long have you been out?

Taking in your surroundings, you're surprised to find you're already at the Tokyo Volleyball Arena. You almost jump in shock as you realize what’s warming your lap— a box of your favorite strawberry waffles.

“What’s this?” You question as Suna wordlessly hands you a fork.

"I thought you might be hungry.”

Suna slides a cup into your open hand— matcha.

So he is a nice man, after all.

“Wow, Suna! Let me please pay you back!”

Your stomach grumbles as you take a bite of the sweet breakfast.

“No, no, it’s on me.”

How could you make it up to him? Maybe you should bake him cookies or something… you shift in your seat, frowning as you realize your bare thigh is strangely damp. Rubbing your thighs together, your eyebrows furrow.

“Oh,” Suna says, biting into his scrambled eggs, “sorry. That was me, I got some coffee on you while you were sleeping, so I wiped it away," he says sheepishly, gesturing towards the pack of wet wipes in the glove compartment.

He looks embarrassed, avoiding eye contact, so you don't push it any further.

He's kind of cute, you think.

It kind of feels too perfect– the plush comfort of Suna’s luxury car, the sweetness of the waffles, and the delicious matcha, albeit slightly salty.

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

"Hey, y/n, which movie should we watch?" Suna calls from your couch.

You're in the kitchen, preparing popcorn in your small microwave.

"Studio Ghibli!" You shout back, stirring the hot chocolate, “I have a whole bunch downloaded, just choose one.”

It's become a regular occurrence for the two of you to spend much of your free time together. At first, Suna had gently coaxed you into spending time with you under the guise of doing more research for the article you’re writing about him, but now you’ve grown to genuinely enjoy his company.

From morning rides to office lunches to casual dinners, it's like your life has been consumed by Suna. Your gut had been wrong, after all, because Suna treats you like a girlfriend— although you’d long shook away that silly thought— he’d never see a younger, broke student that way.

But despite your brain knowing everything is just fine, your heart has yet to be rewired. It still pounds with discomfort, as if it knows that fundamentally, something’s wrong.

You just can’t identify or place a label on that problem.

More recently, you’ve been getting hit with strong deja vu from that one night at the grocery store months ago.

As if it’s only the two of you on this planet.

Sighing, you take your place next to Suna, glancing at your phone. It remains still, screen dark.

“What’s wrong?” Suna asks, frowning. He pushes up his black glasses, running his fingers through his damp hair.

You hesitate. It’s fine to share this, right? After all, it feels like Suna’s all you have right now.

“Well… I’m not sure why, but I think my friends are mad at me. For the past few months, they’ve been silent. They don’t really respond to me anymore, and when they do they just say they’re busy.”

Suna nods, reaching for your hand. You welcome the warmth of his fingers, blinking back tears.

“And even worse, my family hardly contacts me. I used to call my mom basically everyday. I think there’s something really wrong, Suna, I’m really worried.”

“How long has this been going on?” Suna has the movie paused now, full attention on you. He gently strokes your hair and the kind gesture has tears pooling in your eyes.

“For a few months… maybe… four? I didn’t realize it at first because of how busy I’ve been at work and with the article I’m writing on you,” you mumble, allowing Suna to embrace you.

He’s gently rocking you back and forth now, rubbing your back, whispering kind words into your ear, telling you it’s okay and they’re probably just busy too…

Minutes pass before you finally look up, eyes widening as you take in his facial expression.

Despite his sweet words, Suna’s eyes are completely blank and there’s a questionable, small smile on his face. You barely recognize him.

“y/n?”

You blink, and take in an inaudible breath as you stare at Suna.

He cocks his head, confused. He looks at you with nothing but affection and concern, thin lips pressed into a frown.

Your heartbeat slows as you realize that, yet again, you’d just been seeing and feeling things wrong— whenever you’re around Suna, it’s as if you lose sense of your surroundings.

Smiling, you sniffle as you wipe away your tears.

“Sorry for getting emotional at movie night.”

Suna grins, giving you a final gentle hug before turning back to the television.

“Don’t be. I’m always here for you, y/n.”

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

Q: Suna, this question has been long requested by your fanbase. How do you express love?

A: Dedication. I give my all to my lover, no questions asked.

Oh, and I don’t like to share.

There’s suddenly a knock at your door, causing you to jump. You put down your laptop, where your open article draft sits nearly complete.

The lightning storm outside has you shaking and you just wish Suna was here, holding you and laughing at his silly responses to your even stupider interview questions.

Another knock at the door.

Strange— Suna’s practice runs for extra long today for his upcoming tournament. Maybe he finished early.

“Suna, why didn’t you call before practice finished? We could’ve gone out for dinner,” you scold as you pull open the door.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Standing in front of you is your furious older sister, drenched from the rainstorm outside.

“Oh my god! Come in!” You say, alarmed. You reach towards her wrist, but she remains planted in place.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She’s angrier than you’ve ever seen her.

“How could you tell us to fuck off? You really think your journalism is that important? Your writing isn’t more important than family, you asshole! It’ll never be important!”

Taking a deep breath, your sister lets go, immediate regret evident on her face. She opens her mouth to apologize, but you’re not having any of it.

Anger is coursing through your body now and you shove your sister away, causing her to stumble against Suna’s door.

Your family has never supported your career— from when you were just a child, you’d had to work hard for your own future.

So this is why they had shunned you? Because they can’t stand seeing you successful? Because you had moved away from the countryside to make something out of yourself in the city?

Tears stream down your face as you tremble.

“My writing is important,” you whisper. Your sister nods quickly, opens her mouth again—

“Don’t come by anymore. Don’t consider me a part of the family anymore.”

“No, I’m sorry— I think there’s a miscommunication, y/n! Wait!”

Slamming the door on her shocked face, you stumble towards the couch.

It feels as though you’re going to die— the room spins as your lungs strive for air and your vision is becoming increasingly blurry.

The sound of rain and your sister pounding on the door intertwine, and as you bury your head into a pillow, you really just wish Suna was at your side.

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

“y/n?”

Someone’s tugging at your sleeve, and you glance up, blinking uncomfortably at the bright lights of the living room. There’s dried tear streaks on your face and you’re sure you look like a miserable ogre, but Suna looks at you with nothing but compassion as he hugs you, alarmed.

He’s slightly damp—probably a combination of sweat from practice and the rain outside—but you hold onto him eagerly as he eases you onto his lap.

“What happened?”

You shake your head, explaining what had happened in the few hours when he’d been gone.

Suna’s furious on your behalf, jaw tight and fists clenched.

“Thank god I told your sister to fuck off. She was standing at your door, yelling curses and threatening to call the police,” he mutters.

Tears spring to your eyes again. This only confirms the reality of your life now— your family (and probably friends, too) absolute despise you.

“Don’t worry, y/n. I’ll always be here for you,” Suna whispers.

His words are somewhat like a relaxant to you. Taking a deep breath, you lean into his chest, sighing.

“I don’t think I can write anymore, Suna. I don’t want to. What have I been working towards my whole life?”

Suna remains silent for a moment, studying your sorrowful face, before leaning in to brush his nose against yours. Your eyes shift, admiring his gorgeous olive ones.

“Your journalism is amazing, y/n. And… if you hadn’t worked so hard, we might’ve never met, right?”

You smile sadly.

“I guess…”

“y/n, how about you wrap up your article tonight? You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

You gesture towards your open laptop on the coffee table.

“It’s done, but it’s shit. My sister’s right, it’s not worth anything,” you say, embarrassed. You’ve always known you were talentless, which is why you’ve always worked harder. But it amounted to nothing in the end.

You press your cold hands against your burning eyes as Suna picks up your laptop, skimming through what you’ve written about him.

If even he hates it… that’s it. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to go on.

“y/n, will you look at me?”

Suna’s gently tugging at your hands covering your face. Biting your lip nervously, you let him take your hands into one of his.

“Want my honest opinion?” He asks, placing the laptop onto your lap. You nod, staring down at the bright screen.

“This is the best thing anyone’s written about me.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head.

“Don’t lie.”

“y/n. I’m serious. This shows exactly the side I wanted the public to know about me. It’s intimate, but written formally enough to be taken seriously by the media.”

When you don’t respond, Suna sighs sadly.

“I guess you don’t want the opinion of a dumb athlete, though…”

Frantically, you look up, shocked.

“Of course not! Suna, your opinion is everything to me!”

Relief settles in your stomach as Suna grins, eyes shining.

“Really?”

“Of course! Thank you… That really means a lot to me.”

Suna nods, rambling about how much he loves that sentence here, the use of punctuation there…

“What’s wrong?” He asks, noticing you look down again.

“I… just feel like I have nobody but you, Suna.”

Suna smiles at you, waving towards the polaroids of your friends and family hung on the wall.

“I’m sure they’ll come around again, y/n.”

Your nose crinkles as you cringe at the photos. You want them gone. You want all of the references towards them gone.

You want to get out of here.

“I hate this apartment, actually. They helped me decorate it and everything,” you sigh.

“Well then, how about we move out together?”

You fiddle your thumbs, headache threatening to return.

“I don’t have that type of money,” you say, frustrated. It’s easy for a world-class athlete like him to just up and leave, but you’d never be able to, not unless you dropped out of school and found a job elsewhere.

“y/n, I’ve just remembered. I have an apartment near our stadium, right? How about you move there for the rest of your internship?”

You hesitate. Intruding into the home of a man you’re not even in a relationship with? While the offer is tempting…

“Don’t worry about anything, y/n. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Suna’s gently rubbing circles onto the side of your hands and you feel like melting away, exhausted.

All that crying and anger has truly taken a toll on you. Your eyelids flutter as you finally nod.

“Okay.”

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

“Are you sure?”

Now that it’s come to actually burning the photos, you’re hesitating. Aside from the few photographs on the walls, your apartment is completely bare, all of your belongings now residing in Suna’s luxury condo.

“y/n. You don’t need them anymore.”

You pause, the lighter in your hand feeling heavier by the second. With this, you’re truly erasing all parts of your former family and friends. Just then, your phone buzzes— you barely need to look at it to know it’s a string of curses from your ex-best friend.

Suna grimaces as he deletes the message, examining you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re right, Suna. I don’t.”

You watch as the pictures go up in flames, holding back tears.

Looking around your now empty apartment, Suna wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“I always thought your walls would look better bare.”

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

In and out.

There’s something so comforting about the way you breathe.

You’re lying motionless on Suna’s large bed, curled into a ball.

Adorable.

Sighing, Suna collapses next to you, admiring your eyebrows, the curve of your nose, your lips…

When was the last time he’d felt this content? Reaching out, Suna gently tucks your hair behind your ears, admiring the small s shaped earrings adoring them.

Bringing you here was the best option. It’d taken him a little longer than he’d hoped, but now you were truly in the palm of his hand.

He’d almost slipped up a few times (your gut was much smarter than you) but everything had worked out, hadn’t it.

Since the day he’d first met you nearly a year ago, Suna knew you’d be his.

He’s not sure why, but there’s this thing about him— sometimes, when he sees something, he wants it.

And he’ll do anything to make sure it’s entirely his.

You mumble in your sleep, rolling over to face the large windows that present the city of Tokyo below his feet.

He has it all now.

His phone vibrates— messages from your concerned father.

Rolling his eyes, Suna silently reaches over to your phone, which lies innocently next to your small hand, and unlocks it (the password being his birthday, obviously).

Without hesitation, Suna begins wiping out all traces of the code he’s implanted into your phone.

There would be no more reason to reroute your messages to himself anymore.

Next, Suna makes sure all of your family and friends’ contacts are blocked.

Ensuring your safety is a top priority of his.

He squeezes your device in his large hand, wondering if he should just break it.

If Suna had it his way completely, he’d rather you not have a phone at all.

Tossing your phone back onto your side of the bed, Suna smirks as he unlocks his own device.

Desperate messages from your sister pop up, warning you of your tall neighbor, he threatened to kill me if i didn’t leave y/n please get away from him and go to the police!

Suna slides his thumb across the screen, removing the messages from his screen, and disconnects his phone from yours.

After all, you wouldn’t be getting contacted by those nuisances anymore.

Almost done, then he can sleep peacefully with you—Suna sends the email he’s been working on: a PDF attachment of your final draft of your article on him and a short message of your resignation as an intern, written by yours truly.

Turning over, Suna locks the bedroom door, smiling.

There’s no need for anyone else.

Not when he’s always going to be here for you.

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu #suna x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintarō #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro yandere #haikyuu yandere

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kiyoomi-levin · 3 months

Note

Heloo! I enjoy your writing so much and I hope you are having a wonderful day!!

Do you think by any chance there will be a part 2 too 'Morning Routine'?

aww thank you sm for the sweet message, I hope you're doing well too <333

I definitely plan on writing a pt 2 sooner or later ... I originally wrote it as a one-shot but seeing how much people like it, I personally want to write a second part to it!

I don't really have any ideas for it yet though, so if you have any shoot them my way!! again, thank u for reaching out to me :D

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kiyoomi-levin · 3 months

Text

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

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

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

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

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

They're scariest when they're fucking you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen.

You wouldn't be able to take it.

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

When have you become such a pussy?

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

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

Osamu surprisingly agrees with you.

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

Atsumu rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really doesn't understand his twin sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Atsumu smirks, cracking his fingers and wrists.

"You be preppin' her, 'Samu."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s ready.”

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

“I guess I’m first?”

“Ladies first.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Osamu sighs, frustrated.

“Get on with it, won’t ya?”

Atsumu frowns at him, pulling away from you.

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

It hurts!

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

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

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

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

You really do love his gorgeous eyes and gray hair.

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

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

You're too precious.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuckkkkkk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what does it matter now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dull lights of the room begin to blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n, do you hate me?”

Osamu’s deep voice interrupts your thoughts.

Your mouth instinctively opens, but you hesitate.

No.

“No.”

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

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

“Do you love me?”

You can’t answer him as quickly this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like months ago. Actually, years ago.”

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

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

Yeah, you do love them.

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

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

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu smut #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #msby atsumu #atsumu smut #miya osamu #miya twins #osamu smut #miya osamu x reader #miya twins smut

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kiyoomi-levin · 4 months

Text

No Sense (Sakusa Kiyoomi x F!Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

It just doesn't make sense.

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

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

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

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

"Who?"

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

"Never mind."

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

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

Sakusa frowns under his mask, forehead wrinkling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first years begin murmuring behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile, and he feels his gut twisting.

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

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

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

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

It doesn't make sense.

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

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

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

Sakusa Kiyoomi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sakusa nearly drops his sandwich.

Really? Is that how he comes across?

“Is it obvious?”

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

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

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

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

That’s the only reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time’s moving in slow motion.

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

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

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

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

Again, time stops.

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

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

Why does he treat you different?

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

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

Another one scoffs.

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

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

“He was replaced by aliens.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your head snaps up towards the talented libero.

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

Komori rubs his temples. That stupid ass tsundere.

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

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

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

What does that mean?

As if reading your thoughts, Komori begins to explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop overthinking!” Yuyuka scolds as you pout.

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking asshole.

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

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

“Watch out!”

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

“Oof!”

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

Stupid Kiyoomi!

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

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

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

“Kiyoomi.” You whimper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now tears are really streaming down your face.

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

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

“I don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s as if you don’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa x reader #hq kiyoomi #haikyuu kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x you

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kiyoomi-levin · 4 months

Text

Morning Routine [nsfw]

(Wakatoshi Ushijima x F!Reader)

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

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

6:33 AM, the blinking clock reads.

He doesn’t even need an alarm now.

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

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

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

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

I should stop.

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

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

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

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

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

Until he met you.

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

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

More accurately, masturbate. Every. Single. Morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s always exactly what he needs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad sleep? Rough morning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, he was also scared.

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

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

But he only wanted you.

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

Fine then.

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

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

In his locked gallery awaits dozens of photos of you.

Obviously none were taken by him!

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

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

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

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

He wants to finish with you so bad.

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

but he doesn’t care now. Nothing matters.

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

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

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

That’s enough.

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

Thank God we came together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you know, and you like masturbating with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu #wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu wakatoshi #hq wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader

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