#tw drugged reader

Your cheeks heat a little at that but he doesn’t notice, utterly enamoured by the way that Hatori’s little, chubby fingers have wrapped around his own trying to tug it towards his mouth so he can nibble on it. 

You don’t tell him that it’s only because you’re the closest thing Hatori has to a mother right now, that it’s purely instinctual and once he grows and starts to develop more cognitive behaviours, he’ll bond with his father. Oikawa knows, he’s never begrudged the way his son reaches for you first when he’s upset, the ease you seem to have with him.

“We’ll make a daddy’s boy of him yet,” you comment instead, and watch as the corners of his lips tug into a wry smirk. 

He doesn’t bother correcting you, just trails behind as you carry Hatori into the nursery, gently laying him down.

“How was training?”

Truthfully, before you started working for Oikawa you really didn’t know the first thing about volleyball, and even now - three months later - you’re still figuring out all the little intricacies. But you like listening to him talk about it; the different positions and the rules, what a rotation is, about his team, how they train. You’ve even watched a few of Oikawa’s games on TV, sitting with Hatori perched on your lap, waving his chubby little arms and cheering whenever ‘daddy’ scores.

They’re midway through the season, and you know that last Friday one of their wing-spikers sprained his ankle pretty bad, which meant that as their starting setter, Oikawa was having to re-adjust to one of their reserve spikers; a newer team member with a rather interesting play style. Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue, but considering they have another game in a few days time, it’s far from ideal. Still, Oikawa seems less stressed today as he shrugs his shoulders and launches into a brief rundown.

He has a nice voice, you think, tugging Hatori’s favourite blue blanket up so you can tuck him in. It’s an odd sort of domesticity, him coming home and talking about his day while you put his son to bed, but it’d be a lie to say that you didn’t look forward to it.

Living alone and doing college online didn’t leave you with a whole lot of socialisation. 

“And your classes?” he asks.

You hum, “Yeah, alright I guess. I don’t know, I think I’m second guessing my major again. Can you pass me the little stuffed bear? The white one?”

Wordlessly, Oikawa hands it to you, and you waste no time in placing it gently by Hatori’s side.

“It’s his favourite,” you tell him, though favourite is probably a stretch. He does like the bear though, always making grabby hands for it whenever you put him down for his afternoon naps. With Hatori’s eyes sleepily blinking closed, you reach out and gently sweep his tuft of chestnut curls back, “G’night, handsome boy, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Three months in and that adorable baby has you wrapped right around his little finger, and he doesn’t even know it.

“So,” Oikawa says as the two of you head back into the living room, “have you thought about my offer?”

“About coming to watch you play in the finals? Assuming you make it that far, that is,” you tease.

He regards you with a cocky little smirk, “Oh, that’s cute. Don’t worry, we’ll make it there. We’ll win them, too, just like we always do. But that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

It’s funny sometimes, you think - there’s really only a few years difference between you and Oikawa, but it might as well be a lifetime. He’s the starting setter for the Argentinian national team, and despite the cocky attitude, his home team, Club Athletico San Juan, has won the last four championships. He owns the villa you’re currently standing in, has a fancy apartment in Buenos Aires as well, and while you know that Hatori was a surprise, his son’s a blessing, and you know how much Oikawa loves him. 

And then there’s you. Six months taking college abroad when your money ran out and you had to go find a job or face the delightful prospect of not being able to afford food on top of your rent and bills. It led you to Oikawa, and subsequently to Hatori (and it’s almost a little rude how quickly that adorable, chubby baby managed to steal your heart) so you can’t be too mad about how things have turned out for you, but when you compare your life to the one your employer has, what do you have to show for it?

A partially completed degree with a major you’re suddenly not so sure you’re in love with. 

Being a nanny was never part of the plan, and though you’ve tried to ignore it, you know your grades have started to slip ever since you took this job, and now Oikawa’s asking for you to stay.

Full time. A live in nanny.

There’s a guest bedroom - bigger than your actual room, with an ensuite bathroom naturally - he’s said can be yours. It’ll mean extra work, of course, looking after Hatori twenty four hours a day, six days a week, but with an increase to your already more than generous pay. 

And without having to pay for an apartment, you could actually start to save for a place of your own… once you figure out what you actually plan on doing after you finish your degree. 

But if you stay, looking after Hatori, you know your classes are going to suffer. You’re already just barely cruising through with passing grades, and if you fail just one of your exams or even an assignment you’ll have to take the course again next semester and that’s automatically adding another six months to your stay and you just-

You still don’t have a clue what the right choice is. You love Hatori, and you like Oikawa, but you have your future to think about too, don’t you?

“Dinner then,” Oikawa decides, nodding to himself, apparently unfazed by your momentary silence.

Snapping yourself free of your reverie, a crinkle appears between your brows. “Huh?”

“You, me, dinner,” he elaborates. “I’m starving. You haven’t eaten, have you?” 

You shake your head, but the confusion must show plain as day on your face because Oikawa just sighs, fond exasperation leaking into his tone. “Stay for dinner and we’ll talk about it.”

“Oh,” you reply, “um, I’d love to but if I don’t head off soon I’ll miss the bus and-”

Oikawa’s quick to wave off your concerns, placing a hand on your shoulder so he can steer you back towards the dining room. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, I’ll call you a cab home. It’s not really safe for you to be wandering around this time of night anyway.”

He doesn’t really give you a chance to refuse, and you don’t really try to. Not because you know by now that it’d be pointless - though you do, once the setter’s mind is set on something it’s almost impossible to sway him - but because all that’s waiting for you back home is leftovers from the night before.

And you like Oikawa. Right from the moment you met him, the first interview you had with him for the job, he’s always been charming and polite. It’s not hard to see why he has a legion of fans spanning not just Argentina but the globe, he’s the perfect poster boy of a professional athlete; handsome, talented, charismatic, a little flirtatious with just a hint of a wicked tongue, egging his opponents on at press conferences with that damnable smirk of his - yet remarkably scandal free. 

(You refuse to think of Hatori as a scandal.)

But it takes you a little while to realise that it’s mostly just a facade. You see it in the way he looks at his son when he holds him, the moments when you catch him after a long day of training, tired, just a little less put together than usual. You still remember the first time you had an honest conversation with him - the night he came home to find you sprawled out on his fancy leather couch, Hatori curled up on your chest, the two of you fast asleep.

You half expected to lose your job for that one, but he’d merely laughed, taken a photo and set it at his phone’s lock screen before frog marching you to the table to eat something because ‘clearly, you weren’t in a state to get yourself home.’ 

And you’d expected more of the same flippant, charming Oikawa, only to find yourself listening, utterly engrossed two hours later as he told you about the first year he’d spent in Argentina, the isolation and homesickness and doubts he’d had, feeling like a fish out of water as he tried to forge his own path with the sport he loved in an utterly foreign world.

It did give you a little comfort, knowing that despite the leagues of difference between the two of you, Oikawa wasn’t quite as perfect and flawless as you’d been led to believe. He was human, beneath the good looks and the frankly terrifying presence on the court.

“Sit,” he says, “I’ll order us something for dinner. Do you want a drink?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, that’s…” you trail off at the pout the older man levels at you. 

“Don’t be so cruel to me, you know I can’t drink mid-season. At least one of us should be able to indulge in what they want.”

His logic barely makes sense, but nevertheless you nod, offering him a small smile before he disappears back into the kitchen to retrieve it. One drink won’t hurt. 

He returns a minute later, setting the glass down in front of you. “You know, I never planned on having kids,” he tells you, taking the seat opposite yours. “At least, not for a little while. I knew I wanted them one day, but I always thought that kids meant settling down and getting married and I wasn’t ready to do that.” Deep brown eyes study you intently as you sip of the wine he’s poured for you, “I came here for volleyball, to wipe the floor with the best of the best, to stand on the world stage and know that I won, that I beat everybody. Anything else was just a distraction.”

There’s an odd sort of intensity that burns in his gaze and it sends a shiver down your spine, but not in a bad way. It doesn’t unnerve you, though maybe it should - it makes you wonder how it would feel to be that passionate about something, to have that level of determination, that drive.

Not for the first time, you find yourself a little in awe of Oikawa Tooru. 

“So, Hatori’s mother…?” You’ve never really asked before; it wasn’t your business. You knew she wasn’t in the picture anymore, but beyond that nothing - Oikawa’s always been notoriously private about his personal life with the press, you assumed that that extended to you too. But he’s the one who brought it up, so maybe it’s okay to indulge in your curiosity, just this once. 

His lips quirk into a smirk, “A distraction,” he winks, and for some reason the sight of it sends a flash of warmth to your cheeks, “But a meaningless one. She didn’t want him, guess having kids wasn’t really on her agenda either.” He laughs, but it sounds too harsh, too bitter for you to believe it’s genuine. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant till she showed up to wash her hands of him. Hatori’s better off without her.”

Slowly, you nod, taking another mouthful of wine just so you don’t have to reply and risk saying the wrong thing. The alcohol’s sweeter than you expect, and like everything else in Oikawa’s home, it’s fancy and expensive - sweet or not it still tastes a thousand times better than the cheap booze you buy for yourself.

“I want the best for him, but I can’t give this up. You understand that, don’t you?” He’s looking at you, desperately searching your face for some kind of reassurance, and you find yourself nodding, your stomach doing a little flip when his expression softens slightly, a touch of warmth returning to hazelnut eyes. “I thought about sending Hatori back to Japan to live with my family for a while,” he admits after a short beat. “My sister has a few kids of her own, and I thought maybe he’d be better off if he had a proper family instead of just me, but…”

“You didn’t want to lose him.”

Oikawa nods, “I love him. He’s my son, I want him here with me. He belongs here.”

You can’t begin to imagine what it’s been like for him, balancing his career and trying to be the best possible father to Hatori - especially when he’s thousands of miles away from his own family. And maybe it’s the wine already swimming to your head, but you blurt out the words before you can stop yourself, “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, you’re doing amazing with Hatori. You’re a good father, Oikawa.”

The answering grin he gives you is practically glittering, and when he tentatively slides a hand across the table, you only pause for a moment before taking it. His palm is warm, or maybe it’s just you - the room feels hotter all of a sudden. You’re only wearing a thin summer dress, but it feels almost stifling in the usually cool villa. Did he turn off the AC? Swallowing down your discomfort, you reach for your glass once more. 

“You don’t always have to be so formal with me, you know. You can call me Tooru,” he says, squeezing your hand just a little too tightly. “But you know, I’ve realised something these last few months.”

Tooru. You know that formalities are different in Japan than they are here in Argentina and back home, but Oikawa has always gone by his surname, even with the press. Calling him by his given name feels almost… intimate. Nevertheless, you shake the thought from your head, trying to focus back on the conversation at hand. Oikawa- Tooru’s eyes are fixed on you, and he seems to be waiting for your response.

It takes a second too long for you to find the right one. 

“O-oh, and what’s that?”

His smile widens, and you realise, somewhat belatedly, that he still hasn’t released your hand. “Hatori needs a proper family. A mother.” 

The words hang there, your brain refusing to process them. “I-” but you falter, something cold and uncomfortable settling in the pit of your stomach. He can’t be talking about you, right? Or does he mean it in like a metaphorical sense? 

You can’t think - the room’s too hot and your head feels heavy like you’re in a daze and Oikawa’s eyes, too wide, too intense, are still bearing down on you. You draw a shaky breath in and squeeze your eyes shut, but it only makes your head spin. Dimly, you register Oikawa speaking, but you can’t make sense of the words. 

“I-I think I need some air,” you mutter, pulling your hand from his to brace it on the table so you can push yourself up. But your limbs won’t obey you, and the moment you try to stand your knees give way-

Strong, lean arms catch you before you can fall to the floor. You’re pulled into a hard chest, cradled tenderly as a steady heartbeat drowns out all else and your vision starts to darken. 

The last thing you register before you slip from consciousness is Oikawa’s voice, soft and saccharine as he whispers in your ear. “Shh, it’s alright, cutie. Everything’s going to be perfect. You said you wanted kids one day, right?”

—

You come to slowly, with the sound of something buzzing, a warm heat pulsing in your core and soft fingertips trailing idle patterns along your bare thigh.

Your eyes are too heavy and your mouth is cotton-y and dry, but they’re nothing, you can shove aside the minor discomfort to focus on the pleasure building between your legs. It feels nice, great even, until you try to shift your hips to grind against that pleasant sensation and a soft chuckle, familiar and yet strikingly out of place in your dreamlike haze cuts through.

“Well somebody’s eager.” 

Your stomach lurches, your eyes flying open as any and all traces of drowsy bliss are ripped right out from under you. Brown eyes and a wicked grin greet you - Oikawa lying propped up by your side, one hand caressing your bare thigh, the other between your spread legs, pressing a bullet vibe to your clit. 

Horror spreads through your body like a blaze, burning and setting every nerve ending on fire, and without even realising it you jerk forward to push him away from you with a cry - except your wrists catch on the soft, leather padded cuffs keeping your arms bound to the headboard of his bed, and instead of the scream you were aiming for, all that escapes your lips is a terrified little whimper.

“Aw, shh, no, no, don’t be scared, cutie,” he coos, flicking off the vibe and tossing it aside. Your breath comes quick, in harsh pants as Oikawa sits up and slides a leg over your torso, shifting so that he’s hovering over your chest, caging you in. 

He’s naked, lightly sun-kissed skin and sculpted muscles glinting in the low lighting as he leans down to take your face in his hands, and it doesn’t quell the hysteria rising within you when you realise that you are too. 

He undressed you.

Drugged you, undressed you and cuffed you to his bed. 

The look in his eyes is nothing short of reverent as he brushes away your tears, “I’m going to give you what you want. Everything, all of it. Gonna make you my pretty wife, buy you a nice diamond ring.” He kisses you then, his mouth moving fervently against yours, a tongue sliding your parted lips. 

He tastes like mint; sharp and fresh.

Whatever drug he dosed you with is still weighing your limbs down, keeping you nice and pliant, unable to buck him off as he moans into your mouth and draws back, a slick strand of saliva connecting his lips to yours.

“You’re already such a good mother to Hatori, you’ll be good for our baby too, won’t you?”

Our baby.

Your heart squeezes painfully, another spike of fear jolting through your body. 

But you can’t do a thing but whimper pitifully and squirm as he sits back on your stomach, admiring you with an adoring smile - but there’s something wrong with it.

It takes you a moment in your frightened, heady state to place it. It’s his eyes, the unnatural, steely glint shining through. You’ve seen it before; he had the same look about him earlier when he was talking about volleyball and his drive to win, that same intense, unwavering determination - it’s that expression, more than anything else, that terrifies you.

“O-oikawa-” you plead, but he’s not listening, too busy marvelling at your bare top half, the way your tits rise and fall with every panting breath. His hand moves from your tearstained cheek to your cup your breast, his thumb swiping across your nipple making you gasp as it pebbles under his touch.

“I can’t wait to see how beautiful you’re going to look pregnant with my baby,” he says, grinning devilishly. “Your body all soft ‘n round, and these pretty tits of yours-” he leans over, holding your gaze as his tongue darts out, swirling around the sensitive bud before he sucks it into his warm, wet mouth. It sends a flash of heat flooding through you as he softly bites down, drawing another choked gasp from your lips.

“Please don’t- please let me go… I won’t tell anybody, just let me go.”

The way your spine arches up, following his mouth as he pulls back, your breast falling from his mouth with a lewd, slick plop renders it all but useless. “They’re going to get so big, all nice and swollen,” he says, kneading its neglected twin under expert fingers. “You’ll need daddy to come take care of you.”

You can’t breathe.

“Oikawa, please-”

A hand covers your mouth, a flicker of dark amusement dancing across his handsome features. “Shh, cutie. Don’t wanna go waking Hatori now, do you? Be good for me, and I’ll give my beautiful girl what she wants, promise,” he breathes, laying one last, fleeting kiss to your lips before righting himself. 

He sits back, lightly trailing his fingers down the valley of your tits, along your stomach before reaching between his own legs, grasping at the cock you’ve desperately been trying to ignore - long, hard and flushed, the pink mushroom head glistening with pre-cum. He moans at the touch, biting down on his bottom lip, giving the shaft a few cursory pumps. 

It’s like a nightmare you can’t shake yourself free from as he shuffles down your frame, spreading your thighs once more, nestling himself between them. With one hand anchored on your waist, the other fisting his cock, dragging it along your wet slit, he takes a moment to appreciate the way you shiver and jolt when his cockhead brushes against your clit - still sensitive from his earlier attention.

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs, “so perfect. Made for me.”

He presses in - not the quick, vicious thrust you were expecting, but slowly, moaning as he sinks into your warm, velvety cunt inch by inch. And it hurts, burns as he fills you up and stretches you out. You can feel his dick throbbing inside of you, the spongy walls of your pussy squeezing around the unwelcome intrusion as he forces himself deeper, breaking you apart. Fresh tears well in your eyes, but you can’t move - not because of the drug, or the cuffs keeping you bound and unable to fight back, but because the grip Oikawa has on your hips is unrelenting, long fingers digging into soft skin as he bottoms out with a hissed curse.

For a single moment Oikawa stills, the only sounds in the room his panting breath and your quiet sobs, the mumbled pleas he all but ignores as dark, lust filled eyes drink you in. “Should’ve done this weeks ago,” he murmurs. “Gonna fill you up, fuck this cute little pussy full of my seed for as long as it takes.”

His hips slowly pull back, drawing a choked whine from you as his cock drags against your sensitive walls-

“I’m going to make you mine, all fucking mine.”

And he snaps them forward, fucking into your heat with reckless abandon.

You’ve seen him play before, the stamina and strength he carries. You might as well be a rag-doll with the way he hefts your thigh up over his hip to drive himself deeper, hitting that perfect spot that has you seeing stars, your sobs turning into gasps and then moans as his eyes light up in wicked delight. 

He fucks you ruthlessly. Reverently. Cooing out praise as he stuffs you full of his cock. And when you cum with a stifled cry, your toes curling, that tight coil of heat and pleasure exploding inside of you like fireworks, Oikawa’s grip tightens and he chants your name like a prayer. You don’t have the presence of mind to beg him not to cum inside of you as your pussy clenches around his throbbing cock, and even if you did it wouldn’t have made a difference. 

There’s no force on earth that could have pried him away from you as he empties his balls into your tight little cunt with a feral snarl. As your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his cock softening inside of you, his warm, sticky cum leaking out around him, exhaustion almost wins out-