CHAPTER 3 - LANDING

 CHAPTER 3 - LANDING

FIC SUMMARY

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru tries to recapture your heart.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (3.5k words)

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene in Chapter 2

Masterlist link here!

Tag list link here!

You intend on slipping out of Oikawa Tooru’s life forever.  

It should be easy enough. You’ve had enough sense not to tell him where you live (even though he’s asked before). You ask to switch schedules, leave the hospital from a different exit every day. You even sweet talk the security guard to tip you off if he sees him around.

You are prepared to wall yourself up inside of yourself, far away from anyone else, ignoring the flood of messages and calls from him (you are unable to bring yourself to block him completely), but you do not account for Tooru’s tenacity, nor his ironclad will to chase after what his heart desires. 

“Where the hell have you been?” he snarls, ambushing you as you leave work, a relentless hunter seeking its prey. He drags you to a nearby park, your wrist in his bruising hold, forcing you to take a seat on a park bench.

 “Want to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks?”

Feigned placidity is your shield, knuckles white as he looms before you, brows tight with frustration, but there is nowhere for you to run, so you have no choice but to face him defiantly. “I’ve been busy with work, Tooru. My life doesn’t revolve around you.”

He gapes, open mouthed, and at the first sign of his jaw drawing taut, you brace for his anger. It recedes, replaced by an aching sadness which is infinitely worse. 

“Do I truly mean nothing to you?”

Is there a universe where Oikawa Tooru means nothing to you? You doubt it exists. It is your fate that he burns more brilliantly than you, a golden boy with wax wings who tastes both of bitter heartache and sunshine. You cannot thwart fate even by hiding your heart away in a dungeon of steel and bone. 

But you are older now. If you were to allow him to break your heart again, your prognosis would not be as good as it was when you were twenty one. You may not heal. And it is only inevitable that he will break your heart -  who are you to compete with his true love, a mere spectator for his quest for the sun. 

So you stay silent, hoping your silence passes as a lie. 

“Say something”, he begs, but you only look down at your hands mutely, wishing for the gods to turn you to stone. 

“Fine”, he spits. “Fine, I’ll just - I’ll just go.” 

He’s only taken a few steps when you call after him. 

“Tooru - wait.“

You hate that you have to extinguish the hope in his eyes with your bare hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your palms are scorched with white hot burns. He turns away, but still his voice carries over the winter chill. 

“I’m sorry too.”

Keep reading

ok if you're like me then you're gonna love this bc it's headcanons for mine and akaashi's relationship if he was real

🥲

kinda suggestive/NSFW???

mostly crack and fluff

ANYWAYS YEY

-I would make him read all the popular books from booktok and he'd hate me for it

-he would cry about the song of Achilles secretly tho

-listen to me PICNICS

-I would read him poetry books bc im a sucker for those.

-I'd make him a thousand playlists y'all and he would slightly tease me for it but he'd appreciate it

-We all know that everyone's dream is to call akaashi a pretty boy,and I'm no different, I'd bombard that bitch with those two words

-I can be pretty vulgar especially when things don't go my way,I just KNOW akaashi would put his hand on my mouth to stop me from talking

-I may not seem like it but I'm pretty academically smart,the best in my year😭 actually (yeah I don't even know how that happened lol)so we'd have pretty ~~intellectual conversions

-I'd speak to him in my native language (greek) to tease him and bc that bitch studied some ancient greek in uni would point on his 🏃 and say"molon lave" which roughly translates to "come get it"

-I would never look him the same again.

-bookstore dates.

-one time when he took of my bra,crystals fell off of it

-I would put eyeliner on him and call him "pretty",he would give me kisses after that

-uses proper grammar even in texts

-has an old asf iPhone 7 and won't change it unless it breaks down or smth but it's in perfect condition and once I tried to smash it open(I would buy him a phone for his birthday which was 3 days away anyway) but before I could smack that shi on the floor he grabbed my hand

-Let's just say that I regretted it later😃✌️

-Yup couldn't sit for 3 days

-I bought him a new phone tho so it was worth it

-This man loves cuddles and ISNT embarased about it either.

-he would let me play with his hair while he reads a book

-he would talk about kids and instead of saying "if we have kids" he says "when we have kids"

-i would look at him like ???

-he would get defensive "only if you want to but I know that you like them so I took it for granted,I apologize if you're uncomfortable with that idea"

-I would be in TEARS "It's not that I don't want kids with you,it's that you really of our relationship going this far."

-He would just smile yk that SMILE of his bye I'm dead

that's it for now maybe I'll do a part 2 bc I'm a simp

I love this omg

under the same moon, on the same sea — megumi fushiguro (02.)

pairing: megumi fushiguro x reader

word count: 4.2k

content: pirate au, friends to enemies to lovers, slow burn, sfw, Poorly written angst

note: I Feel So Bad this chapter is so rushed.. the next one will be much better i Swear x

prologue | 01 | 02

Your eyes fluttered open at the feeling of a cold, damp cloth being gently pressed onto your forehead. Droplets of water invaded your vision and you tried to blink them away, your hand moving up to rub at your eyes.

“Morning, my dear.”

Tilting your head to the side, you winced at the dull ache at the back of your head, “Mother?”

She looked at you with a warm but tiny smile, tilting her head just the slightest to meet your eyes. “How’s your head?” Lolling your head back to face the ceiling, you sighed, “A little achey.”

You closed your eyes in an attempt to recollect yourself, trying to recall the events that occurred before you fell asleep. Even just straining to think about it made the dull throbbing in your head spike up and you groaned before images of yesterday’s events revealed themselves to you in quick flashes.

You saw your crew members, saw the look on their faces, saw Megumi. Your heart began to race as you remembered your fight and the look that your crewmates gave you when you were tossed away from him.

“What happened?” You croaked out, the memory of it all deeming you too weak to even look at your mother properly.

She let out a soft noise of amusement, hands moving forward to encase yours in her own.

“I don’t know the technicalities of it, I’m afraid,” She sighed, “But you strained yourself a lot in your fight. And when you were thrown down, along with the heat…” Her grip on your hands tightened a little, almost as if she was too afraid to think about what the worst repercussions would have been. “You fell unconscious.”

Embarrassment crept in your blood like poisonous venom, consuming you wholly but slowly, the most painful way of all. To think that you knocked out so quickly after just seeing Megumi, to think that he saw you at such a weak point.

Sure, he’s seen you much weaker, but this was different.

You quietly mumble to your mother that you don’t really want to talk or think about it. She respects your decision and nods as she wrings out the cloth, but her throat is begging her to bring up the sticky situation. She knows you well enough to know that the entire thing regarding Megumi probably ate away at your heart, and she knew very well that it must've been driving him mad as well. It was in his eyes as he hauled your unconscious form into the quarter, babbling incoherently about how you'd passed out right beside Yuji, about how your forehead felt much too hot to be normal, about how much he just wanted you to be okay.

Your mother would never reveal that to you, though.

Yuji drops by your sleeping quarter later into the night after all the crewmates had eaten dinner, hope swirling in his heart that you were awake. As he was greeted by your tired eyes, a gentle smile on his face grew and he pulled up a wobbly stool to sit by your hammock.

His voice was soft as he greeted you, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

You appreciated his gentle demeanor.

He tries to catch up with you as much as he can despite the fact that the two of you hadn't even been apart for more than one day. He asks you how you’re feeling, if you’ve gotten enough rest, if you need him to leave, if you want him to replace the little cloth on your forehead.

You assure him (although a little weakly) that everything’s fine and he doesn’t need to do anything else. But Yuji knows, he sees in your eyes, that something else is troubling you. You have something you want to ask but you don’t want to jump the gun yet.

“I, um, I don’t know much about this stuff. Take it with a grain of salt, okay?”

“That’s okay.” There’s a glint of desperation in your eyes.

He plants his elbows on his knees and leans forward as if what he has to say is a heavy secret.

You give him a nod to indicate that he can take all the time he wants.

“When you were fighting that boy,” He finally breathed out, “There was something else going on.”

You remained quiet for him to continue.

“Uh, well… When we were initially under attack, it was only natural that we fought back, right? But there was something weird happening, I don’t know how to explain…”

You felt as if he was referencing the hesitance that everyone carried during the attack.

“I think the crew that fought us were the Zen’ins,” He suddenly blurts, the cohesion of his explanation practically nonexistent. “That’s what the Captain said, anyway. She’s the one that threw you, by the way. So, well- okay, I heard this all from your dad after you had passed out. There was a different Captain a while back ago, but that dude’s dad tried to kill him.”

Your eyes shot open. “Yuji, what?”

“I said to take it with a grain of salt!”

“Yeah, but what the hell are you on about, be more clear! What dude’s dad?”

“The boy you fought. His dad.”

“He fought Naoya?”

Yuji perked up, “Yeah! Him. Maki said that name, I think. Said that he didn’t appreciate how Naoya ran things, that he was corrupt or something. So he tried to kill him, but got killed in the process. Maki really finished him off and everyone voted her as captain since she’s the strongest. I guess everyone really hated that guy.”

“His dad...died?”

“Yeah, if I remember correctly.”

Yuji didn’t understand why you fell quiet so quickly, watching as you kept your eyes trained on the floor. His brows shot up as soon as he heard you sniffle.

“So… Maki is the new captain...wait, where did you even hear all of this?”

You needed more information. Yuji was making it so difficult, and it felt like he threw you random facts that you had to piece together yourself. You couldn’t blame him, but it was hard when Yuji was unfamiliar with names and people, and at any point could he be the source of miscommunication.

“Should I start over?”

It feels like it takes hours. You supposed you could be the one to blame instead of him, since you refrained from explaining anything about Megumi and Toji. That entire ordeal was too much for you to dive into right then.

He finally managed to concisely explain that while you were busy fighting that boy- which you hold back from correcting him and saying Megumi- your father and Maki had made a deal. The two of you had been so caught up in your little fight while both captains demanded that the attack cease, and Maki took it upon herself to end the fight since you had no intention to do so. After you had passed out and had been rushed into your sleeping quarter (Yuji leaves out the fact that it was Megumi who carried you in), both Maki and your father called for a gathering on the ship to set things straight.

To put it simply, Maki did not trust the bonds that Naoya had formed during his time as Captain. Growing up on the ship with him, she was a first-hand witness to his crimes and beliefs, and Toji’s act of defiance only fueled her inner fire more, so she helped him kill Naoya. She took his role as Captain and decided that all previous alliances created by Naoya were to be wiped out.

This eventually led to the attack on your ship, but with your father recognizing the crewmates and change in captain, he practically pleaded with Maki to sort things out.

Yuji let out a huff as he finished, “The only problem now is that your father wants to maintain an allyship with Maki, but I don't think we have anything to really offer. I mean, all we have is food and, like, fabrics. She could probably dump it all out to sea if she really wanted to, I think.”

Yuji was right. Before Naoya had gifted so much, your crew had experienced countless famines and hardships, and your father had practically nothing to his name. If an allyship were to be maintained, someone would probably have to offer their entire heart, body, and soul to Maki for her to even look at them. The chances of her even considering it were beyond slim.

Yuji perks up a little bit in front of you as if an extremely important thought invaded his mind. He cleared his throat roughly, eyes meeting yours before he focused on his fingers,

“I guess I should mention that while your father and Maki work things out, he’s offered to host her crew in some attempt to show his loyalty.”

You felt like you were fourteen again.

You and Megumi were back to playing the avoiding game, staying on opposite sides of the ship at all times, avoiding each other’s eyes, keeping your head down when you heard the other’s voice.

Except, when you were fourteen, you didn’t have Yuji around. If this really were a game, Yuji would’ve been on the level labeled hard mode, because he was making it quite difficult for the two of you to rid of all connections. The boy knew no boundaries, and had no issue in eating breakfast with you in the morning, only to sit by Megumi’s side in the afternoon as he tried to crack through his shell. It was even harder when he’d sit with you at night, munching around an apple core while feeding you little facts about the black-haired boy,

“Did y’know that Maki is Megumi’s cousin?”

“Hm.”

“Makes sense, I think. Both of them are really strong.”

Occasionally, Yuji would ask about why you seemed to have such little interest in the Zen’ins- more specifically, Megumi- since you were the ones hosting them, after all. He said that having Megumi on board created an opportunity to make more friends, since he was around your guys’ age. That’s all Yuji cared about. Friends.

You told him that you could not forgive Megumi for nearly killing you on the day of the attack.

But Yuji knew you too well. He saw that there was something else in your eyes, something tucked away and unspoken. His suspicions were confirmed when he mentioned your name in a (one-sided) conversation with Megumi and saw him tense up. His body language revealed what he did not say.

He calls you out on it one night, when the two of you are in your quarter. He’s facing a dingy, scratched mirror and pulling his skin taut while he tries to shave as smoothly as he can, lips puckered to the side. You’re seated next to him on a stool, your back against the same wall as the mirror so that the two of you can look at each other.

In your hands, you hold two patches of fabric and some thread that’s already been skillfully pulled through the needle. Your stitches are clean and do not waver from the straight line that you envision them to make once you’re finished. Yuji lets his eyes wander over to you before he focuses back on his tiny little blade, pulling it across his cheek to catch the hairs.

“How does Megumi know you?”

You choke on your spit, and unknowingly, you stab the needle through the fabric a bit crookedly.

“Well, he did try to kill me.”

Yuji’s actions do not falter, and he’s got a different kind of air surrounding him now. He’s not playful like he typically is, and his tone isn’t all that lighthearted. But, he doesn’t seem angry either, nor does he look dead serious. He toes the line that splits the two auras apart, and it’s hard to try and read how he feels when his eyes are maintained on his own face through the mirror.

“You two have clearly known each other since before that.”

Frustration nestles itself in your heart. “Did he tell you that?” He pauses his movements to shrug. “Not necessarily,” He starts, focusing back on his blade, “He didn’t need to tell me. It’s kind of obvious, y’know.”

“Well,” You let out with a huff, your mind elsewhere as you haphazardly continue your stitches. You want to say more, want to say something snarky, make a discreet jab at Megumi.

You can’t bring yourself to do it.

Yuji relaxes his face before straightening his back to ease the slight burn from having to do a little crouch to reach the mirror. “Well?” He repeats, smoothing his hand over his cheek to check if he left any area untouched. After silently confirming to himself that it was good, he bent back down to finish off the other side.

“I don’t wanna talk too much about it,” You warn, glancing up at him for a second. “But I’ll just give you a run-down.”

He doesn’t say anything back, but in your heart you know he understands. For a moment, you’re reminded of when the two of you had first met and he was telling you only a sliver of his backstory.

You tell Yuji the truth about the past that you and Megumi shared, leaving out a few details to save yourself from embarrassment. Even though Yuji had a little bit of a dummy-facade, you knew he was pretty perceptive and, more importantly, a fast learner. You didn’t want to reveal anything to him that would indicate the depth of the relationship the two of you shared.

You finished off by recalling the event of Megumi and his father leaving, since that’s where the two of you had left off.

It had gone quiet, and you just wished Yuji would speak up, maybe crack a joke, anything to save you from your sheepishness. He stood up with a sense of finality and pat his freshly shaven cheek, looking down at your fabrics.

“Your stitches look pretty bad, by the way.”

With your eyebrows furrowed, you were close to chewing him out. Your stitches? Bad?

You wanted to swear at him for saying such a thing- how could he, after all the time you spent in your life perfecting your practice, all the times you had pricked yourself- did he even know how long you spent, sewing everyday?

You looked down at your work to check if he was seeing things right.

He was.

Your stitching had gone off the rails, horribly crooked and overlapping the entire time you had been talking to Yuji.

He only smiled at you knowingly.

You really did feel fourteen again, with Megumi still distracting you from every little task.

Nothing really changed after you came clean to Yuji. He didn’t bring it up again, nor did he mention to Megumi that you had told him everything. Things remained the same, with Yuji still teetering between the two of you and occasionally asking you in private how to get Megumi to become more sociable. You would only laugh lightheartedly, wishing him luck because you truly did not have an answer.

Your own feelings had started to confuse you, and multiple times a day you would space out and contemplate what you felt and wanted, only to interrupt yourself and bring yourself back to present time. You’d save all those thoughts for later, for when you’re alone without any possible interruptions. You thought about it as you settled in for bed, thought about it as soon as you opened your eyes in the morning, thought about it whenever Yuji left your side to pester Megumi a little more.

You wanted to dislike Megumi. You wanted to let him go, to grow out of the love-lenses you once saw him with. You felt some sort of resentment towards him and you wanted to use that to make it clear that you didn’t want or need him in your life anymore.

But when you thought really hard about it, and when you let the little voice in the back of your mind speak, it always boiled down to one thing- what you really wanted was Megumi’s attention. You wanted him to recognize you somehow, to acknowledge how you feel, so that maybe this time you could have the upper hand and the last laugh. You wanted a reaction from him.

It felt low. It made you wrinkle your nose and bury your face into your hammock in the dead of night. It felt a little humiliating, honestly. After all this time, you still wanted him somehow.

Only a few days pass until fate grows tired from the silent game that you and Megumi have been playing.

A few crewmates are called out onto the deck to be assigned work. Familiar faces along with you, Yuji and Megumi all crowd around Maki, who seems to have taken over the ship. Your father is at her mercy and does anything she wants, scared that she’ll change her mind and kill you all.

“This ship is filthy,” She scolds, scuffing her feet at the wooden planks to emphasize her statement. The accusation angers you a bit, since it had only gotten dirty so fast due to her clan’s sudden intrusion.

“Cleaning duty,” She starts, eyes hovering over everyone before her.

“Megumi, you take care of it.”

You assume she’s only assigning someone from her own clan so that she doesn’t come off as too self-serving. As everyone staggers away, trying to look busy so she doesn’t call them back, you scoff and mumble to yourself, “Make sure he doesn’t abandon the task halfway through.”

You wanted to be mean. You wanted to be petty. You wanted a reaction out of him. Megumi hears it clear as day, and it makes his eye twitch a little. Yuji hears it too, and he coughs awkwardly, pretending he didn’t hear the comment. You figured that Megumi knew the word abandonment well enough to understand what you were insinuating.

Maki didn’t hear what you said all too clearly, so she assumed you were back-talking, and with a scowl on her face she spat out, “You go help and clean up too.”

It’s awful. It’s the act of avoiding looking at him but needing to reach a certain area to scrub at. It’s silently maneuvering around each other to make sure no spot goes untouched. It’s playing dumb when Megumi finally drops his bucket of water flat on the floor and asks you What the hell was that about?

You feel your heart smile wickedly. Pride surges in as you realize you did, in fact, pull a reaction out of him. He was the first one to lose the quiet game.

“Hm?” You drag out your hum, making it innocent, inquisitive, begging him to elaborate.

“What you said about abandoning the task halfway through. What did you mean by that?”

You know what I meant by that is what you want to tell him. You want to argue and fight. But you hold your tongue and only provoke him more by calmly explaining as you dip a cloth in your water bucket and wring it out. “Well, you know,” You say with a faux sort of lightness in your voice, “‘Figured you might be... familiar with abandoning things. Especially once you’ve already devoted yourself to it.”

“I never abandoned you. Never on purpose.”

You arch your eyebrow as you slowly look up at him. “I never said you abandoned me.”

His eyes flash with hurt as he realizes you caged him into admitting what he did.

“But since you’re so defensive about it, might as well bring it up.”

“(Y/N),” He starts, making a step towards you as if it’ll help ease the situation.

You hold up the wash rag defensively like it’s a weapon, as if the water bunched up within it is poisonous. He reacts like it is, too, flinching as some droplets of water fling towards his way, and he stops his movement.

“Don’t feed me any excuses,” You say firmly, your previous light tone completely gone. “I’m not a fan of your little performances, Megumi. Don’t tell me you were going through changes, like when we were kids. Don’t tell me you left just like that because you had to follow the path of your father.”

He balled up his fists at his sides. “Don’t bring up my father.”

At that instant, for even the smallest second, regret washed over your face. You felt guilty for mentioning his dad, considering the circumstances. Megumi had to face that loss alone.

But your pride wouldn’t let you slip. You held your ground and kept a firm look on your face as you gazed up at him.

As you finally held eye contact with him for so long, a record breaking amount of time ever since the two of you fought, Megumi felt his heart falter. He took advantage of the moment, trying to discreetly scan over your features. You were so pretty, despite your petty behavior and attitude. Always so pretty to him.

“Look,” He started, maintaining his composure in an attempt to confront the situation calmly. Heaven knows what Maki would do if she found the two of you fighting again. “I didn’t want to leave, I had to. That was all Naoya wanted. Just my father and I.”

“I know you didn’t want to go,” You rasped, then shook your head abruptly. “No. I didn’t know. I hoped you didn’t want to leave.”

Megumi felt a prickle behind his eyes, the kind that was always unwelcome. The kind that he always shoved away, down deeper and deeper. It was the kind of prickle that made him want to close his eyes and collapse exhaustedly till the little stings turned into tears. He wanted nothing more than to fall into your hold and let it out.

But he knew it was probably too late. He thinks that if you saw his tears fall, you’d simply turn the other cheek.

“I didn’t want to go.” He repeated, as if to reassure you.

You felt frustration rise within your chest and out of your mouth as if it was vomit, the feeling evident in your words as you retorted scratchily, “Then why didn’t you care, back then? Why couldn’t you at least say goodbye?”

Something changed in Megumi’s face. It happened within a second, as soon as you had finished your first sentence. It was the first time that you would probably say he looked really upset with you. The type of upset that left his eyebrows raised, eyes ridden with unbridled shock and irritation. He saw the change in your face, too, as your guard wavered while you tried to figure out what he was feeling.

“I didn’t care?”

His tone made you want to drop everything and plead for forgiveness. You knew now that you had pushed his buttons.

Megumi scoffed and shook his head, and the sight of it made you feel overcome with shame. He picked up his water bucket and spun on his heel to walk away, to create space between the two of you.

“Yeah. I didn’t care.”

You stumbled after him like a pathetic puppy, your mind reaching and grasping at anything to try to smoothen the situation out. Your voice came out the weakest it had ever been, shaky and quiet, like you really were about to cry. “No, I didn’t know that- I didn’t mean that, Megumi-”

Megumi whirled around to face you again, suddenly too close, towering over you.

He looks into your eyes and thinks that if you hadn’t said what you said, if you hadn’t pushed that boundary, he probably would’ve felt incredibly guilty for scaring you like this. His face felt hot with resentment, and he couldn’t help the bitter tone that played out with his words, “No. No, forgive me, (Y/N), for ever thinking that I could speak for myself. I don’t know how I lasted on that ship without you there to speak on my behalf.”

It was his turn to be mean, and petty, and hurtful. He got the reaction he wanted, too, when your eyes flashed with pain.

He moved to turn back around, but he hesitated and stopped halfway, refusing to look at you. “And,” He started again, voice a little shakier too, “I did try to say goodbye. Naoya didn’t allow me to.”

He remembered it so vividly. Gesturing frantically to the door of your quarter, begging Naoya to let him go for just a second to speak with you one last time. No one on the ship had ever seen Megumi so worked up and defiant, eyes lit up with anger and panic.

Naoya only tsked and shook his head with a snarky kind of smile, ushering Megumi away with his hand on his back. He remembers the condescending tone of his voice when he said People everywhere will love you. I assure you, your little lovebird is easily replaceable.

Your words were caught in your throat as you watched him walk off.

Again and again, it always felt like Megumi was being pushed and pulled away.

THE TINY LIBRARY PROJECT — akaashi keiji x f!reader

amongst a tiny library filled with inappropriate playboys and cheat sheets, you start exchanging novels with someone who calls themselves “the owl”.

genre: strangers to lovers au, college au | fluff 

warnings: aged up characters, popular jock literature major akaashi, a fic where the characters know each other but don’t really know each other, mutual pining, mentions of insecurity, hurt/comfort! 

word count: 12.1k 

a/n: because i think akaashi would be that type of college jock who secretly adores reading </3 

«──────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────────»

The miniature, public, outdoor tiny libraries appear in the spring of your third year at university. According to the school, it’s a university library-operated project created to reboot public interest in the paper-bound fictional novels by inviting the students to engage in the sharing of favorite books amongst one another. That’s the idea, at least—to invite back the form of medium that has been overtaken by the digital age of audio books and mouse clicks that replace the handle of flipping pages. 

It hops onto the recent trend you’ve seen in the news more and more, of these little wooden boxes representing little houses that hold a small collection worth of books for people in the community to share amongst each other. One simply leaves a book inside, inviting others who visit the aforementioned little box of wood to either leave their own recommendations behind or take a peek at what their peers like reading. This type of exchange could either spark a conversation or at least bring back popularity in paper bound novels. Even if it would only be on the free sort of borrow and exchange tradeoff. 

The university calls it The Tiny Library Project. 

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Tooru Oikawa x F!Reader ( part 12 ) [ final ]

❝ my love for him is much like winter, a skeleton for the world to see. too bad he never liked the cold. ❞

description: being the neighbor and lifelong best friend of tooru oikawa definitely had it’s perks. you were never an outcast, always had a seat at lunch, got into volleyball games for free. the problem was, however, that being in love with him outweighed those perks. you would never tell him that, though, even if it hurt like hell.

genre: best friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love, fluff if you squint hard enough

word count: 2,517

warnings/notes: this is it, folks! thank you all for the love and support with this & for welcoming me so warmly to the haikyuu fandom. i cannot wait to write more for kawa or kuroo. thank you all for sticking around for the end! <3

tag list: @afuckingunicornn​​​​​​​​​ @maii-flowers​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @brownandchill​​​​​​​​​ @readeretal​​​​​​​​​ @wedojustbevibin​​​​​​​​​ @shigarakiskitten​​​​​​​​​ @shittykawaa​​​​​​​​​ @saeranoppa​​​​​​​​ @srirachibi​​​​​​​​ @tpwkatsumu​​​​​​​ @sempiternal-amour​​​​​​​ @bokutos-h0e​​​​​​​ @pinknugget​​​​​​​ @intheawks​​​​​​​ @tori218​​​​ @seikamuzu​​​​ @alexthe80swhore​​​​ @ghostly-toastie​​​ @bumbledunce​​​ @pineapplelantern​​​ @ella-solei​​

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im glad your opening asks for haikyuu bc not to be a whore or anything but i want to be wrecked and degraded majorly by oikawa. like ill let that man stomp on me of he were real😌

Fanatic [pt. 1] /// Oikawa x f!Reader (18+)

A/N: Skipped ahead in my asks a bit to answer this yummy little req!!

Summary: Oikawa takes advantage of a devoted fan for some stress relief after a bad match. [Part 2]

Warnings: noncon, bullying, degradation, humiliation, manipulation/coercion, crying, basically Oikawa is mean to you, yandere vibes?, shy reader, oral fixation/saliva, all characters adults

You’ve been in love with Oikawa Tōru since you were 14 years old.

Well, love is a strong word—maybe admiration is a better description of the way you feel about him? Or maybe not. Is admiration enough of a reason to attend every game that he’s played for the past 4 years, ignoring the hours of travel and dozens of unexcused school absences? Would admiration explain downloading and rewatching every play and amassing a collection of all his press mentions and magazine articles, to the point where there’s a table in your bedroom devoted to him that your friends have jokingly dubbed the “Oikawa shrine”? Was it admiration that made you transfer high schools in the middle of your third year just so you could join the Aobajohsai cheering squad?

No, the word you’re looking for isn’t admiration. It’s fanaticism. Look, you’re not proud to be such a die-hard, but you can’t help it. It’s not even romantic for you. You’ve never wanted to be his girlfriend. The look of joy on his face when he scores is all the reciprocation you need for your feelings.

You’re not an admirer, you’re a fan. You could watch Oikawa score points until the end of time—which is why your heart breaks a little bit every time he loses.

Really, you just want to cheer him up. Is that so wrong?

“Do I know you?” Oikawa’s head is cocked to the side, but he couldn’t look less interested. You fidget under his stare—he’s even taller in person than he looks on the court—and wonder if maybe it was a bad idea to wait in the hallway for him like this. It’s not like you were trying to corner him or anything, you just wanted a chance to tell him not to worry about losing the match.

When you can’t find the voice to answer, Oikawa’s eyes narrow and he leans in toward you a fraction. “Oh…wait. I’ve seen you before. You’re on the cheering squad, aren’t you? That third-year transfer? You’re in Makki’s class.”

You nod rapidly. Who knew it would be so hard to talk to him in person? You really should have rehearsed what you were going to say.

“So…” he prompts.

“Um, I—“ Why is your mouth so dry? “—I just, I wanted to say, I mean I know you lost but, well—“

“Spit it out.” He’s not smiling. In fact, he looks annoyed. You’ve pretty much only ever seen him beaming out of your TV screen or concentrating during a game, so this is new.

And how can you blame him? Aobajohsai just lost brutally on a block from his serve, and now he has to deal with this random fangirl who can’t untangle her tongue long enough to eke out a full sentence. You’re an idiot. “I—sorry, I just wanted to say as a fan that you looked really cool out there! So don’t—don’t worry about…you know. Um, losing.”

He looks at you a second too long, and inside you’re kicking yourself. Just your luck that the first time you meet your idol in person, you’re incapable of talking to him like a human being. But after a long moment passes, he rocks back on his heels and smiles, his face so neutral and handsome that it’s hard to even remember he was almost glaring at you a moment ago. “What’s your name?”

“Um, it’s (Y/N)…”

“(Y/N)? Ah, okay. Thank you.” Oikawa tilts his head back and runs his fingers through his bangs, and your eyes trace the motion unwillingly. His hair is damp from his post-game shower, dripping cold water onto the towel draped over his shoulders. “To be honest, I’m in a bad mood right now.”

“Oh, well—of course! I mean, no one would expect you to be happy, not after you just lost.” Stop rambling. “And, you know, you should take time to think but if there’s something—anything I can do to help—“

His eyes glint and he takes a step toward you, close enough that you have to tip your head back to meet his gaze. “Anything? You’ll do anything?”

There’s something about the way he says anything that makes you want to take it back. But how could you? You’re his #1 fan. You’d do his laundry for a month if he told you it would make him feel better. Your chin bobs up and down in agreement.

“Really? Thanks, (Y/N)! I think there’s something you can do to help me out.” Your cheeks flush pink at his praise, and you’re so thrilled that you barely even notice him grabbing your upper arm with a grip so tight it hurts. You do, however, notice when he starts steering you down the hallway into into the men’s bathroom.

“Um…I think this is the men’s room,” you tell him nervously as he folds the two of you into a single stall.

“Don’t worry, there’s no one in here.” Oikawa backs you into the stall before turning and sliding the lock shut with a click.

“But why are we—ah?” Your statement is cut off abruptly as Oikawa reaches toward you, immobilizing your jaw so he can forcefully shove two fingers into your mouth. You don’t want to hurt him, so you stop yourself from indulging your immediate impulse and biting down. What are you doing? you try to ask, but with Oikawa holding your mouth open the question comes out as a series of unintelligible gurgles.

When your frantic gaze meets his, he looks…different. He’s smiling, but it’s not the innocent grin he shows to the press or his teammates or his fans. There’s something wrong with his eyes.

It takes you a second to place the emotion, but when you do a chill passes through you. Oikawa looks angry.

Your arms twitch at your side—should you try to pry his hand out of your mouth?—but before you can make a move his other hand pushes your shoulder into the door of the bathroom stall. You can’t move. You can’t break his grip. He’s so much stronger than you.

What is happening?

“Hey, want to know something?” As he speaks, his fingers swirl around your mouth invasively. “When I saw you in the hall, you looked really…pathetic.”

Pathetic? It’s nothing you haven’t said to yourself, but hearing it from the man you’ve idolized since you were in middle school is agonizing. You try to swallow down your unhappiness, but you can’t—not while Oikawa is still forcing your jaw open.

“Yeah…” he says, an air of dark amusement coming over him. “Waiting for me and begging for my attention like a little puppy dog. Thinking you’re going to make me feel better. What did you say you’d do for me?”

You said you’d do anything. How were you supposed to know he’d meant…whatever this is?

“Anything, right? You said you’d do anything for me?” His fingers probe deeper into your mouth. “Can you try to say it?”

“Eh— An— hin—“ you choke out, well aware that you’re not making sense. Your eyes squeeze shut so you can concentrate on not gagging.

“Mm-mm, not quite. You’re not trying hard enough.”

You try again, but you can’t make your mouth form the right syllables. Why is he asking you to do this? Why are you letting him?

And why is his knee nudging your legs apart?

The effort of trying to speak with your mouth held open is making your jaw ache, and you can’t stop your saliva from spilling over your lip and onto your chin. Oikawa’s thumb leaves your mouth to wipe the drool off your face. “That’s kind of disgusting. Can’t speak in full sentences, can’t control yourself…what exactly are you good for?”

Your cheeks burn and you almost want to cry. It’s not your fault you can’t swallow properly. You shouldn’t be tolerating this, you should just bite down and make him deal with the consequences…but you know you won’t.

“Say ahh,” Oikawa tells you, tipping your head back to face his. He’s leaning in—wait, is he going to kiss you? No way, that’s impossible. Why would he be so mean to you and then turn around and treat you nicely? Still, you can’t keep your stupid heart rate from speeding up as he gets closer and closer, his eyes never leaving yours—

Until he spits. Directly into your open mouth.

His saliva feels disgusting—warm and sticky and foreign as it sits on your tongue. Oikawa releases his hold on your jaw but you don’t move, instead just standing there with your back to the stall door, staring at him in shock. Your mouth hangs open like you’re…showing it to him or something. What are you supposed to do? Spit it back out? Or—

“Swallow.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to swallow. You don’t want to have his spit in your mouth at all. If you think of it as if the two of you had kissed, it’s not even that bad, but you didn’t kiss. He did this to you to make you feel filthy, and it’s working. There are tears springing up in your eyes, and you’re certain it wouldn’t take much for them to fall.

But he’s not moving, he’s not letting you past him, and you can’t keep your mouth open forever. Maybe if you do this you can apologize for…whatever you did that made him so angry, and he’ll let you leave. Logically, you know that swallowing his spit shouldn’t feel any different from your own, but it does.

Oikawa watches the movement of your mouth and throat carefully as you give up and swallow. This is weird…the whole situation is strange. It’s not like him to do these things to a fan, but he’d been upset about the match and you just showed up and said all the wrong things so sincerely that he was caught off guard by how much he wanted to bully you. There’s something about the contrast between then and now—your shy, eager expression when you were rambling to him in the hallway versus you swallowing his spit looking like a kicked puppy—that he finds adorable.

Adorable? Yeah, adorable. Your pitiful face is so cute it’s making him hard.

Well, what do you know. Looks like you’re going to help his bad mood after all.

“I guess that’s one thing your mouth is good for,” Oikawa says. Your eyes jerk up to meet his and then slide off to the side. You can’t even look at him. He’s grinning at you—laughing at you. He’s enjoying this.

“I don’t—“ You have to stop mid-sentence to swallow again, trying to pretend your mouth doesn’t feel repulsive inside. “I don’t understand? I just wanted to cheer you up…”

“Did you?” Oikawa steps back and tilts his head to the side again like he’s assessing you. “Let me guess. You’re trying to get fucked, aren’t you? Saw me on TV and thought this was your chance to try out the real thing in person? You’re not the first.”

“That’s not true!”

“Are you sure? You’re saying you never wanted me?”

You shake your head from side to side, but you can’t muster a verbal denial. Your intentions had been innocent when you approached him, but the truth is…you’ve thought about it. You’re not one of those fans who thinks they’re destined to fall in love with their idol, but it would be a lie to say you’ve never…fantasized, late at night when you’re by yourself, about him kissing you and touching you and treating you like a princess. And when the fantasies get a little more heated, you have a habit of letting your hands drift down between your legs…

In your imagination, Oikawa is kind. Gentle. He cares for you. It couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, and he reaches up under your skirt to rub roughly against your panties. “This pussy is begging to get filled up.”

“Wha— You’re wrong—“ Your hands are trembling when you grip Oikawa’s shoulders, intending to push him away from you, but then the fingers prodding at your panties find your clit through the fabric and it’s all you can do to stay standing up. “Haahh…wait…”

“Wow, you’re soaking through your panties. I spit in your mouth, and you’re getting off? What kind of dumb girl…”

“No I’m not!” But the truth is slicking onto Oikawa’s long fingers as he rubs the length of your slit. The friction of your damp panties between his index finger and your sweet spot is excruciating. Your toes curl inside your shoes, and you’re only half aware of the way your vice-like grip on Oikawa’s shirt is actually pulling him closer.

“Dumb…stupid little slut…trying to deny it but you want me to fuck you, don’t you? You wanna cum?” His breathing is getting heavier along with yours as his fingers swirl around your sweet spot. “Gonna cum for a man you barely know? Tell me you want it.”

“Ah—I—no, I—“ You bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Whether or not you can admit it, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself if he keeps touching you like this…

Except that he doesn’t. He pulls his hand out from under your skirt with you right on the edge, leaving you aching and tense and so frustrated that you want to hit him. “You-You’re stopping?”

“You don’t get to cum. You don’t deserve it.” He studies you for a minute—your flushed cheeks, rumpled clothing, and the unadulterated despair written across your face—and then places his hands on your shoulders and pushes you down. “Get on your knees.”

With him forcing you down, your knees buckle easily and smack against the bathroom floor, sending a spike of pain up through your legs. Your natural aversion to touching the floor of a men’s bathroom is overruled by the knowledge of what he’s asking (not that he’s asking) you to do to him, and you scramble backward until the back of your head raps against the side of the stall. The sharp impact stuns you for a second, and Oikawa wastes no time in twisting his fingers through your hair and dragging your face toward his crotch.

His dick is already out, stiff and throbbing red while he pushes your cheek into it. You try to recoil, but Oikawa isn’t letting you get away. “Open up, (Y/N). I’m going to put that mouth to good use for once.”

It’s hard to shake your head with Oikawa’s fingers in your hair, but you manage, at least enough that he understands your refusal. He clicks his tongue, the gesture almost playful. “You said you’d do anything to make me feel better. Was that a lie? You were fine with me fingering you—don’t tell me you’re going to back out now.”

That’s not fair. You don’t want to do this. He’s being so mean to you.

“Anything…” Oikawa says in sing song. The hand that was tugging your hair lets up a bit and he combs through it gently. It’s the first remotely kind thing he’s done to you.

You wish you had the guts to tell him to leave you alone. You wish you were confident enough that you wouldn’t take his insults to heart. But you’re spineless, and whatever courage you possessed before this has already been crushed. So you open your mouth.

Oikawa’s cock is…salty, already dripping with precum while he nudges it onto your tongue. He slowly leans his hips forward into you, pushing a little deeper into the irresistible warmth of your mouth. His hand, gently cradling the back of your head, doesn’t push you down, but it doesn’t let you pull back either.

Ah, this is wrong…it’s fucked up that he’s getting off on this. Regardless of what he said earlier, he’s well aware that he’s the deviant here. Your misery and shame really shouldn’t be a turn-on for him. But it had been such a bad loss, and he’d been in such a nasty mood, and the feeling of your tongue squirming against the head of his cock is really taking the stress right out of him.

Maybe he deserves this. You’re his new favorite method of stress relief.

“Mm…yeah…yeah, stay still like that and let me use you…that’s all you’re good for.” His voice gets progressively huskier as he fucks your mouth, his cock getting a bit deeper into your throat every time he tilts his hips into you. He’s so thick and heavy between your lips that even if your jaw wasn’t already sore from how he held it earlier, it’d still be aching now.

By the time his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re trying to push his thighs away from you. It’s useless, though—even with just a single hand in your hair, he has no trouble keeping you exactly where he wants you. His cock is just as big as the rest of him, and he’s almost triggering your gag reflex even with just half of it in your mouth.

Oikawa thrusts again and the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you seize up around him and earning a grunt from him. “Fuck…that felt good, do it again.” He holds you down and pushes himself deeper, forcing you to dry gag around the heavy mass filling up your throat.

The way you’re twitching against him must feel good—you can tell by his huffs of breath and the half-coherent backhanded compliments about how how were made to suck cock. His huge hand is rigid in your hair, fingernails scratching thoughtlessly into your scalp. “Yeah…taking me so deep, you really are a whore aren’t you? My personal cheerleader cocksleeve…gonna wait for me after every game and take my cock just like this? You know, maybe I’ll fuck you before I play…I think I’ll hit better if I know you’re in the stands cheering me on with my cum dripping out of your pussy…”

You want to be somewhere else, anywhere where you’re not forced to listen to him tell you how worthless you are while you hold back your gag reflex. Your jaw is cramping, and your pussy is still traitorously wet and unsatisfied. Is what he’s saying true? Are you really that useless? Why is it so wrong that you like—you liked him? Why are you being punished for being his fan?

Oikawa looks down when he feels your hands stop pushing at his thighs. Repressing a growl of annoyance, he pulls your head back off his dick so he can haul your body up and meet your eyes. God, you’re wrecked—hair mussed and tangled, spit dripping down your chin, eyes rimmed with red—and you’re crying. He feels a tug in his abdomen while you sniff and try to wipe your tears away. “You look ugly when you cry.”

The insult brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes and you furiously rub at your eyes and nose, but you’re only smearing the tears around. She’s not really an ugly crier, Oikawa thinks looking at you. In fact, you look oddly appealing with your nose all red and teardrops hanging off your eyelashes.

“I-I w-wanna leave—I wanna stop,” you whimper out between sobs.

“Oh...oh, did I hurt your feelings?” Oikawa folds your limp body into his arms and you hate yourself for taking comfort in him and melting into his chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“I-I-I—“

“Shh, shh.” He rubs your back in slow circles, steadying your trembling form. “You can’t be so loud, someone will hear. And besides…I’m not done.”

What?

Before you can understand what he said, Oikawa pushes you back down and palms his still-hard weeping cock. “I was looking forward to cumming in your mouth, you know? Since you’re so good at swallowing. I was going to make you show it to me first. But now—I guess you can’t take that, huh? My personal cheerleader is a little too fragile today! That’s okay though, we can save it for next time.” His voice is excited and his eyes are wide with boyish exuberance while his hand pumps up and down the length of his cock.

He’s jacking off. On you.

You try to move out of the way, but once again he holds you in place. “Stop that, you don’t want to cause…a mess…ugh, fuck!”

It’s all you can do to close your eyes and screw up your face before the breath leaves him and he lurches forward. You feel it rather than see it, just like when he spat in your mouth—a hot sticky liquid, this time soaking onto your skin…through…your shirt.

You open your eyes and there it is, a smear of off-white liquid staining your plain green cheering T-shirt.

He came on your clothes. He came on your clothes. He came on your clothes.

“Oi, Oikawa!” There’s an audible bang as the door of the bathroom is slammed open and someone—no, two people—walk inside. A shiver passes through you and you chance a look up at Oikawa, whose gaze is trained on the closed stall door as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants.

“Oikawa?” another voice calls out. “You in here? The bus is waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I’m in here,” he says. You shoot a terrified glance at him, bidding him to keep quiet, but he just winks back at you. As if you’re sharing some fun secret and not hiding with tears in your eyes and semen spilling down your chest.

There are two sharp knocks on the stall door, and it’s all you can do to hold back your squeal of shock. “Hurry up and get out, dumbass. What the hell have you been doing this whole time? Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“Sorry, sorry—“ He pulls you up one more time, this time by the back of your collar like a kitten, and reaches for the door lock despite your best efforts to shake your head violently and telepathically communicate please please please don’t open it— “but I promise I had a good reason. See for yourself.”

You’re seriously considering kicking him in his bad knee and making a run for it, but as always his instincts outpace yours by miles. When the door swings open, Oikawa pushes you out in front of him and directly into the person standing in front of the stall. Who is it? Tall, tan, spiky dark hair—you’ve never spoken, but you know from your extensive practice observing the Aobajohsai volleyball team that it’s Iwaizumi Hajime, vice captain and Oikawa’s best friend. His arms move up to grab you by reflex, steadying you before you’re forced to crash into him.

“Wha—“ Iwaizumi looks just as startled as you feel. Behind him, Hanamaki—the third-year wing spiker who’s in the same class as you—is wearing a similar expression of surprise. For a moment, everything is perfectly still: Iwaizumi holding you by your upper arms, Oikawa grinning back at you from the stall, Hanamaki watching all three of you with an eyebrow raised—

And then, like a scene from a horror movie playing out in slow motion, two pairs of eyes move from your disheveled face down, inch by inch, until both Iwaizumi and Hanamaki are staring at the cum stain on your shirt.

They recognize what it is immediately. Hanamaki grimaces in disgust and Iwaizumi drops your arms like he’s been burned. “Ugh, that’s fucking nasty. You couldn’t wait til we got back to campus?”

“Nah, my little cheerleader was too impatient. I can’t say no to her.” Your gaze swings back to Oikawa in betrayal, but he looks as effortlessly flippant as ever, no evidence of the lie on his face. He steps out from the stall and wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you closer against your will.

The awkwardness in the air is so thick you can barely breathe, but you’re not the only one affected. Hanamaki is resolutely avoiding looking at either of you and Iwaizumi looks like he can’t decide whether to be angry or disgusted. “I mean…still…you shouldn’t be causing trouble for the rest of the team.”

“Hear that, (Y/N)?” Oikawa pats your waist without releasing his grip. “Say sorry to Iwa and Makki.”

You want to escape. You want to run. You want to faint, even, because at least if you fainted you wouldn’t have to experience this humiliation.

“S-Sorry. I’m sorry for c-causing trouble.” The apology comes out hoarse from your raw throat, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that you’d had a cock stuffed down it just a few minutes ago. You duck down into a bow, hating Oikawa almost as much as you hate yourself.

Aaaand, you’re crying again. As soon as you feel the tear trickle down your cheek you swipe at it furiously, but with all attention in the room trained on you it’s impossible that they didn’t see it.

“Look, Iwa, you made her cry!” Oikawa easily pushes your hand down and his takes its place, dabbing at the tears spilling down your cheeks.

To Iwaizumi’s credit, he looks even more horrified at the fact that you’re crying than he did at the cum stain. He steps toward you a bit and then thinks better of it and moves back again, hands gesturing aimlessly in the air. “Whoa! Hey, it’s fine! It’s fine, okay? It was probably this loser’s fault more than yours anyway, I know what a dog he is.”

You have no idea. You gulp and try to stifle your tears. Oikawa’s constant contact (his thumb stroking your face, the arm pulling insistently at your waist—something about it is almost possessive) isn’t helping your anxiety.

“Can we get going?” Hanamaki says after a long moment. “They’re waiting for us.”

Iwaizumi scratches his head and looks at you. “Ah…sorry (Y/N), but I think the cheer squad bus already left.”

“She can ride with us, can’t she?” Oikawa says.

You don’t want to ride with them, but what’s your other option? Take the train for hours with a cum stain right in the middle of your shirt? On the other hand, that might be better than spending another second in Oikawa’s presence. “I...I can take the train…”

Then again, you don’t know why you’re bothering to have this internal debate at all. It’s not like he’s going to give you a choice.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re coming with me.” You flinch at the insult and then regret it, hoping the others didn’t notice.

“Ah, I guess that’s fine,” Iwaizumi says. “By the way, do you…want a clean shirt? I have an extra in my bag…”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he says it, which is fine because you’re pretty sure you’re incapable of doing so either. Still, you open your mouth to say yes, awkwardness be damned. You’d do anything to get out of this filthy shirt—

“She’s fine,” Oikawa interrupts.

Iwaizumi frowns and looks to you for confirmation, but you can feel Oikawa’s oppressive stare pinning you in place and preventing you from disagreeing. You’re so weak. Pathetic. Just like he said.

You nod shakily to Iwaizumi and he sighs. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”

The three of them file out of the bathroom and for one hopeful moment you think they’re going to leave you there and you’ll never have to see Oikawa again.

But since when do you have that kind of luck?

“(Y/N)? Come.”

It probably sounds like a request to Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, but you know it’s not. It’s an order.

And you follow.

➠ [Part 2]