takesone

☁︎⋅ credits -—...

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!!

What concerns you most, at present, is why faculty seems to always assert themselves the wrong way in student social dynamics. Much like jamming a triangular peg into a square hole, sometimes the best thing to do is separate students like you and Tohru, not bring you closer together.

You give a hard, but unnoticed stare to Dr. Yamada during the rest of the lecture. It's your best bet to ensure you don't look at the meathead next to you; you don't want to encourage any further drama.

-

He is an idiot, that much is for sure.

"Name?" He asserts, scribbling his own -only first- name onto the worksheet. You blink. The whole thing is supposed to be done in black pen.

He snaps, "Dude."

He tosses the pencil back down and runs his palms down the sides of his face, as if the second it took you to answer has cost him a year of his life.

Before you can even take a breath to speak, his friend in a similar athletic t-shirt recognizes his voice across the work station. A dark-haired volleyball player ducks under the cabinets.

"Yo! Tohru!!"

"Iwa!"

They share a loud handshake as you slide the sheet to your side.

He's only vaguely quiet as he snips, "Can you believe this shit?"

To add insult to injury, not even a whisper would've gone unheard at this distance.

"Yeahh...Well, what can ya do, y'know?"

Iwa is quieter, but the one-two lands a lot harder when you can't chalk it up to a singular person's bad manners and flawed sense of self worth.

You silently complete the entire first-day assignment yourself. It isn't difficult. It's not meant to be. The time was supposed to be spent getting to know each other.

You even erase his poorly-written name to rewrite yours, then his, full name in proper ink. He discusses their last game with his buddy, only stopping for a Clash of Clans breaks on his phone when Iwa helps his partner out.

Dr. Yamada grades your sheet in front of you; quite possibly the singular good thing about this class. You, and Oikawa, get a big, red 100.

You pause, though, as Oikawa shuffles out of the classroom, sporting mild but fleeting approval at the score. It quickly melts off of his brow once he's gone.

You start: "Sir, I really need to switch partners--"

He spouts off the exact script he's given three or so pairs of students before you:

"Nooo changes to the roster, (L/n). I said it at the beginning of lecture."

"I-I know, I know sir-,"

"Then you know that a partner change is not possible and I won't be entertaining it for any pairs."

You sigh, clutching your paper -yours-, "Sir, he's not gonna do any of this work. I'll be doing all of it, alone. All semester."

Once again, you're met with a brick wall, repeating the same lines to every student, regardless of the reason that they need an exception.

"You'll have an opportunity for peer rating at midterms, and again at finals. I will adjust grade-weight based on those ratings," He looks beyond you, at a handful of students waiting for you to leave, "Next in line."

You shift out of the way, but linger, and watch him grade part of the next paper. You listen to the pairs of girls chatting about nice things, getting to know each other, getting along-- then grip your bag tight and finally leave.

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my inbox. part two here.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @megapteraurelia @integers @babybird-meena Ი𐑼 post-note. wrote this a lil tipsy, forgive me for errors

"Wrong!"

Coach tsked at his dumbfounded expression and just shook his head. If Tendou wasn't going to regret his lack of discipline, the only thing left to do was waste the rest of his practice time by sending him across the court, line to line.

"Again!"

It was a long afternoon. Tendou stumbled home wobbly and weak, but not empty-handed.

When you heard about the treatment- more like torture- that he endured at practice, you felt like you could sink right to the floor in heavy puddle shame.

"Oh my god..." You groaned, hugging your pillow.

Goshiki, deep in his recollection of Tendou's one-on-one conditioning, snickered on the other side of the phone.

"I just wanna know..." He bit his nails, leaning, with baited breath, "What were you doing?"

Your head bolted up, brows furrowed tight.

"Nothing!" You felt your face grow hot.

Stolen, messy, tongue-forward kisses behind the barely open door of a supply closet were certainly not nothing. His chilled fingertips, making you squeal and squirm closer into his shirt kept you up late that night. Grumbly crackles of laughter tingling against your hot skin, giving way into moans that stopped short of soft lips, the same ones sucking dark marks into your shaky thighs-- oh, that was certainly something.

How you had to go home with your hair a legitimate mess and missing your favorite pair of panties? Yeah, it wasn't nothing, but... it had to be. For the time being.

Guys from your school's volleyball team, specifically starters, were notoriously not allowed to date. Tendou faced being kicked from the lineup if you ever went public.

"C'mon, (Y/n)..." He groans, always and forever one for hot gossip. You knew better; anything you say would be grounds for the entire Shiratorizawa team's common knowledge.

You insist, sitting up, breath hot through your nostrils, face contorted strangely by your bold lies, "Literally nothing, Goshi."

"No dude pulls up smiling to Coach Washijo's Wednesday practices!"

"Well-- he's not a dude. He's-," You search around with your hands, hopelessly trying to find descriptors, but you end up shrugging, and settling on, "He's Tendou."

Restless quiet in the receiver supports your point. Yeah, he'd pull up to a losing match grinning ear-to-ear, provided he saw his favorite beetle outside on the pavement.

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my inbox.

taglist. @thisiswhereishitpostalot @megapteraurelia@integers @babybird-meena Ი𐑼 postnote. this WAS part of a request, but a buffed it out to be a short little thing and a little nastier. :P