#Yandere Oikawa

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pseudo/faux - brother & sister ((toru-nii?)) ??? -oikawa x chubby reader HEAR ME OUT GUYS TORU WOULD HAVE THESE PERVERTED FEELINGS ABOUT SOMEONE WHO GREW UP TOGETHER LIKE SIBLINGS !!! (i've been thinking about this for the last couple days so i had to write it but go easy on me, first time writing this concept.) (there's probably mistakes in this, i wrote it before bed, i'm sleepy, sdfgchjvs)<3 (dark content)(MDNI -18+)(always check the warnings on my writing)

you're the younger sister of hajime by a year and you've been close since you were kids, you were his number one supporter. even though you were a year apart you spent a lot time together because you didn't have many friends you had joined the volleyball team as the manager so you could spend more time with him.

because of hajime it meant that you grew up surrounded by toru as well. you were so close you even called him toru-nii, he was like family, an older brother like hajime but toru didn't see you like that, not anymore...

once he had been your protector from bullies and your tutor to help you pass difficult classes you didn't understand but that was a long time ago now, you're not kids anymore.

in your eyes he's still your toru-nii, just like hajime is your nii-san. people say you need to stop calling them such childish nicknames now that you're in your adulthood but you ignore them, it doesn't sound right coming out of your mouth when you call them their names.

toru doesn't know when his feelings started to change towards you, he doesn't know when his innocent feelings became warped, when he started to feel guilty. all he knows is just one day you came running up to him wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him, your soft body pressing against him, you hadn't seen each other in weeks since you've both been so busy and barely had any contact at all through texts. oikawa hugged your back just as tightly that day.

all he knows is that day something changed within him, he wanted to hug you all the time, wanted you on your lap. he wanted you to go to every single game of his and wear his oversized jersey, imaging how it would cling to your round frame. he wanted to kiss your chubby cheeks and take you to fancy restaurants. he wants you.

it became a problem that day, you grabbing his hand to take him where you want to go while you call his toru-nii, that should have stopped his feelings in his tracks but it didn't- he got hard. that was the thing that made him guilty, you referring to him as toru-nii made him aroused. he wanted you to call him it again, straight after.

an innocent nickname turned into something more.

to you nothing changed though, you didn't ever think of him differently. you knew girls fawned over him and objectively you understand why but it's weird for you to think about for too long. back at school some of your classmates would say how jealous they are of you because you get to spend so much time with oikawa and you agreed that you were lucky to spend time with him, just for completely different reasons.

what toru didn't realise is his feelings towards you weren't something that he was suppose to feel even when you were both younger. he excused it as an big brother being protective just like iwa is but it wasn't the same. it's not normal to disguise subtle threats with a smile whenever someone got a bit to close up and personal with you asking for your number, he wouldn't want them to hurt your feelings. it's not normal for him to offhandedly make a comment in front of a large group of people about someone who upset you, if a rumour gets spread around school about that person then so well. he did this all platonically of course... hajime would have done exactly the same... right?

so was it really a surprise that late at night he couldn't help himself but stroke his cock, bucking his hips up to meet his hand. wet sounds echo around the room and toru lightly applies more pressure when his hand hits the base of his pelvis. his other hand holds onto his sheet tightly as he groans and moans picturing you there with him.

he starts talking like you're there with him, imagining you bouncing on his cock and your plump figure laying underneath him. stomach rolls squished together when when he's pushed your legs up against your chest and body jiggling with each thrust.

"feels so good baby, you make me feel so good. i know- ffuck- i know i'm big baby but you can take it, can't you. let toru-nii look after you." as soon as he says 'let toru-nii look after you' he cums with a moan of your name.

with every single night that passes he feels less guilty. this weekend you're planning to stay at his for a few days instead of getting a hotel. oikawa knows his walls aren't very thick. 'maybe she'll decide to help her poor toru-nii out. maybe she loves her toru-nii like i love her.'

[gladiatorcunt]

- GUESS | XIII.

you wanna guess the color of my underwear, you wanna know what i got going on down there

cw: kinktober prompt (ass worship), yoga trainer!oikawa, fem reader, rimming, body hair, scent & piss mentions, light implied yandere, public sex (?), hinted possibly one sided iwazumi x reader, light dub con, mentions of fisting, implied that oikawa’s been into reader from the start, semi obsessive behavior, porno plot, self degradation, food play mention

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Mmh, just like that cutie, lift those hips up for me.”

You’ve been coming to the new yoga class that just opened up at the gym for a while now, a couple months a few times a week, you’re a bit of a homebody otherwise and yoga is the one physical exercise you don’t mind doing often. You like being flexible, able to bend your body in shapes and ways another person would have a harder time doing. And you’re not having sex, so any physically strenuous activity that leaves you sore until you’re put back together by your healing body does wonders for you.

Plus you like the way the leggings hug your well endowed assets, so do a lot of the men in the gym. You wear the form fitting workout clothes for yourself first and foremost, but you can’t lie that a little attention from afar (sometimes too close up by one of the trainer’s usually steps in to help you) boosts your ego. If there’s one thing in life you have to be proud of, at least you have your ass. Squishy and round, jiggles when you walk and never disappoints you unlike everything else in your life.

The same ass that’s raised high in the air in front of your yoga trainer, a more than handsome man in his late 20’s with wavy milk chocolate colored brown hair and a smug twinkle in his eye that’s connected to his smarmy always on his face (even when he seems pissed) grin. You’ll never forget the confidence in his posture, standing tall at the front of the class and introducing himself. Tooru Oikawa, just moved here from japan, his best friend owns the place so it wasn’t too much trouble to get hired, and SO excited to start this journey with you all!

You’ve stayed at the back since then, anxiety swirling in your belly when he’d make the rounds to correct your forms and check on you all. But he’d only pass by with a brisk touch to your back and a ‘good job’, maybe a semi solid pat if you were one of only ones who had a good form, and not to brag, but that’s been the case on more than one occasion.

Now you’re undergoing a little one on one session, he asked you to hang back, noticing you’ve been holding yourself back. You’ve never made much of an effort to talk to him and despite the fact that you’ve never needed this kind of focused attention, he’s been feeling a bit bad that you keep to yourself so much. He doesn’t bite you know, not unless you want him too.

It’s an odd flirtation, something you’ve noticed he never does with anyone else in the class. Oikawa’s attractive enough that you’d balk at him abusing his privilege to drown himself in quickies in the gym’s showers, as off putting as it’d be. But he’s very professional, chuckling at one of the older women making a pass at him and politely turning her down.

So you got in your own head and knew that since there was always room for improvement, surely there must be something he could help you with. So here you are, going through basic poses first before he pushes you into the more advanced ones. You told him that other than increasing your flexibility, you weren’t really sure what other areas would be best for you to get better at.

Oikawa smiled and squeezed your shoulder, no worries, he’ll walk you through a little assesment mini program. Since you mentioned not having done yoga seriously until now, there could easily be something you didn’t even realize needed to be attended to!

“Remember, we want to really feel that stretch, arch your back and lower your head. Breathe in, breathe out.” He instructs, settling a wide palm on your lower back. “That’s it, good girl.”

He’s so close, if you backed up to regain your footing your ass would press up against his bulge. Not that you can tell if he has one right now, but you’re kind of hoping he does. It’s just another part of the fantasy, that’s all this is, you tell yourself. You’re going to soak up the attention, make more small talk as you gather your things and leave, and sit at home suffocating your vibrator until your legs turn into jelly.

“Am I doing this right? My legs feel stiff.” You shift your weight from side to side, your hips gently sway, you could be too in your own head but having Oikawa’s pretty eyes scrutinizing every detail of your body is fucking with your confidence.

He hums, a trail of heat sizzles down your back as he slides his palm down to cup your hip. “If something seems off then it probably is, just widen your stance and put your feet further apart, loosen up your hips. You’re definitely a little tense, cutie.”

Okay so he’s definitely flirting with you, but you don’t startle and shoot back up so you can get out of here. Instead you internally cringe at the squeaks your yoga mat produces, adjusting your ankles to line up more with your shoulders. You keep breathing, in and out, letting your energy flow through your limbs as you maneuver them into the different positions.

Oikawa Tooru burns like a furnace in hell, you realize. Despite having a firm grip on your hip, he’s standing a respectable distance away from you as you bend over. You can still feel the heat radiating from him, his sleeveless muscle tank and his black shorts.

“I think that’s better. Sorry, it's hard for me to relax, I guess.”

“No worries, I totally get it, you do seem like the type to be wound up but that just means we get to unspool your thread and unravel you so we can get to the start and rebuild.” His free hand curls around your other hip, his thumbs absentmindedly stroke the crease where they disappear into your thigh.

This private coaching session is steadily becoming what you’re afraid of, and so horny for you could shoot off into the sky like a soda bottle chocked full of mentos. You didn’t notice when Oikawa got even closer, his blunt hip bones cradling your ass in between them. Could he just be weirdly, and grossly in most people’s eyes, friendly? Does he even see what he’s doing as being the tentative first step into fucking you in a public gym yoga studio?

“Um, yeah, thank you by the way. I’ve felt so much better since I’ve started taking your class, you’re a lifesaver even if I still have a lot to learn.”

“Oh, we all do, including me, believe it or not. I remember you from back then you know, so shy and fidgety, like a baby bunny.”

“You’ve really filled out too. Excuse me for saying this but I know this ass wasn’t always like this, so pretty and plump.” Toned hands drag over the swell of your cheeks, not digging in and kneading the globes, only ghosting their touch along the clothed flesh.

You subconsciously wiggle your hips, Oikawa’s breath hitches behind you, and that is perhaps the most monumental thing you could have achieved today. Flustering the man who gets hit on a billion times per day and gives it back tenfold, a competition of who can keep their cool, that’s how he operates in most things you guess. Like he’s always competing against somebody even if they don’t know, and he just has to win or it’ll be an ugly spot on his record. A record only he keeps and only he sees, but you sense that that’s more important to him than anything else.

“Oh, thank you. I just do a lot of squats every morning and every night after class, nothing crazy. Yoga’s the only other kind of workout I do consistently, anyway.” You're still in what feels like a perverted version of downward dog, briefly taking stock of the strain in your legs now trying to hold the position.

Oikawa makes a surprised sound, “Really? You have such a great body, I’m shocked you’re not a gym rat like me and all my buddies. Some people are just lucky, huh cutie?”

He says it, humble and charming, like he doesn’t also consider himself one of those people. Your cheeks heat up at the idea of a musclehead like Oikawa complimenting your curves, your chubby gathering of fat even in places some people would find ugly, your wideset bones and plush tummy.

A pin drops, “Alright. I think you’ve been in that position long enough, why don’t you go ahead and lower your knees into the table top pose, bring your head up slowly and remember to breathe. In, out, good girl.”

His hands guide your hips down, he steps back to let you settle your knees on the mat. You hear the foam sink behind you, he’s sort of kneeling too, halfway sitting on his legs, the backs of his feet facing the ceiling. Oikawa looms over you like this too, he has a presence you can be lost in before you actually see him, which you definitely can in the wall to wall mirror in front of you. The yoga class was a dance studio before Iwa decided it didn’t fit with his vision, you remember Oikawa telling you all on his first day.

He must feel your wide eyed stare, because he looks up too and suddenly you’re locked in a charged moment.

Neither of you says anything as his feather light touches on your ass become firmer, he’s outright groping you and pulling you back to be flush against his crotch.

He grinds his half hard bulge against you, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror.

“I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to notice me, cutie. Been wanting to do this for so long, you have no fucking idea.” He huffs, adjusting his clothed cock to rest between your cheeks. “You’re so hot, every time I saw you bend over I wanted to cancel class and take you right then and there.”

You gasp and rock back into him, shaking your hips and digging your knees into the mat. You have half a mind to look around the room for the camera and porn filming crew but reality is clearly stranger than fiction, your hot yoga trainer’s stiff cock is sandwiched in your ass crack.

He takes his sweet time dragging his length up and down, the tip catches in the divot of your leggings where your hole is, you’re a little disappointed that he’s not humping you like a rutting dog but you suspect that that’s part of the fun. Oikawa knows you want him so bad that he’ll restrain his urge to fuck you through the floor all the way to the center of the Earth just so you can endure some teasing. You’re so shy and withdrawn but those girls are usually the best kinds of freaks, all he’s doing is bringing it out of you, call it another one of his famous coaching methods.

The door’s locked, so if Iwazumi catches on to what’s happening and tries to rain on your parade, he’ll have to listen to a symphony of moans and slick sounds of bare sweaty flesh slapping against bare sweaty flesh. Oikawa laughs and tells you that Iwa’s been eyeing you too, when you check in at the front desk, when you’re getting water, when you head into the changing rooms to get ready for his class, it’d be helplessly cute if you weren’t already taken. Or, you’re gonna be, at the very least.

“When we’re done, I'll clean you up with my tongue and we can go on a little date. I can take you out properly this weekend but I'd hate for you to think that I was just trying to hit and quit it. I’m not the type to pump and dump, not anymore.” He speaks into the divide of your ass cheeks, having sunk to floor fully and doing some bending over of his own to be at eye level with your lower half.

You bite your lip when he starts nipping at you through your leggings, he smiles into the fabric and bites down harder, soothing the sting with slow licks. Oikawa kisses all over the swell of your behind, sniffing the scent of your perspiration and your body oil in between, medicinal vanilla and natural musk. You can see him hump the mint green yoga mat as he reaches up to hurriedly tug your leggings down enough to expose your ass. Your black thong frames it perfectly, but Oikawa pulls them off too and stuffs them under the waistband of his shorts.

He groans at the sight of your bare skin as it bounces free to say hello, taking a handful of each cheek and squeezing the life out of them, the thick flesh bulges between his fingers so he swiftly smacks each one, for tempting him and making his cock so hard it could explode into a blood filled mess of cum and sticky pubes in his pants. You cry out, rocking forward only to be immediately pulled back so he can keep kissing your ass.

He dotes on it like he would your face or mouth, almost giggling before and after quick pecks that develop into long slurps at your rim. He runs the tip of his nose over the hair on your crack, wetting it in messy swipes of his tongue.

“You taste so fucking good, baby, better than pastry i’ve ever had, and believe me, you don’t even want to know how much money i spend at the bakery across the street from my apartment. You’d love it.” He moans, saying hello to your winking hole by dotting barely there kisses right in the center before toying with you, dipping the tiniest bit of his tongue in your walls, then dragging his saliva all over your pucker. “It’d be fun to eat something off you, we could make a date out of it. Go up to the counter and pick which ones would taste the best when I eat it off your fat ass, but I think they’d all be amazing, don’t you?”

You nod rapidly and throw your ass back on his tongue, burning in shame with every smug laugh and grunt as Oikawa beats around the bush so to speak, doing everything under the sun with your ass but properly eating it. You wish you were in your shitty apartment, sitting on his face and drowning out the sound of your arguing neighbors with your slutty moans. He looks up from behind you to check on how you’re doing, and thank heavens because he finally buries his face in your ass and slurps at your puckered hole.

You lose yourself to the experience, feeling his wet tongue fuck into your ass hole and carve out little pieces of you for himself. He pays zero attention to your pussy, which is why it’s so wet and dripping onto the mat beneath you, it’s like he’s too obsessed with your thick globes to even notice, but you don’t hate it. It’s hot to have a guy be eye socket deep in your ass but also have him neglect where you really need his attention, there’s a dichotomy between being the mousey way you’ve gone about your life and the whorish behavior this man is urging you to consider.

You looked fucked out already, hair all over the place from how much you’ve messed with it and lips dropping open on drawn out squeals and whines. Oikawa is eating your ass out like it’s his main job, the one he puts in overtime for and goes above and beyond to be employee of the month at. He thrusts his tongue a few more times before apparently deciding that’s not enough and slipping in one of his absurdly long fingers alongside it.

You whimper, clenching around both as you just sit there in that damn table top pose and let a man you barely know play your ass like a well oiled fiddle. He shakes your cheek in his hand as he digs his tongue into you, delicately fingering your hole until it goes slack enough for him to insert another. You’re impossibly tight, as much as your clit is howling for it you know perfectly well that any serious penetration isn’t possible. From the impressions you got, Oikawa’s packing enough to tear you until you bleed if you don’t use lube or prep thoroughly beforehand, which you’d do anyways but it’s a shame.

Your clit throbs painfully but Oikawa pulls back with a gulp of air to level you with a warning look in the mirror, which only gets you wetter, you twitch again because he’s one of those. There’s a brief flicker of defiance, you could pout and touch yourself anyway, you don’t owe this ridiculously attractive man anything and he’s the one motorboating your ass cheeks and not the other way around, so shouldn’t you be the one in charge?

Then his eyes darken, you get another sharp smack and you table the discussion for some far off occasion.

Oikawa smiles, gently kissing the apple shaped swell of both of your cheeks, “See, I know from your time here that you can be such a good listener, you’re so sweet for me, I know it. You can’t hide that from me just because you want to throw a fit, I said we’d get to know each other afterwards, didn’t I?”

You scoot your ass back in apology, silently begging him to get back to it. He must really be horny too because he dives straight back in, groaning into your rim and french kissing your hole. The hand not doing its best to push its entirety into you kneads your fleshy ass cheek, molding it like dough and separating it from its twin, giving him easier access to your pucker. He ‘tsks’ not even a second later, crooking his two fingers and letting go off your cheek, humming in contentment when it bounces against his face and he’s smothered again.

He wonders if you’ll let him fist you, give you a unique one of a kind rose to swoon over and keep tucked away inside you later, the perfect first date gift from your future boyfriend.

You can even do couples yoga in the morning after your first night together!

“Let’s see if you can cum just from getting your ass played with.” Punctuated by a fourth finger sliding into the knuckle in your ass, he scissors his fingers to stretch you out and playfully acts like he’s gonna sink his whole fist in, pulling out his fingers to curl them into a ball.

The barest hint of blunt pressure on your hole sends a flood of your juices down his arm, smelling somewhat pissy which gives Oikawa truly the most impish grin imaginable.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Something that I find interesting about Oikawa is that he would be so observant when it came to you, not even a hawk could rival him.

I imagine him to be quite the pest when he's around you - always making some comment, stealing your things and dangling them somewhere where he knows you can't reach, just overall making all the little things in life that much more difficult. Why? Because he's bored and you happen to have the misfortune of being his favorite person ever. That's why!

But Oikawa takes mental notes, sometimes actual ones too. He probably has several notebooks dedicated to you and you wouldn't ever have a clue. He oozes with both natural charisma and childishness, which makes him a double threat. It is very easy for him to shift these two moods especially when the time calls for it. He sees the way you react because your reactions are important to him.

You are important to him.

That's why he makes sure to stay close to you as much as he possibly can, scaring off any potential threat regardless of sex. He may be a bit softer towards the girls who surround him but he always makes sure to let them down, to tell him that he's spoken for.

You just have no idea that it's you he's talking about.

Oikawa is used to success. But he also understands what it feels like to lose. That's why he does not have the courage to come clean to you. He can't help but to feel a little frustrated with you because, well, how dare you? How dare you exist there and be all cute? It's even worse when other people take notice and they actually have the courage to approach you, which just makes him want to knock their teeth out.

Oikawa is a pest. But in his way, that's his love language. He can be sweet, don't get me wrong! But messing with you is just too fun.

[animeyanderelover]

This will be my first request, I am very happy because I LOVE your writing.

Alas aside, Yandere falls in love with a woman older than them who is very maternal for having a child, when he proposes she rejects him because she feels that they should not waste themselves on a woman who already has a child (You can do with the father whatever you want ).It would be with Atsushi, Akutagawa, Daichi Sawamura, Oikawa and if you want to add any more I don't mind

Sorry for my bad english😘😘

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, stalking, threats, violence

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani

You shouldn’t waste your time on me

Sawamura Daichi

🌅​Cries of a small child are what guide him through the crowds on that day, his eyes flickering over the people before they finally land on the boy who is standing there all alone. Upon asking him what happened the child tells him that he got distracted and lost his mother. As not only a police officer but also a decent human being Daichi immediately helps, asks the boy where him and his mother were last together and if he knows where his mother planned to go. If worst comes to worst and he won't be able to find the boy's mother he'll just ask the boy where he lives and will bring hm home to wait together with him until his mom returns. Luckily it never comes that far as Daichi is able to find you after half an hour of searching, the boy instantly leaving his side and running to you with tears in his eyes. He's far too humble in your eyes as he is confronted with your gratefulness, tells you that he only did his job and that anyone would have helped a crying child. Still, you make some small talk with him as you ask for his name and both of you start talking for a while with each other. That's how he finds out that you recently moved to the Miyagi prefecture with your child and live close to his neighbourhood.

🌅​The fact that he doesn't live far away from you and that he helped your child are major reasons that aid the two of you in getting so close to each other. Also, your son's dream is it to work for the police later on so he obviously views Daichi as his hero, something that flusters the man deep down a lot more than he shows. He visits you once a week when he has a free day, often bombarded with questions from your son about his job until you softly chide your child for his uncontrolled excitement. You admit to him relatively early that you moved here because your husband died and your parents live nearby as you also need to work and need someone to look after your son. Hearing that your husband died strangely enough makes more sense to him than if someone would have divorced you as only an ignorant fool would have let someone like you go. Daichi is not even going to deny his own feelings, he knows that he's extremely attracted to you. You're kind yet not too coddling, you're responsible and patient, you listen to the worries of others and are always willing to help where you can. Watching you raising your son sometimes reminds him of his high school days, a fond look on his face.

🌅​Daichi is able to stay patient in spite of his obsession, especially if the loss of your husband has been very recent. He gives you time, he allows you to grieve and focuses in the meantime on helping you and your child to integrate into the new city. The thing is that he fills that role of a supportive husband and father so nicely that neighbours and even your own parents and son can't help but support the two of you getting together. When you reject him he is a bit disheartened but he takes it really well because he realises that you didn't do so because you do not love him. You reject him because you feel not good enough but that in itself is still quite hurtful. You're such a wonderful person after all. He doesn't mind the little age gap nor does he think of you less because you have a child. In fact he's grown very fond and protective of your son who you have raised wonderfully. Still, it's wiser to not pressure you so he steps back for now. His confidence remains though, knowing that you didn't deny not being able to see him as a partner. He'll just stay in your life as a pillar of support for now and will slowly make you realise that you are everything but a waste to him.

Oikawa Tooru

👑​After a difficult divorce you make the decision to completely change your life and decide to try to reach for a dream you had when you were younger but gave up later on, deciding that you might not make it. It's better to try and fail then to never take the step. After many months of interviews, exchange of mails and documents you receive the news though. You did it. You're one of the managers for your favorite volleyball club, Club Athletico San Juan. You're so joyous, almost feel like a school girl all over again as you read the letter over and over again, kicking your feet and grinning like an idiot. Oikawa is still Oikawa even if he is by now an adult, his charming attitude still there as soon as you're introduced to the team as their new manager. His other teammates just watch with half amusement and half pity as Oikawa's charm ultimately never works. Sure, he manages to charm people quickly but he never manages to hold a relationship and they would hate for their setter and new manager to be on bad terms from the very start. You, with the divorce still freshly on your mind though, put your foot firmly down and clarify it to Oikawa very clearly that you have no intention of dating.

👑​Obviously Tooru is miffed about your blunt rejection yet another part of him can't help but respect your determination. You know what you want to focus on and he wants to acknowledge that, especially since he is essentially the same. The keyword here is want because who would have thought that his feelings would slip out of his grasp of control so quickly? You know when to put him and his childish antics in his place, chiding him almost as if he were a child and the experience feels only more realistic when he realises that you're a few years older than he is. The fact that you work so closely with him only enables him to be very overbearing as he dreams up all kinds of minor inconveniences so that he has something to complain about to have your attention on himself. Your daughter is a shocker as you have never talked about your private life before and whilst other players gush over your child he gives her a strange look at first, his mind trying to process what it could mean. He pesters you privately about it, his eyes desperate and his body tense. The tension leaves his body at least partially when you admit with a heavy sigh that you had a rough divorce before you started working here.

👑​Oikawa doesn't take the rejection very well, his heart dropping even though it doesn't have to do with the fact that you don't see him that way. Still, it is hard to stay logical with a heart as sensitive as his, especially since he is prone to being delusional. He just doesn't understand. What is it that he could have done better?? He has made it more than obvious that he is deeply in love with you. He's showered you in presents, constantly demands your attention and has even made the effort to get closer to your daughter despite initial caution he held. Is that still not enough?? What do you want him to do?? Please tell him what he as to do in order for you to accept. Honestly, your maternal instincts will come quite in handy as you're confronted with Tooru whilst his feelings threaten to burst out of him. Because it helps him to calm down and gives him the reassurance he so desperately craves from you in that moment. Nevertheless though, he ramps up his affection from a 10 to an 11 after that incident. If the problem is simply that you don't feel good enough he will change your mind. You're forgiven this one time. Do not reject him a second time though or else he might just make your job more difficult.

Nakajima Atsushi

🐅​The gentle love of a parent is a notion so foreign to Atsushi that the first encounter he has with you leaves him almost on the edge. Your kind words, the patient look in your eyes, the warmth and comfort you provide him with by simply being in the room threatens to burst his heart right at the seams. After cold deprivation for as long as he can remember your presence feels like being drowned in a bathtub filled with hot water. It's overwhelming almost, scorches his skin yet he gladly submerges himself in the heat and the sensations that come with it. He's almost immediately infatuated with you, finds himself yearning for your affection in his dreams as well as in the real world. The age difference is something that weights on his soul though as he realises how experienced you are and how clumsy he seems to be in comparison. There's a lack of knowledge with certain machines or customs that he hasn't been exposed to due to his time in the orphanage but he is always too ashamed to tell you about it. Adamant to not let himself look like a young fool in front of you, Atsushi simply refuses to ask for help or advice from you. He wants to prove to you as well as himself that he can provide for you.

🐅​As shameful as it is, there is an undeniable twinge of jealousy directed against your own child. He envies the little boy for being able to cling to you as often as he does as those are all things Atsushi desperately wishes to do as well. He wants to be held, comforted and loved by you too but he could never admit such things as he stares at your son. What would you think of him after all if he were to confess to you that he feels jealous of your own child? It doesn't stop him from clenching his hands into fists every time he witnesses you giving affection to your son, nails turning into claws as he imagines what it would be like if he were to be the one in your child's position. You and your husband have parted ways a few years ago but you still keep in contact due to the child and that just about kills Atsushi. It takes always more willpower than it should to not outright growl at the man whenever he visits. Atsushi can't even fathom how a man could let someone like you go and occasionally he imagines what it would be like to just tear that man apart whenever his jealousy gets the better of him. Chances aren't exactly zero for Atsushi to confront your ex-lover and accidentally kill him during an argument.

🐅​The beast within him tries to tame itself as good as it can for you even if results are mixed. With time he grows closer to your child though he struggles to be a parent for the little boy as he more than once acts just as childish and needy. Still, he does his best to show you that he can protect and provide for you and your child all whilst seeking emotional comfort from you. It has taken him a good chunk of courage to finally confess to you only to be met with a direct blow to his heart. The shock of your rejection numbs him for a few seconds before the weight comes crushing down. He hyperventilates, he cries, he bites his bottom lip bloody and his nails threaten to rip through the skin of his palms. That is only because he does misunderstand your rejection as you telling him that you have no interest in him. Once he has come to understand that you didn't reject him for that reason hopefully he manages to calm down at least a bit. That means that he still has a chance, doesn't he? Still, he feels like it's his fault for not having made it clearer to you just how deeply infatuated he is with you. That has to change now. Hopefully some of his seniors can give him useful tips how to woo you.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke

⬛​It is through Gin that Akutagawa finds out about you as his beneath the mask quite shy sister has befriended you and finds herself visiting your small shop once a week. Whilst he is anything but an overbearing brother this piece of information still manages to stick to him. It's the first time he has heard that Gin has made friends with someone outside the Mafia and initially he starts directing hostility against you. Akutagawa isn't an individual to trust easily as he distrusts with far more confidence and this is what he finds himself doing against you. Who are you? Are you really just a regular citizen? His sister assures him that you are not some spy nor does she plan to give you any information about the Port Mafia or her real identity but for Akutagawa actions speak louder than words. He finds himself stalking you occasionally, dark eyes trailing after you. A scoff appears on his face the moment he notices the boy following you, realising that you have a child. How naive you must be, keeping a child whilst involving yourself with a mafioso. If you really are just a normal person you must have no motherly senses at all or else you wouldn't hang out casually with Gin.

⬛​Akutagawa never had a mother who raised him as he has grown up in a violent environment from a very young ago. None of his mentor figures have ever given him even an ounce of affection which has led him to believe that love is a weakness. A weakness he has fallen victim to. A part of him itches to use Rashomon to tear you and that little brat apart yet he holds himself back. Partially because his emotions are messy and partially for his sister's sake as she cherishes you. It's Gin he turns to as his curiosity grows and it is through her he finds out most information about you. The most pressing issue for him is who the father of your son is and even if Gin tells him that you have parted with the guy long before your child was born that doesn't stop Akutagawa's urges to rip that man apart for his mere existence. Stalking you becomes quite difficult, his possessive side flaring up the moment you talk to another man and give him a smile. It's the horrified gaze of his sister that holds him back but that is no guarantee that it'll work every single time. Only to his sister is he able to admit his conflicting feelings to you and both of them know that it is only a question of time when you will find out.

⬛​Still, even if it comes that far Gin wishes for her brother to not terrorise and hurt you even with his obsession. She cares for Akutagawa but you're still her friend and she likes your child as well. She wants him to attempt to confess to you the normal way at least once and if you reject him she kind of knows that there's little she can do. Unable to live with herself if she wouldn't try though Gin introduces her brother to you who finds himself incredibly awkward as he is completely out of his comfort zone, easily irritated and with little patience, especially when your son is around. Big chance that Gin is lurking around in the distance when Akutagawa tries confessing, already looking like he is glaring at you. He honestly only knows what to do in case you reject him because you don't like him which is instantly doing what he can do best. Inflicting fear upon you whilst using Rashomon. He isn't prepared for you rejecting him because you think he shouldn't bother with you and is left so perplexed with that answer that he just stares at you for a good while. Ultimately this only delays the abduction though because it'll still happen. He's promised Gin to not harm your son though.

[alisdarkwrites]

Yan! Oikawa and iwa Drabble <3

Fem pov

Tw: noncon, stalking, yandere behavior/themes, drugging, bullying, implied murder briefly mentioned, they put their cum into the drink (is that a tw?)

A/n: I feel like I talked weird in this but I kinda enjoy it and ahhhhh I’ve been gone so longggggg

Mdni

Everything is under the cut!

Oikawa falling inlove with someone so unpopular and insignificant to him that he can’t help but ask himself why? Why fall for her?

To cope with it Oikawa starts to make fun of her. The way she looks, dresses, acts. Despite the fact that he loves every single one of these things.

When he finds out iwaizumi feels the same way about her he isn’t happy at first. But as their feelings for poor, unsuspecting girl they have a crush on spiral into mad obsession they can’t help but work together.

Oikawa has some of his more insane, deluded fan girls stalk his darling, while iwaizumi takes out the trash. He scares off any potential suitors, whether by threatening them, or a more permanent solution.

Of course this isn’t enough! So oikawa throws a party, inviting everyone including his darling.

It’s perfect!

He has iwaizumi go up to her, acting all nice. Iwaizumi flirts with her a little bit and then offers to get her a drink. Once he goes off he has oikawa get the special little drink they made for her <3

They know it’s terrible, putting a sedative and a tiny bit of their cum into the drink but it’s ok… you’ll forgive them right?

Iwaizumi goes back to you, all kind and sweet, it’s to bad you don’t notice that gleam in his eye.

Once it finally kicks in, he asks if you need some rest. Of course you accept. Iwaizumi would never do anything bad right?

He brings you to oikawa bedroom, gently placing you on the bed. He leaves, locking the door behind him. You can’t help but drift into a deep, deep sleep…

When you wake up you can barely move. It’s hard to open your eyes but when you eventually do you see Oikawa in front of you. He beams at seeing you wake up. You feel someone wrap their forearm around your neck, putting you in a chokehold. You look up and realize it’s Iwaizumi.

You try to escape but your limbs feel so, so heavy. Iwaizumi grabs your arms, holding both of the with only one of his hands, pressing them out against your stomach. That’s when you realize that you were naked.

You started to freak out, begging them to stop and give you your clothes back. But oikawa just laughs and rubs you on the head.

Oikawa removes all of his clothes, gently pressing his cock against your hole. You beg him, beg and beg and beg him to not do this but nothing you say detours him.

He forces himself in

It’s painful, a burning sensation. It hurts before it’s even all the way in. Your telling him that he’s to big, that it hurts, but he just kisses you on the head.

His pace doesn’t make it any better. The second he thinks you’ve had enough time to adjust he pulls out most of the way. You feel relieved for a few seconds before he slams back in.

It goes on for hours, constant begging for it to stop and him mercilessly thrusting into you. Iwaizumi just kisses you, telling you that it’s ok <3

[yanderecrazysie]

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.

[i-cant-sing]

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.

[deluluass]

It's all over now, baby blue (1/12)

Ushijima Wakatoshi/Female Reader/Oikawa Tooru

Multi-chapter sequel to "Red, like Blood. Blue, like Love."

General Warnings:  rape/noncon; nsfw; depictions of post traumatic stress disorder; a lot of negative self-talk (reader pov) Chapter Warnings:  panic attack (reader pov); internalized misogyny (reader pov) Note: nsfw stuff won't happen in this chapter since this is a slow-ish burn

“It’s bullshit,” the woman huffed. “This whole soulmate business— it’s all bullshit.”

It's the assault of nicotine that finally made you wince. Of all the things said in that room, a cigarette is what got a reaction out of you.

A cigarette .

How typical.

Crouched down to the pavement, you folded your arms above your knees and buried your nose further into the crook of them.  

Her back has yet to part from the wall behind the both of you. There's a mottled stain along the pointed toe of her left shoe. An imitation of a birthmark on this poreless, rouged lipsticked, executive coiffed up haired woman.

And it's not like it escaped your notice, but she's really quite tall, isn't she? This one; more so with three extra inches on.

You shook your head, sank your face further into your knees until you’re just about tasting your own sweat, and pressed your eyes shut. Pointless observations. 

Earlier, she made exactly zero effort to conceal her opinion about you, which essentially boiled down to: piss off . Not exactly a new one in your long and illustrious career of not being wanted in any room you walk into. No, she wasn't the kind of person you’d need to catalog observations for. You're never speaking to each other ever again. 

But then, all things considered, she tucked the pack of Seven Stars in her blazer with a swiftness that someone who has a cigarette only does when they're caught doing it in a place they shouldn't be. Last you checked, you’re both in the smoking area. There's even a large sign for it.

Right there. “ Smoking area ,” it said.

Yet she hid the thing before you could even shake your head and say, “ I’m good, thank you . Go kill yourself in peace. ” 

Because you did hate it, that smell of early death saturating the air. More importantly, you didn't bother hiding it. And you didn’t feel bad not hiding it. 

Maybe that was the most important tell about her character.

She didn't say anything. Didn't throw your words back at you– tell you to fuck off, if you're gonna be such a judgy miss despite the fact that it was you who ran here for refuge. 

You opened your eyes to take a peek at her again, nape stinging from the effort. 

She met your blank look as she dragged a cigarette, then waved through the fog of nicotine like she's shooing a stray. 

Suck in. Huff out. Smoke rushed through a grin. For all your open distaste, you let it waft through you anyway. You let her drag another and another. 

You only stared, head tilted upwards, the sun exposing phantoms that swirled around the decisive flapping of her hand, driving everything away to God knows where, and you wondered. 

How is that possible?   

It's all just cigarette smoke to this woman.

Japan wasn’t this humid as he remembered it to be. They were already in the throes of the summer season, to be fair, so maybe Wakatoshi should probably just be grateful that he wasn’t already drowning in his own sweat. Though he’s very close to doing so now. 

To the credit of the League, they did take heavy measures to avoid that from happening. 

He turned away from the boys he’s instructing, glare forcing him to squint, and finally paid mind to the trailer parked right in front of the court. It was a gigantic thing equipped with a kitchen, bedroom, jacuzzi tub (?), and an AC unit. 

On the other hand, his students– boys, stout and lanky things not older than fourteen– were no different from the freshly hatched chicks that he used to watch over when he was growing up in his grandfather’s farm. They blinked at him with wet hair matted to weak, delicate skin. Wakatoshi removed the trailer from his line of sight and, despite complaints for pausing the lesson so soon, barked for some water bottles from a nearby tent.

They rushed to him, ice cold condensation  dripping down their fingers, then passed down the water bottles from Wakatoshi to the children. 

“You wanna rest for a while?” one of the staff he came with asked. Some Chisaka or other. 

“No, thank you,” Wakatoshi replied. “Where are the younger ones?”

The man grimaced and wiped his forehead. “They’re by the food tent having some snacks. Listen, dude, massive fan, but you really don’t have to… do all this. You sure you don’t wanna…?” He nudged his chin towards the trailer again. 

Shaking his head, Wakatoshi then promptly left some pointers for the boys in the court and headed for the largest tent propped up in the orphanage grounds.

Summer breeze whispered through the trees. The tent’s blue roof rippled like ocean waves.

The boys there erupted in squeals seeing him, while the rest couldn't be bothered to give him the same attention that they're gracing the sweets bar. That was fair. Nothing could ever compare to a nice fluffy anpan, and certainly not Wakatoshi.

The trailer was still visible from here. 

Somehow, it looked even weirder from this vantage point. Massive four-wheeled chrome on barely trimmed grass. Like an alien ship that’d stopped by for some drinks.

The League spends such things on him. 

Big dinners with a bunch of suits. A penthouse suite that they insisted that he should start using. Exclusive matcha flavored floss. 

The people who Wakatoshi signed a contract with seem to have a different idea on what he came home for. When his contract had ended with Orzeł Warszawa after these couple of years, he really did mean to return to Japan and represent it in the next Olympics. 

And the one after that. 

The one after that , too, if he gets lucky. 

He wasn’t going anywhere. But–

“ Hey. Big guy, big guy. Calm. This isn't amateur hour. You know why they’re doing this ,” his agent had blabbered the moment they’d arrived at the orphanage, a way of pacifying Wakatoshi after he’d given the man a look. 

That was a warranted reaction. Wakatoshi came here expecting children who had too much energy to spare, and one named Hiro. That was the one who’d written to him in blue ink– his kanji still rough around the edges, that he’d been watching Wakatoshi play since he was in diapers (that was an exaggeration, they explained to Wakatoshi); that he’d be very extremely so, so happy if he came to see them for his tenth birthday.

He didn’t expect– nor wanted, really– a national TV crew, a couple of magazine reporters, along with a catering service waiting for him in their stead. 

“ All eyes are on Japan right now. You guys are hosting after, what, ‘98? How long has it been? ” His agent patted his back as he led Wakatoshi to an interviewer with startling white teeth. “ Not kissing up your ass or anything, but don’t go all modest on me. You know you’re the hottest player in the game right now. You’re the  guy. You’re the fuckin’ guy. So many motherfuckers across the globe are gooning to have you on their side and your team sure as hell won’t let those slimy bastards nab you. They’re showing you off and they’re showing off to you. Just enjoy the ride, yeah? Welcome home .” 

Welcome home, he said.

Wakatoshi pulled out his phone and skimmed each mail notification that had piled on the screen. More excited-to-have-you-back’s. More invitations to parties that he’d immediately swiped off. Wakatoshi scrolled through international SMS and expected one from a certain area code continents away. 

It’d come up empty.

He felt a tug at his shorts.

He looked down to eyes the size of saucers peering up at him. The creature was ninety percent uncombed black hair and ten percent child. 

“Aren’t you gunna eat, Uwaka-sensei?” the five year old boy asked. A few hours ago he’d  sprawled on the floor crying, which Wakatoshi only managed to placate by giving him a single pat on the head. Now, he’s got strawberry cream smearing his cheeks; a crumb stuck between jutted out gap teeth. 

“Not hungry yet,” Wakatoshi replied. 

The boy proceeded to raise a slice of cake to Wakatoshi’s knees. “Miss said having leftovers is bad manners,” he argued. 

Wakatoshi felt his lips quirk. 

“Alright,” he said, plucking it from (hopefully) clean fingers. 

Once the food was cleared, of course, the children sprang from their chairs and ran for the volleyball court. The warnings of upset stomachs from the orphanage volunteers went from one ear to the other. Wakatoshi followed. He watched and noted their positions, and reminded everyone about the things that they should have learned earlier. Postures were corrected. The older ones who he’d left with a few practice drills were now engaging in a match of their own. 

Wakatoshi peeked at his phone again.

Still, nothing. 

The announcement of his return was released months ago.

Excusing himself from the volunteers, he made his way far from the court and the tents, thumb still pressed on his phone. 

It wasn’t as if Wakatoshi was expecting felicitations– far from it, but it was even more out of character to not even receive…anything.  

Something like “ Can’t wait to smoke your ass ” or other comments that only he could utter without shame, in spite of his age. Their teams are facing each other once again and this time Japan is not cutting corners. Everyone involved is bringing only their best.

Everyone involved is only the best. 

There’s nothing on this earth that Oikawa Tohru would love more than that.

All of them had parted and made promises; had defeated each other and won against each other, but they hadn’t had the opportunity to be on the same court all at once in such a long time. All of them– Oikawa more so, had only gotten better over the years, like a blade that had been sharpened beyond perfection. No one would fault Wakatoshi for feeling like he’s back in Shiratorizawa again. Like his agent had said, how long has it been ? 

The image of Oikawa standing on the same side of the court comes to him like a ball that hightailed past his defenses. A sudden lightness overtakes him.  

He really is getting old, Wakatoshi mused. 

All this time, maybe he’s just chasing what he’s owed. The urge to be the first to break the silence between them cropped up—

…but the sound of glassware crashing interrupted Wakatoshi’s plan.

Phone slipped back in his pocket, he searched for the source and landed on the nearest classroom. It had been turned into a makeshift storage area, he noted upon closer inspection. 

The door was ajar. Barely a sliver of light inside. Wakatoshi opened it and saw– among the crates of napkins and crockery and table linens– a woman . 

She was curled in a ball on the floor. Shards surrounded her like star clusters.  

“Is everything alright?” Wakatoshi asked, shoes brushing sharp fragments aside. 

He searched  for signs of injury as he bent down, knee hovering above the floor. Peering at the tag pinned to her uniform, Wakatoshi tried to call out her name, but to no avail. 

Her blown out gaze was inseparable from the floor. Her hands were trembling, back rising and falling in rapid, shallow successions. Wakatoshi became conscious of his own breathing and immediately kept it even, as if tugging at the leash of a trained dog. 

His next words were uttered softly, well-practiced, while he tried to make out the movements of her mouth.

“....me,” she murmured. 

Wakatoshi leaned, careful not to get too close.  

“ Please…help……me. ”

Last Saturday, or was it Monday?, the tap stopped working. 

No tap. No shower. The dirty dishes that you promised you’d get to washing after your shift piled up. Leftovers clumped together and fossilized on the surface of each plate, chipped at the edges. The swirl of unfinished tea and soup and juice and accumulated trickles of water when it still worked surrounded it like a moat protecting a reclusive hoarder’s tower. “ The water people came by weeks ago, pumpkin ,” the sweet old lady running the complex told you. “ You forgot again? ”

And because you’d spent everything on groceries, and overdue bills, and medicine for the cough and cold that had left you on the bed with nothing else to do because they couldn’t risk a liability at work, you could only stare at her and say, “ Right ,” and breathe. “ Sorry, ma’am, ” you breathed.

“Breathe."

Breathe. 

Weren't you just telling yourself that earlier? This morning, was it? You forgot. But you told yourself that. Inoue couldn’t come today and though it’s not your day yet you went ahead and replied sure yup I can make it :)) to the work group chat even though you’re sure you still smelled like shit. Because you could do it and you’re not weak and you are responsible and in control and–

When that little volleyball exploded on the sleek, polished floor, and you'd dropped the tray like a complete fucking idiot? You told yourself to breathe. 

It’s easy. You could do it. You pushed through it. What happened to that, pretty girl?

You're not breathing now are you? 

Oh, dear God. Dear, dear. God. You haven't even paid rent yet. What will you tell your manager? You'd just washed those. Are you still breathing now? Look at them. Twenty a piece. Five hundred. Six. You ugly little bitch. 

You said you could do this, kitten. 

"Breathe."

It’s not you saying it now. 

The voice was deeper. Just like mine. Not like that. 

"I'm going to help you stand up," he said. "We're getting out of this room."

Not like that. Not like that. Notlikethat– The voice did not tease. My pretty, pretty girl. It didn't have that rise-fall lilt that took pleasure in keeping you on your toes. 

This one's as straightforward as an arrow. 

Unbending. 

True. 

"Breathe," he repeated.

But you were breathing. What was this guy saying? You are breathing, aren’t you? The chasm in your chest may have gotten bigger, sucking in all matter and trapping everything inside until there’s barely anything to hold onto– not even air, but you are breathing. 

“Look at me,” the man said. And you followed. You felt your neck crane up. 

Green eyes, like leaves on branches. Swaying behind him. “Breathe with me.”

Odd. His chest was expanding, inflating like a balloon at a kid’s party, once, twice, then he–  woosh went his mouth. You did the same. “Inhale,” he murmured. Once. Twice. “Exhale.”

Woosh .

Wind trickled in, the chime of bells, and all at once you felt like you’d drank water after a good cry, but you hadn’t been crying. You weren’t crying, were you? 

“You’re outside now.” 

Yes, you are. No, you're not. You're still inside that dark cage, dust in your nose. Iron– hot and suffocating and angry, is molding you, tearing you apart from the insides until muscle and fat are stretched into thin ribbons. Your mother’s warnings, sharp as the squeak of shoes, clear and deafening as boys shouting. Red means run. Blue means– 

“Do you smell that? Barbeque.”

The man was incredibly tall. 

Smoked meat and onions sailed with the breeze. Birds chirped like you'd just woken up. It felt like that. You closed your eyes and opened them again, looking at the warm anchor before you. 

His white shirt was darkened by sweat.

He didn't look like the type to smile a lot, but his face seemed softer now. Severe brows sloped  down a determined but gentle gaze. Something began to itch at the back of your head, like you were supposed to remember something. 

"You did well," he told you.

And you believed him. ‘Cause he said it like he’s just saying, “ The sun is hot. ” You did well, as in “ A ball is round ” or “ Birds fly .” 

And so, you did well. 

"What do you need now?" 

The feeling of sandpaper in your grip registered in your senses. You glanced down and realized that you'd been holding his hands. For how long, you could hardly tell, but the heavy weight of them held you down, kept you from floating back to the darkness where something waited for you, its starved eyes glowing red and blue.  

His palms were rough wrapped around yours.  You found that you didn't mind. 

"I-" you began. You cleared your throat. "I'm- I'm okay. I think."

He gave a nod in response. His thumb dwarfed yours. And when he brushed the back of your hand– why, you wouldn't have believed it, but your fingers glided, cool as can be, just like dandelion fluffs through the spaces between his. 

Silence sat unperturbed between the two of you. 

It let the summer critters chatter among themselves. It let the boys playing a game of volleyball just be boys playing a game of volleyball. It let the world just be what it always has been. And it…it was warm, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

Like being swaddled, almost. 

You felt yourself breathing in, the precious seconds right before drifting to a dreamless sleep. (Whose hand caressed whom? Was it yours?) 

The haze, however, had to be cut short. Sliced clean through by a pained, guttural noise. 

"What's wrong?" you blurted out.

He hissed. " Nothing. ”

Irritation disturbed his once calm features. You felt your heart twist as he discarded his hold on you. You almost begged for its return.

"I'm sorry," you cried, although you weren't sure of your crime. Doesn't matter now. You'd inconvenienced this man. You have to pay for it, kitten. You know what he'll do to you, don't you? Oh, beautiful. He's going to– 

He grunted, as if using all his strength to stop your derailing thoughts from setting up in flames. 

"I'm sor-"  

One sharp look was all it took. You clamped your mouth shut as he grabbed his wrist, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. Seeing his intimidating form bent over ignited prickles all over your palms. 

And there it was. Again.

That itch. You're forgetting something. Your hands were burning, but you didn't feel the pain, like they'd been scorched beyond sensation before being dunked in ice cold water. So you looked at them, just to make sure they're still there.

First, the forked lines.

Then, the dashed ones.

"Look at their palms!" 

Both of you turned to the sound of cameras clicking. Grown ups and children alike stood before you. They gaped and pointed as more people ran from the bottom of the hill. You felt your stomach drop. You searched his eyes for answers, but those keen olives were just as perplexed as you were.

Knowing that you'd come up short of explanation among the ruckus, he retrieved your hand, disgruntled expression still in place, and turned it palm side up. 

"Who woulda guessed, huh?!" somebody yelled. 

Neither of you were looking anymore. Not at the audience that you'd suddenly gathered. Not at your palms. You met his gaze, his breathing mimicking yours, chests moving in a familiar rhythm. 

Camera flashes made you wince. You could barely tell your left from your right. 

That look in his eyes didn't help either, burning you with what seemed like an accusation and– 

“I knew it. You really should stop trying to run away,” somebody had said, snickering, right up to your ear. 

Inhale. Once. Twice. 

“I knewit . You really shouldstoprunningawayfromme–”

Exhale. 

“I’ll always find you.”

You took a step backwards. 

“I’ll always always always always alwaysalwaysalways–”

The enclosing crowd are heavy double doors, rusted hinges creaking shut, and there is never going to be a way out. 

SPORTS ILLUSTRATED INTL 

Volleyball Star Scores Destiny Ahead of 2028 Summer Olympics

Temperatures are rising and the competition is getting heated in more ways than one!

Last Wednesday, FIVB Nations League MVP Ushijima Wakatoshi was caught in a first soul glow during a charity event for underprivileged orphans. “We are very happy for him,” Coach Blanchard said to NHK. “He’s been working so hard his entire career. He deserves this.” 

The video of the two gained massive attention worldwide. It has a whopping 2 million views on the VolleyWorld Youtube channel and is still gaining traction among non-volleyball fans on Twitter. 

 @rdlty12 

HE LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE A PRINCE?? LORD I SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR OTHERS 

@_itsmejayne

it’s actually their world n we’re all just living in it i feel sick rn

@KINGPQW 

bro met his soulmate while on his way to grab an olympic medal who is doing it like him 

@strawberryhertz 

not even into volleyball like that but if you catch me watching the olympics for a grown man playing an intense version of don’t let the balloon touch the floor MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

Orzeł Warszawa did not miss the assignment and showed support to their former teammate.

@OrzełWarszawa_Official

See you, lover boy ;)) 

The identity of the Olympic favorite’s soulmate, however, is yet to be known. Ushijima himself  refused to make a statement about this momentous occasion. Nevertheless, with a home advantage, a dream team on its back, and an inspiration of a magical magnitude bestowed upon their ace, it now begs the question: 

Is Japan finally ready to take back their gold?

The last time your mother had worn that red lip gloss was when you’d won an award for something. “ Perfect Attendance ,” your teacher had announced. 

She came with you to the ceremony, cherry polka dot blouse and vibrant lips, and you couldn't quite explain it then, but you were so sure that having your mother see you win was probably the closest thing that a person could get to flying. 

That was in grade school.  

The certificate for that is now molding in a cardboard box somewhere.

"What was he really like?" she asked you as the ribs under her knife bled thick sauce. 

Her eyes twinkled. Your throat felt tight like you'd eaten too much with little to no space to store it in. You're yet to put a dent on your plate. 

She hummed and wiggled her brows, nudging you into revealing more about the man who– in the span of a day, flipped everything you'd settled to believe about your life. You limply stabbed the celery with the prongs of your fork. 

Nostalgia truly is a funny thing. Yearning handed out with a grin and a twist to the gut. 

"He's tall," you started, shrugging. 

"He is," she giggled. "Handsome, too."

A grin miraculously fought its way to your chapped lips, though you may have failed the execution. It seems that it didn’t produce the look that you were going for. Your mother made that face that she makes when she catches you mid-prayer to the porcelain deities. 

"Is there something wrong?" she eventually asked. Who wouldn't ask that when you’ve got that permanently ugly, bearer-of-bad-news look on your face?

Is there something wrong, kitten? 

You remember that? Same question, wasn’t it? When you ran home all those years ago with your school jacket wound tightly around your waist. Like it could hide shit. 

“ Is there something wrong? ” she asked you.

She should’ve stopped asking that question by now. Seriously, how old are you? Something “wrong” only happens to girls who wear their skirts too short and then wander alone at night practically begging for it, not full grown adults who should be more than capable of shelling out for their own life.

Nothing wrong should ever happen to you again. Or what would that make you? Hm? Some little girl whose life goes in circles? Fucking up then, fucking up now? 

And just like what you told her before, you said–

“Nothing, mom.” You dropped the fork. “I was just thinking that–”

“ Do you think we can go…far away.. Again? The kids here are mean and– I don't know, I- I just thought, maybe, things would be– ” 

“... Different,” you muttered.  You pushed yourself to meet her troubled eyes. “It feels…different than how I’d…imagined it to be. It’s odd, that’s all. Can’t help but think that if I hadn’t stood in for Inoue’s shift today… I don’t know–”

I don’t know. The ignoramus shrugged once more. “Woke up that day to Inoue’s message. He said he couldn’t make it. It was supposed to be his shift. I didn’t wanna– you know, I didn’t wanna say I could. I wanted to go back to sleep.” Told myself that I could do it ‘cause that’s what people who can’t do anything say. 

“You’re still not feeling well?” Her brows are knitted together. Lips dulled now by the sauce and meat.

“No, no I am. Better. I am better, Ma. All I’m saying is, it’s all just– funny, is it? It could’ve easily not happened.” 

“But you still went,” she pressed. Her smile could’ve put the sun to shame even as it’s beaming in all its glory this month. Features softened, voice firm: “It would have anyway, baby. I know that.”

Of course she did. 

The story hung above your heads, above the dining room, like motes of dust struck through by the light, waltzing in the air all untouchable, refusing to settle but always, always there. 

Sit down. Get comfortable. It goes something like this:

Once upon a time, your mother had walked around the city in the middle of the night, alone and in her pajamas– as one does when they’re nineteen and had decided to sit out on a party because they believed that their friends secretly hated them. She bought a tub of ice cream, sat by the river bank, cried her eyes out, and rode the last train going back. Then, just as the track took a sharp turn and she’d stumbled on her feet, a kind stranger had caught her before she could fall.

The man’s palms glowed as blue as hers. 

On their way home (because, yes, he walked her back to her apartment) and her friends had caught sight of the two (“ Girl, where were you?! ”), one of them perked up seeing the man  and exclaimed, “ Hey! You were at the party too, weren’t you? Aoto-kun’s classmate, right? Why’d you go home so early?”

That’s why your mother could say stuff like that with all the sincerity of a fish vendor and the finality of a god. She could boldly proclaim, “One way or another, he would have found you even if you or him decided to turn away from destiny,” because it happened to her. All of it– everything that they put in the movies to encourage young girls to hope and dream and someday leave their hearts out in the open for all the world to step on. That was her reality, once upon a time. 

But what was it to you, cutie? What will it ever be to you, other than a bedtime story and a dead man in a photograph?

Perhaps that's what separates women like her from the likes of you. Her soulmate took one look at her and immediately decided to keep her safe, swaying her hand in his like they're dancing while playing two truths and a lie.

Yours took one look at you and couldn't be more relieved to see you walk away.  

Is that it? Is that the demarcation? Did somebody up there determine who gets to be the woman that gets loved and the woman that gets ra–

Something soft and warm patted the back of your hand. Your mother had reached across the table. “Baby,” she said, prompting you to look at her again. “This is a good thing.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you mumbled, taking a bite out of an asparagus. 

“Everything is meant to be,” she repeated. And, “When are you seeing him again?”

Your mom cooked this food. She called you here for dinner. It still tasted like how it did many years ago. Maybe even better. And don't you think she should be wearing that lipstick forever? 

When she’d called you over the phone, as soon as the news broke, she’d– “ I knew it! I knew you’d have it just like the movies. Oh, you should’ve seen Mrs. Sasaki’s face– ” sounded a lot like the angels had woken her up to the vision of her old washing machine running again without the empty clang clang clang. Like you got off your ass and stapled and clipped your insides together and it finally held together.

This time, for sure. 

You smiled. 

“Hopefully, soon,” you replied, chewing. 

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Tooru Oikawa General Profile

Yandere! Tooru Oikawa x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of stalking, non-consensual touching, mentions of non-con, possessiveness, mentions of murder, threats, one brief mention of eating/eating enough, extreme dependency, allusions to neglect, this one's a little sad because I think Tooru could only become yandere for someone he's known for quite a while like a friend, brief mentions of physical violence, manipulation, Tooru is mean to a fan so reminder to never meet your heroes, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Sweet

First and foremost, while Tooru deeply respects and loves Iwaizumi, his teammates and his often insulting banter with them, there’s nothing that melts his heart more than genuine compliments from those he cares about.

Of course, he’s used to women fawning over him; telling him how handsome he is, how talented he is, how wonderful and amazing and rich he is.

And it feels nice in the moment, making his ego swell and a smirk slip onto those pink lips of his, but Tooru wants more.

He wants real compliments, praise for things that are more personal, things that only a true companion could know about. He’s tired of false flattery, of people telling him such sweet words just to get close to him for his status, his wealth, his pretty face.

He wants someone who is kind just to be kind – someone who means what they say when they compliment others.

It makes his heart race in his chest, something about their sincerity making him freeze up when his darling tells him how dedicated and passionate he is for putting in so much effort into volleyball.

It makes his breath catch a bit when they smile and sigh and tell him how proud they are when he cuts off his practice early, so that he isn’t spending hours afterwards serving and hitting until he breaks down.

He wants a darling that will be sweet and feed his somewhat precarious ego, and he’ll eagerly return the favor. He’s pouring compliments on them left and right, drowning them in kind words designed to get them flustered and bashful and so fucking adorable.

He just finds it endearing, and it’s a nice break from the usual women he meets. His darling is different, special, perfect, after all.

Perceptive

Although time has helped Tooru become more comfortable with himself, he’s still a bit hesitant to show his true self to others.

He’s worn a persona for most of his adult life, even starting way back in high school – he’s charming and smooth, always acting happy and suave.

And for the most part, he doesn’t mind – but with a select few of his friends and close companions, the world doesn’t get to know the real Tooru Oikawa.

His darling, however, is one of the very few who are on this list – and having a perceptive darling would make him fall much, much quicker.

His darling needs to be someone who is capable of catching clues as to the man that lives behind the mask; the one that still doubts himself, the one who needs constant encouragement, the one who just needs to be wanted and loved and appreciated for his hard work and his actions.

His darling needs to be able to help slowly push past the façade that he’s crafted over the years, and while they don’t need to see everything, they need to be able to make Tooru feel comfortable enough to actually be himself.

Someone who is able to pick up on his emotions, even when they aren’t terribly obvious, would be immensely attractive to him. It makes him feel seen and heard in a way that’s difficult to come by as a famous athlete, and the moment his darling showcases this ability, it’s only a matter of time before Tooru’s feelings are developing in full force.

It’s just refreshing to not have to pretend to be someone he isn’t – he’s just Tooru, not Oikawa the athlete.

It only further proves to him that his darling is made for him – they’re able to read and understand him like most people don’t, and what other possible sign could there be that they’re perfect for one another?

Honest

While Tooru’s darling must be kind, they must also be someone who isn’t afraid to tell him the truth.

All the women he meets in his daily life want to use him – whether it be his money, his fame, his looks, very few are honest about their intentions with him.

And while it makes him feel good to be wanted by so many people, Tooru often finds himself exhausted from all the effort and analysis he must undergo in order to really understand someone’s intentions.

And so, a darling that’s upfront about how they’re feeling and what they want is very, very attractive to him.

He tends to overthink and hyperfixate on things, and having a darling who leaves nothing unanswered calms his anxiety monumentally.

He doesn’t have to guess with them – he knows he can trust their word, that they won’t easily lie to him, that what they’re saying is exactly what they’re thinking.

It makes his heart flutter when they tell him that his hair looks good today, or when they tell him that they want to catch lunch sometime and hear about his latest game.

It makes him feel wanted and understood in a way that’s rare in his daily life, only furthering his obsession and fixation on his darling.

Calm

Tooru can be a bit childish. Even well into his twenties, this still rings true – he gets jealous easily and feels challenged by small comments and doubts of his ability.

His anger can get easily sparked by the right person, and having a darling that balances out these characteristics is a necessity for him.

A calmer darling helps keep him grounded, making sure that he keeps his head and doesn’t make any rash decisions.

They act as a sort of grounding rock for him – they’re able to bring him back to Earth with just a few words and a light touch to his shoulder, reminding him that some things aren’t worth his time or effort.

It’s useful, of course, but Tooru also finds it incredibly attractive when his darling is able to handle situations calmly on their own – he likes how confident they seem, how they’re able to logically think their way through a situation and not allow their emotions to get the better of them.

It’s awe-inspiring, if he’s being honest, and with every situation and interaction they successfully navigate with a smile and an even tone, Tooru only finds himself growing more and more impressed, becoming more and more interested in them until eventually it becomes all too much, their calm nature becoming something he grows dependent on in order to regulate himself.

Having his darling around becomes a necessity rather than simply a pleasure – and thus, his dependency is born, his reliance on his darling becoming one of the main facets of his obsession.

How lucky for his beloved.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS: 

Possessive

It’s no secret that Tooru has never had to seriously work to get women. He’s attractive, a professional athlete, wealthy, famous – all in all, he’s a catch to countless fans, any of whom would be more than willing to be his partner.

And while he’s dated around, had a few serious boyfriends and girlfriends, he’s never really found the one.

For a long time, he seriously wondered if there was something wrong with him; he’s nearly 30, meeting countless new people everyday, going on dates every weekend with someone new, and he still hasn’t found a worthwhile connection with anyone long term. So why have all his friends begun slipping pretty rings onto their partners’ fingers, inviting him with a too-wide smile to attend their new house-warming party, or even posting a baby bump photo with far too many emojis?  

He’s skeptical, and so while his confidence in his attractiveness doesn’t diminish by any means, Tooru slowly becomes less convinced that he’ll end up with a long term partner, a spouse, anything beyond a summer fling or a good, few month spark.

However, once his feelings for you develop, a sudden ray of hope is placed into his life. Suddenly, the prospect of dying alone doesn’t seem as imminent – how can it be, when you’re around?

How can he feel sad about his future when you’re so sweet and smart and pretty and god, that fucking smile –

 He’s fallen head over heels before he even knows it, and while he exists in a somewhat honeymoon state for a while after the realization of his feelings, full of longing and dreamy smiles with red tinged cheeks and erratic heartbeats when he lays his eyes on you, quickly other feelings accompany. Ugly, disgusting feelings that Tooru hasn’t felt to such extreme degrees since high school, and never in the context of romance.

Namely, every time he sees you out in public, the adoration for the way the sunlight reflects off your hair is diminished by the coursing jealousy in his veins as he watches other men ogle you.

When he’s got you laughing at some joke he’s telling over your weekly lunch, he can’t fully enjoy the lilting sound because that damn waiter keeps coming back and asking if you want water, his body way too fucking close to you to be truly professional.

He’s suddenly acutely aware of just how beautiful and stunning you are, and how much male attention that gives you. He doesn’t blame you – no, of course not – because  you’re simply perfect, and how are you supposed to know everyone wants a bite of you? No, Tooru sees you as much more helpless than that; you’re naïve, and it’s really only a matter of time before another man attempts to steal you away from him.

He knows it’s inevitable that you’ll be approached by someone else, and while they probably won’t be as handsome, wealthy, or athletically gifted as Tooru is, would you be swayed?

Is it possible that another man could win your heart, even with the setter right there in front of you all but begging for your adoration and love?

As time passes, Tooru slowly begins believing that it absolutely could happen, that any day now you could be pried away from his iron clad grip, no matter how hard he fights it. And so, he more or less panics.

He’s never really had to worry about keeping girls before, and how does it even work?

What should he do?

What should he say?

How short a leash is too short to keep you on?

He’s lost, quite frankly, and extremely embarrassed about it, because only immature, insecure men get jealous over their partner. Only men not confident in themselves panic over the thought of their beloved leaving them, and Tooru hasn’t felt crippling insecurity like this in years.

And yet, just one thought of you smiling in the direction of another man has him gritting his teeth, his arms flexing as his nails dig deeply into his fisted palms.

And so, Tooru decides that to keep you his, he’ll just have to show the world – through extravagant gifts, of course.

Suddenly there are bouquets of flowers arriving for you nearly everywhere you go – you wake up to deliveries at 8:00 sharp, a bouquet of sunflowers with a small note written in looping letters as these flowers grew, so did my dedication to you.

 Necklaces with chains you’re fairly sure are made of real silver have the initial T and O engraved into them, winding around a heart and what almost appears to be a knife, though you’re not sure. Anklets, too, arrive, with sayings like angel or darling (one even featured babygirl, though you were quick to throw that particular piece of jewelry to the back of your closet, half amused at the – presumably – joke, half disturbed at the prospect of his sincerity).

You’re not sure who these gifts are coming from initially; you don’t know anything off the top of your head that would do something like this, until very suddenly it all clicks – the way Tooru looks so smug when you receive flowers while you’re out at lunch with him, the tulips your favorite color while the delivery man reads off the card Tooru had instructed him to. It pieces together when you see him sign legal forms or checks, that familiar signature and those initials jogging your memory. You only put the pieces together after Tooru’s need for your focused attention grows to new heights – physical touchiness, particularly in public spaces.

 He’s always been clingy as a friend, but suddenly his hand is always at your waist, fingertips pressing in too tight for comfort.

He’s always liked hugs, but now his hugs feel strangely intimate; he’s pressing against you, burying his nose into your neck and audibly inhaling, a sigh falling from his lips as he periodically squeezes your body in his arms.

His hand is resting at the small of your back when you’re standing next to him, a steady palm to guide you through crowded spaces – though sometimes he ‘forgets what he’s doing’, as he tells you, and his hand ends up cradling the curve of your hip, dipping down to the flat of your tailbone, or jumping up and almost seeming to lightly, oh so airily trace the outline of your bra straps through your top.

(He hasn’t quite mustered up the courage to actually grope you in public, if only because he’s scared that you’ll be put off by him, and although he deeply, desperately wishes to touch you in such an intimate way, he’s a bit nervous that once he begins, he’ll never be able to stop.)

The physical affection grows extreme, his hands never leaving your body, reaching the point where it’s difficult to simply explain it away as platonic, as Tooru just being Tooru.

And yet, when you bring it up to him, those brown eyes go all wide, his mouth tilting down into a frown as he tells you he’s sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable! If you want I won’t touch you at all, I’d never want you to be unhappy around me; although, haven’t you noticed how all those creeps that used to hit on you don’t bug you anymore when I’m with you? Maybe it’s a good thing – I can be your hero and keep all the freaks away from you!

(The sincerity and conviction in the pouting of his lip and the creasing of his brow will have you swaying immediately, merely brushing off his words as being an attempt at humor rather than the truth.)

He’s not trying to be purposefully manipulative, but the words are falling out of his mouth before he can stop it, your face slowly changing as you consider his point, slowly nodding and smiling lightly, telling him he’s absolutely right, thank you Tooru, I don’t know what I’d do without you.

And just the sound of his name alone has him doubling down, touching you more, his possessive streak only growing exponentially with every permission you give to his tendencies, with every smile and giggle and fleeting touch.

How can he be expected to control himself when you look at him like that, all doe eyes and beaming smile and fuck, your hand is on his chest, if you’d just slide it down ever so slightly, following the thin line of dark brown hair you’d find a place that really, truly can’t resist you. God knows he’s tried.

Obsessive

Tooru’s always had a tendency to hyperfixate.

He’s a bit of a perfectionist, wanting to become the master at whatever he chooses to invest his time in, and once his feelings for you solidify, you are suddenly at the top of the list, very narrowly beating out volleyball.

Suddenly, Tooru finds himself yearning to learn every bit of information about you he can, every scrap feeling precious no matter how insignificant.

Sure, maybe it’s not the most important thing, but knowing how you like your toast makes his chest swell with pride.

(Do you like it lightly toasted? Darkly toasted? With butter? With jam? With peanut butter? With or without the crusts? It’s all important, so that one day when he’s routinely surprisingly you with breakfast in bed you’ll smile at him and exclaim how it’s just so perfect, giving him a soft, loving kiss and feeding him a bit of the toast, wiping away the jam from the corner of his jaw and licking it off your thumb, telling him to join you in bed because it’s so big and lonely without him and you’d been dreaming of you, Tooru, and you’ll never guess what we were doing…)

He’ll admit that maybe knowing the order you get dressed in the morning isn’t the most imperative piece of your daily life, but he’ll still recite the order in his head every night as he lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling and imagining if your routine to get undressed is the same.

He’s not picky with the information he learns, approaching every opportunity with enthusiasm, excitement, and a disturbing amount of eagerness.

And the way he goes about collecting this information isn’t limited, either – he’s not particularly partial to stalking you, if only because he’d rather you be acknowledging him and aware of his company, and because it’s difficult to simply blend in as a well-known athlete.

Rather, he falls back on some equally morally gray methods – it’s not hard to get his hands on a few for-hire personal hackers, his money spreading like water as he gets into every internet browser you’ve ever used, the history in every app you frequent, your camera roll, your documents, your notes apps and reminders.

Hell, even your settings are at his fingertips, eager brown eyes flicking through the different ways you have your backgrounds, profiles pictures, even the way you group your apps.

It’s all so interesting, his thumb endlessly scrolling through the information over and over until time starts to blur, four hours having passed without him even noticing.

He’s pouring through your watch history on all your favorite streaming platforms, compulsively watching your most viewed shows and movies over and over until he can nearly recite every line, eagerness and excitement lacing his voice with every word that leaves his mouth.

He’s analyzing anything he can get his fingers on, endlessly fascinated and entertained by anything and everything that even remotely pertains to you. You’re like some drug he’s found himself addicted to, his body physically craving you, the desire to always be thinking of you and with you nearly suffocating.

But he’s a busy man, and he doesn’t want to scare you off, so he can’t just constantly be around you, constantly following you or pressing for your attention – it would scare you, he’s sure, so he settles for almost living vicariously through you.

By watching your favorite shows and looking at your search histories, it’s almost like he’s next to you, like he’s spending time with you, like he’s an active part of your life. It’s almost like you’re together, the thing he yearns for more than anything.

And even once you’re under his roof, stolen and kept soundly by his side, Tooru’s obsessive tendencies don’t disappear – now that you know, now that you’re aware of the depth of his infatuation, why should he bother hiding just how much he knows about you?

Why should he take the time and effort to mask just how expansive his knowledge on you goes? Sure, it may scare you a bit, but he simply can’t hold himself back anymore – you have to let him show you just how dedicated he is to you.

You must let him cook you your favorite meals (perfectly done, even strange flavor combinations you don’t remember mentioning to him), let him rub your back (with that one exact movement he knows you love), let him play music for you (your favorite songs, of course), and let him buy new clothes for you (they’re the perfect sizes, your favorite colors, your favorite styles).

He just wants to please you, to get you looking at him with admiration, fondness, joy, and he’s willing to put every scrap of information he’s gleaned about you to use.

He wants to spoil you and make you the happiest you’ve ever been, all so you’ll smile at him and compliment him, so that you’ll praise him and kiss him and tell him that he’s perfect, you’re everything I could ever want Tooru.

He craves your validation, so please, please let him please you – let him stare at you for hours at a time, taking in every detail of your face, every mannerism of your movements, every inflection of your voice.

It makes him happy, makes him feel needed, wanted, like he’s actually contributing something, like he's treating you like a good, loving, loyal man – please, let yourself need him.

Because he needs you more than you could ever know.

Clingy

Of course, while Tooru’s jealousy and obsessiveness regarding you is certainly not an easy load to bear, by far the hardest part of being the center of his devotion is the touching.

He’s always been clingy, even back before his feelings for you had developed – as friends, he was texting you near constantly, all kinds of stupid videos and jokes making your phone light up with notifications at the most inconvenient times.

He’s always been physically affectionate with you, whether it be hugs or ruffling your hair or lighthearted shoves, the actions never feeling forced or unnatural or strange. But once his feelings develop, things change.

The clinginess doesn’t change – no, if anything it just gets stronger, the urge to be around you and have your attention and feel you growing more and more pressing by the day.

No, the thing that changes is the atmosphere that comes alongside his growing desperation.

What used to be a small, casual hug of greeting when you meet up to eat becomes a very tense three second hug, his hands settling firmly at your waist and his brown hair tickling your neck with how deeply he buries his face against you.

(Often you think you can hear him sniffling, as if he was smelling, as if he was breathing you in, but the moment passes too quickly for you to really be sure.)

What used to be a casual holding of hands when he guides you through a crowded space becomes him snaking his fingers between yours, his palms clammy and sweaty, his fingers gripping onto yours tight, tightly enough to sometimes be painful.

What used to be flirtatious comments with very little meaning that he’d occasionally throw your way just to tease you become real, all traces of a joke erased from his tone as he tells you that you’re more beautiful than any flower after you mention how lovely the nearby flowerpot is.

Things slowly begin feeling different the longer his infatuation carries on, to the point where you will have to actively start dismissing these changes as merely being in your head – of course Tooru isn’t acting weird when he pulls you against his hip so that you’re walking side by side down the street.

Why would that be weird?

Sure, the street is nearly deserted so there’s no chance of running into anyone, and sure there’s no cracks or holes in the walkway to warrant you having to be careful, but it’s not weird.

(Just don’t look down – the dress pants he’d donned for the occasion – your date, he likes to think – do a very poor job of hiding just how your body heat is affecting him, of just how the way you fit against his side is making him feel.)

You’ll slowly get the feeling that Tooru is pushing your boundaries, every day finding a way to poke and prod just a bit more, to blur the lines of friend and boyfriend just a hair, just to see how far he can get without you calling him out for his behavior.

And when you eventually do reach your limit, wherever it may be, don’t breath too heavy a sigh of relief – because while he’ll try to tone it down as much as possible (he has to, because when you look so upset with him it makes his heart physically ache, the words of agreement already slipping out of his mouth because he’d do anything to get you smiling at him again), his clinginess is nothing compared to how it is once he’s stolen you away.

Once you’re living under the same roof as him, things will very, very quickly get out of hand. Any semblance of personal space and boundaries you may have are merely a suggestion to him, something of the past that can be plowed right past because now you’re his, and he’s yours.

Now there’s no reason to try and hold himself back – you know how he feels now, the level of desperation with which he wants you, so why should he bother trying to save his decorum or keep things platonic? He’s waited for so very long to touch you as he pleases, and while he won’t force anything too extreme on you, you will be subject his physical affections.

He’s constantly got a hand on your body, whether that’s resting on your shoulder, your waist, your thigh, your cheek, your ass, anything at all. He’s always hugging you, letting his long arms wrap around your shoulders as lets out a sound much too similar to a moan to be comfortable, pressing his body directly into yours so that he can feel every inch of you against him and feel more connected to you.

He’s always pressing kisses against your hands and legs, letting his lips travel from your fingertips up to your elbows, down over your shoulders to your belly button, down the slope of your thighs and finishing on the curve of your ankle, those brown eyes half lidded in far too much passion as you shiver in disgust.

He’s always trying to get you to return his affections, too – it’s great to hug you and sit you in his lap, but he wants you to want it, to want him, to want his touch.

He tries to keep all the affection pleasurable for you, to have you happy and smiling and craving the human contact, because the only thing worse than you rejecting his love is you rejecting his touch.

And so it’s not uncommon for him to whisper to you as he’s got his arm hooked around your waist, lying on his side with you spooned up to him if you’re enjoying this, does this feel good for you?

 (His voice is unsure, hesitant, almost afraid, your response the difference between his heart breaking or beating out of his chest.)

He’s incredibly vulnerable when he’s touching you, his desperation and the raw need he feels for you bleeding out of him in ways that make it absolutely impossible for you to ignore. How can you? When he’s mindlessly playing with your fingers as he tells you about the upcoming game this weekend, he can’t stop marveling at the softness of your fingers against his calloused ones, his skin brushing yours even as you try to pull away.

When he’s clutching onto the shirt – his shirt – adorning your figure as he holds you against his chest on the couch, you’ll notice how his grip doesn’t falter for even a moment, staying steadfast and firm and strong. Frankly, even with all the rage and betrayal you feel towards Tooru, his touchiness and clinginess will likely be the source of the growing pity you feel for him.

Because really, isn’t he just so pathetic? He’s an absolute mess unless he's touching you – anxiety overwhelms him, panicked thoughts about whether you actually love him, about whether he’s even worthy of your love, whether he’s a talented player or an number of other insecurities that suddenly come racing to the surface.

So really, while it’s not ideal, you’d best get used to his handsiness – it’s intense, to say the least, and while he’ll never force himself onto you, he will force his affection onto you.

It’s better for you to simply let it happen – enjoy the human contact while you can, because when he leaves for the long, long trips for series of away games, you’ll find yourself missing your captor’s touch.

Isn’t it all just so sick?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Tooru is, unfortunately, a naturally jealous man. He’s always been both envious of others and painfully aware of his own shortcoming in every aspect of his life. Volleyball, friendships, even his own love life have left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, always acutely aware of what other people do better, what they have, frustration eating him alive because why can’t he be better or have what they have?

It’s unhealthy and as he’s gotten older he’s gotten better at keeping the jealousy at bay, but he’s still victim to the green-eyed monster much more often than he’d care to admit.

And where you’re concerned, this natural tendency only gets worse, his possessiveness flaring to worrying degrees when another man so much as looks at you.

(His jealousy is actually one of the major reasons why he even realized that his feelings for you transformed from platonic to romantic, his love for you changing from laughing at your jokes to wanting you gasping and writhing and needing him.)

 Though, while desperation guides Tooru in most ways regarding your relationship, he still has enough of a grip on his lucidity to know that being jealous of every man that interacts with you is neither reasonable nor attractive to you.

 Surely, other men must want you – you’re gorgeous, after all, sexy and perfect and everything he could ever want. Other men must see these qualities in you too; if they didn’t, they’d be stupid in Tooru’s opinion.

And yet, particularly in the beginning of his obsession, Tooru tries desperately to fight the rising jealousy he feels for you.

It’s not normal to want to throttle the man you make eye contact with on the street – you didn’t even speak, just merely catch eyes for a brief moment. So, instead of marching up to the man and socking him in the face like he wishes, Tooru just grits his teeth, pulling you closer to his side and asking you a question, hoping to distract you from ever even thinking of that stranger again.

Instead of yelling at the waiter that smiles just a beat too long at you after you order your meal, he just squeezes his hand into a fist, smiling tightly and asking you about coming to the important game he’s playing this weekend, emphasizing that he always plays much better when you’re there.

He’s always trying to play off his jealousy, but the result of his constant bottling of his emotions means that when the bottle finally fills, it overflows – Tooru isn’t normally scary to you, but when the jealousy finally explodes, you’ll find yourself unnerved by one of your closest friends, the man he becomes seeming utterly unfamiliar to you.

The volleyball stadiums are always loud after Club Atletico wins, and you’re sure no matter how many times you come to these games you’ll never get used to the noise.

It’s not hard to slip out of the bleachers and navigate back towards a hallway deep in the bowels of the stadium, the winding halls leaving anyone else surely confused. But you’ve met with Tooru after these matches enough times to know the path like the back of your hand – which is why the presence of another person makes you immediately cock a brow.

The man’s looking at his phone, his face visibly confused, and as your footsteps catch his attention, he looks up at you with relief. He’s quick to ask you how to get back to the main seating area, because he’d wandered off to find a bathroom and now he was truly lost.

The explanation and the exasperated expression he wears gets you chuckling a bit, a smile forming on your lips as you explain the directions to get back upstairs.

He looks lost merely three directions in, and immediately you’re laughing a bit again. He's pocketed his phone by this point, a hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly, his voice shy as he asks you to repeat the instructions.

You only get about midway through before a hand places itself at your waist, a sudden pulling motion sending you stumbling back slightly and knocking into something firm and tall. Immediately you jump, looking up to be met with the strong jaw of Tooru, his lips set into a thin line and his brown eyes narrowed on the stranger.

The stranger immediately sucks in a gasp and splutters something out about being a huge fan, I’ve even got your jersey on! You were so good out there, those sets were insane –

He’s cut off a harsh laugh from Tooru, and your confusion only deepens. Tooru turns to look at you, a soft smile quirking up his lips.

Will you go get a towel for me? I’m awfully tired.

You blink but slowly nod, unsure where this sudden request was coming from. As you walk off, Tooru watches you, all the while ignoring the nervous fiddling of the man in front of him.

As soon as you turn the corner towards the training rooms, Tooru’s smile drops and he turns back to face the man. His voice is cold and condescending as he sighs.

Are you always this irritating to talk to?

The stranger’s jaw drops a bit, his nervousness back in full force as he takes a step back, one hand playing with the hem of the jersey.

Oh, uh, sorry, I was just getting some directions from your friend but I’ll be going now…

His steps are quick and rushed as he tries to take off down the hallway, but he freezes when Tooru’s voice calls out again.

Next time, you should save yourself some time and not bother talking to someone so obviously out of your league. It makes you look awfully pathetic, just so you know. Get going, I’m sure your mom’s worried that you haven’t come home to her basement yet tonight.

At that, the man starts moving again, and Tooru notes with a distinct sense of pride that his shoulders are shaking slightly, no doubt both his confidence and idolization of Tooru shattering.

Tooru takes a deep breath and looks up towards the ceiling, letting his eyes close briefly.

It’d been an extreme response, he’ll admit – you’d been standing a good three feet away from the man when he’d happened upon the scene, the man visibly thankful for the directions Tooru could hear you giving, but it didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter, not when the adrenaline of the game was still rushing through his veins, not when the excitement and giddiness of seeing you was still potent, not when he’d been looking forward to hearing your praises and maybe even getting a hug, the jersey of his that he’d insisted you wear making you look particularly alluring today.

(Seeing the lettering of his last name across your back certainly didn’t hurt, his uniform feeling too tight and too hot.)

 The jealousy had just sudden hit him in the moment, a rushing sort of anger that left him only barely able to realize that he needed to get you away now, that the words he’d be spewing at the unfortunate man who’d stolen your attention would surely leave you pissed beyond repair.

He breathes deeply, the anger still swimming in his veins, though releasing it out onto that poor fan was probably not the best choice.

Soon your footsteps are echoing in Tooru’s ears, and his eyes immediately fly open to watch you walk down the hallway, towel in hand and a worried expression on your face.

Are you okay, Tooru?

Your voice is an angel’s, he’s sure of it, and when you look at him with such worry and sincerity, it nearly makes his knees buckle. You’re so damn pretty, and as he gulps and nods, thanking you for the towel, he can’t help but feel a bit smug.

You’re his, damnit, and while telling the man off and losing a fan probably wasn’t the best price for this feeling, Tooru wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And when you go in for a hug, pressing yourself against him (pressing all of yourself against him), Tooru can only wrap his arms around you and return the hug, keeping his grip tight even as you try to pull back.

He’s a jealous man, yes, but when you smell and feel and look this good, can he really be blamed?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Stealing you away isn’t something that immediately occurs to Tooru. He’s got a bit of a hectic schedule; being a professional athlete means an absurd amount of time away from home, an odd sleeping schedule, and a high amount of security needed to ensure his safety.

And frankly, he just doesn’t want to kidnap you – he’s a control freak in many ways regarding you, what with his extreme clinginess and the jealousy constantly eating him alive, but he doesn’t get any pleasure from the idea of controlling you.

And so, he holds off for as long as physically possible to keep from snatching you up for himself – there’s something incredibly alluring about you when you feel free and happy, and he’s terrified that if he were to kidnap you, all those smiles and your pretty laughter that gets his heart racing would disappear forever.

He’s not particularly delusional, and he’s sure you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings if he were to drug you and have you wake up in pretty, lacy chains.

He’s not stupid, and he likes the concept of being able to go out with you far too much to really desire kidnapping you. He likes showing you off too much; his jealousy is all consuming, sure, but being able to parade you around on his arm and show the world that you’re with him is enough to stroke both his ego and his pride, making him suck in an uneven, stuttered breath.

He likes being able to take you out for spontaneous luncheons and dinners, swinging by your modest apartment (one he insists you could do better than, if you’d just let him pay your rent like he keeps offering) in his fancy black car, winking and telling you to hop in, pretty girl, we’re getting Italian! And if you eat the whole pasta bowl I’ll be so impressed I’ll even buy you some of that fancy gelato I know you love.

(Really, he’ll buy it for you no matter what, but he likes the idea that you’re eating enough, that you’re truly feeding yourself, that you’re healthy and safe and still alive and still his his his -)

He likes that he can just shoot you a text and tell you to pack for a tropical destination, requesting your presence at the nearest airport in less than an hour because he just got an extra ticket to the training camp his team is attending in the Caribbean.

He likes the excitement of it all, the way your eyes always get so big and wide and cute when he tells you about the latest adventure he’s dragging you along with or the latest thing he’s planning to buy for you.

He likes the way you always get so bashful and starstruck, utterly shocked and so grateful that you struggle to get your words out, because god the attention feels good.

Seeing you smile at him like that will never fail to send shivers racing across every inch of his body, his fingers trembling and a lump forming in his throat because oh please please please never stop looking at him like this…

It’s just too good for him to willingly end, and he’s terrified that the moment he makes a move towards keeping you in a more secure location, the magic of your happiness and fondness towards him will disappear, leaving you bitter and spiteful towards him.

And really, that’s the worst possible scenario for him – with the exception of one very, very large scenario that could actually convince him to fully kidnap you. That is, when you tell him gently one evening over cocktails and a platter of cheese, meats, and olives that you’re leaving Argentina, he goes very still and very pale.

It’s a mixture of terror, rage, and genuine panic that envelopes him, that leaves him scarily quiet for the rest of the evening, that gets him gripping the steering wheel of his car so tight that his knuckles turn white.

It’s that same horrible, gut-wrenching mixture of emotions that compel him to drive back to your apartment late that same night, his face blank as he uses the spare key you’d given him a while ago to quietly enter, already holding the chloroform soaked rag in his pocket and approaching your bedroom fast, his footsteps almost eager enough to wake you up.

All too soon he’s got your limp body in his backseat, brown eyes glancing frantically between the road in front of him and your form in the rear view mirror, a new mix of foreboding and excitement making his gut twist and turn.

You’ll be angry, surely, but Tooru knows this was his only choice – you were leaving him. What else could he have possibly done?

Being Tooru’s captive will often leave you feeling disoriented, as if you’re walking along a familiar path that’s been left to decompose and rot. Everything feels different and alien and wrong – leaving you with a false sense of comfort that’s shattered at every turn.

It’s strange, because you know Tooru – he’s been your friend for years, but as you come to terms with the extent of his obsession with you, the man you thought you knew slips away from view, leaving you with this husk of him, looking the same but acting nothing like him.

There’s still traces of him – in how he talks to you late at night, curling your body up beside his as he plays with your fingers, his voice a murmur in your ear as he rants about his teammates, the topic feeling so normal and familiar that it almost makes you cry.

There’s traces of him when he puts his hand on your back to guide you into another room, the familiar curve of his palm making your body want to relax and lean into him only for the sudden squeeze he gives you to jolt you right out of that comfort, to remind you that no that isn’t his phone corner poking into your hip like you’d always thought.

There’s traces of him, but by and large Tooru just becomes too much – he’s too touchy, too demanding, too insistent that you be looking at him and only him. He’s always got his hands on you, pressing into your skin or playing with your hair or tracing the shape of your lips and cheeks.

(It’s more of a comfort for him rather than a sexual desire – of course, he very much wants to have you naked and trembling and moaning his name like a prayer, but when he pulls your body against his or rests his forehead against your back, it’s mostly just to make sure that you’re still there, his anxiety about being away from you and losing you calming down just a hair because you’re right fucking here.)

He’s always got those eyes trained on you, watching your every move like a hawk, making shivers roll up your spine no matter how much you get used to the feeling of being observed.

(Being watched while bathing was, admittedly, the most difficult adjustment. He hasn’t forced himself on you – something you’re beyond thankful for - but it’s still jarring to be running the soapy water over your body while he watches from beside the bathtub, his cheeks tinted pink and his voice soft and worryingly husky as he tells you that he’s always loved the scent of your soap, did you know I could smell it back when I used to hug you? That’s why I always put my face against the right side of your neck – you always put extra there. Did you do that for me?)

He’s always talking to you, his voice alternating between teasing with comments that are just a tad bit too sincere to feel like a joke and low and heady, like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he desperately wants to tell you but just can’t quite force out.

(The compliments he gives you remind you of the old Tooru, but there’s always a certain level of detail added to them that makes your skin crawl – he’ll tell you that you’re so beautiful, your face is perfect, when I sleep it’s all I see…)

It’s scary and weird and his clinginess will have you wanting to scratch your eyes out and claw at him just to get a bit of space, but the reality is that as time passes you’ll slowly grow more and more conflicted about your feelings towards him.

He’s kidnapped you, stolen you away and locked you up away from the rest of the world, and he’s spent countless months collecting fragments of your hair and your old toothbrushes and taken photographs of you and countless other things you’ve yet to discover.

But he treats you well, all things considered, and the more time passes from the kidnapping, your rage slowly cools until all that’s left is an overwhelming pity for the man who claims to love you more than he loves himself.

Because really, isn’t Tooru awfully pathetic?

Isn’t it sad that he needs you so badly that he can’t function unless you’re around, unless he’s felt your touch, unless he’s heard your pretty voice say his name?

Isn’t it pathetic that he keeps you clutched so tightly to his chest at night that you can hardly breath?

You’ll be feeling sorry for him before you even realize it, some part of you desperate to recognize him as your Tooru, as the man you’ve come to love and care for as friends.

Eventually that part of you will win out, and while Tooru feels a bit guilty for having essentially conditioned you into accepting him, it doesn’t really matter – because you want him now. You’re choosing him, accepting him, needing him like he needs you, and that’s really all he could ask for – he just wants you to love him, and while the methodology may be a little dirty, Tooru’s only ever cared about results.

Because when you smile at him again and hesitantly press your lips against his, he swears he’s died and gone to heaven – because you finally, finally want him too.

PUNISHMENTS:

Similarly to his feelings regarding kidnapping you, Tooru isn’t the biggest fan of punishments.

His dependence on you is so strong and so deeply inlaid into his person that harming you just feels wrong, carnally evil in every form of the word. The concept of physically harming you makes him feel sick and his hands immediately rush out to clutch onto you, to tuck you against his chest, to lift a finger to your pulse point to make absolute sure that you’re still with him.

He’s terrified that you’ll somehow die or abandon him, and even just a simple scratch or a light bruise would be too much for Tooru to handle. And so, punishing you is absolutely off the table – his ultimate goal is for you to develop positive feelings for him again, to maybe even love him, after all.

 But Tooru is only human, and so while he won’t ever physically lash out at you or force you into any severe, serious punishments (or humiliating ones, luckily enough), he will fall back onto something more subtle, something more purposeful – he’s not necessarily manipulative with you in your day-to-day life, but he’s not embarrassed to play every single card in his favor in order to get you feeling positively disposed towards him, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

It starts off genuinely unintentional - because he really values honesty in your relationship. He wants you to be honest when you’re telling him that you love him, that he’s pretty, that you need him.

He wants things to be real and raw – except, you’re still so angry with him, your eyes so betrayed when you look at him, and it makes him want to rake his nails into his skin because that pain would feel so much better than how your hatred feels.

And so, after the first few times you try to escape the nice penthouse he’s gone through the trouble of decorating with things he knows you love, Tooru starts getting a bit desperate.

Can’t you see that he only stole you away because it was his only choice?

Can’t you understand that he didn’t want to do this, but there was no other way to keep you safe and secure and his?

He starts panicking, terrified that despite all his efforts to be kind and inviting and spoil you (both with material goods and constant affection, though you haven’t asked for either), you still won’t ever return his feelings, or even harbor positive feelings towards him ever again.

And so, with furrowed brows and a sinking feeling in his gut, he turns towards fake tears and only half-true words to get you feeling bad for him, to get you wanting him like he wants you to. Like he needs you to.

Tooru’s initially not sure what to say when he walks through the front entrance of the penthouse.

It’d only been a weekend tournament; a simple Friday, Saturday, Sunday round-robin type event that was a few hours away – nothing horribly long. And yet he’d been so, so eager to return to you, to feel your body against his and hear your voice and smell your scent and just see you that he’d literally sprinted from the car, all the way up fifteen flights of stairs to his apartment.

And this is what he walks in on?

You, with a dull butter knife in your hands, the metal bent and warped while you stare at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest?

It’s painfully obvious what’s going on – you were trying to get the door open, pushing and pulling so hard with the knife that you’d nearly broken it.

You’d nearly broken it trying to get away from him, in other words. His duffel bag drops to the ground, his fingers frozen and trembling as he stares wide eyed at you.

Angel? What – what’s going on?

You don’t respond, too nervous and scared of how he’ll react to make a move. But Tooru recovers first, rushing forward and swatting the knife out of your hand before pulling you into a much too tight hug.

His hands are still shaking as one rubs up and down your back, the other situated on the crown of your head.

Were you trying to leave me?

You start to answer, your lips moving to speak against the fabric of his shirt, but he cuts you off.

Were you trying to get rid of me? To run away from me?

And there’s something in his voice that makes your shoulders shake, a sudden bout of rage simmering through you.

Yes, Tooru, I’m trying to get out of this stupid fucking apartment that you keep me trapped in! Please, you have to let me go, this is wrong! This isn’t right – this isn’t healthy! You have to understand! How do you not-

He cuts you off with a small sob, and although you know you shouldn’t, some part of you pauses for just a fraction of a second. Your voice stalls for just a moment, but Tooru jumps into the brief moment of silence.

Stop it! Stop it, please, don’t say that.

He’s sniffling, pressing his cheeks against your head and clutching you even tighter.

You’re right, I know you’re right. I’m a monster and a freak for doing this to you. I know that, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please, you don’t understand – I hate that I’ve done this to you. I hate that I’ve made you sad and forced you to stay with me, but you have to understand that I can’t stop.

He sobs again, and you notice his voice is wobbly and something wet is touching your ear.

I can’t stop myself – I can’t stop wanting you and needing you, and I think I would die if I never saw you again. Please understand, I’m pathetic but I need you to stay sane – just, just let me love you like we used to, okay? Please, I promise I can take good care of you – I can make you happy! Just give me some more time…

Something in your chest feels tight at his words, and before you know it you’re reaching around his torso yourself, your movements hesitant as you loosely hug him back. He gasps lightly against your hair, and you can feel him swallow.

I hate you. Your whisper is soft and quiet, and although the words make his chest ache, Tooru smiles.

I love you, he tells you, pressing a kiss against your hair.

You both stay like that for a while, only the distant sound of traffic from many stories below you filling the empty air of the entryway. You don’t know what to say, or even what you could say – Tooru’s a monster, yes, but there’s something about the rawness of him in this moment that makes you yearn and ache for the old Tooru, the one you knew before he started developing this ‘love’ he claims to have for you.

Something about him feels familiar and unbearably sad, and when you pull back and he stares at you, those brown eyes puffy and tear-stained, you can’t find it in yourself to fully pull away.

Because isn’t he still Tooru Oikawa? Isn’t he awfully pathetic? Isn’t it sad how badly he craves you, how his every touch and word and look make you feel as if you were the most precious thing on Earth, as if you were the most prized woman he’s ever met?

It’s wrong and you can hate yourself for it all you want, but as he sniffles and bites his lip and lets his fingers dig into your sides, you won’t be able to deny it: you couldn’t leave him, even if the door was wide open. He’s a monster, sure, but maybe so are you for liking the way you’re so unconditionally needed by someone as famous, beautiful and successful as him.

Meanwhile, Tooru can’t help but internally rejoice at the feeling of you in his arms, at the feeling of you hugging him, and at the knowledge that he can literally see your walls breaking down, getting one step closer to you truly accepting him – to you truly loving him.

Even if the tears he’s manufactured are fake, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is you.

And after the next tournament, when he comes home and you’re lying on the couch reading the same book for the tenth time rather than picking at the locks, Tooru decides that perhaps the show he’d put on (or rather, exaggerated, as he truly was desperate for you to not leave him) was worth it.

Anything for you is worth it – as long as you keep looking at him and touching him and wanting him.  

OVERALL DANGER:

 6/10

What makes Tooru dangerous is the fact that he’s absolutely dependent on you in every sense of the word. Over time, his self-worth becomes intertwined with your opinion of him, with your presence and role in his life.

 He’s not exaggerating or being obnoxious when he tells you that he absolutely needs you – he can’t go for more than a few hours without feeling your skin against his, otherwise he gets anxious and jittery and on edge, snapping at others and pacing and worrying so much that it makes his chest physically ache.

He can’t go more than a few minutes without hearing your voice, otherwise he has to see you and be near you to make sure that you’re still with him, that you haven’t left him or abandoned him or any number of other things. He just needs you, so much so that it honestly scares him.

He’s not particularly violent or condescending, and aside from the kidnapping and forced touching, life with Tooru honestly won’t be so terrible. Sure, he hugs you too tight and kisses you too hard and clings to you in a way that makes your skin crawl, but eventually you’ll grow to become just as dependent as he is on you.

Because when he’s your only human contact, can you really afford to be so picky? When he’s the only one you can see and speak with and feel, you’ll slowly become complacent and even happy when he’s around.

Stockholm Syndrome will eventually make you a willing captive, and Tooru couldn’t be happier – you’re finally treating him as a lover, embracing him and letting him dote on you and care for you, and what more could he really ask for?

You’ll eventually just give up the fight – he’s a pathetic, sad man with such deeply rooted insecurities about himself and his abilities that the pity will nearly drive you mad.

And all the while, Tooru will welcome you with open arms – you can pity him as much as you like, as long as you stay with him.

Please.

[seijorhi]

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. 

[ramhaiba]

No thoughts but a yandere haikyuu captains x reader sounds fun to write. If anyone has some ideas lmk in my request on my profile

[rebkys]

Deceitful Hearts

Oikawa x Reader

TW: Mafia, Betrayal, Obsessive Behavior, Emotional Manipulation, Violence, Death, Pregnancy, Trauma, Forced Bondage, Angst

The mafia was the reason you became a detective. They were the ones who ruined your life, who stole your family, and left you with nothing but a thirst for revenge.

You worked your way up to this moment. Years of pain and anger had prepared you for this mission: infiltrate the infamous Tooru Clan, a mafia group known for their brutality. And at the center of it all was Oikawa Tooru, the heir to the empire.

The opportunity came when Sienna’s brother approached you. Sienna

Oikawa’s long-lost childhood fiancé , the girl he’d once loved and lost. Her brother had seen you and couldn’t deny the resemblance. “You look like her,” he said, his eyes sharp. “But you’re better. Smarter, more capable. You can finish what she couldn’t.”

Sienna’s family had despised the Tooru Clan, just like you did. Her brother had been waiting for someone like you, someone who could play the role of Sienna and bring Oikawa’s world crashing down.

You accepted the mission, not just for revenge, but because it was your chance to destroy the people who took everything from you.

You met Oikawa through Sienna’s brother, who staged a reunion between you and Oikawa. The moment Oikawa saw you, his carefree mask slipped. His eyes widened, his body stiffened, and for the first time, you saw the man beneath the arrogance.

“Sienna?” he whispered, his voice raw with disbelief.

You forced a soft, hesitant smile. “Tooru… is that you?”

From that moment on, Oikawa was captivated. He couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t believe you were real. He pulled you into his life, spoiling you with expensive dates, gifts, and whispered promises.

You played your part perfectly, letting him think he was falling in love with the girl he thought he’d lost. But in truth, you were using every moment to gather information about his family. Every secret you uncovered was sent back to your boss, inching you closer to your goal.

But Oikawa wasn’t a fool.

One night, he caught you off guard. “You’re not her,” he said, his voice calm but cold.

For a moment, your heart stopped. But you quickly recovered, stepping closer to him with a soft smile.

“Does it matter, Tooru?” you whispered, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You love me, don’t you? Isn’t that enough?”

He hesitated, his emotions warring behind his eyes. Then, to your relief, he exhaled shakily and pulled you into his arms. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “I love you. That’s all I need.”

You felt a flicker of guilt, but you buried it. This was a mission, nothing more. You needed to stay focused.

From then on, you manipulated him carefully, keeping him under your control while continuing to send information back to your boss. But every now and then, his touch lingered too long, his words felt too genuine, and you found yourself questioning your own emotions.

One night, while searching through files in the Tooru Clan’s archive, you found something that shattered everything. A report detailing a massacre your family’s massacre. Every detail was outlined: the names, the orders, the aftermath. And at the bottom of the page was the Tooru Clan’s signature.

Your hands trembled as you read the words, bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t believe it. Oikawa’s family had planned it all. They were the reason you were alone.

You decided to leave immediately. You had to report this to your boss in person. But as you turned, you froze.

Oikawa was standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.

“I knew something was off,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “My gut told me you weren’t who you said you were. And now I know why.”

You tried to keep calm. “Tooru, it’s not what you think—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “You’re a spy. You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

Your anger finally broke through. “Your family killed mine, Tooru! They destroyed everything I had. What did you expect me to do?!”

His expression darkened, his usual charm replaced by something dangerous. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice low. “But it doesn’t matter now. You think I’m going to let you go after this?”

He moved faster than you expected, grabbing your wrist and pulling you close. “You’re mine, y/n,” he whispered, his voice both tender and chilling. “And I’ll make sure you never leave me.”

From that moment on, your life spiraled into a nightmare. Oikawa kept you under constant watch, his obsession growing stronger with every passing day. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight, and when you discovered you were pregnant weeks later, you realized there was no escape.

You were trapped in his world, bound by his love and his madness. No matter how much you hated him, no matter how much you wanted to fight back, one thing was certain: Oikawa Tooru would never let you go.

At first, you thought it was a lie, another way for Oikawa to trap you. But when the doctor confirmed it, there was no denying it. Oikawa was overjoyed. You, however, were suffocating under the weight of it all.

During the first month, Oikawa clung to you like a lifeline. His hands were always on your stomach, his voice soft as he whispered about the family you would have together. But while he was looking at you, you stared out the window, your mind consumed by thoughts of escape.

You didn’t want this baby. You didn’t want to bring a child into the world when its father was part of the family that had killed yours.

At first, you considered abortion. You even tried to leave the house to arrange it, but Oikawa wouldn’t let you out of his sight.

“This baby is ours,” he said firmly, his eyes dark with obsession. “And you’re not going anywhere.”

Desperate, you turned to more reckless methods. You pushed yourself to the brink, lifting heavy objects, taking dangerous falls, anything to trigger a miscarriage. But no matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t get rid of it. And Oikawa always found out.

One night, after another failed attempt, he cornered you in the bedroom. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” he hissed, his grip tight on your wrist. “You’re mine, y/n. And so is this baby. I won’t let you destroy us.”

You glared at him, your voice shaking with fury. “This baby is yours, Oikawa. Not mine. I don’t want it. I don’t want any part of you.”

His expression twisted, but instead of letting go, he pulled you into his arms, forcing you to stay. “You’ll change your mind,” he whispered, his voice dangerously calm. “You’ll see. This baby will make you love me.”

At your next doctor’s appointment, the news only made things worse.

“Twins. You’re having twins. Congratulations!” the doctor said with a bright smile.

You stared at the screen, your face blank as the words sank in. Twins.

Oikawa’s grin stretched wide as he kissed your temple, his excitement overflowing. “Did you hear that, y/n? Twins. We’re going to have a big family.”

But you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, your hands clammy. You’d already been trying to figure out how to escape with one baby. Now, two? It felt impossible.

Every day after that, Oikawa became more protective. He refused to let you leave the house, even with guards. Every meal was monitored, every step you took watched. The more you tried to distance yourself, the closer he held you.

Your mind raced with plans. Once you gave birth, you would escape with the twins. You didn’t know how, but you had to try. You refused to let your children grow up in the same darkness that had destroyed your family.

But the weight of your mission still hung over you. Oikawa’s family had to pay for what they did. You couldn’t let them win.

And as the days passed, you realized the greatest battle wasn’t with Oikawa or his family. It was with your own heart, torn between your hatred for him and the twisted, dangerous love he had forced you to confront.

The only way to survive was to pretend. Pretend that you loved him. Pretend that you didn’t despise the man who had taken everything from you.

Months turned into years, and somehow, you were still alive. But the cost of that survival weighed on you every single day. The twins Ren and Haru were now four years old, and while their sweet smiles reminded you of their innocence, they were also constant reminders of Oikawa’s control over your life.

Oikawa had molded them into his little shadows, brainwashing them to be his spies. They loved you, yes, but their loyalty to their father was absolute. If you so much as stepped into another room, they would cling to you, begging you not to leave. It wasn’t because they feared for themselves—it was because Oikawa had convinced them that you might leave him behind.

You couldn’t breathe. The walls of the house felt like they were closing in on you. Every time you tried to gather the strength to leave, you hesitated. They were his sons, too, and no matter how much you hated Oikawa, you couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning Ren and Haru.

But some days, the regret was overwhelming. You often thought about the early days of their infancy, when they were too young to speak, too small to stop you. If only you’d escaped then. If only you’d done more.

One night, the weight of it all felt unbearable. You were cleaning up after dinner when Ren tugged at your leg.

“Mommy, where are you going?” he asked, his wide brown eyes filled with worry.

“I’m just going to put the dishes away,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm.

“No, Mommy, don’t leave us!” Haru chimed in, rushing to cling to your other leg.

You sighed, looking down at their tear-streaked faces. “I’m not leaving,” you said quietly, though the words felt hollow.

Still, they clung to you tighter, their small bodies shaking with sobs.

“Mommy is leaving! Mommy is leaving!”

You stood frozen, the plates in your hands trembling as you stared blankly at the wall. Their cries filled the room, each word cutting deeper into the hollow space where your heart used to be.

“What is happening here?” Oikawa’s voice echoed from the doorway.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“Mommy is leaving! Mommy is leaving us, Daddy!” Ren cried.

“Mommy’s going to marry another man!” Haru added, his voice shaking.

“I’m not leaving,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just putting the dishes away.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Oikawa said, his tone light as he walked over to the boys. “Mommy isn’t leaving. As if she could.”

He chuckled softly, and you finally glanced up at him. His smile was charming, but the darkness in his eyes made your stomach twist.

He crouched down to the boys’ level, brushing their tears away with practiced ease. “Mommy isn’t going anywhere. She loves us too much to leave, right, y/n?”

You nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Right.”

“See?” Oikawa said, ruffling Ren’s hair. “Now, go play while Mommy finishes cleaning up.”

The boys reluctantly let go of your legs, sniffling as they shuffled off. Oikawa straightened, watching them leave before turning his gaze back to you.

“You should be more careful,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of warning. “They’re sensitive, you know. They love you so much… but they’re scared you’ll leave. And honestly, I can’t blame them.”

You set the plates down on the counter, your hands trembling. “I told you, I’m not leaving.”

He stepped closer, trapping you against the counter. His hand brushed your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You better not,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Because if you ever try, y/n… I’ll find you. And I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The days dragged on, each one more suffocating than the last. You played your part, smiling when necessary, pretending to be the perfect wife and mother. But inside, you were breaking.

It was late, and the house was eerily quiet. Oikawa had been out for days, taking on his new responsibilities as the leader of the Mafia. You knew this was your chance the only chance you might ever have.

You waited for the perfect moment, and when it finally came, you lied to the twins once again.

“We’re going to visit Daddy at his work,” you said, forcing a smile.

Their faces lit up. “Really? Can we see Daddy?”

“Yes, but we have to go right now. So be good for Mommy, okay?”

Excitement bubbled in their small voices as they climbed into the car. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, your heart pounding. This time, you wouldn’t fail. You couldn’t fail.

The drive was long, and the twins eventually fell asleep in the backseat. When you reached the safe house your boss had arranged, you carried their small bodies inside, setting them down on the makeshift bed. You collapsed into a chair, finally allowing yourself to breathe.

But the peace didn’t last. The twins became restless the next day, their innocence and love for their father making your plan feel like walking on a knife’s edge.

“Where’s Daddy? You said we were going to see him!” one whined, his little fists pounding on the door.

“We’ll see him soon,” you muttered, your voice strained.

“No! We want Daddy now!”

They cried louder, their tantrums growing unbearable. You clenched your fists, trying to keep calm, but the sound of their screams rattled you.

“Mommy, why did you lie? We want Daddy!”

“Because we can’t go back!” you snapped, your voice cracking.

Their cries turned into sobs, and they huddled together, clinging to each other. Guilt clawed at you, but you knew you couldn’t give in. This was the only way to keep them safe.

But the next morning, the world you had tried to rebuild crumbled.

You stepped out of the small room, expecting to see your boss or your allies, but the metallic scent hit you first. Then, the sight of bloodstained walls and bodies sprawled across the floor.

Everywhere you looked, there was carnage—lifeless bodies of those who had tried to protect you. Your boss, your closest friends… all of them were dead.

Your knees buckled, and you staggered back, covering your mouth to muffle your scream.

“No… no, no, no,” you whispered, trembling. “This can’t be happening.”

The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. You froze.

“Did you really think you could run from me?” Oikawa’s voice was chillingly calm.

You spun around, your heart sinking into your stomach. There he was, standing in the doorway, his white shirt pristine despite the massacre surrounding him.

“Daddy!” the twins shrieked, running to him with tear-streaked faces.

“No!” you cried, reaching out to stop them, but your body refused to move.

Oikawa crouched down, scooping the twins into his arms with a warm smile that didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. “Did you miss me, boys?”

“Mommy said we were going to see you, but she lied!” one of them wailed.

“She did, didn’t she?” Oikawa cooed, brushing a hand through the boy’s hair. “That’s not very nice of Mommy.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your mind raced as you stared at the twins clinging to him. How? How did he find you?

“I taught them well, didn’t I?” Oikawa smirked, his gaze locking onto yours. “It was so easy. They just had to memorize my number, split between the two of them. All it took was one phone, one call, and I knew exactly where to find you.”

Your stomach churned as realization set in. “You—”

He cut you off, his smile widening. “You underestimated me, love. And now, look at what you’ve done.” He gestured around the room, at the bodies littering the floor.

“You didn’t have to kill them!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face.

“Oh, but I did,” he said, setting the twins down. “They tried to take you away from me. That’s unforgivable.”

The twins hugged his legs, oblivious to the horror surrounding them.

“Daddy, can we go home now?”

“Of course, boys,” Oikawa said, patting their heads. He stepped closer to you, his expression softening into something that made your skin crawl.

“You look so scared,” he whispered, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “But don’t worry, y/n. I’ll forgive you… this time.”

His voice dropped, dark and venomous. “But try something like this again, and I’ll make sure you never leave me. Even if I have to break you.”

Your hands shook as he pulled you to your feet, his touch both possessive and gentle.

“Let’s go home,” he said, his tone light as if nothing had happened. The twins cheered, running ahead toward the car.

But as he led you out, his grip tightened, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re mine, y/n. Always.”

The corpses of your allies were a grim reminder that there was no escaping Oikawa. Not now. Not ever.

And as the twins called out for you, their laughter cutting through the suffocating silence, you realized the most horrifying truth of all you’d never be free again.

merryxmas guys :pp

[yanderenightmare]

Hi there, question kind of? How would you rank the Haikyuu boys (not all of them clearly you can pick) in terms of most likely to be possessive towards their partner? I'm curious of your take :)

HAIKYUU ! HEADCANONS

haikyuu boys x darling

TW: yandere, possessive, obsessive and controlling behaviour, abuse, manipulation

Most possessive haikyuu boys, you say...

Is all of them an option?

I mean... these are competitors, and personally, I think competitors are a very specific breed of somewhat toxic feelings – and that’s aside from their grandiose sense of self. We have a name for it in Norwegian; we call them competition-humans– which basically refers to that feral state some people get into during a competition, where they have complete tunnel vision and lack all sorts of a moral compass in their chase of victory.

And I think competitors as yanderes view love with that same type of tunnel vision. How they have a goal to reach, and nothing and no one is going to stop them, and nothing and no one is going to take it away from them.

That being said… I think some of the Haikyuu boys are more competitive than others.

Oikawa Toru Possessive & Controlling

“If you’re gonna hit it, hit it ‘til it breaks.” – that’s his motto, stating his principle of never going at things half-assed – his aim to be the best, in addition to the middle finger he shows anyone who doesn’t cut it.

Victory is his way of life. And his relationships better live up to it. Anything less would just be embarrassing. 

Losing his girl would be embarrassing. 

Moreover, anything you do reflects on him, and he’d be damned if it reflects poorly. So you bet your ass he’s possessive of you – and controlling. You’re part of his great empire of success, and losing you would be like this huge stain, this huge defeat – failure. And Oikawa Toru doesn’t fail. Oikawa Toru doesn’t get defeated. Oikawa Toru doesn’t lose.

Kageyama Tobio Possessive & Obsessive

The perfect set can’t be completed if he drops the ball. You are his perfect set, and he’s never ever dropping the ball with you – never losing you and never ever letting you go.

He wants you screaming his name in the bleachers – be his cheerleader – keep your eyes on him and only him. Tell him how great he was. Be his victory prize, his trophy, his treat.

He wants to feel you at his fingertips – drag them over your smooth skin and just touch you – keep you all to himself. And he doesn’t want anyone doing the same. Seeing people talk to you is bad enough. He needs you to focus on him like he’s the only one on the court, and everyone else is just extras – sorry pawns in his triumph.

Kuroo Tetsuro Possessive & Smug

You’re the biggest reason behind that big fat grin of his – because he knows that he has something no one else has. His object of envy – a big 'ol fuck you to absolutely everyone.

More than a trophy, more than arm candy, more than a crown atop his head – you’re his lucky golden ticket into heaven – his cheat sheet that makes him feel like a winner – superior. And everyone else can suck it. 

They can look all they want – seethe with jealousy – hate him. It’ll only make him savor it more. Seeing those frustrated looks on people’s faces, like he’s beating them – like he’s got something that everyone else wants but can’t have because it’s his.

Kenma Kozume Possessive & Fanatical

Losing you means game over – and he isn’t in the mood to restart. He’s put time and effort into your relationship – and since life’s only option is hardcore mode, he hasn’t been able to leave any checkpoints.

You’re not player two; you’re all the valuable loot he’s picked up along the way. His precious inventory. His xp and upgrades and level x – his special limited edition item. You belong to him; he’s earned you.

He’s been dedicated and worked hard and put too much effort into achieving you – so no way is he about to share you with anyone who hasn’t chipped in, and he’s most certainly not about to lose you either.

They’d have to beat him first.

Kyotani Kentaro Possessive & Dogged

He goes for the throat. People can test him – fucking try it – they’d be lucky if they could count the cuts, fractures, and breaks. He doesn’t let up easily, and once he sees a sliver of red – he isn’t stopping until that’s all he sees.

And you – try and leave; he’s like a dog with a bone – his canines will remain deep and only bite down deeper if you try and break free. The look on his face is enough to make you wince without the way he twists your hair in his fist.

People are afraid to be seen with you. Talking to you is like blood on the breeze, and maddog comes at them with fangs bared, ready to bite before barking. He doesn’t take it easy on you either – like a hound tearing his toy apart before another pup can get to it.

tip-jar: Kofi

[mango-bango-bby]

AHHHH I LOVE THE PRINCE OIKAWA i I know you’re busy with the follower event but i really want some more prince oikawa maybe headcanons 💖💘💞💕🥺🥺💝💗🥹💓💝

♡ The Prince and the Maid ♡

(A/N: I loved writing the first one so I’m so glad to be writing headcanons 💗 I hope you like this, I feel like some of the points, I already went through in the first one so I apologize for that 😭😭)

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, fantasy au, prince!Oikawa, maid!reader, possessiveness, kidnapping, isolation

Summary: Prince Tooru loves you, his maid (Yan!Oikawa x GN!reader)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

♡↞ Previous

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

♡ Oikawa was pining after you for a long, long time. He tried to catch your attention in every romantic way possible. He had you ‘promoted’, meaning you had your own room and didn’t sleep in the maid’s quarters. You often got food that was made specifically for you, it was made to cater to your favorites. You even found gifts on your bed, such as roses and even jewelry left on your bed, although you often brought them to the high up maids, believing that they were left for you by mistake.

♡ You two met as children, you were being trained to work in the castle by your parent who also worked there when you met Oikawa. He was persistent in becoming your friend, seemingly finding you wherever you were in the castle. And that trend continued into your adulthood, Oikawa would always somehow convince you to sneak off with him so he could hang out with you. He had been in love with you for years yet you never seemed to notice.

♡ Oikawa didn't want to force you into a relationship with him, he could force you to marry him at any moment as he was going to be king. But he wanted you to love him back, to be happy. In the meantime while trying to woo you, he definitely still tried to sort of trick you into loving him. He makes sure to keep the other guards and maids away from you, Oikawa being one of the only few people you see.

♡ You never thought a relationship with him would never work, he was going to be king after all. You expected him to marry royalty from a neighboring kingdom. And everyone else but you could see that you were going to end up being the one he chose. He wanted to love you and he was, when you finally realized and he told you straightforward.

♡ Despite how protective Oikawa is of you, he does let you leave the castle grounds sometimes, but only by his side. A small walk in the woods or even some time in the kingdoms town isn’t unheard of. But you always Oikawa and a couple guards right next to you at all times.

♡ Oikawa would never want to punish you or hurt you ever. There are very rare instances where he would want to lock you up. You had gotten romantically involved with a guard at one point, or at least Oikawa thought that he was flirting with you. He didn’t hesitate to lock you up in a tower in the castle where you couldn’t see the guard you were talking to.

♡ While locked up, you told Oikawa that you were scared and you wanted everything to go back to normal. He would just hold you, petting your head and shushing you softly. He told you he just wanted to keep you safe and that he can’t have you getting into danger with anyone. You definitely understand that he loves you now, but you still need to get used to his love until you can finally marry him and love him back.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

[yanderecrazysie]

Oikawa dating a reader who's more popular than him, like she's a new young rising celebrity. At first things were perfect, they love each other, he doesn't have to worry about her getting harassed by his fangirls cuz they love her to, and they're one hot couple. But everything changed, when the fanboys attacked. They were not happy to see her happy with another guy. Especially since in their eyes, he's just some random highschool volleyball player.

It got so bad, that reader broke up with him to protect him from possibly getting harrassed in real life. But ofcourse as yanderes do, he won't accept things ending this way.

This has an ambiguous ending which can be seen as death or kidnapping, whichever you prefer. I really enjoyed writing it!

Title: Protect

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, physical violence (all characters are 18 in their final year of high school)

Summary: All you wanted to do was protect him.

protect

/verb/

keep safe from harm or injury:

As the whistle blew, sounding another Aoba Johsai victory, Oikawa Tooru raised his hand and waved to the stands. The girls high above squealed, but you knew that he was waving at only one person. You.

If the cameras weren’t flashing for the victory, they sure were snapping a million pictures a minute when you ran into his arms off the court. A popular volleyball player was an article, but a popular volleyball player dating a famous actress? That was a story.

“(Y/n) (L/n)! What a surprise to see you at the game this evening!” a reporter, sensing some seriously big news on her hands, shoved a microphone in your face, “And so close to the captain of Seijoh!”

You exchanged a look with Oikawa and he gave you an imperceptible nod. “He’s my boyfriend,” you answered with a smile.

The reporter’s eyes shone like the stars, practically shaking in excitement, “And how long has the happy couple been together?”

Before you could answer, Oikawa’s fangirls came running over, squealing at the sight of you two together. It wasn’t news to the school that the two of you were an item- in fact, it was a wonder that the news hadn’t already leaked.

“(Y/n)-chan! Over here!” one of the girls shrieked, waving enthusiastically with one hand as the other clutched a poster with Oikawa’s name on it. You waved back and giggled a little at her enthusiasm. 

“I love you both!” another girl screamed, raising her own “Go, Seijoh, Go!” poster in the air. 

Oikawa took your hand in his and squeezed. You smiled gratefully at him as he leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear.

“You ready, my precious star?” he whispered.

“Always,” you whispered back playfully.

Life was perfect.

—----------------------------------------------------

Perfection has a way of crumbling. 

Everything is wonderful until the cracks start to show and spiderweb across the fragile glass of perfection. 

Oikawa’s fangirls had accepted you with open arms, but your fanboys were outraged at the news that you had a boyfriend. Some were mad that you were taken, but a lot thought you could do better than a volleyball-playing pretty boy.

(Y/n)-chan deserves better than some flatass.

Dump the loser, (Y/n)-chan!

She would be wayyyy better off with one of her co-stars and not some nobody.

He’s using you, (Y/n)-chan!

Oikawa seemed to deflate more and more as the days went on. You caught him scrolling through hate comments on more than one occasion. But it wasn’t until you caught him nursing a bloody nose and black eye that you realized that he wasn’t safe as long as he was with you.

“Tooru, we need to talk.”

The setting sun cast long shadows over Oikawa’s downturned face. 

You fought back tears as your gaze fell on the damage done to his face by the fans that had recognized him in the street. You needed to do this… for his protection.

“We need to break up.” Your voice was a hushed whisper and cracks in the middle, but he heard you all the same. His head snapped up and his eyes went wide.

“What? Why?” he demanded, a hint of panic in his voice.

“All the hate and harassment you’re getting… it’s because of me. And… I can’t take it. I can’t watch them hurt you any longer. I’ll just announce that we’ve broken up and your life will go back to normal.”

“No no no no no, we can handle this together,” Oikawa protested, suddenly grabbing you by the shoulders, “You can’t leave me!”

“I need to!” you replied, a tear slipping down your cheek, “I can’t let you get hurt on my account. We can’t be together anymore, okay?”

“Or…” Oikawa’s tone dropped several levels and his gaze became more intense. Suddenly, the man you knew was gone, replaced by something devoid of all emotion. His hands tightened on your shoulders until it began to hurt.

“Tooru?”

“Or you could just… disappear. The whole world will wonder why you went missing and, after they clear me of suspicion, the world will move on,” Oikawa smiled down at you with a grin so twisted that you could barely believe it belonged to him, “Don’t worry, my little star, I’ll never forget about you.”

[i-cant-sing]

OH MY GOD, OIKAWA WOULD 💯 SLUT SHAME READER FOR WEARING A SKIRT OR SOMETHING SHORT.

Like he doesn’t care that it’s the uniform

He would!!! But like... he doesn't actually believe in it, especially if he's a platonic yandere. He's only saying it to "tease" you or bug you like most brothers do. He'd never compliment you if you ever looking nice, or if he did, it'd be a backhanded compliment. Something like- "that's a nice dress. Too bad you need to wear heels to compensate for your height! Haha, have fun!"

I can see the yandere fan girls actually dressing you up in one of the cute skirts and doing a proper "girly girl" look on you because you mentioned that you were gonna go out on a date (that Oikawa doesn't know about yet and you made the fan girls promise not to tell him because you wanted to see how things would go. In exchange for singing their praises to Oikawa of course, no good deed is free). And maybe they wanted to show you off to Oikawa, let him be impressed by how they take care of you.

They drag you to the gymnasium where he's practicing with the team.

"Tooru-chan!" They call it to him, while you're standing there, arms linked with theirs so that you can't run off.

Oikawa turns towards you, eyes widening ever so slightly at your appearance. You looked beautiful, absolutely adorable.

He walks closer, the fan girls are bubbling in excitement, you are shifting from one foot to another, nervous under his eyes that never leave yours.

"We dressed Y/n up!" One of the girls said cheerfully. "Do you like it?"

Did we a good job, Tooru? They all wondered silently.

Oikawa smiled, and the girls automatically matched his expression, only to turn to confusion as he suddenly began laughing, belly aching, thigh slapping laugh.

He was laughing at you.

"W-what the hell are you wearing!" He said between his laughs, gasping for air.

"I-" you were at a loss for words, immeadiately turning red at his reaction. Did you look bad?

He stopped laughing, slowing down to chuckles as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Heh, what in the world were you thinking? You looked like someone puked pink on you." He pointed to your skirt and snorted. "And why would you wear a skirt? What are you trying to show off? Your square buff calves? And heels? Wow, I did not know you had chubby ankles." Your eyes welled up with tears, threatening to spill. And the fan girls could sense your humiliation, so they tried to intervene.

The leader of the fan club spoke up. "Tooru, stop joking around. She looks beautiful and you-"

"Was I taking to you?" He cut her off swiftly, glaring at her.

Oikawa walked closer to you until he was right in front of you. He bended his knees a little so he could be face to face with you. His eyes bore into your teary ones and Oikawa didn't smile as his thumb came up to smear the gloss off your lips.

"Pink gloss? Really? You look like an idiot. Change. Now." That was all it took for your tears to start falling as you ran out of the gymnasium.

Oikawa only stared at the gymnasium door that you had just ran out of, as he spoke to fan girls, but to no one in particular.

"Never dress her up like that again. She looked like a slut." He didn't need to say "or else", his fans already knew of the deadly consequences. As he returned to his practice, the girls left the gymnasium, some went to console you, while others went to their room to silently ponder upon your outfit that Oikawa deemed "slutty".

Especially because all of them dressed up like that.

So was it okay for them to look "slutty"? Or did Oikawa not like their style too?

While they went over a existential crisis over their wardrobe, Oikawa was being scolded by Iwazumi for what he said to you. Oikawa didn't bother explaining himself, because he knew what he did was right.

You did not look slutty, but if you showed your skin like that, other guys will get the wrong idea. He knows "locker room talk" the guys have, what they reduce girls to. And he'd rather you he single and insecure by his side eh were he can protect you, than look available and be hurt and heartbroken a million times worse by some scum bag, all while you're away from him.

What Oikawa didn't see was you leaving the house dressed in your comfy clothes (the girls made you change into the sweats that Oikawa had gotten for you, still trying to win his favour) and meeting your date, who proceded to hang his jacket around you when the wind picked up.

The jacket had his name on it.

USHIMJIMA.

Wonder what would cause Oikawa to have an aneurysm first? The Shiratorizawa jacket that engulfs your body? The picture of you dating his arch nemesis? Or the way Ushijima who towers over you, bends down to kiss you?

My money is on "Ushijima is now a yandere for you and you're the first and last girl he'll ever date and Oikawa will have to pry you from his cold dead arms before he'll let you go."