Much Ado About Nothing Chapter 6 - Plug!eren X Reader - 18+!!!

His | 2 | Yandere Bakugou x Reader

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Story Masterlist

Summary:  You’re a petty villain, and your new villain-career is forced to an immediate halt when none other than Ground Zero captures you. He’s convinced that you’re in need of his help to change your tainted lifestyle, and you’re not going to tell him otherwise.

WARNINGS: ABUSE, INJURIES

Ground Zero’s grip on (Y/n)’s wrists twisted, shifting his hold on her and placing her back in the locked position she was previously, holding her arms together behind her with one hand. She felt Ground Zero’s weight shift as he reached for his belt once more. The clang of metal was behind her and immediately knew she was being detained. The gravel felt rough against her chin as she grimaced, looking forward at the dark alley her and the hero were alone in. She felt like freedom was just a few more paces away — maybe if she had been faster, or just had a quirk…!

Who was she kidding.

Ground Zero was not known for his mercy. He was not known for his compassion. He was not known for his gracious nature.

He was known for his ruthlessness. He was known for his hostility. He was known as the symbol of strength, and by God, did it show by just how bruising his grip was on her arms.

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not your baby

warnings/tags: minors DNI, f. reader, DUB-CON/NON-CON, abo verse, yandere!Oliver (more like he's unsettling but yk), omega!Oliver, omega!reader, obsessive behavior, forced intimacy, manipulation, drugging, heat manipulation, set in the EPL, mentions of hair being run through (brief), appearances from other bllk boys, implied previous isagi x reader but they're platonic at the time of the fic, I'm still finding my footing on Oliver's characterization sorry about him LMFAO, these tags are not exhaustive word count: 13.4k summary: We are assigned roles but those are not without caveats. As predators cannot exist without prey, Oliver is learning he cannot exist without you.

Yoichi calls you in the middle of the day. 

You’ve been staring at your code for the past two hours trying to figure out where it all went wrong so at first, his call is a welcome reprieve. Then he starts talking. 

“Rin broke my nose.” 

“On or off the field?”

“Off,” comes his disgruntled response. There’s a cacophony of noise in the background and you hear Yoichi hiss as someone presumably touches his nose. “Can you bring me one of my scent blockers?” 

You quickly glance at your code and decide to cut your losses and shut down your computer. If it hasn’t been figured out by now, it won’t be figured out for a while. “Yeah. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

You head over to his room and make a beeline for his bathroom. You rifle through his drawers until you find his scent blockers. He asked for one but you pocket the whole box. 

It takes you longer than twenty minutes to get to the stadium due to traffic but you don’t rush as you walk in through the back. He won’t be able to play regardless.

A staff member leads you to the locker room and after a quick discussion with the assistant coach, she waves you in. 

You make eye contact with Yoichi immediately, wincing at the dried blood on his lips and chin. You hold the box up wordlessly as you go to him, already pulling your sleeves over your hand to wipe at his face. 

“They didn’t want to clean you up?” you ask, scrunching your nose as your sleeve drags across his skin.

“Wouldn’t let them,” he says moodily. He’s trying not to glower at Rin who is making a halfhearted attempt at remorse by standing in the vicinity of Yoichi. Rin shuffles to the side awkwardly when you give him your full attention. His pupils are blown out and his fingers tremble with his annoyance. He’s clearly still pissed at Yoichi but your arrival has forced him to act like a respectable alpha. And with the way he’s cautiously eyeing you, he probably fears triggering an early heat with how intense his pre-rut is. 

The smell of it makes your stomach curdle. 

You keep yourself from rolling your eyes in front of him. The education in every country is so bad it would be laughable if it didn’t cause such disturbances in general society.

“You okay?” 

Rin’s surprised your question is aimed at him. “Yeah.”

“Rin’s love language is violence,” a deep voice teases, looping an arm around Rin’s shoulders. He tries to shake it off but the guy adds some weight to his hold and forces Rin to take it. His two toned eyes flick over to you, heavily-lidded with interest. It takes you a moment to connect the dots. 

Oliver Aiku. Arsenal’s captain along with the national team of Japan. He’s an enigma to you out of all of Yoichi’s teammates. 

Stupidly, all that crosses your mind upon seeing him is that he’s tall. 

You have known this. Centre-backs are known for their height and strength. And yet, you are still caught off guard. 

His smell is distinctly omega but his stature implies an alpha nature. He’s large and imposing, taking up more room than any omega you have ever met. He notices the tilt of your head. Tension briefly lines his shoulders but he forces a nonchalance to his stance. He brings his nose upwards and smells you. Even from this distance, you can see how his focus sharpens and his posture becomes more welcoming, a camaraderie solidifying between the two of you amongst all these alphas and betas.

If possible, his smile widens when he notices what you’ve given Yoichi. 

You grimace at the dried blood now speckling your shirt. “You must love Yoichi a lot then.” 

“Too much one could say,” Oliver says, earning an attempt at an elbow from Rin. 

“Did they fit or is your nose too swollen?” you ask, bending down to look at Yoichi’s nose. They set the break though it still trickles with some blood.

He shakes his head. “It’s too swollen,” he says, wincing as he hands you the bloodied scent blocker. 

Oliver intercepts you, tossing the half-used scent blocker to an open locker. It takes more of your focus than you will ever admit to not shy away from him. You know he’s an omega but you can’t shake off how his alpha-like appearance unnerves you. Surreptitiously, he wipes his fingers on Rin. “You came quick,” he says, looking down at you. Somehow, you get the impression you’ve let him down.

“I live to serve him,” you say seriously, pointing at Yoichi.

Yoichi stutters for a second and then groans. “Shut up,” he whines, rubbing his temples. “Did you drive here?” 

You twirl your keys around your finger. “Unfortunately.” 

“I’ll go with you. My head’s killing me.” He shoots a glare at Rin who raises his eyebrows at him.

“Did they check if you have a concussion already?” 

“Yoichi’s too hard-headed for a concussion,” Oliver says. But Yoichi will do a lot for game time and you don’t know if he let them check him probably so you can’t trust his words if Oliver didn’t oversee the checkup. You nudge Yoichi insistently. 

“They looked over him. He’s good to go. Except for the, you know, broken nose,” Oliver reassures you. You give him a brief dip of your chin before focusing back on Yoichi.  

“Are they going to give you the black mask?” 

An excited light enters Yoichi’s eyes. “I hope so. That’d be sick.” 

“Maybe you’ll play better and have the fans wish you always had a broken nose,” you muse, grabbing his jaw and moving his head side to side. It’s going to be a shame when he covers his face. 

“Think they’ll give me a nickname?” 

“Egoist ain’t enough for you?” Oliver says, hands on his hips. Flutters erupt in your stomach. He’s uncomfortably good looking, you realize. The sort where self-consciousness begins to take shape. You leave it be. After all, you’ll either see Oliver enough to get used of his face or you’ll see him so infrequently, the twinge in your gut will be far and between. 

-

It takes a few weeks for you to come to the conclusion that Oliver is kind of an asshole. 

He’s friendly enough, more so than most people if you look at him objectively. But still, he’s an asshole nonetheless. 

You think you’d like him more if he didn’t make your skin crawl. 

Oliver introduces you to the rest of the team and their friends as Yoichi is making his way towards you from the entrance of the coach’s house. Oliver recites your name with a lazy grin and warns them to treat you nicely. You wave shyly at the amount of eyes trained on you, ready to sit down when Oliver continues. 

“Though, imagine our surprise when Yo-chan,” you mouth the nickname, endeared, “Said he was moving in with a friend.” 

The almost explicit implication doesn’t match the lack of curiosity in Oliver’s expression. But you can feel how the rest of Yoichi’s teammates wait with a baited breath for the confirmation of what they suspected. 

You don’t bother to defend you or Yoichi. Their opinions are already set. 

“It’s always good to have a familiar face whenever you’re far from home.” Your smile is strained. 

“That is true,” he agrees. He elongates the last word as if he’ll keep going and your stomach sinks at the thought. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for why an alpha and omega live together without being a bonded pair. 

Yet, Oliver backs off immediately. (His interest only ran as far as he deemed necessary for his team to have.) He seems to have only asked for the sake of the rest of the team and their loved ones. You marvel at how easily he can control the atmosphere and settle any doubts they may have had towards Yoichi. It isn’t common to see an unpaired alpha and omega in such close quarters after all. 

“He’s nice, right?” Yoichi mutters in your ear, having finally made it to you. He’s too quiet for anyone other than you but Oliver shifts as if he can sense the compliment. His scent is affable and he sends a quick wink aimed in your direction. He’s got the type of charisma that has people drifting towards him without thought but a firmness that keeps others from coming too close. 

And yet, something in your gut itches. 

“I guess,” you say eventually. You look at Yoichi’s blue eyes and see the blind trust he holds towards his captain and you amend your statement. “He’s good for the team. A proper captain.”  

“Our final wall,” Yoichi says proudly. 

You don’t frown necessarily but it’s something close. “Is that his nickname?” 

“Yeah. I mean unofficially. The god snake is his other one.” 

Creativity is left to the midfielders it seems. “Start with that one. The final wall sounds stupid,” you advise. 

“You don’t think it sounds sick?” 

“He’s a defender so it’s kind of a given, no?” 

He considers this. “I guess. It’s still cool though. Especially considering he’s an—” Yoichi’s mouth shuts. 

You brush off the aborted comment immediately. “They usually play midfield,” you hum, regarding the nickname in a different light at the reminder. It’s hard to reconcile he isn’t an alpha given how imposing he is. You sound like a broken record in your own mind for having to be reminded of his secondary gender. That nickname has probably bolstered his image more than any other nickname could have in his position. “Fine. It is a cool nickname then.” Begrudgingly so. 

“See? Oliver is cool. He was so intense during that U-20 game.” 

“He played?” Yoichi’s made you watch the game a couple of times but most of the guys are a blur in your mind. “Did Sae involve him in any plays?” 

Yoichi cuts you an unimpressed look. “Sae wasn’t the only player there.” 

Sae was certainly the prettiest, however. 

“He was the only omega,” you point out and then correct yourself, “Or so I thought.” 

“I told you about Oliver!”

“Yeah but I didn’t know you meant him.” You jerk your thumb in Oliver’s general direction. “My bad.”

Yoichi stares at you and then laughs, shaking his head. “I think your nickname would’ve been ego breaker.” 

“That’s so lame.” 

He chuckles, steering you towards the snack table. “Sorry, I was late. Traffic got my ass.” 

“What did coach have to say about that?”

Yoichi winces. “I have to run twenty extra laps next practice.”

“He’s intense.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” 

The party goes on and Yoichi leads you around. It’s clear to see he’s found a place in this team already. Joy radiates off of him as he introduces you to more of his teammates and coaching staff. You’re met with warm welcomes despite the somewhat frosty beginning. It takes a few teammates for you to find your footing and be able to joke around with Yoichi properly. After some time, he’s whisked away. There’s an apologetic pat on your back before you’re left to your own devices. With your skin prickling with self-consciousness, you sit on the couch and try not to look as out of place as you are. You’re replying to a text when you feel the couch dip beside you. A familiar scent tickles your nose. 

“Yoichi abandoned you?” Oliver doesn’t give you a chance to respond before saying, “First, he’s late. And now he’s leaving you to the wolves.”  He whistles. “That’s two strikes.” 

Your tongue presses against the back of your teeth. Your irritation sparks but you douse it. He’s only making conversation, that’s all. “Three.” You hold up said amount of fingers. “He forgot to bring the wine.” 

“Coach isn’t impressed by stuff like that,” he says and then grimaces. “Believe me. Some of the kids have tried.” 

He’s not that much older than the rest of the squad but you bite back your smile. You incline your head in agreement. “But his wife would appreciate it.”

“Schmoozer, eh?” 

“What can I say? I love to see beautiful women smile.” 

That gets a proper laugh out of him. “Yeah, alright.” 

Silence lapses between you two yet you don’t try to break it. You’d rather Oliver find someone else to talk to especially if this is for pity.

“You enjoying the party?” He shifts so the top half of his body is facing you. Something gleams in his eyes. “Did Yoichi send you that video? The one of him with the bicycle kick?” 

“Oh yeah! He did. Did he show you it yet?” 

Oliver shakes his head, earnestly looking at you. Immediately you start scrolling through your messages with Yoichi. He’s sent you countless soccer videos alongside mini vlogs of his training so it takes you longer to search for the particular one Oliver is asking about. He sits closer to you, thighs spread enough to encroach onto your space. His shoulder leans into you as he angles his head to look at your phone.

“Hm? Is that it?” he asks, pointing at the video on screen. A video that is clearly not the one of Yoichi he was asking about. 

You’re overly conscious of the body heat that is radiating off of him. He’s so close you don’t want to move a muscle in fear of touching him more. 

“Give me a second,” you say, trying to lean away in a way that doesn’t look obvious. But he follows you further into your space, going as far as to lean his head down close enough to almost rest his chin on your shoulder. 

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt.” You look up to see a woman shifting on her feet. She sniffs the air delicately, a pleased little smile dimpling her cheek. You go a little slack jawed at her beauty. But your interest doesn’t matter as her eyes are not on you. 

You inhale softly. Beta. 

Risking a peek at Oliver, you see him smile an easy smile at her. There’s a certain amount of unspoken charm to him now, exceeding his normal amount. His posture shifts and you realize this is what Oliver looks like when he knows someone’s interested in him. His vested interest hasn’t been triggered yet but he knows how to play the game. And you suppose from your limited knowledge of him, this is the part he enjoys the most.

You don’t want to stick around for it. You don’t bother with a proper goodbye, not with the way she hesitates to continue talking to Oliver with you still there. 

Yoichi is still with Hiori so you make an escape to the very nice patio you could never afford in this lifetime. Surprisingly, there is no one else out here. 

Relief sags your shoulders. The air is balmy and weighted as if to remind you of how hard this all really is. Everything about London is so different you feel like a fish out of water. It’s been a few weeks but you are no closer to adapting to this environment than you were when you first step foot in this city. Yoichi has more friends than you realized within the English league. What are you even doing here? 

“Fuck,” you mutter. You should’ve told Yoichi you’d come until he adjusted to London rather than move in with him. 

You turn to see if Oliver’s made any progress with that beta. He’s smiling at her indulgently, head tilted as if he’s listening intently. But his eyes keep sliding towards your direction and his placid smile twitches each time he does so.

You bite on your cheek. He’s such a strange man. It’s a wonder Yoichi has him so figured out because you cannot get a grasp on him. And you keep failing whatever tests he’s concocted in his mind and it’s driving you up a wall calculating your words the way you are.

You scroll through your phone for a lack of something better to do, praying Yoichi puts you out of your misery and tells you he’s ready to go home. 

“Oh.”

Flinching so hard you nearly toss your phone onto the ground, you whip around at the voice. It’s Rin. 

He’s schooled his face into something neutral. He shuffles backwards and then decides you don’t own the patio and comes closer. Rin doesn’t stand by you but he lingers around you politely. It’s so reminiscent to how he acted when he broke Yoichi’s all those weeks ago you have to laugh. 

Your throaty laugh startles him enough to narrow his eyes suspiciously at you. “I don’t bite,” you say. 

He weighs the choices you’ve put into his hands and then faces you. “I know.” 

“Hi Rin,” you say, enunciating the two syllables expectantly. 

He repeats after you. “How are you?” His arms are crossed over his chest. The corner of your mouth twitches. Oh, it’s such a burden for him to make small talk. 

“I’m a little stressed out but you know.” By the blank look that enters his eyes, he doesn’t. Though, while it may be mean to think, Rin tends to have an empty look on his face whenever soccer isn’t involved. “How are you?”

“Fine.” 

Silence fills the space between you two and after a while, Rin begins to face forward but you won’t let him off that easy. 

“So you’re on loan?” you prompt, earning back Rin’s attention. 

He nods. His lips thin as if he’s pouting but trying to hide it. “Sae figured I’d have an easier time grasping this system first and then playing for Real Madrid and coach agreed.” He tips his head upwards so he’s looking at the dark night sky. “And here I am.” 

“Has it been good so far?” 

The loan system is unfamiliar despite Yoichi explaining it to you every time you ask. You can’t wrap your head around playing somewhere for a season and then coming back to your original team. Is there no fear of swapping hidden tactics? Or leaking locker room exclusive secrets? Or worse yet, falling in love with a team you know you are destined to be at for only a short amount of time? 

“I like here. Not more than I like it at Real Madrid but it’s fine,” he says.

“Is it for the full season or…?”

He drops his arms from their crossed state. A brief stint of regret makes his lips purse as he says, “Full season. Seemed stupid to go for only a couple months.” 

If Rin hates it here, these next seven months will be hell. But if he falls in love with Arsenal, the end of the season will be brutal. You don’t think you could handle the uncertainty. 

“That’s tough.” 

“If it’s what it’ll take to be the best, I don’t care.” 

You don’t know how Yoichi made it out of Blue Lock with enough of his sanity intact to masquerade as a functioning human being if this type of person is who he was surrounded with for months on end. You don’t doubt Ron’s love for soccer but Yoichi’s particular brand of intensity has you wondering if Rin will be devoured in a different way this time around. 

So you pivot. “Your rut go okay?”

From Yoichi you know Rin had to go on a stronger suppressant. The stresses of moving teams and subsequently countries shifted his hormones enough to make him more susceptible to his pre-rut. Yoichi immediately started taking a higher dosage to mitigate a similar reaction and he’s been grumpy as a side effect. Rin is grumpy as his default so you can’t tell if anything has changed for him. 

Rin is quiet for long enough you begin to wonder if you overstepped. Then he says, “It was fine. Standard.” 

“I hope Yoichi’s is standard,” you mutter under your breath. You’re forcing him to do his own laundry otherwise. 

“You take care of Yoichi during his?” Rin’s curiosity is mild but you’ve captured his full attention. 

This must be payback for your earlier question. “Not anymore. It’s easier if we don’t blur those lines.” You leave it at that. 

But it piques Rin’s interest further. Unconsciously, he leans towards you. “So you go to another alpha during your heat then?” 

That makes your eyebrows raise. There’s nothing suggestive other than his wording but you take advantage nonetheless. 

“Why? You offering?” you tease, laughing when Rin tenses up. 

“I wouldn’t—shut up,” he snaps, turning away from you. But you don’t miss the way his ears redden with his newly cut hair giving way to the sight. You laugh harder. He set himself up.

“Relax, you baby. I don’t even like alphas,” you say. 

“You don’t?” He doesn’t mean to sound like he’s accusing you of lying but distrust lies heavily between those two words. 

It curbs your good mood. “Would you?” 

“But biologically—” 

“Technology’s advanced these days,” you cut in sharply. He’s young but not so young to be this ignorant. “Just because something is idealized doesn’t mean it’s the only correct way to deal with a heat.” 

A charged quiet lies between you two. And then, “You’re right. I didn’t mean it that way but I guess there’s no other way it could be meant if I say it like that.” 

You loose a breath. “It’s fine.” And then you peek at him. An admonished Rin is a little too irresistible even for you. “But if you are offering…”

He turns back around with a glare. “Don’t.” 

You hold your hands up, a grin tugging at your mouth. “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind,” you sing, faking a step back when Rin’s glare intensifies. 

“Wouldn’t mind what?” 

You both twist at the familiar voice. Oliver ducks his head underneath the door frame as he steps onto the patio. He’s got an impersonal smile you don’t think he realizes you can pick up on spread across his mouth. 

“Rin as my heat partner.” “Nothing.” 

If looks could kill, Rin would have set you on fire right about now. 

“Okay, I’ll stop.” You yield. No wonder Sae can’t stop pushing Rin’s buttons. If he looks this cute with just a little poking, you think you’d do the same. 

You go to share a teasing look with Oliver but to your surprise, he looks thrown off. He recovers quickly, that same impersonal smile pulling at the corners of his lips again, and he says, “Yo-chan’s looking for you, Rin.” 

Oliver notices your slight pout and smirks a bit. “Guess you’re stuck here then.” 

After a moment of staring, Rin nods at you guys before heading back into the house. He looks back, a small wrinkles between his brows before he shakes it off and disappears into the living room. You’ll give Yoichi some more time before you head out. You don’t think you can last much longer trying to scramble for conversation topics.

“Rin would be an awful heat partner,” Oliver says suddenly. “Selfish.” 

The sudden comment forces you to let out a flabbergasted laugh. “And you aren’t?” Your eyes widen at the slip of tongue. That is not at all what you would have said if you actually too more than a second to think. “Sor-”

“I’m not,” he says after a moment. He’s not offended so his tone is very matter-of-fact. “I could show you if you want.” 

His voice is lined with just the right amount of flirtatious to not make you feel stupid if you do say yes. But you can’t take a guy like Oliver seriously. His reputation precedes him and you’d rather go with what you’ve heard around than what you’ve heard from his friends when it comes to this aspect of his life. Not that Yoichi spends an incredible amount of time explaining those specific details but Yoichi is privy to an Oliver most do not get to know, you included thus far. 

“Pass.”

“Oh come on, baby. I could show you a good time,” he says almost reflexively. The flirtatious note in his voice gives way to joking which you appreciate much more. 

Though, the endearment tickles the wrong part of your brain. And your mistake is you don’t nip it in the bud immediately. He notices the way your shoulders raise up to your ears a bit at the pet name. And his smile broadens. 

“Not your baby,” you reprimand. “What did Yoichi need Rin for anyway?” 

Oliver blinks and then grins conspiratorially. “He didn’t. You just looked like you were giving Rin a hard time.” At your disbelieving raised eyebrows, he pats his chest. “I have a bleeding heart.” 

He makes you giggle. It’s awful. And what he said is not even particularly funny. You just like the idea of Oliver coming to save Rin because you know Rin would rather eat his own foot than have someone swoop in to help him out. 

“Captain my captain,” you recite mockingly, saluting him with two fingers. “It’s cute they all call you that.” 

Oliver sucks in his cheek. “You think so?” 

The respect Oliver has earned from his team is admirable considering how young he and the squad are. The older members defer to him as well without resentment, content to shuffle the responsibility over to him. “Yeah.” 

He brings his hands up to rest on the back of his head. He’s so large his elbows dip into your space but only slightly so you don’t back away. The sleeve of his shirt tightens underneath the swell of muscle, seams straining. You quickly divert your attention to his face. Luckily, he’s focused on the sky, lip tucked underneath his teeth. He makes a sound of agreement but it lacks any substance. 

“You don’t think so?” You can’t help to ask. 

“No, it is nice,” he agrees, though he opts to not address the choice of word you used to describe it. His voices deepens into something wistful. “You just reminded me of something.” 

You don’t ask for clarification and he doesn’t offer it. You don’t like him anymore than you did at the beginning of the night but you think you are seeing what it is Yoichi is talking about when it comes to Oliver.  

-

Weeks pass and you see Oliver more often than you think you should. 

You slip out of your shoes, nose wrinkling at the vaguely familiar scent floating from the living room. Peeking your head around the corner, you see a mop of dark hair and then you see the body it’s connected to. 

Oliver sits languidly on your couch with his shirt half up his body. You eye the curves of his stomach and waist getting a grip on yourself and put your shoes in their proper place. 

“Hey Oliver,” you say once you step into the living room. 

He doesn’t startle, clearly having smelled you as soon as you walked in, and gives you an indulgent smile. His clean scent wraps around you in some semblance of comfort but it only serves to make your skin crawl at the casual intimacy he’s thrust upon you. But you work to control your own reaction, careful to keep your own scent from becoming bitter through sheer will alone. “Hope it’s cool Yoichi let me have the code,” he says.

Your eye just about twitches. Omegas are not plentiful so it makes sense why Yoichi assumes you would be okay with a fellow one flitting in and out of your home if he feels comfortable enough with Oliver. But the lack of heads up irks you. You also understand he feels a sort of kinship to Oliver, born from his Blue Lock game against him all those years ago, and assumes you won’t make a fuss as you aren’t ought to do. 

Your tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, worrying the skin. Yoichi would be right to think that. You trust his instincts, but you trust your gut as well. And you don’t trust Oliver for some inexplicable reason. 

“I mean, you have it now, so,” you shrug, neither an agreement or accusation. 

He watches you and then he nods good-naturedly. “He said he’s gonna be late for dinner. Should we order something?” 

Your teeth bite down harder on your skin. So he won’t be leaving any time soon. Fantastic. 

“There’s a pho place down the road if you’re fine with that?” you offer hesitantly, hoping it’s a food he hates. 

His smile widens enough to show his top row of teeth. “Sounds good. Let me know the name and I’ll order. My treat,” he adds unnecessarily.

It takes half an hour for the order to come. Oliver spends it trying to sneakily get you to join him on the couch to watch some reality show he’s been into lately. He’s frustrated with your denials by the time you have the bag in your hand. You cut him some slack and bring the food to the living room. Only then do you take a seat on the couch at a casual distance from him, curling up your legs and setting your pho on your lap. 

“You find a heat center yet?” Oliver asks, sucking up some noodles. 

You tap the container with your nails and then shake your head. Heat centers aren’t your preference and you say as such. Unlike Rin, he’s a fellow omega so you feel less guarded telling him this not-quite taboo. 

He looks a little surprised. “You handle them yourself?” 

Shrugging, you say, “Mine are pretty mild so there’s no need. If it gets really bad, Yoichi helps out but,” and you trail off, embarrassed you shared so much so without thinking. Aiming to shift the topic, you ask, “Do you usually use heat center?” 

He chuckles and steals a piece of beef out of your bowl. Through a swallow, he says, “Nah, not really. We have mandated heats during the season so there’s no need. Yoichi said yours were pretty irregular so I was just wondering.” 

You hide your grimace behind a spoonful of broth. Leave it to Yoichi to leave your personal business on the table. “Is it tough having your heats regulated like that?” 

Oliver chews thoughtfully. From Yoichi you know that alphas can keep playing well into pre-rut. The idea is that the quickness to aggression stemming from the hormonal imbalance will aid in their game. The safety concerns do not matter as long as the league gets an explosive game out of the thinning patience of their alpha players and so certain precautions have to be exerted by the players rather than be regulated by the league. Yoichi tends to play with a mild scent blocker even at the cost of it affecting some of his playing style. One three-match ban was enough to keep him corralled. 

There are so few known omegas in all of soccer, and especially in the English league, that you don’t think there are any leniencies when it comes to heats. A low grade preheat forced your old company to send you home in fear of inciting the alphas so you can’t imagine the league handles heats any better. 

“It’s necessary,” he says finally, shrugging. “I guess I’ll find out if it was a bad call in a couple years.” 

In professions like his, mandatory heats are a necessity though there isn’t much research to support they aren’t harmful. Summer break is when they’re allowed off whatever medications their medical team has deemed needed but those pitiful thirteen weeks aren’t enough to regulate their hormones. 

You’d feel worse for him if he wasn’t getting paid millions to kick a ball around a field. 

“That sucks,” you say but not without empathy.

“Could be worse. They could’ve banned us outright.”

It was only in the last twenty years omegas were publicized in the athletic world. Oliver is one of few who hasn’t hidden their secondary gender behind one more favorable. 

“Could be better,” you sigh, pushing your bowl towards Oliver. You hate that he has to take his wins where he can scavenge them. “I guess having a schedule for them can be kinda nice,” you admit begrudgingly. Only in recent years have your heats stabilized enough to be expected at a similar time every two months. 

“It makes life easier,” he agrees. Oliver abandons his empty bowl for yours. You will never have to worry about leftovers so long as you remain surrounded by professional soccer players. 

“Mine used to be so irregular and so intense. It’s insane they let alphas play almost to their rut if those ruts are anything like what my heats used to be,” you say, leaning back on the couch. The league would rather be demolished than lose money in the name of player safety. You mentally shake your head. Those sick bastards. 

Oliver chews on his food. He swallows and then says casually, “If you ever need a partner, just let me know.” 

You’re so stunned you can’t speak. There’s a dry patch where your voice should be. He goes on, shifting his position to face you. “Doesn’t matter when. Promise.” 

When he moves closer, the room feels terribly small as if dwarfed by this abrupt unsettling intimacy. He only needs to put his hand on the other side of your waist to trap you and it twitches as if predicting your train of thought. You wish he wouldn’t reach out his hand like that.

The front door bangs against the wall. You immediately jump off of the couch, uncaring of the bean sprouts you spill. Oliver’s hand drops atop of the blanket. 

“You won’t believe what coach had me doing,” Yoichi whines, hand braced on the wall as he unties his shoes. 

“What did he do?”

Yoichi launches into his story, scarfing down the pho in between complaints while you listen intently. His eyes bore into the side of your head when Yoichi’s attention drifts to the TV as he talks. 

You don’t speak to Oliver for the rest of the night.

-

“Oliver comes over a lot,” you say unprompted. 

Yoichi’s deciding between shin guards so it takes him a second to process what you said. He continues weighing each shin guard in his hand but glances at you, mouth turning up at the corner sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“You know, just because we’re omegas, doesn’t mean we’re gonna get along,” you say to Yoichi with a little more sharpness than is warranted. You close your eyes, wishing you could better keep yourself from taking your frayed nerves out on him.   

His gaze drops to the ground and he nods. “I know,” he says, stamping down on his defensiveness. “I just thought it’d be nice if you had another omega around. There’s not many in the league and you don’t know anyone here.” He scuffs at the ground with his cleats. “I don’t want you to be lonely.” 

Sticky affection clogs your throat for a moment. “I’m not lonely,” you grumble. But Yoichi sees right through you and reaches out to squeeze your hand. “I have you,” you insist. 

“You do. But you should also have someone you can rely on that understands what I don’t.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “Oliver’s the one who told me to put that essential oil in your bath to help with your,” he motions towards your lower belly, “You know.” Yoichi’s been around the block enough to not be embarrassed but the reminder of how he ended up helping you out makes the both of you look to the side. 

Whatever it was Oliver told Yoichi to mix into your bath did help tremendously even if it made you lightheaded with desire. You should thank him next time. “You’re right, I’m just being annoying.” Then you point at him. “He should start paying rent since he’s here all the time.” 

“You don’t pay rent.”

“Do I make millions for playing with balls?” you point out, sticking out your tongue. 

“You know I’m too dumb to do anything but kick a ball around,” he says, tucking his shinguard into his socks. 

You mutter, “I’ve met some of your teammates. You are the last one I’d be worried about if you had a different career, believe me.” 

He grins at you. “Good thing they’re pretty too, huh?” 

“Beauty, brains, and brawn cannot all exist at once. You gotta pick two.” 

“And your diagnosis for Rin?” 

Your answer is instant. “Beauty.”

“Hiori?” 

“Beauty and brains.” 

“Oliver?” he teases. 

“I plead the fifth.” 

“That’s such a cop out.” 

-

It’s the third time Yoichi’s late from work. 

Your nose stings from the cold air. Last time, Hiori kept you company while you waited. Out of Yoichi’s teammates so far, Hiori has been the one you’ve taken an instant liking to. You’re hoping he’s stayed after again but with your luck, you should expect the worse of two evils. 

Oliver tucks his phone into his pocket once he makes eye contact and begins to jog over to you. You quicken your pace to meet him in the middle, a question on the tip of your tongue he answers within the second you’re in earshot. 

“Coach is talking to Yo-chan.” 

“Ah,” you say, slowing to a stop in front of him. “I’ll wait for him then.” 

“I’ll take you home. We can get dinner while we’re at it,” Oliver says easily. 

You look towards the stadium doors, a refusal on your lips when Oliver gets one hand on your shoulder and one on the small of your back and spins you around. “It’s going to take a while and he said to tell you to not wait up.” 

The obscenely casual touch sends goosebumps down your arms. The sleeves of your shirt scratch against the sensitized skin and you shy away from Oliver. He pauses when he notices you curl into yourself but he doesn’t take his hands off of you right away. His palm slides off of you slowly and then he brings his gloves to his teeth, pulling them off by the finger. He bends down until he’s eye level with you. He peers at your face with a strange look. “Your eyes are red.” He points at them and then lays his hand flat against your forehead. “And you’re warm,” he says to himself. 

“Am I?” you ask, bewildered. Your cheeks felt a little flushed earlier but you figured it was because you put too many layers on. You haven’t quite figured out how to manage the London weather yet. 

Then he leans towards your neck, sniffing so close to you the tip of his nose caresses your pulse. Your heart jumps at the barely there contact but Oliver is already straightening up before you can scold him. 

“I thought your heat wasn’t till the end of the month?” 

“Huh?”

He sniffs the air again, face scrunching up. “You smell like preheat. It’s really faint but,” he says, confused, “Isn’t it too early?” 

“Why do you know when my heat is supposed to be?” you ask suspiciously. You make yourself scarce whenever your heat approaches seeing as it can vary on the exact day. Some months, you even miss your supposed scheduled time by a week or two. Yoichi is one of a handful of people you allow around you when you’re more than suspecting of it coming up. A misplaced alpha can send you from a manageable state to something unbearable in a split second. 

“Yoichi,” he says obviously. “He told me to keep an eye on you at the end of every month just in case.” 

Your puckered mouth softens. While invasive and inconsiderate of your comfort, Yoichi is well-intentioned. 

“I don’t feel anything,” you say, puzzled. Usually, there would be some discomfort between your legs and a noticeable ache in your lower back. But you feel remarkably fine if only a bit warmer than normal now that he’s mentioned it. “It’s probably something else.”

“No, it’s not,” Oliver says assuredly. His tone is final. “I can smell it.”

“Yeah, but you could also be smelling one that’s a week or two away.” You’re almost certain you are the only other omega Oliver interacts with on a regular basis so it’s not surprise he’s especially attuned to you. Though, you should give Oliver more credit for picking up on the slight shift of your scent given omegas are sensitive towards any minute changes in another omega. The confirmation of it is alarming however. Perhaps Oliver staying over so often and surrounding himself with your scent has signaled something to him. 

He gives you a disbelieving frown. “If you say so. I think I have some stuff that helps keep it at bay.” He adjusts his duffel bag to pick through the pockets. Within moments, he produces a small pill bottle. He shakes it at you. “This will lessen the symptoms.” Digging through another pocket, he sucks at his teeth when he finds it empty. “I have one that delays it but I forgot it at home.” 

Having taken the orange pill bottle from him, you roll it around in your hand. The pills are small, white, and harmless looking. Curiously, the label is blacked out. The cap is marked off with a green stripe but there is nothing to indicate what he’s given you is what he says it is. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” 

Oliver freezes at the accusation. Genuine insult creases his mouth into a line. “What?”

You shove the bottle back into his duffel bag. A laugh catches in the back of your throat at his bafflement. You’re the one who’s baffled. “I’m not gonna take some random pills. You don’t even have these labeled.” 

“Why the fuck would I lie to you?” He’s at a loss, glancing from you to the pocket you slipped the bottle back into. “What the fuck? These are my travel pills. We have to have them unlabeled in case I lose them.” Your suspicion doesn’t lessen so he relents. “Fine. Come over and I’ll show you what they are so you can look them up.” 

“‘Preciate it but I’ll pass.” 

You think he would be less shocked if you outright slapped him than he is at your adamant refusal. His jaw is ajar. “Dude, I wouldn’t—we’re both omegas. Why would I—” Oliver stalls, unable to finish a thought.

“I’m not saying you are trying to do anything. Besides, those probably won’t work on me like they’re supposed to.” 

“But you’re not not saying that. You’re implying it.”

Anything that will come out of your mouth will make the situation worse so you stay silent. And it’s silence that follows you home as you drive back alone. 

-

You’re sidelined for six days by an unexpected heat. It’s one that knocks you on your ass. Yoichi is concerned enough to actually offer taking off from training for a day or two to help you out. You shoot him down instantly. His position in the starting eleven is still up in the air and like hell you’ll let your heat keep him from securing his spot.

But then it happens again. Instead of your usual two month break between heats, you find yourself in the same position a mere four weeks later. Rather than you’re normal four days, your heat has now lengthened to last the full week. The effect on your body is immediate. It takes you a while to recover from the unforeseen shift in your heat cycle. 

Yoichi puts a hand on your forehead worriedly. You sigh as coolness emanates from his palm. “You’ve been getting sick more often since we moved here,” he says, frowning. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you press your forehead a little more insistently to his hand. He lets out an amused puff of air and starts running his hand through your hair, scratching at your scalp. “My hormones have been so sensitive lately,” you say sleepily. “They’re like a live wire.”

His hand pauses. “Do you think it’s because,” and he swallows thickly, “There are not a lot of omegas here?” 

You open your eyes to level him with a scathing look. “I have friends outside of you, you know.” You wrangled your anxiety into something manageable and found some omega friends to commiserate with when life in London got too much. They were soothing company but did nothing to worsen nor alleviate your fluctuating hormones so you suspect the fault must lie with you. “It’s gotta be something else. Stress probably.” You heave out a weighted breath. 

Yoichi clicks his tongue. “I don’t know,” he trails off, “You weren’t like this when we were in Germany.” You hear his unspoken worry. You had even less of a support system there.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say dismissively. “I’ll probably be back to normal in a couple months. Remember how long it took me to be normal after I got off of birth control?” 

Yoichi makes a face at the reminder. “Shit, yeah, that was awful.” 

“I’ll be fineeee. No need to worry your pretty little head.” 

He goes back to scratching your scalp. “Look, I don’t want to leave you alone, especially since I’ll be having to fly back and forth for a while. Oliver’s injured so he’s out for a couple weeks. I can ask him to check up on you.” 

Your answer is a resounding, “No.”

He frowns. “I thought you guys got along.”

You have skirted around telling him how pissed off Oliver has been since you last saw him.You aren’t quite ready to admit you did more than wound his pride, especially to Yoichi. He won’t approve of your scathing distrust for his captain given how unwarranted it seems to an outsider. “Doesn’t mean I want him taking care of me.” 

He kisses his teeth. “Seriously? He’s probably better company than I am for this sort of thing.” 

As much as his insistence that somehow your cure would be another omega irks you, you don’t want to fight. “Whatever. He’s injured anyway, you should let him rest. I’ll be okay.” 

Yoichi eventually leaves to catch a flight after almost calling in to take a day off despite it being impossible for him to do so with his schedule. He nearly misses it with how long he lingers. He tucks you into his bed and makes you promise to at least text him every hour with an update. At your bleary stare, he sighs and mutters, “Forget it. I’m calling someone.” But you’re asleep before his words enter your ears. 

Hours later, or so you assume, you wake up. It’s warmer now but the heat is external rather than internal. It’s a comfortable warmth that makes you want to sink into it further and so you do with a happy little sigh. 

“Comfortable?” 

Your eyes pop open. Yoichi’s blanket is up to your nose so it is his scent that filters through but you know that voice. Peeking over your shoulder, Oliver lays beside you. His head is held up by his hand with an amused smile. The sight of him muddles your already lagging brain so you ask, “Where’s Yoichi?” 

Oliver’s smile dims. But he recovers before you can ask him what’s wrong. “He had to go to Spain. So you’ll have to make do with me,” he cajoles. 

“Oh.” Right. He almost missed his flight before you fell asleep. “Did he make it already?”

His voice is flat as he answers, “Yeah. A couple hours ago.” 

“Ugh, and he called you right after?” you whine with a scratchy throat. Yoichi didn’t even give you a chance to prove yourself. 

Oliver continues to run his fingers up and down your back. You enjoy the soothing feel of his skin against yours before reality sinks in. “Why are you in bed with me?” you ask, scooting away from him. This is the type of strange behavior you can’t explain away with any rational though nor use his personality as an excuse for. Who the fuck did Yoichi entrust you to? 

“You’ve been getting a lot of preheat symptoms lately,” Oliver says, ignoring you. He wipes away the sweat on your hairline. You tug your blanket closer to your chin, flipping over so you’re facing the wall instead. He laughs at your attempt to ignore him and instead, wraps himself around you. His legs are longer than yours and he throws one of them over you, pulling you to his chest and tightening said leg over your hip. 

You want to blame him for why your heats have suddenly become irregular but you know you will sound ridiculous. This stuff didn’t happen before Oliver started haunting your home. 

The caramel notes to his scent deepens as he buries his nose behind your ear. The comfort of another person is too strong for you to yell at him or bite at the hand that’s slowly inching to your waist. The latent buzz in your head slows to something manageable.

“All bite and no bark,” he murmurs affectionately. 

“Shut up. Get out of my bed.” 

“Isn’t this Yoichi’s bed?”

“Su cama es mi cama.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he says, chuckling. 

“What’s his is mine.” 

“Mm, still not right.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?” You turn around abruptly to face him. Shooing at him, you gesture towards the door. “Go be helpful and clean the living room.” 

He doesn’t move to get off the bed. Instead, he pulls you closer with his leg. “Want me to wear a maid costume while I do it, baby?” 

“‘M not your baby,” you snap. 

“You’re mine to take care of so,” he shrugs. 

You squint at him. “You’re supposed to be injured. You need to take care of yourself first.” 

He holds his hands up. “Doctor’s orders were to rest. So we should both go back to sleep.” 

“You can sleep. I need to eat something.” Untangling yourself from the blanket and from Oliver’s hold, you get up. The world tilts and the edges of your vision blacken but you quickly steady yourself before Oliver can try and do something uncouth like carry you out of the room. He groans but gets out of bed as well. 

“Yoichi ordered soup. It’s still in the kitchen.” He swings his head to look out your door and then waves his hand at you. “Get back into bed. I’ll bring it.”

You don’t need much convincing to crawl under the blanket. He laughs at your quick acquiescence, scratching at his stomach as he walks over to the kitchen. It doesn’t take long for him to come back. Multiple bowls are balanced on his arms along with a towel. He places the soup containers on your desk and sets one of your mixing bowls on top of your nightstand. Water sloshes dangerously close to the edge but he manages not to spill any. At your confusion, he explains, “A cold towel usually helps me out.” 

It’s surprisingly thoughtful. “Thanks.” You dip the cloth into the icy water. A shiver runs through you as you place the wet cloth over the back of your neck. 

He nods and then picks up one of the books cast aside on your table. It’s a fantasy novel you haven’t gotten around. He taps its spine to the edge of your dresser, kissing his teeth. “You hide your raunchier books or something?” He surveys your bookshelf, analyzing each of the titles with a quick eye. 

You lean back on your hands. “No. They’re on my phone.”

“Don’t want anyone knowing what you’re reading?” 

You shake your head. “More that it’s easier to read with one hand if it’s on your phone.”

It doesn’t compute until it does. Before he can respond, you make grabby hands at him. “Can you pass me the soup?” 

You take the container from him. You wait for him to settle on the bed before balancing the bowl on his thigh. The warmth of the soup on your skin along with the slowly warming towel on your neck is bordering on overstimulation so you make it Oliver’s burden to bear. 

“Want me to feed you or something?”

The way you consider it makes Oliver laugh. “You’re spoiled, huh?” 

You scratch at your cheek, feeling a little sheepish. “A little bit. I’m used to being babied rather than doing the babying.”

“You baby Yoichi.” His voice pitches strangely.  

You take off the wet cloth. He doesn’t have enough time to smooth out his frown. “You jealous?” you joke. 

He takes the cloth from you and soaks it once more. With a hum, he wrings it out and places it back over your neck. The chilled water is less intense against your cooled skin but you flinch nevertheless. Flipping his hand over, he rests it on your skin. “If you took those pills I gave you, you wouldn’t be dealing with this. You keep getting sick because your heat’s unregulated,” he says pointedly. 

“Aren’t those tailor made with you in mind?” you grumble. You weren’t expecting him to bring it up until after your heat passed. 

“Not really. I have to be able to give them to another omega player in case something happens. So it’s specific but not that specific.” 

The guilt that washes over you scalds you. “I didn’t handle that night well.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

It takes you a second to string together your words but Oliver waits patiently for you to find them. He’s unreadable but not unreachable. You swirl your spoon in the broth, watching as a whirlpool forms. “The first thing my mom taught me was to never trust anything anyone gives me concerning my heat unless it was from her or a doctor I knew. So I’m extremely distrustful to a fault. Like…it’s to my detriment.” Not that anything excuses you ripping Oliver’s head off for trying to help another omega. “Doesn’t mean how I chose to react is okay. I shouldn’t have ripped into you like that. I’m sorry.” 

He lets you sweat for a full minute before nodding. “Okay.”

“We’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” The words are soft, at odds with the almost violent intensity of his lidded eyes. Then he smiles, erasing what you think you saw so quickly you reassure yourself your heat addled brain is filling in spaces that do not exist. “Omegas gotta stick together, right?” 

-

This is the first time you’ve visited Oliver’s apartment. 

With the unusual resurgence of your heat cycle, you broke down and asked Oliver for some medical intervention. Yoichi tore into you when you finally admitted what you said to Oliver, appalled you could even think he would try to pull one over on you. His disappointment didn’t last long but remembering the sheer disbelief on his face sends shame sluicing through your veins. Which is why you are in front of Oliver’s door as if by taking the medication you so vehemently refused will absolve you of all sin. 

It’s bad timing on your part seeing as Oliver is on the cusp of his preheat but he insisted on you getting some of his extra strength medications to tide you over until you can get an appointment with a heat doctor. 

He opens the door. His face is flushed and there’s a pretty sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s without a shirt, a considerable amount of bare skin on display. You can’t help how your eyes immediately zero in on the outline of his half hard cock confined within his sweatpants but somehow you manage to flick your eyes back to his face in record time. His scent isn’t potent yet but it’s stronger than you’re used to. Saliva pools in your mouth as his scent works its way through your system. Something fierce begins to ache in your gums. 

He ushers you inside and you slip off your shoes. You don’t have any time to look around before Oliver is crowding into your space. 

“Can I borrow something of yours?” he asks quietly. 

That question alone is enough to lift you out of whatever haze Oliver’s preheat has put you under. A refusal is on the tip of your tongue until you give his question some more thought. There aren’t many omegas in the league and you’re sure Oliver isn’t close to any of them given how he spends the majority of his time with his omega-less team. It’s natural he’d want something of yours. The relief his presence brought you still lingers so you concede. 

Peeking over his shoulder, you see his laundry strewn on the couch. Assuming they’re clean, you nod your head towards them. “Swap with me.”  

His eyes brighten and he nods. He goes to grab one of the shirts, allowing you to properly step into his home. With a cursory glance, you note that he’s organized and clean. His taste runs more on the neutral side which surprises you for some reason. He hands you a jersey, some worn out one from a training camp, and waits earnestly. You motion with your finger for him to turn around. 

“Aw, no show, baby?” 

You give him a withering glare. “Not your baby. Turn around.” 

He obliges with minimal pouting. It takes him longer to drag his eyes away from you than it does for him to turn his body around but eventually he’s facing the wall. You quickly strip off your shirt and yank his spare jersey on. Predictably, it’s huge. It’s less comfy than you expected which is unfortunate. 

“Here.” You hold out your shirt. He turns back around, grin nearly splitting his face in half. He doesn’t bother to hide the deep sniff he takes of your shirt. 

You don’t think you need to warn him considering your scent is more of a comfort thing than something that will stoke his desire but you still sternly say, “Don’t jerk off on it.” At one point, you had to buy some cheap shirts and a value pack of underwear for Yoichi’s ruts so he’d stop using the actual clothes you wear as a cumrag. 

Oliver’s eyes crinkle. “No promises.” 

“Hilarious. Where’s the medicine?” 

“All work and no play makes for a very sad omega.”

You push past him and say over your shoulder, “I don’t think that’s how it goes.” 

He’s quick to follow after you. Yet his pace is casual, relying on the long length of his legs to keep you within reach. While you are planning to snoop around your immediate vicinity once he disappears to wherever to grab the medication, you want a glass of water first. 

“Where do you keep the cups?” 

“There’s a clean one in the sink.” 

You find said glass and fill it up with the tap, wetting your dry throat. Sweeping the kitchen with your eyes, you scrutinize how bare it is. He has the bare essentials to make a functional kitchen but there is no personality to glean off of. The only intriguing thing is the line of pill bottles laid out on the counter. You don’t mean to read the labels but they catch your eye anyway. Oliver notices how you stall, transfixed by the medicine bottles lined up on his counter. 

“They’re suppressors and inducers,” he says, coming up behind you. His hand brushes against your waist as he goes to pick up one of the glass containers. You flinch at the touch but he doesn’t move. He leans his free hand on the edge, bare chest grazing you and holds the medicine to his eye level. “It’s usually a shot I take but I opted for pills this time around.” 

You take the container from him and twist it around. There’s an innocuous sound of pills knocking against one another. It’s hard to imagine these pills are either strong enough to stop a heat cold or strong enough to induce a heat that will keep a player hormonally balanced for three months. They’re more normal than you expected them to look nor do they look like they will be lodged in your throat if you try to take them. 

The miracles of modern medicine. 

“Why pills this time?” you ask. You try to move away from him secretly but Oliver uses his other hand to pluck the bottle from you, placing it gently back on the counter. Then he steers you towards the living room, cutting an imposing figure behind you as he doesn’t let you try and weasel your way closer to the front door. 

He hums. “Just felt like something different.” He’s close enough to you that you can feel the ripple of muscle as he shrugs. He’s huge and he never lets you forget it. 

“Isn’t a shot easier?” 

“Depends. I don’t really like needles.”

“Wow, Arsenal’s final wall can be defeated by needles.” 

And then Oliver’s scent becomes intense, cloyingly so. You can’t resist the urge to bring your hand to your nose to block the smell but you try to play it off as rubbing your nose. He falters, resting his hands on your hips to center himself. Your gums ache once more. It borders on painful so you dig your teeth into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep you from doing something ridiculous like sink your canines into Oliver’s scent glands for a taste. 

The taste of blood blooms on your tongue. The salt cuts Oliver’s sweetness. Shit, he’s supposed to be another day or two from a full fledged heat but that isn’t how he currently smells. 

“Do you have everything you need for your heat?” you ask worriedly. You spin around, apologetic at how your shift in position makes him whine. 

“Why? You offering to take care of me, baby?”

Your worries dissipate marginally at the pet name. “Not your baby,” you remind him. “I thought your heats were planned to the minute.” 

“Forgot a dose last week,” he admits. You wince. That was when he was taking care of you. 

“Sorry,” you say weakly.

“I’ll be fine. ’S not my first heat alone,” he says casually. “Unless…” And his fingers make indentations into your side. His pupils are blown out with predatory intent. You try to edge away from him to no avail. A drop of sweat slides from his jaw, splattering onto his collarbones and the thread snaps. Your resolve cleaves into two and both sides fall into the abyss. 

He’s too close and you’ve let him get too close. 

You are not overly sensitive to omegas but Oliver in heat makes you hungry. Swiping your tongue over the remnants of blood coating your teeth, you rip yourself from his tightening grip. You cling to the metallic taste as a lifeline. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Have lots of fun. Bye!” 

You forget your shoes as you escape. But you manage to keep your, and Oliver’s as a byproduct, dignity intact and that will have to be a worthy trade. 

Slamming the apartment building’s door behind you, a cold shiver wracks your body that has nothing to do with the chilled London air. 

-

Turns out, the medicine doesn’t help. In fact, you’re starting to suspect it makes you worse. 

After Oliver’s heat finished, you went back to his apartment and took enough meds to last you at least two weeks if you spaced them out. You could only manage to take it for a week before the symptoms became too much for you. There is no one to blame but yourself relying on a quick fix rather than find a medication adjusted to your specifications. 

“Captain!” 

Oliver’s head swivels to the call, hand already going up in a half-wave at the white haired man heading over to him. He’s of equal height to Oliver with an astonishing amount of muscle. You don’t need to rely on your smell to know he is an alpha. 

“He’s an ex-teammate,” Yoichi whispers in your ear as he nods at the guy. 

“Ah. Small world.” 

You were supposed to be going to watch a movie on one of Yoichi’s rare free days and somehow, Rin and Oliver were roped into it as well. Rin is the last one to arrive so you are all hanging out by the entrance. 

The guy trails after Oliver, speaking quickly in a different language as Oliver rejoins the two of you. He’s easy on the eyes. Then his scent drifts to you and a near instantaneous nausea erupts in your gut. 

His clunky scent stings your nose. He’s definitely an alpha. You migrate to Yoichi and Oliver, leaning a cheek against Yoichi’s arm to clear your head. His fruity scent is peppered with Oliver’s muted sweetness but you much prefer this to whatever it is the other guy has going on. 

Oliver notices how still you have gotten and adjusts himself so he’s closer to you. With a few words, he’s able to dismiss the man and your head begins to feel clearer. But a wrongness continues to cling to you. Yoichi’s scent, while soothing, does not manage to ward away your discomfort. 

Rin frowns when he sees how the three of you are huddled and heads over. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Oliver waves him off. “Probably preheat symptoms,” he explains away lazily. Rin’s concern quickly morphs into discomfort and he tries to slink out of reach. His hands hover near you but his fingers close in slightly as if he doesn’t know if his touch will be welcomed. With a swiftness that stuns even you, you wrap your hand around Rin’s wrist and bring his pulse to your nose. His icy scent breaks through your cloudiness and the queasiness rolling in your gut begins to recede. “Not preheat,” you mumble. “That guy’s scent just makes me sick.” 

“It did?” Oliver asks. A barely detectable hint of glee pulses in his scent. 

You drop Rin’s wrist, disregarding his lightly scandalized expression. “That’s never happened before,” you say, more to yourself than as an answer. “I think I’m dying.” 

“Shut up.” Yoichi flicks the back of your head. “Didn’t you start some new medication?”

You duck away from him which sends you directly into Oliver seeing as he is determined to be an immovable object in your path. “Nah, not yet. The doctor said I still need to wean off the meds I took from Oliver.” 

“But you went cold turkey.” 

“…yeah.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Rin chimes in helpfully. 

“I took them for like a week. It can’t be that bad.” 

“You should listen to the doctor instead of doing your own thing,” he scolds. He even wags his finger in your face and you threaten to bite it. 

“Come on dude, it was just a week,” Yoichi protests, smacking his finger away. 

“You a doctor now?” Rin snaps. 

“You don’t need to be a doctor to know it’s probably okay to can go cold turkey on a medicine you only took for a week.” 

“Is your head just for show or is there actually a brain in there?” 

Rin and Yoichi devolve into their usual arguing. Naturally, Yoichi gets in Rin’s face which leaves you and Oliver to the side like some discarded toys. 

“Is it like this in the locker room?” you muse. Rin is one second away from shoving Yoichi’s face from his. 

Oliver sighs but amusement twinkles in his eyes. “It used to be worse but now coach said they’re banned from talking to each other before games.” 

“Not after?”

He slides out his phone and pulls up a video. Oliver rests his chin on your head, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to hold the screen in front of you two. After your mistake in visiting Oliver during his heat, he’s become much more blatant with his friendliness towards you. You don’t know how to put a stop to it and you fear it is too late for you to make a fuss, having let it become a norm. You try not to stiffen against his touch too noticeably. He scrolls through his camera roll before finding a video of Rin and Yoichi discussing the match, the streaks of sweat and dirt indicating this is after a game. 

“Wow, they’re like puppies you have to run ragged to get some peace,” you laugh, zooming in on the disgruntled look on Rin’s face as Yoichi writes something in the air. 

Oliver lets out of an amused puff of air and moves his head from atop yours.  Instead, he tucks his nose into your neck, skimming the tip against your scent gland. The gesture toes the line of disrespectful and yet no one milling about bats an eye at Oliver. He takes a subtle whiff, tongue darting to lick the salt off your skin before he straightens up. The light warmth from the tip of his tongue renders you speechless. Your hand goes to your neck and you can’t even muster a glare as you try to reconcile that he just licked you in broad daylight. 

“Did you jus—” 

But Oliver cuts you off by drawing Rin and Yoichi’s full attention to himself, joining in on their now civil conversation. You’re left feeling like the odd one out as you try to make sense of what just happened. He licked you. He fucking licked you. 

And when it’s your turn to contribute to the conversation you have heard none of, Oliver simply winks at you over Yoichi’s head. 

-

You start to smell Oliver on yourself.

It’s noticeable enough you’ve begun to receive teasing remarks about it. Yoichi can’t stop laughing at how aggressively you deny the accusations, placating you with ‘mm hmms’ and ‘of course I believe you’. 

The teasing is exacerbated by Oliver’s continued presence at your house. Without realizing it, you have started setting out a third plate whenever you make dinner. It’s gotten to the point where some of his training jerseys have made their way into your laundry. You’ve taken to throwing them in Yoichi’s basket to keep yourself from tossing them into the garbage.

It’s infuriating.

“Wanna watch a scary movie?” he asks, watching as you flick through the movies available. Somehow, despite you seating yourself on the very edge of the couch, Oliver has managed to corral himself into being right next to you. His arm is slung around your shoulder having dropped from resting on the back of the couch. He points at some slasher film in the guise of choosing something but it’s only to draw himself closer to you. He’s only just managed to get his thigh pressed to yours when you decide to move to the loveseat instead. He can cuddle Yoichi if he wants to be necking someone so badly. 

It’s unfortunate you have to use his thigh as to prop yourself up and the second you push off of him, Oliver curls under your chest and drags you to him. His teeth scrape against your gland and you jump out of your skin. Your elbow ricochets off of his sternum sending an aching pain radiating up your arm and Oliver to the side. He clutches at his chest, more shocked than hurt by your reaction. 

“Sorry,” you say automatically and then want to hit yourself. 

“What happened?” Yoichi calls out, poking his head out from the kitchen. He’s toweling off his hands with another slung over his shoulder. 

Oliver doesn’t acknowledge him. “Do omegas not do that here?” he asks. His eyes are wide with polite curiosity but he isn’t apologetic. 

“Omegas don’t do that anywhere!” you say incredulously, bringing your hand to your neck. The skin is sensitized whether it be from your imagination or something Oliver has done.

Yoichi makes a dissatisfied noise. “Oh.” And then he ambles back into the kitchen, uninterested in what he’s deemed omega affairs. 

But this isn’t an omega affair. This is something much more bizarre. 

“It’s common in Sweden,” is what he offers at your accusing glare. 

You don’t know anything about Swedish customs to disprove him so you must remain stewing in your irritation like some chastised child. “Don’t do it to me,” you order. You’re torn as to whether you should be pissed off or frightened by his nonchalance. 

“Did it scare you?” he mocks meanly. His tone ices your core. 

“Just…don’t do that again,” you mutter. Your stomach knots in on itself and you can’t stand to be here with this sick bastard a second longer.

Oliver seems to realize he’s overstepped into oblivion this time for he immediately drops the teasing cruelty for some derivative of repentance.  “I’m sorry. I thought it’d be funny—”

“No, you’re completely right. It’s real fucking funny.” You don’t care if you draw Yoichi out by your raised voice. 

Tears well up in your eyes. The frustration spilling out of you is overwhelming, corroding your rationality into hysteria. The sharp edges of the discomfort Oliver has forced upon you skins you layer after layer until all that’s left is a pile of shredded sanity. 

You want to go home but this is your home. So you have to leave and force yourself to act as if it is your independence fueling the choice and not cowardice. 

“Fuck, I’m leaving,” you say, grabbing your keys. Yoichi’s head is wildly swinging between you and Oliver. Their words are incomprehensible in the face of the blood pounding in your head. You’ve interrupted him but you don’t care to repeat yourself, shaking off Oliver’s hand as you head to the door. 

You don’t remember getting in your car nor the drive to the hotel but you do remember looking in the rearview mirror and seeing a nick on your scent gland. 

By the next morning, your skin is rubbed raw from how furiously you tried to wash away any traces of Oliver. 

-

You no longer eat dinner at home. In fact, the only times you find yourself home are during Arsenal’s training or right before bed. No matter Yoichi’s pleas, you do not budge. And miraculously, your heats begin to stabilize again.

You link it to the stress you always brushed aside when it came to Oliver. You hardly see him anymore and that alone has done wonders in settling whatever discrepancies he caused in you. 

A flicker of heat begins to warm your lower belly. Yoichi is visiting some old teammates in Germany for the weekend so you have a couple of your sex toys laid out on your bed charging. You never thought there would be a day you’d be so relieved feel your regular heat symptoms again. The insatiable horniness that has afflicted you these past few cycles had you worrying for your clit’s safety. 

A knock on the door has you flinging your blanket over your toys before you realize how ridiculous you are being. You ordered groceries for the weekend and they must have already arrived. The delivery guy probably already left as soon as he knocked. 

You open the door. You are only able to open it enough to know it is not your groceries outside.

“Wait.” And then there is a foot jammed between the door and the frame. You have half a mind to pull the door back and slam with your notably reduced strength just to hear him squeal. Preferably, you would also injure him enough to cause him to be benched for the next four games. But you are a nice person with a gentle heart and a fear of being sued so you keep the door where it is. 

“We need to talk. I know you’re mad but it’s been weeks,” he pleads, “Please.”

“Okay.”

He waits. When you don’t move to open the door wider, he says, “Can I at least do this inside?”

“No. Say what you want to say and go away.” 

He’s kept a polite distance, despite his foot blocking the door, but now he peeks into the opening. He’s about to speak when his nostrils flare. 

Oliver doesn’t bother to keep up his polite facade and practically rips the door off of its hinges.

You stumble backwards, alarmed at his sudden flurry of movement. 

“You’re in heat.” He says it as if it’s a shock, as if it’s something you should have informed him about. 

“Oliver, you have to go,” you say, rubbing your temple. An ache is festering in you and you can tell it will tip into lust soon. And you do not want Oliver to have the privilege of hearing how you fuck yourself through your heats. 

However, he doesn’t leave as you ask. Rather, he shuts the door behind him softly. 

“Oliver,” you warn, taking a step back. Fatigue has begun to weigh down on you as your heat begins to spread. The simmering embers start to flame out and you can feel yourself become damp.

In a horrifyingly short amount of time, he’s cleared the distance between you two. He’s got your chin tipped upwards before you can make an attempt for your room. 

Oliver’s kiss is both invasive and possessive as if he owns every inch of you. It’s a graceless one, born of need for substance than anything else. But he catches you with your mouth open, the beginnings of an argument on your tongue, and he must taste it for he swallows you whole. He kisses you deeper, practically fucking your mouth with his tongue. 

The drag of his tongue is potent in the same way alcohol poisoning can be considered intoxicating. 

He backs you into the couch, knees braced on either side of you. Oliver pulls back just enough to let you breathe but it’s a useless effort for he slips you out of your shorts in the next moment. The brush of his fingertips against your wet cunt steals all air from your lungs. 

Your fight-or-flight instincts have abandoned you. The fear that should be jellying your knees has become conspirators with your increasing lust. The low heat simmering in your stomach is stoked into a roaring fire as Oliver’s weight pins you down. 

His fingers slide in slowly underneath your underwear, testing how far you’ll let him in. You take him to the last knuckle, breath punching out of you when he crooks them. He pumps his fingers in and out of you leisurely and it feels like agony. Pleasure begins to spark at the base of your spine but only the sort that brings forth nothing satisfactory. The ache in you grows worse as Oliver’s fingers fuck you with brutal precision. His rhythm is steady and slow and aggravating. Your push your hips down but all Oliver does is laugh. 

“Oliver,” you whine, raising your hips now to see if that’ll spur him into action instead. 

His fingers still. You keen at the loss. “Mm?” He’s looking down at you through his lashes, mouth slightly open in awe at how easily you part for him. 

You don’t want to ask so you settle with a quiet, “Please.”

“Use your words, baby,” he chides playfully. 

Fury roils in your gut at his sadism but it soon dissipates into your overwhelming lust. A searing heat burns within you and you press a pitiful kiss against the corner of his mouth. Everything feels so unbearably hot you can’t stand it. “Please fuck me.” Your shame is hollow when you realize the plea doesn’t taste of betrayal. 

His face blanks out before a delirious grin splits his face. 

“You don’t know what you need, baby,” he shushes, slipping off his pants. “That’s why you need me.” 

Even in your heat-addled brain, you defy him. “I don’t.” 

And for an ungodly moment, nothing exists save for the feel of Oliver’s cock against your clothed entrance. “Not before,” he concedes, catching your underwear at the sides and pulling down, “But you will.” 

his redemption | 01 | bakugo x reader

synopsis ⤸

after unknowingly moving in next door to a renown gang-leader, you are thrust into a foreign world tainted by the scars of his past. will you be able to help him redeem his sins before they finally catch up to him?

chapters ⤸

next ᝰ

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, gang au, gang-leader! bakugo, doctor! reader, dark fic, one night stands, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, graphic depictions of violence, kidnappings, mentions of blood, dubcon

word count ⤸

5.1k

a/n ⤸

this is yet another story that originated for a different fandom, but i love this story so much, n i really want to finish it one day, so i’ve decided to rework it for bakugo. pls note that this’ll be on the darker side, so pls check the tags before you read (i’ll be updating them as i write). pls, pls let me know what you think!

reblogs, are appreciated ~

bakugo katsuki is no stranger to women, much to your dismay. 

this is a fact that you learn just a few days after moving into your new apartment block. on the first morning of your arrival, you’d exchanged introductions with the rest of your neighbours, only the angry red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro—as new neighbour denki had described him—hadn’t answered your polite knock, despite the fact that the man’s apartment is situated just a wall away from your own. you’d left with the promise to return the next day. 

come the second morning, and you had been so sure that you’d seen a man of denki’s exact description, standing out on the shared balcony, a cigarette in hand. however, by the time you’d made your way down the hall and stepped out onto the concrete, said figure had disappeared from sight, and once again, there was no answer at number 34. 

by the end of the third day, you were beginning to wonder if he existed at all. 

however, by nightfall, you are made all too aware of his presence. 

after yet another tiresome day of unpacking your belongings, you’d been rudely awoken by the sound of loud, chaotic laughter in the early hours of the morning. at first, you had  thought that you’d imagined it, considering the apartment next door had been seemingly vacant since the day you’d moved in. but when you hear the noise again, followed by the sound of a low, gruff voice—a man’s voice, you realise—you can only heave a heavy sigh. you try to give them the benefit of the doubt, hoping that they’ll be quick to go to sleep, only for your hopes to diminish into thin air when you then hear a breathy moan. 

the man’s voice follows, evidently deeper than his female company, and in turn, you roll over in bed, holding the plush cotton of your pillow over your head. you aren’t sure what time it is, but you suspect that you have just a few hours to get some rest before you have to be up for work. 

however, despite your prayers—and much to both your annoyance and horror—the red eyed man with the blonde ‘fro proceeds to keep you awake until six o’clock in the morning. when you are then forced to haul yourself from the comfort of your bed, it is with an exhausted sigh, your eyelids drooping heavily. rubbing a finger under your eyes, you go about your morning routine, readying yourself to start the day with a much needed cup of coffee. 

exactly forty-seven minutes later, you are leaving the apartment, pausing to ensure that the door is locked tight behind you. but just as you step out into the hall, the door to number 34 quietly creaks open.

you glance up to see a scarcely dressed woman exiting the apartment, attempting to tip-toe into the hallway as she swings the door shut. light brown hair messily dragged into a bun, she carries her heels in one hand, purse in the other, her clothes haphazard as if she’d rushed to get dressed. she wears a scowl that matches your own, and you conclude that the brunette has indeed become the victim of a rude awakening. you watch her, a brow rising as she then turns and lets out an admirably high-pitched shriek at the sight of you stood before her, arms crossed over your chest. 

‘o-oh god,’ she all but exclaims. ‘you sure scared the crap out of me, lady!’ 

you don’t bother to apologise. 

you eye the woman with a look of disapproval, your head tilting to the left at the sound of the door to number 34 swinging open once again. 

denki had been right, you think to yourself as you take in the wild mess of blonde hair that hangs across his forehead, tousled and unkempt. and his eyes are a strikingly angry shade of crimson, you’re surprised to see that that fact is also true, your own boring into where there’s a scar that cuts through his left brow. he’s tall. much taller than you’d imagined, clad in what you guess to be a makeshift set of pyjamas—a loose tank-top and a pair of jogging bottoms, the waistband hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

you blink up at him, immediately tensing as you realise that he’s caught you staring, those scarlet coloured orbs focused on you. awkwardly clearing your throat, you attempt to save face by taking a small step forward, thrusting your hand in front of his face. 

‘h-hi,’ you grimace at how your voice stutters. clearing your throat, you offer your name before forcing a small, but polite, smile, ‘i just moved in next—’

‘i know.’ 

he completely ignores the brunette as if she’s not stood right before him, and this only causes her scowl to deepen. 

your outstretched hand falls to your side, quickly realising that he’s not going to return the handshake. ‘oh... well i tried to—’

‘i know,’ he interrupts again, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. the movement has the lines of his biceps tensing, and you belatedly chide yourself for allowing your eyes to dart to the offending muscle, glaring at his skin. the man looks at you, expression bored, ‘heard you knockin’.’

‘oh,’ involuntarily, your shoulders slump, before your brows pinch together, barely concealing your annoyance. you fail to do so, it seems, as the man before you makes a little noise at the back of his throat before the reds of his eyes languidly drag down the length of your body, before trickling upwards. you grip your handbag a little tighter, teeth clenching together. ‘well, as i said, i’m—’

‘new neighbour,’ he cuts you off once more, voice now lilting upon a tone of amusement when you don’t bother to mask the glare that now mars your features, ‘i know.’ and then, to your surprise, he leans forward, offering his hand. ‘bakugo,’ is all he says as you reluctantly accept his handshake. his hand is warm, his grip burning into your skin, the length of his fingers much longer than your own. you almost relish the touch of his palm until you remember just what he had been doing that had kept you awake all night, and instead, you all but snatch your hand away. 

‘and i’m camie,’ the brunette snaps from your right. 

bakugo’s eyes flicker to glance at her, somehow appearing to have completely forgotten that she’s been stood beside you. expression bored, he hums, ‘camie? thought your name was—?’

‘wow,’ it is you who interrupts him this time. 

camie scoffs loudly. she almost looks as if she wants to cry and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her, glaring at him on behalf of the other woman, who—without saying another word—rushes down the hallway as best she can without shoes on. you gawk after her, wincing when the main door slams shut, listening as the noise ricochets down the hall, an echo following in its wake. 

‘tsk,’ bakugo tuts, as if disapproving of the noise. a frown is pulling at the space between his brows when you look at him, his eyes darting to bore into yours, his expression lacking any form of remorse. 

you stare back, incredulous. and because you simply can’t help yourself, you sneer, ‘is that how you treat all women?’

bakugo doesn’t appear to appreciate your curt tone, his spine straightening until he’s standing a little taller, gaze sterner. 

‘she got what she came for.’ 

as if you could forget the way that he'd kept you awake all night. your frown deepens, ‘i’m sure.’ 

he looks as if he doesn’t know how to reply. or maybe his unnerving silence is purposely aimed your way because you’ve managed to hit a nerve. you’re not sure. 

but once you check the time on your watch, you realise that you have just twenty minutes to make your way to work. ‘shit,’ you curse softly, rushing to turn away without another look in his direction. yet when your hand curls around the handle of the entrance door, he calls out to you again. 

‘see you ‘round,’ he says lowly. your neck cranes to glance at him from over your shoulder, fighting back the urge to shudder once you catch sight of the scowl he aims at you. within the blink of an eye, he’s smirking, the whites of his teeth gleaming as the corners of his mouth stretch. unnerved, you stumble enough to lose your footing, just managing to catch your balance on the doorframe. bakugo’s eyes squint down at you, ‘you be careful there,’ he mocks, waving a hand, ‘... neighbour.’

you all but run out of the apartment block, exhaling with relief once the door slams shut. 

and all the way to work, you dawdle. 

the introduction to your new neighbour wasn’t what you’d planned at all. you’d hoped that the two of you would exchange pleasantries, maybe occasionally share cups of sugar, if needed. but after just one meeting, you already regret being so eager to meet him. 

and new neighbour denki certainly hadn’t warned you about how annoying the red eyed man is. how rude he is.  

how frustratingly hot he is. 

as soon as that thought enters your head, you shake it free. 

you remain lost in thought until the moment you reach the clinic, almost walking face-first into the glass door. huffing down your embarrassment, you hope that no one notices the way that you stumble your way through the reception and towards your office, barely remembering to breathe a morning greeting to ochaco, who waits for you at the front desk. 

the dark-haired woman scuttles after you, closing the office door as you busy yourself with discarding your coat and bag onto the two seater couch before heavily slumping in the chair at your desk. ochaco places a file onto the desk, offering an apologetic look as she watches the way that you warily eye the folder. 

‘he’s new,’ she tells you, soft spoken and smiling sweetly when you glance up at her. ‘he signed up last—’ 

she’s interrupted by the sound of the door flying open so violently that it roughly smacks back onto the wall behind. mina bounds into the room, clapping her hands excitedly, beaming. she wraps a strong arm around ochaco’s shoulder—who squeaks with surprise when she almost topples over—and squeezes. ‘did you tell her? did you, did you?’ 

ochaco points at the file on the desk, ‘i was just—’

‘oh my god!’ mina exclaims, interrupting. ‘you have got to see this new patient—i begged nemuri to let me have him, but she said some shit about professionalism—that stone-faced bitch. i mean, how the hell am i not professional?’ 

you stifle a laugh, leaning back in your chair. 

mina’s hands are snatching up the file before you can take a peek. ‘god,’ she groans, dropping the file back down so that it smacks against the surface of the desk. ‘it’s so unfair.’ 

‘i’m sure,’ you hum, ochaco giggling behind her hand. 

‘just wait until you see him. i can’t believe nemuri is letting you have him.’ 

you let the comment slide, reaching for the file and flicking the first page open. but as soon as your eyes fixate onto the photograph that is paper clipped to the information sheet, you bolt upright, slack jawed. 

mina calls your name, frowning at your reaction, and when you don’t reply, her grown deepens. ‘okay, i know he’s hot but—’

‘i know him,’ you snap at her, glowering. 

‘you do?’ mina asks, dubious. 

you drop the file to the desk, head in your hands as you groan loudly, ‘he’s my new neighbour. i met him this morning.’

the curl of mina’s grin is now mischievous, ‘oh?’ 

you grimace, ‘don’t look at me like that. he’s not hot at all. he’s such a... a... whore.’ ochaco’s eyes widen at the insult, cheeks red. you elaborate, jabbing your index finger at the file, ‘i bumped into his one night stand this morning... he didn’t even remember her name. asshole.’ 

mina snorts, ‘just your type then,’ she laughs at your annoyed expression, ochaco’s one of concern. 

‘i can’t believe this,’ you groan again, head tilted back as you peer up at the ceiling. this is just your luck. of all people, of course it had to be you to be assigned as his doctor. 

‘maybe you could ask nemuri if someone else—’ ochaco starts, words dying on the tip of her tongue at the sound of mina clearing her throat. the brunette woman swallows, stuttering as she corrects, ‘o-or maybe you could recommend that mina—?’ 

‘yes,’ the pinkette cuts her off, hand forming a fist as she grins, eyes gleaming with glee, ‘this is perfect.’ 

you lift your head to look at her, bewildered, ‘it is?’ 

‘uh, duh?’ mina looks at you as if you’ve suddenly sprouted a second head. ‘i get him as free eye candy, and you get to fuck him without getting into trouble. you know, conflict of interest and all that crap.’ 

‘i’m not going to f—’ you clear your throat at the poor choice of wording, ‘i’m not going to sleep with him, mina.’ 

she almost looks offended, ‘come on. he’s hot. and he lives next door, so you know, no walks of shame.’ 

you run a hand over your face, ‘sometimes, i honestly... really question why we’re friends.’ 

ochaco titters at this and mina pretends to have not heard you. 

‘i’ll ask nemuri if i can hand him over,’ you relent. ‘if you want to deal with him, then be my guest. rather you than me.’ 

mina completely ignores the bitter bite to your tone, sighing dreamily as she stares down at the folder, the first page flipped open to show his picture. the three of you peer down at the photograph with mixed expressions of curiosity and distaste. 

‘he’s not bad looking,’ ochaco offers. 

you huff, ‘don’t encourage her. please.’ 

her smile is gentle, ‘i just think it wouldn’t be too bad if you... had some fun.’ 

‘see?’ mina’s arm is wrapped around poor ochaco’s shoulders once more, ‘she gets it.’ 

‘okay, i’m not listening anymore,’ you stand from your seat, shutting the folder with a flick of your hand and then ushering your friends to the door, ignoring mina’s exaggerated protests. you gently push them out of the office, pausing to grab at the white lab coat from the stand by the door. ‘i’m not sleeping with him and i don’t need to have fun—don’t give me that look, ochaco, you’re just as bad as—’

‘ladies,’ the three of you look to the left to see your senior practitioner standing with a scowl slanting across her forehead, heeled foot tapping against the linoleum flooring. ‘we must not be busy enough if you have time to be chit-chatting in my clinic.’

mina’s lips purse. it is no secret that both she and nemuri have a love-hate relationship, their constant bickering often subject to many jokes shared amongst the staff body. nemuri’s temper, matched with mina’s childish stubbornness is no fight that any of them particularly enjoy witnessing, especially after the time nemuri swung for mina’s head when cleaner-boy-turned-prankster sero had convinced the pinkette to jokingly lace nemuri’s alcohol with laxatives during an after-work party. luckily, she hadn’t consumed the liquid, but she had been angry enough to leave a mark on mina’s cheek for a week afterwards. 

you, on the other hand, as well as ochaco, much prefer to remain on nemuri’s good side. the woman does sign off your pay-checks, after all. 

‘actually,’ you start, faltering when narrowed sky-blue eyes glide over to you, unimpressed by your attire. heeding the unspoken warning, you quickly swing the lab coat over your shoulders, shoving your arms through the respective holes. the palms of your hands are flattening down the fabric as you dare to ask, ‘could i have a word?’ 

nemuri eyes you, a dark brow quirking upwards. 

‘please?’ you urge. 

nemuri glances at the other two women who stand behind you, and whilst you can’t see their expressions, you can already picture the annoyance on mina’s face. ‘do you not have work to do, ashido?’ nemuri barks, and ochaco is already shuffling away before the older woman’s anger can be aimed at her. 

smart. 

you hear mina click her tongue, but she doesn’t argue back, and you listen to the clacking of her heels until they quieten behind the slam of a door. nemuri’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer, and then she’s turning away, leading the way to her office. once inside, nemuri takes a seat behind her desk, the woodwork cluttered with paperwork. she points a manicured fingertip at the chair opposite, and without question, you follow the instruction. lowered into the comfortable seat, you wait for the older woman’s attention to focus on you, watching as she searches the pockets of her own lab coat. when she can’t find what she’s looking for, she grumbles under her breath, quickly giving up. 

settling back in her chair, her stare fixates onto you. 

‘now,’ she drawls, teeth bared as she smiles. ‘what can i do for my favourite student?’ 

๑

it is dark when you arrive home, soaked through from the rain that had poured from the heavens when you were just minutes away from your apartment building. 

you’re not sure of the time, but you suspect that it’s well past midnight, kicking your sodden shoes off at the door, barely remembering to shove the key through the lock. dumping your purse on the small dining table, you shrug off your coat, shoving the damp material into the washing machine, along with your stockings. a trail of water follows you to the bathroom, your fingers snatching a clean towel from the radiator. however, you don’t get the chance to dry your hair, as a loud knocking at the front door has your spine stiffening. 

exhaustion has you debating on ignoring whoever is at the door, but when they knock again, the loud thumping is now desperate and repetitive. 

‘alright, alright!’

you’re unlocking the front door, yanking it open, ready to reprimand the visitor for making such a racket. but as you pull open the door—only for a heavy weight to suddenly slump against you, enticing a winded oof! from your lips—the words die on the tip of your tongue. 

‘what the—?’ 

staggering under the extra weight, you struggle to remain upright. recognising the flash of blonde hair that tickles your cheek, you heave the man up into a standing position. 

‘bakugo? what on earth are you—?’ 

he grasps at your arms, using your shoulder to balance himself as he hauls his body to lean against the doorframe with a strained wheeze. his face is unhealthily pale and you notice the beads of sweat that have collected upon his forehead, threatening to trickle down the curve of his cheek. heavily lidded eyes blink down at you and his voice rasps as he says, ‘need help.’ 

you see it then; how he’s clutching at his ribs, his body trembling as the length of his spine presses against the doorframe. your eyes widen at the startling amount of blood that soaks a crimson stain through the fabric of his light-coloured t-shirt, the thick liquid smeared along the bumps of his swollen knuckles. your rain-soaked skin is forgotten, the towel closing over the back of his hand, adding pressure.  

‘w-what happened?’ 

‘you. you’re... a doctor... ain’t you?’ his eyes are squeezed shut, his breath wetly rattling from between his lips, the lower one split. 

you stare at him, ‘how do you—?’ 

‘help me,’ bakugo hisses, gaze smouldering as he grunts in pain when you press harder. ‘please,’ he adds reluctantly, the word forced out between gritted teeth. 

pausing to kick the door shut, you guide him into your small apartment, carefully supporting his weight as you walk him toward the bedroom, lowering him to the mattress as gently as you can. he strains out a groan of pain, eyes screwing shut, and you easily forget any form of annoyance that you’d harboured towards him, grimacing as you gently nudge his hand out of the way to peel his shirt back. 

unsurprisingly, the wound is fresh, deep enough that it’s still weeping, but not so deep that you can see fat. it’s a relief and you allow the emotion to sag your shoulders, a breath escaping you. you slide the towel over his skin once more, pressing hard. 

‘keep pressure on it,’ you order. fingers shaking, he does as you say, clamping down onto the towel that has already begun to morph into a brilliant shade of red. the sight is a concern, and you rush to grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom before returning to kneel beside him, pausing to look over his prone form. he appears to have formed a fever, so you decide on opening the window, allowing a trickle of cool air to flow into the room, chilled by the rain outside. 

suppressing a shudder, you hope that it’s enough to ease his fever, your hand moving his aside to check the wound once more. it’s a few inches long, the cut clean. you can sew him up—you’re more than skilled enough to do so—but you’d much rather him be checked out at a hospital. you voice this opinion to him, only to be shut down almost immediately. 

‘no,’ he manages to gasp around a tense moan. ‘no hospital.’ 

‘but—’

‘i said,’ he hisses, head raising from the mattress to glare at you, ‘no fuckin’ hospital.’ 

you bite back a retort. it’s no use arguing with him, especially when he’s bleeding out onto your brand new bedsheets. ‘fine,’ you relent, tone brash and eyes hard. ‘i need your shirt off.’ 

he eyes you dubiously, warily. 

‘it’ll give me more space to work,’ you clarify. ‘plus, it’ll be much cleaner. it’ll decrease the risk of—’

‘yeah, yeah,’ he grunts, making a move to sit upright, his abdominal muscles tensing. only, he collapses straight back down, quickly followed by a pained wheeze. ‘i-i can’t...’ he suddenly forms a fist, slamming it down on the mattress beneath him with a frustrated curse, ‘fuck!’  

your hand closes around his, ‘it’s fine,’ you try to calm him, slightly panicked by his small outburst. you don’t think that he’ll hurt you—or at least, that’s what you hope—but the clenching of his fist and the welling of his darkening orbs has your stomach knotting with nerves. lest you allow it show, though, your expression is forcibly neutral, ‘don’t move. i’ll just use scissors.’ 

he huffs a noise of disapproval but doesn’t move, so you open up the first-aid box, throwing the lid open so harshly that it almost snaps from the hinges. grabbing the scissors, you make quick work of slicing through his t-shirt, his brows pulling together at the sound of the fabric tearing until you tug it from under his back, throwing it to the ground. he grunts as you accidentally jostle him, but you pay no mind, already reaching for the anti-septic wipes. 

‘this is going to sting,’ is the only warning you spare him. 

‘just hurry the fuck up,’ he snaps, only for the expanse of his chest to vibrate with a pained growl when you smooth the first wipe over the wound. his hips jerk upwards, head falling back against the bed. 

‘hold still,’ you snap, elbow roughly digging into the soft tissue of his hip in order to keep him still. he mumbles something under his breath but you aren’t listening, cleaning his wound with a practiced pace. as you work, you are privy to the sight of the family of scars that litter his torso. there’s one, long and jagged, that traces from his right hipbone to his navel, the edges uneven. you dread to imagine what could have caused it. there are a few smaller scars that encircle his left collarbone, splattered down to his nipple, another large one that expands across his ribs, disappearing as it curves around to his back.

you know that you shouldn’t be staring. 

he’s a patient. 

but that doesn’t stop you from admiring him. because despite the scars that taint the golden kiss of his tanned skin, and despite the fact that the heat of his blood  warms your hands as you work, congealing in a way that makes your nose crinkle, you can’t help but agree with mina. 

he really is a sight to admire. 

the blood-flow ceased, you ensure that the wound is thoroughly cleaned before proceeding to select a sterile needle, ripping open the packaging with your teeth. squinting with one eye closed, you guide the thread through the loop, shuffling closer on your knees. 

‘’kay,’ you breathe. ‘gonna close you up now.’ 

when you receive no reply, you look up, only to see that the pain has rendered him unconscious. it’s probably for the best, you conclude, pushing the needle through his skin and forming the first stitch. with practiced ease, the stitching is neatly formed in short timing, cleaned and bandaged with careful precision. 

after, you pack away the first-aid kit, careful to not wake him when you move from the bed to discard the used wipes and the bloodied needle. in the bathroom, you scrub your hands clean, drying them before returning to the bedroom to gently remove the stained towel from his curled fist. you discard the fabric of his ruined t-shirt into the bin, setting the washing machine to cycle after shoving the towel in to join your coat. 

closing the bedroom window and switching the light off, you collapse into the chair by the vanity table. tiredly, you eye his sleeping form, his skin illuminated by the dim light emitted from the lamp in the living room. a thin sheet of sweat coats his forehead, blonde hair now appearing a light brown as it is dampened. his lungs expand and deflate at a slow, but even pace, and you know that he’s out of danger, despite the pool of blood that has crusted the bedsheets. you’ll have to replace them. 

for now, exhaustion catches up to you now that your adrenaline has settled, and it only takes seconds for your eyes to droop closed. 

๑

it feels as if just minutes have passed when your eyes snap open to the sound of someone swearing loudly. 

bleary eyed, you jolt upright, double taking when you remember that you’re not alone. bakugo is now sat up, much to your surprise, however, you aren’t able to get a good look at him when he turns his head towards you. 

because there’s now another person in the room. 

hair as crimson as the blood that his friend had shed, with the red of his eyes to match, eijiro kirishima looms over his friend. he’s also tall, maybe even taller than the blonde haired man hunched over on your bed, his body equally as fit, biceps bulging as he hooks an arm under bakugo’s armpit, yanking him to his feet as if he weighs nothing. 

you are on your feet in seconds, hands reaching with the intention to push the man with the blonde ‘fro back to the mattress. but before your fingertips can even touch him, kirishima is unkindly shoving you backwards, glowering as he gives you a once-over, jaw ticking. 

‘move it, lady.’ 

‘he’s in no fit state to move,’ you protest. 

kirishima barks out a laugh, easily balancing bakugo on one arm as he rudely jabs his index finger in your face. ‘trust me, he’s had worse.’ he waves his hand, indicating that you move, ‘now be a sweetheart and move over, i need to get him outta here.’ 

you stare up at him, eyes narrowing as his frame towering over yours as he takes a threatening step closer. 

‘listen, lady,’ he seethes. ‘soon, this place’ll be swarmin’ and i need’ta get him outta here before they get here. he can’t fight like this.’ bakugo makes a noise, appearing on the brink of unconsciousness once more, head lolling against kirishima’s shoulder. you aren’t even sure how the redhead managed to break into your apartment in the first place, but you don’t need to question the mild panic that he allows to pass over his features, clearly concerned for his friend. he doesn’t wait for your reply, barging past as he hauls bakugo from the bedroom. 

you follow after them, protesting. 

‘you could re-open his wound!’ 

kirishima uses his spare hand to pull the front door open, ‘like i said, he’s had worse.’ he makes to pull his friend out of the apartment, but you halt him with a hand on his clothed shoulder. 

‘w-wait!’ 

much to your relief, he does, watching as you disappear into the kitchen, noisily fumbling around in one of the cupboards. on rushed feet, you return, pressing a bottle of pain-killers into the palm of his hand. ‘at least make sure he takes these. they’ll help him,’ you plead. kirishima eyes you, expressionless eyes critical as he silently regards you. you’re not sure what he’s looking for, but he seems to approve, nodding once as he shoves the pills into the back pocket of his jeans. 

just as kirishima is hauling him over the threshold, bakugo manages to lift his head, eyes barely open as he looks at you. 

‘i owe you,’ he’s barely able to exhale, features twisting in pain as he clutches at his bandaged side. and then before you reply, they’re gone, disappearing out of your line of sight as the door to the apartment block closes, announcing their departure. 

for a long time after, you stand in the doorway, waiting. 

waiting for what, you do not know.

eventually, you lock the door before returning to the bedroom. the apartment is now eerily quiet as you listen to the sound of police sirens shrieking in the distance. slumping back into your chair, you rest your elbows on your thighs, pressing your face into the palms of your hands. you inhale, breath shaking as you wait until the sirens have faded into silence.

the entire encounter feels like a damned dream, but the blood-stained bedsheets are the only evidence of bakugo’s lingering presence. 

and with a chest-heaving sigh, you suspect that this won’t be the last you’ll see of him. 

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

General Yandere! Atsumu Miya Profile

Yandere! Atsumu Miya x fem! reader

Warnings: stalking, obsession, kidnapping, drugging, mentions of non/dub-con, masturbation, nonconsensual photography, mentions of physical abuse (Atsumu doesn't hit you, though), Stockholm syndrome, nonconsensual affection, fem! reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10.0K

DARLING PROFILE:

Honest

For Atsumu, trust is the most important thing in a relationship.

He’s always been dubbed a bit unreliable; his twin rolling his eyes and mentioning how he’s always late, past girlfriends crying and screaming at him about he’s throwing them away for some stupid sport, even his own reflection in the mirror telling him he’s too narrow minded, too obsessive, too abnormal to ever have a successful relationship.

It’s left Atsumu a bit jaded – he’s always wanted a lover, yes, but as his professional career has developed, his desire has dwindled. Too often he’s been accused to blowing off his significant other in favor of the sport, and while he's never been able to argue that point, it’s exhausting.

And so, having a partner that’s honest about how they’re feeling, how they want him to treat them would be perfect. He’s tired of having people have such high expectations of him without him even knowing, and when he inevitably doesn’t meet them he’s always the one with the door slamming in his face, shock and confusion stirring in his gut because what did he do wrong?

His darling must be painfully honest with him; he likes people who are able to be blunt while expressing their opinions, and while he doesn’t want a blatantly mean darling, one who is able to give him tough love is more than welcome. He likes the idea that his woman is capable of keeping him in line, and frankly, with every murmur of I wish you’d spend more time with me that falls past their lips, Atsumu is scrambling to let his coach know he’s taking a week off, that he’s calling in those favors he earned from staying late to so many practices.

He just wants a partner that will never pretend to be something they aren’t, and while they’re allowed to have secrets (in the beginning), Atsumu wants to know every fucking one.

So really, his darling should just be honest from the get go; it will attract his attention, yes, but isn’t it just so sweet to have the six foot tall, charismatic, talented professional athlete head over heels for you?

Opinionated

Don’t get it twisted – Atsumu doesn’t want someone who takes this trait to the very extreme. He still very much likes the idea that he’s the one in charge of the relationship, that he’s the one wearing the pants, that he calls any of the truly important shots.

However, when things really come down to it, Atsumu is a worshipper. He’s utterly and completely enraptured by his darling, blindsided by them and willing to do literally anything it takes to get them smiling at him, to hear those sweet words of praise falling from their lips.

He’s obsessed in every possible way, and to have a darling that doesn’t give things up easily only makes him fall more in love. He likes a darling with convictions; they have opinions and beliefs that they stand by, and it’s difficult to get them to budge.

He likes people with strong personalities, and a darling that fits this mold is his ideal type – he doesn’t have to agree with their beliefs necessarily, though it would be nice. He just likes the prospect of a darling who isn’t afraid to fight for what they believe in, and to voice what they think is right.

He’s not afraid to argue a bit, though he’ll always eventually give in, staring at his darling with wide, glossy brown eyes and parted pink lips, his cheeks stained red and his heart racing because wow, they look so damn sexy when they’re standing up for themselves.

Quite honestly, as his obsession develops, it becomes alarmingly easy for his body to react to his darling’s declarations of beliefs as well; the minute they say they support pro-choice causes, his pants are tight and he’s hiding his face, because as they keep listing off the reasons they believe in the cause, Atsumu can’t deny how fucking passionate they are, how pretty and smart and confident they seem.

It’s a turn on, truly, and while at the end of the day Atsumu’s opinion is the final say, having a darling with strong beliefs will help fuel his worshipper tendencies.

Competitive

Similarly to the other traits listed out for his darling, Atsumu needs someone with a bit of a competitive edge.

He doesn’t want this to overrun their relationship, but he likes the idea of small, domestic competitions; who can shoot the paper straw wrapper the furthest when he’s taking his darling out to a nice dinner (their table neighbors are less than pleased, but with the way his darling laughs and giggles, Atsumu doesn’t fucking care).

Little competitions of outwitting each other are mandatory for Atsumu; a partner that can tease him, sending him knowing glances and making fun of the stupid things he says makes his ears go red and his throat get all tight, but he fucking loves it.

He wants a partner that will compete to see who can go without stepping on a crack in the concrete the longest when he takes them out for a late night walk through the local park (eventually he’ll fudge the number just so he can win, and then he’ll offer to carry them home because they ‘obviously can’t avoid the cracks on yer own’, fully trying to pretend like the concept of touching his darling doesn’t make him break out in anxious shivers, beads of sweat covering his temples and hands).

He just likes a darling that can challenge him, and while he never seriously considers his darling actual competition, there’s something about seeing the way they focus on him as they try to beat him that makes his head swim.

There’s something so wonderful about how hyper focused they become on the things Atsumu accomplishes, and frankly it’s an opportunity to show off – he can show them how impressive he is, how capable, how strong and manly and romantic he can be. It’s perfect, and he needs a darling that fill these shoes – so really, don’t let Atsumu win, yeah?

Because once you win, his obsession just grows deeper, his fascination with you that bleeds into the wee hours of the morning as he clutches his pillow and desperately humps at it only getting stronger.

Stubborn

While Atsumu enjoys the idea of holding a certain amount of power over his darling, he doesn’t want someone who will easily roll over.

He likes the idea of a darling that is willing to stand up for themselves, and in particular a darling who is true to their word – and so, a more stubborn beloved would be perfect for Atsumu. He needs someone who isn’t willing to give up on what they want or believe so easily; of course, they can’t be too stubborn, as they need to be able to see the benefits of other perspectives sometimes.

(Specifically, they need to understand his perspective sometimes, even if it involves stalking them, kidnapping them, or even forcing them to sleep in the same bed as him.)

They need to be able to admit when they are wrong, but for the vast majority of the time Atsumu would love a darling that takes a bit of time before they’re willing to change their minds. He likes to idea of a darling that would only ever change their mind for him; it feeds into his possessiveness, and quells his delusions regarding his darling.

After all, they treat him unlike they treat everyone else – and isn’t that a sign? Doesn’t that mean they see him differently, think of him differently, perhaps even view him as someone special? The thought makes him giddy, his chest erupting in butterflies and the widest grin settling across his features, and he’ll remember each and every time his darling has ever changed their mind on something involving him.

It’s euphoric, the kind of thing he thinks about when he’s deep in his despair and missing his darling, but just remembering their pretty eyes looking up at him, the defeated and embarrassed look on their face when they say well, maybe you’re right…

It’s the stuff of both wholesome and wet dreams, and Atsumu will take it all with stride. After all, he’ll take anything his darling gives him.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

In general, Atsumu is absolutely desperate for your attention.

He’s not unused to female praise and girls fawning over him, what with the sheer number that attend his games and cheer him on. He’s used to the screaming fans in the crowds at Jackals games, constant messages in his DMs containing nude photographs and attempts at beginning a relationship with him.

And yet, despite his popularity, there’s something about the idea of you supporting him, you giving him the time of day that gets him feeling hot, his stomach fluttery and his lips dry. There’s something about the idea of you taking the time to recognize him, to acknowledge him (even if it’s just through the tiniest of smiles, or a quick text wishing him luck in his next match) that gets him sighing like some lovesick school girl, the idea genuinely so pleasing that he tends to zone out, too busy imagining the way you’d hug him or kiss him or snuggle up beside him after a hard game.

As a result, Atsumu tends to flock to you every chance he gets; he wants to show off, to get you in awe and have your eyes on him, and he’s not subtle.

It’s more than obvious to anyone that knows him (his friends and team) that he’s trying too hard, that he’s pushing himself harder than he should in order to win your favor. They’re more than aware that he’s overworking himself at games he knows you’re attending, flexing every muscle in his body as hard as he can when he walks by you, laughing loudly and lowering his voice slightly when you’re nearby because he’s heard that women find huskier voices attractive.

It’s embarrassing, if Osamu, Suna and Sakusa are being honest, but Atsumu can’t help it.

He needs you to notice him, to let your gorgeous eyes flick over his form, a small smile curling on your lips, a finger tucking your hair behind your ear, your weight shifting from one hip to another, anything at all to show him that you notice him, that you see him and think of him and love him and want him and need him and can’t stand even a single moment away from him –

It’s intense, to the point that you’ll likely notice the way he resembles an adolescent boy with how badly he’s trying to catch your attention, and frankly, you’ll probably be flattered. After all, it’s the Atsumu Miya that keeps meeting your gaze, his brown eyes flicking away quickly as he fights a blush and nudges Suna rather harshly, telling him to laugh like I told a joke, dammit, or I’ll steal yer chuupet, and how could you not be flattered?

He’s a heartthrob, a volleyball star, someone every girl you know would love to date, and he’s choosing you of all people? It feels good, and you’ll bask in the attention for a while – giving into his little desperate cries for attention, having conversations with him, coming to practices, letting him catch dinner with you sometimes, everything he requests with that strangely vulnerable would ya mind if I – er, if I went with you?

It’s hard to say no after all, and while Atsumu is internally panicking every second you’re together because he’s terrified he’ll fuck up and ruin the chemistry you seem to have, he wouldn’t trade his time with you for the world.

You’re perfect, so utterly lovely in every possible way, and so with time slowly his clinginess grows more and more intense, stronger and difficult to control, until you start getting worried about how far he’s pushing things, why the line seems to be crossed between friendliness and questionable intent.

It’s strange when his knuckles keep brushing yours, much more often than what would be accidental, or the way his fingertips brush against yours and slightly curl, like he’s trying to be subtle and gauge your reaction to holding his hand.

It’s odd how his gaze lingers on your form for much longer than is normal, those brown eyes fixed on your figure as you walk away, as you squirm and uncomfortably stare at the ground as your friend talks about the recent history test they’d just taken while you’re out and about getting lunch.

It’s strange how he always seems to make direct eye contact with you during games, even when you’re buried up in the sea of people in the bleachers, or how he hands you a plastic sack before the next game with small keychains and little memorabilia on it that he thought ya would like, since yer always cheerin’… inside you’ll find stickers with MSBY’s logo, a few volleyball themed sticky notes, pens and banners, and a copious amount of yellow plushies; foxes, jaguars and little birds, things that seem to match the shade of his hair exactly, little stuffed animals in number a 13 jersey, even a few banners with the words I’m proud of you ‘Tsumu! written across it with handwriting that looks just slightly too similar to your own.

It’s weird, and frankly you’ll want to return all of the things, but guilt and the crushed expression on Atsumu’s face when you don’t wear the custom made t-shirt with his jersey number and last name on the back (the size is exactly right, much to your dismay) to the next game have you reluctant.

You’ll want to return everything, but when you aren’t jumping up and down and cheering with every set he makes, you’ll end up piling on the accessories and supporting Atsumu, letting him call you every night to ramble on about his latest plays and movies he loves, letting him take you to Osamu’s favorite onigiri stand after games, letting him hug you for much too long.

You’ll let it happen, and Atsumu couldn’t be happier – but be warned, when you give the blond an inch, he’ll take miles and miles and miles. After all, he just needs you, and if you’ve let him push the envelope so far already, what else will you allow?

Will you let him knock you out and lay you across the soft comforter that adorns the bed he’s set up for the two of you to share?

Maybe you’ll let him cuddle you and run his fingers through your hair, bury his face into your neck and inhale, hump you like an animal in heat as he begs for you to tell me ya love me, fuck princess tell me yer in love with me.

Atsumu sure hopes so, and you wouldn’t want to disappoint, right?

Possessive

Tying in with some of his clingier habits, Atsumu struggles to not completely involve himself in every possible aspect of your life. It’s not that he wants to be omnipresent, always there, peering over your shoulder like some overgrown guardian angel with a golden retriever’s need for attention, but he genuinely can’t help it.

He gets so anxious where you’re concerned, terrified that someone else will come along and sweep you off your feet, scared that you’ll find someone better that he just physically can’t sit still and let another man walk into your life.

He struggles to give you your own space, not quite sure how to balance his desire to make you happy and see him as the perfect partner and the other, more pressing part of him that’s desperate to keep every man on Earth away from you, to keep a healthy distance of at least fifty yards away from you at any given time.

He doesn’t want to even allow the opportunity for another person to steal your attention or time, and as a result Atsumu decides the best method to achieve this desire is to simply always be there. If he doesn’t allow an opening for another man to sweep you away, then surely it won’t happen, surely you won’t be speaking to anyone else without the blond at your hip, staring down with malicious eyes as some guy tries to make you laugh or smile, as they compliment your eyes.

He’ll stand there, towering over you with brown eyes narrowed, flexing each and every muscle in his upper body, the sleeves of his uniform shirt straining against the lean muscle of his bicep as the man splutters, terrified that the Atsumu Miya is glaring at him, scared that he’ll get punched or his reputation ruined.

He tends to start off with staring, trying to make the other man who was stupid (and brave) enough to approach you uncomfortable enough to leave the two of you alone. But if that doesn’t work (which, most of the time he’s too impatient to see through fruition), Atsumu will rely on other tactics to get you looking at him and only him, just as you should.

That is, it’s disturbingly easy to plaster a fake smile onto his lips, grabbing your arm and spinning you to face him, asking you in that sing song voice that’s just a bit too high if you want to grab something to eat, if you want to see the new serve he’s been working on, if you want to go bother Osamu with him.

He’s asking anything, everything to get you agreeing, whining for your attention and telling you that he needs ya, yer my good luck charm with ‘Samu and I want some onigiri, pouting like a child if you seem unsure or reject him.

When you eventually sigh and agree, apologizing to the other man and letting Atsumu drag you off to god knows where, the blond will throw a malicious glare over his shoulder, a proud smirk etched onto his lips as he mouths the words mine, before looking down at you and smiling once more, prattling on about some new accomplishment of his in an effort to impress you.

Generally, this works – Atsumu is terribly insistent and determined, wanting so badly and so impatiently to get your attention and drag you out of the situation that it’s nearly palpable, but he has this strange charm to him that has you always caving, making you sigh and bite your lip but ultimately say okay fine, but just this one time, okay?

Atsumu is strangely pitiable, someone that manages to master the kicked puppy look each time he begs and pleads for you to spend time with him, to just stay with him, to not ditch hangouts in favor of working overtime, to not join that recreational group you’ve been interested in because he needs you to watch his practice and haven’t ya seen the men in that group? Don’t ya see the way they look at yer ass when ya walk away? Ya’d be stupid to join ‘em, princess.

He’s oddly sweet, the validation that him constantly searching for your attention and praise gives you strangely addicting, so just let him put his hand on your waist, lean down to inhale the scent of your hair (and smile when he smells your familiar shampoo and not a single trace of cologne that isn’t his), smile and point at you when he makes a good set, grab your wrist and drag you behind the practice facility to press you against the nearest wall and shove his tongue down your throat because someone forgot who they fuckin’ belong to, huh baby?

Atsumu is strangely endearing in his desperation to keep you to himself, but don’t be fooled – underneath the jealous schoolboy act is a pathetic, dangerous man willing to do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it involves dirtying his hands with chloroform, blood, or lies.

Delusional

The trouble with Atsumu is, of course, his determination.

He’s simply unable to let himself lose or let go of things he’s truly passionate about. And so, once his feelings for you form, you make that very short list of Atsumu’s priorities – right between volleyball, and, begrudgingly, his brother.

But while this in itself isn’t particularly strange, it’s the method with which Atsumu expresses his intense devotion to you that’s a bit alarming, that makes him qualify as a delusional man.

He’s very, very dedicated to making sure that he looks good in your eyes and that you like him. He’s obsessed with making sure that the two of you pan out, that you end up together, that he gets to hold and kiss you, to touch your pretty skin and slip a diamond studded ring on your finger while you whisper out that airy yes, I’ll marry you ‘Tsumu.

He’s driven by the fantasies he possesses of the two of you; mostly domestic things, embarrassingly enough. He likes to imagine waking up together in the mornings, the sunlight dancing along your face as you softly breath in and out.

He likes to imagine the way he’d snuggle up against you, pulling you against his chest so that your face is buried against his pectorals, his chin atop your head as he deeply breaths in your scent, relishing in the peacefulness and calmness of the moment.

He likes to imagine the way you’d smile when he compliments you, your flustered expression as you playfully smack his upper arm, trying to hide how embarrassed you are as he teases you. He imagines you’d shut him up with a kiss, whispering against his lips when you pull away that he’s just as pretty as me, the prettiest boy I’ll ever know.

He’s fueled by these desires, and while they aren’t explicitly dark, it’s the extreme to which Atsumu is willing to try to see them come to fruition that’s disturbing. It’s the way he’s holding himself to an impossible benchmark to encourage these feelings in you, to get you to reciprocate his infatuation.

It’s the way he’s simply not taking no for an answer; he’s always asking you to get food with him, to come to his games, to let him take you out to the park for ice cream, even just to call him – and if you decline his offers, Atsumu simultaneously feels his heart break and his resolve harden.

He feels as if it’s a sign that he’s not doing enough each time you reject him; obviously he’s not trying hard enough, not putting in the level of dedication and work that he must in order to get you falling in love with him.

His delusions lie in that he’s continually pushing himself harder to make you want him. He’s doing extensive research into the types of movies you watch, the books you read, the fanfiction you enjoy, the tropes and heartthrobs, anything and everything he can find about your tastes, even if it means digging through your browsing history.

He’s religiously watching and reading the media you like to consume, trying to find similarities so that he can emulate what the male lead always does.

Maybe he should dye his hair?

Maybe he should start wearing only shades of gray and black?

You always read stories where the lead brings the narrator flowers, so obviously you must want a bouquet, right?

Don’t be surprised when he shows up at your doorstep with a lovely, gorgeous bouquet of flowers in your favorite color, a blush dancing on his cheeks while he sheepishly asks if you’d like to come to the movies with me? There’s this new film coming out that I’ve been wanting to see, but it’s always depressing to eat popcorn alone, so…

He’s not really listening when you tell him that you’re not interested in dating anyone right now; you obviously just need some time, because there’s no way you can’t feel the desperation Atsumu feels for you.

There’s simply no fucking way you don’t realize how horribly, deeply he wants to call you his. Instead, he’ll just smile at you, that same too-wide grin while he pats your head (silently reveling in the feeling of your hair texture against his fingers because holy fuck he just touched you -) and tells you that it’s okay, I understand, no emotional commitment for ya, babe!

He’s not swayed by anything you could do or say to try and argue that his efforts aren’t working; Atsumu is determined, and he won’t let anything get in the way of earning your love and attention, including you. What you want matters to him, and he truly does want you to want him, but at the end of the day, his delusions cloud his mind into thinking that you do want him.

You may not know it yet – hell, you may not be willing to accept it yet, but Atsumu is okay with that. He can be patient, just for you. He can wait, lay the groundwork some more, woo you with every possible method he can think of, until you finally come to your senses and realize that no one can treat you like he does.

No one else will ever want you as badly as the blond does, and no one else would ever fight as hard to get you by their side.

No one else would be willing to rifle through your discarded trash just to see what food packages you were eating, what brand of soap and shampoo you like, what brand of tampons you use and what size.

No else would be willing to lace the food he has Osamu make for you (begrudgingly, but a few extra bucks thrown at the chef will do wonders) with vitamins, things to keep you healthier and happier, because he just cares about you.

No one else would do half of the shit he’s willing to do for you, and Atsumu is more than aware of this. Doesn’t that make him special?

Doesn’t his devotion to you show that he’s serious about loving you? Isn’t it romantic that he’s willing to go so damn far for you? You should be flattered, really; you’ve caught the attention of the Atsumu Miya, a professional athlete and star of the MSBY Jackals.

He’s head over heels for you, obsessed in every sense of the word with having you be his girl, and how could you get any luckier? Especially with the way he watches your every move like your shadow because he just cares so much?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

When it comes to jealousy, Atsumu is certainly no stranger. He’s dealt with the green eyed monster his whole life; having a twin was difficult, what with people constantly comparing him to Osamu.

He’s tired of being known as simply an extension of another person, and while this got better as he got older and the two Miyas developed their own, independent lives, he’s always held a shred of jealousy towards his brother. He’s quick to anger, and so once you’re in the picture?

Well, Atsumu may have grown and matured a lot since his high school days, but he’s still the same somewhat childish man at heart. And to see someone – something – he loves so much be threatened by another man makes his gut clench uncomfortably, his lips pulling into a grimace before he can even think about it.

His fists are clenching before any rational thought enters his brain, whatever poor object was in his hands nearly breaking with the sheer amount of force he puts into his grip. He’s gotten much better with handling his rage, but the reality is that the idea of you finding another man doesn’t simply enrage him – no, it terrifies him.

He’s scared that he’s not enough; sure, he’s got money, fame, a great physique, and a charming smile, but what about his personality? Is he funny enough? Smart enough? Kind enough? Can he make you laugh like you want him to, can he make you flustered and embarrassed with his compliments and cheeky comments?

He’s riddled with self-doubt when it comes to you, and while he tries to put up the façade of confidence most of the time, there’s moments where you’ll very clearly see the real Atsumu underneath those layers of charisma. The real, raw, emotional, desperate young man who wants nothing more than for you to choose him.

And so, it doesn’t take too terribly much to set off his jealousy. Generally speaking, the blond only ever feels jealous when your attention drifts away from him. He doesn’t enjoy seeing other men stare at you from afar, the way their eyes rake over your figure, thoughts surely flashing through their mind about what could be under your clothes, all manner of perverted intentions and fantasies being played out mentally.

He doesn’t enjoy it, but at least Atsumu knows that you can’t be tempted by what you don’t see – he knows the look men give when they’re imagining railing you into next week, when they’re contemplating whether to approach you, but you don’t.

You’re not aware of the fine art of decoding the male gaze; and so, why should Atsumu be worried? He’ll shoo the man away, laying his claim over you to try and (not) subtly show the stranger that you’re firmly claimed and taken.

However, when his jealousy really activates is when you show signs of interest in other men. When it’s your eyes trailing another man’s figure, when it’s your lips quirking up into a smile as you listen to another man’s voice and jokes.

It’s insecurity hitting him square in the chest as he wonders if this man could be better than him, if you’d prefer him over Atsumu, if you’re unhappy with the blond. And so, he must put a stop to the interaction before you can develop any sort of attachment to this new man – it would derail everything he’s worked so fucking hard for over the last few months.

Atsumu’s brows furrow inward as he watches the way you tap your foot and smile at the man in front of you in line.

You’re waiting to order your drink at the local coffeeshop he’d had the both of you meet up at. Surprisingly punctual when it comes to you, Atsumu had arrived earlier than the time he’d scheduled, and had subsequently gotten his iced coffee before you’d gotten the chance to enter the shop.

And now, he was deeply regretting his decision to caffeinate himself before you showed up; the man in front of you was tall, with dark hair and tan skin. A chiseled jaw line was obvious even from his distance away, as were his smoothly pressed, tucked in maroon dress shirt and black slacks. Atsumu frowned; his own pair of brown shorts and brightly patterned top seemed much too childish now.

Did you like men in muted colors, or bold designs?

Distantly, Atsumu made a note to look through more of your browsing history to find out. In the present, though, the blond was growing more and more irritated by the minute. You were clearly checking out the stranger; your eyes were obviously traveling down along his back, your pretty gaze settling in on the spot right above his thighs –

Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath, his cheeks feeling hot (surely red), before he was immediately bolting out of his chair, his legs moving faster than his mind could think.

You were not to be having this free of an attraction to another man – particularly one that looked nothing like Atsumu himself.

Were you more attracted to men with dark hair? Did you prefer tanner skin rather than Atsumu’s own paler self?

Shaking his head, he let his fists clench at his sides, his lip trapped between his teeth so hard it threatened to bleed. It’s horrible, having to watch this interaction – the man had turned around to ask you a question, and you’d responded with something that made him laugh.

He was laughing, his whole face lighting up with a smile brighter than the fucking sun and Atsumu wants to spike a ball at his head, to punch him across his stupidly sharp jawline and make him scream and cry and beg for his forgiveness for touching what’s his his his –

He sucks in an unsteady, shaky breath as the man makes some comment about you looking pretty, and you jump slightly, your brows shooting up at his forwardness. You stutter out a thanks, mentally shocked because was he flirting with you…? This handsome stranger?

You clear your throat, telling him you like the color of his shirt, and the man smiles knowingly at you.

Do you like my shirt, or do you like what’s underneath it?

Your lips part slightly, your brows furrowing a bit. Oh, um, no, I mean your shirt.

Something about the way the man’s brows rose and the smirk that settled across your lips was starting to unsettle you, his forwardness earlier seeming confident, though perhaps too confident.

Admittedly, self assurance was attractive, but as the man’s smirk grew wider and he took another step towards you, you found yourself stiffening up.

I’m sure you’d like what’s underneath it too, sugar, if you’d like to see. I’m in the gym every morning, promise, and I never skip arm day.

You smile shakily at him, a barely hidden grimace at his words, before taking a small step backwards and away from him. You’d been unaware of the way Atsumu had taken strides to get closer to the both of you, essentially hiding himself behind the nearest display shelf of coffee cups and mugs while he kept his eyes focused on the both of you, his ears wide open to take in every word.

And to say he was angry was a massive understatement – sure, this man may be attractive, but could he not see how uncomfortable he was making you?

Did he not understand that you weren’t fucking interested? Atsumu is frozen for a moment, internally weighing what to do, but as the man reaches out to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear, the blond snaps.

He’s immediately at your side, grabbing your arm and shuffling you behind him, paying no mind to the way that the man’s face sours, his lips settling into a pinched line as he stares at Atsumu.

They’re roughly the same height, and despite the man’s insistence of always hitting the gym, it’s more than clear that Atsumu has more strength, his professional career leaving him ridden with muscle, even if he’s not a spiker. Atsumu’s sending him the meanest, coldest look he possibly can, cutting off the man who attempts to say something. She’s not interested, dipshit.

The man’s nostrils flare, and distantly Atsumu scoffs that he was ever feeling insecure because of such a piece of shit. The man guffaws, crossing his arms, snapping out and how the hell would you know?

Atsumu nearly growls, his heart pounding in his chest out of anger and barely restrained rage, his every muscle begging to be let go, to punch this man across the face, to beat the shit out of him while you watch – maybe you’d be impressed, thinking of him as strong and capable, thinking of him as your protector, your manly, masculine boyfriend.

It’s a charming thought, but he steels himself and instead rolls his eyes at the man. Because yer a fucking creep, that’s why, harassin’ women and getting’ em all scared and nervous. Fuck off.

And with that, Atsumu is grabbing your wrist, swerving on his heel and dragging you behind him, taking the both of you outside of the coffee shop. He’d left his own iced coffee on the table, but he couldn’t care less.

Once the both of you were outside, he immediately turned around, hazel eyes searching yours as he examined every inch of your face and body for any sort of injury or tears.

Your mouth is parted slightly, your eyes wide, but Atsumu can only mutter out a ya okay, love?

You don’t answer him – instead, you’re crashing into his chest, throwing your arms around him and hugging him as tightly as you can. Atsumu squeaks, his cheeks flushing bright red because holy fuck, you’re hugging him –

You whisper out a thank you, shoving your face further into his chest, and Atsumu can only hug you back as tightly, a hand running down your hair in comforting motions. A tear slips down his cheek without even realizing it, his heart racing because the fear of thinking he’d lost you was still much too strong, the worry and pain slowly ebbing away, but not nearly fast enough.

He’s quick to buy you another coffee at a different shop, along with your favorite sweets, insisting that you take the day off of work and instead come watch his practice today, where he can make sure you’re not approached by anymore creeps.

You agree, and Atsumu goes to sleep that night with a wide, nearly crazed smile as he hugs his pillow tightly, remembering the way you’d touched him and cheered him on at practice, even giving him a kiss on the cheek when he’d made a particularly good set.

His hand slips down his torso as he relives the way your chest had felt against his own, his other hand opening his phone to the folder he has of pictures of you, your pretty face staring at him through the screen as his own face morphs into a pretty ‘o’, his brows shooting up and whimpers tumbling past his lips.

You’re just so perfect, and while he still worries you’ll find someone else, at least today you didn’t – today, you were his.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Quite honestly, Atsumu doesn’t particularly want to steal you away.

He’s still clinging onto the idea of having a normal, healthy relationship with you, and while he can’t deny the attraction of keeping you locked up in his penthouse apartment, he isn’t jumping at his heels to kidnap you.

There’s just something about it that leaves a sour taste in his mouth; he fell in love with you for you, and perhaps there’s some part of him that’s hesitant to force you into captivity for fear of changing who you are. He doesn’t want some brain-dead, Stockholm Syndrome induced lover.

No, he wants you, with your every flaw and strength bare before his eyes, so that he can know every bit of you as you are, not as he wants to mold you to be.

He’s not interested in forming you into his ideal lover; you already are, and he’d never forgive himself if he changed you just to make you a more obedient captive.

And so, the prospect of kidnapping you just doesn’t seem like a possibility to the setter – besides, his delusions reinforce the idea that eventually you’ll want to live with him. He’ll tell himself over and over that you don’t want to be kidnapped because you want to come willingly with him, and while he may have struggled to believe it at first, eventually he's swearing by the idea.

Because really, when he’s repeating it to himself like a mantra, chanting it under his breath as his fingers clutch at the bathroom counter and cool water runs down his face from the faucet still on below him, how is he supposed to doubt it?

How can he not believe that you’ll eventually want him, want the life he can give you by being his partner?

Atsumu is riddled with insecurities, but despite the way the idea of you makes them flare up, there’s something oddly therapeutic about imagining the way you’d be able to overcome them, how you’d accept him as he is, smiling and leaping into his arms as you tell him yes, yes I’d love to live with you! Let me pack up all my stuff and let the landlord know, you’ll have to get a bigger bed so we can both fit…

He’s convinced himself that you want to live with him, through sheer determination and repetition, and often when stress is eating him alive, his fingers tugging at his hair while he paces back and forth as he relives the way you smiled at that man today over and over and over again, it’s the thought of how you’d lovingly accept him eventually that keeps him going.

It’s a pleasant thought, really – and one that keeps his sanity in tact.

And so, when eventually the time comes and he gets this blushy, bashful look on his face, wringing his hands and struggling to make eye contact with you as he opens his mouth, just know that the scene will not be pretty. When he blurts out the words (stuttered a bit, hopefully you won’t notice), just know that when you inevitably reject his offer, Atsumu will seem a bit… off.

There’s something about the way his brown eyes darken, his hands falling limp in his lap, the chatter of the restaurant around you seeming so fucking loud as silence falls between you.

Atsumu’s in shock, really, unable to believe what he’s just heard – your rejection goes against everything he’s ever believed, every mantra he’s forced himself to believe, every little thing he’s repeated to himself over and over again until he’s crying and smiling like a fool, laughing and sobbing and whispering your name again and again and again –

He’s frozen, and you’ll eventually leave the restaurant with him, giving him an awkward hug and wishing him a good night, but when you get into your bed you’d best cherish it. Really, you must – because that’s the last time you’ll ever be seeing the familiar four walls of your bedroom, the familiar feel of your sheets, the same view from your window.

Because as you sleep, your pretty chest rising and falling peacefully, Atsumu’s at your doorway, his hand shaking as he breaths in unevenly, the rope and chloroform already at attention as he whispers you’ll love me, promise ya will, jus’ takes some time…

It’s a rude awakening the next morning, of course, with a stranger’s arms around you and his heavy breaths in your ear, but don’t take too long to adjust; after all, Atsumu is patient, but every man has his breaking point.

As a captor, Atsumu is mostly just clingy.

He’s not too terrible; he’s generally somewhat aware of your personal space, but he does have a habit of forcing you into unwanted affection. He’ll never put you into sexual scenarios, but more often than not you’ll notice he has wandering hands.

He’s always snaking his hand into yours, his fingers brushing against your soft skin and the pad of his thumb rubbing small circles against your hand, a small smile settling over his features.

He’s always wrapping his arms around you from behind, settling his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and sighing out your name, some slurred compliment making shivers run up your spine.

(It’s normally something along the lines of smell so pretty today babe, ‘s that yer new shampoo? I like it, makes me wanna take a bite outta ya.)

He’s planting kisses against your cheeks and knuckles, letting his lips wander along the plains of your body under he’s reached your neck. He won’t actually kiss you, though – you’re grateful for that at least, because while he loves to leave his mark along your body (mostly on your forearms, ankles, stomach and collarbone), there’s something so intimate about kissing you, about pressing his lips against yours.

He wants you to initiate it, for you to lean forward, flutter your eyes closed and press your lips against his, for you to sigh lightly, to let your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him deeply, slowly, meaningfully…

When he coughs into his fist and his gaze darts away from you while he’s got you snuggled up into his side on the couch, just know he could absolutely pin you down and kiss you until you’re gasping for breath, just like he wants to.

But Atsumu has promised himself to be patient with you, that the love he’s convinced you’ll eventually feel will come, but only if he treats you like a queen. And so, while you may have to deal with the (more than occasional) touches and cuddles, Atsumu mostly respects your personal boundaries.

He does not, however, respect your attention.

He wants it.

Constantly.

His clinginess doesn’t just manifest in physical ways, and while you may have believed he was bad before he’s stolen you away, it’s nothing compared to how he acts once you’re in his apartment, under his care – because now, you have no way of escaping those brown eyes that are always fixed on you.

His little whines and sing-songs of your name from across the apartment will be a constant presence in your life, the front door slamming closed while locks click into place and he calls for you to come to the door, I got ya a little present today from ‘Samu!

It’s onigiri he picked up, some homemade desserts from his brother, too, and Atsumu is oh so fucking pleased to show you what he has to offer. Because really, that’s Atsumu’s favorite thing to do; he wants to impress you, to prove to you that he’s worthy of your love, that he’s a good man and would be an even better husband, and what better way than to prove it to you?

He’s always trying to buy you things, both expensive and not. You’ll find new pieces of jewelry (all things you wouldn’t mind buying yourself, if you’d been on the outside of course), new articles of clothing (all fitting you perfectly, despite any irregularities on your body that make it difficult to size), new flowers sitting in vases on the kitchen table when you wake up.

He’s getting you your favorite candies, a constant supply in the kitchen cabinets of your favorite snacks and drinks, a separate credit card in his wallet reserved exclusively for your purchases. (It’s got roughly a million dollars on it – a good year of his own salary, but Atsumu thinks it’s worth it – anything for you to give him those pretty eyes, that gorgeous smile, to feel your hands on his body in a loving way.)

He’s mostly just pathetic; his desperation is palpable, and despite your best intentions, you likely will fall for him. He may be a delusional, mentally disturbed man that stole you away from the world and keeps you locked up where only he can see you, but at least he looks at you like you’re his whole world.

At least he treats you with delicacy, smiling in such a raw, emotional way at you that it makes you have to look away, the plain love and adoration glimmering in those honey eyes making you uncomfortable. At least he cares enough to get the finest things he can buy, all for your comfort and happiness.

And so, while his delusions are strong, eventually Atsumu will be right – because you will love him, eventually, even if you try to fight it. Because after all, when he’s the only one you see everyday, the only voice and touch you’ll know for the rest of your days, he’ll start to seem oddly cute.

Oddly handsome. Oddly endearing. Oddly enough, your only choice.

So really, just accept him – you’ll get unconditional love for the rest of your life, and Atsumu has more than enough money and adoration for you to last both of your lifetimes. So really, just let it happen.

PUNISHMENTS:

Because Atsumu has such strong worshipper tendencies, getting him mad is actually a bit of a challenge. And getting him actually mad at you is even harder.

He loves you – fuck does he love you, or at least as close to love as his obsession can get. And while he’s maybe not the most chivalrous man on Earth, Atsumu has always been taught that women are to be treated with respect and dignity. And so, he’ll never be one to physically strike you.

He hates the idea of you getting hurt just in general; the moment he sees a bruise on your pretty skin, a scratch along your knee or a papercut on your finger, he quite frankly loses his mind. His mind is racing with questions of how that injury possibly got there, how you could’ve been out of his sight long enough to hurt yourself, why he couldn’t stop you from getting it.

He’s blaming himself as the reason why you’re crying, your lip bit between your teeth as you hiss and stare at the small papercut, the stinging sensation not horribly painful, but certainly not pleasant. He’ll race up to you, eyes wide and his voice stuck in his throat, examining the injury with careful fingers.

His eyes will well with tears too, his heart breaking as he realizes he’s directly responsible, that although he wasn’t the hot water that burned your poor pinky, he let you touch the water. He may have been at work, just barely walking through the door, but it’s his responsibility to take care of you, just as a good partner should. And so, in order to get Atsumu mad, a few things need to happen;  a perfect storm must be created, and frankly almost none of it is your fault. Firstly, Atsumu’s day must have gone poorly.

He must’ve had a bad practice, lost a match, been insulted one too many times by Sakusa, or gotten chewed out by his mom or brother. Something must have happened to irritate him, serving his mood to be a bit fouler than usual.

He must have hit traffic on his way home to you, the clock in his nice, expensive car counting the minutes by, getting later and later as he anxiously taps his fingers against the wheel, letting his eyes dart from the stop-and-go traffic back to the dashboard again.

He has to have felt that he’ll be late in seeing you, that you must be suffering at home all alone without him, probably angry at him for not being home right on time like he always promises to be.

He must have gotten an urgent call as he finally pulled into the apartment’s parking lot, the caller his own coach hoping to go over some new training times with him that Atsumu frankly couldn’t give a shit about.

He must have accidentally fallen on the stairs leading up to the apartment (he never takes the elevator – always says it keeps him in shape, but really he’s noticed that you seem to like his smell when he's just slightly sweaty, the strong musk of his cologne attracting you in just enough to Atsumu’s heart racing), tripping and maybe dropping his phone by accident.

He must’ve had to struggle with the door’s lock for a few moments, his anticipation eating away at him as he fumbled with the keys, before finally – finally – the door is opened and he has access to you. And finally, he needs to see the way you jump up at his greeting, banging your hand against the hot oven stove as you cook yourself some eggs, causing you to yelp and clutch at the finger that has a slight burn.

It’s all of these events together that make Atsumu tip over the edge, the horrible day he’d had along with seeing you hurt yourself making everything collide into a storm, one that makes him drop his athletic bag, his chest heaving, eyes wide and lips parted.

It takes a bit for him to reach that point, but once he does, suddenly the Atsumu before you is no longer the one you recognize.

He’ll stare, unable to form words as you blink back some tears, the burn really not that bad, but your body just can’t help it.

You’re clutching at your finger and hissing under your breath, quickly running towards the sink and letting the cool water stream down over your finger. You sigh slightly in relief, and it’s only as you turn your head and smile briefly at Atsumu that he can feel his limbs again.

Hey, Atsumu. You call, turning back to the sink and putting your finger closer to the spigot, though you know it doesn’t help at all. Suddenly, a clamoring of desperate footsteps sounds behind you, and you stiffen up as hot breath pants against your ear.

Atsumu’s behind you, his body caging yours against the sink as he clambers your hands into his, his own fingers trembling as he stares down at where you were burned. He can barely breath, and as he starts murmuring under his breath, your brows furrow together.

You call his name questioningly, to which Atsumu only responds with don’t talk, just – fuck, just shut up. His voice is a whisper, and although it’s quiet it’s harsh, the sound something you’ve never heard Atsumu make.

Your heart is racing in your chest, a slight bit of fear rolling through you. Was he mad?

Soon he’s taking steps away from you, and you turn around to see him standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his head, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair. He’s staring at the ground, his lips moving quickly but you can’t hear what he’s saying.

You call his name again, concern and fear flowing through you, but as you take careful steps to approach, Atsumu suddenly collapses to his knees, the hard linoleum floor crashing against his bare skin. You wince slightly, knowing that must’ve hurt, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to care – or notice, really.

He’s still murmuring to himself, cradling his head in his hands, and with a deep breath you kneel down in front of him, saying his name again and reaching out to lightly touch his shoulder. As your hand makes contact with the gray of his training shirt, Atsumu stiffens up, his chest no longer heaving, and for a moment you wonder if he’s stopped breathing.

Atsumu? Are you okay- You’re cut off by his hand knocking yours off his shoulder, exposing the way his eyes are wide as they stare down at his knees. ‘s my fault, my fault, my fault.

He’s murmuring to himself, his breath hoarse, and as you stare in concern, suddenly his eyes are snapping to you. He’s staring under his eyelashes, and before you have a chance to ask again if he’s okay, he’s suddenly lunging forward, springing so quickly you let out a small scream.

His hands are on your shoulders as he clutches at you so hard you’re afraid it’ll bruise.

His nose is mere centimeters from yours, his breath fanning across your lips as he heaves, the look in his eye chilling you to the bone. He looks scared, lost, angry, and so, so very unhinged. You gulp, your gaze darting between his eyes. I

t’s my fault. He whispers, to which you open and close your mouth, unsure what he’s talking about. ‘ve been bad, not been treating ya right. Makin’ you go off and hurt yerself, just to get my attention.

He’s still whispering, but somehow it’s getting louder, his every word making you shrink in on yourself. Been bein’ a bad boyfriend, huh? Makin’ ya cry, been treatin’ ya like shit. Your mouth is dry. No way ya love me, ya hear me? No fuckin’ way.

His hands are trembling as they hold you, you realize. It makes your whole body shake.

I fucked it up, made ya hate me. Ya hate me, don’t ya? He's asking you, you think, and you go to answer but he cuts you off. I disgust ya, huh? Rather hurt yerself than love me, huh?

You shake your head no, but Atsumu’s growling, hanging his head down in defeat. Made ya hate me, now you’ll never want me.

It’s silent for a moment, before you slowly – very slowly – shuffle closer to him, letting your arms wrap around his waist. He lets you, his breathing still harsh, and you stay still for a moment once he’s in your embrace.

Shh, I love you, stop doing this. You’re whispering to him, and though you’re just trying to comfort him, a small part of you wonders at how easily the words flow off your tongue. Breath with me, in, now out. In, then out.

Slowly, his breathing gets under control, and once you feel it’s alright, you use your finger to lift up his chin. Look at me, ‘Tsumu. His head snaps up, and for a moment you wonder if the wide eyed look he’s giving you is because of the nickname.

Your heart clenches at the tear tracks running down his cheeks. I love you, kay? I didn’t mean to hurt myself, it’s not your fault.

He’s gaping like a fish, but after a moment he whispers out ya love me?

It’s the most vulnerable, saddest thing you think you’ve ever heard, and without thinking you nod, surprising yourself. Atsumu stills for a moment, before a wide grin breaks across his face, and suddenly he’s on his feet with you in his arms. He spins around, dragging you with him, a laugh in his voice as he calls out ya love me, ya love me!

Soon he’ll stop and hold you close, your forehead to his as he smiles and closes his eyes, whispering the words under his breath.

Ya love me forever, I love ya forever.

Forever.

OVERALL DANGER:

 8/10

Really, Atsumu is not particularly dangerous. The thing that makes him an undesirable yandere, however, is his mixture of determination and delusion.

He’s very, very fixated on making you love him. He’s obsessed with the idea of you; your personality, your beauty, your words, your body, your mannerisms.

To him, everything you do is perfection – and he wants it to be all his, to be only his. He’s possessive, delusional, and frankly always in your business – clingy is a nice word for how often he’s stealing your attention.

He’s always calling your name, placing his hand on your arm, sending you flirty remarks (that are somewhat less effective because of the slight stutter in his voice and the harsh blush on his cheeks, but still oddly sweet, even if the words are a bit creepy).

He’s always in your vicinity, that same lovesick look on his face while he watches you: his brows are tilted slightly upwards, his honey eyes half lidded as he gazes at you, his lips in a slight smile as he rests his chin on his hand, leaning forward at the table he’s seated at to watch you you you.

Atsumu is consumed by thoughts of you at every moment of the day, to the point where even volleyball can’t be considered his love – it’s only you now, for better or for worse. And really, as suffocating and unnerving as having all of the Atsumu Miya’s delusional, twisted love for you is, you’ll eventually find yourself craving it.

After all, there’s something empowering about how you can get the professional athlete on his knees with just a snap of your fingers, practically drooling as he tells you he loves ya, I’d do anythin’ for ya, fuck baby yer so pretty, so good for me, love ya so much it fuckin’ hurts –

He’s a fool in love, truly, but be careful – because a rejection of this fool can land you in serious trouble.

The kind of trouble some twisted, fucked up part of you will grow to love, even if you hate yourself for it.

─── 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 7.1k | content: fluff, making out, college!au, mentions of insecurity, only very brief angst !!, alcohol, slight jealousy

notes: this was supposed to be lengthier and in smau format but i suck at that so here it is in fic format :’) i know i know, i write sae way too much </3

summary: you have a crush on sae. for a long time now. and he’s always known that. he just wants to see how long you can hold out.

HIGH SCHOOL: 2ND YEAR

itoshi sae knows you like him.

you’re really obvious it’s pathetic, really. once during recess, he’d wanted to go back to the classroom to get some shut eye because soccer was way too draining lately, and guess who he saw slipping a little love note into his locker?

of course you. you and your little pink heart-shaped post-it that read i think you’re cute and i really really like you. because it was valentines and you were one of the many to send him little scribbles of confessions.

even now, when you sit just a couple of rows in front of him, he catches you looking behind at him, and sae purposely doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you know he knows you’re staring. he’s not really sure why. maybe he feels bad if he exposes you or something.

throughout the rest of your sophomore year in high school, he continues to observe as you so subtly (not really) try to be friends with him. you always try to get picked to be in the same group as him for projects (which never works out), you try to sit next to him in lecture halls (but his friends cockblock you always), and during phys ed classes you try so hard with soccer but you’re really quite bad at it.

maybe it’s sae not being able to continue observing your failures that he throws you a bone.

“you need to bend your knees a little more.”

frozen stiff from the unexpected company, you awkwardly try to bend your knees further, all while staring at the ground. if sae was nice, he’d laugh and joke around with you, asking why you seemed so scared of him. but he’s not, so he only sighs and stands beside you while you try.

after a few more seconds, sae understands you don’t really understand so he moves to push down on your thigh, and by then you really freeze up, falling flat on your ass in front of him.

sae wants to laugh now, really, because it’s amusing how nervous you are. for no good reason too.

the next time sae talks to you, it’s during lunch time when he queues up behind you. on purpose. he doesn’t even usually eat from this stall, but seeing you there makes him want to mess with you a little. he purposely stands a little too close, makes himself prone to an accidental bump.

which does happen. because you’re just like that.

“oh, sor—” you stop midway as if realising it’s sae immediately dissolves you of any obliged apologies. “sorry,” you force out before whipping your attention back in front. the both of you don’t talk in that moment and sae can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

but sae continues to help you during phys ed classes, and you still try to get assigned to be his group mate. nothing groundbreaking happens during sophomore year of high school because nothing is born out of it.

nothing, except maybe a tiny bit of sae’s inexplicable emotions for you.

HIGH SCHOOL: SENIOR YEAR

sae thinks maybe you went to a shrine over the holidays. how else would he explain you finally getting partnered with him on a project? and to top it off, it’s a two-person team for the entire year.

you get him all to yourself.

the moment the teacher calls your name after his, it’s like sae can practically see your tail wagging. you manage to compose yourself when you catch him staring at you though.

it’s a little cute, if he’s being honest.

“so, what do you think our project should be about?” your voice wavers a little when you speak to him. is he that intimidating?

sae wonders what if he tries to be a dick during this project. would you be obedient or would you actually bite back?

he tries to find out.

sae shrugs and acts disinterested, staring out the window of the second floor of the library where you’d both agreed to meet to work on it together. “don’t know, don’t care, think you could handle it for us? i’ve got too many soccer trainings, too tired.”

for a split second, you’re taken aback—he sees you sitting upright a little more, blinking twice at him because surely that’s not what you imagined your crush to behave like. not when he has straight As and is almost the top of your cohort.

and for a while, sae thinks you might actually be the former; obediently listening to him, making sure he’s happy. but then you furrow your brows and clench your fists and go “itoshi sae, who do you think you are” and oh, oh, you’re not the former, you’re the latter and you’d actually kill him if he was a dick. fuck.

somehow his hands instinctively come up in surrender and his mouth opens, “i was just kidding.”

it’s almost comical how your expression softens up immediately and you laugh, and sae keeps staring at you because you actually have a really nice smile. he never really noticed it before. and when the two of you actually get started on the project, sae finds himself observing you more than actually contributing.

yeah, you’re really quite pretty.

“any plans for the summer?”

it’s now almost july and summer break is around the corner, and to be honest sae’s kind of bummed about it. it’s beyond him why not seeing you would make him disappointed, but he’s not going to try and pursue the reason. he has his training camps to worry about.

“soccer. you?”

“mmm, a short trip with my parents.”

usually sae would leave it at that, but he asks about you, and he sees that tail wagging again. “where?”

“just gonna go to hokkaido,” you tell him. and you look like you’re anticipating him to ask more, but sae’s stuck. he doesn’t really know what to ask. he’s not exactly curious as to what you’d be doing there.

so you take matters into your own hand when you swiftly grab his phone from the table, key in your number and call yourself from his phone before putting it right back. sae watches you the whole time, wondering when exactly you’d gotten this bold.

“there, now you can’t escape me even over summer break.”

and he doesn’t. because you text him about your trip when you’re there, you send him pictures of the scenery and of the food you’re eating and you’re really inconsiderate because you send him that shit when he’s stuck in soccer bootcamp with twenty-four sweaty guys who’s none the better than him.

sae can end it by all means, just by not responding to you, but for the first time, talking to someone isn’t really a pain, and he thinks you’re kind of funny and the stickers you send are kind of cute so he’ll let this continue. even if by continue he means sending mediocre, lacklustre responses that just barely manages to keep the conversation going.

(in sae’s mind at eighteen, sending replies like okay and i see are considered acceptable and subjectively considered effort.)

when summer break finally ends and it’s early september, sae finally sees you again while he walks to school. he walks a little faster just to catch up to you before he adjusts his pace, acts like it’s coincidence that he’s right beside you.

and somehow he’s made it a routine; to memorise what bus you get off of and catch you on the way to school. even if he sees you in classes and even after classes in the library.

you’re acting a little less like he’s on a podium and more like normal friends and he kind of likes that. he likes being able to see you unfiltered when you gossip, likes seeing you laugh at stupid lame jokes, likes the way you hang close to him whenever you’re beside him.

okay maybe like is a little stretching it, he doesn’t mind being able to tolerate it. or maybe he’s just in denial, whatever.

winter comes and it’s somehow the time when more girls try to talk to him, mainly because somehow the school decides to hold a winter event this year; it’s going to be held near the edge of the city, where the biggest skating rink is.

by his guess, most girls are looking for a guy to have a skating date with.

in the library during your usual meetup for the school project, sae gets more than a couple visitors trying to get him for that same reason. you eye everyone that approaches the table, and sae can’t help but notice how he actually likes when you’re pouty. maybe it’s his twisted thinking that jealousy means you’re still into him.

“itoshi-kun, i was thinking whether you wanted to go to the winter event together?” another girl from your class, mizuno, asks him, and sae is tired of it, frankly. but he doesn’t show it. he only looks at you, and you look back at him because he doesn’t usually stare for this long.

then, he looks at mizuno and rejects her.

“sorry, can’t, i’m going with y/n.”

(you get home that day being completely flustered and completely happy.)

on the day of the event, sae keeps his word. he goes with you, sticks beside you the entire time. his friends snap pictures of the two of you and you always look so embarrassed. maybe you’re just not used to all of this attention. but that’s fine, it’s cute.

one thing he learns about you is that you can be real clumsy sometimes. like now, when you get so excited over your watermelon slushie that you somehow spill it all over your jacket and clothes.

sae ends up giving you his puffy winter jacket while he braves the cold with whatever he has left. that’s fine, he’s strong. besides, getting to watch you wear his jacket the entire time feels like a bonus somehow.

he thinks by now you should confess already, but you don’t. you’re happy to stay in this bubble with him right now, whichever phase the two of you are at. so is he. it feels kind of nice.

feels especially nice when you hang onto him for dear life in the skating rink even though neither of you are moving. sae’s aware that people are staring holes into both of you but it’s strange how much he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. that’s why he holds his hands out, lets you take them, makes himself pull you along. he finds himself wishing neither of you were wearing gloves so he could feel how soft your hands are.

by the end of the day, everyone takes it that the both of you are together, even though the both of you are too avoidant to talk about it.

“hey, sae? thanks for today,” you say later that night when everything is done and you’d had the giddiest experience with sae. he’s walking you home and he doesn’t even know why; it’s a mystery to him why he keeps himself close whenever he can.

“it’s fine, i was the one who told people i was going with you, so.”

when he gets you to your front porch, you don’t go in immediately, standing right there with your back facing him, and sae wonders what’s going through your head. if only he could see the expression on your face right now, maybe he’d know.

you let him; because you turn around, giving him a big smile before you take a step forward and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on your heel and running into your house.

neither of you say bye, both of you are just a little too stunned to speak. sae stands out there in the cold for a little while longer, his face and ears red—he’s not even sure whether it’s from the weather or from you—but even when he starts to leave, you’re still slumped at your front door, covering your face in embarrassment, knees too weak to stand up.

there’s only one more quarter left until you graduate and sae and you both act like nothing happened that day. you still gossip unfiltered and he still listens but acts like he doesn’t.

except now instead of sitting across from you, he opts to sit directly beside you. sometimes sits a little too close just so your arms will brush against each other. sae also lets you keep his puffy jacket because you said you liked it.

you wear it throughout winter.

when graduation comes around and it’s time for sae to choose his university, he can’t help but take a peek at your screen. a smile comes to his face when he sees your first choice is the same as his. you’re smart too, he doesn’t doubt you’ll get in.

“itoshi sae, you can smile?”

sae immediately turns it into a frown. “guess not.”

you take your words back. “hey, i’m just kidding! it’s just rare… that’s all.”

so you notice him a lot then?

sure, you might not have seen him smile a lot. but that’s fine. from what sae knows, you have the entirety of your university years to possibly catch it.

UNIVERSITY: FRESHMAN YEAR

of course you enter the same university as itoshi sae. it’s not on purpose, but you’re glad you both made it here anyway.

at least knowing one friendly face is better than none.

to be honest, you’re not really sure where you and sae stand. he’s never said anything about that kiss, but he also doesn’t stay away from you. can you take that as a positive thing?

if anything, he’s even closer.

somehow, his dorms and yours are practically next door. when you open your bathroom window, you can look right into his. it happened once, by accident, and you’d caught him, shirtless with just a white towel hanging around his neck, hair damp as he brushes his teeth, the droplets of water on his abs looking very inviting.

but then he caught you staring and you’ve shut your bathroom window ever since. thankfully, he never mentions it.

being in university and staying in campus meant that you were both hanging out much more informally. and you’d think that two people at the age of nineteen who’d known each other for three years would be less awkward than this but it’s you and sae and somehow there’s always an element of awkwardness.

it’s halfway into your freshman year and you’d just watched the first match that sae’s playing for the university team. you’re a little starstruck, honestly. to think that the guy you’ve always had a crush on is this good at soccer.

he’s amazing. you’re feeling like a potato sack.

“hey, you know him right?” hime gushes.

your friends are with you, so it’s natural they ask.

mira on your left sighs, “guess we have no shot with him since he’s with y/n all the time,” she says, nudging you in the elbow.

you’re starting to regret bringing them here with all the teasing. you’re also regretting coming here yourself because you see several girls running to him asking for a picture together. some of which you recognise, some of which are the popular girls.

sae doesn’t stop them from snapping what they can, but he also doesn’t stop for them at all. instead, he saunters over to you, hime and mira wordlessly disappearing to the side.

“gimme that,” sae says, gesturing to the phone in your hand. you obey, of course, and he smirks, then he snaps a selfie with you before tossing your phone back and walking off.

the pairs of eyes on you make you half-embarrassed yet half-proud. even with this many fangirls, sae chooses to come to you.

that night sae asks you to send him the picture.

yeah, maybe you can take that as a positive thing.

freshman year after that is generally uneventful. you and sae are both trying to find your footing, with him preoccupied mostly with soccer trainings while you’re drowning in assignments and projects that have nothing to do with him.

but you still see him in the mornings sometimes, when you walk past your common room and he’s in his, and you wave at him when he’s alone so you’re not so shy, and he nods in acknowledgement before he just walks away.

one night while you’re burning the midnight oil trying to cram some accounting knowledge into your brain, you get a text from sae.

wanna get supper?

both of you end up at one of the supper spots outside of school, a little cosy shop that sells boba and ramen even after midnight.

“why’d you wanna get supper?”

sae shrugs, taking a sip of his plain water. “just bored, couldn’t sleep.”

“isn’t this soccer season? you can’t even eat anything in here, it’s definitely not passable for your diet.”

he sighs, leaning back against his chair. “so? quit whining and start eating your shit already.”

if it was some other guy you’d be rolling your eyes and storming off. but it’s sae and you know him and he thinks he’s talking normally like this. besides, when you catch his eyes flicker up to lock with yours you get a little dizzy inside.

“what’re you up so late for anyway?”

sae’s fingers are drumming lightly against the surface of the metal table, teal eyes diligently observing as you bring the strands of noodle to your lips. “told you, i couldn’t sleep.”

you find that strange; he’s always been able to sleep, no problem. and he’s strict about his eight hour sleep schedule. what could be getting to the great itoshi sae?

(sae’s lying through his teeth; having his bedroom right across from yours means he can see when your lights aren’t out. sue him for being a little concerned.)

“so, heard you and the team are going on a soccer trip somewhere in europe,” you bring up. you’d heard it from your friends, strangely, instead of sae himself.

he nods. “yeah, just a select few,” he tells you, “only if we win the tournament though, then the team’ll officially invite us over.”

so-called team you heard about is real madrid, and you’d be crazy to think that sae couldn’t help your university team win on his own.

“guess i won’t be seeing you around when you go,” you mumble idly, not completely aware of what you’re basically saying.

sae is adept at reading in between the lines, but he doesn’t probe you on it. he’s not sure he wants to. he doesn’t know what this is. do you still like him? does he like you too? all these feelings are new; sae doesn’t know what to do with it.

so he keeps it to himself. for now.

he doesn’t really do a good job at following through with it though, because on the day of the tournament finals, he looks at you and winks right as he orchestrates that winning goal for his team, and you’re left wondering if you’re imagining things.

UNIVERSITY: SOPHOMORE YEAR

the final part of your freshman year went and gone, and it didn’t go exactly how you imagined it to be. you didn’t expect to hear from sae at all when he went on his trip after that tournament.

but you did.

he replied you whenever he had the time. told you anything you asked for. even called you when you had a mini meltdown because of finals.

to be frank, you don’t know what the both of you are anymore. you’re cursing yourself for being too scared to ask.

“hey y/n, have you seen hime anywhere?”

it’s oliver asking, captain of the university’s soccer team and also hime’s current situationship. he’d started hitting her up since that first time sae played and brought attention to you and the people around you.

“yeah, she’s by the pool with mira.”

oliver leaves as soon as you tell him, and you stand awkwardly at the corner of the living room, by the full panel of glass windows, wondering if you should just go home. you’d only came because hime and mira both said you needed to experience a party at least once this year but now you’re surrounded by people making out and drunkards slipping into the pool that it makes you regret giving this a shot at all.

especially since sae’s not going to be back till tomorrow, garnering as much interest as he did during his time in spain. you really have no reason to be here.

“hey there, pretty.”

startled, you find a familiar face up close in your personal space, his finger twirling your hair. you’d recognise that head of blonde and pink anywhere.

“oh, you’re ryusei shido right? you’re on the soccer team with sae,” you think out loud, and he nods, and you can see his blonde lashes so closely it’s making you flustered.

“mhm, fwhat’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a corner? seems like a shame,” he comments, though he doesn’t even give you a chance to answer. the next thing you know, shido drags you into a drinking game with hime and mira (which is why your first instinct wasn’t to run off, if you could trust anyone it’s your best friends). although, shido is getting annoyingly close and you can’t decide if you’re nervous or annoyed.

and the heavens surely love you when they let shido draw the card that corresponds to a dare, and they love testing your boundaries when some guy called otoya dares him to kiss you.

but no, you know that the heavens really do love you when someone yanks shido’s hair back and pulls him away from your face, taking his spot in between the both of you in the bid for proximity that you don’t mind because it’s itoshi sae.

“sae, what’re you doing here? i thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow,” you ask, a little shell-shocked but you still notice he’s discerning frown and how there’s barely any space between the two of you.

he looks at you, tilting his head, “what? my girl’s not happy to see me here?”

you don’t respond. half because you think you’re dreaming and fuck—really, did he just call you his girl?

“eh? i don’t recall you having a girlfriend?” shido leers, a hand on the spot of his head where sae had pulled on earlier.

“yeah, besides, shido still has to do the dare.” otoya sounds bored more than anything, but the guy beside him, karasu, if you remember correctly, is smirking.

sae sighs, and you feel like you must’ve crossed the boundary to another dimension when you feel sae’s lips on yours, and you think you’re in limbo when you feel his hand on your neck, pulling you close. his tongue pries your lips apart and people are whistling while shido’s behind him saying get a fucking room or i’ll beat off to this.

when the object of your affection finally pulls away, you’re met with the same pair of unbothered teal eyes, the pair that immediately turns to face otoya. “there, did it for him. now move on.”

you’re beginning to thank alcohol for its existence when almost everyone obeys wordlessly, moving on to some other guy’s turn. you really can’t remember who sits on shido’s right when all you can think of is that itoshi sae, your longtime high school crush, actually kissed you.

that’s enough to warrant the question, right? the question of what sae takes you for?

the inner debate sparks long into the night, even when sae walks you back to your apartment, the both of you side by side in silence.

“sae, what was that?”

he plays coy. “what was what?”

you’re only a little tipsy, so you can still tolerate his avoidance. “you confuse me a lot, you know that?”

sae doesn’t take the bait. “oh, i see.”

“you were jealous.” he was. he really was. you can tell; he was sour to shido the entire night. he stuck close to you too, sometimes your fingers brushed against each other’s.

“so what if i was?”

this one is new. sae’s actually admitting it. and usually you’d chicken out but you can see your apartment coming into view and you don’t want to let this go.

“what am i to you, sae?” you manage to choke it out a few feet away from the door, and sae stops in his tracks, hands in his pocket and teal eyes looking heavenward.

you’re beginning to regret your decision to ask; you’re not sure if his indecision is a good or bad thing. nothing seems to be simple when it comes to itoshi sae.

but he does nothing to appease your confusion when he steps in front of you, his body pressed flush against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, and you think this one is special because it’s not done in the name of a dare or in front of anyone else. this kiss is for you and you alone and sae is doing this on purpose.

when he pulls back, you see him furrow his brows and you can tell that maybe he’s just as confused as you are.

“when i managed to get an earlier slot for my flight, all i could think about was how excited i was to see you.”

is this… a confession? you’re even more confused now that you don’t even know what to say.

to be honest, so is sae, which is why he swallows the lump in his throat and relegates to his apartment, “goodnight.”

things after that change just a little.

you’d decided to go with the flow, just because you really don’t want to sabotage whatever friendship you and sae had left, although most of the time, sae is the one toeing the line. even though he doesn’t outright tell you anything regarding his feelings.

but you think you figured him out.

sae asks you out whenever you’re both free, and not for shit like studying or errands, but for movies and dinner and he drives you around in his car and looks at you like you’re the only girl he sees. his eyes don’t wander when he’s with you, and he lets you wear even more of his jackets. it’s also evolved to his jerseys and his beloved windbreakers. you have one of each in your own closet and he never seems to ask for them back anymore. he also lets you wear his rings, puts them on your fingers randomly.

both of you still go for parties, especially when it’s one of the soccer guys who are throwing it, because they practically force sae to go and they know you’re the key to convincing him.

most of the time the two of you just laze on the couch, drinking and talking about nothing at all, and he idly plays with your fingers when he’s tipsy, something you never tell him because you like it, because you don’t want him to feel self-conscious and stop. he also smells your hair after he sends you home and hugs you before he retreats to his place, and you wonder if he’s fully sober when he does that.

you resign to getting your answer some other time, because you don’t want anything to ruin this, if this is just an illusion. yeah, you’d talking feelings some other time.

UNIVERSITY: JUNIOR YEAR

you really had no right to be, but you are. try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do. especially not when she’s sitting so so close to him, when her hand brushes his fingers.

she’s just his project partner, nothing more, but something irks you about the way she can get so close to him so quickly when it took you much longer. but then you hear from shido that kaori is rin and sae’s childhood friend, so maybe that’s why they’re so damn close.

apparently, she’d gotten back to japan after ten years abroad. with great timing too, right when you thought you and sae could amount to something.

“you know, i could help you make him jealous if you wanna,” shido whispers in your ear one time when he catches you staring at them. “we’ll make him feel how you feel, m’kay?”

and while that’s tempting, you shake your head. it’s unreasonable for you to take it out on him that way, not when he hasn’t actually done anything that proves he’s just leading you on.

lately sae’s been so busy around kaori that you’re just thinking too much. you’re wondering if he’s slowly replacing you. he still talks to you over text, but you barely hang out like you did before. you still spot him through the windows, but he’s always too tired to notice you. even his texts are getting slower.

“hey, you okay?”

trust it to hime to notice your personal dilemma. you’re not really surprised though, because she’s been watching you moping for the last few weeks. she now has oliver wrapped fully around her finger, with him sticking around her all the time, which is a surprise considering his reputation.

but hime will take your side, you know this, and maybe that’s why you play it off. you don’t want her to hate sae because of a momentary feeling, so you tell her you’re just sick and you’ll go back home.

the moment you get back to your apartment, you see sae waiting out on the front, car ready while he leans against the hood, waiting.

and you might’ve asked if he was waiting for kaori, but then he looks up and sees you and smirks and that’s all you need to know that he’s not. he was waiting for you, and now he’s opening the passenger side door and telling you to “get in, stupid.”

that’s how sae is with you, impromptu and surprisingly sweet. he drives you to the pier, a cute spot right next to an amusement park where he’d gotten you some candy floss before the both of you just sits on the hood of his car, enjoying the scenery.

“why’d you suddenly bring me here?”

sae lies down, the sun hitting his face in all the right places. he’s gorgeous, you realise for what seems like the thousandth time since you’d known him.

“oliver told me you’d been a little mopey lately,” sae says, and you’re already embarrassed. “sorry if i’ve been busy lately.”

you mirror his position, lying down next to him, and it feels oddly nice like this. you’re not sure if it’s the situation or the person.

“it’s okay, i heard that kaori’s your old friend right? you guys must have a lot to catch up on.” it doesn’t stop you from feeling jealous, but it’ll pass. you hope.

sae chuckles before he turns to you, and you turn to face him too, “you’re jealous.” he smirks, and you’re reminded of the same thing you told him that first night he kissed you.

“shut up, sae.”

he laughs because you’re being pouty, and because maybe it feels a little nice to know you can feel it too. just then, he mirrors what you did way back in high school, reaching across you for your phone. except he doesn’t key in anything—he opens up your camera and takes a picture of the two of you like this, sae looking naturally handsome and better than you because you’re stunned he’s doing this, eyes wide and expression puzzled.

“what’s that for?”

sae’s still fiddling on your phone as you ask, and then he passes it back to you. he’d set it as your phone’s wallpaper.

“to remind you that you’re the one i like, idiot.”

and even though you and sae aren’t physically too close in the wallpaper, you think maybe it’s enough to tide your feelings through for now. he doesn’t ask you for anything else after that, just leaves his confession at that and sends you home before saying he has to finish up his project, aka going to find kaori.

it’s fine by you though, because now you know where sae’s head’s at, even though he never explicitly asked you anything. you’re sure he knows how you feel too, especially since you’d been the one to kiss him first that day a few years back.

but how apt for you to go to sleep early and be woken up by dozens of messages blowing up your phone, the majority of them attaching pictures at a certain party.

still pictures of sae locking lips with kaori, and you feel your heart sinking.

sae’s message comes through just as you’re scrolling through your phone.

meet me at my place? not what it looks like, i promise.

and maybe it’s because you feel like you know sae well enough that you’re not even panicking. you respond within seconds.

sure, see you!

you take the liberty of going next door, entering when one of the other guys who lives there clumsily walks in drunk. it’s easy enough to find sae’s room, you recognise it from across your own room too well. and maybe it’s a slight invasion of privacy but you can’t help but turn your attention to his desk.

his room is all neat with the occasional laundry thrown on the corner of the room, trophies and medals on the bookshelf by the table. but what catches your eye is the little pink heart-shaped post-it note that looks all too familiar.

your handwriting fills the piece of paper.

i think you’re cute and i really really like you

you could cringe right now from how cringe you were being back then. but then you realise, sae kept this? did he keep this knowing it was from you? you hear the door opening downstairs and jump back a little, accidentally pressing on his keyboard while trying to place your note back in its position, and the screensaver that greets you renders you speechless.

it’s the picture sae took of the both of you at the bleachers of his first match.

someone closes the laptop before you can think any more, and you’re greeted with sae right next to you, cheeks flushed—either from alcohol or embarrassment. you can’t really tell, but judging from the lack of alcohol stench, you’d like to bet it’s the latter.

“you have me as your wallpaper?”

sae clicks his tongue, annoyed he didn’t get there in time for you not to see that. “who else would i put there?”

you bite your tongue to stop yourself from instinctively saying kaori out of spite. guess you’re still a little groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night.

“about earlier,” sae begins, not really sure how to continue.

“you mean the pics going around of you and kaori kissing?” you’re not even mad, you’re sure there’s an explanation—that’s how much you feel you know itoshi sae. he’s not the type to bother with leading someone on; if anything, he’s probably the type to immediately cut things off if he wasn’t interested and so far, he’s always been thinking of you.

sae sighs, rubbing his temple before taking a seat on his bed. “that was fucking stupid,” he grumbles, eyes closed. “she was way too tipsy and getting all up in my face and before i knew it she just—” his eyes are open now, briefly looking at you before looking away, hiding behind the sides of his soft locks, “she kissed me. i was stunned for a little so…”

you snicker a little, because sae looks so different from how he usually looks—aloof, ignorant, arrogant. now he looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the side and you can’t help but notice the difference.

“sae… why are you telling me this?”

screw his indecisiveness, if it was in the first place. you want his answer now, up straight. and sae seems to know what you’re thinking because he chuckles, relieved because he can read your tone—you’re not angry, not upset, you trust him somehow and it’s only because despite what you think, you know him better than anyone else.

“fuck off, y/n, you already know,” and he says this affectionately because you can feel the tenderness in the way he says your name, in the way he invites you into his arms—the way he pulls you close and lets you sit facing him on his lap. “you gonna be my girlfriend now or what?”

your lips are so so close and you’re both holding back so so much. “mmm i don’t know, itoshi sae, what if i wanna see you beg me for it?”

“god, i hate you,” he says, without meaning it. it’s the first time you’re actually feeling how strong he is, because he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and throws you on his bed as he hovers over you, a little squeal leaving your lips at the unexpected gesture. “hm, kinda like that sound you make.”

he’s saying it so monotonously that you’re embarrassed. “shut up, sae, before i leave.”

“that’s cute, you think you’d actually leave me,” he teases, and you curse yourself for finding that slight condescending tone of his hot. “but hey, really, be my girlfriend.”

“you asking me that after kissing another girl?” you act shocked, acutely aware of how his fingers are all intertwining with yours, your hands on either side of your head, sae pinning you down. if anyone walked in now, they’d get the wrong idea of what you two are doing. for sure. but you try to act unbothered, you don’t want to boost his ego even more.

sae leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you’re hoping your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest because he’d definitely feel it. “shit timing, i know. but you’re the only one i want, so.”

he’s pretty shit at talking emotions, you realise. and then you realise that this only works because you’re equally good at reading his. despite his reluctance to talk emotions, he shows you how special you are, constantly.

many girls want him, but you’re the one he spends most of his time with. you’re the one with his actual clothes in your closet and his rings on your fingers. you’re the one sae kisses and willingly so, the only one who’s on his wallpaper reminding him of what he’ll have each time he comes home.

“i told kaori i liked you and no one else too,” sae continues explaining, though he really doesn’t need to. you listen anyway. “she got mad and stormed off but shit, i don’t care. only care about you.”

and he’s pretty forthcoming with his feelings when he wants to be and that’s enough for you. you squeeze his fingers lightly and smile at him.

you don’t have to hear any more to know.

“i love you too, itoshi sae.”

the way he marks you that night lets you in on everything you need to know.

UNIVERSITY: SENIOR YEAR

six years.

it’s been six years since you’d first had a crush on itoshi sae. and now you’re his girlfriend, always in the front row for every match and the object of most of his fangirls’ hatred. that’s okay though, none of that matters.

whenever you come back home to your (shared) apartment now, it’s like all your worries melt away into the void, and sae reminds you just how much you mean. even if his pet names are less than swoon-worthy at times.

“you really need to stop posting shit like this,” you deadpan, showing sae your phone screen. it’s a picture of you asleep in the morning, drooling on his bare shoulder.

sae blinks, acting coy like he always does. “what? it’s cute.”

“you’re insufferable, itoshi.”

sae ignores that, switching the subject. “hey, you have any goals for your twenties?”

you hum, pondering. “well, i guess if i could do what i want, i’d travel the world,” you pause, sitting up on the sofa and looking at him. “why?”

it’s the last year of university, and the both of you are finishing your degrees, with the possibility that sae might be getting a contract with one of the overseas clubs. you’re not really sure; there’s a few of them who’ve expressed interest, but you’d always let sae think through it on his own.

does his question have something to do with that?

“was thinking i wanted to take you along if you wanted to come with,” sae half explains, because he’s bad with details like that. he continues when he spots your confusion, “if you wanted to explore wherever i decided to go.”

oh, he means he wants to take you along to wherever he decided to go. you’re flattered, honestly.

“you mean, the itoshi sae wants to bring me wherever he goes, huh?” sae is already turning red, sensing your big head. “you offering to be my sugar daddy too?”

sae sighs. “you’re so stupid, i swear,” he complains, his words lacking any bite because he’s rubbing circles onto your arms. “you said you found some remote jobs right? thought we could make use of that and just go wherever together.”

after six years, you finally see sae trying to plan a future where the both of you are together. he loves soccer, but he loves you too, and you’re not the kind of person who’d make him choose, so you appreciate his compromises instead.

“itoshi sae, i’ll follow you wherever you go.”

he presses a hasty kiss on your lips, “good, ‘cause i plan on keeping you forever.”

you grin, pulling him down to you and kissing him even deeper, “i’ll hold you to your words, then.”

sae smiles against your lips. because he knows he got lucky with you, lucky you were there at the right moment, slipping your love letter into his locker. lucky you continued to like him, lucky you knew how to put him in his place whenever. lucky you’re you and you love him.

maybe he’s always liked you, even back in freshman year of high school when he realised how kind you are, how gentle you could be. you looked pretty in the sun that day, when he first saw you trying out soccer in the yard and falling flat on your ass. you didn’t notice him back then but he noticed you, not that you knew. sae didn’t try anything because he was sure it’d fail. but who knew all it took for his mind to change was a simple nudge from you?

he’s pretty sure that you’re his human manifestation of a forever.

“when the time comes, just say yes.”

I WANT IT. ¹

PAIRING | miya atsumu x fem!reader + kageyama tobio

GENRE | angst, smut (18+)

AU | YANDERE

WARNINGS | TIME SKIP MANGA SPOILERS + NSFW + YANDERE! DARK CONTENT AHEAD. minors dni! pwp, yandere behavior, stalking, voyeurism, kageyama fucking you from atsumu's point of view; atsumu being a creep, light degredation, light mocking, tobio being cocky, public sex, public masturbation, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected car sex, recording sex without consent, light corruption fantasies, etc. DO NOT IGNORE WARNINGS.

DISCLAIMER | this is a yandere au. dark content ahead. minors do NOT interact.

WORD COUNT | 8.4k

SUMMARY | in which you are the only female manager that has not fallen for the MSBY black jackals' flirty tactics, and after two years of constant rejections and shut-downs to flirty comments, the entire team quit their tactics. excluding miya atsumu and sakusa kiyoomi, whose obsession, feelings, and want to be with you only got stronger and more unhealthy by the day even when you were already taken by another man. and, as a manager, you have to take care of your team members no matter what... right?

BONUS | inspired by this flaming hot ash song called i want it by two feet. FUCK.

PART ONE [ 1/4 ] | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

MIYA ATSUMU WAS A PLAYER IN EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF HIS LIFE. And he loved the feeling of being able to gain something new due to his mechanism of work and his ability to gain whatever he wants due to his status as well. He was not a workaholic, per se, but he loved taking things from working hard for them. He loved the thrill of having the ability to take what he wants when he wants. He loved seeing his hard work pay off. He loved letting certain things go after they became useless. And it didn’t help that he was the precise same way when it came to his sex or love life.

As if everything came easy to him, the idea of getting anyone he wants is not something far out of his reach. He’s a firm believer that he could get anyone he wanted due to his status as a player in every aspect.

Of course, that was until you came along. The newest female manager to the MSBY Black Jackals of Japan.

For the first few weeks with you managing their team, he wanted to get in your pants— much like every team member who worked their asses off and wanted to use a woman for their own pleasure. Nearly every year their managers would quit due to the fact they realized the team members only wanted to get in their pants and didn’t truly appreciate their work as actual managers. They didn’t feel wanted because of their skills in managing, they just felt like used property. And it wasn’t like they would force the managers to do anything, they all fall for their little tricks to blow off steam every time, which is why it was expected that you would be an easy fuck for them much like the rest.

Not you, though. You’ve been the only manager that has not given into their flirty comments and has blatantly rejected every single one of the team members in a moment they’d approach to ask you of anything but your tasks or volleyball expectations.

They can vividly recall the day you were introduced to the team and how they all mentally shared knowing glances to each other, expecting another manager who’ll fall right for their tactics. It started off as inviting you for team dinners after practice, to bars, and even to their own homes and to play it off as celebratory for game winnings. And yet— you still refused.

You weren’t the blushy or flustered type of manager when it came to their endless flirting, you would brush it off and bluntly state that you are uncomfortable with their actions, politely asking them to refrain from asking you out or flirting with you as it is unprofessional and you would prefer they maintain their distance or comments unless it had to do with their needs as team members for volleyball and nothing else. It came off as a shock to the majority of those who attempted to pursue you, but they eventually quit the acts and gave you your space, knowing fully well that a no is a no and that you are here to manage their team, nothing more.

And it worked, they all quit their acts and began to respect your work ethic and you as a person, eventually becoming close to you as friends and the fact you took great care of them as a manager. In fact, you are the longest manager in terms of duration that they have had, having managed their team for two years now, all of their acts have faded into more playful-ness.

You were just so kind and hardworking, they truly appreciated your work ethic for the good of the team. You had a smile that sent jolts of motivation each game, and overall they’d all just grown to admire you. You were just so perfect, and they knew you weren’t one to give in to easy things. So they all quit.

Well, not all of the team members, unfortunately. Your attitude of rejection could barely faze only Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu. The smallest things you did, especially having known you for two years now, sent that addictive feeling rushing into their body to pursue you in the filthiest ways imaginable. And it grew stronger daily, to the point it became an unhealthy obsession for both. Physically, you could assume they are no longer interested in you that way anymore because their flirty attitudes have died down, but oh were you wrong.

Their desire for you grows stronger by the passing minute of each day, and two years have been a major change in their perspective over you than the first day you started off as their manager. It’s as if the first day they met you they realized you’re different and you’re unlike the other managers they’ve previously had. You always stood your ground, had a deep understanding of volleyball and strategies, and you took great care of the team during their biggest slumps.

It’s kind of hard not to fall for you. But, alas, they knew you couldn’t feel the same. You’ve practically rejected them or distanced yourself each time they crossed a few lines. So they resorted to their own fantasies for the time being.

In most cases, obviously, it is okay to fantasize about who you like or admire, in fact, it’s normal to have a crush. But after two years, a normal person would say that it’s not really a ‘crush’ anymore. Instead, it’s become this unhealthy form of infatuation to have you in every way that one small taste of you can feed into it. Although they both seem to be unaware at the given moment that their goal— they both have the same exact goal of pursuing you, no matter the cost— to have you. And you wouldn’t know a single thing about it.

At first, Atsumu was confident you’d fall for his tactics. He couldn’t care less about you rejecting the others, he was just sure you wouldn’t reject him. He was confident he’d be able to get you in his bed and call it a success.

However, the day he tried it did not go very well. His confidence practically broke his ego.

One night, after practice, Atsumu wanted to stay and practice his serves more when the rest of the team left. Although, he mostly just had the plan of purposely being left behind so that he was alone with you. And just because you’re the manager and you were always left to lock up, he finally wanted to experience that first time of his heart beating realizing he was going to be left alone with you.

So when the team left and Atsumu stayed behind, he watched you scribble down a few notes into your clipboard. You looked strangely attractive to him when you seemed to be in deep focus, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip and your brows furrowed. He wondered… if you would make that face of focus if you were to get fucked dumb—!

Sadly, his fantasy was cut off the moment you looked up and noticed that he was still here and hadn’t left with the rest of the team.

“May I help you, Miya-san?” You asked, with an eyebrow raised as you secure your pen into your clipboard.

“L/N-san,” He cleared his throat. “I got permission from Foster-sensei to stay after for a few minutes to practice a couple of my serves, ya saw in last week’s game it was off, I need more practice.”

“Alright,” You nodded, and went back to jotting away at your clipboard. “But, please hurry it up in about twenty minutes so I can lock up early, it is the weekend after all and I do have somewhere to be as well, Miya-san.”

Atsumu was taken back. You were telling him to hurry it up? Just who did you think you were ordering him around to fit around your own schedule? You manage his team to fit their criteria, not the other way around. Who gives a fuck what you have planned, you’re supposed to stay here for as long as it takes because in the end, Atsumu is the star, and you’re just left to run errands for him. He doesn’t hurry it up for you, rather, you must hurry it up for him.

So why did he simply nod at your words without arguing like he wanted to? Why did he keep his mouth shut?

Just who did ya think ya were?

“Yeah, of course, L/N-san,” Atsumu nodded, before jogging up to the net where the basket of the volleyballs was, and he immediately went back to his serves and tosses.

Still, as he faced away from you and continued with his own personal practice for the next thirty minutes, he smirked as he decided to put on this exterior that he always uses and manages to work with every other girl. He had to give it a go at the moment, this is what he was here for; this is what he stayed later after practice for.

He had to try.

Atsumu spun around, holding the ball, and seeing you still deep in focus at your clipboard, he frowned lightly before resorting back to his smirk. It was going to work, he knew it—!

“L/N-san?” He spoke up, you looked up momentarily to his calling before looking back at the clock in the corner of the wall, and standing up abruptly.

“Shoot, it’s been over twenty minutes, I need to go—!” You started softly, before turning back to Atsumu standing in the middle of the court with a ball in his hand, simply looking at you.

“Miya-san, it’s been over twenty minutes! Please put away the ball, so I can lock up!” You ordered as you grabbed the keys from the bench, turning back to see him still standing there with an amused look on his face.

He doesn’t know why he wanted to walk closer and make sure you knew your place… Seriously, what could be more important than him?

“Jus’ a few more minutes,” He started, lightly swallowing his nerves before smirking and slowly approaching you, causing you to raise your brows in confusion. “How about this time, ya watch me do a few serves since ya’ve had yer pretty little head buried inside that stack of papers all day?”

You were taken back by his words and the way he clearly thinks he has the upper hand here. Did he not hear you when you said you had other plans?

“Miya-san, I have plans that I have to tend to. Please put away the ball so I can lock up,” You stated, turning away from him to pick up your clipboard, completely missing the way he caught up a few feet from behind you.

“Yer plans can wait, L/N-san,” He interjected behind you, you stood back up and turned to face him, taken back once again by his stubborn attitude. “I need to practice more and I need ya to watch me do a few serves!”

“I apologize Miya-san, but as I said earlier I have to lock up and I have to be somewhere else by now. I will watch them next week,” You shook him off as you grabbed your bag, gasping as Atsumu decided now would be a good time to grab it from your hold.

Your mouth was left agape, and impatience adorned your features.

“Miya—!”

“I don’t think ya heard me well, L/N-san,” He tsks, his gaze intense as he was holding the bag out of your hold. “I asked ya if ya want to watch me do a few serves and give me feedback.”

“What—?” You stated in confusion. “Hand me back my bag!”

“Stay first,” Atsumu stated, causing your patience to be non-existent at this point. “Then maybe I’ll consider giving it back!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Did you not hear what I said? I don’t want to!” You exclaimed. “Now give me back my bag!”

Atsumu took a step back and lowered your bag in his hold, causing you to lurch forward and grabbing it from his hold.

No, no—! Did he just ruin everything—?

“I’m sorry, L/N-san! I- I was just messing around! That’s all...” Atsumu trails off after exclaiming with his hands in the air, the ball was long forgotten on the floor.

You look away from his pouting gaze that only now just seemed playful, earlier it wasn’t. As he was clearly trying to keep you in place when you stated multiple times no. Yet, he’s your team member and you have to treat him with respect since he said he was just joking… right?

“It’s alright, Miya-san,” You resort to saying, looking away as you clutched your clipboard and bag. “Your coach asked me to lock up, and that’s what I’m here to do. Please put away the ball so I can do that.”

Again? You seriously just repeated that?

Atsumu was taken back, and girls paid thousands to watch him. He’s offering for free... how come? But he has to understand, due to the fact he almost scared you away.

Almost.

“Yeah, of course,” He bowed, looking at the side of your face as you organized your items in your bag. “I’ll do that right now.”

And he did as you asked, he walked away and put away the ball into the basket and pushed it back into the storage room, watching in admiration as you followed him to lock it. He allowed a girl to control him like that. And for what? What was the reason?

As you stood locking the main door of the gym, he stayed behind you and allowed himself to smirk again, and let his own words linger.

“Ya know, L/N-san...” Atsumu started. “It is pretty late, I can walk ya home if ya’d like!” He offered suddenly, you looked at him in confusion once more and shook your head.

“I am quite alright, I am not walking home yet,” You shook your head frantically, honestly flattered by his kindness but he’s so insistent. “Thank you, though, Miya-san.”

“Are ya sure? Maybe we’re headed in the same direction—!” Atsumu edges you on, and you shake your head.

“I’m good, thanks,” You say bitterly, pulling the door and making sure it’s locked you start to walk away, Atsumy tailing behind you.

“Oh okay,” He frowned. “No worries.”

You gave a weak smile before turning the corner of the street, letting out a puff of air and hoping he wasn’t walking with you anymore. Atsumu's pride was severed, he doesn’t know why he won’t take no for an answer.

He has to try again… and like they say, the third time’s a charm… right?

“L/N-san!” Atsumu called out from the end of the street, causing you to grumble in annoyance and whip your head back, forcing a friendly smile on your face.

“Yes?”

“If not today, then maybe next week—we could grab some onigiri or somethin’? Or whatever you might like—?” Atsumu fidgets with his jacket, cursing himself mentally when you raise a hand and interrupt him.

“Miya-san, with all due respect, I am your manager. I hope I have emphasized that enough. Please refrain from asking me out again, if you don’t mind.” you bluntly stated, impatience adorning your features. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be on my way.”

Atsumu froze in his spot... did he just get rejected? Again? As if the rejection wasn’t enough to convince him that he’s lost his shot, his eyes became clouded with red.

“I understand,” He stated coolly, however, the boiling rage that struck into his ego is at its near maximum. Any second now, he would blow up.

“Thank you,” You bowed respectfully, waving off with a smile as you bid him goodnight.

Atsumu’s gaze sharpened as he watched you walk away. Seriously, what was more important than spending time with him? And rejecting him at once? Do you really have to play hard to get? He was just being nice and offering a spot for only you to watch, it’s like a free ticket to a private game! And on top of that, one of the most powerful setters you manage his team for. So what was it that caused you to reject watching the Miya Atsumu practice his receives when they’re near perfected at his matches? People pay a fortune to get front row seats to one of the best teams of Japan, especially for the top setters in the nation!

You can’t just reject him… do you even know your place?

Atsumu eyebrows unfurrowed, and he puts a small smile on his face. However, nothing about it screams kind. It’s the unsettling sort of smile that adorns his features, the one accompanied by wide eyes bulging out as they watch your figure leave the gym. The face of a person who’d just gotten slapped in the face and knows damn well that he’ll absolutely corrupt whoever slapped them… That he’ll make them regret their choice of words. That’s what it felt like, especially since Atsumu’s knuckles turned white by the way he’s formed his hands into fists on his sides.

This has never happened to him. Just who the fuck were you?

Atsumu’s smile widens, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.

Looks like he’ll have to teach you some manners.

When the following week had come and Atsumu saw you walk into the gym with an innocent-looking smile, he presumed you’d completely forgotten about the encounter that happened between the both of you last week. But that’s okay, he’ll have to remind you about it later since it meant a great deal to him. It was the day Atsumu decided he’ll just have to try harder. It’ll mean a greater deal to you in time, he hopes.

It’s honestly just like a match. He’d practice harder if he lost, that’s all. That’s what it is. It’s the same thing. You and volleyball are the same thing, basically.

But he most likely inferred that your smile has to do with the new shiny diamond ring that circled your ring finger perfectly, the one he may or may not have seen you wear for the first time with tears of joy.

The tears of joy he may or may not have seen as he allowed his footsteps to keep moving in your direction that night right after your rejection.

The footsteps that padded behind you all the way to the fancy restaurant where a handsome and dreamy man in a suit sat at a beautifully decorated table with fancy silky cloth and rose petals, the faint smell of sparkling champagne in the air.

He saw the way you gleefully approached the man. Running into his arms, as if it was your safe haven you’d fall into after a hectic day at work. He dressed very nicely, while you remained dressed in your gym and manager attire, not as fancy. Atsumu mentally curses himself for being selfish for once and taking up extra of your precious time that you probably would have used to change out of these clothes and probably wore something fancier and out of what he’d see you regularly wearing. He could have stayed behind and watched you wear that, slowly but surely every inch of the fabric stuck to your skin and if he had wanted to rip it off. (He imagined it to be like that one purple dress that hugged your curves and cupped your tits that he saw while mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram he follows from a secret account. Nothing crazy though, it’s not even under his name.) But he’d never rip it off the first day, the first time will be consensual. And that’s important!

But Atsumu thought the manager's clothing kept your modesty and your true beauty since you’re clearly out with a rich man and you didn’t want that to be something people looked at you for. You’re you, not what your relations paint you out to be.

A rich man… from an opposing team?

Wait…

What the fuck is going on?

Atsumu’s eyes seem to widen more the moment he realizes that the man’s arms you just ran into… were Tobio Kageyama’s; the opposing team of the Schweiden Adlers' official setter.

He also happened to be Atsumu’s rival since high school. The moment he saw his neutral expression soften at your appearance, his knuckles turned white from the clenched fists he formed again. Atsumu could physically feel his blood boil at the sight of the opposing setter.

It’s like knowing that your significant other is none other than Tobio Kageyama made this entire situation of infatuation significantly worse. Now Atsumu just had to get you.

However, he wonders what Kageyama thinks. You’re managing his opposing team’s match. He wonders how Kageyama feels about you spending hours with his team; traveling and taking such… good… care of them. Atsumu knows he’d never trust his own girlfriend to be around so many men. So much could happen. He’d keep her just to himself, and pay no other man attention. But it seems as if Kageyama is unfazed, clearly the way he held you in the middle of the restaurant as you seemed to be pressed flush against his chest and sighing from fatigue just shows his amount of trust and love for you that it’s nothing to him. Especially when Atsumu caught sight of the chaste peck he placed on your forehead as he held you. Clearly, he’s a popular setter too, getting attention from millions of girls on the daily.

Atsumu internally gags at the idea of putting so much trust into one another in a relationship. Seriously, who doesn’t get worried and paranoid that the other might be cheating? It’s only normal.

However, it wasn’t until you gave Kageyama a sweet kiss on his cheek and he sat down to wait for you, that Atumu really reached his limits. He was waiting on literally anything to hold against Kageyama, to show you that he’s not the setter you should be with. He’s got to be flawed. That it should be Atsumu; it should be his arms that you run into after a long day at work for him as well—!

Okay, he was getting ahead of himself. First, he wants to fuck you. He wants to see if the moment he released all of himself inside you that it’d be a worthy investment of his time and love into you. Do you really deserve it when you’re rejecting him like a brat?

Anyway, he was waiting for a moment to seize— and as if the gods answered his prayers, a group of young women who were sitting at a table nearby got up from their seats and walked over to approach Kageyama. He looked up in confusion and Atsumu could barely hear what they were saying as they tried to surround him. However, he could only assume that they were fans and probably wanted a picture with him.

Oh-ho?

Atsumu felt a dark smile form onto his lips the moment he saw a girl latch her hand at his Kageyama’s shoulder. Atsumu couldn’t let this go to waste— this was his chance! This was his chance to prove to you who’s the real setter you’re managing! Not this cunt who’s letting a girl touch him.

The moment Atsumu whipped out his phone to take a picture, however, he saw Kageyama swat the girl’s hand from his shoulder, standing up abruptly and faintly demanding they leave even though he’s flattered.

“The bastard’s loyal huh?” Atsumu grumbled under his breath. But the answer to the question of Kageyama’s loyalty to you still didn’t faze him. Atsumu was going to have you and take you from him, obviously.

As if on cue, you opened the restaurant door clutching the same bag from earlier, except this time, the loose cloth was dangling from the bag— your manager's clothing— and you were wearing a petite cream-colored dress that hugged your hips and gentle body so well.

That’s just embarrassing… Atsumu grumbles under his breath in utter annoyance as he feels the material of his shorts tighten with the tent that began to form, leaves of the bush he stood behind ruffling as he began to adjust his legs in a more comfortable position. He couldn’t help it, the thrill of being the only guy among the Black Jackals who’s seen you out with an outfit that only leaves imagination up to the eye.

Anyway, Kageyama stood up and placed yet another kiss on your face, except for the raging fact he placed his lips on yours this time, mentally groaning at the fact you kissed him back just as passionately, your hands tugging at his jacket as he held you.

Seriously, quit it with the PDA it’s pissing him off—!

Atsumu’s wishes were granted as soon as Kageyama’s lips pulled away from yours and feathered the last one for a while on the top of your soft hair. And as you both sat down, Atsumu knew he’d have to just observe incoherent words of you both just conversing with each other, ordering your food together, and whatever else the night may have stored for later.

Atsumu expected something simple and old-fashioned from knowing Tobio. He expected a boring date with just a fancy dinner. He expected this to be just some normal date that couldn’t hint at seriousness between you both. He honestly expected you to fall asleep at one point. But none of that happened.

Tobio Kageyama was an entirely different person from his point of view as he managed to pull that heavenly giggle and smile from your lips throughout the entire night. Even after you both finished eating, you stayed and just talked for what seemed like forever to Atsumu. The gentle touches and soft shoves you both gave each other as you wholeheartedly listened to him and he, you. Atsumu’s mouth only gaped at Tobio’s behavior around you. He looked truly happy and content to be with you at every second that seemed to pass— and the part that stung Atsumu the most was just how happy you looked and felt with him too. He could just tell that this was definitely something that was serious.

It’s a shame he has to ruin something so beautiful for his own benefit. But it must be done— it just has to. Atsumu could care less that you were happy with someone else. Moreso, someone Atsumu has thought of as an enemy since high school. In fact, this just made things easier for him. It would be like knocking two birds with one stone.

He gets to finally defeat the Adlers’ setter in something other than volleyball, and he gets to have you. He gets to take you away from Kageyama. And it made sense anyway, it’s not like you managed the Adlers. No, you managed the Jackals. And it will just have to remain that way forever. He’ll ensure that.

But Atsumu never expected this night to become something he felt that he almost couldn’t take anymore. Or rather something that would complicate his plans just a bit. Because no, the night to Tobio was clearly far from over. He heard your laughs die down and a small gasp escaped your lips. However, from Atsumu’s position, he could barely see what was going on since he could only see you sitting with your hand over your lips, and Kageyama was nowhere near his chair.

Curse the expensive dark-colored sports car that was parked in front of his hiding spot. He could barely see a thing!

Atsumu tch’ed as he pulled out his phone and clicked on his camera to zoom in and get a better look at what was going on. He nearly dropped his phone at the sight of what it depicted. Kageyama had gotten on his knees under the table, oddly enough he did it in a discreet manner that no one noticed. Atsumu could see under the cloth how his hands on your knees parted your thighs slightly enough for his head to peek in right in between them. Atsumu could see the way Tobio looked up at you from under the cloth— he could only guess one thing. Lust. But perhaps lust wasn’t just it, if that were Atsumu under the table, he’d be able to tell it’s deep of love and devotion to you.

But this was so unexpected of Tobio. He never struck Atsumu as the type to be into pleasuring you out in public, the mere thrill of being caught obviously straining his boxers. Atsumu’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you carding your delicate hands through Tobio’s hair… he could… hear you sniffling from far away?

Atsumu zoomed in with his phone and noticed a light reflection coming from… a jeweled ring held in his fingers on top of your thigh... It’s as if he could tell the look on Tobio’s face was daring and endearing at the same time.

He was fucking proposing to you, under the table of a fancy, public, and dim-lit restaurant, with the full intent of marking you with nothing but love mixed with pleasure with his tongue.

No wonder ya both skipped on orderin' dessert.

Atsumu could only wish he heard the absolute tender yet dirty words spewing from Tobio’s mouth under the table to you. He could only wish he heard Tobio confess his intent to fully devote his love to you by making you his— and if the world caught sight of that moment, he wouldn’t mind. He’ll have you forever.

But first, (unfortunately unheard by Atsumu) Tobio will have to hear just how much you want your boyfriend to make you gush around his tongue; giving him the dessert he didn’t get to order while you beg for him to make you his with the ring he clutched between his fingers. Tobio seemed to chuckle darkly at your needy expression towards the ring in his palm. You wanted it— you practically begged to have the ring wrapped around your finger by him. Atsumu could tell you said yes; because his gaze became clouded with a sense of darkness, envy, and lust as he watched Tobio dip his head further into your embarrassed cunt. Atsumu’s tent tightened the gap between his shorts and thighs as he watched you bite your hand from moaning loudly at the pleasure that began to form from Tobio’s tongue alone. He could tell you wanted to throw your head back and tug at his dark hair.

Atsumu thanked the gods for the delicious moment and for his hiding spot because it didn’t take long for him to slide his bruised hand from setting into his shorts, reaching for his annoying erection and palming himself through the material as he watched Tobio fuck you with bliss on his tongue. He mentally cursed at the fact the recording wasn’t going to be enough due to the fact he can barely see you and Tobio’s facial expressions, but that’ll have to do for now. He can always fantasize and remember— it’s what he’s been doing up to this moment anyway.

Atsumu bit his lip as he finally saw you tug at Tobio’s hair, your fingers turning white as you held his locks; he could tell you were getting close. Atsumu’s breath increased as he realized you weren’t the innocent little manager he thought you were after all. The mere fact you could come undone in just a few minutes from simple tongue fucking and in public where anyone could see just rocked him closer to his own orgasm. He can’t imagine just how much more he doesn’t know about you. All he knows is that he wanted to be in Tobio’s position more than anything. He felt himself drool at the thought of being able to taste every inch of your cunt with his tongue— he could just imagine how sweet you would taste. He could tell from the way Tobio ravaged his tongue against your folds like he was drinking his ungodly flavored milk he couldn’t get enough of back in high school.

It’s as if Tobio had become an entirely different person when he met you. And Atsumu couldn’t blame him because he felt the same exact way. But it doesn’t matter, he’ll have his way with you. And when he will, he promised himself he’ll do it over and over— however long it would take to erase Tobio’s way with you permanently. Until you won’t want anyone but him.

Yeah... he’ll have his way with you.

Atsumu let out a muffled grunt against his jacket as his legs shook with the orgasm that rippled itself into his body like electricity. His cum squirted all over his bruised hands, groaning at the sticky sensation. He’s touched himself before to the little thoughts of you, of course; but this was something he got to witness firsthand. This was probably the best orgasm he’d had from jerking off to you. Surely, this wasn’t going to be his last?

Atsumu’s breathing slowed as he was able to tell you came around the same time he did because he watched Tobio’s head disappear after placing a kiss on your wrist from your hand that is stuck in his—now—messy locks. He watched from the distance as you came down from your high, chest heaving up and down slowly, your cleavage slightly out due to the fact your dress was shuffled a bit with Tobio’s hands.

It was beyond Atsumu how literally nobody around you noticed what just happened. He raised a brow when he noticed Tobio still under the table, but he smirked as he realized the opposing setter was clearly trying to adjust the mess he made in his pants. Unbeknownst to Atsumu, Tobio took care of your pleasure while taking care of his own. Meaning Tobio palmed himself under the table and came right as you did... in unison.

Unison… like the fact he sealed your finger with the ring as you both came undone together. An orgasm that was so precious to Tobio due to the fact you must have cum while you said yes. Cumming undone in public and sealing your fate with Tobio in unison. To say Atsumu was severely jealous was an understatement. He was utterly annoyed and, inconveniently, rock-hard once more even though he came only a moment ago. Clearly, it wasn’t enough.

He grunted in annoyance at the but his attention was back at the fact you and Tobio just got up abruptly from your table, Tobio placing the bill for the dinner and grabbing at your hand in the other, walking you out and crossing the street.

Atsumu’s eyes widened behind his disgraceful hiding spot, you were crossing the straight right in his direction. You were both practically approaching his hiding spot.

Holy fucking shit— did they see him? Did they actually catch him in his contemptible position as he pumped out his filthy desire from watching you cum?

Atsumu silently panicked as you and Tobio were feet away from his crouched position. But his heart rate died down the moment he reached for his car (that was his sports car?) keys and opened the passenger door for you to climb in with wobbly legs. Atsumu’s gaze lowered at your ridden up dress, your thighs were exposed more than they were earlier, clearly from earlier. And from his crouched position, he could see the bare outline of your drenched panties. Atsumu mentally cursed at Tobio for still allowing your wet cunt to soak your panties. If that was him, he’d have licked you up until there would be no drop to even form a wet spot on the thin material. Or perhaps it was intentional— which would make sense to his new side Atsumu had never seen. He barely knew the man and his plans now. What was next? Was that it?

No, of course not. Atsumu, or rather any normal human being, would only assume that was just a little thing to get the night started and that daring Tobio definitely had more planned for the rest of the night. He could only imagine just how hard he’ll fuck when you get home and immediately go to bed. He’ll probably since he sealed the deal and adding unprotected sex to the list isn’t too far from his plans most likely.

Atsumu would definitely fuck you without any form of protection if he’d proposed to you. He’d lose count to how many times he’d fill your cunt with his pent-up load that he wouldn’t be mad if you got pregnant. Of course, this was a far-fetched idea of getting you pregnant. But it doesn’t hurt to think outside of the box.

Atsumu mentally let out a whine. He wanted to follow you and Tobio home. He wanted to witness it first-hand. But unfortunately, he had to get home and sleep early, due to the fact he had press and a bunch of other shit to deal with in the morning. But perhaps the universe smiled down at Atsumu today. Because the moment Tobio shut the car door behind him, he lifted you by your waist, almost in a rough manner, and pushed you to the backseat.

Atsumu felt a drool down his cheek. This was so exciting. This was unbelievably filthy. In the car? In front of the restaurant?

Not bad, Tobio-kun.

Atsumu watched as Tobio went to the backseat as well and pulled you to straddle his waist. Despite the windows being closed, the backseat window had a faint opening. From the close proximity of where he was hiding, that was deliciously vivid to his view and hearing. Atsumu’s terrifying grin widened as he pressed another recording, sliding his hand under his shorts once more.

“I don’t think you did a good enough job at the restaurant hiding your moans, love,” Tobio muttered as he slid his hand under your dress, toying with your sensitive clit. “I want to give it another try, except this time, I’ll make you and my car shake. How does that sound, pretty girl?”

Tobio clearly left the window open on purpose, almost daring you to moan loudly for everyone around to hear. To hear you moan loudly about just how good he’s taking care of his woman. Buying her fancy dinner, getting dessert right from her own source, proposing with a blindingly shiny ring that presented success and accomplishments, adding the cherry on top with you now being secured in his life. He was going to fuck you until you could never forget tonight.

In a way, Atsumu felt lucky to watch, to witness a moment so important in your life, a moment that was meant to only you and Tobio to look back on. And he almost feels bad for staying hidden, recording this unforgettable moment.

Maybe he’ll show the recording to you in the future when he completely breaks this moment. When he replaces it with another moment that erases Tobio. But maybe he would show it to you. It could serve as a reminder that he’s not what you deserve. You deserve better, you deserve him. Not some rich yet other powerful setter. You have him, you should forget about Tobio Kageyama.

Yeah, you should savor this moment until the very end. Because many more will come where Tobio won’t be in the picture. Atsumu made that promise to himself.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

Atsumu’s sweat prickled on his forehead as he watched you bounce on Tobio’s cock— his head thrown back against the leather seat, fingers brushing against your nipples through the dress very so often as it elicits soft moans from you. But he could tell you were trying to keep it down. He could tell Tobio was fucking you good.

“T-Tobio, mmh—! I think I’m close already!” You whined against his clothed chest, your tears from the sensitivity of earlier streaming down your cheeks with every thrust.

“Already? We just started. You wanted my dick that much when I wrapped that finger around you, baby?” Tobio cooed as he watched you struggle to take him, bouncing ever so lightly as you do. “That’s okay— I intend to make you cum for however much it takes. Not every day you get proposed to, Y/N. I won’t let you forget.”

“Baby, please! Go faster, ‘s too big,” You whined at his words, causing Tobio to scoff as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind on the headrest of the front seat.

“Was tongue fucking you not enough prep, my love?” Tobio asked as he pinned you, his thrusts getting faster at your request, to the point where you throw your head back against the headrest of where your hands were pinned. “Thank god I’m marrying you and this tight pussy. I’m sure this will be a common occurrence. But that’s okay, I’ll fuck you loose. Loose from me. Me only, love.”

Ya liked this, L/N-san? I could make ya scream next time. I’ll do it. I won’t hold ya back from yer beautiful and dirty sounds like Tobio-kun— I’ll help ya let it all out…

Atsumu’s grip on his own cock increased in speed as he heard your moans become louder. He felt bad for you as he palmed himself— what if someone hears? That’d be embarrassing and a little clumsy of you. You get to come while filthy people watch— watch Tobio thrust up into you faster as he gets closer to reaching his own climax. Mouth latching onto your neck and hands tugging at his dark locks in the tinted windows of an unnecessarily expensive sports car. Your delicious view of tits bouncing right in Tobio’s face, making him groan into your skin and grope the flesh harder.

“Fuck—engh! Y/N, it’s honestly like your getting tighter. But I’m a bit confused, love, aren’t you enjoying this a bit much?” Tobio chuckled at your fucked out expression. “I guess I’m planning on marrying you for a reason. I get to fuck and understand this pretty little body all by myself. Of course, you—fuck—you want that too, huh?”

You were enjoying this so much, L/N-san. I’ll give ya this and more. I will.

“You’re jus’ too big for me to handle sometimes, Tobio, I can’t—mmh—! Help it!” Your breathy moan escaped with your words, leaning against his torso to steady yourself as you feel yourself getting undeniably closer to your release.

“Damn right I am. We didn't order any drinks and you're already drunk on my cock," Tobio chuckled at your helplessness. "I bet you were just waiting for me to get down on my knees for you, hm?"

"I've been waiting for months—fuck— months for you to propose, Tobio," Your riding slows from your legs giving out, causing Tobio to groan and resort to thrusting upwards into you since you clearly can't do it yourself. "'M so happy you did."

"'M happy I did too, baby," Tobio smiled, genuinely, before increasing the speed of his thrusts, capturing your swollen and plump lips with his own, as if pouring his heart out with it.

Atsumu groaned as he felt his orgasm hit him like a rock, his cum spurting out of his hands in an intense manner onto his disgraceful seat in the audience. Your final moan being loud enough that Tobio had to muffle it with his mouth on yours. The wet clashing sounds that came from your swollen lips and tongues wanting to be closer than ever. His arms sneaking around your back, pulling you closer as you both road out your amazing high; hands blazing a fiery trail across your waist and up to your back. He kissed you with much force that Atsumu was unsure if you had to pull away to breathe and compose yourselves.

But to his surprise, you pulled away and pressed a soft kiss against Tobio’s cheek— falling tiredly into his chest. He didn’t even pull out— he let you sit still on his softened cock— feeling the occasional thumping of your painted walls that are clamped around him. Tobio held you in comforting silence, feathering sweet kisses to your pretty little head.

Atsumu groaned the moment he heard Tobio mutter an ‘I love you’ into your ear, you murmuring one just as soft and sincere. He fought the urge to gag at the sincerity and realness in your confessions to one another. In the next practice match— even an official— he would make sure to target him a lot more rough than usual. What was this supposed to be? It was way too real to be a joke. It pissed him off.

His legs began to give out and shake from his crouching position, Atsumu lightly gasped as he lost balance in his knees, causing the bush in his hiding position to ruffle from his shifting movements. His eyes widened as he saw Tobio twitch his head in his direction.

Fuck— he needed to get out of here. Atsumu clasped his cum-stained hand to his mouth and nose, covering any slight movement or noise of his breathing being held in. He was not going to get caught.

“What’s wrong?” You mumble into his chest, from feeling him shift suddenly. Tobio turned back to look at you in his arms, softly carding his fingers through your hair.

“Did you hear that?” Tobio muttered as he held you close to his body, hearing you mumble a no against his chest, nuzzling against his warmth. “Thought I heard somethin’.”

“Probably the wind,” You suggested, looking up at him, your lips moving from his chest up to his exposed neck, and placing a trail of soft kisses up his Adam's apple, causing your lips to vibrate from his throaty chuckle. You gasped as Tobio lightly yet roughly tugged your head back slightly with your hair, forcing you to face him up, you tightening around his length as he looked into your eyes, smirking darkly.

“Probably,” He whispered, pecking your lips. “Or probably not. Either way, you’d like it if some fucking creep watched me fuck your brains out though, huh? Or if they heard your moans, wouldn’t you be ashamed, love?”

“I w-would!” You let out a whimper at the sharp thrust that came from Tobio, Atsumu’s mouth agape at Tobio’s words.

“Tch. Lies,” Tobio muttered, as he dipped his mouth to bite lightly at your neck, thrusting up once more aggressively. “My soon-to-be wife and also my pretty little whore. Mine. No one will ever get to fuck you dumb like this— all mine.”

“Only y-yours,” You moaned at Tobio’s rough touch, causing him to groan against your skin.

“And you will be— from now on until forever, you understand that?” Tobio looked at you with lust and love all at once— intensifying the way his thrusts felt as you felt another orgasm approach your sensitive cunt that was cockwarming him not too long ago.

“Mhm—! Forever, Tobio,” You purred as he sped up his thrusts, causing your legs to shake as you couldn’t help the way you immediately gushed around him hard, therefore fulfilling Tobio’s promise— one that caused the car to lightly shake as well.

Holy fuck.

Atsumu practically came untouched for the third time— his legs definitely gave out as his orgasm ripples through his body, he felt himself fall on his ass, quietly— but he couldn’t leave yet. That was unbelievably the most real shit he's ever seen. Not just because he wanted to see if this would go even further or if you would go for round four, but because if he gets up he’ll immediately be seen.

Tobio pressed a softer kiss against your forehead and a longing one against your lips before gently lifting you off his cock, and helping you fix your messy dress, lowering it down your legs, and pulling your creamed panties up your filled pussy. You shivered at the wet sticky-ness before letting Tobio carry you back into the front seat, helping you with the seatbelt before going up to the driver's seat.

Tobio didn’t even waste time— he was more than likely to continue the real thing at home. To give you his all tonight and expect you to take it without question. Atsumu envied that, he envied that deeply. He's never gotten to experience fucking that came with sincere emotions that intensified the orgasms pulled from both sides. And to an extent, it stung that he had to wait for you to drive away with the man before he stood up from his hiding spot— sighing at the feeling of blood rushing down his legs due to the fact he was crouched for a long while. He shook off the dirt from his knees before he walked to his own apartment.

And that was what made Atsumu’s smile widen horrifically as he watched you approach the team the following week; and hand out the tickets for today’s practice match trip. Atsumu is always the most excited when it comes to field trips. He gets to spend more time with you! Well, as much as you’d let him, of course. Baby steps. He’ll have to take his time before trying again— he wouldn’t want what happened last week to occur again. He’ll give it time.

You’ll come around, of course. He’s sure of it.

And approximately a few feet (yet what felt like miles away) his own teammate stood with just as much darkness and lust in his eyes. The darkness that presents the goal of having you in every filthy way imaginable; darkness in his pretty curls.

Darkness that's quite similar to Atsumu's. All while, of course, is perfectly concealed by the fabric over his mouth— that masked his own expressions about you.

for every reblog i’ll give you a kith on the nose <3

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never going back again - 02

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), mentions of eating, nightmares, mention of alcohol, mutual pining

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It was the calmest he'd ever been, lounging around the cottage with you near, he wasn't much for conversation but he enjoyed asking you questions, how long you'd lived there,

"3 years next month, I bought it a while back after moving here on a whim"

What you did all day,

"Garden and read, lots of painting, even more cooking"

It was all so foreign to him, the idea of living one day at a time, not worrying about the outside world or whether or not your life was in danger, he'd realized quickly that this was the first time he felt safe in years, even with the looming threat of enemies outside and the lack of contact to his team. It did occur to him that if he didn't reach out eventually he would be labelled MIA, but to a man who wasn't even legally alive, the prospect of never seeing his team again didn't worry him a bit, what did worry him was the burning smell from the kitchen.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I was trying a new recipe, it's harder than it looks" You rush to turn off the stove, quickly pulling the pan from the surface and using a towel to waft the smoke.

"I thought you were good at cooking"

"No I said I liked cooking, not that I was any good" You huff while reaching to open the small window above the sink, allowing the fumes to migrate through the opening.

He leans his hands against the table "It doesn't look that bad"

"You're a terrible liar, has anyone ever told you that"

"Most say I've got a great poker face" He tilts his head, you respond with an unamused haha,

He stands to his full height, moving towards you "Let me"

"Let you what"

"Cook, I'll make dinner"

"Anything's better than this" You nudge towards the pan of burnt food, straightening your clothes before allowing him the step to the stove. You turn to sit at the table, watching as he moves around the kitchen with ease, grabbing ingredients from various spots while you point him toward the proper cabinets.

"Where'd you learn to cook?"

"Had to figure out a way to feed myself once I left home"

"They don't feed you at work?"

"They do, but it's mostly inedible, more nutrient based than anything"

"Did your mum cook?"

He doesn't respond for a moment, leaving you to realize the words that come from your mouth, your smile fading quickly, "I'm sorry I forgot"

"S'alright, she um, she didn't often but some Sundays she'd make a roast, best meal I ever ate"

He turns to you, his gaze soft as you smile slightly in response,

"Well let's hope her skills weren't wasted on you"

He laughs lightly, a real laugh before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the stove. You watch as he prepares the food for a few minutes, reaching across the counter to add spices,

"So what are you making?"

"I am making" He stops his sentence, turning off the stove and twisting to face you, "French toast"

"French toast?"

"I said I could cook, not that I know a lot of recipes"

You cover your mouth as you laugh, your eyes creasing at the sides as he places a plate in front of you,

"Well, it smells great"

The two of you dig into the food, your gaze focused on the plate as you allow him the privacy to lift his mask up slightly, revealing his mouth, falling into a comfortable silence as you eat, Simon smiles to himself as you make a small hum of approval,

"You can't be serious"

"What'd I do?"

"That's like a cup of syrup"

"So?"

"You're teeth are going to rot from your head"

"What if they already have"

You scrunch your face at the thought, "At least it'd explain the mask"

"You don't have to turn away you know"

You make a small huh? in response,

"When I pull on my mask, I don't mind you seeing parts of my face"

"I just assumed"

"I know, but you don't have to turn away"

"Okay" Your voice is smaller, intrigue and confusion mixed into it as you nod. “How’s your cut”

“Healing, thanks to you, still tender”

“Can I” You turn your eyes to his, standing from the table to kneel by his side, his breath catches in his throat as you lower your body, your fingers inches from his stomach.

He nods lightly in permission, lifting his shirt for you and settling it on his lower stomach, your fingers pressing gently on the sides of his wound as you inspect it. His eyes stare at your face, holding back a smile as you bite your lip in concentration, you stand, turning behind to grab some new bandages from the cabinet behind you before returning to your position in front of him.

You brace your fingers against his skin, tugging at his bandage,

“Sorry”

“Doesn’t hurt”

You tilt your head to him and he’s watching you, his eyes locked on your face, your cheeks flush slightly under his stare, turning your attention towards his wound as you dress it, pressing the bandage into his skin. You let your fingers linger for a moment, feeling his stomach rise and fall with each breath before you slowly pull away, standing up and nodding.

“That should do”

“Thank you”

“It’s nothing”

“Thank you” He repeats in a lower, softer voice as he lets his shirt fall into place.

"Any idea when your ear thing will work again?"

"You trying to kick me out?"

"No" You widen your eyes at your quick response, "Just, want to make sure there isn't someone at home missing you"

"There isn't"

You mouth a small oh before turning your gaze toward the window, "It's late, you should rest"

"Right"

There's tension between the two of you, neither wants to leave the others company yet at the same time, neither of you will do anything about it.

"I'll see you in the morning" You smile, passing through the kitchen towards your room and closing the door, leaving Simon alone.

He wakes in a blind panic, the sky outside still dark as he blinks his eyes, turning his head towards your door, he can hear you shouting, rustling around and without thinking he enters the room. Your limbs are twisted between the sheets, jolting around as you mumble, he takes a step back as you sit up, your chest heavy.

You clutch your chest at the sight of him, lurking in the doorframe,

"You scared me"

"You were having a nightmare"

"Yeah, they happen sometimes"

It's then that you notice he's not wearing his mask, the room is dark but there's enough light for you to make out the curve of his nose,

He scratches the back of his head, "Okay" turning to leave,

"Simon"

He lazily turns his gaze back to you, responding with a small hmm.

"Will you stay, it's just"

He cuts you off, "Easier to sleep with someone beside you"

"Please"

"Of course"

You watch as he crosses the room, looming beside your bed as you pull the sheets to cover you, feeling the mattress dip under his weight as he settles in. He lays awkwardly on his back, his arms crossed over his stomach, you watch his chest rise and fall, without thinking you slide your palm against it, your fingers light on the fabric of his shirt as you move closer, pressing your chest against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. He snakes an arm around you, letting you nestle against him as his hand settles gently on your arm, his touch feather-light as he tries to keep a consistent heartbeat.

You must've fallen asleep shortly after, waking to the sun streaming into the room, your limbs tangled between his, both of you had turned in your sleep, his chest now pressed against your back as his arms held snugly against your waist. You can feel his steady breath fan across your neck, his face close enough that the tip of his nose grazes your skin, he's so warm, the sheets on the bed long forgotten in your sleep and the heat coming from him is more than enough.

You reach a hand to his arm, tracing over the lines of his tattoo and you feel him tighten his grip, his stable breaths now ragged as he wakes up. It takes him a moment to realize the position he's in, his brain doing little to comprehend the situation.

"Do you have something in your pocket?"

He pulls from you instantly, jolting upwards and turning around as you giggle,

"M'sorry" His voice is groggy, his accent thicker than usual.

"It's fine"

He keeps his gaze away from you, anxiously stretching his limbs before you realize,

"I'm gonna shower, I'll turn away so I don't"

"Thank you"

You can only see the back of his head, his blonde hair that's a mess, the outline of his head as he nods, shaking your thoughts as you move out of the room.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, hoping that he didn't get a chance to see you that morning either, your hair was everywhere, the skin under your eyes dark from your usual lack of sleep as you strip your pyjamas, turning on the faucet.

You stand in the warm water, letting it wash over you, hoping it would calm your rampant thoughts as you hear Simon moving around behind the door.

You step out of the shower, wrapping your body in a towel and smoothing your hair back before opening the door, the steam wafting from the small room into the house.

“Where’s the kettle?”

“Top left cabinet”

You stand in the doorway, your hands squeezing the water from your hair as you look at him,

“Thanks”

He turns quickly to you and his body freezes, his eyes glued to your practically naked form as you stand, the beads of water dripping from your warm skin.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yep, just making tea”

“Okay, bags are in the lower cupboard”

He nods awkwardly, furrowing your brows at him before turning around, he lets out a heavy breath as you leave, leaning back against the counter as he drops his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“Shit” He mumbles to himself, adjusting his pants feeling them grow tighter as his mind runs circles around the sight of you, replaying the way your fingers traced over his skin, and scent of your hair as he rested his head against yours. He was awake most of the night, listening to you breath, smiling lightly as you mumble about nothing, you were soft, he’d never had soft before always jagged and dark.

His mind snaps back as you call from the other room,

“Are you any good at fixing things?”

“Depends, what needs fixing”

“The shutters outside, they’re falling apart”

“I could give them a look”

You appear in the entry, smiling at him, now clothed with your hair pulled back, he just watches you in awe, the fact that you could look so perfect no matter the circumstances, you could be caked in mud and still make his heart flutter.

The two of you sit for tea and chat about nothing, asking more questions that he dodges while you openly answer everything he had wondering about.

“I think you’re his new favourite”

Simon makes a small huh before you nudge your head toward his feet, the small cat nestling itself against his calf.

“Strange”

“He’s not strange”

“Not him just, I’ve never had a cat do this”

“Well get used to it”

He smiles under his mask, he could get used to this, spending his days with you, cooking and drinking tea, just enjoying each others company around the house.

“The shutters”

You set your cup down, nodding at him, “There’s some tools in the shed outside, not sure what’s left but maybe they’d help”

“I’ll get right on it then”

It was sweltering outside, the sun beaming down without a cloud in the sky as Simon tries to navigate his way around fixing the shutters. You see him through the window, his arms flexing as he unscrews some things and nails in others, you had no idea what he was doing but he looked good.

I’m hot, he must be hot you fan yourself with your hand, pulling the hair from your sweat glistened neck, eyes darting around the kitchen before an idea clicks in your head.

“Beer”

It’s the only word you can manage to think of as your eyes fall on him, somewhere in the last few minutes he’d stripped himself of his shirt, tucking the loose material into the belt of his pants as his sweat dripped down his skin.

“Cheers, love one”

Your throat dries, nodding as you extend a n arm toward him, the cold glass of the drink transferring to his grip as he tips it towards you in thanks, turning around to lift his mask slightly before taking a sip. Your eyes trailing down his muscled form, roaming over every ridge of his stomach before moving back up.

“Must be hot with the mask”

“Get used to it”

You take a few gulps of your own drink, running the glass across your skin in an attempt to cool yourself. He turns his gaze back to you, watching as you let the beverage run across your skin, leaving a trail of drips behind, he can’t tell if you’re teasing him or this is just how you act naturally.

“How’s it looking”

“Great”

“So you’re almost done”

“Huh?” His eyes pull back to yours,

“Are you almost done, it’s getting unbearable out here”

“Yeah, nearly there”

“Great, I’ll be inside”

The rest of the evening was calm, the two of you doing your best to stay cool in the small cottage as the sun set over the horizon, deciding on cooking something that didn’t involve the use of heat, settling on sandwiches for dinner.

“Mind if I shower, I’m covered in sweat”

“Yea of course” Your mind floods with the sight of his bare form, thankful that the hot air masked the flush of your cheeks, “Towels are in the washroom”

He nods, standing from the table to move toward the shower, closing the door behind him before turning it on. You blow out a long breath, bracing your hands against the table before turning your head at the sound of him wincing,

“You alright?” You call

“Yeah, just sore”

“Well hurry up, I’ll check your stitches”

You sit impatiently as he showers, nervously tidying the kitchen as you wait, your chest fluttering as you hear the shower turn off.

“Figured it’s easier if I just put my shirt on later”

He must be doing this on purpose, once again your eyes roam his form, his sweat replaced by dripping water as his freshly cleaned skin draws your attention,

“Sure, easier”

He sits on the couch, leaning back and positioning his arm against the top to allow you a better view to his stitches, to your surprise they’re doing well, no inflammation or bleeding, they look good.

“S’good, should be able to take them out soon”

“Great”

“Might leave a scar”

“Adds to the collection”

You pass your gaze over the skin of his chest, littered with scars, some small and others long, some old and some new.

“I’m fine”

“I know you are”

“It only hurts a little, when it happens”

“And someone did this to you”

“A few people”

“How many is a few?” You stare at him with rounded eyes,

“Nothing you need to worry about”

You soften your gaze, standing from the couch,

“I guess we should sleep now” His eyes follow your movements, he shifts in his spot trying to get comfortable,

“Simon, would you- nevermind”

“What do you need?”

“I felt bad waking you last night and I was thinking maybe, if we slept in the same bed I wouldn’t have any, you know”

“Yeah, I’d like that- you not having nightmares” He fumbles over his last words, trying to keep himself together at the prospect of once again having you close.

“Okay” You walk nervously toward your room, the simple action now feeling foreign as he trails behind you, “I’ll keep the lights off if you want”

He nods, closing the door behind him as you get into the bed, shuffling around a little before finding comfort in your position, you turn to your side but keep your eyes on him as he reaches to tug his mask off, your mind trying to piece together what he might look like behind the sharp lines of his shadowed face.

He sets himself beside you, moving an apprehensive arm under your pillow, making sure you were okay with it. You push back against him, your body perfectly slotting in front of his as his other arm settles around your waist, you hold it with your fingers, your thumb rubbing against the skin as you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

You’re asleep in no time, the warmth of the air combined with the comfort of Simon behind you lulling you into a dream while he stays up, his arms tucked against you, it was the most comfortable he’d been in years, maybe ever and be didn’t dare move, his body freezing everytime you moved a leg against him or squeezed his forearm lightly, they were like subconscious reminders that you wanted him there and it warmed his heart, melting against you as he tucked his nose against the nape of your neck, your hair brushing against his skin.

He wakes to an empty bed and a weight on his chest, opening his heavy eyes to the sight of Goliath,

“Good morning kitty”

He runs a hand across his back, smiling lightly as he purrs against his touch before he jumps off, startled by the sounds from the house. Simon quickly realizes that he’s not wearing a mask, it’s light out, and you’re not there, a small panic setting into his nerves as he stands.

He tugs on his mask and a shirt before leaving the room, pressing his side against the frame as he watches you move around the kitchen, steeping some tea while you clean up.

“Mornin”

You turn around with a wide smile, “Sleep well?” You ask, leaning against the counter,

“Best in years” He’s being honest, something about you was so comfortable, safe, he wanted to stay forever, if this was what life had in store for him then he’d accept it with open arms.

“Good, cause I think I found that wire you needed”

His heart sinks in an instant, “You did?”

“I think so, was tucked back in the drawer”

“Oh, I’ll see if it’s the right one then”

You smile, turning back to the kettle that had begun whistling as Simon panics, it was too soon, he wanted more time, he needed to figure out a way to stay longer, something good that would keep him here at least a few more days.

“The bathrooms got mold in it” It was the best he could come up with, he hated lying to you.

“Huh?” You turn with your brows furrowed,

“The bathroom, noticed it last night, I can’t fix it if you’d like”

“Are you sure, I didn’t see any”

“Easy to miss sometimes, it’s just near the drain, shouldn’t take more than a day to clean up”

“Yeah sure, just let me know what you need”

He nods, fighting back a smile of success behind his mask, excusing himself from your direct line of sight before internally celebrating, before stopping to think to himself,

Now I’ve gotta figure out how to retile a shower.

Speak Easy part 2

Bakugo x Reader , Dabi x Reader

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?

Words : 3231

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You could feel yourself tense up. Who would be here soon? Dabi? Where they really just going to hand you over to him? Did they not remember all the horrible things he did? How long had you been stuck in that lab? Had things really changed so much in that time?

Bakugo’s hand settled on your lab, making you jump. “Hey just relax. Remember I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. As much as I hate this plan, Icy Hot’s right. For now, this is our best option. Dabi’s a master of living off the grid and he’s not scared of anyone.” He took your new notebook and wrote a number in it. “That’s my private cell phone number. I’m sure Staples will have a phone so call or text me if you need anything.” He gave you a sad look, “We’re going to try to get things cleaned up on our end as fast as possible. I’ll come get you as soon as I’m confident it’s safe for you to come back.”

Midoriya who had been in another room reentered with what looked like an earpiece in his ear. “Kirishima says he sees a car approaching from the west side.” He looked at Todoroki, “He’s your brother so I’ll follow your lead with how this should go down.”

Todoroki nodded, “He doesn’t know the full reason why he’s here yet. I just told him it was an emergency and we needed his help hiding something.” He walked to the front door, “Just let me do the talking for now.” He shot a warning look at Bakugo, “In fact it’d be smart if you didn’t say anything at all.”

Bakugo scoffed, “I’ll keep my mouth shut as long as he fucking behaves himself.”

The loud thumping of someone’s fist banging on the front door made you jump and clutch Bakugo’s hand that had been in your lap. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before taking a deep breath himself. He wasn’t known for being calm, so this must be hard for him.

You watched as Todoroki opened the door and a wet Dabi quickly ran in. It must have been raining outside, of course it’d be raining at a time like this. As if your life wasn’t already like a shitty movie.

The first thing you noticed was his snow-white hair. Hadn’t it been black the last time you saw him? You remembered because you had thought he looked greasy. His eyes however where still the same piercing blue color. They flicked from person to person around the room, hovering over you a little longer than the others before he looked back to his brother. “So, it looks like you found her after all.”

“H-How did you…” Todoroki looked genuinely confused.

Dabi smirked, “Oh come on just like you keep “secret” tabs on me, I’m watching you too. Not that I don’t trust you, but old habits die hard.” He looked back to you and were surprised to see his smirk turn into a frown when his eyes locked in on the irritated flesh on your neck from your collar. “You weren’t as discrete at you think you were. You had to know word would get back to me that my baby brother was looking for a girl in all kinds of shady places.”

He stepped closer to you and knelt down. His eyes looked straight into your causing you to shiver. “You look familiar. Did you go to school with them?” Without blinking or breaking eye contact you softly nodded.

This time it was Midoriya who spoke, “She hasn’t been speaking since we saved her. But this is Y/LN Y/N, she was in our class.”

Dabi stiffened as he looked you over one more time clearly disturbed by something. But he turned away before you could question it, “You said you saved her? From where? Who had her?” The men in the room looked around at each other nervously. “Calm down, don’t all of you go at once…. Just spit it out.”

“Her own hero agency. We found her tied up in a lab in the basement of the agency she worked for.” You could feel the heat coming from Bakugo’s hand as he spoke. He gave you a sympathetic look, “We couldn’t protect her before, but we can now. So, will you help us or not?”

Dabi hummed in thought. “Shoto would you mind stepping into the other room with me for a little bit.”

Todoroki nodded as he wordlessly followed Dabi to a backroom.

~~~Dabi’s POV~~~

“She looks like shit.” Todoroki’s eyes widened as he shut the door behind him praying to god you didn’t here that. “There was deep bruising around her wrists and ankles. Burnt and infected flesh around her entire neck… She’s easily lost thirty pounds.”

Todoroki narrowed his eyes, “Wait how would you know she’s lost weight? Did you know her before?”

“Know her? No. Not at all. But she had definitely been one of the League’s targets. Especially after the sports festival. Shigaraki had practically been obsessed with her. He probably wanted her more than that explosion brat. Except he was easier to capture.” He started to pace. “Fucking heroes did this to her?”

“Yes. We don’t know the extent of the torture she was put through, but based off of how Bakugo found her, we know they were running experiments on her.”

Dabi’s fists clenched, “Look as much as I’d like to help, I don’t have time for this shit. You need someone to “disappear” I’m your guy. Give me a name and I’ll scatter their ashes. But babysitting? Especially someone with as much trauma as she has? You got the wrong guy.”

Todoroki’s jaw clenched, “You’re wrong. You’re the perfect guy for this. You said yourself the League had their eye on her and she’s obviously not safe from heroes either. We’re not asking you to be her therapist. We just need you to keep her safe while we sort out this fucking mess. We don’t know who’s a hero and who’s a villain anymore. All I know is you’re somehow both and neither at the same time.”

Dabi pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel himself starting to get a headache. “If I do this. You’re going to owe me for the rest of your fucking life.”

Tororoki took a step closer and hesitantly raised a hand to place on his shoulder. “I don’t care what you have to do. Just keep her safe.”

~~~Y/N POV~~~

You could hear the mumbling coming from the back room. You got the feeling he didn’t want to help, and you were surprised at how sad that made you. Weren’t you the one freaking out moments ago about them handing you over to a villain? Now you’re sad he doesn’t want to help. If he was literally their last resort, what did that mean for you? You were biting your lip so hard you could taste blood.

Bakugo and Midoriya where over by the table now looking at a map and mumbling something about safe houses. You found yourself secretly thankful for Bakugo giving you some space while also craving his warmth. God you were so fucked up.

Before you could start to go down that rabbit hole any further you heard footsteps coming back towards the main room. “Okay doll face. Grab your things and say your goodbyes. We have a long drive ahead of us.” When you didn’t look like you were going to move, he groaned, “What do your legs not work either?”

That was honestly a good question. You hadn’t used your legs in… months maybe? You vaguely remembered them coming into your room every so often to stretch your muscles out. They called it your physical therapy. It was considered a reward for good behavior. You cringed at the memory but made an attempt to stand anyways. You slightly shook at the exertion of trying to stand. You managed to get to your feet, and you couldn’t help but smile at the small victory.

However, that smile was wiped clean off as you tried to take a step and your leg completely gave out. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for impact.

Dabi however off of some buried instinct leapt forward and caught you. “Hey now, no need to fall head over heels for me just yet. You have plenty of time for that later.” You could feel the blush take over your cheeks and neck. He chuckled as he scooped you up. “I guess I’ll be carrying you for now… You have everything?” You showed him your journal, which sadly was your only possession at this point.

Midoriya walked towards you two with a backpack. “Here we got some stuff together. It’s just some clean underwear, feminine products, a brush, stuff like that. Oh, and some cash. We’ll try and send you care packages as often as we can to keep you guys stocked up on stuff you need.”

Dabi took the bag from him and slung it on his back. If he was inconvenienced in any way by having to carry both you and the bag, he didn’t show it.

Midoriya looked like he wanted to give you a hug, but he also didn’t want to crowd the man who was now holding you so instead he gave the top of your head an affectionate pat. “Hope to see you soon y/n. Kiri also says bye, but he’s currently on perimeter and couldn’t make it back. Please take care of yourself and remember we’re one phone call away.” He gave Dabi a bit of side eye as he said the last part.

Todoroki was next to say goodbye. Obviously not as nervous around his brother as Midoriya was. He gave you an awkward side hug and whispered in your ear, “He’s not as spooky as he seems. If he ever gets grumpy just turn on some cartoons and he’ll calm down.” Dabi swatted at the back of his head, “Watch it. I’ll still kick your ass squirt.”

Bakugo awkwardly hovered until it as his turn to say goodbye. He surprised the both of you though when he made his way over and kissed the top of your head. “I promise I’ll check on you soon. You keep track of all the things you want to tell me in that journal and well catch up soon.”

You nodded and wiped away a tear before it had a chance to spill over your cheek.

Dabi started backing away toward the door. “Alright we’ll be going now. I will update you on our location once we’re settled and it’s safe.” He cut his eyes at Bakugo who looked like he was about to protest, “I’m not stupid. I know you probably snuck a tracker into this backpack. So even if I don’t tell you where we are, I have a feeling you’ll know anyway so chill out C-cup.”

Dabi swiftly made his way towards the door and out into the rain. You made a silent gasp as the cold rain hit your face. It was unreal how amazing it felt. Dabi hopped quickly through the rain to his car. He threw the back door open and tossed the backpack in. He came to the passenger side now and tried to place you in the front seat. Some animal part of you started to panic and you gripped his jacket tight.

He huffed, “Look, I understand you’re going through some shit, but I can’t have you getting sick before we even get you home.” You looked straight up into the rain and let is hit your face for just a little longer before relaxing your grip and letting him place you in the seat.

He quickly made his way around to the driver seat and slammed his door closed behind him. He reached behind him into the backseat and pulled out a black beanie and pulled it over your head. “I’ll get the heat going soon. The cars just a little older and makes a weird smell when your use the heater.” You hadn’t noticed you were shivering until his warm hand found your shoulder.

You squirmed a little in your seat. You didn’t know what to do now. In your past you would have made small talk, but that wasn’t exactly an option. You pulled your knees to your chest and chewed on you’re already raw lip.

“Okay, so this is going to be a long drive. I get that you’re not talking right now, which is cool because I’m not the chatty type anyways. You can however have full control over the radio. There should be some books in the glove box if you want to read. I think I might have some snacks somewhere if you get hungry.

Your stomach growled at the thought of eating and it made him smirk. “Or we could just say fuck it and stop and get something to eat. How does that sound?” Your eyes lit up and you nodded enthusiastically. He chuckled, “I think I can swing that. We just need to keep it light alright. You’ll throw up if you eat too much right away. How does soup sound? Or ramen?”

You put up two fingers. “Two? So, the second one you want ramen?” You nodded. “Okay I think I can make that happen.”

Half an hour later you were digging into a bowl of pork ramen while Dabi continued driving. “Slow down! Shit do you wanna choke? If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” You couldn’t help it, this was the best thing you’d had to eat in recent memory.

The warm food in your belly was soothing and even though you had just woken up a few hours ago you felt like you could doze off any minute.

You felt the car come to a stop, so you slowly sat up. It was darker out now. You looked out the window but were confused when all you saw was trees. Dabi took the key out of the ignition and sighed. “Okay we’re about halfway there. But I have to do something first and I know you’re not going to like it.” Your heart started to hammer. “I need to check you for trackers. Heroes are fucking sneaky. I need to make sure they didn’t inject or implant anything in you.” Your eyes welled up as you put the pieces together.

He pulled out a small device with lights on it. “This can scan you and it will light up if it finds anything. But it can’t read through clothes. It’s hard enough for it to read through skin, and even then it can miss something if its deep enough.”

You gripped your borrowed hoodie and shook your head no. You started to lean away from him, pressing your back against the passenger door. “See I’m not asking y/n. I know it’s going to suck. But we have to do it. There’s no point in me hiding you somewhere if they can track you down.” He tugged on the end of your hoodie. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s not like I’m a perv. I’ll scan you as quickly as I can and move on. We can pretend it never happened.”

Your breathing became more difficult as you started to panic. “Hey! Cut that shit out. Keep breathing like that and you’re going to pass out. That would honestly make my job easier, but I think you’d prefer to be awake.” He put his hand on the back of your head and pulled you close until you were almost nose to nose. “I know what your quirk can do. So just look me in eyes and see that I’m not lying. Look into my head and see for yourself that I’m just doing this to keep you safe.”

A tear slipped out and you shook your head.

Dabi wasn’t having that. “DO IT! Look at me right now and just do it!”

You felt something snap and you felt the rush of your quirk taking over. You looked deep into Dabi’s eyes. You felt the pull deeper as you looked around his mind. You reached a hand out and touched his arm and you heard him hiss. You felt agitation. You felt discomfort. But you also felt concern and worry. There were no red flags in his mind. Nothing that would make you think he was trying to take advantage of you.

You released your hold on him and felt yourself snap back as you turned your quirk off.

Dabi was looking at you with a bit of impatience. “Do you believe me now?”

You nodded as you reached for the hem of your hoodie and slowly started to pull it off.

“WOAH! You don’t have to strip! Jesus. I’m just going to have to get a little touchy feely with you. Which isn’t much better I’ll admit, but you can keep your clothes on.” He shoved the device under your hoodie and pressed it your belly.

You shivered as he started to roam around your body with it. He was very thorough, not missing a single spot. He had to reach around you, almost like he was hugging you to get to your back. He was almost done when a small beep sounded, and your eyes went wide.

He groaned as he quickly took off his belt. “Shit. Okay. Before you start to panic I can fix this alright. It’s going to hurt, but not as much as getting caught will.” He handed the belt to you. “I’m going to need you to bite down on this.”

Quick as lighting he was out of the car and ripping the passenger door open. He pushed you forward and pulled up your hoodie so he had clear access to your hip. He swept the device over it and again it beeped. “Okay I can actually feel it through your skin, it’s not deep at all.” You heard the click of a switchblade and you wanted to scream. “I told you to fucking bite down. I’m not going to sugar coat it. It’s going to hurt. But I have all kinds of stuff to take the edge off when we get back to my place.”

You continued to silently cry as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp. His grip tightened on your hip. “I’m not going to ask you again. You have to the count of three before I dig this tracker out. Bite. Down. Now. I refuse to have them track you down the same day I was asked to protect you.” He pushed on your shoulder making you lean over, “One… Two… Th-“

You put the belt in your mouth at the last second right before he dug into your flesh with the knife causing you to scream out. You hadn’t even realized he was done until he was pulling your back to his chest and trying to soothe you. “Hey, it’s okay I got it out. Sorry for yelling at you. You did so well. Such a good girl. Thank you for listening to me. I’m going to get you home and we’ll patch you up. You like ice cream? I have tons!”

********************************************************************

Tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium

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