You’re still the most infuriating person i know
pairing: Tsukishima Kei x f!reader
genre: frienemies → lovers, heavy bickering, post-timeskip Sendai Frogs Tsukki,
Warnings: 18+ / nsfw, degradation (consensual, name-calling, mocking, humiliation vibes), rough sex, unprotected (wrap it up irl…or don’t your choice), biting, lite choking, swearing, mean!tsukki (but he’s obsessed), reader is bratty as hell,
You don’t even remember what started the fight tonight.
Something stupid—Yachi sent a group photo from the last Frogs home game and you commented “Tsukki looks like he’s smelling something bad again” under his block celebration pic. He replied instantly with “at least I don’t look like I’m trying too hard to be relevant.” You fired back. He doubled down. Next thing you know you’re at his apartment “settling it” because apparently neither of you can let shit go.
Now you’re both standing in his living room, inches apart, breathing hard like you just ran suicides.
“You think you’re so clever,” he sneers, towering over you, arms crossed. “Always running that mouth like anyone actually wants to hear it.”
You step closer, chin up, refusing to back down even though your pulse is hammering. “And you think acting like an untouchable asshole makes you interesting? Newsflash, Kei: it just makes you lonely.”
His eyes narrow behind his glasses. “Lonely? That’s rich coming from the girl who shows up here every time her little friends ditch her.”
He smirks—slow, cruel. “That’s the plan.”
Before you can snap back he grabs your jaw, fingers digging in just enough to make you hiss. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, forcing it open.
“Still talking,” he mutters. “Even when you’re this close to getting what you’ve been begging for since high school.”
You bite his thumb. Hard.
He yanks his hand back with a low curse, then shoves you against the wall—shoulders hitting plaster, breath punched out of you.
“Fucking brat,” he growls.
You grin, feral. “Takes one to know one.”
He kisses you like he’s trying to shut you up permanently—bruising, punishing. His teeth catch your lip and you taste copper. You kiss back twice as vicious, nails raking down his arms hard enough to leave welts.
He breaks away, panting. “Strip. Now. Or I’ll rip it off you.”
You laugh, breathless, mocking. “Big talk for someone who couldn’t even ask me out like a normal person.”
His hand shoots out, wraps around your throat—not choking, just holding. Possessive. His thumb strokes over your pulse point like he’s measuring how fast you’re unraveling.
“I don’t ask,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “I take what’s already mine. And you’ve been mine since you first opened that smart mouth in the gym.”
You clench around nothing at his words. You hate how right he is.
You shove his hoodie up and off in retaliation. He lets you—barely—then yanks your shirt over your head so fast it pulls a few strands of your hair. No bra again. He stares for half a second like he’s starving, then palms one breast roughly, thumb flicking your nipple until you gasp.
“Look at these,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Always poking through your shirts like a desperate little slut begging for attention.”
“Jealous they get more action than you ever did?” you taunt.
His grip tightens. “Keep talking. See how long it takes before I fuck that attitude right out of you.”
He spins you around, shoves you chest-first against the wall. Your palms slap flat to brace yourself. He kicks your legs apart, yanks your jeans and panties down in one rough tug until they pool at your ankles.
He presses against your back, hard cock grinding through his sweats right against your ass.
“Already dripping,” he mocks, sliding two fingers between your folds without warning. “Pathetic. All that bitching and you’re this wet just from me putting you in your place.”
You moan despite yourself. Push back against his hand. “Maybe if you weren’t such a prick I wouldn’t have to fantasize about you shutting up and fucking me.”
He laughs—dark, mean. “Fantasize? Cute.” His fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your knees buckle. “Bet you touched yourself to the thought of me calling you a needy whore while I railed you stupid.”
You whimper. Can’t deny it.
He pulls his fingers out. You whine at the loss.
Then you hear his sweats hit the floor.
He notches himself at your entrance—thick head nudging, teasing.
He slaps your ass—sharp, stinging. You yelp.
You grit your teeth. Pride warring with how badly you need him inside you.
You hate him. You love him.
“Please, Kei,” you say through clenched teeth. “Fuck me already, you arrogant bastard.”
He thrusts in hard—no warning, no gentleness. Buries himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
You cry out—half curse, half moan. He’s so deep it hurts in the best way. Stretching you open. Owning you.
“Fuuuck,” he groans against your ear. “Tight little cunt finally getting what it’s been whining for.”
He doesn’t give you time to adjust. Starts fucking you like he’s angry—like every thrust is payback for years of your snark.
The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. Obscene. Loud.
You brace harder against the wall and push back to meet him. Refusing to just take it.
“Harder,” you demand. “Or are you gonna pussy out like you do everything else?”
He growls. One hand fists your hair, yanks your head back so your neck arches. The other snakes around to your throat again—firmer this time.
“You don’t get to make demands,” he hisses. “You get to take it. Like the annoying, cock-hungry slut you are.”
Each word is punctuated with a punishing thrust. You’re shaking. So close already.
“Say it,” he orders. “Tell me what you are.”
You laugh—ragged, defiant. “Your—fuck—your annoying slut.”
“I’m your annoying little slut, Kei—happy now?”
He bites down on your shoulder—hard enough to bruise. You scream.
“Good girl,” he mocks. “Finally learning your place.”
His fingers find your clit; pinching, rubbing fast merciless circles.
You shatter almost instantly—walls clamping down on him like a vice, vision blurring, legs giving out.
He doesn’t stop. Fucks you through it. Uses your spasming cunt like a toy.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Come all over the cock you pretend to hate.”
You’re babbling now—nonsense, curses, his name. He’s relentless.
When your orgasm finally ebbs he pulls out suddenly. Spins you around. Forces you to your knees.
You do. Hair wrecked. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy.
He strokes himself once, twice; slick with you.
He comes on your tongue, hot, thick ropes. Some lands on your cheek, your chin. Claiming.
You swallow what’s in your mouth. Lick your lips. Defiant even now.
He stares down at you like you’re the most infuriating, perfect thing he’s ever seen.
Then he hauls you up by the arms. Crushes you to his chest. Kisses you deep—tasting himself on you. Softer this time. Almost tender.
You break apart. Panting.
“You’re still a dick,” you mutter against his mouth.
He smirks. Brushes a strand of hair off your sweaty forehead.
“And you’re still insufferable.”
You roll your eyes. But your arms wind around his neck anyway.
“Took you long enough to figure it out, loser.”
He snorts. Scoops you up—bridal style, like you weigh nothing.
“Shut up. I’m not done with you yet.”
You laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom.
He drops you on the mattress. Looms over you again.
(they’re literally never gonna stop fighting and that’s why it works)
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