okay but imagine successfully escaping a toxic, obsessive relationship with oikawa, going to extremes to make sure that he can’t follow you – dyeing your hair, changing your name, moving across the country, basically starting a whole new life.
years pass and finally you start to relax. he’s not coming for you, he can’t find you, finally you can breathe again.
and then one day one of your friends starts mentioning this guy that she’s been dating. he’s handsome and an absolute sweetheart, he treats her like a damn queen. there’s roses that get delivered to your work most weeks and she’s seem happier, walking around like she’s bouncing on air. she jokes with you that sometimes she can’t believe that he’s real because he seems almost too perfect, her very own prince charming. you’re happy for her, really you are. she’s a good person and she deserves someone who’s gonna treat her right.
when she mentions wanting to introduce him to your small group of friends, of course you agree. you’re curious about this mystery man who’s made your friend so happy–
at least until you come face to face with her new beau. your breath catches in your throat, your very blood running cold as pretty chestnut eyes meet yours and widen.
oikawa.
he looks the same as he did back then, older, naturally, and his hair’s a little shorter, but otherwise he hasn’t changed a bit. that cruel face of his just as beautiful, his smile just as charming–
though now it only serves to send shivers down your spine.
and you can’t breathe, you can barely muster the strength to fake a smile as your friend introduces you. for the record, oikawa looks just as startled as you, and while you desperately try to steer clear of him without raising suspicion, you can feel his gaze flickering your way throughout the night.
you feel sick, you’re shaking, awful memories resurfacing with every minute you’re forced to spend in the same house as that monster. you can’t help but flinch at every affectionate peck he graces her with, the way he touches her, so familiar and gentle. you don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or grab your friend by the hand and run, but you know that if you stay here much longer you’ll break. so you wait until she’s alone, ducking back into the kitchen to check on dinner, to tell her that you’re not feeling well and you’re gonna head home.
and she’s understanding, frowning when she admits that you do look rather pale and shaky, but she only tells you to get home safe and to call her if you need anything.
grateful for the reprieve, you all but flee, forgetting just for a moment, that if she’s alone, that means that oikawa is too–
at least until a lithe arm darts out and pulls you into an empty bedroom. you almost scream, would have too if he hadn’t clamped a hand across your mouth.
yet instead of the assault you’re expecting, oikawa promises you that he’s not there to hurt you, he just wants to talk. to apologise.
he swears that it’s a coincidence. he had no idea you were here, or that the two of you were friends. he’s changed, he’s so sorry for everything that happened, for how he hurt you, drove you away, he genuinely loves your friend – he swears it. he hasn’t hurt her like you, and he won’t. he’s been to therapy, he’s working on himself. he knows what he did to you was beyond horrible, that he doesn’t expect your forgiveness but he’s trying to make amends by being better.
you have every right to tell her, but he’s begging you not to- not yet.
just give him a chance to show you that he’s not the man you remember, the one who broke you. please.
doesn’t she deserve happiness too?
you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, scampering away like a frightened little bunny the moment he loosens his hold. he doesn’t try to stop you, just watches you flee.
do you tell her that the man she’s fallen head over heels in love with is a monster? do you just tuck tail and run, start up somewhere new and pray to god that he won’t follow you? or do you keep your mouth shut, put faith in him when he tells you that he won’t so much as lay a finger on her, all so that she can continue to live out her rose tinted fairytale? it’s been years since you left, what if he does love her? what if he is trying to change?
you have a life here, you don’t want to have to pack up and start again.
yet still, as you lie awake restless in bed hours later, you can’t help but wonder, what if he’s lying? what if it’s just another trap, and he’s using her to get to you? how many times had he told you that you were his just as much as he was yours? that he’d never let you go, that he’d chase you to the ends of the earth just to drag you back to him because that was love.
Apparently the school called when you didn’t show up to your classes after lunch.
In all fairness, you’d tried. Twenty minutes in the girls bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink with shaking hands, staring at your reflection. There’s hickeys on your neck, a bite mark that the collar of your jacket isn’t quite high enough to hide. Your hair’s mussed, lips swollen and red - but even if you fix all that and wipe away your tears, you don’t think you have the strength to walk back into the classroom knowing that they’ll be there waiting for you.
So you don’t go back.
Both of your parents are still at work by the time you make it home, unlocking the house with the spare key hidden under the base of the potted geraniums on the porch. It’s a good thing, because you don’t think you have it in you to try and lie to them right now, but admitting the truth out loud-
‘F-fuck, darlin’, you keep suckin’ me in like that and I’m not sure I’m gonna last.’
‘You gonna cum for us, baby? Yeah, gonna cum all nice ‘n pretty for us, aren’tcha?”
- is somehow even worse. Instead you choose to shower, the water turned so hot that it’s almost scalding, but you barely notice, sitting with your arms wrapped around your knees on the tile floor as the steaming water gushes over you. You don’t know how long you stay there, motionless, shaking, but at some point the water runs cold and you have to force your aching muscles to move.
Both of your parents are waiting fo you when you get out, your mother practically fuming, ams folded across her chest, glaring daggers at you.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble by way of greeting. There’s no point in trying to deny it, they already know that you ditched - there’s no wriggling out of this one. “I wasn’t feeling good.”
Your mother huffs, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, “Well then why didn’t you go to the school nurse, sweetheart? Or tell somebody - anybody - that you were leaving?! You had us worried sick, you know. This behaviour really isn’t like you.”
She continues to rant for almost ten whole minutes while you stand there and take it without a word. What can you say?
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” The words are robotic, but they seem to do the trick.
She relents with a sigh, softening as she takes in the sorry state of you. A hand is pressed to your forehead, eyes studying you closely, “Are you feeling better at least, or do I need to call the doctor?”
You force as much of a smile as you can muster onto our face, “A little.”
But it’s your father, watching from the kitchen, who frowns. “You sure about that, little one? You’re not looking so good...”
“I’m okay, promise... I just think I need to rest for a bit.”
He doesn’t believe you - you can tell from the furrowing of his brow, but he just nods. “Alright, well if you say so. Why don’t you go have a lie down for a bit, we’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
-
Sleep is beyond you, but you lie down anyway, throwing on your headphones and trying to drown out everything else - the intrusive thoughts that wont leave you alone, the phantom hands hands you can still feel touching you, groping you, when an awful thought occurs to you.
They both came inside of you... what if... what if you get pregnant?
Nausea turns your stomach and you’re rolling out of bed and sprinting for the door, just as somebody knocks on your door. “Sweetheart?” Your dad. Like a deer caught in headlights you freeze, hand outstretched for the door knob. “Are you feeling any better?”
Swallowing down the bile you can feel creeping up your throat, you open the door. “Mhm. Is dinner ready?”
There’s an odd look in his eyes as he appraises you, and you can only pray to god that the hoodie you’ve thrown on is enough to cover the marks your loving soulmates so generously left behind. “Not exactly. You have some visitors, your mother asked me to come and get you.”
Your dad knows your friends. Your dad likes your friends, which makes the agitated expression on his face a little perplexing. Nevertheless, you find yourself nodding, following him when he turns on his heel to make his way back into the living room.
The sound of laughter reaches you before you see them. Your mother, head thrown back, a hand over her chest - giggling - and standing beside her in your living room, fresh from their practice, is the twins.
You blanch as two sets of identical brown eyes fall to you. You ignore the phantom tugging around your pinkies, ignore the blood draining from your face and simply focus on trying not to collapse into a fit of tears as one after the other, they smirk.
“Honey! Isn’t this so sweet, your boys decided to come check in on you!”
You can’t blame her for the wide, almost devious grin she’s sporting. To her this is a sign that after years of bullying and bad attitudes, your soulmates have finally decided that they actually want to make amends and try for a fresh start. This is all she’s wanted for you for years.
“Yeah, we were real worried when ya just ran off on us after lunch,” Osamu says.
“Ya left in such’a hurry you forgot yer bag. Thought we’d bring it over for ya,” Atsumu adds, hooded eyes glittering sharply.
All three of them are looking towards you expectantly as Atsumu holds it out and it takes every ounce of strength you possess to force your legs to move forward and take it from him.
“T-thank you,” you mutter, and Atsumu’s shark like grin widens.
“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”
A hand comes down on your shoulder and you visibly flinch, but it’s just your dad, standing behind you glaring daggers at the twins.
Your mother is all but oblivious to the tension in the room, beaming as she stares between you and your soulmates as if she can already hear wedding bells.
“You boys are so thoughtful, aren’t they sweetheart?” She turns to you with expectant eyes, and you nod stiffly. “Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner, hm? You must be starving after training so hard!”
Your stomach lurches, but before you can even utter a word your dad speaks for you.
“Absolutely not.”
The temperature in the room drops. Your mother looks like she’s about three seconds away from throttling him. Even the twins, usually the first to try and stir the pot, are unusually silent as your parents stare each other down.
“What do you mean, honey? Don’t you think-”
“I think,” he says, cutting her off smoothly, “that you’re being a little too quick to forget that it’s not your decision whether those little shits are welcome here.”
Gently, he turns you around to face him. When you were seven, he was quick to laugh off the twins antics as ‘boys being boys’. He got a little less tolerant when you started coming home crying more often than not, when scraped knees and pulled pigtails meant that you’d withdraw in on yourself. Maybe he’d spent one too many nights comforting his little girl when you tearfully asked him why your soulmates hated you. Your mother might be willing to let bygones be bygones if she thought it would bring you happiness in the long run, but your dad was less forgiving.
He eyes you for a long moment, brows knitted together. “Do you want them to stay, little one?”
He’d back down if you asked, you know he would. He might never particularly like the twins, might always hold a grudge for what they’d done to you, even if you ever found it within yourself to forgive them. He doesn’t even know the worst of it and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that if he ever found out, he’d actually kill them.
But if you smiled right now and told him that you wanted them to stay, he’d hold his tongue - because he loves you. You swallow, eyes darting back to where the twins stand watching.
You know you’ll pay for it later, tomorrow when you’re stuck with them once more, but this is your house. For now at least, they can’t touch you here.
ok but you know who doesn’t get enough of the spotlight? kyoutani. like you KNOW that tennis ball motherfucker would be so scary if he was obsessed with you and you broke up with him
Ok but if we’re being honest I’m a whore for that tennis ball looking motherfucker shdhhfdkkflcl
I still have plans to write for him one day 😭
TW dub-con
But he’s absolutely the type to just... force you into a relationship? He won’t bully you like Oikawa does, and he won’t threaten you or anything, more like he just one day sits down beside you at lunch and glares at anybody who raises an eyebrow.
He’ll follow you around like a shadow and walk you home, despite the fact that you never asked him to. He’s silent most of the time, but you think he likes being with you, maybe he finds and odd sense of calm just by being in your presence. You’ve never asked, and you’re not sure if you want to. He tells you that you’re coming to watch him practice volleyball, and any protests you try to voice are quelled under his sharp glare.
And then one day he’ll grab your hand as you’re walking, and he’ll start giving you stuff - little things at first; a snack at lunch, then maybe your favourite candy, and one day jewellery there’s no possible way he could have afforded. He just stares at you until you stutter out a thank you, his expression softening just a fraction when he nods in return.
You can’t seem to find the words to tell him no when he pushes you into the lockers and starts to kiss you. You don’t say no when he drags you by the hand into the boys locker room and fucks you for the very first time. Kyoutani’s driven your friends away, nobody else talks to you anymore - too afraid of the vicious guard dog hovering over your shoulder. He’s never so much as laid a finger on you (at least, not until now) but if you say no, if you ask him to stop, would he hurt you, too? You’ve seen what a pissed off Mad Dog can do.
But not to you, never to you. He wouldn’t hurt you, right?
And when you finally get the strength to confront him, knees shaking and your breath coming quick, and you tell him that you’re breaking up with him, his eyes darken, a scowl etching onto his face.
“No,” he growls, snatching your hand and yanking you back towards him, “you’re not.”
Not including the original anon (who was asking about Ushijima & Tendou) no less than four of you asked for a meet the parents scenario for each of the soulmate AU’s so...
TW implied dub/non-con
(Atsumu & Osamu’s will be posted tomorrow whoops 👉👈)
Outrunning Fate - Ushijima & Tendou
It begins with a phone call. Ushijima’s in your kitchen, fixing up the leftovers from the night before and Tendou has you trapped on the couch, long, gangly arms wrapped tight around your waist as he presses sloppy, open mouth kisses to your neck. He doesn’t stop when the phone rings - though you don’t miss the way his eyes narrow or the huff of disapproval that escapes him. He doesn’t like it when your attention wanders.
“Oh, hi dad.” You try to shove Tendou off of you without much success, glaring at him when he laughs and presses closer. “Um, now’s not a good time, can I call you back later?”
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Ushijima broaches the subject the next day. “We should meet your parents.”
You almost choke on your own spit.
“Why?”
It’s Tendou who answers, his grin just a little too wide. “We gotta meet the in-laws at some point!”
A shiver ripples down your spine at the suggestion. They absolutely do not.
“Um, we’re actually not all that close.” A lie. “There’s not really much point. They live a few hours away.” Twenty minutes, actually. “And besides, t-they don’t approve of me having...” you trail off, glancing pointedly at the twins marks on your skin.
Olive eyes bore into yours for a long, tense moment before they soften just a fraction, and he shrugs. “Okay.”
He tilts your face up into a kiss, and you allow yourself to breathe the tiniest sigh of relief.
You don’t want them anywhere near your family, especially not when you’re planning to run.
But it’s hard. Your parents are already worried about you pulling away. You haven’t told them about an of this, you don’t want them involved, but they’re nothing if not persistent. So you promise that you’ll come visit - carefully choosing a day that you know both Tendou and Ushijima will be busy. Skipping a few classes is the least of your troubles.
You should have learned by now that nothing is that easy where your soulmates are concerned.
“Babe?”
You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, waiting for them both to leave when Tendou emerges from the bathroom - your bathroom - shirt unbuttoned, holding out two ties in his hands.
“Which one do you think’ll go better with my suit - the blue or the red one? I wanna make a good first impression with your dad.”
And just like that, your hopes of being able to sneak away comes crumbling down around you.
There’s no use fighting it, not now.
It’s Ushijima who notices that your hands are shaking as he helps you out of the car he’s parked out front of your parents’ house. He pauses, eyebrows knitting together, his broad thumb brushing against the back of your hand in slow, reassuring strokes. “Tendou will behave, there is no need to worry.”
There’s a subtle quirking of his lips, and you think he might be trying to make a joke, but you can’t focus on that when you feel like you’re going to be sick. The man in question appears at your other side, hooking an arm around your shoulder and dragging you in for a kiss.
“Best behaviour, pinky promise!” he winks, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the ride over musing about fucking you in you childhood bedroom.
You would honestly rather shove a needles into your eyes than go though with this, but the front door of your old house is already opening, your mother rushing down the driveway. What else can you do but smile and play along as she throws her arms around you in a tight hug?
They are merciless in front of your parents, or at least Tendou is. From introducing himself to your mother as one of your ‘soon to be husbands’ to whispering all of his perverted little fantasies into your ear whenever their backs are turned. You physically have to clamp down on his wrist when he tries to slide his hand up your skirt while you sit down at the table for lunch. Even then, it takes a low growl from your other soulmate before he truly relents.
And while your parents gush over Ushijima (a professional volleyball player!) he holds your hand in his, squeezing just a little too tight whenever your smile slips. Neither of them have mentioned the fact that you’d lied to them, and judging from the slow burning heat in Ushijima’s eyes when he glances your way, you can only assume that that punishment is still to come.
You hate having them there. It’s your home, something good and wholesome and safe that their very presence corrupts. You hate listening to your mother coo over how good the three of you look together, the respectful nod your father gives when the conversation inevitably shifts to sports. You hate listening to them tell the story of how you met, warping it to make it sound cute - consensual - but the nail in the coffin is your parents chuckling when Ushijima brings up how stubborn you were initially.
You quickly excuse yourself to the bathroom, muffling your sobs in one of the big fluffy towels.
You hate them, you think as you stare into the mirror, wiping the silvery tear tracks from your face, trying to erase all signs of your impromptu breakdown.
You hate them for making you play along, but you can’t hide in the bathroom forever.
“Oh, sweetheart,” your mother murmurs, cupping your face in her hands as she catches you on your way out. You must be a better actor than you thought, because of instead of the panicked frown you expect as she studies your face, she just smiles warmly at you. “I’m so happy for you. All that worrying, trying to squash it all down and pretend that they didn’t exist... and you finally found them. Honey, you’ve done well for yourself. I can see how much they adore you!”
She glances over to your soulmates chatting with your father, and you follow her gaze, heart sinking. “Yeah,” you manage to reply, offering her a weak smile in return.
If only she knew.
Like Nobody Else - Oikawa & Iwaizumi
What was the point in setting boundaries you knew would be broken?
After staying behind to watch them practice that first day, you swore that you wouldn’t go back. It didn’t matter that the volleyball club all knew, it didn’t matter that that meant that soon enough the whole school would know - you wouldn’t go back there with them. They could drag you off to go sit with them and their friends at lunch times, ambush you on your way to classes, but you wouldn’t let them fuck you in the locker rooms before hand, and you weren’t going to sit in those stands and pretend that you cared while they ran through endless training drills.
Yet when you shouldered your bag after the final bell the very next day, you only manage to make it a few steps down the hallway before strong hands are yanking it away from you.
“Wrong way, cutie,” Oikawa beams innocently, while Iwaizumi merely lifts a brow when you open your mouth to object. He’s holding your bag, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he won’t give it back until you agree to follow them.
“Oh my god, he’s carrying her bag for her, they’re literally so sweet!” you hear one girl gush to her friend as the three of you breeze past, and Oikawa reaches across to intertwine his larger hand with yours.
“Aren’t we just?” he asks you with a charming grin.
Iwaizumi scoffs, “You’re not carrying jack shit, asshole.”
“Rude, Iwa!”
You don’t say a word. What’s the point?
It doesn’t come as a surprise when they make you stay back with them, long after the rest of the team has gone left. They’re not as rough this time, but your legs still feel like jelly by the time they’re both finished with you. Oikawa still wipes away your tears while Iwa helps you to your feet, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of your head that makes everything worse.
They walk you home, both taking turns to kiss you goodbye on your doorstep, and you can only thank your lucky stars that your parents are both out so you don’t have to try and explain.
It becomes a routine during the week - on the days that they train you stay back with them and they dutifully escort you home, and on Monday’s when they don’t have practice, you’re either dragged with Oikawa to Lil tykes or forced to join Iwaizumi with whatever he planned on doing. Usually studying, though sometimes he’ll drag Makki and Mattsun (and on occasion, Mad Dog) out to train with him regardless.
Your weeks belong to them, you’ve resigned yourself to that - but your weekends are yours.
Or so you’d let yourself believe.
You ignore the text messages that flood your phone one Saturday morning, only for a persistent knocking at your front door to shatter the calm of your weekend only a few hours later. Your better instincts would tell you to ignore it, because you know (or have a good enough idea at least) exactly who’s behind it, but the fear that trickles down your spine urges you forward anyway. They tell you they love you, but you know better than to believe that that means they won’t ever hurt you - that they haven’t already hurt you.
“Hey, cutie. Mind if we come in?”
You don’t know why Oikawa bothers asking, because you barely have time to open your mouth to answer before he’s ducking under your outstretched arm and waltzing inside, Iwaizumi right on his heels.
“You weren’t answering your phone, so we figured we’d come and check up on our pretty girl, right Iwa? We were worried.”
The latter grunts in acknowledgement, studying at you with narrowed eyes - an expression that makes your stomach flip uncomfortably.
“O-oh, my um, my parents aren’t home...”
The words slip out before you can stop them, and your heart skips a beat as your soulmates share a look, the grin on Oikawa’s face widening. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, we promise.”
But somehow ending up squished between them on the couch in your living room, watching some movie you’re barely paying attention to wasn’t quite what you expected. Sure, Oikawa’s mouthing greedily at your neck, and you haven’t missed the way Iwa’s hand has been slowly creeping up your shirt for the past ten minutes, but considering what you know they’re capable of - you’ll take it.
Yet you can’t force yourself to relax, not with the heat of their bodies pressed so close. You shift in your seat, your hand accidentally grazing against something hard and as you freeze in panic, Iwa stiffens, his breath catching with an audible hiss.
But it’s Oikawa, eyes hooded and wanting, who tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, “Baaaaby-”
You don’t get to hear the rest of that sentence, because at that moment your front door swings open once more, only this time it’s your parents.
There’s a quiet ‘fuck’ growled in your ear as the three of you scramble to right yourselves, your heart beating a mile a minute, feeling very much like a kid caught with your hand in the cookie jar.
Never mind that you didn’t want this - never asked for it.
It’s your mother, mid-way through a conversation with your dad, who steps into the living room first, stilling at the sight that awaits her. Your eyes are wide, hands are clenched into fists in your lap as she stares at you for a painfully long moment, “Sweetheart,” she begins slowly, her voice sounding a little strained, “why are there two strange boys in the house?”
And for one single, shining second, you wonder whether it would be worth the trouble you’d land yourself in if you told her that they’d come over with the intention of hooking up with you - it wasn’t exactly a lie. Oh, your parents would be fuming, but at least you’d be safe in the knowledge that they’d never, ever let either of your soulmates anywhere near the house again. Maybe they might even insist on you changing schools altogether! But before you can actually entertain the thought, Iwa’s reaching across to subtly grab your hand, squeezing it tightly with a warning look. Don’t you dare.
Oikawa, as always, chooses that moment to step in and take control. “Ah, please forgive the rude intrusion, Mrs L/N. I’m Oikawa Tooru, and this is Iwaizumi Hajime, I’m assuming your lovely daughter has mentioned us?”
If you weren’t distinctly aware you’d pay dearly for it later, you might have snorted at that. Your mother frowns, folding her arms across her chest and quirking an eyebrow, but it’s your father, glaring outright at the two interlopers, who replies. “She has not.”
A shiver ripples down your spine at the chilling look Oikawa shoots you out of the corner of his eye. “Huh, I guess our little cutie’s still a bit shy. Well, never mind that. We’re her soulmates, and...”
It doesn’t even matter what the rest of his sentence is. Your parents hear the words ‘soulmates’, look at the two handsome, charming young men either side of you and all but melt. Suddenly it’s warm smiles and welcoming hugs. Your parents are delighted, and all it’s all too easy for both Iwa and Oikawa to slip into the roles they’re expected to play.
They spend almost an hour chatting with the two, and it hurts more than you care to admit when you look up into your mother’s beaming face and she gives you a wink. This is all she’s ever wanted for you - two handsome, strong boys to take care of her little girl. You can’t break her heart with the truth, you can only sit there quietly as they gush over you, pretend that it doesn’t make your skin crawl when Oikawa looks at you with those soft, adoring eyes and tells your dad that from the moment you spoke to him, they both knew they loved you.
‘Why won’t you two just leave me the hell alone?!’
Eventually your parents leave the three of you alone, letting you go back to your movie, and only then can you let that facade slip.
“Well that went better than expected,” Iwaizumi states, dragging you back down to settle on the couch with him, Oikawa plopping down on your other side and pulling you close.
He hums in agreement, a glint of something mischievous dancing in his eyes as he traces a single finger up your side. “Of course it went well. What’s not to love?”
Well it’s almost midnight here, so I thought I’d post this little drabble. Yakuza Sakusa has not left my mind all week, and I figured why not?
Happy New Years my loves!
Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader
TW blood & murder
Fireworks burst above you in a dazzling array of light; greens and blues and pretty purples and reds. You’ve never seen them this close before, always from a distance, watching them on TV. It’s louder than you expected, the glittering explosions almost deafening - you feel every resounding boom echoing in your chest like a drum line. The hazy smoke in the air shouldn’t really surprise you, but it does.
But it’s beautiful. Magical almost. It’s a shame that it doesn’t make the hollow feeling in your heart go away.
Last year you spent New Year’s Eve at some stupid party your friend had dragged you to, a red cup full of jungle juice made from cheap booze in hand at a stranger’s apartment and when the clock struck midnight, he’d kissed you on the cheek and promised you that this year would be different. Better.
Neither of you had any idea just how wrong he'd turn out to be, but as shitty as that night had been, you wish, more than anything, you could go back to that moment.
Now there’s champagne in a fancy crystal glass and the private yacht you’re cruising around the harbour in costs more than you could ever have hoped to make in a year. But you’re used to expensive things now - it doesn’t mean you have to like them.
You’d kill to be back in that room packed with sweaty, drunk strangers - the only people on the boat are staff who've been trained better than to dare look you in the eye when they attend to you, and his friends. Associates is probably a better word for them, though. You’ve seen the ambivalence he treats them with, watched him pull the trigger that ended their lives, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe their blood from his face with a disgusted sneer.
Kiyoomi won’t let them bother the two of you tonight - he always has been fiercely possessive of the time he has with you. Especially on nights like this.
Fingers entwined with yours, his dark eyes lit by the falling colourful bursts, he studies you intently. Every inch of your face - the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, committing it to memory like it’s the first time he’s ever laid eyes on you, like he’s afraid it’ll be the last.
It’s your own petty act of defiance, refusing to so much as glance away from the fireworks exploding above while Sakusa’s attention is captured wholly by you.
And he’s smiling. A subtle curling of his lips, but it’s there. He’s waited almost an entire year for this moment, and despite the silvery tear that spills down your cheek, the way you flinch when he draws closer to kiss it away, it’s perfect.
okieee but can you imagine forced intimacy/cuddling with Bully! Oikawa? maybe when you’re at home, the looming threat of bullies and Iwa not being around to temper him will make Oikawa have to work a little harder to get what he wants. He’ll sneak into your home when your parents are out, and he wont take it kindly if you keep denying him what he came there for. He just wants you in his arms, can you blame him for being a bit overzealous, cutie?
Hhhhh forced intimacy is my jam, bby!!
TW dub con, nsfw
It’s not enough that he corners you at school, makes you wait for him after practice, coaxes you into fucking him behind the gym, marking you up so nice and pretty so nobody will ever make the mistake of thinking you’re anything but his.
It’s not enough that he monopolises your time at school, dragging you between him and Iwa and the others like you have nowhere else to be. It’s not enough that he always has to be touching you, kissing you, his hands always wandering.
It’s not enough that he makes you cry, makes you hate yourself - hate him, especially when he has you falling undone in his arms, long fingers fucking into your plush pussy, his lips ghosting along the curve of your neck. Tooru takes and takes and takes, and it’s never enough.
And you thought, stupidly maybe, that home would be your refuge. But he knows your schedule, your parents’ too. He knows that the lock on your bedroom window’s busted, and you have to jiggle the latch a little before it’ll open properly. He’s so tired, both mentally and physically exhausted after hours of school and volleyball training. It’s not too much to ask for a little affection, is it?
He just wants to cuddle a little, maybe fall asleep snuggled up with one another. He wants softness, something sweet and tender - the feel of your heartbeat against his chest, the warmth of your soft, fragile body wrapped up in his.
But if you won’t give him what he wants, if you’re not gonna play along, well Oikawa might just have to resort to other, less pleasant methods to get what he wants.
Don’t cry, cutie. It’s so much easier if you just give in.
okay rhi, your inarizaki manager follow up had me running LAPS 🥵 what do you think would happen if it was seijoh’s darling who ran away successfully 🤭
Alright, I’ll bite 😌
TW implied non-con
You adore Tokyo University. The campus is amazing, you’re enjoying your classes, you’re close to the bustling heart of the city, but more importantly, you can finally breathe. Nobody’s watching you, nobody’s footsteps shadow yours wherever you go, nobody’s pulling you into supply closets to be kissed, groped, forced to your knees and fucked until you’re sobbing.
Nobody calls you ‘cutie’.
The benchmark is literally on the ground, but you don’t care now that you’re finally free. They didn’t ask your plans after graduation, they just assumed that you would stay there with them. You let them, told nobody but your parents your plans to move - you were there with them one day, gone the next and you haven’t looked back since.
It’s not that you didn’t think it wouldn’t piss them off. Oikawa had been deadly serious when he told you once that no matter where you went or what you did, you would always belong to them, it’s just that you didn’t quite think they’d care enough to come and find you. Or that they would even be able to. You changed your number, swore your parents to secrecy, deleted all of your old social media accounts. Your new friends do think it’s a little odd that you don’t really use your phone all that much, but they shrug it off easily enough.
Volleyball, as it turns out, was your downfall once again. It wasn’t like you’d gone running towards the sport at full speed. You still don’t really know how you managed to find yourself wrapped up in managing another team - only that it had involved bribes, copious amounts of begging and a promise from their libero (coincidentally, the first friend you’d made on campus) that they were going to win the championships this year, which would make you the manager of said winning team. You wouldn’t have agreed if you thought they were going to be anything like Seijoh, but they aren’t. Three months in, and they still respect those carefully built walls you’ve surrounded yourself with.
Slowly, very, very slowly, you let yourself thaw around them.
You might not use instagram anymore, but the UTokyo Men’s Volleyball team does. It’s an innocent enough photo they post. The team lined up, grinning like fools and you, their newest manager standing at one end with a shy half smile of your own. #TokyoChampionships here we come!
You didn’t think anything of it (okay, maybe the caption was a little cliche, but nothing too awful) - definitely not about the boys you left behind, the ones who loved the sport as much as you do and still follow all the professional teams and competitions across the country.
Maybe you should have, though, when you come home late one night after running countless drills with the team to find four all too familiar faces sprawled out across your living room. You blanch, freezing in place for just a second - a second too long - before you try to run.
Just like last time, it’s Issei who catches you, whispering pretty threats into your ear as he all but tosses you onto the ground in front of the other three
Baby, they’ve missed you so much, and you’ve been such a naughty little thing since you decided to run off on them. They don’t take it personally (oh, they definitely do) but they’re gonna need to straighten that bad behaviour right out before they take you back home. You understand that though, right? You’re their pretty, needy, little cockwhore manager, and if they have to drill that into you again and again and again until the message sinks in?
A concept/thirst: tattoo artist kuroo who knows you’re his the second you walk into the shop, taking your appointment to tattoo his name on you before taking you
Bby I am so in love with this concept like you have no idea. I am a sucker for fucking with cheesy fanfic tropes (soulmates, coffee shop meet cutes...) so like... florist/tattoo parlour au? Bear with me pls
TW implied non-con, body modifications (tattoos), nsfw
So maybe you’re the owner of the local florist shop just across the road from Kuroo’s tattoo parlour, and maybe Kuroo has a habit of hanging out around the front desk when he’s not busy, watching from the window as you flit about your shop, always smiling so happily. It’s clear as day that you love your job - he can relate to that.
He’s never set foot inside, somehow he doesn’t think he’d fit in amongst all your pretty blooms, not with all his cigarettes, tattoos and piercings, but he knows your name. He knows your favourite flowers, that you open early for your favourite customers, and that you like to tuck flowers into your hair when you’re working.
He thinks you’re adorable. Such a sweet little thing.
The day you stroll into his parlour, eyes wide, nibbling on your bottom lip, Kuroo almost does a double take. “You look lost, sweetheart,” he drawls, leaning against the countertop with a lazy smirk. “Can I help you?”
The way you cheeks darken and your breath hitches is enough to make his heart race, but you press forward regardless, shaking your head with a hesitant smile.
So the pretty little flower girl wants a tattoo, huh?
It really is his lucky day.
You’re even sweeter in person as he sits you down for your consultation. He doesn’t really pay much attention to the words you’re saying - he gets the gist of the idea - you want a piece on your right shoulder, something floral (no surprises there). He nods his head when he’s supposed to, checks out the reference pictures you’ve brought with you. Truthfully, the tattoo you wants suits Yaku’s style more than his own, but like fucking hell is he about to let anybody else take this from him.
Mostly he just listens to the soothing hum of your voice, watches as your face lights up and you start talking with your hands - utterly oblivious to the way he’s drinking every ounce of you in. It only takes twenty or so minutes before his sketch is complete - your eyes widen in delight, and you throw your arms around his shoulders for just a moment, thanking him profusely.
It’s an effort not to let him hands wander as your body presses up against his. Fuck, sweetheart, do you have any idea what you’re doing to him?
Kuroo’s all smiles as he waves you off, telling you he can fit you in after you close up the store tomorrow. Kenma usually works late, but he’s sure his best friend won’t mind heading off early, not when he finds out it’s you Kuroo’s working on.
It’ll be just you and him in the studio. Tattooing can be such an intimate thing, you know? His hands trailing along your bare skin, your body lying soft and pliant beneath his, his ink - his art - marking you forever.
Hazel eyes study the sketch in his hand. It’s almost perfect - it will be, once he adds the curling black letters of his name. Of course - that’s just the beginning. After he marks you, Kuroo’s gonna claim you, fuck you right there in his chair, have you begging for him, moaning for his cock as he drives it your warm, tight cunt.
You’ll be his, and nobody, not even you, will be able to deny it. Not with his name permanently inked onto your skin.
