takesone

☁︎⋅ credits -—...

shoyo is the epitome of motion>size (~4.5in, good thickness) and a curious rightside curve to that thing, like it's reaching for a volleyball, too. after being a pro for while, he's working with more confidence to pair with his usual healthy, if not overactive, libido. multiple round king. him and his buddy never get tired. early mornings + double espresso + 4 condoms = god tier summer hook-up.

asahi is a precious size king! big dick (~8.2in+) begs rare issues though. you better be giving that massive hog constant attention because he'll get soft, fast. and it's Never Your Fault- You're So Pretty, Baby! but blood flow is a funny, uncontrollable thing. better learn how to switch positions efficiently, iykyk. also...whiskey dick + flirty drunk = many disappointed one night stands and a proficiency for eating pussy.

tobio has got that dick locked up! tobio is a pretty boy, but he's got problems with intimacy, girl. you better get him in therapy first. if you're looking for a pic exchange, he might send a few decent ab snaps, but he is a Ghoster at heart.

satori... ohh you know what they say about skinny guys. he's quick to semi-publicly brag about his cock, too. it's the one precious thing he's got over a lot of guys who pick on his monster-build. so, it tracks that he's a hygiene guy! always well-shaved and freshly showered, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness, my love~!" doesn't fw the post-gym, sticky sweat, heavy B.O type sex. will turn you out in the shower, though. beyond size, he's got the golden ratio of obsession to intuition. if a bitch ain't shaking, he's not doing his job.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @integers @babybird-meena @wanderless-musings @xkrsoup @polodetti

Ი𐑼 post note. not a planned post. just some super quick thoughts!

"You can come in!" You call out as you sign a form.

He hesitates, but slowly enters and shuts the door.

You incorrectly read him as being angry about the broken air conditioning.

"I know, I know. Just-," His eyes wander hard when you finally turn to him and the living room starts to clear out, "Awful timing. Let's try to get this done fast, yeah?"

"We'll be back tomorrow!"

"See ya Ms. (L/n)."

"Thanks guys!"

Girl, get what done? Looking like that was just begging for a different kind of chemistry.

Torn between player-Tohru and shitty lab-partner-Tohru, he rakes his hands through his scalp. He's sweating too, but it's not just the apartment.

"Where's the glasses?"

One-track minded, he simply can't help himself. Cute girls are his sole weakness, and coupled with the crushing realization that he had been all too dismissive of you-- he was trying in his own special way to bridge a one-sided gap.

You're confused for a second. He's never commented on your appearance before, so it throws you off.

"Oh," You laugh, "I... only need them to read."

After an odd, awkward glance, you lead him to your bedroom. It's where you had been able to hook up the most fans, where the sun wasn't directly in the window.

"Do I have something on my shirt?" You ask, as you begin setting up your study space on the cool hardwood floor. It's too warm to sit anywhere else other than your low table.

"What?" He breathes, eyes raising to your face once more.

You both sport similar, embarrassed expressions. Nobody protests to getting started, for real this time.

It quickly devolves into senseless intellectual violence, though. He's clearly not trying, and you are having to do all the work again.

He squints, jaw working at that perfect little top. He taps his forefinger on his bicep, savoring in the sight with another quick inhale. 

"Damn.." He groans at the sight. He kind of? covers it with an eye roll, "This shit is ridiculous."

"Just- !! Shut the fuck up," Your hand is palm-out and shaking close to his face, before it slowly, painfully, closes into a fist and bangs onto the table.

Sure, he must have been godly on the volleyball court to have even been admitted into your university, but he was actively making his incompetence your problem for one too many late nights.

His helpless tone and lack of arguing back are leaving you completely unchecked. With lots of ammunition against him, this hot-ass room, and ample pent-up anger to fuel you, the feelings start to spill out at once.

"Wha-awha'ddya mean?"

"That one. Right there." You snap.

"I-i I don't-,"

"The damn integer!! On the page!!"

"What! I don't know what you're sayiiiing!!" He cries, hands flying to grab something to relieve him of this stuffiness.

He fans himself with your textbook and relaxes against the side of your mattress.

"This is so dumb..."

"No!" You jab a finger at him, offended he's giving up again, "You are so dumb!"

"So," You look at all the work you've put forth into teaching him. From basic equations- while the clock has been tick-tick-ticking the entire time and you've made no progress tonight. You continue speaking out loud in a listless but cruel murmur, fingers massaging your sore brow, "Fucking. Dumb."

"God-- have you always been so useless?"

As it leaves your lips, regret sets your tongue dry. You look away, reeling at how fast your heartbeat is- made irrevocably worse by the heat in here- and take deep sigh in the silence.

The floor is a little wet where you were sitting moments ago. Ew- you cringe and take a look back at him, preparing to apologize for your words.

Oikawa is very still. Paused, like somebody had pressed a button to make him stop moving entirely. He doesn't meet your eye right away, but when he does, it's... like he's softened. In an odd way.

You apologize anyway, breaking eye contact for a moment, "I'm... uh, sorry. That was too much."

To your surprise, he shakes his head. Just a bit. Like, a miniscule amount. If you hadn't been watching him so intensely, you'd have never noticed it.

"N-no, you're right," He's getting really red at the ears and you only feel worse for your outburst.

He sets your textbook down and places his palms behind him, head lazily tilted to the side as he gets a good, deep chest stretch in. He seethes in your plaintive silence, eyes rolling back for a moment before meeting yours once more.

"Do y'know how hot you are when you're mad?"

His little confession and seemingly genuine shyness around it take you by unpleasant surprise.

"What are you talking about--? I--," You look around, for the cameras, and your heart is pounding again in uncertain desire, "What??"

He giggles at your reaction. He brings a hand up to cover his mouth, then rakes it through his soaked hair.

"Mmm- sorryy hahaa. I gotta thing for that." His brow raises, and he tacks on quickly through more giggles, "Plus, jeez, you're a total sleeper. Didn't realize."

For some sadistic reason, you cannot stop checking him out. His same old practice uniform is horribly distracting today, and once you notice his bulge, you're no better than him. He is constantly glancing around your sticky, exposed skin.

"Look- man, I-I said I was sorry-- I'm not trying to get involved in some blackmail scheme--," You try shake his words to keep some semblance of sanity here.

It's getting to a dizzying level of BS, between the sudden playboy DTF in your bedroom and all the desire to take your clothes off anyway.

"What! You think-," He glances away for a moment, amused, and comes back to you with an awfully convincing amount of sincerity, "You think I'm kidding right now?"

"You are such a dick." You roll your eyes, and shift, heated all over again as you check him out.

"You think I'm gonna fall for this stupid little joke?"

You press on, standing, to maybe help sober up:

"Do you WANT to fail? Because I don't! That's why I've been carrying our fucking grade all semester for you."

You add, super quick, pointing a rigid finger at him, "You're welcome by the way!"

Instead of standing, too, and storming out- he keeps his ass sat. And those pretty brown eyes are drinking you right up.

Oh God, he likes it-- you forgot he likes it. Your blush spreads faster than you can calm yourself down and he thinks that you like it, too.

And, to your fast-growing realization, you kinda do.

It all keeps spilling out, naturally, as you think through his cocky, inconsiderate behavior all semester and the 0s you had been looking forward to circling on his peer review, "You are so disgusting..."

Once again, where should have been an opportunity to defend himself, he's shamefully adjusting his hard cock in his athletic shorts.

"I'm not hearing a no?"

You sigh at him, conflicted, but growing to like him more by the second. He's never not been the most attractive guy in the lab. Maybe even the entire STEM building.

"What -exactly-," You enunciate your words clearly, so he'll give you the straightest answer possible, "Are you trying to do?"

"Y'know- just uhh, ride me a little," He squints, that cocky smirk and low murmur fucking you up, "Get it out of our systems, yeah?"

Ohh. Your blush is hard to hide, the suggestion too appealing right out the gate to act all high and mighty about it. He's staring up at you, well, all over you, with a perfectly content and empty-headed smile.

"Well... at least let me see what you're working with," You grumble- half convinced and fully turned on.

That was subject to change, though, if his cock was anything less than his confidence was letting on.

"My-? Oh, sure," He chuckles.

He's stumbly as he rises to his feet. You share a brief, loaded glance at the sudden height difference but you successfully end it by looking down.

Your hand finds your hip, eyes wide with curiosity as he stretches his waistband out.

Yeah. That was... yeah. You like that.

You blink at it a few times and try to get it together before you look back up at him. It's adorable, how you think you hide your thoughts so well. It helps get him off, too.

"How big would you say that is? A number."

"Mm, I dunno-," He chuckles, apologetic, and shrugs, "Never measured."

"Right..." You sigh.

"Probably can't count that high anyway."

A bright blush floods his fair-skinned face. You're so quick even though you're clearly not in your comfort zone.

He leans down and closes the distance fast for an unsure, but deeply needed kiss. You return it when you catch your balance- or, start to trust his, rather, and relax against his soft lips.

Do you even have TIME for this shit?

God- you really, really don't. But he is a rare fuck for a girl like you. You're used to STEM weirdos and maybe the rare mechanical engineering guys always trying to one-up you because you don't belong in their spaces. The medium-ugly classmates you tried in the past always trended from shy and approachable at first, to straight up misogynists with a superiority complex by the time you cut them off.

You're both gasping a little when you pull away. When he goes back in, he doesn't pay much mind to the fact that you're grinning and trying to pull away.

"Mmh- Oikawa--,"

Between blind and deaf kisses, he demands you call him Tohru. One hand swallows up your lower back- the other takes the back of your neck to help guide you.

The butterflies that take to swarming around in your belly inadvertently leave you weak, leaning into him, just to stay standing.

He was really good. You could've guessed. It was part of the stereotype. But if left you unprepared- and jumpy at his ability to leave you swooning.

You pull away, weak, and shaky, and panting. You're in for one, then two, and then after six more you're more than willing to straddle him as he guides you to grind on his lap and--

"Wha-? H-a, hahaa," You dive your chin to the side to avoid his kiss again, dizzy.

"Fuuck."

His palms are massaging your sides, your lower back, and your hips, steadily melting your tension away.

"Fuuck," You sigh harder at his skilled mouth over the side of your neck.

Then, he pushes your hips down to straddle his hardon-- and you gasp, tensing all over.

"Okay-okayokay," You clear your throat, buzzed off of his drug-like skill.

"Hm?" He fixes his hair, smiling, like he's fine and this isn't a little weird.

"Oi-Mm-mm, Toh-ru," You glance around his face, from his blacked out, easy-going eyes to his perfect lips, parted for easier breath, and the shimmery layer of sweat all over. You have to collect yourself, "What about the exam?"

You watch his pupils contract, in real time, at the mention of it. He blinks, dumbfounded, and shifts his weight.

It jostles you slightly so you have to pull back and fix yourself. You clear your throat while you have the opportunity.

"Mm... I'll, ahh..." A bit smaller, he puts his hands behind him once more.

You shudder at the lack of touch and the way he absentmindedly moves his hips to get a bit of friction going between you. This fucker is way - too - good.

"I'll come over again?"

You hold your breath.

Who would have guessed this cold-natured prick with a knack for making your life a living nightmare would be giving you these big, brown puppy dog eyes now?

"Absolutely not."

His jaw drops instantly and he starts to complain, confused and frustrated, but you shove your palm against his stupid mouth to shut him up. It's satisfying finally getting to do it.

"If you come over again, you'll never leave."

While he chews on that concerning, hauntingly sexy threat, you explain:

"We should go somewhere that's more... professional. Public. Probably should've done that to start, yeah?"

You watch that comment sting in real time.

When you release him, he's contemplative, instead of simply distracted by you. He scratches his tummy again and your eyes widen at the casual muscle underneath.

"Library... tomorrow?"

"Yeahyeah- library tomorrow- raise your shirt up a little."

His eyebrows raise, a laugh ghosting his lips.

"Kayy," He smiles and takes the bottom of his shirt between his teeth, hands submitted to support his weight from behind.

Your hands slip across his soft skin, and when you press, you're shocked to find that the muscle isn't 'rock hard.' It's still fleshy, and gives with pressure of your curious fingers.

"Mmm- you like that?" He giggles.

Mindlessly, you nod, "Mhm..."

You use both hands to thumb into all the divots of his plump abs. Exploring the lines that trickle across his sides and dip down into his v-line. Now that was harder. His whole pelvis felt justifiably very powerful.

As your nails trace lightly across his waistband, he bucks up at you with a whimper.

You're shocked from your slight trance and look back up to his face-- he's grimacing, and a bit teary eyed.

"Take it off," Your soft instruction breeds immediate action.

When he tries to lay down, you shake your head, slide off of his lap, and beckon him to stand with you.

Now he's a little weak in the knees, nervous, and twitchy as you feel up his strong back.

"Wow..." You mutter against his gorgeous skin. He's got a few moles across his shoulder blades- each practically begging to be kissed- and he has to grit through each tingly one with balled up fists at his sides.

His shoulders are so strong and wide, when you prompt him to flex, excitedly twirling around every angle-- that is for sure a competitive build. It was a relief to know he's actually good at something.

He gives you a breathless, hot chuckle, "You done creamin' over me or what-?"

"Not nearly," You admit, and take one of his arms, literally weighing it, in yours.

He pouts and shivers at your hungry hands. You grab at his lats once more and pull him around.

You're inquisitive. It's just your nature. And now you'll never screw a skinny guy again, that's for sure.

"Feels like you're gonna chop me up, mix me with somethin' and measure me out..."

He whines at how cruelly you kneel, just to try to wrap your hands around one of his big, powerful legs. You can't even manage to get his quad to fit, let alone everything else. His skin is so smooth under his shorts, albeit sweaty like yours, but much, much stronger.

"Y'know, at this point..." You gaze for a couple seconds, trying to calculate how big his package actually is according to what you've seen so far, "I might do that for extra credit."

"M-mmh!" He's super whiny at your quick over-the-shorts kiss to his print.

As you rise to meet his gaze, he's placing his arms around you and leaning to mutter in your ear,

"Can I taste you?"

He's beyond huffy now, practically grinding up against you, and asks- yeah, asks- if you'd let him taste you.

This brat never once asked to do anything for you, before. It leaves you squinting, a bit cold-- like, why now?

"Mm. Do I really look that different?"

He couldn't believe you didn't just give him an easy yeah.

"Honest?"

"Honest."

"You... don't carry yourself well. I dunno why you think you need to slouch so much- and... you don't do your hair super well, either. You look better without glasses. And... way better without safety goggles."

Even though you asked for honesty, it still pisses you off.

"That was a bit much." You scan him up and down.

"I can make it up to you," He suggests- still playful- and doesn't give you time to stew in your assessment of him, because he's bringing you in for another rough kiss, and pushes you up against your wall.

Your back hits the surface hard, but he keeps your head safe and secure in his palm.

"Mmh-!"

He's infuriating, and confusing, and horrible because he's so hot and this will not last. He literally took the breath out of you. None of that is enough to make you stop him from stealing those tiny shorts off of you as he sinks to his knees.

He keeps his mouth open and his tongue nice and fat, like a good boy.

"O-hh," You're weak again, trembling, at his skill, "H-ahh..."

It keeps catching you off-guard. This position is enough to make you unsure, too, but damn does he look good down there.

"Fuck..."

Your fingers slide into his roots and his brow screws up at the sensation. That slick tongue slides back into your heat and right against your sensitive clit.

You gasp, and gasp again- at his strong arms hooking around your thighs. It can't be understated, how interested you were in his athletic ability, how sure you are that you will never settle for less in the future.

Gazing up at you, making you feel good in ways you've never felt before, this man looks totally natural. As if he's given you nothing but affection this whole time.

That tongue-- you hated his stupid mouth, how he could never just shut up in class. Now you were actually putting it to good use.

In truth, it's an apology- of sorts. He doesn't like carrying guilt, but he does like that you're mad. He can't help but get a little excited at a girl yelling at him.

He gets enough of the begging and groveling, himself. It's a tired old story at this point. Girls lined up in high school just for the chance to talk to him, so none could blame him for getting a bit desensitized to it.

What he would never admit is that he actually had a moment of clarity recently. Where he saw through your nerdsuit after, on attempt #2 and 15 minutes to spare for your final weigh-in-- you snapped your fingers at him shushed him, real sharp. Much like an owner to its misbehaving dog.

He simply didn't think you had it in you. So he smiled all to himself, sat back, and studied the tension in your face as the value failed to meet the range you needed. It was sexy.

"F-uck-!"

You are trembling from the pleasure. You weren't about to tell him that you've never been ate before, but it's starting to show, because your shaking hand is slipping from the condensation from the walls, and you're short of breath, and he looks so at ease, but focused and--

Gasping, your whines clip high as you let your orgasm wash right over you.

He's got the gall to keep going, too. He laps, loud, at your soaked pussy like he actually believes you won't yank him away.

Your fingers tighten in his hair and, both of you weak and wincing, you manage to push his eager tongue away. It doesn't get a break, though, because you are very clumsy as you slide down the wall and straddle him. Knees banging, teeth clinking and all.

You both fall right onto the floor, kisses extra lubricated and pussy-flavored now. You're also not so nice as his head bangs onto the wood. The journey is so loud and creaky and full of thudding that you fear you'll get a noise complains from your downstairs neighbor.

"God-," His chin is actually slick, and you pull away to wipe it off for him before going back in for your due kisses.

Oikawa is fast to pull his cock out- he doesn't even both taking his shorts all the way off at this point, because he wants your weight on him. He wants your heat, to not make you wait for a second longer, and is fine with his back on the hardwood floor so long as he can fuck you already.

You're startled. You make a cute noise of surprise against his hungry mouth when you feel it, thick and hot and pulsing against your needy cunt.

"Never been on top before," You sigh, grinding, although a little reluctant, as he pushes and pulls you over his length.

You assume you're less experienced than him, he assumes you aren't experienced whatsoever. He wastes no time inviting, forcing, all of your weight on him.

"Well, first rule is to try and crush me," He laughs at your cringe when he takes his cock in his hand, "'Try.' You can't, but- y'know."

His kisses are distracted, maybe bordering on lazy, buzzing against your temple while he lines himself up with you.

"A-hh-!" You flinch, trying not to make a huge deal out of his dick so as to not inflate his ego, but it's not easy getting used to. It's actually pretty tough. You weren't expecting the struggle.

"Yea-h, there you go," His soft, constant encouragement does help, a lot, as you mumble and murmur and twitch.

"Good- fuh-ck, fuckfuck goood, good..."

He has to wait for you but he doesn't express any impatience, really. He's drinking you up as you sit a little further up on him and push on his chest. He won't tell you that it hurts a little.

"Sooo wet for me," He hums to himself. His eyes are wild, searching your body. Pretty Thing- that's what they're saying.

"Y-eah, wh-atever," You wear a bored pout, wincing, at his size, "Cause' you drooled all over me..."

"F-uck, fuck you're so ti-ght," He seethes as you try sitting back on him. There's a whine quick to follow.

Your eyes have to refocus for a few seconds, gasping, as he bottoms out-- your nails dig into his bouncy chest. He's much more hung than you're used to. The girth was the hardest thing to get used to.

"G-ah-! Fucking--h-mmn, you're- you're...big..."

"Y-eah?" He eggs you on as he keeps slapping his hips up into you, "Too- big for you?"

You sneer down at him.

You know what he's doing and take his stupid, chiselled jaw in your hand as a warning.

He eats it right up. His elated groan is proof.

"Hm-mm-- that's good, ah-ahhha..."

"What? This pussy too good for you?" You push his head to the side.

Your attitude had peaked, and you wait, curious, slowly sitting back and forth on him, to see if he actually likes the aggression- or if he was just bluffing.

Before you can place that hand back onto his chest, he nabs your wrist and settles it around his neck.

Being purposefully hurtful is not a practiced skill in the slightest, but his entitled and simple perspective on all things insofar makes it much easier to indulge his odd preferences. In a way, you are -still- doing him favors. It's just that this one, unlike chem lab, was actually enjoyable.

You squeeze, and with it, your heart skips with titillation, with found power, over his barely-there whimper. Oikawa is flushed and damp with sweat.

Maybe boundaries and expectations should've been a conversation, but the thought didn't and doesn't cross either of your minds.

Your eyes roll back- words uneven but not broken like his- as you ride and taunt him.

"Soo pathetic."

You know all the big words to make him crumble.

"You're too cute... but there's nothing going on up there, huh?"

His hand dwarfs your wrist as he pushes, adding pressure to your chokehold. Looks like he's drowning, lost in your features.

"Hm?" You smile, curious, as you study his huffing and whining.

He fills you up so good it puts your toys to shame. You're greedy, and you want another orgasm bad. If only just for the sake of saying you came twice fucking the volleyball team captain.

"Mmnh- ah- ahha-!" Oikawa cringes, adorable, at your nails digging into his sensitive side.

It makes him buck up into you just right. His hand flies to find yours and interlocks your fingers and he throws your weight forward by placing it next to his head.

It's not as sweet as it looks, because you were hard pressed to take your hand back. His grip was insane.

Once again, he is aggravating- because he's such a performative little brat just trying to make things harder on you.

Despite strong grip on his throat, he giggles and teases you: "What- y'ca-n't- fuck-- mmh!"

His inability to finish his sentence is so rewarding. You can control where he looks, with a slight shift in your wrist.

He winces, mewling, at the way you roll your hips on him.

"Can't what?" You beckon through gritted teeth.

At some point, he just starts repeating himself and it all falls off into unfinished gibberish.

You're pretty satisfied with yourself overall.

Until your left thigh starts cramping.

All too fast, your legs were betraying you. You were wobbly, at best, and panting. In tens of seconds, you realize you weren't going to be able to keep this up, as is. You weren't very practiced, and it makes you shy as he feels you, sees you, start to withdraw.

"Hm?" He cocks his head and blinks off some of his high, properly confused.

"T-ired-," You blush, trembling bad even though you've long since relaxed your thighs. You expect him to maybe roll his eyes or click his tongue at you.

But he subverts your expectations for the thousandth time and laughs, cooing, "Mm, that's o'kay that'sokay- I goootchu."

He takes a few moments to adjust you and truly grip you the way he needs. You think he's taking forever, and that your precious chance to cum again with soon disappear, until he actually starts fucking you.

"A-Hh-!" Your nails dig into scalp, his skin.

He fills you up again and again, the sound of it filthy and loud, as he brings forth a kind of panicky unsureness at how to handle so much rough and ready pleasure.

His cock is perfectly slick and full and hot- you want him, and beg him, deeper, and harder, pitiful and muffled into his shoulder.

You've never been able to relax against somebody like this before and trust that they can handle. Oikawa makes it seem so easy- supporting your weight comfortably, without effort, without complaining, and makes you feel so good. Your standards will never again be lowered out of sheer desperation.

However. This asshole made you work so hard when he could screw you like this the entire time? You don't have the room to be bitchy about it- because you're gasping, pawing, again.

"Ohh my god- I'm-- Mn!" You sob into his shoulder, forced into another early orgasm.

You're having to take his breathy grunts and groans right against your ear-- an overwhelming, tingling sensation that spreads down that entire half of your back.

And as he gets closer, he wraps his heavy arms around you, palms flat in more of a tender hug, than anything.

He finishes between you, thank god, because that also wasn't a conversation, and could've been utterly disastrous.

It takes a minute of coming-to before either of you can actually speak to each other. The air is a bit tense now that you've 'got it out of your system.'

He's better -and faster- at filling silence than you, "Best you've ever had?"

All you can do is laugh. He's got no idea how right he is.

It's... so hot. You're both drenched, and the floor is dangerously slippery. He hums in discomfort when you sit up on his poor, sensitive cock and jam his hips harder into the unforgiving floor.

"Yeah, I'll miss it," You grant him an ounce of sincerity, voice low, reflective, and sobered.

"We got 'til finals," He remarks, flat.

At first, he sounds like he's reverting right back to the the guy who talked shit about you from a foot away that first day of class.

But you see the softness in how he checks you now. For a reaction, for the reward of getting under your skin. You decide to take the bait because you want him, and this, again.

"If we pass midterms," You withdraw before he can bring you in for a kiss, or cuddle, and he practically sobs at you.

Your smirk is hidden when you turn to grab the rest of your clothes, "Get out, dumbass. See you tomorrow."

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my inbox.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @megapteraurelia @integers @babybird-meena @polodetti @sweetieelilii @blueberrymumshikens @littleprince-rei @defnot-bri @st0ppleaseee @saltyscoops @berrymunch25 @gh0stlybo0 @kimialaia @mentallymaeri @wanderless-musings @edenandagain @seu1gizip @mayoeinase @xkrsoup Ი𐑼 post-note. dude...5k of oikawa...this was insane for me

You throw him off because he doesn't really talk to girls. He's isn't accustomed to their often confusing and mixed signals. More importantly, he doesn't talk to anyone who watches what they eat. All of his friends were total garbage disposals, including himself. That concept is a bit out of his expertise and far from his comfort zone.

He clicks his tongue- eyes flittering to your chest- and you shrink.

His reaction reads more like a harsh, 'What? How could you possibly be on a diet?'

You wish he'd leave. Sometimes the weirdos were worse than the conventional guys, immediately more comfortable with teasing, because they want to make themselves look better and boost their popularity by asserting the status quo right away. Guys like his precious buddy Ushijima would maybe give you a judgy look, but never say anything aloud.

Moving had taken its toll on your patience. This happened back at your old school, but you were hoping rich Shiratorizawa kids didn't have as much interest in bullying.

You don't even spare another glance, as you mumble, "Um... was that it?"

He shivers hard at your frosty demeanor and backs up- like a kicked puppy- at such a brutal rejection.

"Uhh- Y-yeah. Yeah..."

He trudges to the door- you squirm, horribly aware of yourself again, and even catch Ushijima looking at you through the opening. It's simple for him. As simple as the shrug he gives his slouchier friend.

You move onto your homework and get lost, find reprieve, in it again.

Based on that incident alone, you come to realize it probably wasn't Ushijima's idea to invite you along. If he was being underhanded, he would've sent his goon straight back inside to ensure you came with them so he could embarrass you.

So, when Tendou approaches you a week and a day later, you know the true problem is somewhere between you two.

It, at very least, simplifies things.

Tendou pops his head into the room first to locate you. He puffs his collar a few times to hype himself up. When he strolls in, he finds you at the back, rummaging through your things.

Because he's kind of walking up on you, he's a tad gentler this time. It successfully keeps you from shooing him away. You opt for a narrow side glance.

He's quiet, but hopeful, "Luuuunch?"

"I think we've been over this before."

You stand upright with crossed arms, impatient, and willing to be more forward this time, so he'd go away faster and hurt your feelings a little less.

You're a bit shorter than he realized. He's a bit taller than you realized.

You back up an inch because you're conflicted by it. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tilts his head down at you.

He's not so much Ushijima's goon as much as his crazy-ride-or-die-looking bodyguard. You can't believe that he's this big, himself. The baggy uniform doesn't help his case from a distance. But up close, you feel shrimpy.

"Mm? Oh- the diet thing..." He thinks for only a few seconds, rocking back and forth on his heels as the rest of the class keeps dispersing around you. "It's Friday, though? You don't have cheat days?"

You squint at him, hard.

He grips the excess of his spring sweater and steps back with a face like you had shot him right through the heart.

He exclaims, despite not even remotely being alone, "Ah!!"

"Wh-at??" You glance, panicked, at his doubled-over form.

"Aughh..." He bursts upright, scaring you again, and admits, "You're breaking my heart!"

If this freak of nature hadn't already attracted every ounce of attention in the classroom, he was now scraping up the last bits of hushed whispers and over-the-shoulder looks.

Flustered, and confused, you hurriedly shove him out of the room.

In the hallway, it's a bit less crowded, and the students aren't as nosy because they don't know you as well.

"What is your problem-?"

His eyes are usually so intense and unreadable when paired with all his sharp features. He was fairly handsome when he wasn't staring you down. Thankfully, now, he was looking to the side, out the window, and held a bit of softness that you had never noticed before.

Tendou sighs. He kicks the air to the side, and you swear you could see some tinge to his ears. He's pouty, and reticent.

He doesn't know how to act around you and often regrets every word he speaks because your reactions are so layered.

It's slowly unfolding in your gaze, though. His silence, and his inability to talk for the first time is marked.

"Have you been trying to ask me out?" You ask before you can think to stop yourself. If you're wrong, it'll look real bad.

Tendou opens his mouth with a breath to say something back right away- but no sound comes out.

He shuts it firmly and squeezes his eyes. He clenches his jaw. And the blushing spreads fast, all over. A chatterbox, usually, but now lost for words so bad that he can't even confess properly.

You were right?

Your smile widens to a big grin. You bring your hand up to cover it- but you start giggling, nervous, and are acutely unsure of how to react.

It makes him shift his weight from side to side, then groan with his hands ruffling up his own hair, rough and fast. His hair looks pretty wild after that, actually, and it doesn't help you in your struggle to stop grinning.

He has to step back, then turn around and walk a few steps, and then walk right back to you. He's not any calmer, but this time he does say,

"I wanted to-...to ask you out before anyone else could!" That adorable red color creeps all down his neck. There was no hiding it for a guy as pale as him.

He mutters, "Fuck" under his breath and you are grateful that he's more worked up than you.

"Well..." You take a big breath and look away, so giddy that you can't look any higher than his sleeve, especially not properly at his face, "Nobody's really lined up, so."

He nods, appreciative, that you threw him that bone, and catches another quick look at all of you. He gets embarrassed, though, and has to take another circle lap. You burst into more giggles.

You probably laugh at him for two full minutes in the hall, sharing butterflies, cute admissions, and apologies.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @integers @babybird-meena @wanderless-musings @xkrsoup @polodetti Ი𐑼 post note. this was a pretty fun and easy write. thank you satori requesters

updates.

? what's with the numbers/why isn't my request here? so what i did this time around was kinda compile handfuls of requests into most-requested characters, then take certain details from requests i liked more, and frankenstein them all into something more my style.

? how are you? will you be back for good? i have a 4-day weekend (LFG) so i'll be trying to post a lot over the next few days. my posting is contingent on work now, and work is unpredictable. so while i will try to update 1x per week, i cannot keep promises. i did miss ya'll tho 🥹

? where's running through the whole team p.3? yeah, i owe ya'll the next part...but man did i bite off more than i could chew. not gonna lie, every time i sit down i end up rereading what i alr did, applauding myself, and closing out the tab.

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my inbox.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @integers @babybird-meena Ი𐑼 lmk (or remind me if i forgor) if you want to be on the general/all posts taglist below!

you didn't know who he was at first, but after posting a pic online, you got a shocking amount of fans asking where you were- how you knew the professional athlete- when it was taken- you quickly deleted it and didn't bother anymore with your socials.

you wanted him all to yourself, and you had a sneaking suspicion this was the only way to do it.

when they take their break, you approach him as he's digging around in their cooler.

when he looks up at you, he quickly looks right back down, bright red. he puts his hand on his neck, sheepish, at your string bikini. it was easier when you were far away, watching their skirmishes, but even that was distracting.

you laugh, and call him adorable, but he doesn't speak your language at all.

he notices what your holding and tries to speak some English as a middle-ground.

"ton-mm- tan- lines," he motions to all of you, your skin, and your eyes widen. you understood that! you laugh, nodding.

you pose and tell him you work hard for it, like he does with his precious volleyball.

his curious eyes roam ravenously over your body. you take the attention well-- it's cute that he's not as accustomed to it as you are.

of course, you simplify anything you say.

because there's nothing better than what you can communicate with your hands. you shake your homemade tanning oil and motion to yourself, then back to your flattened chair.

he hasn't stopped gawking at you, so it's no surprise that he goes right along with it.

his arm flexes as he flips his sunglasses back over his eyes and takes your bottle carefully. he calls something back to his group and they continue their game without him.

he tilts his head at the hypnotic way you walk on the sand, studying how you stretch onto your belly, and trust him -a total stranger- to help you out. he stumbles a little and fiddles with the cap. some of it spills prematurely onto your back.

you tense and give him a look as he -probably- apologizes.

but, he figures it out. soon you're humming, as his muscular hands spread warmth all over your shoulders.

"mmm..." you smile, eyes closed. his shorts are already straining.

he tests exactly how much you're asking for by teasing the tips of his fingers under those skinny, flimsy straps.

you give him a beautiful, giggly grin in return.

wet fingers start slipping into all the right places. your heartbeat pulses hard between your thighs as his thick fingertips sweep once again under your bikini strings.

the pads of his thumbs massage and work the stress out of your lower back. just a fraction of his strength is making your heart flutter, reminding you why you want him so bad.

it's full-on massage as he takes the oil down your legs in long, strong strokes. minutes later, when he's gripping and groping back up, he straddles you to get both sides evenly. he takes his time, but he's greedy, and doesn't shy away from fully oiling up your ass.

you mutter whiny profanities under your breath, and all it does is make him rougher, muttering back at you through heavy, dreamy, sighs.

you don't give a damn that you can't understand his words.

as he disregards your top, in its totality, and swipes the sides of your breasts, down your ribs, and takes all the weight of your heavy hips upwards-- you gasp and bite the towel you're using as a pillow.

he's pushing, pulling at your tender hips, thumbs working into the hard and muscled flesh of your ass. it's one thing short of what you need.

you're already coiled up so tight with barely any stimulation.

"just the tip--," you gasp, "just the tip, please-"

you tell him this, but he doesn't give it to you. you can feel his thick cock through his shorts, getting jammed between your ass. you arch into him, soaking wet at this point from way too much body oil and your own overactive lust.

you look back at him, eyes pleading, to fuck you right here. on your private beach. you were willing to blackmail him at this point if only he'd understand it.

you can't tell if he even sees you through his sunglasses-- and as you realize he won't pull it out, your heart sinks.

you had to de-escalate.

"mm-!" unable to take it anymore, you push yourself up to flip over.

he retracts right away and stands up on the sand instead. intimidated and apologetic at your sudden movement.

"hurry up," you relax onto your back with a little chuckle.

he doesn't understand. he keeps his head ducked toward you. his hands are stained sparkly and dark from your shimmery oil - along with the front of his briefs.

you click your tongue at him, cooing, and motion with your palms to come forward. you guide his hands and slide them all down your tummy.

"ahh- sorry, sorry," he nods quickly, relieved, and realizing what you want at last.

he never gets as rough as he was. you figured he was maybe an ass-guy. or that he never recovered from the shock of simply considering you might've been turned off.

by the end, he's squatting beside you and giving the last of a lovely forearm massage. you smile, a little shy now, at each other.

"good?" he gives a thumbs up, cocking his head at you.

you grin, nodding along, and giving a thumbs up, "good!"

before he can turn to go, you beckon him closer.

you sit up, just to meet him halfway. you know he won't comprehend a word of what you say, but you take your sweet time to whisper many dirty confessions in his ear.

every hair of his stands up- his grip on your hand tightens, his breath again becoming uneven.

then, while he's shivering, and a total lust-drunken mess -staring at your mouth and getting closer to your lips, you shove your phone into his chest and knock him on his butt, back into the sand with another playful giggle.

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my inbox.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @megapteraurelia @integers @babybird-meena Ი𐑼 postnote. experimenting with format :P

Module 1 was one thing. All introductory, basically just lecture review exercises, where all the worksheets lacked intentionally complex questions. You got by with doing it all on your own and letting him treat lab like social hour.

Ever since you got deep into Module 2, his lack of assistance started seriously chipping away the minutes. Today was the third instance you had to come back in the evening.

You were lucky that he even showed up to these; team practice ended so close to time that he was still in his workout clothes. The scent of body spray and half-dry sweat would make you recoil, whenever he moved too fast.

"What, like you didn't wanna work with your boyfriend?" You joke, dry.

"Ooh," He grins, and bites his bottom lip, "Did I strike a chord, Daria?"

Daria? Like the cartoon? You frown and shoo him so he'll move off of the bench. He scratches his belly under his thin Nike tech, eyes darting around your frumpy sweatshirt and double-layered goggles like an apathetic predator. When you don't give him the satisfaction of a response, he slowly peels himself off of the blacktop.

"Thanks." You say only as a formality.

You receive a value that, finally, makes sense and scribble it down with fervor.

"You got it?" He leans in, excited to be done, craning to half-read your messy work in the margins and on the numbered lines, "Was that it?"

You swipe the sheet, immediately overwhelmed by his braindead and insensitive invasion of your personal space. You rush it to the desk to be checked while he stays behind. He slowly pockets your nice pen - just because.

"Woo! Let's gooo!" He grins. He cleans all your materials up, as you make your way back to the station with no more paper in hand.

You search briefly for your pen, but assume you've already put it in your bag or your pocket, and take a big sigh of relief to just be finished for the day.

While you massage your sore neck, you watch him flip both of your stools onto the counter. His arms bulge under the short sleeves, stretching the material- and you adjust, warm, as you zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder. You begin to leave.

"Hey," He calls after you.

"Goggles."

He says it in a bit of a chuckle. You realize that, yeah, they're still on, and give a soft curse. You have to trudge back to put them in the basket.

It's poorly timed so that you have to walk offset to him, leaving the building. He doesn't walk with you and you can guess why.

-

He was typically just nicer when you were completely alone. You began to realize this as opportunities stacked.

Week after week, having to come back in the evenings to finish up was becoming less of the exception and more of a norm.

What truly begins to chip at your patience is the lower and lower grades that you start getting back. It's not that the feedback isn't sufficient; you just, somehow, never have enough time to get these experiments completed according to the instructions.

Midterms roll around quickly.

And as Oikawa chews your gum supply out of existence, watches you work for a total of 6 hours every week, and promotes from active-nuisance to chud-idiot-- you are spiraling at night, falling asleep in your Chem textbooks, and are nowhere near shocked when you get an abysmal practice paper back.

"I did not see this coming..." He grumbles under his stupid, oversized palm.

His Who-woulda-thought shell-shocked expression makes you want to wrap your hands around his thick neck and shake him within inches of his life.

You have to bite your knuckles. You want to accuse him of sabotage and/or murder in the first degree of your GPA. This will not be the first class you retake.

This midterm exercise was supposed to be the best slice of practice that you could get before the real deal next week. It would be the same methods, same reactants, same catalyst. The only differing factor would be amount and resulting end yield.

And the paper crumpled up in your hand boasted a chilling 32/100.

You both pressed your backs into the spiral stair railing. You were alone aside from other students trickling out of your lab as they finished up.

His knuckles come closer, beckoning. You gladly pass him the garbage. His eyes scan it, the marks, the difficult cursive, and he grows rigid at the lack of his own work on the page.

He only understands -maybe- a fourth of the material.

"I know you have-" It takes a lot of effort to refer to his #1 crutch excuse in a civil manner, "Practice. I propose... that we meet up after you're done."

He's quiet, for the first time. You continue in the same careful, even tone. "I don't care where. It just needs to happen."

Oikawa tips his head back with a heavy sigh. Like it's all hitting him at once. He's quiet for minutes.

There's no way he was going let himself be seen with you anywhere but the STEM building. He'd never hear the end of it, the false accusations about his taste in women would never end. Hottie reputation? Over. No, nobody was allowed to know about you.

A flat, defeated, "You got any roommates?"

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my inbox.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @megapteraurelia @integers @babybird-meena @polodetti @sweetieelilii @blueberrymumshikens @littleprince-rei @defnot-bri @st0ppleaseee @saltyscoops @berrymunch25 Ი𐑼 post-note. yay found some time to write today!!