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Interviewer: How does it feels being the brother of the best setter?

Osamu: Kageyama Tobio is not my brother.

synopsis: A confident dancer who owns the stage invited to perform at a new, exclusive club, you never expects to catch the eye of a powerful made man with a dark past. One performance, and he’s obsessed, pulling you to him.

TW: smut with plot, biting, size kink, unprotected, teasing , ect+++

words: 1519

A/N. I do not own any of the character (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine.

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

The city was always cold this time of year, rain spattering onto the road—much like the life you’ve been living. Surviving nights in the club, dancing, and stripping. Tonight was another night on stage, lipstick barely masking exhaustion, heels pinching, heart numb as you peeled off another piece of clothing. This was where people wasted their time and money—not glamorous, but it paid better than honesty. You glided along the bar, fingers sweeping up crumpled bills from every table you passed, you’re the club favorite who got all the attention that came in cash and tonight, it rained.

“There’s a new club opening, and I want you to be one of the dancers there” your manager said, grabbing your attention. She had always looked out for you, ever since the night she found you on the street. She didn’t ask questions then, just gave you a job and a second chance. “Go give it a try, that place isn’t like ours. It’s better and classier. It's where the rich go to lose their morals and their money. This might be your shot.” her tone is gentle but firm — and so you did

The spotlight sliced through the smoky air as you stepped onto the stage. All eyes shifted to you, the air was different. Most men weren’t just dressed sharp, they were in tailored suits, power radiating off them like heat. Eyes calculating every move like a promise of danger. But for you confidence was a costume you wore better than most.

And then your eyes found him, he sat in the shadows near the back of the VIP section—silent, watching. Not like a man admiring beauty. No. Like something he already owned. His eyes didn’t wander, they held and you felt it in your spine. Letting the music guide your body, exposing part of you, dollar bills float like falling leaves but his eyes are on yours.

"You’ve been asked for" one of the servers whispered, and you didn’t need to ask who. Private dances were nothing new to you, you accepted them often enough. Guiding past velvet ropes and curious eyes until you reached the VIP room. The door closed behind you with a quiet click, and you were alone—waiting. He entered with a huge grin, not making you wait long. Eyes landed on you, it wasn’t a greeting. He looked at you like he’d already made a decision, something you didn’t know you were offering.

He stopped right in front of you, towering and broad-shouldered, his presence swallowing the space between you. “So... you're the one they keep whispering about” He reached out, fingers brushing the air between you, but you took a step back. "No touching" you said flatly. He paused, then smiled "Ah, right," he murmured "I forgot" But you knew better. The rule didn’t apply to men like him, someone who’d broken more rules than you could name

He moved toward the sofa, he sat, legs spread, relaxed . You went to turn on the music, the low throb of bass muffled by velvet walls. You sway along the music toward him, fingers brushing his shoulders as you straddle him, your movements slow, deliberate. His body didn’t move, but his eyes followed every shift of yours like a man carving the moment into memory. You rolled your hips against his, slow and controlled, watching his jaw tense as he fought the urge to move.

"Still no touching?" he asked, voice low, thick with suggestion. “Hmmm” you answer. You could feel the heat between you, the tension — electric, dangerous. The game was simple: he couldn’t touch you. You felt the hardening beneath his pants, you have been doing this for as long as you can remember but not once it had ignited this kind of heat inside you. “You're wet” he mentions as he sees the stain on your panties. Sitting back and leg spread on the table, you let out your breast and play with your nipples. While using your other hand to reach inside of the staining panties, teasing him.

Letting out a silent moan as you feel yourself, your eyes never left his. His hands stayed at his sides, clenched into fists so tight. His gaze never left you, but his body was coiled like a wire stretched to its breaking point. “Take it off” he ordered. You were leaking as you followed his command, naked as you presented yourself to him. Opening your leg, you show him what you had been hiding, pussy throbbing from the slight of him looking at you. You continue playing with yourself, thrusting your finder inside. Moaning hard as you lift your hip off the table, you are about to cum “Look at me” as demanded. Never imagine there will be a day you will lose yourself in front of a man. But you do, and you came hard, clenching onto your own finger while keeping your eyes locked on him.

Coming down from your high, the song faded into another, but neither of you noticed. You stood up, then slowly brought your finger cover in your own juices to his mouth. His eyes locked onto yours—sharp, unyielding—as he parted his lips and took your finger in, letting his tongue trace every inch as he cleaned it. The tension between you thickened, you sat down on him as you grain yourself onto his pants. "Please" you whispered, breath hitching “please what? use your words, baby” Your voice trembled, but your gaze held his "Please... touch me"

Without warning, his hand shot out, touching you. He grabs onto your breast as he brings one of it to his mouth, biting down and leaving marks. Moaning out from pain, he licks on his bite to help soothe it away. He carried you back to the table and as he got down on his knees. With both hands he spread you open, lip crashing down licking and teased with your cunt. You grab onto his hair as you thrust your hip onto him chasing another climax. He pulled away as you were about to cum, opening his zipper he pulled out his length. He was huge, thick and viny. He rubs the fat tip of his cock along your slit as his cock enters you, a deep broken moan ripped from his throat. “So tight, feels so good” he groaned. His cock dragged against your sensitive walls, hitting spots so deep they made your toes curl.

He grabs your hip in place as he drives into you. “Oh baby, you take me so good” He bent down kissing you, praising you, reaching in deeper. You could feel his head touching your womb with every thrust he made. His lips left a trail of kisses down the curve of your neck. Suddenly, sinking his teeth down, he bit your neck, leaving sunken teeth marks "good? mhm? tell me how good I’m fucking you" He grab on your leg, placing over his shoulder, as he positions you sideways slamming in “g-good, so good ” you spluttered, barely completing word. He kisses on the side of your leg before biting down, you whimpered. The pain dulled by the fact that he was fucking you senseless. You can’t think, can’t breathe—he’s all over you, and you don’t even know what you want anymore. “T-too much” You whine “Fuck, I’m sorry baby, I can’t stop” picks up the pace, the wet sound of him fucking fills your ears, along with the music that kept running " i’m c-cumming—” you shudder creaming on his cock “fuck me too” He lets out a low groan and buries his cock deep inside your pussy, hot thick loads spurts inside you.

Cum is dripping out of your sore pussy, as he carries you back to the sofa. Putting you on his lap, he wrapped his arms around you, cuddling you close. No one had ever held you like this. Too tired to stay awake, you’d fallen asleep in his arms.

The server gently shook you awake, you realized the closing time had already come. He left his blazer with you to keep you warm. You believed this would be both the first and the last time you’d see him — but the truth was far more complicated than you ever imagined.

WEEK AFTER

After wrapping your performance, you decided to hang out at the bar for a bit. The door to the staff-only room swung open, and he stepped out into the dim light. His eyes locked onto you as he spoke quietly with the men by his side, jotting down notes every word he was saying.

“Who is that?” you ask the bartender “He owns the place. And a dozen more” the bartender whispered back. You turned back toward him—and in that moment, he looked at you. He tilted his head, a slow smile curving along that grin as he walked toward you “I didn’t expect you” you said, voice low but steady “I don’t come when expected” grin carved across his face like a threat.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, uncertain future now unfolding before you.

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𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭…𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

I HIGHLY advice to prepare tissues before you read... advance apologies my dear beloved readers. I hope you enjoy

Characters involved are: 𝘒𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘰 𝘛𝘦𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘰, 𝘔𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘈𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘶, 𝘔𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘖𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶, 𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘺𝘰, 𝘒𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘺𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘛𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘰, 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘒𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪

Kuroo laughs. Not because it’s funny—because it’s impossible. “Nah… stop messing with me. That’s a pretty sick joke, you know.” He waits for someone to correct it. To say, “No, it’s not that bad,” or “They’re fine.” But no one does…and the room feels too still, too heavy. His stomach sinks, his chest tightens like something heavy is sitting on it. “No… no way. No f*cking way.” He stands there in silence. Eyes fixed on nothing. His fingers twitch, like they’re looking for something to hold onto, something to ground him. He runs his hand through his hair over and over, breathing shallowly. His mind is racing, flipping through moments of your smile, your laugh, the way you said his name like it was something safe. It doesn’t make sense. You were supposed to be forever. Anger takes over him, not because he was mad at you, he was constantly blaming the world. He snaps at the person who told him. Slams a door. Punches a wall. Something—anything—to feel real, because this doesn’t. Alone, he crumbles. Slides down against the wall, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “You’re lying… you’re lying… you promised…” His voice cracks.Kuroo is the kind of man who falls apart behind closed doors. He keeps his composure in front of people—he has to. But alone? He talks to you in the dark, in the quiet. Sitting on the floor of your apartment because he can’t sleep on the bed you once shared. He wonders if you were scared. If you knew how much he loved you in the end. He’s haunted by the silence you left behind; the texts unanswered; the future you once planned, now unlived. Work. Volleyball. Routine. He throws himself into these things like if he just keeps moving, it won’t hurt as bad. Eventually, people notice. His smiles don’t reach his eyes anymore. His teasing feels emptier. His silences stretch longer. Kenma probably tells him quietly “You don’t have to pretend, not around me.” And that’s the only time Kuroo really cries in front of anyone. Waking up and instinctively reaching for you. Seeing something you liked and almost buying it before remembering you’re not here. Texting you out of habit, only to stare at the screen after. He keeps a photo of you in his wallet. Rubs his thumb over it when no one’s watching.

Immediate denial. Absolutely refuses to believe it. “Nah, no way. Not them. Ya must be wrong. They’re fine. I just talked to ‘em. We were on the phone, we–” He laughs—not because it’s funny, but because he can’t process it. Shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake the words out of his brain. His chest feels like it’s caving in, but he still says. “Yer joking. Ya gotta be. They promised me they'd be careful. They promised me forever.” The more people confirm it, the quieter he gets. His eyes go blank. His voice breaks. “Stop. Just… stop talkin’.” Atsumu doesn’t go home. He goes somewhere no one can see him break. An empty court, his car. somewhere dark, anywhere at this point. He punches the steering wheel. Punches the wall. He screams into his hands until his throat is raw. Then the anger fades, and the fear sets in. The reality that you’re gone sinks into his bones. He curls in on himself, hands over his face, sobbing so hard it physically hurts. “I can’t… I can’t do this without ya. I need ya. I need ya to come back…” Guilt. So much guilt. “Shoulda called sooner. Shoulda told ya how much ya meant to me more. Shoulda been there. Shoulda bought ya more of your favorite food…I shoulda done somethin’!” But Atsumu’s eyes are red more often now. His shoulders slump more. His hands shake sometimes. In private He sleeps in your hoodie. Cries into your pillow. Talk to you like you’re still there. Leaves voicemails even though he knows you’ll never answer. “Ya know, I scored a good serve today… Thought ya’d be proud. Stupid, right?” He in fact looked back at those memories he told himself he wouldn’t hold on to. Atsumu loses his fire for a while. Volleyball has become routine. He plays, but it’s not with the same heart. He becomes more protective of Osamu, of his friends. Terrified of losing anyone else. Waking up and forgetting, for a second, that you’re gone. Reaching for his phone to text you. Talking like you’re still coming home. The silence. Atsumu’s world was loud with you in it. Without you? It’s unbearable.

Silence. Stillness. Complete and utter disbelief. He doesn’t react right away. He just… freezes. Staring. Numb. Like he didn’t hear it right. Like he’s waiting for someone to laugh and say it’s a mistake. “Nah… nah, they’re fine. Yer wrong. Yer wrong.” His stomach twists, his chest tightens, but on the outside, he looks calm. He excuses himself as he walks away. The moment he’s alone—maybe in his car, maybe in the backroom of his shop—he sinks down, back against a wall, staring at the floor. He stays like that for hours. Frozen. Silent. Completely numb. He doesn’t cry at first, at least not properly. It takes days, maybe weeks. When it finally breaks free, it’s not loud. It’s him in the dark of his kitchen at 3AM, head bowed over a cold cup of tea, shoulders shaking as silent tears fall onto the table. “You weren’t supposed to leave me like this… Ya promised. You promised me...You told me we’d run this business together…we even planned to have a family…” He keeps whispering your name like if he says it enough, maybe you’ll answer. Regrets filled his mind every single day. All the small fights, all the quiet mornings he took for granted, and all the times he thought, “I’ll tell them tomorrow.” He hates himself for not saying “I love you” one more time. For not holding you longer. For not being there when you needed him most. Onigiri Miya keeps running, but Osamu runs it like a ghost. His smile is thinner, his laugh is quieter, rather he almost doesn’t laugh at all. He works longer hours just to keep his mind busy. Your favorite dish stays on the menu, even if no one orders it. He eats less, sleeps less, talks less. His brother notices, but Osamu brushes it off “I’m fine. I’m busy.” He keeps your things untouched; your toothbrush still in the bathroom; your coat still by the door—more like he can’t push himself to move it . Some nights, he cooks dinner for two. Plates your meal out, pours your drink, and leaves it there until it’s cold. He talks to you like you’re still sitting across from him “Business was slow today. I know ya always said Mondays were cursed.” “I miss ya. Don’t reckon I’ll ever stop.”

Kageyama freezes. Completely still. No tears. No words. Just silence. He looks at whoever tells him with a blank expression, but inside? It feels like the world has cracked in half. Rejection flooded his mind. “No. That’s wrong. That can’t be true.” He keeps repeating it in his head, gripping onto denial like it’s the only thing keeping him standing. His hands ball into fists so tightly his nails dig into his palms. His jaw clenches so hard it hurts. His whole body feels locked up. People around him might think he’s calm, but inside he’s falling apart. His chest feels too tight, his throat closed. He can’t cry yet. He’s not letting himself. It doesn’t hit until he’s alone. He opened his phone, and immediately, the wallpaper of you lit up. That’s when he sinks to the floor. Silent breakdown. Shoulders shaking. Face buried in his hands. No words, no sounds. Just tears finally falling, hot and fast, like they’d been waiting. He whispers your name over and over like he’s begging you to answer him. He starts to regret it. Every fight. Every moment he didn’t say “I love you” enough. Every time he thought, “I’ll tell them tomorrow.” Your contact is still in his phone. He scrolls through your messages, rereading them until his chest physically hurts. He types out texts to you sometimes, then he realizes, stops, and deletes them. Your favorite food? He avoids it now. Your favorite song? He changes the station. It all hurts too much. He can’t even bring himself to delete your photos. They stay—on his phone, in his heart. Volleyball becomes his anchor, but also his punishment. It becomes the only thing he throws himself into because it’s the only thing he can control. He trains harder than ever. Pushes his body until exhaustion numbs the pain. Every victory feels a little emptier without you cheering for him. He visits where you rest—not often with flowers, but just sitting, talking quietly like you’re still there. “I miss you. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you more… I should’ve said it louder. I love you. I still do.” Kageyama doesn’t know how to talk about grief. He bottles it up. Lets it fester inside. Tells himself to “just keep going”—because stopping feels like breaking apart completely.