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meowdarame · 2 years

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she’s kinda hot ft miya atsumu

pairings: miya atsumu x f!reader (she/her pronouns used, afab!reader)

warnings: 18+, minors DNI!; protected sex, praise

word count: 4.0k

author’s note: (this is a repost from last night!) my submission for @rosesandtoshi enemies to lovers collab and my 3rd post for my 100 followers event! the tagging system for DUMBlr is currently down, so i'd appreciate reblogs now more than ever :) thank you and i hope you enjoy!

tagging: @christeningsakusa @sunat2508 @petalsrdead @crystal-lilac @devilgirlcrybabiey

Miya Atsumu hates absolutely everything about you.

He hates the way that you cutely cover your mouth with your hand when you chew, or the way that you say his last name with such a combative tone that doesn’t match your pretty face; it pisses him off every time you’re excitedly chatting on the phone with your friends and your voice rises an octave higher, or when you comment on his teammates’ Instagram photos but don’t even like his. His blood boils when you dote on him and treat him like a little kid— how you’re always the first one on his ass when he’s having an off day at practice, or how every time the team stays overnight at a hotel for an away game, the next morning you’re always banging on his door first. He doesn’t even understand why, out of all of his teammates, you choose to wake him up first, especially when everyone knows that Bokuto sleeps like a fucking log and is the king of oversleeping.

But most of all, Atsumu absolutely cannot stand your perfume.

A woody gourmand fragrance with notes of pure jasmine and amber crystals— a pleasant scent that he would have liked otherwise, except you had to wear it. He loathes how the floral aroma fills up his nostrils and makes his head spin, and he abhors the way that his nose follows you whenever you walk by, subconsciously sniffing for more. He hates how the sickeningly sweet scent masks your acrid demeanor.

And unfortunately for him, it’s this smell that intoxicates him as you carry him home after he took one shot too many at the team’s New Year’s Eve party.

“Jesus Christ, Miya,” you grumble as you sling his arm over your shoulder, trying to balance his weight as you drag his limp body out of your car, “How much did you drink tonight?”

“T-That’s nunya business,” he slurs.

“It’s completely my business!” you quip back, annoyed by his rude tone. “What if you woke up in a ditch tomorrow, huh? Then what?”

“Well I’d rather wake up naked in a ditch than have to rely on someone as awful as you to take me home!” he spits back.

You stop in your tracks, clearly upset by what the setter said, but he’s too drunk to notice the way that your face drops. Through his blurry vision, he sees that your brows are furrowed and your bottom lip juts out into a pout. “You don’t mean that,” you whisper, although he’s not sure if you’re talking to him or trying to reassure yourself. “You’re just drunk. You don’t mean that.”

“Whatever.”

He stays silent the rest of the way up to his apartment. It’s an arduous task to climb up five flights of stairs in his inebriated state— curse his apartment for having a broken elevator. It feels like the walls and the floors are spinning, and your perfume isn’t doing him any favors. This is the closest he’s ever been to you; your body is pressed up against his and his face is buried into your shoulder as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. At this neared proximity, your scent is stronger than ever before— it’s dizzying and almost puts him to sleep, and it’s the last thing he remembers before he passes out face first on his bed.

He wakes up the next morning with one of the nastiest headaches he’s ever experienced. He feels a weight against his back, and when his fingers trace the outline of the mysterious object he realizes that it’s his gym bag. His head pounds as he searches around in the darkness for his phone; it’s delicately placed on his night stand, and he notices that it’s fully charged— you must have plugged it in before you left. He scrolls through his notifications, most of them from his teammates asking him if he made it home safely; Hinata and Bokuto sent him a couple Snapchat videos of himself shamelessly chugging champagne straight from the bottle, and Osamu sent a message and a meme in the family group chat to wish him and his parents a “Happy New Year.” He opens this text thread, and as he’s in the middle of typing back a response, a notification banner pops up on the top of his screen— an incoming text from you. He narrows his eyes as he opens the message, mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of insults and scolding he’s about to receive.

Instead, his eyes are met with a completely different sight.

You

Good morning, sleeping beauty. Not sure if you’re awake yet, you were pretty fucked up last night. Maybe your new year’s resolution should be learning how to handle your alcohol better, hm?

Anyways, I was gonna spend the night on your couch just to make sure that you were okay but I didn’t want to overstep, so I decided that the best next thing that I could do was to lay you on your side and block off your back— don’t want you rolling over and choking on your own vomit in your sleep! Please text me when you wake up so that I know that you’re alive. Thanks.

He’s about to close the message when three text bubbles pop up on the corner of the screen.

You

Btw, I figure that you’re really hungover right now, so before I left I put some Pocari Sweat and bread on your nightstand just so that you don’t have to get up right away. Aren’t you glad I have such great foresight?

Atsumu knows that he should be thankful, maybe even indebted to you, but for some odd reason, he can’t stop himself from screenshotting your messages and sending them to his old Inarizaki group chat.

M. Atsumu (me)

Attachment: 1 image

get a load of her! who the fuck does she think she is 🙄

samu (worser twin)

oh no, what’d ya do this time dumbass?

suna rin 😈

isn’t she ur team manager??

M. Atsumu (me)

yep. i accidentally blacked out last night and she took me home. i mean, don’t get me wrong, i’m thankful that she helped me. but she doesn’t need to be so patronizing about it!

suna rin 😈

she’s kinda hot lol

M. Atsumu (me)

shut yer trap Suna!

samu (worser twin)

how the hell are ya minutes older than me but years dumber than me? it’s so obvious that she’s into ya, Tsumu.

M. Atsumu (me)

what’re ya talkin’ about, Samu?

suna rin 😈

i have to agree with Samu on this one. it’s staring u right in the face but ur too daft to notice it lol

M. Atsumu (me)

WHAT ARE Y’ALL TALKING ABOUT?!

samu (worser twin)

dude, i’ve been to yer games. do ya not see the way she cheers a bit louder for ya whenever yer dumbass scores?

M. Atsumu (me)

sorry, samu. i’m not a lousy bench so i don’t really have time to focus on what goes on in the sidelines 😑

suna rin 😈

yea and during the MSBY vs EJP Raijin match someone yelled during his serve. she shot them the worst death glare i’ve ever seen! thought she was gonna chop that poor girl’s head off tbh

M. Atsumu (me)

once again, i’m sorry that i’m too immersed in the game to notice what happens in the stands. still, she shouldn’t be treatin’ me like a kid!

samu (worser twin)

maybe it’s because ya deserve to be treated like a little kid. yer not exactly “mr. responsible,” Tsumu.

Atsumu scowls at his phone as his screen lights up with more notifications.

kita shinsuke (best captain)

Sorry, everyone. I just got back from the fields. But I agree with Osamu and Rintarou— I think it’s pretty obvious that she likes you. I met her once at Onigiri Miya and she wouldn’t stop talking to me about you. Of course, half of what she said was poking fun at you, but there was no ill-intent behind it. I think your preconceived judgements about her cloud your perception about how she treats you. She’s actually quite fond of you, but you mistake her doting personality as her picking on you.

ojiro aran 🤑

sorry y’all just woke up. but i have to agree with everyone on this, Tsumu. like c’mon man, she left you bread and Pocari Sweat on your nightstand. it’s pretty obvious that she cares about you, at least in a platonic way. don’t be such a dick.

samu (worser twin)

see man? everyone else sees it except for you. maybe if ya didn’t have yer head up yer ass all the time you’d actually notice her lil crush. she’s cute, you should go for it.

suna rin 😈

and if u don’t, can i ask her out?

M. Atsumu (me)

SUNA SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

Atsumu tosses his phone to the other side of his bed and groans; he rubs his forehead a few times out of frustration at this new revelation. You have a crush on him? The idea itself is preposterous, maybe even blasphemous. He hauls his tired body out of bed and forces himself to take a cold shower to try to forget about this disastrous conversation. He carries on with his day— calling his family and friends to wish them a happy new year, cleaning up around his apartment, even cooking himself an elaborate dinner (which he rarely does since he prefers Samu’s cooking, even though he’ll never admit that to his twin.) But all of these actions are done in vain, since he still can’t seem to stop thinking about you— how pretty you are when the corners of your eyes crinkle whenever you laugh; how hot you looked at the party, dolled up in your cocktail dress that hugged you in all the right places; how sweet you smelled last night, especially when you were gingerly tucking him into bed.

What a shitty way to start off the first day of the new year with you plaguing every corner of his mind.

Practice the next day goes terribly. All of his sets are a couple centimeters off, he misses a few more serves than normal, and he feels like his body is moving a beat slower. And what you’re wearing certainly isn’t helping him regain his focus— your leggings fit snugly around your hips and waist, accentuating your curves and the swell of your ass. Everytime you bend over to pick up a ball he notices the clothing article is somewhat see-through, and he can’t help but stare at the outline of your thong that peeks through the thin material.

“C’mon, Miya!” you yell from across the court when he misses another serve. “You’re a little off today, not playing how you normally do! Pick it up!”

Normally, these words would send all of his blood to his head, making him see red in annoyance. But today, they produce an inverse effect— all of the blood rushes to his dick, and he can feel his gym shorts beginning to tighten. He needs practice to end, and fast.

Luckily for him, that’s the last drill before practice is over. After a short team meeting discussing the details of their next game against the Schweiden Adlers, Atsumu wastes no time running to the shower, turning it to the coldest setting, and letting the freezing water calm his nerves to try to get rid of his aching boner.

He spends a solid hour in the shower, which is longer than he usually takes. He waits for the locker room to clear out, and once he hears that Hinata and Meian’s conversation is cut off by slammed doors, he shuts off the running water and steps out from behind the shower curtains. To his despair, he’s still half hard, unable to fully get rid of his boner, but at least now he’ll be able to hide it behind the waistband of his shorts.

He’s in the middle of changing when he hears the doors creak open and a familiar voice echoes off the walls of the locker room.

“Miya!” you call out. “I know you’re still in here! It’s getting late and I don’t wanna miss the last train home! Can you please hurry up!”

He doesn’t even have time to respond before you’re turning around the corner, a surprised expression plastered across your face. You quickly shut your eyes and turn around; it takes Atsumu a millisecond to realize why you’re so embarrassed, even though you’ve seen him shirtless countless times.

He looks down and is immediately met by the outline of his half-hard dick through his sweatpants.

“Shit! I’m so sorry,” you stammer, fiddling with your fingers as you apologize. “I didn’t realize you were still changing. I’ll leave you to it.”

You’re about to take a step forward but Atsumu reflexively reaches out and grabs your wrist, effectively stopping you in your tracks. He spins you around to face him, but your eyes are still tightly shut.

“It’s okay,” he breathily exhales, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “You open your eyes. I want you to look at me.”

You hesitantly open them one eye at a time. “M-Miya,” you stutter. “W-What are you doing?”

“I know you want me,” he stammers. “I can see it in everything you do— the way you take care of me, the way that you cheer a little bit louder for me at games, the way you speak so fondly about me. It’s written all over your face.”

He inches closer to you, his face only a few centimeters away from yours. Your shaky breath tickles his face as he continues, “It’s okay, because I want you too.”

The locker room grows silent except for the rhythmic dripping of water from a leaky showerhead. The atmosphere is tense as he waits for your response; you’re completely unreadable as your mouth hangs open and you slowly blink at him. It’s like you’re still trying to process his words, and the longer you leave him waiting, the further his stomach sinks to the floor.

Did he miscalculate the situation? Were his ex-teammates all wrong? Why the fuck did he listen to Samu of all people? He hasn’t been in a relationship since college. He silently curses himself for giving into peer pressure, but when he’s about to let go of your wrist, he feels your other hand tug at the waistband of his sweats.

“No,” you whisper. “Please don’t pull away.”

Atsumu blinks three times before his lips crash into yours. It’s a little clumsy at first as your teeth gnash against each other, but soon you both find your rhythm, and you melt like putty into his soft touches.

Everything’s progressing so fast— in a flourish, his pants and your leggings are nothing but pools next to your feet on the locker room floor. His lips don’t leave yours as he guides you to a bench; he sits down, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs and pulling you down to straddle him. He quickly reaches into his gym bag and pulls a condom from his side pocket, slides it over his thick cock, before running his throbbing tip over your clothed cunt.

“Do ya really want me, pretty?” he coos as he plants wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck.

“Y-Yes, Mi–”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Call me Tsumu.” He pulls away to stare at you— god, you look so fucking beautiful, all needy and desperate for him. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. “Please.”

“Tsumu,” you whimper, “Need you so fucking bad.”

His breath hitches when he moves your thong to the side and slowly pushes himself into your tight hole. You’re so warm and wet; an overwhelming sense of euphoria overtakes his body as you start to bounce up and down his length, feeling every drag of your clenched walls around his cock as you angle yourself to hit deeper inside of you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his neck, pulling him in for a heated kiss. Somehow, you taste sweeter than you smell; he grows dizzy, quickly becoming pussy drunk as your teeth greedily nibble on his plump bottom lip.

“God, yer gorgeous,” he groans against your mouth. “Can’t believe I was missin’ out on ya this whole time.”

His hands snake underneath your shirt, pinching and pulling at your nipples through your sports bra. You pull away momentarily to throw your shirt over your torso and toss it onto the floor; when you pull the straps of your bra off your shoulders and free your tits from the constraining fabric, Atsumu’s jaw goes slack. His head dips down to wrap his swollen lips around one of your perked buds, his tongue languidly flicking it back and forth.

“F-Fuck, Tsumu,” you moan. “Please don’t stop. Feels so good.”

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, his strong grip relieving the ache in your thighs when your movements become sloppy and you begin to grow tired. He plants his feet flat on the ground and begins to thrust up into you; he feels his balls start to tighten and he knows his orgasm is looming over him.

He squeezes a hand in between your bodies that are pressed tightly together, searching for your clit. Once he finds it, he begins rubbing frantic circles, his calloused fingertips sending waves of pleasure up and down your spine, making you nuzzle your face into his broad shoulder.

“C’mon, pretty,” he pants. “Want ya to cum with me.”

Atsumu removes his hand from your ass and places it on your neck, pulling your head out from his shoulder. He presses his sweaty forehead against yours, his eyes staring deep into yours with blown-out pupils and lust-filled irises.

“Want ya to look at me when you cum. Want ya to see who’s making this pussy feel so fucking good.”

You come undone with one more swipe to your clit. When your walls clench down around him, so hard that it feels like they’re trying to push him out, he shoots thick ropes of his seed into the latex condom. He talks you through your orgasm and his, praising you as you ride out the intense pleasure.

“That’s it, angel, that’s it. I gotcha. Love it when ya make such a pretty mess, creamin’ all over my cock.”

Once your walls stop spasming, he taps your ass twice signaling for you to stand up. You do so, quickly fishing out your clothes from the sea of fabric on the floor.

“So much for your shower,” you joke, and when Atsumu looks down at his body, he notices that his torso and thighs are covered in a thin sheen of sweat, causing his skin to glisten under the fluorescent lighting of the locker room.

When you’re both fully clothed, you turn to face the setter, more flustered than before. “Uh, Miya,” you start. Your hips nervously sway side-to-side as you shift your weight between your feet. “I’m gonna get going. I don’t wanna miss the last train.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Firstly, didn’t I just tell you to call me Tsumu? And secondly, I’m driving you home.”

“But,” you reply, “My stop is only a few blocks from my house, and I know it’s out of the way for you–”

“Nope,” he interrupts. “No buts. I’m driving you home.”

You purse your lips and nod once, reluctantly accepting his request.

The car ride home is awkward— more awkward than one would expect, considering that he was just balls deep inside of you less than 20 minutes ago. Atsumu turns up the radio, some shitty pop song cutting through the deafening silence. Somehow, his mind is simultaneously running a hundred miles a minute while being completely blank. It’s hard for him to form any coherent thoughts, and from how unusually quiet you’re being as you stare out the foggy window, he can tell that you feel the same way as well.

“So…” His fingers tap against his steering wheel as he cruises down the highway.

“So…” You answer back.

Atsumu sighs. He replays something that Samu told him once when they were seventeen.

Tsumu, the best way ya can figure out what yer thinking is to just talk out loud. Even if they don’t make sense at first and yer just ramblin’, eventually you’ll understand what ya mean.

He chuckles to himself before taking his younger brother’s advice.

“Y’know, I used to lowkey kinda hate ya.”

Out of the corner of his eye he watches as your head swivels around, shooting him a glare.

“I used to think ya were annoying— always doting on me, treatin’ me like a kid. I couldn’t stand ya.”

You scoff, bewildered by his incredulous words. “Wow, Tsumu. You know, most guys would limit the degradation for when they’re inside me.”

“I’m not done yet,” he cuts you off. You sink into the passenger’s seat as he continues.

“But I’m startin’ to realize that I only hated ya because I thought ya hated me. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I never hated ya, not even a little bit.”

A giggle slips past your lips. “I can see where you’re coming from though. And I’m sorry if I ever pushed your buttons or made it seem like I didn’t like you. It’s just,” you sigh, softly shaking your head, “whenever I like someone I kinda just don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t want them to catch on to my feelings, so I hide behind a rough exterior. If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m not exactly the best with guys, in a romantic sense at least.”

Atsumu turns his head to look at you, cocking one of his eyebrows in confusion. “Oh please, not the best with guys? The team absolutely loves ya— hell, even my old high school team adores ya too. I know that ya think that yer headstrong and assertive personality turns guys away, but it’s probably the thing I like the most about ya.”

The corners of your lips curl upwards into a cute smile. “So, you like me too?”

He grows flustered, an embarrassed “no” threatening to escape from his throat. But when he glances over at you, he notices the look in your eyes. Although you stare at him with a confident and playful look on your face, he sees the nervousness that lies beneath your pretty features, the rise and fall of your chest when you take a shaky breath, the bobbing of your throat as you gulp in anticipation. He realizes that you need his reassurance, that you need to hear the words from himself. And that’s when the nebulous cloud that muddled his brain subsides, and he realizes the crux of his thoughts.

“Yea,” he whispers. “I like ya, too.”

He pulls into the driveway of your house, parks his car, and escorts you to your door. He patiently waits for you to turn the handle, but before you do, you turn around to face him.

“Why don’t you spend the night?” You smile at him, the corners of your mouth stretching from ear to ear. “You can use my shower.”

Atsumu smirks as he replies, “Only if ya shower with me.”

You throw your head back and laugh at his shameless flirting. “Fine, if you insist.”

…

Atsumu pulls the covers over the two of you, the hot water from the shower still having their soothing effect on both of your sore and tired muscles. When you snuggle your face into his chest, he smiles as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before shutting his eyes.

What an amazing way to end the second day of the new year, with his strong arms wrapped tightly around your warm body and his nose filled with the faint remnants of your perfume that permanently clings to your neck, a pleasant scent that he’s grown to love.

#🎲.writes #🎲.oneshots #🎲.5soh #enemiestoloverscollab❀#haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #atsumu haikyuu #atsumu smut #atsumu x you #atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu thirst #haikyuu thirsts

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meowdarame · 2 years

Text

voodoo doll ft suna rintarou

pairings: suna rintarou x f!reader (she/her pronouns used, afab!reader)

warnings: 18+, minors DNI!; unprotected sex, praise (?? of sorts lmao), bathroom quickie!!, lmk if there’s anything i missed!

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUNARIN AKA LOML <3 part 4 of my 100 followers event, 5SOH! i hope you enjoy and likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

tagging: @christeningsakusa @sunat2508 @petalsrdead @crystal-lilac @devilgirlcrybabiey

The relationship didn’t end badly, per say. It was just a matter of circumstantial differences— he had his budding volleyball career to worry about and you were a struggling recent college graduate. Between juggling your consecutive job interviews that left you with barely enough time to reply to his texts and his intense practices that made him knock out the second he returned to his apartment, it felt like you two were growing in two different directions, completely independent of one another. And so, like any mature adult would, you both saw the inevitable end of your relationship that was looming in the distance and decided to call it quits before your communication issues spiraled out of control and blew up in your faces.

And although the breakup was amicable and mutual, although there are no hard feelings or grudges held, you can’t help but wish that Suna Rintarou never cums during sex ever again.

You know that you should be a good ex-girlfriend and wish him the best, to hope that he'll heal and move on and maybe find someone in the future who loves him as much as you do did, someone whose fate aligns better with his hectic schedule and fast-paced lifestyle. You know you should be mature about this, that heartbreaks are a natural phenomenon in life, and that being petty will achieve absolutely nothing, especially since it’s been a few months since you last saw your ex-boyfriend. But honestly, fuck that.

This petty mindset (plus a few shots of tequila) is what motivates you to grab Suna by the wrist and drag him to the bathroom of an overcrowded house party. You sit on top of the bathroom counter, and his palms rest on both sides of your hips, arms caging you in as he speaks to you in a low and dangerous voice.

“I don’t know what kinda spell you put on me or what you’ve done to my voodoo doll, but you need to cut that shit out,” he growls, warm breath tickling the sensitive spot on your neck as he presses a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down your skin.

You giggle at his impatience. “Aww I missed you too, Rinnie,” you coo as you weave your fingers through his raven locks.

“Shut up,” he spits out. “You don’t know how hard this breakup has been on me. How hard it’s been to fuck someone that isn’t you.” His nimble fingers slide the straps of your dress off your shoulders, freeing your tits to the cool, air-conditioned air in the process. He tweaks and tugs at the hardening buds, making your face keel into his chest.

“Having a hard time cumming without me, Rin?” you tease. “Is that why you’re so eager right now?” His head dips down to your tits, lips encircling your nipples and flicking the sensitive skin back and forth with his tongue.

He pulls away with a pop, a trail of saliva connecting his mouth to your chest. “Try not being able to cum at all. What did you do to me, you fucking minx?”

A twisted grin erupts on your pretty face as you hook your fingers through the belt hoops of his pants. With a harsh tug, Suna’s body is pulled flush against yours, the heat from his semi-intoxicated body radiating onto yours. You press a kiss on his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips, before whispering sweetly, “Want me to help you, Rinnie? Want me to make you cum?”

And without hesitation nor inhibition, a breathy ‘yes’ slips past his lips.

You shuffle on the countertop and bunch the tight material of your skirt up around your waist, the cold marble against your bare thighs sending chills up and down your spine. Suna quickly fumbles with his button and zipper, lowering the waistband of his pants and boxers down to his mid thigh. He wastes no time shoving the thin lace of your skirt to the side and running lithe fingertips up and down your folds to collect your wetness.

“We’ve barely done anything and you’re already dripping,” he chuckles and he takes slick-coated fingers and wraps them around his cock, pumping his red tip before lining it up with your dripping hole.

“What do you expect? I’ve been staring at you all night— shit!”

Suna bottoms out in one swift thrust, immediately fucking you at an abusing pace. His veiny cock rubs and massages against your walls deliciously, a symphony of needy whines and whimpers echoes off the tan walls of the cramped bathroom. Nails digging into the flesh of your hips and leaving little crescent moon shapes, Rin sputters out a confession.

“God, I’ve missed this pussy so much,” his voice is choked and tense, almost like he’s hanging onto a cord that’s about to snap, which he probably is by the way his thrusts lose their steady rhythm and his hips begin to stutter. “I’ve missed you so much. Let’s get back together, yea? So I can fuck you whenever and however you want? You’d like that, huh babe?”

“Nngh– yes Rin!” You squeal when his fingers snake their way down your body and roll your puffy clit between his digits. “I’d like that so fucking much!”

“I’m so close— shit! I’m cumming!” He babbles as his pelvis slams into yours one last time, spilling his seed deep into your cunt. You follow soon after, riding out the wave of pleasure that courses through every limb of your body as Suna continues to toy with your oversensitive clit.

After a few seconds of catching his breath, he pulls out of you and immediately begins to wipe away his cum that’s slowly dripping out of your pussy with a wad of toilet paper. You both fix yourselves up to the best of your abilities, even though it’s clear from his swollen lips and your shaking thighs that something sinful occurred in the bathroom. His voice stops you before you open the door.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at 7.”

You turn around and face him; his eyes are still hazy and his skin still flushed, but you can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or nervousness. “Huh?”

“We’re recreating our first date,” he shrugs and hints of a smile start to form on his pretty features. He turns the door handle and motions for you to step out, but before you exit the doorway, his large palms wrap around your waist and he nestles his face into the crook of your neck, whispering, “Plus I need to make it up to you for not lasting very long tonight.”

#🎲.writes #🎲.oneshots #🎲.5soh #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #suna smut #suna thirst #suna oneshot #haikyuu oneshot

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meowdarame · 2 years

Text

high ft oikawa tooru

cw: toxic behavior (really OOC for oikawa but it’s for the plot); non-explicit smut; I do not condone any of the actions, verbal manipulation, and toxicity in this one-shot.

pairing: oikawa x f!reader (she/her pronouns); 1.3k words

notes: this is my second addition to my 100 followers event, 5 seconds of haikyuu!! and my submission for @bratinc‘s toxic collab! <3

“Tooru.”

Uh oh, that’s never a good sign. “Tooru”— not “Toto,” not “babe,” not “my love.” Just Tooru. Oikawa gulps as he waits for you to deliver the final blow.

“I think we need to stop seeing each other.”

He sighs in his head. It’s not the first time you’ve tried leaving him; in fact, it seems like it happens every other week. His mind begins to trail off as you continue your monologue, reusing the same argument points that your bitchy friends hammered into your fickle brain about how “terrible” of a boyfriend he is or that you “deserve better.”

Sure, you’ve been spending every other night together for the past year, and sure, he keeps a toothbrush at your apartment and a box of menstrual pads for you at his penthouse. And yes, he’s met your parents but has yet to introduce you to anyone in his life aside from his 3 friends from high school. And maybe, he’s been caught by the paparazzi a few times doing incriminating things— hanging out with models, clubbing with actresses, getting into cars with influencers— but it’s all just a ploy to throw the press off of his, and inevitably your, ass. He knows how harsh the papers can be, and the last thing he wants is for a slew of his fangirls to find your Instagram account and leave hate comments, at least that’s how he reasons it to himself.

All of these “toxic”— your friends’ words, not his— things that he does aren’t done to hurt you, but instead to shield you. He knows that you don’t have thick skin like him and wouldn’t be able to handle the pressures of dating an Olympian athlete— that you’re brittle at the parts where he wishes you were strong.

So he keeps you in secrecy, choosing to only love you in the dark and associating himself with famous women, in order to protect you.

And he just doesn’t understand why you can’t understand that— why you listen to your lying friends who don’t know jack shit about your relationship, why you don’t defend him when they say such vile things about his character, and why you let their insidious words seep into your brain and fester there.

Your tired voice breaks him out of his trance.

“I just can’t keep living like this,” You let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t like feeling like you’re embarrassed of me.”

The whole time you speak, Oikawa watches you twiddle with your thumbs and stare at the floor, your eyes out of his line of sight. But then you gain enough confidence to lift your head and say your next line.

“I think I deserve better...”

His eyebrows cock upwards at your bold statement— he didn’t intend to have such a readable expression, but he was so taken aback by what you said. Catching onto his shock, you immediately stare back at the ground.

“T-Than that,” You stammer, this time your voice significantly weaker and more uncertain. “I think I deserve better than that kinda treatment.”

The room falls silent except for the sound of crickets chirping outside of your window; Oikawa slowly makes his way over to your couch, heavy steps bouncing off of the wooden floors and reverberating throughout your apartment. His body feels heavy as he sinks into your couch, elbows resting on his knees and his feet pressed flat to the floor.

“You’re right,” He admits, his voice low and quiet. “You do deserve better.”

He runs his fingers through his hair before cupping his face in his palms. The tension in the air is so thick that a knife could slice right through it. He continues, his words muffled by his large hands.

“I told you that I’m gonna change.” Then, he looks up at you, a somber expression painting his face.

“But I don’t think you have enough respect to see me try.”

He watches your eyes become glossy and your bottom lip start to quiver.

“What do you mean?” You croak out, barely comprehensible as tears begin to stream down your face.

Oikawa sits back into his seat, arms crossed as a clear indicator that he’s growing defensive. “The picture that you paint of me looks better in your mind.”

He rubs his forehead in frustration and continues. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to meet your high expectations. I’m just a man after all, and I’m bound to make mistakes. That’s why I’m trying to be better— for you.”

He looks down at the ground before delivering his next line, his voice nothing more than a soft whisper, barely audible, and if you’re not careful you’d easily miss it.

“Because I love you.”

You're silent as your brain tries to grab at straws to come up with a response. “B-But my friends…”

He immediately cuts you off. “You mean the ones that don’t like me? The ones who talk shit on me and attack my character all the time?” His voice slowly grows in strength as his anger rises to the surface. “Babe, you can’t keep letting them dictate how you feel about me and our relationship. They don’t know jack shit about us, and I don’t like feeling like I’m dating your friends and not you.”

Oikawa raises his face and narrows his eyes at you. “And I don’t like knowing that they’re able to sway you so easily, or much worse that you actually agree with them. I’d hope my girlfriend would at least think of me highly and defend me when she’s with other people.”

His accusations crack all of your defenses. You fall to your knees and grab his hands, running the soft pad of your thumb over his knuckles. He lifts his face and is met with your ever-loving gaze, and it’s clear that you’ve forgiven him and have shouldered the blame for this argument.

“Hey,” You whisper. “Toto, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more patient from now on.”

Toto. That’s the sound he likes to hear. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. He feels you sob and hiccup into his shoulder, and he rubs your back to try to calm you down.

“Shh,” He coos. “It’s okay. I forgive you. It’s okay.”

You pull away and wipe your eyes with the back of your hands. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what came over me. I guess my friends just got into my head again.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his thumb rubbing circles on your wet cheeks. “Babe, you know they don’t like me and just want you for themselves.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s my fault that I ruined our date night,” You laugh dryly, a sheepish embarrassment flooding your face.

“No need to apologize,” Oikawa assures you. “You just need to be more careful about the company you keep.”

You nod your head in agreement, like you always do. His word is scripture after all.

“Also,” Oikawa begins as he rises from the couch and helps you to your feet. “The night is still young, and I know just the way we can fix it. Let me show you how much I care about you.”

He interlocks his fingers with yours and drags you to your bedroom. He doesn’t really remember much of what happens next— the blur of you both hurriedly stripping yourselves of your clothing, the feeling of your nails running up and down his back, the way you clamp down on him as you both reach your orgasms at the same time, and the warmth that he feels inside as he pulls your tired body close to his.

Nestling your face into his neck, you whisper before drifting off to sleep.

“I love you, Toto.”

He whispers it back and kisses the crown of your head. While closing his eyes, he thinks to himself about how happy you make him— how it almost makes him want to stop fucking around, take your relationship seriously, and spend the rest of his life with you.

Almost.

#toxic collab #🎲.writes #🎲.oneshots #🎲.5soh #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #oikawa haikyuu #oikawa x reader #haikyuu angst #oikawa angst #tw.toxic #tw.angst

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meowdarame · 3 years

Text

"ghost of you" ft sakusa kiyoomi

cw: angst/no comfort; alcohol usage

notes: this is my first addition to my 100 followers event, 5 seconds of haikyuu!! more works to come <3

The whiskey that Sakusa picked up on his way home burns as it makes its way down his throat.

He inspects the bottle, and after carefully reading the ingredients list, he tsks.

“Cheap shit. That’s what I get for buying this convenience store crap,” He mutters to himself. Pouring himself another glass, he sighs.

“But I guess this will have to do.”

It’s been a month since you left him— a month since the disastrous fight that destroyed the relationship that Kiyoomi worked so hard for, a month since you returned his engagement ring and gave him a final kiss as goodbye, a month since you walked out the door of your shared home wearing your favorite Led Zeppelin shirt.

On a normal night, you would have snuck up behind him, wrapped your arms around his neck, and while snuggled into his shoulder, told him “put the drink down and come with me to bed.” But tonight, Sakusa sits alone at the bar in his home parlour, the cold condensation from his glass stinging his fingertips.

A quick glance to his left and his eyes fall upon an old record player that you gifted him for his 23rd birthday.

“Okay, Omi! Open your eyes.”

As his eyelids flutter open, it takes a second for his vision to adjust to the soft golden-hued light. But once it refocuses, an antique machine sits before his eyes.

A turn-table with a pointed needle sits on top of a mahogany box; protruding from the back of the box is a marvelous brass horn with seraphs engraved in between each of the ridges. Inspecting the wooden box some more, he notices a tiny metal plaque on the bottom right corner of the record table, which reads “To my love, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Happy 23rd Birthday.”

“A record player?” He asks as he picks up the vinyl record that lays adjacent to the machine. Upon reading the title, he realizes that it’s some American love song from the 1950s that he’s never heard.

“Oh now, Omi! No need to hide your excitement!” You joke back, sarcasm dripping from your tone. You grab the record from his hands and quickly place it onto the turntable. The needle fits perfectly into the plastic grooves, and a harmonious melody fills every crevice of the parlour.

“Dance with me,” You extend your arm out to him, and he cocks a brow at you.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

You scoff at his assertion. “You don’t needa know how, Omi.” Grabbing his hand and pulling him close, your fingers interlace with his and he feels your other hand softly rest on his broad shoulder.

“Just keep your feet pressed against mine. I’ll guide you.”

Sakusa obliges and does as he’s told. Your foot pushes his to the left and your right feet follow suit; you take a step back and his movements mimic yours. After a couple minutes, he no longer needs your help, his feet being able to dance on their own.

Your hand on his shoulder starts to play with the little curls that bounce on the back of his head. He feels your face nuzzle into his warm chest, humming softly along with the deep masculine voice that emits from the record player.

“Do you like your gift, Omi?” You ask softly.

He looks down at you and presses a kiss to the top of your head, whispering, “How could I not, my love?”

The two of you bask in each other’s warmth for the next few songs, the world falling silent besides the tune of mellow piano notes and the pitter-pattering of your feet on the floor.

That was less than a year ago, yet the memory feels so distant.

Staring at the machine once more, he murmurs to himself.

“Fuck it.”

He slowly rises from the barstool, the old wood creaking against the marble floor as he pushes the seat back underneath the counter. He marches over to the record player, and after placing the needle onto the vinyl disk, a soft broken piano chord rings out from the machine’s intricate brass horn.

It’s the same song that you danced to a year ago, yet this time it sounds heavier, more sorrowful.

He places his arms in waltz position, pretending as though he were gently placing his large palm on your shoulder and wrapping his fingers delicately around your waist. But you’re not there-- instead, Sakusa’s hands grab at the empty air before him, a cold breeze tingling his skin and raising the hairs on his knuckles.

His feet awkwardly drag across the floor, trudging along to the music, and trying to match the 4/4 beat of the song. But no matter how hard he tries, his movements are clunky, falling out of sync with the rhythm.

A harrowing realization strikes him. Sakusa’s knees buckle and he falls to the floor. His sobs bounce off of the bare walls and echo throughout your now empty home.

His feet don’t dance like they did with you.

#🎲.5soh #sakusa haikyuu #sakusa x reader #haikyuu angst #sakusa angst #haikyuu oneshot #sakusa oneshot #🎲.oneshots #🎲.writes #tw.angst

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