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seijorhi · 16 days

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Oleander

Oikawa Tooru x female reader x Iwaizumi Hajime w.c 8.6k tw: yandere, mentions of child abuse and neglect, references to underage kissing, murder, horror themes, pseudo-cest (foster siblings), blanket dub/non-con vibes for a good portion of this

The patisserie smells of sugar, vanilla and freshly baked croissants. In a word; delicious.

For several minutes now, your brother’s been standing bent at the waist, studying the display case stacked full of cakes and desserts with an intense kind of focus. Considering. Deliberating. Inadvertently placing himself, and by extension you, as an obstacle for other people trying to do the same.

“Alright, the crepe cake or the fancy looking chocolate one, the…” Heisuke squints at the display case, trying to decipher the label, “gateaux? Or should we go for the red one with the strawberry mousse thing?”

Bingo. You hold back a smile.

“Go the strawberry one.” Nobody loves strawberries like your mom loves strawberries.

“Ok, great. We’ll grab that, a bottle of nice wine, hit the florist and I think that should do it.” He nods to himself, satisfied. “She’ll be over the moon.”

He’s not wrong. The woman you’ve called a mother for the past ten years would fall over herself for something as simple as a birthday card, regardless of the fact that your dad insists on going all out every year.

“She’s already over the moon; you’re home for the week.” The admission’s soft, hesitant – poking a little too close to an open wound for you to feel entirely comfortable voicing it. Hei gives you an odd look, but it mellows into something more genuine when he realises you’re not taking a stab at him.

Baby steps.

Finally, Heisuke steps up to the counter to order. Within minutes the cake’s boxed up, with little ice-packs slipped in to keep it cool, and paid for, and the two of you head out, you holding the door open for Hei to carefully maneuver his way out without jostling the precious, expensive cargo.

“You’re good at this stuff, y’know,” he says as the two of you fall into step together.

“At… picking cakes?”

He snorts, “No. I meant the whole… I don’t know. You’re good at remembering stuff, the cakes mom likes, dad’s weird habits. You probably already know what flowers we’re going to pick for her, don’t you?”

This time you don’t bother hiding your smile – peonies, pink ones.

You go to tell him as much when a loud voice calls out your name. On instinct, you both spin to the source, and when you meet those piercing, olive green eyes, bearing down at you from the other side of the street, your heart leaps into your throat.

A ghost.

You can’t breathe. For a moment you can’t even think. Your hand stretches out, blindly seeking Heisuke, an anchor, anything–

Before your fingers can brush his sleeve, a hard, lean body collides with yours, sweeping you up into a crushing hug. Not Iwaizumi, though.

Oikawa, taller, broader than the last time you saw him, smelling of citrus, summer and salt lets out a breathy noise, halfway between amazement and disbelief.

“There you are,” he beams, setting you back on unsteady legs.

Found you, the glint in his eyes seems to say.

Rather than let you go, step back and give you some much needed space to breathe, his palm instead slides to rest on your hip, taking your chin between the index finger and thumb of his other hand in order to look at you properly, dark eyes poring over you for signs of anything amiss – bruises, tear-tracks, red eyes, swollen, split lips.

Your mouth goes dry.

On one side, there’s your brother, bewildered, arm half outstretched as if he can’t make his mind up whether he should be intervening or not. Iwa’s already jogging across the street, snarling at a driver who lays on his horn.

The weight of Oikawa’s appraisal is as familiar to you as it is oppressive, and while his touch is delicate, featherlight, it burns to the marrow. Suddenly you’re fourteen again, trying to duck past him before he can notice the state of you.

‘It’s nothing, Tooru, don’t worry about it!’

And just like back then, there’s a knot in your chest that doesn’t loosen until satisfaction melts the too sharp edge to his grin – right as Iwa joins you two. Three, you suppose, because while Heisuke remains in stunned silence, eyes darting between you and Oikawa, he’s still party to this, still a witness, and the thought makes you want to curl up into a ball and disappear forever.

(You shove down the fleeting rush of warmth at the relief you find there, the voice in your head that coos that he still cares enough to check. You don’t want him to care.)

“Holy fuck,” Iwa laughs, and Oikawa’s shoved aside, both of you ignoring the indignant grumbling as your rigid body’s pulled into his chest, his hand finding its way to the back of your head. He breathes in slow. Deep.

He still smells the same, earthy and masculine, the faintest tinge of his last cigarette still clinging to his jacket. Back then, he used to steal them from your foster father. You imagine that now, he probably has the money to go off and buy his own.

“I’m sorry, who are you? What– can you let her go, please?”

If it wasn’t them, the sheer absurdity of the moment might’ve made you giggle. Heisuke’s ears are bright red, a flush that extends down his neck. He doesn’t look angry per se, uncomfortable, absolutely, but from the pinched expression on his face, it’s clear he’s fighting the urge to bite out something far less polite.

None of this, least of all the way they’re tugging you between them like a rag-doll, feels very polite to begin with.

As it is, Heisuke’s interruption has the intended effect. The fingers wound in your hair twitch, the cage of his arms drawing you closer. You almost expect the baring of teeth, a possessive snarl, yet it’s a small, almost imperceptible thing. He retreats – reluctantly – turning to glance at your brother, Oikawa by his side.

Judging from the stony, almost bored expression he levels at Hei, he’s not impressed.

“Friend of yours, imouto?” Oikawa’s purr skitters down your spine like ice. Unlike Iwa, there’s nothing less than friendly curiosity on the surface. He’s even smiling.

Tongue darting out to wet your lips, you find your voice.

“Hei, this is Iwaizumi and Oikawa,” you say, gesturing at each respectively. “We were in the same foster home for a while.” Sparing the two of them half a glance, you continue, “We’re actually right in the middle of something, if you’ll excuse us.”

The explicit dismissal’s bolder than you feel, but you’re proud that your voice doesn’t waver. You can’t say the same for your hand when you reach for Heisuke’s spare one, uttering the words that’ll only damn you further, “C’mon, nii-san. Mom and dad are waiting.”

Heisuke doesn’t blink. His hand slips into yours, the two of you sidestepping the pair and walking off towards the car without a backwards glance.

Neither one of you speaks until you’re buckled into the passenger seat, Heisuke adjusting the rear-view mirror, the cake safely stashed away in the back. Until you’re pulling out onto the main road and there’s distance between you and them.

If only the gnawing, unsettling feeling in your stomach would go with it.

“Sorry,” you mumble, blankly staring out the window at the passing scenery. At the clouds hanging overhead, dark and threatening. Funny, that. Fitting. The skies were clear when you left home this morning. “About the nii-san thing, and grabbing your hand,” you clarify, because whether it was rude or not, you’ll be damned before you apologise for brushing them off.

That’s not your relationship with Hei. It’s never been that.

He eyes you for a beat. “You know, I never understood why mom wanted to adopt so bad. Dad too, but mom was always the one pushing for it. We were happy, the three of us. I wasn’t a screw up, their marriage was solid. I couldn’t understand the need to bring someone else in. Our family was fine, perfect the way it was.”

His thumb taps against the steering wheel, his shoulders loose and relaxed. You can’t quite pin the mood he’s in, where he’s going with this.

“Oh,” you say, mostly because it feels like he’s waiting for you to acknowledge it.

None of what he’s saying is news to you. None of it’s anything you haven’t wondered yourself a thousand times over. It’s just that Heisuke… you’ve never talked about this. Your adoption, your relationship with him, none of it. This sort of honesty is brand new territory for you both.

You’re not so sure you’re loving the development.

“When they committed to it, I thought they’d bring home a baby, a kid, not some weird, skittish fourteen year old who wanted nothing to do with me.”

Ah.

Your cheeks heat, and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here. If Heisuke notices how you shift in your seat, the small tightening of your expression, he plows on regardless.

“You wouldn’t look at me, would barely talk to me. Hell, you acted like I had the plague most of the time. You didn’t hate me, I don’t think, you just… didn’t want to be anywhere near me, and it bugged the hell out of me. I couldn’t figure it out; who wouldn’t want an older brother to look out for them?” His next words hit you like a sledgehammer, cracking at something vital in your chest. It hurts before he opens his mouth.

“It was them, wasn’t it? The reason you steered clear ‘til I moved out of home.”

“Heis–”

He cuts you off with a look. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he demands.

“Can we just– it doesn’t matter, alright? Can we move on?”

From the unhappy set of his jaw – the first true sign of discontent he’s expressed since getting in the car with you – it’s obvious there’s more he wants to say. You can’t blame him for that, curiosity’s only human.

But you’re still too raw. It’s too soon.

You’ve spent too long burying those secrets deep to rip yourself apart to bring them to light.

“Please, Hei. Let’s focus on mom’s birthday.” You force a smile, tiny and wrong, “The florist is next, yeah?”

You get a grunt of acknowledgement and not much more than that, your brother’s attention pulling back to the drive. The silence that settles in the car should bring some relief. It’s what you wanted, and yet, amongst the churning feeling in your guts, the prickling at the back of your neck that hasn’t left you since you first spotted Iwa across the road, there’s a sense of discomfort that has nothing to do with crossing paths with your past life.

Like a slap in the face, it hits you that you’re floundering for something to say, something – anything – to bridge the sudden, stark divide between you. Something that won’t sound hollow and meaningless.

This thing you have with Heisuke. It took years, and maybe it’s skin deep and miles from what it should be, but the thought of losing it leaves you feeling oddly panicked.

It’ll… hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, because it’s about all you can give him right now, a tried and true method of soothing egos and hurt.

Heisuke doesn’t say anything for the remainder of the drive, and you resign yourself to the very real possibility that in the course of a single conversation, you’ve managed to fracture this fragile thing between you two.

Until you go for the door, and a hand on your wrist stops you. “Hey. I’m glad they did.”

—

When you startle awake a little after midnight, it’s because he’s yelling again.

Mr. Furukawa had been in fine form at dinner, already three beers deep. You can only begin to imagine what’s set him off now, hours after lights out. His wife, probably. Although it’s equally possible he’s caught the oldest sneaking back in from seeing his girlfriend, or the twins trying to break into the pantry for a midnight snack. Or he tripped and stubbed his toe, or thought someone stole the rest of his beer when in reality he’d already swallowed it down.

The reasons don’t really matter when he’s been drinking like that, in the same way that the initial target of his ire doesn’t matter. Once his voice reaches that slurred, furious pitch, anyone’s fair game.

There’s a pair of headphones in the top drawer, you have every intention of yanking them out and putting on one of your sleep playlists, drowning out the noise of your foster father’s drunken raging until he wears himself out or you fall back to sleep when you hear the thumping of his feet on the staircase.

“Where’s that fucking bitch?”

Eyes wide in the darkness, clutching at the comforter, your pulse jumps.

Again, it’s possible he’s talking about Mrs. Furukawa, or one of your foster sisters – the older one hunched over in the bed opposite yours, watching you shrewdly.

“Well go on then,” she sneers. “Run to your big brothers.”

You don’t bother to respond, any hesitation you might’ve had over leaving her to fend for herself shrivelling up under the mocking bitterness she’s sending your way. Fine, whatever. You don’t care what she thinks, scrambling from the warmth of your bed and hurrying for the door.

He’s halfway up the staircase when you reach their room. You’d knock – it’s the polite thing to do – except you definitely don’t want to be out in plain view when your foster father hits the landing.

“Hajime?” you whisper into the darkness, slipping inside and shutting the door behind you, “Tooru?”

“Shit, c’mere.” At Hajime’s voice, the calloused, rough hands that guide you onto his mattress, the vice around your chest loosens. He won’t come in here, not after Hajime socked him in the face after catching sight of the raised, discoloured flesh of your cheek from your last run in. You’ve gotten better at using make-up to conceal the marks since then, but there’s also been less of a need for it.

“Can I stay for a bit?” you ask. Until he calms down and passes out. Until the sun rises and you can sneak back into your room. Until you feel safe again. It’s kind of a pointless question, considering how many times you’ve done this before and how many times they’ve let you. You ask it anyway.

The scoff that sounds moments before the mattress dips on your other side is answer enough. “You should probably just move in at this point. We’ll kick Iwa out, he can go sleep in bitch-face’s room.”

Although you know you shouldn’t, a not-so-nice grin tugs at your lips, nestling into Tooru’s side under the arm he offers, “She’d drive him homicidal in a week.”

“Doesn’t she already?” Hajime mutters. “And fuck off, if anyone’s moving out it’s you.”

“You’d miss me too much.”

Absentmindedly, he rubs at your arm like it’s second nature. “In your dreams, Shitty-kawa.”

You can still hear Mr. Furukawa stomping around outside, snarling and snapping at no-one and nothing. Your pulse skitters, an inbuilt panic response. But the lights are off, you’re not being too noisy, and he’s wary of the other two.

He won’t come in here.

“Relax, we’ve got you,” Tooru breathes, his nose nudging at your temple. “Where were you this afternoon?” His voice is so soft, a soothing rumble that it takes you a second to register what he’s said.

“This afternoon?”

“Mm. You didn’t come home when you were supposed to. We were worried.”

He’s pouting, you can tell. Which– he can’t be genuinely bothered by it, it was only a few hours, and the Furukawas don’t care where you are or what you do so long as you’re back before curfew. You were.

A distraction then?

“I went out with some friends. We hung out at the arcade for a bit,” your expression brightens, thinking of the lights and the laughter, your feet blurring as you hit the sensors on Dance Dance Revolution… poorly. “It was actually pretty fun!”

Tooru hums again, “Which friends?” at the same time that Hajime says, “You didn’t tell us you were going out.”

“I didn’t realise I had to check in.” And because the slightly bitter and very defensive edge to your tone catches even you by surprise, you sigh, softening. “I’m allowed to have friends, aren’t I? A social life?”

You’ve been in this home for a few months now, and this is the first time any of your classmates have invited you anywhere.

This time it’s Tooru who sighs. He coaxes your face upwards with a hand on your cheek, peering through the dim light at you, “I’m not saying this to be cruel or hurt you, but… I need you to be more careful, okay?”

You frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His thumb glides across your cheek bone, hesitating on whatever it is he wants to say– at least until Hajime huffs and mutters, “Just tell her, dude. You’re the one that brought it up.”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re a foster kid,” he reminds you, as if this is vital information that’s somehow slipped your mind. “That’s all they see when they look at us, all they’ll ever see. No money, no family, nothing worth wasting their time on. We’re charity cases at best, at worst…” he trails off, the sentence dangling in the air.

He thinks it’s a trick, you realise. He thinks they’re setting you up in an elaborate joke where you’re the punchline.

Bright blue eyes and a crooked grin flash in your head. Cheeks dusted pink and the warmth of his hand in yours.

“That’s not true,” you defend, though the words sound weak even to your ears.

Now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, the gentle, pitying expression on his face twists at your insides like a knife. You hardly notice Hajime scooching closer, shifting the blankets so they cover you both, too busy staring at your foster brother with wide eyes and parted lips, a thick lump of emotion lodging itself in your throat. Tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back.

You won’t cry in front of them over this. You refuse.

“No? You’ve been here for months now. If they wanted to be your friend, truly, genuinely wanted that, why haven’t they made an effort before now? I’m not trying to be a dick,” he murmurs when your breathing hitches, “The kids in this town, they’re assholes. I just can’t bear the thought of someone hurting you.”

Hajime nods. “We only wanna protect you, imouto.”

But you don’t need to be protected. Omori isn’t like that. His friends aren’t either.

—

When the last bell rings for the day, you walk down to the gates to find Hajime there, leaning against the brickwork with a pilfered cigarette dangling between his fingers.

That in and of itself isn’t a surprise. Lately they’ve taken up the habit of ditching their last period to make the half mile trek to your school in order to walk back home with you. Most days, you don’t mind. Today, however–

“I sent you a message at lunch, you didn’t need to come all the way down here, I’m going to a friend’s place to study. Sorry, I thought you would’ve seen it before you left.”

He drops the cherry red remnants of his cigarette to the ground and grinds the butt under his heel, eyeing you slowly from head to toe. “Which friend?”

“When did you become so nosey?” you laugh, a touch uneasily. “It’s only for an hour or so, I’ll be back before dinner, promise. I’m all yours after that.” The last part’s meant to lighten the mood a little, yet something flashes in his eyes, a twitch in his jaw, and you get the sense that he doesn’t find it all that funny.

“Which friend? That slimy piece of shit you were hanging out with last weekend?”

Omori? How does he–

You frown, “We went to the movies, Hajime, it’s not illegal. And he’s not slimy or a little shit, he’s my friend.” A friend who sets butterflies loose in your stomach and makes you weak at the knees, but Hajime doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh, I’m sure he wants to be your friend,” he mutters darkly.

Your cheeks burn hotly, “Why are you being like this? He’s a nice guy. Besides, it’s not him. I’m going to Masako’s to work on a group presentation we’ve got due in a few days. I didn’t think you’d make such a big deal out of it!”

“Your mistake,” he says, as if you’re the one being unreasonable here, and before you can spit out a retort, his hand is curled around your bicep, tugging you down the road. “C’mon, we’re going home. Tell your little friend you can work on your project tomorrow at lunch.”

“Ha-Hajime!” His too tight grip on you doesn’t relent, his stride doesn’t falter. Nervously, you dart a glance around, half hoping that someone will intercede, all the while praying that no one’s actually noticed him dragging you off like a misbehaving toddler.

As always, you’re not that lucky. The sight of your classmates pointing your way, giggling behind their hands sends a hot pulse of shame flooding through you.

“You know you’re not my actual brother, I don’t need your permission!”

That does stop him, turning back around to throw a scowl at you, “No? Because I don’t see anyone else lining up to stop you from spreading your legs for the first asshole who comes sniffing around. Jesus Christ, weren’t you listening the other day?”

“I’m fourteen!” you shriek, ripping your arm away from him. “Stop being gross and leave me alone, I already told you I’m going to Masako’s. We have a project. For school!”

In an instant, he closes the gap between you. Hajime isn’t as tall as Tooru, but at two years older, he still towers over you, all broad shouldered and intense, and while he’s always cut an intimidating figure, it strikes you that this is the first time you’ve ever looked at him and felt afraid.

A split second later, and he exhales with a mumbled curse, the tension deflating from his body like a pin’s been pulled. In a quieter voice, hooking an arm over your neck to press a fleeting kiss to your hair, he says, “Sometimes it feels like I’m losing my damn mind trying to keep us all safe and sane and fucking together.”

It’s not exactly an apology. Still…you shift on your feet, nibbling at your bottom lip. “I’m sorry for snapping,” you mumble – an olive branch, even if you’re not feeling particularly charitable right now. The problem is, you do understand where he’s coming from. In two years, they’ll both age out, free to go and do whatever the hell they want. There’s a not insignificant part of you that’s terrified that when that time comes, they’re not gonna hang around another two years waiting for you.

You’re not sure you can hold them to that promise.

And that’s if nothing happens before then. Foster kids in group homes get shuffled all the time, there’s no guarantee all three of you will still be with the Furukawas come their 18th birthdays.

Of course he’s over-protective. Of course he’s being a little nuts about it.

Hajime nods, pats you on the head and gives you a rare smile, “Good. Now get your ass moving, we gotta get home.”

“Wait, but I thought–” you’d apologised, he’d admitted he was overreacting… sort of. Isn’t that enough?

“Social worker’s coming by this afternoon. Furukawa wants us to play happy families ‘til they’re gone. Your friend’s gonna have to wait.”

And that’s that.

Dejection washes over you, trudging back home with Hajime – trying not to be childish and petty and hold it against him.

The social worker never shows, but there’s a message waiting on your phone when you finally manage to pry yourself away from Hajime and Tooru.

Your brother’s a dick. Raincheck? ;)

Butterflies erupt.

—

You’ve been biting your lip again.

The raw, chapped evidence stares back at you in the mirror.

A few days ago, they were a little swollen, rough and reddened. The sight of it sent a giddy sort of thrill through you, a physical – if not sore – reminder of your afternoon spent kissing a cute boy with very pretty blue eyes.

Now, the state of your lips is the least of your worries. You’ll bite your lips, gnaw on your fingernails right down to the quick, pace and think and pace and think, fingers tap, tap tapping at your side.

“You look tired.”

The arms that loop around your shoulders, dragging you back into a loose hug don’t bring the sense of comfort they usually do. Things have been weird between you. Off.

Ever since Tooru caught sight of your face that day, saw the messages on your phone.

‘I never took you for a liar, imouto.’

The resultant argument left you choking on sobs, heart-broken and beaten down in a way that you haven’t felt since you found out your parents died.

It’s a strange, alienating thing to be cut so viciously by the only people who give a damn about you.

At first, you had Omori there to help pick up the pieces. He wasn’t allowed over, of course, and even if he were, you doubt it’d do anything but throw a whole gallon of kerosene on the fire. Still, being able to message and vent to him felt like a lifeline.

And then he simply… stopped replying. Your last message sitting there for two days on read.

You tried not to feel hurt. Maybe this whole thing was too intense, too quick. My god, you weren’t even dating officially, he was just, you were–

It was fine. Not everyone’s tied to their phone, and he doesn’t owe you anything. Maybe something came up, maybe his phone died.

But then, come Monday, he wasn’t in school.

On Tuesday morning, sitting in first period maths, a grim-faced man in a dull suit informs your class that Omori’s been missing since Saturday morning. You’re passed a business card with the detective’s name and phone number printed in crisp, black font and encouraged to contact him if there’s anything you can think of that might help them.

Uneasy looks are shared. No one says a word.

Which brings you to today, to the hug Tooru’s drawn you into and his voice murmuring at your ear.

“Aren’t you still mad at me?”

His laugh rumbles at your back, “Maybe I miss you too much.”

You should tell him to shove it. Whether you’re in the right or the wrong, it’s not fair of him to play hot and cold with you like this. Being at odds with your brothers is painful enough on its own, dealing with that on top of everything with Omori – it’s too much. You’ll drown under the weight of it.

And so you turn, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying yourself against him. “I don’t wanna fight anymore. I’m sorry.”

While he doesn’t say anything back, he does squeeze you that little bit tighter. You’re content with that, soaking up the affection and comfort you’ve sorely been without. It’s an apology, yes. It’s also forgiveness.

“Where’s Hajime?” you ask after a little while. They aren’t inseparable by any means, but you don’t think you’ve seen him this afternoon at all.

Rather than answering you, the brunet pulls back enough to meet your gaze, a twinkle in his eyes, “We’re going out tonight.”

The words bring you up short. “But–”

“Furukawa won’t know a thing. It’ll be fun, pinky promise.” He holds out said pinky, the grin on his face infectious enough that you offer a tiny one of your own, locking your finger around his.

He winks.

—

“Sweetheart, shall we open the wine?”

She hasn’t stopped beaming all afternoon, delighted at the flowers and the gifts, your dad humming away in the kitchen, cooking enough to feed a small army.

Heisuke’s already plucking a bottle from the fridge, glasses set out on the counter. He lifts a questioning brow in your direction and you nod with as much of a smile as you can muster. Nothing sounds more appealing to you right now than a drink.

Several of them, actually. You’ll start with one.

“Thanks,” you murmur when he passes it to you.

Quietly enough that your parents won’t hear, he asks, “You good?”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, lying through your teeth. His knuckles knock against yours, and when you glance up, there’s a wordless promise that the two of you aren’t done with this.

He’s been watching you ever since you got home. Not in the predatory, possessive way they used to, just… you very reluctantly gave him crumbs – not even that much – yet he’s staring at you like you’re a piece of a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. He’s looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you don’t know how to deal with it.

It makes you nervous.

“Did something happen between you two?” The quiet voice at your side startles you – perhaps you’re more on edge than you’d like to admit, because your whole body flinches, the wine in your glass sloshing up over the rim, just barely avoiding your dress and the edge of the couch.

You hadn’t even noticed your mom had sat down.

Cursing under your breath, you jump up before she can, snatching some paper towels from the kitchen, paying no mind the slight, disapproving tilt to your father’s mein (the one which, to his credit, he does try to hide) to mop up the mess on the floor.

“Sorry,” you throw out, both for the spill and for swearing, because that too is something neither of your parents are fond of, but your mom’s quick to wave it away.

“Nonsense. You’re fine, sweet girl. Come, sit!” She pats the seat you’ve vacated. “Relax.”

Your dad’s in the kitchen, laughing with Hei. Your mom’s still happy – it’s slowly leaching from her eyes the longer she looks at you, the more she sees. Relax.

Today’s supposed to be a happy day.

Relax.

You can’t.

They know some of your past. Bits and pieces.

In ten years, you’ve never uttered a single word about them. Not to anyone.

The more you shove it down, the more it fights back, bubbling away inside of you like the tempest of a storm. You can feel yourself cracking, unshed tears burning at your eyes.

You can’t.

“… Mom–”

A knock cuts through the rising tide of emotion battering through you, and all four of you start.

Your dad moves first, drying his hands and striding on over to answer it. On his way, he glances to where you and your mom are sitting – instinctively. Unthinkingly. He glances her way a thousand times a day – to check in, to see what she’s doing, to catch those little expressions she makes, only this time he isn’t met with the picture of a happy wife and daughter. You see it when it hits him, the tension, your wrought expression, the hand your mom’s slipped you in the seconds since, holding you tight and keeping you tethered.

You see it when he does a double take, sharp surprise quickly overtaken by alarm.

Another knock at the door. Louder.

His head snaps back towards the door, glaring at it like it’s personally wronged him. “One sec,” he mutters to no one in particular, and your mom squeezes your hand as he yanks it open with a touch more force than necessary.

“Yes?”

The air punches out of your lungs.

From where you’re sitting, the door cracked ajar, your dad’s frame blocking the gap, you can’t see who’s there. Not until he peeks over your dad’s shoulder, his charming grin widening into something shark-like and predatory when he spots you, delighted.

An elevator careening out of control, your stomach plummets.

Ignoring your dad – your family as a whole – entirely, Oikawa addresses you. “You dropped this this morning. Clumsy girl.”

Iwa passes him something, your wallet, you realise when he holds it out to you, waving it like a dog treat.

Your wallet with your ID, this address, tucked away inside.

The wallet you absolutely, in no way dropped.

Primarily on instinct, shaking like a newborn foal, you start to rise, to stumble forward and take it from him, only it’s Heisuke who moves first. Angrier than you think you’ve ever seen him, he plants himself between you, one arm outstretched as if to keep you back, his withering gaze fixed on the duo.

“Thank you for returning it,” he bites out. “You can leave now.”

For your parents, already on edge, suspicious by their familiarity and your reaction to it, it’s enough to set their hackles up. Gone is any semblance of politeness when your father snatches your wallet from Oikawa’s fingers, “Go.”

Up until now, Oikawa’s paid them all the attention one would a gnat, an annoyance maybe, but one hardly worth acknowledging. That changes as his head tilts, dark eyes appraising your father.

“What’s the rush?” he asks, reaching behind him. You can’t see it, what with your dad and now Heisuke standing between you, but there’s movement, your dad lets out a sudden, choked off gurgle, lurching back inside.

Your eyes widen, a bone chilling horror taking hold of you as you spy the sleek black handle of a knife sticking out his gut, a slow stain of red seeping out around it.

“We’ve still got so much catching up to do.”

—

You’ve never been this far into the woods before.

Stars glitter overhead, condensation from your breath puffing out with every exhale. It’s cold out. The path you’re walking isn’t one of the trails they lay for hikers and tourists, and you’ve been walking for a while.

Still, Tooru’s hand is warm entwined with yours, and there’s that wicked thrill in your belly that comes from breaking the rules, doing secret, exciting things in the dead of night.

“Is Hajime waiting for us?” you ask, when you can hold the question back no longer.

“Always Hajime with you, isn’t it,” he teases. “Y’know, a guy could develop a complex with all this favouritism being thrown around.”

You’re pulled closer into his side even as he says it, and you go happily. You’ve got your brothers back – tonight you’re only thinking good thoughts.

Tonight he promised you fun.

A giddy bounce in your step, you follow where your big brother leads until you spot a glow in the trees ahead, smell the smoke on the mid-autumn breeze.

Tooru grins in the dark, “Have you ever been to a bonfire?”

You shake your head.

It takes another few minutes before you can see the fire in all its grandeur, Hajime standing off to the side, warming his hands against the flames. They dance through the clearing, bright and high and hot, hot enough that you briefly consider shedding the jacket Tooru swaddled you up in before you left.

A bonfire?

They built this for you?

You look incredulously to Tooru, “This is where he’s been all day?”

“More or less.”

“Do you like it, pretty girl?” Hajime calls out when you’re closer. Your hand slips from Tooru’s as you leap forward, allowing him to catch you in his arms and tug you against him, and like earlier with Tooru, it eases some of the hurt weighing you down. He’s here, he’s not angry anymore, you can fight and argue like siblings but they aren’t going anywhere.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, smoothing down your hair. “It’s pretty cool,” you tell him with a decisive nod, making him chuckle.

“Maybe we should add more accelerant,” Tooru says, eyeing the flames with a considering look. “I don’t know if it’s hot enough.”

Hajime scoffs, “We don’t need any more accelerant.”

“But–”

“It’s fine, dumbass. Leave it.”

Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Tooru takes the space on your other side. In the Western movies you’ve seen, these bonfire things usually have more of a party-like vibe. There’s music and dancing. Drinking. This is something wholly different.

You don’t mind the quiet, though, sitting between your brothers on the fallen log they dragged over. Listening to the crackle of the fire. Watching red embers spark and fly off into the night.

You’ve missed this. Them.

In the hypnosis of the fire, the heat that covers you like a blanket – burning strongly enough, despite what Tooru thinks, that down to a tee-shirt, leaning into Hajime’s side, Tooru playing with your fingers, you feel you could so easily drift off to sleep, sated and content.

“You love us, don’t you?” Tooru says it so quietly, so off-handedly, that for a moment you don’t hear the stinging accusation beneath the words.

When it does, whatever fleeting contentment you’d managed to wrap yourself up in is ripped away, leaving you cold and exposed.

A slap in the face might’ve stung less.

You gape at him. At the both of them. “How can you ask me that?”

Tooru shrugs, casual and cruel, “I dunno. You lied to us. Multiple times.”

“Snuck around behind our backs,” Hajime adds.

“Kept things from us. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the new lock on your phone, imouto. Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“I– I’ve already apologised.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but with every word that pours out of you, the faster your heart beats and the more distress leaks into your tone. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I went behind your backs, I’m sorry I kissed him! I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t know how to fix this!”

Hot tears spring to your eyes, stinging as you ferociously blink them back.

If you start crying now, they’ll probably just mock you. That, or they’ll claim that you’re trying to manipulate them into feeling bad with crocodile tears and hiccuping sniffles.

In a tiny voice, you say, “I didn’t do any of it to hurt you. Please,” you beg helplessly. “You can’t keep holding it over my head and punishing me for it.”

“You think we’re punishing you?” Tooru asks, still in that cold, flat tone that makes you want to sob.

Aren’t they? Sure feels like it.

Hajime lets out a heavy exhale, shaking his head and staring up at the night sky. “You still don’t fucking get it.”

Hands slip under your armpits and without warning you find yourself hoisted onto Tooru’s lap. It’s whiplash, especially when he curls around you, those lithe arms caging you in, and presses a kiss to your burning cheek. “Iwa, brute that he is, is right. You’re not listening to us. This isn’t punishment. You can pretend to hate us, cry, yell, fight. You can try to shut us out if that’s what you feel you need, but this,” his chin juts out at the bonfire crackling merrily a few feet away, “this is love.” He shivers as he says it, voice like honey. “We did it for you, and I’d do so much more.”

Your head’s still spinning, reeling from being yanked from one extreme to another. Hot and cold. Spiteful to affectionate. You stare at the fire, but you don’t understand.

“Yeah, like you didn’t enjoy the hell out of it,” Hajime snorts, which makes even less sense.

“…You mean the– the bonfire?”

Tooru laughs. His nose skims along the shell of your ear, earning him a shiver of your own. “Hm, almost.”

So you peer at the fire like it’s supposed to give you the answers you need. There’s nothing. It’s a fire, there’s nothing special about…

Oh.

You learn forward – as much as the cage of his embrace will allow, at any rate – squinting a little. Nestled beneath the stacked logs and kindling, there’s an oddly shaped lump, black and gnarled, with ridges and a scooped out hollow that kinda looks like–

Your blood runs cold.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he croons. “You’ve been so sad all week, wondering where your friend up and disappeared to. Aren’t you glad to see him again?”

“No.” Whisper soft, the noise lost to the crackling of the fire. You shake your head, “This– you’re being cruel. Stop it, it’s not funny.”

But the tears you’ve so valiantly held back are falling, your breath coming in short, panicky gasps. The skull in the fire doesn’t look fake, and if this is a prank, it’s gone beyond too far.

Your head grows light and all too heavy at the same time, “That isn’t– you didn’t– you… you– you wouldn’t–”

“No?” the voice at your ear questions, low and dangerous. “You think I wouldn’t stab the little fuck after you kissed him?”

“Stop it,” you tearfully beg, squeezing your eyes shut. The skull’s still there, burned into the back of your eyelids.

No, no, no. Omori isn’t dead.

Omori isn’t dead.

Your heart slams against your ribs, a violent chorus to the swell of sick dread and fear you’re desperately trying to tamp down. Omori isn’t dead!

“STOP IT!”

They wouldn’t kill him.

The crunch of footsteps sounds, and you don’t need your vision to know that Hajime’s now crouching in front of you. When rough fingers seize your jaw, holding you in place, and he leans in close, almost nose to nose, they fly open regardless.

“You ever try that shit again, and next time we’ll drag you by the fucking hair and do it in front of you,” he promises, calm despite the fury that rages in his eyes.

Caged between them, Hajime appraises you, taking in your hysteria, the tears dripping down your face, your bottom lip quivering – as though he’s committing the sight to memory. His eyes dart to Tooru’s for a brief second, the latter squeezing your side, before he speaks. “If you’d listened to us in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. Don’t make us into monsters, sweetheart.”

Your fault is what you hear.

There’s a loud pop from the fire, and you lose it entirely.

You explode. Elbows flying, kicking, clawing. A wild, terrified, desperate thing, and it takes them by surprise – enough to catch Tooru in the gut, loosening his grip. Enough to knock Hajime back onto his ass. A gap, however small, for you to scramble to your knees, violently kicking back when a hand snatches at your ankle, and flee through the woods in the dark, away from the furious shouts, the raging footsteps chasing after you.

You run and your lungs burn, heaving for every breath.

The light of the bonfire disappears behind you, plunging the forest into an inky black, and the shouts and yells turn into calls of your name, then coaxing pleas, almost sounding worried. Eventually, those grow distant too, and fade away altogether.

You keep running, uncertain of where you’re going. No, blind to it entirely. All that matters is keeping out of their reach. You’ll run to the ends of the earth if you have to.

And so you push until your legs scream for a reprieve, until you taste iron on your tongue and when your body can keep the pace no longer, you stumble through the underbrush, tripping over roots and branches instead, pausing every once in a while to lean against a tree and catch your breath.

As your adrenaline fades and the sweat dampening your clothes cools, the cold night air bites like needles at your skin, you start to shiver, rubbing at your exposed arms in an effort to generate a little warmth. Bitterly, you remember that the jacket that you’d brought, the one Tooru had all but forced on you before you’d left, is back at the bonfire, slung over a nearby log. Useless to you now.

But the shivers that wrack your body aren’t solely from the dropping temperature.

Every snapping branch, hoot of an owl, rustle of leaves sends a fresh wave of terror spiking through you. You think of Tooru’s cruel smirk and Hajime’s bruising grip, of Omori’s skull staring back at you from the fire, flesh melted to the bone, black and twisted, and a ragged, distraught sob brings you to your knees.

Hopelessly lost, cold, frightened and alone, you curl into the dirt and cry.

—

Hikers find you at dawn.

Emergency services are called – an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital to be poked and prodded, police to question why a fourteen year old girl was wandering the woods alone at night.

They treat you for dehydration and mild hypothermia, a few small cuts and scrapes, and when a soft spoken nurse pulls the curtain around your bed and gently asks if you’d like them to perform a rape kit, you blanch and shake your head. Eventually, they allow the detective into the room. In his late forties, bespectacled, a smattering of grey dusted throughout his close cropped black hair, he pulls up a chair beside the bed and patiently asks how you’re feeling.

If you were a better person, you’d tell him everything. The Furukawas’ abuse, your foster brothers’ increasingly overprotective behaviour, sneaking behind their back to see Omori and the fight that followed that nearly ripped you apart.

The bonfire.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Omori deserves that much. His parents should know what happened to their son.

Your jacket lying forgotten by his bones.

“Please don’t take me back there,” you mumble, tears shining in your eyes.

Back to the woods, or the Furukawas. Back to the boys you’d loved who’d murdered for you.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter that that’s all they can get out of you. A traumatised teenager found miles from home without a single soul raising the alarm would be one thing. When that traumatised teenager’s a girl supposedly under the care of government approved guardians, it raises red flags not even they can ignore.

By lunch, they’ve arranged for you to be placed back in an all-girl orphanage until a more suitable, long term solution can be found.

—

Some nights you dream that you’re back there, in their bedroom at the Furukawas’. It’s dark and cozy, there’s an arm slung over your waist and you find yourself drifting off to the steady beat of the heart behind you, soft snores by your ear.

They’re nice dreams. You feel safe, loved.

Tucked away in your subconscious, nothing exists but the sanctuary of them, and when you inevitably feel that tug of awareness coaxing you awake, you sink your fingers in and cling to it for dear life.

Just another minute. Another few seconds. Please.

Right now, you’d give anything to wake up and have this be nothing more than a nightmare you can banish.

But there’s no escaping this one. Your dad’s on the living room floor by the couch, hunkered over, pale and sweaty, pressing what was once a clean dish towel to the wound in his stomach. The coffee table’s been pushed to the side, Heisuke and your mom sat on the chairs Oikawa dragged into its place, ankles zip-tied to the legs, wrists bound, duct tape slapped across both of their mouths. Between the knife Oikawa idly toys with, still wet with blood, the handgun held loosely in Iwa’s palm and your dad slowly bleeding out on the floor, they’ve been compliant.

Much like you have, although you’re neither bound nor gagged, sitting in the armchair Iwa ushered you to, arms looped around your knees with the man himself perched against the backrest.

The only one of you making any kind of noise at all is your dad, his voice a slurring mumble, words near intelligible. He’s begging, you can tell that much. Pleading through gritted teeth for them to let you go, not to hurt you, your mom, Hei.

You desperately wanna tell him to save his breath, but you can’t even look at him – at any of them – without wanting to throw up.

“Do you still love us, imouto?”

Your eyes track Oikawa as he leans over the two chairs, the edge of his knife carelessly poised above Heisuke’s shoulder. From your periphery you see him flinch and stiffen, the sharp uptick of his breath smothered by duct tape, but you don’t dare shift your attention from the brunet smiling genially back at you.

Your heart squeezes, clenched by an invisible fist. Buried deep beneath the guilt and the paralysing dread, a slightly hysterical part of you almost wants to laugh.

“Do you think I could ever stop?”

Surprise flashes in his eyes and his grin widens. “You ran,” he accuses.

“You ran again this morning,” Iwa adds, sounding far less amused.

“I was scared.”

“Of us?” Iwa slides off the back of the couch, straightening up. In an instant, his hand’s wrapped around your throat, the broad pad of his thumb forcing your jaw upwards. “You think we’d ever fucking hurt you?” he growls, looking genuinely angry.

Distantly you register the sound of Heisuke’s muffled indignation, another gasping wheeze from your dad, but all that fades to the background as Iwa’s mouth crashes against yours.

He doesn’t kiss you sweetly. It’s invasive, rough. His hand flexes around your throat, forcing a gasp to drive his tongue between your lips, and you can feel every ounce of possession, of pent up need and frustration as he drags it on despite the awkward angle.

When he does break away, eyes darkened and simmering, he holds your gaze, ignoring the pointed throat clearing from the other side of the room. “Never,” he swears, waiting for you to nod before finally relaxing his grip. “Good girl.” To Oikawa, watching you both with a barely constrained hunger, he says, “Enough screwing around. Do it and let’s go.”

Oikawa huffs, rolling his eyes, “Fine. Should’ve known you’d get all impatient after you had a taste.”

“Like you’re not?”

There’s not enough air in the room, your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest, your pulse hammering through your veins. Oikawa stares at you, head tilted, the corner of his lip slowly curling up as you start to tremble, shaking your head, tears beading at your lashes, “I guess we could hurry it along.”

“No, please–”

“Shh, sweet girl. It’s okay.” You try to stand up, but Iwa takes a hold of your shoulder and forces you back down. “Me and Iwa, we were gonna give you a choice. Let you pick. If you could kill one of them, we’d let the other two go.”

A strangled sob rips its way free, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. We’re not gonna make you do that,” he comforts, side-stepping your now thrashing brother to make his way over towards you. “Cause the thing is, they kept you from us. Lied to you. Manipulated you. Whether they meant to or not, they hurt you. I don’t think they deserve that kind of mercy, do you?”

“No, no, no, please! Please don’t, please don’t hurt them–”

Abandoning his knife, he drops to a crouch in front of you, “We’re gonna make it right, and then we’ll go home, okay? We’ll take care of it.”

“Please, Tooru! I’ll do anything!”

There’s a kiss pressed to the crown of your head, the cushion behind your back being tugged free. “You don’t need to do anything,” Iwa says, the cold cocking of his gun echoing like a death knell.

“We love you. This one’s on us.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere iwaizumi hajime #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere iwaizumi x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon

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ilylovelyz · 9 months

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haikyuu boys when protective of you

most likely gets into a fight, does throw the first punch, and dramatically whines afterwards, forcing you to be his personal nurse ATSUMU, TANAKA, nishinoya, terushima, IWAIZUMI, hoshiumi

so insulting and almost degrading to whoever is threatening you that the offender ends up leaving out of embarrassment TSUKISHIMA, shirabu, KUROO, kenma, sugawara, daishou, akira, SUNA, kageyama, ushijima, futakuchi, hanamaki

YOU'RE the one who is protecting them SAKUSA, hachi, bokuto, YAMAGUCHI, GOSHIKI, asahi, tendo, AONE, oikawa (somehow), koganegawa, LEV

does his best to diffuse the situation, but ultimately leaves angry and mentally hexes them KIYOKO, akaashi, KITA, DAICHI, hinata, yaku, hirugami

spends the night in jail KENTARO, semi, yamamoto, mattsun, OSAMU

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moechies · 5 months

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loverboy <3

loverboy characters who eat you out so sweetly, tracing heart shapes with their thumbs on your clit while they tongue your cunt 💝 also tracing their names on your cunt with their tongue too, making you guess what they’re spelling out!

౨ৎ gojo satoru, getou suguru, itadori yuuji, oikawa tooru, tendou satori, mattsun issei <3

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i-cant-sing · 11 months

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What are your thoughts on the yandere haikyuu teams x their manager?

Boring. I need some spice in it. How about-

Yandere Daichi as a cop and his darling is a civilian and now he's so obsessed with her that he murders her husband, frames him as a criminal and will literally stop at nothing to get darling in his arms because again... who will suspect good old, everybody's best bud COP Daichi to be able to do heinous crimes???

Yandere Sugawara as a psychiatrist because come on- he gives major "master manipulator" vibes and now he's obsessed with his darling patient and will continue to do malpractice and gaslight her and prescribe her all the wrong meds until she loses it and he gets to admit it her under his "special care" and now he can play with her mind all day long🤍

Yandere Oikawa is now a pro volleyball athlete and he just saw Ushijima's little sis, the same one he used to bully and even rejected (and ofc, HUMILIATED) when she confessed to him back in highschool. But now Oikawa's obsessed with her and also still hates his nemesis Ushijima, so what's better than killing two birds with one stone??? And Oikawa still has a very devoted fanclub, only now it's larger and more powerful than ever so now he uses them and his socials to peer pressure you into dating him and eventually, marrying him because he ain't getting any younger honey and he needs some cute babies out of you ASAP.

Yandere Kuroo who is the smart IT tech guy at your office but in reality, he has his own cyber security company that he uses to spy on you, controls your entire life through your socials and don't even get me started on your online banking shit. If its any consolation, he's very rich so... yeah. He may not look like a million bucks, but he does have them. In several offshore accounts.

Yandere Kita who somehow ended up as a mafia leader, probably inherited it as family business and he has like severe OCD so he wants everything done to perfection or so help you, you will 1000% end up 6 feet under. Mafia Kita who has this vision of you being the perfect wife, solely based om the one time you offered him your handkerchiefs because he had a nosebleed from stressing too much and now Kita thinks you're an absolute angel and he wont let you destroy that fantasy of his. Seriously. He will pick out your outfits, tell you how to act and all, punish you if he must, but he does love you.

Yandere Ushijima who is a farmer and has decided that the reader whose car broke down and came to his door asking for help, will now be his wife and be a countryside mom to many kids (u can't say no, okay? He wants a big family) and animals! But hey, he's a very caring husband and will massage your feet, give you baths and feed you his homegrown veggies and meals daily once you are round with his babies🥺

Yandere Bokuto who is now a popular politician and he needs an obedient wife to keep up appearances and play the "family man" image up. So he decides to threaten reader who had a one night stand with him, and Bokuto somehow has very intimate images and videos of you and he uses them to get you to marry him. And now he controls every aspect of your life and tells you to do exactly as he says, and he abuses this privilege more as he gets more powerful and you could only imagine the horrors he would inflict on you if he does actually win elections, but you can't run away because again- he has eyes and contacts everywhere.

#yandere daichi #yandere daichi sawamura #yandere bokuto #yandere ushijima x reader #yandere ushijima wakatoshi #yandere ushijima #yandere kuroo #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere kita #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyu x reader #yandere sugawara

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yanderecrazysie · 4 months

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Imagine bank robbers Oikawa and Iwaizumi and you're a bank teller. They come in, guns ready, and you're just standing there, shaking like a leaf. Then, Oikawa looks over at you.

"Iwa-chan, isn't she so cute?" Oikawa cooes.

Iwaizumi looks over and gives a grunt of approval.

"Can we keep her?" Oikawa asks, dragging you out from behind your desk.

Iwaizumi stares at you for a moment before nodding.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!!#yandere thoughts #yandere iwaizumi #yandere oikawa #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime

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envy-of-the-apple · 5 months

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Hello! I love your writing, especially that mad dog Drabble! Could you maybe do something similar for Oikawa? Noncon if you’re comfortable with that too. Thank you so much!

I wrote this awhile ago and then I never got around to publishing it and now I refuse to reread it because i cringe at my old writing but i remember spending a shit ton of time on this so here's my three year old trash fic. enjoy.

(Warnings: dark content, non-con touching, rape, non-con/sexual harassment, verbal degradation, forced orgasms, public-sex, overstimulation)

18+ content

Tutoring Sessions

You knew Spanish.

Not an expert by any means, but you could probably get by if you were stranded in a Spanish-speaking country. You were good at it. Decent.

You just weren’t the teaching type. You could barely learn, let alone, pass your skills on to someone else. Teaching required patience and diligence. That wasn’t you.

But, really, what could you say when the Captain of the volleyball team himself asked you to tutor him? He looked so desperate too, looking down at you with pleading eyes. He asked for an hour-no-just thirty minutes. All you had to do was correct his grammar, jot a few vocabulary words for him, and maybe teach him extra conjugations.

Looking back, you should have declined. You should have made any bullshit excuse you could think of. You should have laughed nervously, apologized- have done anything to get out of his attention.

You shouldn’t have let him coax you into the fourth floor of the library, trapping you with his tall body in an isolated booth.

At least then his hand wouldn’t be currently rubbing your thigh.

His movements were slow, casual, as his fingers made lazy circles up and down your leg. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional if he was touching you on purpose or mindlessly moving his hands. His face betrayed nothing, solely staring forward at the sheets of paper.

“So, I just replace the ‘ar’ with ‘aron’?” He asked, his hand slowly moving higher and higher, “Why can’t I use ‘aban’?”

You bit your lip, “Because it has a definite ending. The-the sentence is ‘they spoke with me yesterday’. The action ended yesterday, that’s-that’s why we use the preterit form.”

Your breath hitched when his hand trailed underneath your skirt, skimming across your panties. Your hand balled into a shaking fist.

You wanted to tell him to move, you wanted to shove his hand off you, but you weren’t confrontational. Instead, you elected to push down the feeling of unease in your chest, trying your best to ignore his ministrations, praying that he’d drop his hand by himself.

He didn’t.

“Right, you use preterit form for a definite ending,” He’s murmuring now, a sultry rumble that sends shivers down your spine, “I keep forgetting that." His laugh twinkles through the air. It's a jarring contrast to his warm hands.

“So ‘Hablaron me ayer’?”

He took that moment to slide past your panties, lightly rocking on your heat. You sucked in a short breath, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing, not when his fingers were sinking deeper and deeper-

A finger tapped on your inner thigh. Play along.

“It’s-it’s ‘me habl-ah-hablaron ayer’. The object comes first-” You flinched when his pointer finger stroked over your hot skin, “And-and then the subject.”

You wished he’d stop making you talk. You wished you could just push him off you. You wished so many things, things Oikawa wouldn’t grant you.

“Okay,” He’s grinning now, a little less put together. His breathing is a little ragged, hitching whenever you uncomfortably shift. Though he’s still resolutely staring at the pages before him, his eyes are shining. Eager, “-makes sense,”

You just realized how empty the library is.

You can feel his calloused fingers crawling under you, searching for something. His middle finger curls a little, softly brushing over your sensitive clit.

You stumble forward. He says something, but you’re not listening. Not when his fingers are hovering over your hot button, delving down to push and prod.

Your reached up to cover your mouth, instantly silencing any noises you knew would come spilling out. He laughs at that, finally finally breaking the act of playing innocent.

Or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing. He’s looking at you now, a knowing smirk on his pretty face.

Repulsion burns through you. It’s quickly replaced by humiliation as a wet squelch erupts from the place he’s touching you, making you lurch.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” He hums in satisfaction, “You already dripping? You must really want this, huh?”

He stares at you, daring you to reply, knowing fully well you won’t. No, you wouldn’t say anything, you wouldn’t do anything either. You would just sit there and take it.

Exactly what he wants.

He’s moving at a rhythm now, rubbing your clit with his thumb as his fingers inch down your folds. Your nails are digging into your trembling palm, but you don’t tell him to stop. You don’t say a word. No, that would be acknowledging what he’s doing. It would make it real-

your thoughts vanish as a slender finger sinks into your pussy. Your sigh is muffled by your clammy hand, digging further into your mouth as he starts fucking you in earnest. He’s going too fast; your mind is spinning. You can’t keep up with the waves of pleasure coming in and out and in and out and in again.

Your hand slips and the moan that escapes your mouth surprise you. It was loud and so dirty, you couldn’t believe it was your voice-it was you who made that noise.

His finger curls, bending in your tight walls and you feel like wailing. Oikawa strokes against a spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars.

You unconsciously lean against him. Oikawa draws you in closer, forcing you to rest against his shoulder as a second finger sinks into your heat. You whine as it pushes through your sopping walls, completely stretching you out.

You think you hear him snarl a quiet fuck but you’re not paying attention. Your head is pounding, matching the brutal thrusts of his fingers. It’s devouring you it’s too much and you want to stop, you want to breathe. Oikawa isn’t keen on helping, not when he’s rubbing fast circles on your clit, stretching his fingers inside you when he feels you’re not making enough noise. He wants something from you.

And you’re forced to give it to him.

There’s a hitch in your breath, the tiniest pause, before you clench around his fingers with a muffled scream. He hushes you, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder as he keeps fucking your pussy until you collapse in his chest.

You’re panting when he finally removes his fingers, wiping the slick haphazardly on your inner thigh. You shift uncomfortably when he pulls away, feeling your hole clench again. The orgasm fades away and all you’re left with is the shock of what you’ve done and utter humiliation.

He lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His brown eyes were dark, coated in lust. He’s sneering at you.

The kiss surprises you. You weren’t expecting his lips to be soft as he gently melts into yours. It’s so tender, a stark contrast to what he was like before. Maybe it was because you didn’t really put up a fight, your lips falling open when he stroked his thumb on your sensitive skin.

It’s still intense and when he pulls away, you take your first real breath.

“See?” He hums, a hand settling on yours, “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Oikawa-”

He’s pulling you out of your seat before you can finish your sentence, dragging you away from the abandoned table filled with unused highlighters. Your legs are still weak, you stumble around a little. Oikawa doesn’t mind, towing you like he’s carrying nothing but air.

He slips into an empty storage closet, with you reluctantly trailing behind him. The door closes behind you with a dull thud, and you’re forced to stand with him in the darkness.

When the light comes back on, he’s towering above you. His chest presses against yours, pinning you against the wall. His smile is manic, filled with a hunger that you know won’t be satisfied with just one taste.

No, he wants to devour you whole.

It’s the realization, that he will ruin you, that make your eyes sting. Hot tears creep down your cheeks as your lips waver.

He coos at that, “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll be okay. I took care of you, right? I made you feel so good?” He shuffles closer and you can feel something hard and stiff press against your thigh.

“Now you gotta’ do the same for me. It’s a fair trade, right?”

He’s kissing you again. It’s rough, this time, as he bites on your bottom lip, hard enough to tear skin. Your yelp is muffled as he shoves his tongue into your drooling mouth. You taste the smallest hint of something metallic.

His lips move down, covering your jaw with soft butterfly kisses that made your head spin. When they find your neck, he clamps down on your soft flesh, licking at biting at everything he could taste. Your breath hitches, a sound that’s in between a gasp and a moan. The sensation of his teeth against your neck causes you to lean your head against the wall, reluctantly giving him room. He purrs at that.

“Good girl.”

His hands are fiddling with your buttons. You barely have time to speak before he impatiently rips your shirt, sending the round objects scattering.

A half-hearted apology is mumbled into your skin. His fingers skitter over your bra, you cry out when his cold hands push the material up to feel your tits.

It’s still not enough. His body is feverish, you feel so hot against him, so pliant, so beautiful. You’re crying, whimpering, softly whispering for him to stop but do you even know how desperate you sound? Your voice sounds so needy, it’s hard to be sated from just touching.

Oikawa yanks down your skirt, letting them pool at your ankles. Your thighs are still glistening from his previous ministrations and your panties are wet, still soaked.

He feels pure euphoria watching them slide down your legs, landing on the ground next to the other piles of clothing.

You’re standing before him, barely clothed, shivering. He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, mumbling a soft ‘be good for me, okay’, before he reaches down to his pants.

He doesn’t pull it down all the way, just enough to reach inside and pull out his throbbing cock. It’s already an angry red, a single drop of precum leaking at the tip.

He gives it a few cursory pumps, before he stills.

“I really wanted to see you cum, bet you looked so pretty. Do you mind doing that again, just for me pretty please?”

He grinned when you didn’t reply. You can’t understand how someone so beautiful could hide so much cruelty.

“No? That’s okay, I’ll just make you. Again.”

In one single movement, he hikes your leg against his hip and thrusts his cock inside you.

You wail as he pushes himself inside, already starting to set a rough pace. It hurts, much bigger than two fingers. Whatever he did before clearly didn’t help make it feel any less painful. You give a choked scream, hot tears clouding your vision.

He’s not quiet either, leaning his forehead against the wall behind you, moaning shamelessly. He’s saying your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it sounds like that’s the only thing he can say.

“You have to relax, baby-fuck you’re so tight.” Oikawa hisses, hiking your leg higher to fuck you deeper.

The pain fades. You wish it stayed, keeping you sober while he pushes you against the wall, greedily palming your tits, sucking on your neck.

But it disappears and a loud moan leaves your lips, too breathy to be made from anything but pleasure.

You instinctively cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds your traitorous body is making.

“Nope, not this time,” He cheerily says, ripping your hand away, “I wanna hear you scream.”

He angles his hips, his cock sinking into that spot and you do scream.

The pleasure that waves up and down your body blinds you. Your body isn’t listening to you, anymore. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in with each thrust. You can feel beads of precum roll down your thigh. Oikawa’s head is resting on your shoulder now. His weight makes your shaky legs buckle, digging your back further into the hard concrete.

He kisses your hand, encouraging you to drape it on his shoulder. It limply falls beside his neck, barely brushing against his hair.

You shift your hips and his cock stutters almost stopping his rhythm before Oikawa’s cooing something dirty into your ear, reaching down to rub your clit until you’re crying out again.

It’s addicting, he realizes, having your cunt flutter around him like this, leaking out his precum. It’s a feeling that makes him piston himself into you over and over again, relishing in the way your pussy tries to suck him in, like you were begging for more.

“O-oikawa,” You finally gasp when you finally regain the ability to speak, “Slow down please please slow-slow down.”

His laugh is breathy, “You want me to slow down, angel? What, are you close again?”

You don’t respond, but it’s enough to make him go faster, ignoring your pleas in search of your gradually rising voice.

He hisses when his knee hits the wall, grimacing.

“-Wanted to do this at a bed, you know,” He grunted, “Somewhere soft. But-but I didn’t wanna-hah-scare you, you’re so anxious it was so-fuck- hard choosing a place-place you’d actually show up in.”

He rubs your clit, feeling your walls grow tighter and tighter. He pulls back to look at you, eyes shut, your lip caught between your teeth, your face filled with lustful pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how perfect you are.”

You follow his orders, your orgasm making you cry in ecstasy. It makes you go limp and you almost sink to the floor before Oikawa catches you, keeping you upright as he chases his own end.

He doesn’t stop, not even when you beg him to slow down that it’s too much. No, he just hushes you again, stumbling over a tensed ‘Just a little more’, before he’s going faster and faster until you feel something warm, wet, and sobering fill your cunt.

He’s slows down then, his eyes shut in bliss as he rocks his hips forward, milking as much as he could. When he finally pulls out, he does it with a hiss, making you flinch as his skin hits your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t catch you this time, letting you drop to the floor. You tumble to the ground, your hands barely catching your fall. The tile is so cool against your sensitive skin, it almost makes you forget the milky liquid spread on your legs, the finger-print shaped bruises on your thigh.

You don’t think you have anymore tears left, but they still fall, running down your cheeks.

He’s instantly over you, brushing a hand down your face.

“Oh, don’t cry, baby, you did such a good job,” Oikawa cooed, wiping your tears away.

He’s not comforting you. His smile is too satisfied to make you think he had any semblance of pity. You briefly wonder what he’s seeing. You, exhaustedly crumpled against the wall, your legs curled, cum seeping out, your neck and chest littered with teeth marks. No wonder he looks so pleased.

He pets your hair, shifting it back in place and it’s so domestic-so loving that it makes you sick.

Oikawa grins, showing teeth. “How about next time we study at my place.”

#yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #dark oikawa tooru #dark content #oikawa isn't a good person #x reader #tw:noncon #reader inserts #afab reader

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lyomeii · 10 months

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better together

❀ warnings: yandere theme (but slightly), obsession, someone else flirt with the reader, jealous oikawa.

❀ request by anon! Can I ask for a Yandere Oikawa fanfiction? *no cheating* thank you

❀ a/n: I loved writing this for tooru! he is one the character that wrote a lot back when i used to write back on twitter, so it’s make me quite happy to someone to request him. and I have decided to write a small fanfic instead of the usual headcanons because why not?

maybe agreeing to hanging out with oikawa wasn’t a bad decision, regardless of he choosing to visit an observatory, the boy paid for the dinner earlier. so, why not sticking around to get know him better?

“are you enjoying it?” his voice brought you back to reality. how long have you spacing out while looking to the fish’s aquarium? he was probably talking about something important.

feeling his hands into yours is a reminder that oikawa might be disappointed that you failed to hear whatever he was talking about. that’s is really bad for a first date, you don’t want to lose this opportunity.

you nodded, “yep.” the small smile in your lips is way more than enough to make his day better. “i never being to an aquarium before, so thanks for bringing me here.”

“I’m glad to hear it, [name].” he replied.

soon, the silence took over them. it might a little awkward between the two, but oikawa feel it’s better to stay like this than ruining the mood between the person that he wants to know more. continuing to hold your hand, the brown haired boy showed you the rest of the aquarium, at least, his favorite parts.

one place that call your attention is the souvenir shop, where many things are in sell. candies, clothes, plushies and other stuffs that you are looking forward to buy to him. maybe an otter plush will suit him.

“I’m buying this for you.” you said, handing him the small plush as you paid at the cashier. while a smile is on your face, oikawa is quite surprised by how you just got him something so cute as this plush, but he also quite disappointed in himself, after all, he was the one to supposed to buy cute things to you.

after staring at his new gift, oikawa let a small giggle of his lips, he is both impressive and happy with the way you act with him. none of his previous dates ever got him something like this! his friends were right, you are indeed a small box full of surprises just ready to be open.

“thanks, [name].” he smiled, feeling the soft texture of the plushy in his hand is a reminder that he will ask you out more after. “do you want to go home already?”

you smile and hold his hand once again, ready to leave the aquarium with oikawa at your side. you definitely will let him take you out in more dates like this, especially if you could more gifts to him.

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

#yandere imagine #yandere #oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #oikawa x reader #hq oikawa x reader #yandere headcanon #yandere x you #yandere male

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kiwanopie · 2 years

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Charmer!Oikawa x Captive!reader

here’s my contribution to Kinktober (and also kind of a repost from an old blog) with a Villain Au ft the love of my life.

cw: coercion through hipnosis. dub/non-con elements. oral (f!receiving). Mafia elements. a little one sided infatuation from iwaizumi. minors do not interact.

He should’ve left when he found his office door closed, should’ve left when he saw all the lights were flickered off.

Turned on his heel when he caught view of that warm light peaking through the back room of his office, casting shadows - and bad omens. Maybe he should’ve stopped when he heard his voice. Whispering something sugary and cavity inducing. Should’ve figured the papers in his hand could’ve waited till tomorrow. - With the day he’s had it probably could’ve. After breaking his back being an errand boy for his best friend, forcing things that shouldn’t need forcing, and relocating this new addition to the Seijoh home. - His hands are coppery, bruised, and calloused. And if a ransacked office job should mean anything, three dead and one missing; he wouldn’t be too out of line to say that his services have been exhausted for the day.

Hajime’s shoes clack against polished hardwood as he pokes his head into his office, refracting that balmy sliver of light traversing ivory into carpet, and carpet into oak. - And knocks twice. No response. He moves deeper into his office as that sliver of light becomes all the more familiar.

“Boss, you-“

“-Taste so fucking good.” Tooru groans from the far side of his lounge. “You’re being so good for me, baby.”

“Please, I..” There’s a whimpering. A squelching. “Please stop, I… God I’m-…m’ gonna cum…”

There’s a distinct wet noise coming from the lounge as Hajime creeps forward, like slurping. Muffled hums and airy little whimpers that make his face hot. He knows what he’s doing. Knows he shouldn’t be doing it, at least this early into stealing you. But still, that doesn’t keep his jaw from clenching at what he finds as he reaches the doorway.

Anything he could see is obscured by Tooru’s head, but your legs are wide and just above his shoulders - and it’s his hands keeping them that way. Above him frayed bra straps fall down bitten shoulders, cups messily hung over your chest from rough fondling and even rougher shades of purple. Of a necklace of claim that keeps up your neck and stops right below your jaw - below swollen lips, glossy and bitten; and tears that drop off the side of your cheeks like glitters. He’s not stupid. He knows why the boss has such an obsession with you, he knows how pretty you are, how hard to resist. But the way you look now, eyes glossed over in a mix of ecstasy and confusion, panic and maybe even refusal. - He feels envious. Feels like he’d pay money to be where his boss is kneeling right now.

You finally find the strength to reach out to Tooru when Hajime catches your eye, fingers dazedly carding through his hair in an effort to stop him but he only moans in response.

“You have’ta stop…!” And it’s cut off by a moan that makes Haji’s fingers nearly break through the paper he’s holding. “Someone’s…mh- here…”

Tooru gets a few more licks in before he’s turning around, and Hajime gets a peek when he does.

You look appetizing.

“Hm? Oh.” He looks dazed, nearly as out of it as you do. “Leave it on the couch over there. I’ll get to it later.”

He’s already turning to dig in again when Hajime speaks up. “Are you sure… you should be doing that,” He nearly sputters. “So soon, I mean.”

Tooru looks at him blankly for a long second before fixing his expression with a smile.

It’s never a good thing to see him react like that.

Hajime redistributes the weight in his feet as Tooru goes back in again. Wet sounds of gluttonous slurping and smacking gives way to the hand reaching to spread you open, leaving room for him to lave you up and slide a finger - and then another inside. The sound you make in response nearly has him cumming in his pants and he’s sure Tooru, from so up close, isn’t faring any better.

Tooru pulls away again, this time not looking in his friend's direction. “What’s our good friend’s name, baby?”

“I don’t… please… don’t make me-“

“Come on, princess. What is it?”

His voice is warm and sweet, nearly enough to make the man standing at the far side of the room feel overstimulated. You croon at the sound of his voice, struggle a little and then crack! And when you do, moaning so prettily for the two of them; Hajime can barely stop himself from letting his eyes roll into his head.

It’s a broken gasp, sinfully. “Hajime..”

“Good girl.” Tooru’s voice is muffled when he asks again. “Say it again?”

“Ha-…Hajime!” You’re cumming. “Hajime!” You’re cumming.

Tooru groans as he eases you down with his mouth and fingers. Slowly pumping in and out as he lazily flattens his tongue up and down your clit until you’re twitching from overstimulation.

He breathes it out like it’s gospel. “God you’re so fucking hot.” Tooru nuzzles himself into your thigh. “I think I’m in love.”

Hajime didn’t even notice he’d started palming himself by the time Tooru finally stands to his feet. Dipping down to pull you in a deep kiss as he directs your hand to the erection straining against his thigh. You’re looking up at him like he’s god. Like you’re not even there. And a few more tears fall as the sound of his zipper cuts through the room.

Tooru looks back at Hajime and smirks, a friendly little thing that’s too innocent for what he’s about to say.

“There,” He pulls himself out of his pants. “It’s like we broke her in together.”

Hajime should feel disgusting about something like that, but he can’t. Not when his best friend is splitting you over his cock for the first time.

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #stay spooky #oikawa tooru #oikawa toru x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere haikyu x reader #yandere haikyuu #oikawa smut #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #tw:dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw dark content

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vemuabhi · 6 months

Text

Just a Neighbour

Annyong Haseyo!! I have participated in another collab #livedeliciously🐐collab hosted by @medusashima , I hope you like this fic.

Pairing : Oikawa x Reader

Word count : 2K

Warnings : Yandere AU ; House break

Summary : The Cute Athlete Next door seems to be hiding something and how can your cat be so in love with him?

Please support by reblogs if you like my writings.

Just a nice neighbour, your thoughts about him changed so quickly when you saw him in the next room beside your bedroom. You thought your cat, ‘glitter’ was the one responsible for tearing the posters of the Boy Idol Group in your house. But now you were sure, It wasn’t Glitter, It was the athlete next door, who was now in your living room making himself comfortable.

What did you do to make things to escalate this way.

Just 5 months ago, he moved into the next door. You nearly got a crush on the brunet when you laid your eyes on him. But it disappeared quickly because you weren’t serious. You bumped into your cute neighbour every now and then but never really paid any attention to him. But you should have had.

One night as a series was playing on TV while you tried to put up the posters of your favourite boy band, your cat, Glitter started to tap on your main door. You noticed her. She did that when someone was outside your door. But no one rang the bell to your house. You opened the apartment door and noticed the setter opposite to you, Infront of his apartment door. He was fiddling with his sports bag and turned to look at you.

“Are you searching for something?”, he smiled weakly at your question.

“I…”, he looked at his bag and dropped his hands to his sides, “think I lost my keys”, a sigh left his lips.

“Tried to call the owner?”

“He didn’t pick up my call”, he shrugged.

It was already 10:40 PM and the weather was pretty cold. He looked sad even though he smiled. It was clear that he needed help and wanted to ask for help but was hesitating. Being a people pleaser didn’t stop you right now.

“Come inside, I’ll call the owner and get you the spare key”, you said as his face lit up. You moved to the side to let him inside your house. The moment he passed you was when you actually realized how tall he was. The moment was just a brief second, but the man looked exceptionally handsome. His brown orbs met yours then you averted your gaze. ‘Hope that didn’t seem creepy’, you thought as you closed the door.

“Thankyou”, he smiled looking at you as he sat on the couch.

“No problem”, you took your phone from your pocket and dialled the contact of the owner’s son. Soon a sleepy voice was heard on the other end of the phone.

“Kenny, I need a help”, you said making the gamer click his tongue in annoyance.

“What now? Do you not know that I have a live session tomorrow morning?”

“I do remember that but”, you looked at the brown head in your room fiddling his hands nervously, “I have a situation here”, from the corner of your eyes you saw him getting something from the floor. Then when your gaze landed on him again properly, he was just looking around the room. No sign of moment. ‘Huh? I thought that he mov-‘, your thoughts were interrupted by Kenma on call.

“So What?”

“Help me please~~”, you could hear him cursing but your lips turned up into a smile, because you knew he was going to help you.

“Hmm?”

“So, the tenant of 403 needs their duplicate keys”, Oikawa gave you an awkward smile as you glanced at him, “He… lost them”.

“Ah That guy. Where is he right now?”, you covered your mouth slightly and whispered, “He is in my apartment now”.

“WHAT!? IM COMING NOW”, he ended the call.

“You’ll get your keys soon”, you said as he said thanks. Your cat glitter walked up to the athlete and purred making your eyes widen.

“She normally doesn’t do that with strangers”, you said as he stopped for a second before picking her up. ‘What was… that?’, you thought but quickly brushed it off as he kissed glitter.

‘Damn that was… freaking cute’, you thought as glitter purred when Oikawa started to pet her.

“Where have you been to?” you asked the setter as his eyes widened, as if he was surprised.

“How did you know I was out of town?”

“Ah! Your bag seemed like it was too heavy to just carry it for the normal daily practice. So, I guessed it”, you scratched the back of your neck trying your hardest to not be awkward.

“Oh, is that so. I thought that you noti-”, he stopped and averted his gaze from you and continued, “Never mind, I was trying to say that I went to the other town for a tournament”.

“Wow! That seems amazing”, you said as you heard a knock on the door. You opened the door only to find the gamer in your hallway, struggling to catch air. ‘Did he run here?’

He walked towards Oikawa and handed him the keys. Oikawa thanked you and the gamer as he left the apartment. You closed the door behind him.

“Ken chan~ Thankyou~”, you hugged Kenma.

“Don’t get close to him”, you were taken aback with the way he said it. You were sure he would curse you for making him come this late but never did you expect these words.

“Why do you think I wanna get close to him?”

“Just my responsibility to make sure you know”, he said as he ruffled your hair and peered into your eyes without breaking the hug, “I always get a bad feeling from him”.

“Don’t worry too much Kenny”, you said as you broke the hug and smiled at him. “Should I get you a pillow and blanket?”

“You take the couch”.

“Wha-?”

XOXOXOXOXOXO

A few days later as you were got into your apartment, you noticed Glitter was missing. ‘Where is she?’, your heart started to race as you failed to find her in all of her favourite spots and as well as the complete house. You got down to the entrance of the complex and heard the sound of a cat. Your instincts acted and you turned towards the sound. There she was, Glitter in the hands of your Neighbour as he was talking to a lady. ‘What the hell?’, your thoughts ran wild, ‘When did she get so attached to a stranger? Its not at all like her’.

“Glitter!”, you exclaimed and then she jumped down from Oikawa’s arms to come towards you.

“When did you get out?”, your voice was full of worry as you picked her up and held her close.

“She was walking outside the park”, your vision shifted to the man who was now beside you. “Got her back when I noticed”.

“Thank..you”, never she left the apartment. Never once. She was always an indoor cat and hated to go outside. But now she was in your arms and it was all that mattered to you.

You smiled at her “Lately she is being kinda naughty”, you said as you shook her in your arms, “Even tore some of my posters the other day, had to get new ones”, your gaze shifted again towards him and he was looking at you with… a smile. You told yourself not to judge anyone but that smile of his… That sent a chill down your spine like none.

“Well… We will be going now”, you gave him a small nod and swiftly walked into the apartment complex. Without even turning back you stepped into your house and shut the door behind you. ‘Its wrong to judge others without knowing anything’, you thought but the racing heart of yours couldn’t not calm down.

“Don’t wander away next time”, you hugged Glitter and crouched down with your back leaning on your front door.

XOXOXOXOXO

It was 3:30 AM, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t fall asleep. You had work tomorrow morning and you couldn’t lose anymore sleep now. But then, you heard little claws scratching. ‘Was she scratching on the door?’

Just when you were about to ignore Glitter, a sound made your blood ran cold. The door opened. Your body felt heavy, couldn’t even move a muscle. The foot steps in were slow but it was clear that they were coming towards you.

A small creak was heard indicating the bedroom door of yours was being opened wide. You always left it open to let glitter in and out of the room anytime she wanted. You closed your eyes and tried your best to make your breathing even. It was pitch black. You couldn’t see anything but could the footsteps as they got closer. They came to a halt as they were right infront of you.

Your body was already unable to move because of the fear. You stayed very calm as you could feel cold fingers on your cheek. You stayed calm. Then the cold touch was gone and the foot steps were heard again, stepping away from you. After a couple of seconds, you opened your eyes little and saw the reflection of a tall man with… brown hair in the mirror diagonal to you. Just when he was about to turn, you instantly closed your eyes to not raise any suspicion to him.

‘Oikawa! That neighbour is the one who broke in now’, screamed in your head. You heard him leaving your bedroom. Your lips quivered while you tried to not cry. It wasn’t the time for tears. You could hear the sound of paper ripping. Then you opened your eyes.

‘It was him! It was him who tore my posters!’, you again closed your eyes placing your hand on your chest trying to calm your heart. It didn’t work when you heard Glitter’s meows and purrs. ‘So how many days did he broke into my house to even make my cat like him’, your memories flashed and then you remembered something which you should’ve given a thought way before. A few days earlier, glitter was playing with a small key. You thought nothing of it but you should’ve noticed it. That was before Oikawa lost his keys after he came back from the tournament. What could you do now? All of those thoughts are useless now. You could only hope for him to leave your house and leave you and Glitter without any harm.

As if it was miracle, you heard the sound of the main door closing. You waited for a moment to check if there was no noise heard. Then you swiftly got up and rushed towards the living room for Glitter. But little did you know, it was no Miracle.

Just when you entered the living room, the lights of the room turned on, making you to look at the person near the switchboard. Your face went pale when he smiled at you with Glitter in his arms, slowly petting her.

“So you were awake like I thought”, your felt shivers on your complete body when he walked towards you slowly. “How many times should I tear those posters sweetheart?”, he enquired as you looked at the pile of torn posters.

“Why? Why are you here?”, you asked in return as his smile dropped.

“I asked you the question first but since it's our first time, I’ll let it go”, he was now in front of you.

“You usually shiver whenever I touch your cheeks while you sleep”, a tide of fear took over your body again. He let Glitter go from his arms. It was foolish of you to even think of escaping now. He placed his index finger under your chin while his other arm slid behind your waist. Pulled you closer as he looked into your eyes. His smile reappeared on his face when he noticed your eyes got glossy.

He tilted your face and placed a kiss on your lips. He wiped the tears from the corner of your eye and said, “I knew you weren’t sleeping darling, you’re a bad actor”.

Thanks for reading!

Likes, Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

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#livedeliciously🐐collab #my writing #haikyuu!!#oikawa tooru headcanons #tooru x reader #oikawa tōru #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu oikawa #tw yandere #yandere x reader #impure self #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa toru #yandere

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yandere-romanticaa · 10 months

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The walk back home from school usually did not take you very long especially if you had the luxury of blasting loud music through your headphones. It was ultimately something small but it made you happy, calm even if the day was rough on you. The tunes would blare in your ears as you'd walk home without a single care in the world.

That was something that truly worried Toru Oikawa.

You actively decided to put yourself in the line of fire by closing yourself off from the world like this. Anyone could jump you, anyone.

Oikawa himself could hurt you if he really wanted to as well. The only difference was that he didn't want to. There's a certain power in that choice and it made it crystal clear to him that whatever you were up to was just silly and stupid. In school you were not like him, well liked and popular. Perhaps a wallflower was a decent description. No one paid much attention to you either, which gave him a lot of advantages he didn't even know he'd want or ask for. Due to his reputation it was always odd to see the smiling and cheerful Oikawa striking a conversation with you. He made sure to never be rude and always wanted to include you in any activity he possibly could. There was a period of time when he was actively campaigning for you to become the volleyball team manager and some of his guys liked the idea too. Iwaizumi, the sharp little cookie that he is, naturally, found this to be suspicious from the very start - Oikawa is not the kind of guy who does anything without rhyme or reason. He said nothing for a week or two but simply decided to watch his friend and monitor his actions.

It became obvious to him that Oikawa was head over heels for you. The feelings were not reciprocated, unfortunately.

Oikawa knew this. It stung. Hard.

He felt a twinge of pity for his friend. As annoying and insufferable as he was Iwaizumi Hajime was fully aware of just how overly ambitious and intelligent Oikawa was. He wouldn't say it out loud even if you held him at gunpoint but he wanted to help the poor bastard out.

Iwaizumi was easier to approach simply because he just wasn't intense as Oikawa. He had charm and charisma in spades but that could be incredibly intimidating sometimes, especially to outsiders. He took his time with you and slowly but surely eased you into the groove of the team.

Oikawa did everything he could to hide his seething jealousy but he wasn't doing a particularly good job. Iwaizumi simply knew him too well to fall for any of his tricks.

The same couldn't be said for you.

The setter is a quick learner and he adapted to you in lightning fast speed. He had his overwhelming moments too but they were all chalked up to Oikawa just being, well, Oikawa. He's just that kind of guy, there really wasn't anything that could change him.

You started to come to their practices and if you were feeling generous, you'd bring some refreshments and snacks along too.

God, did the team start loving you because of that.

Oikawa stood near the treeline, the shadows carefully concealing him as he quietly sucked on the red lolipop you gave him earlier. He toyed with the plastic wrapper which was still kept in his pocket as he watched you go along your merry way, completely oblivious to him tailing you. He was grateful to his best friend for helping him out. Oikawa was embarrassed at himself for just how much be liked you, just how much power you had over him. A few months ago whenever he would approach you he was always met with either a polite greeting or he was just flat out ignored because he said something that set you off or his fans got in the way.

Things were improving with you. Bit by bit, piece by piece. In Oikawa's dictionary the words "giving up" simply do not exist.

He has you in his grasp, you are so close to him that he could almost taste it, feel it. His body buzzed with adrenaline, like a magnet searching for his other half. You were there, you were right there, unassuming and vulnerable, all his for the taking.

However, charm and charisma weren't the only things he had in spades. Patience was one of his virtues as well.

298 notes · View notes

seijorhi · 1 year

Text

Shelter from the Storm

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

w.c 8k

tw: yandere, blood, murder, nsfw, smut (sorta), oikawa is awful in this, technically everything is consensual but... big yikes.

A gentle breeze blows past, a lock of loose hair fluttering in its wake. Early still, the sky is painted with buttery oranges and pinks, a perfect, picturesque sunrise. Leaning on the railing of the balcony, you gaze to the city below, lost in thought.

Behind you, the sliding door opens, a warmth enveloping you, strong, sinewy arms curling around your middle.

“Morning,” Oikawa murmurs, drawing you closer. His bare chest rumbles at your back when he speaks again, “You want some breakfast? Coffee?”

How many times can you make the same mistake – fall into bed with the same person – and still claim it to be a momentary lapse in judgement? Maybe you’ll set a new record.

“Oikawa…”

Lips press against the back of your head, strangely affectionate. For all your little indiscretions, the time you’ve spent together, this sort of affection – the casual touching, the… intimacy of it all, feels out of place in broad daylight. “Mm? We could go and get one of those croissants from you like from the place across the road? Or get something delivered if you’d rather stay in?”

“Oikawa,” you sigh again, more insistent this time. You spin in his arms, turning to face him. Hair still mussed from sleep, shirtless, smiling down at you – unfairly handsome in the morning light.

“What? Not hungry?” he asks, a faint amusement lacing his tone.

Your hands find their way to his chest, your pinky grazing the raised, puckered outline of one of his scars. While curiosity might eat away at you, you’ve never quite mustered the courage to ask him about them.

You’ve heard enough of the rumours that swirl around Oikawa; they won’t be pretty stories.

“We can’t keep doing this. You have to stop.”

He laughs, surprise flitting across his face, “Me? If I remember correctly, you were more than eager to get those lovely hands of yours on me last night.”

“That’s not–” you break off with a flustered huff, cheeks warming. “That’s not what I meant, stop twisting my words! You work for my father, I can’t keep– we can’t keep doing this.”

A little of the mirth in his expression fades at that, “You don’t think I can handle keeping you safe while we’re sleeping together, ‘s that it?”

“He’s paying you to keep me safe. I’m a job, Oikawa, that’s it. That’s all.” You bite back a sigh, shifting to put some distance between you two – as much as his grip will allow. “This is a bad idea, you know it as well as I do. In a few weeks, or months–”

“So?” he asks, cutting you off. “He can’t say I’m not doing an excellent job, keeping such a careful, close eye on his beloved daughter,” the hands the rest on your waist slide down to your ass, squeezing it appreciatively as he closes the gap between you once more. The grin he wears is nothing short of devilish – not to mention incredibly self satisfied – his mouth a hairsbreadth from your own. He continues, “I’m keeping you safe, satisfied and very, very happy. If anything, I should be getting paid extra for that.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s how he’ll see it.”

Oikawa leans forward, kisses the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

“I’d kill for you, how many other guys can say that, hm?” When the joke fails to garner a response, he sighs. “We’re not breaking any rules, and I’m not going anywhere. Stop overthinking it.”

—

In the days following the first threats made against your father, the idea of having a bodyguard shadowing your every step seemed laughable. Ridiculous. You weren’t some darling, young starlet with creepy, obsessive fans. Not a witness set to testify in some groundbreaking criminal case.

No, you’re simply collateral, caught up in a mess of your father’s making, one that has nothing to do with you.

That you love him in spite of it is an immutable fact. You’ve tried hard – so, so hard – to distance yourself. To separate the life you’re trying to lead and the good you’re trying to do from the shadowy reach of his legacy.

In any case, you felt perfectly comfortable brushing aside his offer of protection. You neither wanted nor needed someone monitoring your every move under the guise of keeping you safe.

And then the focus of the threats turned to you. To your step-mother. To Ryo, your little brother – a kid.

Your father, a man unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no’, introduced Oikawa the very next morning and would not budge on the issue. ‘You do not have to like him,’ he’d said. ‘But he’ll keep you out of harm’s way, and you will listen to him.’

It was – is – an adjustment.

Those closest to you, your friends, your work colleagues – the ones you interact with on a daily basis at any rate – have all been made aware of the truth behind his presence. For everyone else–

“Don’t mind him, Oikawa’s my new assistant,” you explain to the hotel’s manager, smiling sweetly at her bemused expression.

Oikawa matches it with one of his own, saccharine and glittering.

A cup of tea is set out before each of you by one of the hotel’s employees, and he thanks her quietly, swirling the cup round in its saucer to better reach the bone china handle. Lifting it to his lips, he takes a smooth, slow sip.

“I’m really just here for the free tea and cake.”

One look at the blushing manager, and you can tell she’s thoroughly charmed – which is the only reason you abstain from kicking him under the table.

“Ignore him, please. I had a thought about letting some of the kids come up and talk on stage as part of the opening speeches, but I wanted to make sure that wouldn’t push us too far behind with the entertainment.” There’s a slight nudge at your thigh, “And um, we also wanted to run through the security measures, if possible.”

Her brow wrinkles, “Security, I– well, we’ll have doormen to check the guest list, and I suppose we could have some of our security staff posted near the ballroom exits if you’d like?”

You nod, “Yes, that’ll be–”

“You should have a few dressed to blend in with the crowd, mingling throughout the room, regular security at the stairs, and we’d like some guards working the backstage area as well,” Oikawa interjects. “Considering the guest list, not to mention the A-list performers we’ve hired for the night, the least they can ask of us is to ensure we’re making their safety and security a priority, no?”

“All these extra measures are a little last minute, don’t you think? The gala’s tomorrow night!”

On the brink of exasperation, she looks to you, no doubt expecting you to rein in your employee.

You simply smile, folding your legs over one another, taking a moment to indulge in the tea you’d been so graciously provided. “We chose this hotel as our venue for a reason, I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about you and your staff. A few added security measures shouldn’t be too difficult for your staff to accommodate. As my assistant said,” your eyes slide to Oikawa’s, a faint hint of a warning there, “we simply want to ensure everyone has a safe, enjoyable evening so that the foundation can raise as much as we possibly can.”

“… Of course,” she concedes.

“Perfect! So, let’s get back to the opening speeches.”

And so it goes, the two of you discussing the final touches and small details for the event you’ve spent months bringing to fruition, the foundation’s first charity gala.

Untouched by your father’s hand, you built this foundation from the ground up, it’s yours – your baby. Your pride and joy.

You think nothing of it when Oikawa excuses himself to take a call. He doesn’t leave the room – he won’t risk straying that far – and you’re distantly aware of the quiet tones of his voice speaking into his phone. You pay it no mind, focused on closing out your meeting with all the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed.

By the time the meeting’s finished, you’re thrilled.

Naturally, there’s still plenty you have left to do; one last check in with the caterers, you have to go and pick up your dress, and there’s the debrief with your team. You’ll have to come back to the hotel early tomorrow to make sure that the set up runs smoothly and nothing’s slipped through the cracks.

Regardless, promising that you’ll touch base first thing in the morning and thanking her again, you can’t quite tamp down your excitement, or the giddy little grin you wear, exiting the hotel with Oikawa.

At least, until he stops you just shy of the town car waiting out front, his hand on your arm, murmuring your name.

“What, what is it?”

He appears almost hesitant. Regretful, certainly. “There was another threat delivered to the main house today…”

Your stomach sinks.

You can see it written across his face, know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth, “Don’t, don’t you dare–”

“There’s too many variables, I am not putting you on the stage in a dark, crowded room–”

You throw your hands up in a huff. “Fine! I won’t speak then.”

“You’re not going at all. Shizuku can do your speech, the team has everything else handled. I am not risking your safety, point blank.”

“That’s not your decision!”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, “It is. You can be pissed at me all you want–”

“We’ve been working on this for months! Oikawa, this is the most important night of our entire year – we need this funding. The kids need this funding! You can go as my date, you’ll have every excuse to spend the entire night glued to my hip. We just got them to agree to all that extra security stuff you wanted, what more do you need? Don’t ask me to sit at home because of some baseless, stupid threat, please!”

You hate that your voice sounds so desperate, so pleading – but it’s frustration, not disappointment that’s to blame for the thick lump that chokes you up. The hot tears that sting in the corner of your eyes.

“I’m not asking.”

The callousness hits you like a slap in the face.

All that anger, that mounting, seething frustration, it cools in an instant, settling like a rock in your stomach. Without another word you turn and climb into the backseat, slamming the car door behind you.

If that’s how it is, fine.

Oikawa joins you a moment later, rattling off instructions to the driver.

The two of you have argued before, more times than you care to count. As charming as he thinks he is, Oikawa’s equally capable of being obnoxious, annoying, rude, arrogant, the list goes on. This is the first time it’s truly mattered, though. Maybe that’s why the cold dismissal – his refusal to give so much as an inch – stings more than it should.

“Don’t make me the bad guy here,” he murmurs when the silence between you grows too heavy to bear. “I won’t apologise for putting your safety first.”

He reaches for your hand then; a peace offering, an olive branch. You yank it back before his pinky can so much as brush against yours, lacing them together over your lap.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s what you’re being paid for, right?”

—

Days later and the elephant in the room remains firmly lodged between you two.

It’s hard to justify anger towards someone who claims they’re only making your life difficult because there are people out there actively trying to hurt you and your family. At the same time, Oikawa’s insistence on smothering you under new ‘security measures’ isn’t doing him any favours.

Driving home from work, the twinkling lights of the city speeding past in a blur, the purring hum of the engine a comfort in the otherwise silent car, you can only wonder how much longer this’ll go on for.

How much more of it you can take.

“I have a date tomorrow night,” you admit in a quiet voice. “A friend of a friend, she’s been trying to set us up together for months now.”

You glance at Oikawa then – hesitant, searching his face. Momentary surprise flickers there, and then he simply raises an eyebrow, “Oh? And you’re telling me this because you want me to give the two of you a little privacy, right? I guess it would be slightly awkward to have the last guy you were fucking watching from the next table over.”

Though his tone is perfectly pleasant, there’s no disguising the razor sharp bite of the words themselves. Guilt stabs at your insides, twisting like a knife. “That’s not what I–”

You’re so tired of arguing with him. Tired of all of this. Your hands can’t lie still, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in your skirt, and though your attention falls to your lap, you can’t escape the weight of Oikawa’s watchful eyes, following your every move.

Waiting on the verge of impatience for you to dig yourself deeper.

You sigh, wetting your lips. “I’m not interested in him. This isn’t about that. I just… I can’t do this with you, Oikawa. I can’t handle every detail of my day – what I do and who I see – being monitored and micromanaged. I can’t handle you acting like a glorified babysitter and then still trying to get into my pants the moment we’re alone. I just– I need one night without that, that’s all.”

Maybe that’s a selfish thing, a stupid decision. You’d made it at the drop of a hat, your friend gushing over this guy over the phone for the umpteenth time. He doesn’t seem like the type to have a favourite gun, and that was good enough for you.

Oikawa snorts out a laugh, “If you’ve got an itch you need scratched, I’m more than happy to offer my services, pretty girl,” he drawls, low and lecherous, grinning so condescendingly you’re honestly tempted to slap him. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you run off to play date night with some asshole you know next to nothing about when there’s a target on your back and I’m the one keeping you safe, understand?”

You’d anticipated some kind of resistance – Oikawa arguing over where you’d go, wanting the names of the guy in question, the friend who set the two of you up, all of it.

The possibility he’d outright refuse hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You open your mouth to argue the point, only to close it softly a heartbeat later. Why bother? What good would arguing do when you’re perfectly aware that he has no intention of budging on the subject.

Which isn’t to say that you’re letting him off the hook entirely.

“Careful, you’re sounding awfully jealous there, Tooru.”

His eyes widen a fraction, but it’s delight, not aggravation, that gleams in those deep, brown depths. “Do you want me to deny it?” he challenges, the car pulling to a stop out the front of your apartment block. “You wanna know what I think?”

Not particularly, but that’s never stopped him before.

“You want me just as much as I want you, you know we’re good together. You accuse me of being jealous, yet you’re the one running scared, jumping at the first, half-baked opportunity presented so you can lie and tell yourself that you’re not missing me.”

“Please,” you scoff, unable to help yourself. “You’d have to be gone for me to miss you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Rolling your eyes and biting back a huff, you nevertheless accept the hand he offers to help you out of the car, the two of you making your way inside. He greets the porter by the door, inclining his chin in a short nod, and calls the elevator with a swipe of your keycard – the one he’d snatched right out of your hand the very day he’d met you.

All in the name of doing his job and keeping you safe, of course.

‘Well what if I need to use the stupid lift and you’re not around?’

‘Unless you’re planning on ditching me, I don’t see that being a problem, do you?’

Impossible, right from the start.

While Oikawa leans against the mirrored walls, smug and all too self satisfied, you snatch your phone from your purse, angrily typing up a quick message to your friend about tomorrow night. No doubt she’ll think you’re being overdramatic, if not outright lying – she, however, doesn’t have to contend with Oikawa on a daily basis.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re tired, grumpy and itching for a glass of wine and a nice long soak in the bathtub.

You’re only half paying attention, impatient to kick off your heels and soothe the day's stresses – you don’t notice that the door’s hanging ajar, at least not immediately. Oikawa does, his whole body tensing, eyes alert and cautious.

The second you try to move, his arm’s there, outstretched to keep you at bay while he hastily tries to shut the door and obscure your view.

Not quickly enough.

Through the crack, you see it; the crimson splashed across your living room, stark and hideous against the white tile floors.

Blood.

It’s everywhere. Dripping from the lampshade, down the walls, pooling on the tiles.

Red, red, red, spattered and sprayed like the set of a b-grade slasher flick. And the smell, coppery and pungent, sitting in the back of your throat as bile creeps up to meet it.

No one person can bleed that much, can they?

Your breath comes quick; short, heaving little gasps far too shallow to do you any good. Your limbs feel weightless, weak – a stumbling step backwards almost sends you to the ground. Nausea churns in your guts, threatening to upheave.

All that blood… Your apartment–

They– they were in your home.

And a sudden thought occurs to you, a fresh wave of horror sinking its claws in deep. Without stopping to think, you lurch forward, desperate to get inside. Arms seize your waist, yanking you back, and you let out a blood curdling shriek, thrashing against the grip.

In the haze of your blind panic, you recognise that it’s Oikawa’s voice, speaking in your ear in a low, urgent tone. You don’t care, you can’t make sense of the words anyway, not amidst the overwhelming fear, the terror and the pounding of your racing heart.

“Ryo–” you choke out, struggling to get free, “I have to– h-he might be–”

“He’s not in there. He’s not in there!” Wrangled back from the door, he all but shoves you against the wall, caging you in close as your fists beat weakly against his chest, your pleas little more than whimpers. He exhales heavily, moving in closer to press his forehead against yours. “He’s at home, with your father. They’re not in there, I promise. We have to go.”

He takes your hand, leads you one step after another, murmuring reassurances the whole way.

You’re numb to it.

You don’t remember much, the ding of the elevator, stale air of the underground parking garage and a chill nipping at your skin. An unfamiliar car you’re hastily bundled into.

Time moves strangely after that, seconds trickling by like the drip of a leaking faucet.

The car is quiet. Dark. The cityscape out the window a blur that barely registers. Your mind ticks over the same thoughts, a reel stuck playing the same loop over and over; blood splashed across the curtains, the couch. Your apartment – your home – awash with it. The stench of it, clinging to you like perfume.

No one was hurt.

They were in your home.

You’re fine, Oikawa’s fine. Ryo was never in danger.

They were in your home.

You let out a shuddering breath, shoulders curling inwards as you draw your knees up to your chest. Oikawa clocks the movement, sparing you an assessing glance from the corner of his eye.

“… Where–” you wince at the raw sound. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the main house. Your father’s been alerted, he’s expecting us.”

Ah. Where else?

Your father has ‘round the clock guards at every entrance, high tech, expensive security systems. You’d be with your family, safe and protected within the walls of the home you grew up in. The minute he’d heard what’d happened, your father would’ve demanded Oikawa bring you back without delay.

Despite that, you find yourself shaking your head, “I… I don’t want Ryo– he’ll get upset if he sees me like this,” you mumble into your knees. “He’s already scared. Please.”

He looks at you again, properly this time. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, long fingers drumming against the leather of the steering wheel.

You’ve seen him angry before, irritated. Never like this.

Every breath he draws in is tight and controlled, his features set like granite. You only catch sight of it when the yellow glow of the street lights outside wash over you both in thick swathes; the cold fury that lurks in the black pits of his irises, held back like a caged beast.

It should scare you – it does, a bit. The man sitting next to you feels like a stranger, and yet you force yourself to hold that stare, not to shy away.

Oikawa won’t hurt you.

Whatever seethes beneath the surface, it’s not directed your way – you can’t say how you know that for certain, only that you do.

But neither one of you can return home to your family tonight, not when you’re both so wound up and strung out. You’ll beg on your hands and knees if that’s what it takes to sway him. Ryo’s already afraid enough as it is.

Your heart thumps painfully against your ribs as you wait in tense silence.

Oikawa considers you for a moment longer, mutters a curse under his breath and casts a look back over his shoulder, throwing the car into a sudden – and very illegal – u turn. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I hope you realise that,” he groans, but the words lack the hard, clipped edge they’d carried before.

He takes you instead to an apartment downtown; nondescript, small, tidy. The furniture appears new, fitting in with the same clean, monochromatic colour scheme as the rest of the apartment. There’s books on the coffee table, bland art lining the walls, cushions on the couch, a knitted beige comforter tossed over the armrest. It’s… fine, if not a little soulless.

Turning to face Oikawa, you lift an eyebrow, “You… live here?” you ask.

The brunet’s lips quirk upwards, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. “Not often. It’s a foxhole, one of a few I have, actually. This one just so happened to be the closest.” At your confused expression, he continues, “Think of it like a hideaway. There’s no paper trail tying me to this place and very few people who know of its existence. We can lie low here for a few days while we figure everything out.”

Somewhere that can’t be tracked, because there are men out there who want you dead. Faintly, you nod, trying your best to ignore the pool of dread sitting heavy in your gut.

There’s no pretending the threats aren’t real anymore.

But you’re safe here, with Oikawa. No one’s coming to hurt you tonight.

Exhausted, your whole body aching, you shower under a scorching spray, drying yourself off and pulling on one of Oikawa’s old shirts to sleep in (‘We’ll get you some proper clothes tomorrow,’ he’d promised). There’s only one bed in the tiny apartment, and even if you could find it within yourself to care, you’re altogether too drained to say anything when, after a quick shower of his own, Oikawa crawls in beside you.

He’s warm and solid, the scent of him familiar as his arm slides over your middle, drawing you close.

“I’m not going to let anyone touch you,” he murmurs into the dark. “I’ll kill them first. You’re safe with me.”

—

Two days later, your father summons you home.

Oikawa’s curtly dismissed at the door, left to his own devices. You, meanwhile, are taken into the study, tea is poured, and the conversation, naturally, shifts towards the break in at your apartment.

“You can always stay here with us, little one, for as long as you’d like. Ryota would be thrilled to have you back.” Your father smiles, setting the steaming cup down. “As would I.”

The childhood endearment makes your heart tug. You’ve spent too long clawing your way free of his influence to do some good in the world, to return home now, no matter how tempting the thought, would undo that in seconds.

“I know,” you reply. “And I appreciate it, dad. Oikawa’s taking me tomorrow to see a few apartments, though, so hopefully we’ll find something that works.”

He makes a dissatisfied noise, mouth tightening. “Yes, well considering this happened under Oikawa’s watch, perhaps you should rethink the weight you place in his judgement.”

“It’s because of Oikawa that they broke into my apartment. He never gave them an opening to come after me directly, so they tried to scare me instead.” Tried, and succeeded, mind you. “You’re the one who hired him,” you grumble.

“I hired him to protect you, nothing more,” he replies sternly. “If you’re put at risk again I will not hesitate to replace him with someone better suited.”

Peering down at you from behind wire frame glasses, he considers you for a moment – the same weighty, assessing stare he’d give you when, as a kid, he thought you were misbehaving. “I am not so blind that I cannot see what is happening in front of my own eyes. You’re close with him, you… trust him.”

“Am I not supposed to?” Wasn’t he the one telling you you had to listen to Oikawa?

He doesn’t answer you straight away, seemingly weighing up his response. When he does eventually speak, the words give little comfort. “Oikawa is… a necessary evil. He has the temperament and skill set which make him a natural choice in protecting you – they’re also what make him dangerous. If your life weren’t at risk I would not want you within a thousand yards of that man.”

You think back to the scars that litter Oikawa’s torso. The look in his eyes that night, the tempest raging, violent and volatile.

It’s not as though you ever believed Oikawa to be a saint – if his association with your father wasn’t proof enough, the frankly alarming number of weapons you’d stumbled across, stashed throughout the foxhole certainly did the trick.

You grew up surrounded by men like that. Your father, your uncles. Business associates invited to dinner. None of them ever frightened you.

Unease slithers down your spine.

Satisfied, perhaps, that his warning struck home, your father straightens in his chair and clears his throat. “Enough of that. Come, drink – your tea’s getting cold.”

He keeps you there for a little while longer, to indulge in another cup and talk of other, lighter subjects; your work with the children’s foundation, Ryo’s progress at school (he’s becoming quite the little scientist), to the gardens that surround the estate, the cherry blossom trees set to bloom in a matter of weeks.

On your way out, he asks for you to send in Oikawa.

It takes you less than a minute to find him – sitting cross legged on the living room floor, deep in conversation with your seven year old brother. Ryo’s the one to spot you first, his whole face lighting up. Discarding the open book he’d had splayed across his lap, your brother jumps to his feet and barrels towards you with a delighted shriek of your name, arms outstretched. You catch him with a grin, squeezing back when he hugs you firmly.

“Careful, bud” Oikawa laughs, “you’ll knock her right off her feet.”

You ruffle Ryo’s hair. His mom would say the unruly locks are desperately in need of a trim – you think it suits him, reminds you of a wild thing. “Please, this little guy? Light as a feather.”

The indignant grumble you get in response, his face still buried in your middle only makes your grin widen.

Still sprawled across the floor like a kid himself, Oikawa meets your gaze with a warm one of his own, something in your chest fluttering at the sight of it. He looks content, perfectly relaxed here with you and Ryo.

In that moment, you’re struck with the realisation that he’s not the only one.

Whatever gripped you back in your father’s study, there’s no trace of it now, it holds no bearing here with the two of them. This is the Oikawa you’ve come to know, the one you trust.

The one you like, if the warming of your cheeks is any indication to go by.

… Maybe it’s time you stopped running from that.

Saved from any further musing by your brother’s attempt to crush the life out of you in one final squeeze, Ryo reluctantly lets you go.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, his cheeks turning pink. He kicks at the carpet a little, chews at his bottom lip, hesitating just a touch. “… Dad said you’re coming home to stay this time. Are you?” And beneath the wide, puppy dog eyes that tug at your heartstrings with practiced ease (no wonder he has both his parents wrapped around his finger), there’s no hiding the hope glimmering in his tone.

“I missed you too, squirt.”

At the mention of your father, however, something else springs to mind, and you turn your attention back to Oikawa. “Oh, almost forgot – he said he wants to see you. He’s in the study, waiting.”

The brunet nods, rising. If he’s bothered by the demand at all, there’s no outward indication. From your own conversation with the man, you can’t imagine he’s about to walk into anything particularly pleasant. Then again, you doubt that whatever your father has in store for him – whether it be lecture or complete verbal evisceration – is in any way anxiety inducing to someone like Oikawa.

Sauntering past the two of you, he stops for a second, lays a hand on Ryo’s shoulder and leans down to whisper conspiratorially into his ear – just loud enough for his voice to carry. “Why don’t you show your big sister the new project you were telling me about, hm?”

Ryo lights up again with a giddy gasp, racing from the room, and Oikawa winks at you, breezing on through.

—

The moment you’re through the door back at the foxhole, he’s on you.

Ravenous, hungry, lips moving feverishly against yours, prying them apart for another taste of you. The clothes he’d bought for you are hastily discarded, thrown to the floor and kicked aside as Oikawa lifts you up, hiking your legs around his waist so he can carry you into the bedroom.

“What’s gotten into you?” you laugh, half breathless when he deposits you on the bed.

“Do I need a reason?” he retorts, yanking off his shirt and casting it aside. “I’ve been waiting to do this all afternoon.”

He climbs onto the bed then,pushing your shoulders back down the mattress as his lips find yours to kiss you senseless. Your hand meanwhile slips down between your bodies, a feather light touch grazing the bulge in his jeans.

He moans into your mouth, breath shivery and light, hips bucking ever so slightly to chase the touch. When he draws back, your stomach flips in anticipation at the positively wolfish expression you find there, “Careful, pretty girl,” he warns.

“Or what?”

He takes your hand then, pulls it back to his crotch and grinds into it slowly, shuddering, “Or you’re gonna be in for a long, long night.”

You arch up to kiss him, lips finding his throat, the two of you working together to hastily free his cock from the confines of his boxer briefs.

The moment you’re successful, the hard, flushed length bobbing against his stomach, Oikawa lets a fat glob of spit fall into his palm and takes hold of it, twisting his wrist as he slides his hand back and forth along his cock, groaning and nudging your thighs apart.

Usually, he likes to take his time prepping you, lowering his mouth to your pretty little pussy, teasing you and edging you until you’re a squirming, hot mess beneath him, all but begging him to hurry up and fuck you. Other times – when he’s in a more selfish mood – he’ll send you to your knees instead, taking his pleasure by fucking your face, fingers curling in your hair, the tight, wet warmth of your mouth too tempting to pass up.

But something feels different this time. More than hunger, or desire, beyond simple urgency. It glints and gleans in his eyes, seeps from his skin like the bead of sweat that trickles down the curve of his neck.

It crackles like electricity in the air between you.

And when he drags your hips down close, and pushes his cock deep into your warm, fluttering cunt, it robs you of all words.

True to his promise, Oikawa takes his time. Fucks you on your back, legs locked around his back at first – and then pressed back either side of you, the ache in your thighs second only to the stretch of your pussy, clenching around him with every languid roll of his hips.

He flips you over and draws your ass upwards, your face pressed down into the pillows, pounding into you from behind.

Hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his throbbing shaft, hungry eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce so enticingly for him.

And then, when your legs are shaking, pussy leaking his seed and every cell in your body is electrified and buzzing, he lays you down at the edge of the bed and feasts on your poor, sensitive, abused little hole ‘til you’re grabbing at his hair, bucking up and writhing on his tongue, screaming yourself hoarse from an overload of pleasure.

Only then does he allow you rest, kissing you sweetly as he slips from your side and exits the bedroom.

He returns moments later with a glass of water, which you gratefully accept and guzzle down. Collapsing back on the bed, you let out a groan, “I feel like I could sleep for the next thousand years.”

He chuckles. Climbing onto the mattress to flop down beside you, Oikawa rolls close, smiling with a soft look you’ve only ever seen directed at you. “So sleep. We’ve got an hour or so ‘til dinner, a nap won’t kill you.”

—

You wake to the sound of a car backfiring.

Eyes bleary, disoriented, you struggle to gather your wits as the door to the bedroom flies open. Oikawa appears in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas, gun in hand, eyes focused and alert – and it’s then, in the dim, early morning light that you realise that the sound you heard wasn’t a car at all.

With his handgun and attention trained on the front door, Oikawa spares you only the briefest of glances, “Get up, we need to go. Now.”

Your heart skips a beat, chest tightening as the reality of the situation – at least, as much as your sluggish brain can piece together – dawns upon you.

Questions, one after another, claw their way up your throat, desperate and urgent, terrified, you force yourself to swallow them down, along with the near paralysing fear that takes hold. There’s no time for that. No time to panic. Pausing only long enough to ascertain that you are in fact somewhat clothed – an old tee of his and a pair of sleep shorts you must’ve thrown on at some point last night – you scramble to Oikawa’s side.

Any reassurance you feel at the grip he takes of your hand is quickly and overwhelmingly buried, however, when you catch sight of the dark mass by the entryway.

Your stomach lurches, blood running cold. It’s a body – a man’s. The room’s not yet light enough to get a good look at his face, but the open, unblinking eyes and the sticky looking pool beneath him tell you plenty.

Dead.

“Don’t look,” Oikawa murmurs.

His fingers tighten around your hand in a reassuring squeeze, already pulling you onwards. Like a bad accident, tearing your eyes away is easier said than done.

That man, he… he’d come here for you, hadn’t he? To kill you.

You’ve never seen a dead body before, and now there’s one lying across your living room floor, riddled with bullets from Oikawa’s gun and that–

That could’ve been you. Would’ve been, if not for Oikawa.

Your chest constricts, a noose tightening at your throat. And just like that night at your apartment, the fear that takes root begins to strangle you, making it hard to breathe, harder to think.

Every uneven thump of your heart rattles your chest, your limbs feeling like they’re disconnected from the rest of you. Oikawa notices, and curses softly beneath his breath. There’s no time to coax you down, his grip turns iron, half running now down the fire door stairs with you stumbling behind him.

Somewhere above you, shouts begin to sound, and with a fresh wave of terror hammering through your veins, you force your legs to move quicker. There’s no choice but to run, to duck and cower when the creaking door to the floor above swings open and Oikawa abruptly yanks you forward to fire up the stairwell behind you.

Bare feet pounding against the floor, chest heaving with ragged breaths, you burst out into the parking garage, and still you don’t stop.

For the second time in less than a week, you’re corralled into a car, shaking and numb, on the verge of outright sobbing.

Oikawa drives for a long time.

You don’t ask where you’re going, if they’re still following you. You don’t speak.

The traffic on the streets thins out, the towering skyscrapers disappearing in the rearview mirror. Wherever he’s taking you, it’s not towards home.

And there’s a pit in your stomach, a bleak, festering emotion that grows harder and harder to ignore with every passing mile. Oikawa’s silence – tense and uncomfortable, only adds to your unease.

This isn’t like last time, when he was angry beyond words. This feels… different, somehow.

When you’re well beyond the city limits, he pulls the car to a stop on the side of a deserted stretch of road and turns it off, leaving the keys in the ignition.

“There’s a phone in the glove box, can you get it for me?”

Doing as he asks, you pop the compartment open, only to cringe when the first thing your fingers brush over isn’t a cell, but the cool metal of a handgun. Nevertheless, you keep going, eventually finding the black phone tucked away near the back and wordlessly passing it into Oikawa’s waiting palm.

He smiles at you, leans over the console to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, “Thanks. Stay here, alright? Gotta make a quick call.”

He’s already dialling, smoothly exiting the car before the words truly register.

You’re helpless to do anything but watch anxiously from the passenger’s seat, fingers worrying away at the hem of Oikawa’s shirt. Seconds tick by – nothing. No one picks up. No one answers.

A small frown graces his features. Glancing into the car to check up on you, Oikawa simply ends the call, dials another number, holds the phone to his ear, and waits for whoever’s on the other end of the call to pick up.

… But nobody does. The phone rings out.

He spares you another brief glance then, your wide, worried eyes meeting his. His brow furrows, the edges of his lips thinning into a hard line and before you can call out to ask him what’s wrong, who he’s trying to get ahold of, he’s moving away from the car and out of earshot.

This time, he seems to take longer to find the number he’s after, drawing the phone back to his ear, foot tapping away as it rings and rings and rings.

You don’t realise that you’re holding your breath, fingernails biting into the palm of your hand until you see him speaking into his cell, nodding at whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying.

Yet that reprieve, unlocking the breath trapped in your lungs, soothing over all of your tension and that awful, gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach lasts only as long as it takes for you to realise that Oikawa, staring at you from yards down the road, looks entirely too grim for the relief that you’re feeling.

He ends the call with a heavy exhale, shoulders slumping.

Your heart stops cold in your chest.

One look at his pained expression, the pity swirling in his eyes, the sympathy, and your whole world comes crashing down around you.

Fingers fumbling for the door latch, you unbuckle your seatbelt to stagger to your feet, lurching towards him. Oikawa reaches you first, letting you collide into his arms, pulling you close.

“He– he’s fine, right?” you beg in a thick, trembling voice, trying in vain to blink back hot tears. “Ryo’s fine. They both are. They’re okay. Tell me they’re okay. Please, Tooru, you have to– you have to tell me that they’re–”

As words fail you, Oikawa sighs. With a gentleness that shatters something inside of you, he cups your cheek in his palm, brushing away your tears, and presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry. They… they hit the house before they came for us. No one made it out.”

No… no, no, no, no, no. That’s not true. You clutch at him, desperately shaking your head. Ryo can’t be dead, he’s only seven. He’s just a kid, an innocent, good kid. He’s your little brother.

He can’t be dead.

But Oikawa’s looking at you so brokenly, and you feel like somebody’s ripped you open from the inside out and saved your heart for last of all. You open your mouth to beg for him to tell you he’s lying, but all that comes out is a sobbing wail.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, holding you close, cradling you against him. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

—

The soft sound of leather shoes walking atop marble tiles echo throughout the empty halls of your father’s estate.

There’s no need for Oikawa to disguise his presence now – not that there was much of one to begin with.

The staff had opened the door without blinking, welcoming him inside, the guards on rotation nodding in acknowledgment when he strode past. They might not particularly enjoy his presence (no accounting for taste, he supposed) but after months working for the patriarch to keep you safe, they’d come to begrudgingly accept it.

In their eyes, he was one of them, and so no one thought to stop him and ask why he’d shown up at the estate so late in the night, seemingly without reason. Without you.

It made picking them off one by one that much easier.

Well, not all of them. He had left one alive – unconscious, possibly paralysed, but breathing all the same. Oikawa smirks.

With the guards and household staff dispatched, he’d turned his attention towards the bedrooms.

Ryota was first. Fast asleep, clutching the teddy-bear you’d bought him, your baby brother hadn’t stirred when Oikawa crept in with the shadows. He made it quick. Painless. As much of a mercy as a man like him was capable of.

The kid’s mom was next; the second wife, the replacement. The money hungry, greedy, vapid little cunt.

It was no secret that your father had been married before, that his first wife – your mother – had died after a long, tragic battle with cancer when you were sixteen. The first time he’d tried bringing it up, you’d shut him down and quickly changed the subject, but in the end, all it took was one too many glasses of wine, a few stories of his own, and those pretty lips of yours were spilling all sorts of interesting secrets.

That your step-mother was fucking him before she was even cold in the ground was one such fascinating tidbit.

While he’d felt a slight twinge of guilt over killing the boy, Oikawa had no such qualms shooting her while she slept, the silencer on his pistol ensuring it raised no alarm, just like the others.

While you’d mourn for your beloved baby brother, he knows you won’t shed any tears for that bitch. He wonders if you’d even thank him for it, if he ever decided to tell you the truth.

A pleasant shiver rolls down his spine at the thought of how sweetly you’d go about it.

Presently, he raises a fist to knock at the door of your father’s study, one final goal in mind.

“Come in,” a deep voice replies.

Oikawa has to give the older man some credit, one look at him – gun in hand, the flecks of blood spattered against his crisp, white shirt – and your father stills, the colour draining from his face. He doesn’t panic, though, doesn’t shout or cry out for help, much less for mercy.

They both know none is coming.

Instead, he sets down the papers he’d been working on and rises slowly from his chair. No doubt he has at least one gun stashed nearby, but with Oikawa’s pointed towards his chest, the brunet’s index finger poised on the trigger, and his better years behind him, the odds don’t fall in his favour.

“My wife?”

Oikawa grins, clicking his tongue, “Dead.”

He nods, taking a moment to process the information. “And… my son?”

“Dead.”

“… I see.”

Oikawa’s heard more than one person accuse your father of being a cold, heartless bastard. It’s an easy assumption to make – no one gains a reputation like his without a certain brutality and overall disregard for the lives of others. The truth is simpler; your father does have a heart, it resides in both of his children. While his voice might not shake at the news of his son’s demise, his hands, splayed out over the papers on his desk, most certainly do.

He swallows with difficulty, takes in a trembling breath, “My daughter, I assume you killed her, too?”

“God, no,” he laughs. “She’s sleeping, safe and sound, blissfully oblivious to all of this.”

And for the first time since Oikawa crossed the threshold, a look of confusion adorns your father’s face. Before he can give voice to it, however, the brunet decides to nudge the conversation along. The drugs in your system will only keep you down for so long, and there’s still plenty he has left to do before the two of you can have your fresh start.

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m working for the people who want you and your family wiped from the map. I’m not. I’m simply making the best of an opportunity." He sighs, shrugging, “We could have avoided this nastiness, you know. Maybe not indefinitely, but for a little while at least. All of this, it’s your fault; you gave me a gift, and then,” his smile turns sharp, an edge of anger bleeding through, “you threatened to take her away.”

There are worse fates than death.

“If it gives you any solace,” Oikawa murmurs, the soft, placating tone at odds with the cruel twist of his vicious grin. “I intend to keep my promise. She’ll be safe with me, no one will ever lay so much as a finger on her.”

No one, that is, except for him.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #idk if i hate this or not but hey at least it's done #:))))

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