Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He could feel his eye twitching.

Of course midterms just so happened to be before their first match of the season, it couldn’t torment and taunt him with the threat of not playing his first official college volleyball game if it wasn’t. To make matters worse, he would have to stay late to take a supplementary test and miss the game altogether, should he fail (which, he most certainly would). It was only Kiyoko’s sweet offer that brought both him and Hinata across town to a dingy apartment complex for a free tutor session with some unknown upperclassmen. While having you as tutor would probably still be better than having that snarky asshole Tsukishima tutor, he wished Yachi had spare time to help them out again.

Hinata bounded up the concrete stairs, full of an inextinguishable energy that didn’t seem to fade even outside of the volleyball court, and pounded on the door matching the address Kiyoko had given them.

“Sorry, but I don’t have the time in my schedule to tutor anyone right now. I was going to recommend a friend of mine, she’s a native english speaker. She should be able to help you out far better than I could anyway,” Kiyoko had said earlier that week, handing them a slip of white notebook paper with a phone number scrawled across it. “Just give her a call and she’ll be happy to help. I’ve already asked her if she would be interested in tutoring on the side for you boys this semester. Coach Ukai would really like to see you both play next weekend.”

Kageyama was grateful, a thousand times over of course, but he hated the idea of having to divert attention away from volleyball. Even if it were for his studies. He shouldn’t be surprised; if he wanted to continue playing on his scholarship, he needed to maintain a certain (albeit low) grade point average. College was never on his agenda in the first place, merely a stepping stone from middle and high school volleyball to get to the big leagues. Now, he was paying the price by studying and, god forbid, doing schoolwork until he got that fateful call from the professional leagues.

He adjusts the strap of his backpack as he hears a small “coming!” faintly from the other side of the door. Another moment later, he hears a small ‘click’ of the lock and the door swings open to reveal your dishevelled form. He peers down at your messy hair and wrinkled clothes, as if you had just gotten out of bed that morning, faint dark under-eye circles cushioning your otherwise pleasant features and sheepish smile.

“Good morning! Thank you for agreeing to help tutor us!” Hinata exclaims, giving a bow to the elder student. He nudges Kageyama, who had been staring quite intensely at you for far longer than he’d like to admit, to follow suit. He dips his head and mutters a small ‘thank you’ as well before straightening back up to his full height. You nod and give them your name.

“You two must be Hinata and Kageyama, right? You’re a bit earlier than expected…” you trail off eyes scanning the two men in front of you. Hinata Shoyo, Karasuno’s rising star middle blocker with a small stature and large drive to succeed. You weren’t necessarily a huge fan of the sport, but being best friends with the team’s manager did lend you a bit more information about its members than you originally would have. Not to mention the few times you’ve visited their practices to see Kiyoko, it was difficult not to at least notice the two noisy freshmen. You drift higher to observe the intense starting setter, Kageyama Tobio, the matching half of the dynamic fast attack duo. He seems uncomfortable, his spine stiff and fingers twitching, like he’s waiting for something to happen. You sigh. “Come on in.”

“You can chill on the living room couch, my roommates are gone for the weekend,” you call as you head up a flight of stairs, presumably to your bedroom. Kageyama hesitates outside the door as Hinata leaps in and flops onto the sofa. Your apartment is small, a couch pressed against a wall and a TV on the other, with a coffee table squeezed between the two, and an even smaller kitchen just across the room. It was a wonder how you could even have roommates in this tiny living space, he thinks as he slides off his shoes at the doorstep.

“I thought you said we were supposed to be here at ten,” Kageyama says, tossing his backpack to the ground and sitting on the side adjacent to his teammate. It was almost noon, seeing as how they were both fiercely competing in a practice match early that morning and lost track of time, causing them to be late for their tutoring session. Not that he minded the delay, since he managed to increase his personal score against Hinata 41 to 39. “Are we early?”

“I thought she said eleven… was it actually one in the afternoon that she said…?” Hinata ponders, causing Kageyama’s eye to twitch. He taps his chin in thought. “I could’ve sworn I had something then…”

“You idiot, you don’t know? We left practice early just to get here!” Leave it up to Hinata to schedule the appointment and forget the time. Maybe they could both head to the gym afterwards to make up for lost time. He still had a lot of pent up energy that needed to be exerted; he wasn’t sure if he could focus on their little study session when his mind was still racing with plays he wanted to try out, new moves he needed to practice.

At that moment, you bound down the stairs again with three large textbooks in hand. You grin as you slam the books onto the coffee table, standing back up with your hands on your hips. “Now, where do you guys want to begin?”

Two hours later and you had managed to make a sizable dent into their volleyball-filled memory banks to shove a few English prepositions and conjugations in there. If they could remember subject-verb agreement by the time they ran out the door to toss some balls, you would consider your job well done. You just hoped it would stick in their heads longer than a week, or else you’d probably be receiving a call a few days before final exams to reteach middle school level vocabulary.

As noon approaches and passes, you let a wide yawn leave your lips, stretching your arms above your head until a satisfying crack is heard. As much as you loved explaining grammar patterns to two college boys, you felt bored out of your mind. A nap was definitely on the agenda afterwards.

With only a few pages left on the review papers, you had half a mind to call it early today and tell them to come back at a different time. But then again, if you just powered through for another hour or so, you could save yourself some free time in the future. You had few other lowerclassmen who desperately needed help in the language department, and you weren’t necessarily looking forward to the long hours staring at small text in a book. At least the college was gracious enough to provide supplementary funds for your time helping the poor and needy.

Luckily, Hinata saved you from that call as he slaps his face with a resounding smack, eyes wide as he jumps to his feet.

“Shit, I forgot I promised Yachi I’d help her practice her lines at one o’clock today!” He exclaims, frantically gathering up his notebook papers and shoving them unceremoniously into his backpack. You watch him bounce around the room and grab the heels of his shoes from the door before racing back to snag a rice cake off the platter you so graciously prepared for them. “I’m really sorry, I completely forgot!”

“Easy, I get it,” you say, amusement laced throughout your voice. Yachi was somewhat of a friend of yours through extension of Kiyoko, so you got to see the little first year quite a bit. Last you heard from her, she was rehearsing for the Spring play in a few months, a passion she juggled alongside her role as the volleyball team's junior manager. A small smile plays on your lips as you hand him a stapled sheet of paper. “We can pick this up another time, we only have one or two more chapters left to study.”

He accepts the paper with a bow, shouting another “thank you!” before racing back over to the doorway. He pauses, slipping his sneakers on over his long black socks, and turning back with a wave. “I’ll see you at practice later, Kageyama!” And just like that, he’s gone. The door closes slowly, and you hear a loud thump followed by his surprised shout just as it clicks shut.

“Bouncy one, huh?” You say.

Kageyama doesn’t share your jocularity, only offering up a small, “yeah.”

“Well,” you breathe, unprepared to be left all alone with the imposing setter, “we can wrap it up here too if you want. I’m sure a guy like you ‘s got plans, after all.”

“Yeah, something like that,” he says, gathering a few pieces of paper off the table and sliding them into his backpack. You hand him a sheet of paper, your fingers brushing against his briefly before pulling away. He doesn’t notice.

“Hey, Kageyama, can I ask you something?” you ask, bringing his focus back to you. You’re staring at him with a strange glint in your eye, one he can’t decipher, and he gives you a small nod to continue, grabbing a rice cake off the table to shove in his mouth. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He chokes, the snack getting caught in his throat until he’s hacking like a cat on your aged carpet. You give him a moment to swallow it, offering him your small glass of water. He takes it without looking, his face and neck red as he gulps it down greedily. He slams the cup down and wipes his mouth, avoiding your gaze as he processes your question without his life being threatened.

A girlfriend? Kageyama’s never so much as held hands with another person in a romantic context, much less ever dated. Where this question came from, Kageyama didn’t know; it’s not like an upperclassmen would ask him out anyway, but he still prepared his ritual rejection of him ‘focusing on volleyball.’

“No, I haven’t—”

“A boyfriend then?” You ask in a heartbeat.

“What?! N-no, I’m not—I've never even been on a—” he sputters, stopping himself in his tracks. It's too late, you already caught onto the intention in his broken sentence.

“So you’re in college and have never been on a date? Is that it?” You ask in disbelief, eyes wide as you look him over. It’s almost funny; most athletes you had the displeasure of encountering were total douchebags (not that you would ever think that of Kiyoko’s precious volleyball boys!), and you had your fair share of run-ins with overinflated egos and superiority complexes in college alone. And yet here he was, a college freshman who's never been on a proper date. You idly wonder if he’s ever gotten his dick wet before you can stop the inappropriate train of thought.

“I’m leaving.” He stands, his pale complexion flushed hot and red. You could chalk it up to his choking, but you were certain your questions were a little too intimate for his liking. Still, you had dug this hole too deep for you to quit now, especially on such a sour note.

“Wait, wait, no, I’m sorry, that was really forward and kinda rude of me to ask. Please, sit.” You grab his hands before he can walk away, sitting up on your knees to better plead with him. Batting your eyelashes up at him, you give him a small pout; it's the greatest weapon you have in your arsenal of getting what you want. No man has ever resisted the lure of your perfected puppy-dog eyes, and you weren’t about to let the kid get away. Not until your curiosity has been sated. “I just—I don’t know, I kinda thought you and the ginger were a thing—”

“We’re not.” He grits his teeth, looking between your cute, begging expression and your soft hands encircling his large wrist. It’s a comparison he can’t shake from his mind now that he’s seen it, and he reluctantly sits back down. Part of him is also curious; curious as to your intentions, your motives, what you were planning to do now that you’ve kept him here. You let go of his arm, and his skin stings from your touch. He almost wishes you hadn’t let go of him, missing the soft embrace of your hands. Almost.

“Right sorry,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck with a sheepish grin, similar to that look of embarrassment when you first let him through the door in your casual pajamas. Then, you had felt exposed in your thin white sleep shirt and shorts, but now your exposure was more personal, emotional. Remember your rejection therapy exercises, you think. Try not to make it more awkward than it already is, despite the explicitly awkward topic. “So you really haven’t had a girlfriend?”

“No, I haven’t.” He rests his chin in his hand and his elbow on his knee, combating whether or not to maintain eye contact to better observe you and your reactions, or look away and save him the discomfiture. He settles for somewhere in between, peering at you from his peripherals and directing his gaze somewhere off to the left of your head. “I’m trying to focus on volleyball for now. I don’t need a relationship.”

“Okay, gotcha, I was just wondering, you know,” you say with a shrug, drumming your fingers against your lap anxiously. A brief silence. “You want a beer?”

“...yes.”

You take his compliance eagerly, shooting to your feet to make a quick trip into the kitchen. You pull out two cold beers you're sure your roommate wouldn’t mind missing and pop them both open preemptively before heading back to your seated position on the floor. He takes one of the bottles gladly, pausing for you to take a swig before testing the waters himself. You watch in mild amusement as he fervently gulps down half the drink before setting it down beside him. He’s nineteen and in a public university, yet he sloshes it down like his first sip. You take advantage of his enthusiasm to continue your conversation.

“So like, have you ever actually done anything?” You pry a little further, genuinely aporetic of his personal endeavors. Maybe you could understand never dating someone; most guys you met were horny and noncommittal, happier to sling back a beer and beat up a lady’s beef curtain than to buy her flowers and remember anniversary dates. At his perplexed expression, you elaborate on your question. “I dunno, one-night stand, friends with benefits, that kinda deal,” you say, before correcting yourself, “you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I’m just curious is all. I’ve never met a guy that hasn’t done a bit of a pile-driving.”

He stares blankly, and you find your lips twitching in sync with your eyes.

“You know, doing the Devil’s dance; giving her the beans, a little bow-chicka-wow-wow!” You raise your beer bottle with a wink and grin, one that fades once you realize just how repulsive those words actually sounded coming from your mouth. You didn’t mind the unsexy language when you were talking with the girls about your personal rendezvous, but saying it to this virtual stranger made you feel a little childish. You shrug your shoulders, hoping to ease any first-hand embarrassment you might have accrued to continue the lighthearted conversation. “Fucking.”

He blinks, shaking his head in resignation.

“No, are you happy?” He huffs. It was bad enough he got flak about his less than active sex life during lockerroom talks with the second-years, he didn’t need an older, experienced woman to join in on their relentless teasing. “I’ve never even…” He trails off, catching himself from spilling his thoughts to his tutor. It was bad enough he admitted to his lack of sexual prowess, he didn’t need to add more logs onto the fire for you to mock him with. It was a wonder he hadn’t left yet, but something about you—weird and open, and now that they were onto that subject, quite pretty—that just made him unconsciously want to stay.

You give a small gasp, shaking your head in disbelief. “What? Don’t tell me you haven’t even had your first kiss yet!” You anticipated a guy of his position and stature to have a fanclub of girls. He was handsome, with a strong build and a dark persona; it was like every teenage girl’s dream boy. Hell, with some work, you could polish him into a proper college kid.

“I was getting around to it,” he practically growls, his cheeks heating uncomfortably. Why did it matter if he had never kissed a girl before? It’s not like it was his biggest priority in highschool anyway; he had much more important matters to focus on, like volleyball. A relationship would only get in the way of that. “What does it matter to you, anyway?”

You hum, tapping your chin. He was cute. A little awkward, but you could definitely work around that if you wanted to. A little guidance and pointers, make a bit of an attitude adjustment, and he could be banging brunettes behind the bleachers after matches if he really wanted to. Girls dig athletes.

“Oh, what can I say, I just have a soft spot for the helpless and in need,” you say with a devilish grin. Yes, this could work. You needed a good rebound after your recent breakup, and this freshman would be the perfect pet project. “And what you need is a proper tutor.”

He blanks. “What?”

“Only if you wanted to,” you hum. It was a generous offer, afterall. Maybe his alluring intensity and hidden intelligence pulled you in, made you wonder what personality he would bring out in private, or maybe it was just his brooding, boyish charm topped with a cherry of idiocy that really made your curiosity peak in the worst possible way. You scoot closer to him along the floor, until your thighs are just barely brushing his, and you feel his sharp breathing through his nose. You tap your lips with a grin. “Would you want to?”

A heavy silence hangs over the room as he contemplates your question. Were you really asking to steal away his first kiss? It wasn’t something he ever paid much attention to, never getting to know a person well enough to take that next step in a relationship, and yet here you were, offering it to him for free. He could hear the endless taunts of his teammates at the discovery that he had waited until his first year of college just to kiss a girl; Tanaka had nearly bursted a lung when he found out that Kageyama was the only first-year on the college team to so never so much as held hands with someone else.

It was never on his mind, but now it most certainly was.

His brain must have been overloaded between consuming too much English vocabulary and grammar and his constantly calculating brain bouncing back to volleyball at every given opportunity, and now none of that seemed to so much as fleetingly enter his vacant mind. He glanced down at your lips, gentle and supple; he had never noticed how soft they looked, how they perfectly melded into a knowing cheshire cat grin, how oh so kissable they were.

He waited another moment more, waiting for you to pull back with a teasing grin and tell him you were just joking. Maybe he wants you to, if only to ease the thick tension in the air, but he knows that’s just what he wants to believe. He couldn’t get the desire to kiss you out of his mind even if he wanted to, now that you’ve planted that little seedling of thought there. With a glance back up to your round, curious eyes, wide in anticipation of his response one way or another, he tosses his better judgement to the side and leans in.

His lips smash onto yours, not in a pleasant or sexy way, but in a forceful press of his closed lips onto yours. It wasn’t much a kiss at all, but you give him credit for his boldness, for standing up to your silent challenge. His long hands squeeze your cheeks on either side of your head, holding you in the place of his bruising kiss and squishing your lips to pucker uncomfortably.

He pulls back a few seconds later to look at your surprised face. His eyebrows scrunch together as his typical grimace takes over his expression, analyzing your reaction. Your face is flushed, eyes wide, mouth agape; you rest your hands on his wrists, small and delicate in comparison to his, now that he’s actually paying attention, and you pull them away from the vice grip on your face.

“Okay, that was… a kiss…” you say, and you try your best to hide the cringe in your voice and body. You hadn’t had such a rotten kiss since your first one in middle school, but you mentally scold yourself for thinking so poorly of something you asked for. This is what you bargained for when you wanted to ‘tutor’ him, to offer him a space to explore his inexperience. “How about we try again? I’ll lead.”

He doesn’t seem to like that response very much, his stern expression marred by the red blush dancing across his cheeks, but he doesn’t protest as you lean forward to press a gentle kiss against his dry, chapped lips. He averts his eyes as you tell him to open his mouth a little bit, but he obliges nonetheless. You place a tender kiss onto his bottom lip, urging him to take note of your motions and rhythm, until his stiffness eventually fades. You slide a hand up his chest to rest on the side of his neck, tilting it slightly to have a better angle to access his mouth. Slow and steady, you work over him until you feel like he understands what lips are at least supposed to do during a kiss.

One last peck, and you pull away. His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth slightly agape and cheeks red, and you mentally burn the downright adorable image to your permanent memory banks to squeal over later. You can’t help but be a little flustered yourself, your own boldness surprising you. He opens his eyes slowly, meeting your delighted gaze with an unreadable expression.

“Osculation,” you say before he has a chance to respond. “That’s your english vocabulary word for the day: the act of kissing!” You give him a cheeky grin, your own cheeks warm, and you try to cover up any awkward silence with a stupid awkward one-liner.

“I…” he starts, mouth wide and you almost feel like he’s going to yell at you, his eyebrows angled down and nose scrunched, but he averts his eyes with a flustered cough into his fist. “I have to go.”

He wobbles to his feet, his knees weak from sitting for too long, and his thighs flex with the strain. Kageyama snatches his backpack off the ground and rushes to the front door to slide on his sneakers, shoving the bottom of his shirt down low enough to cover his crotch. He should have left sooner, yet you compelled him to stay; he played right into the palm of your hand, and he wanted nothing more than to take a cold shower back at his dorm to wash away his shame. He struggles to slide on his left shoe, settling for sitting on the heel as he swings open the door.

You bite your lip as you observe his frantic actions with a sense of… pride. He didn’t seem uncomfortable with the act, more bashful and embarrassed than anything, so you didn’t take his rushing off to heart. You were used to men running off after a little one-on-one session anyway, so you brushed it off without a second thought. Before he steps out, you throw out a question, laidback enough to hide your doubts in yourself and your actions. “Next Tuesday? We can finish up our study session then, your call.”

He pauses, his back to you as he waits on the threshold.

“Yeah… I’d like that,” he mumbles before slamming the door shut behind him. He breathes out a sigh of relief, thankful to not be under your scrutinizing gaze anymore. Next Tuesday, study session, finish up; those words flew in one ear and out the other. He’s not sure he would be ready to see you so soon, after your little interaction. Kageyama grunts as he pushes himself off your apartment door and heads towards the stairwell, praying no one would see him stumble out of your place half-hard and redder than a rose. This was a one-time occurrence, he thinks. He might be able to entertain the thought tonight when he’s alone, but he couldn’t carry these strange thoughts of your hands and lips with him anywhere else. He had better things to prioritize than any fantasy relationship his mind could conjure with an upperclassmen.

You hear his footsteps pad away and sigh. He was a hard nut to crack. But seeing the man you’ve heard stories about (his anger issues, his struggles to form meaningful relationships on the court, his issues with teamwork at times; Kiyoko really was quite talkative when you had her in the right headspace, and even more so passionate about her position as manager) go weak in the knees and bumble and fluster at your simple, innocent touches, you were now even more dedicated to seeing just what kind of nut was hiding underneath that thick shell.

This could work.

Chapter Text

Tuesday night, Kageyama visits you again.

Hinata’s there too, seeing as how it’s another typical tutoring session to finish any work that was left abandoned during their last visit. He’s energetic as he talks to you about their recent practice, talking his ass off to delay the inevitability of sitting down and studying. He gets a bit pouty when you ask him to look over the notes again to double-check his spelling, but overall he’s quite intense when settled enough to focus on the task at hand. You wonder if he brings that same kind of intensity to volleyball matches, his enthusiasm overcome with passion and a drive to prove himself.

Kageyama’s not half bad either. He’s progressing in his studies quite nicely, and you’re almost hopeful that the two knuckleheads will pass their exams in a few days. He could use a few social cues when the two of you practiced fake English conversations to one another, his tone never changing when speaking and his flow unnatural and stiff, but that was just an asset of his personality. He caught on quite quickly, but tended to blank when questioned directly. That, and he never seemed to stop staring.

It was quite a contrast as to how your last meeting with him went. Kageyama couldn’t even look you in the eyes once you began your inappropriate investigation, much less after you gave him a good one-two in the lip-smacking department. Now, you were the one feeling avoidant under his burning gaze. You purposefully evade his gaze to both piss him off and to not let any indication that there was anything unorthodox going on. If you could act normal for one study session, then so could he.

Kageyama, on the other hand, was having his own internal debate. His hardened stare held no malice or ill-will. He was simply looking at you, really looking at you, as if it were his first time seeing you. Saying you were pretty was an understatement; Kageyama had thought he had seen true beauty a few months ago when he met Kiyoko, but now he understood. He understood why Noya and Tanaka made themselves out to be fools for the woman, why they would chase her heels for a scrap of affection. Even he was not immune to Kiyoko’s subtle charms and feminine aura, yet he never contemplated anything further than her soft voice complimenting his performance after a game or gentle touch when she hands him a water bottle and towel. He never contemplated any kind of amorousness towards anyone.

Until he met you.

You managed to awaken something buried deep within him. In just a matter of minutes, you made him feel a rush of adrenaline he only felt in volleyball matches, his heartbeat rocketing without hardly trying. Your beauty encapsulated him, your lips only further dragging him into your snare; even now, as your eyes dance around his in a knowing manner, he feels something in his gut stir. Tanaka and Nishinoya were fools for chasing after a woman out of their league. And Kageyama would not so easily be played as a fool.

“That’s about it, I think!” You say, stretching your arms high above your head. Your oversized t-shirt rides up with the movement, revealing a hidden patch of plush skin just at your hips and stomach. He averts his eyes as you drop your arms and address the two men again. “Not much else I can help you with for the exam, just remember to keep studying.”

Hinata groans and stretches, his limbs spreading like a starfish onto your wood floors. “Finally! It’s so tiring, I feel like my brain is about to explode.”

“You barely answered any questions correctly,” Kageyama grunts, kicking the older boy in the side with his heel. Hinata only groans louder in response and rolls over onto his stomach. He arches his back until a pop echoes throughout the empty apartment, and he sighs, turning back to his friend.

“At least I tried answering. You just sat there and stared at our tutor like a creep the whole time,” he says nonchalantly, and Kageyama wants to throttle him for his observation. It was bad enough that Hinata was catching onto his newly discovered weakness, but admitting it out loud felt like a punch to the gut.

“I was not staring, I was just thinking!” He refutes, sitting up on his knees to prepare to make good on his mind’s threats. The ginger has the audacity to yawn as Kageyama grabs the collar of his shirt, as if the risk of getting pounded into tomorrow was about as boring as whatever stupid material they just studied.

“Cut it out you two,” you roll your eyes at their childish antics, partially concerned the younger would actually do some real damage for absolutely no reason. You’ve seen the two wrestle over less words, and they sure as hell were not about to get down and dirty on your clean hardwood floors. How Kiyoko could handle being trapped in a testosterone-filled gym with young adult men was beyond you—but then again, you had found yourself in worse situations at certain fraternities in years past. “I would say I pity the fool who has to put up with your daily bickering, but then I’d be insulting my best friend.”

Hinata lights up at your mention of the manager, sitting up and shaking Kageyama’s loose grip off his shirt. “Ooh, speaking of Kiyoko, you should come to one of our games!” He grins, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “English vocabulary and grammar isn’t really my strong suit, so I’d love for you to see me where I’m best.”

He mimics a spike, slamming his hand down upon an imaginary ball with a ‘bow!’ and a ‘whoosh!’ sound effect. It’s cute, you think. College hasn’t completely crushed his soul into dust just yet.

“Ah, big talk! Are you that confident in your skills?” You shake your head, eyeing the two men. Seeing a volleyball game in your limited time off between studying, tutoring, and school wasn’t necessarily on your list of priorities; but, then again, Miki always said you needed to get your ass out of the house once in a while (which you do—just not to places she likes, since she’s usually dragged there with you).

“I’d love to, but I’m pretty busy… maybe if the both of you passed your exams…?” you trail off, letting him catch onto the small hint you slipped with greed, practically lighting up at your implication. He nudges Kageyama beside, beaming.

“Hell yeah! We’ll pass, and then you’ll come see us! You want Miss Tutor to come see us play too, right Kageyama?”

“Hmm?” Kageyama hums, not listening in the slightest. Something about coming to a game? He nods along absentmindedly, muttering, “oh yeah, yeah.” He’s not sure if that’s the right response, as you and Hinata share a knowing look before the latter starts laughing at Kageyama’s apparent obliviousness.

“We have one in two weeks, a little after midterms; I really hope to see you there,” Hinata says, grinning at you, and how could you say no to such a charming smile.

“I’ll try my best if you do,” you shuffle to your feet, stretching your arms out in front of you again to knock out any remaining knots in your spine. Hinata stands too, sliding his backpack onto his shoulder as you continue, “Promise me you do good, and I promise I’ll reward you—both of you.”

You cast a spare glance at Kageyama, who flushes slightly at the hidden innuendo in your words. His face only drags into a deep scowl; that future reward better be for the setter and the setter only. There was no way in hell he was going to allow his sworn rival to put his grubby little hands one what was his—

Your muffled voice knocks him out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts. No, he couldn’t think like, didn’t need to after today. He promised himself he would get his fill, then leave; never to succumb to the wiles of an older woman so long as he’s pursuing his true love of volleyball.

“Hey, Kageyama, aren’t you coming,” Hinata calls, already halfway out the door and you standing next to him ready to send him off. The boy spares a glance at you, processing his question; he didn’t want to leave you just yet, he had some business he wanted to discuss, but he also wasn’t thrilled at the idea of his roommate knowing about it.

“I’ll catch up later,” he grumbles out. You quirk an eyebrow at him, a knowing smirk threatening to reveal itself at his implication, but you hide it with ease as you rub your neck and turn back to Hinata.

“I wanna run over some things with Kageyama again before he leaves. He’s really struggling in some areas, and I would like you both to pass with flying colors,” you give him a smile, quickly continuing at his suspicious, narrowed eyes, “you’re just doing so well that there’s really nothing you need additional help with!”

At that, he seems to glow, casting a condescending glance at the setter still seated beside the sofa. “Did you hear that, Bakageyama? Miss tutor says I’m doin’ better in English than you! I’ll see you at the dorm later, loser!” He seems to get a kick out of his one-up score against the boy, his previous skepticism forgotten as he bounces out the door. You watch him race down the stairs with an unparalleled smugness, and step back inside to face the problem at hand.

The door clicks shut behind you after the middle blocker’s absence, and you are once again left all alone in your apartment with Kageyama.

“Hinata’s right, you’re not very subtle, y’know?” You narrow your eyes at the freshman as you settle back down onto the floor, the man only offering a quirked eyebrow in return. It’s not that you were necessarily a prude by any sense, nor were you shy of sharing your physical activities with others, but you weren’t too keen on having the ginger know about his best friend’s little rendezvous with the tutor after one study session. Still, teasing the setter was a newfound hobby of yours, and you couldn’t help but jab at his lack of self-consciousness. “Maybe lessen up on the evil eyes, just a smidge.” You pinch your fingers for emphasis.

“I’ve been practicing,” he says, completely ignoring your teasing. He scoots closer on his knees until the two of your are just a breath apart, your back flush against the foot of the couch. As much as he hated your little remarks and seductive little lips parted just for him, he can’t deny how much your widening eyes get to him, surprised at his boldness after ignoring his gaze all session.

“English?” You ask hopefully.

“Kissing.”

“Oh have you,” you raise your hand to trace along his jaw, pulling his chin closer to where you can feel the sharp inhalation of his breath, and can see the deep blue flecks shimmering in his dark irises. He grunts, annoyed with how you dance around him, like some game of cat and mouse. It’s frustrating, really, how you can extract such primal desire from him for such little reprieve you give, causing him to crawl into your awaiting embrace as if it's second nature. “And I’m guessing you want to show me?”

“Yes, actually.” He doesn’t allow you much time to prepare yourself before his lips collide with yours, swallowing your surprised squeal like a man starved. You don’t resist his acts of passion, sliding your arms along his shoulders to better pull him into the kiss. His lips are softer this time around, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s used chapstick since the last time you two tangoed (you were certainly grateful; his rough lips would have been nice if he had the experience, but the softness matches his virginal state). He retreats only to push back into you, mouthing a trail along your chin and jaw as you sink to the floor, the man now hovering over you as you cling to him with a shit-eating grin on your face.

“Do you know what position I play in volleyball?” He pulls away to stare into your dazed eyes, breathless and amazed once again by your beauty. It was a sight he could get used to, with your mouth open and face flushed, small hands wound tightly into his t-shirt and begging to drag him back down. What other pretty expressions could he force you to make? What kind of sounds could those sinful lips produce, when you’re not goading his brain into a weak state of embarrassment with your teasing.

You blink up at him, shaking your head as you collect your thoughts. This was not what you hoped he would be thinking about when making out with an upperclassmen, but you just jot down a mental note to teach him some manners about mood-setting for the future. “The setter?”

“Yes. The setter is the control tower on the court. He makes the calls on who the ball goes to, what plays are needed to win the next point—”
“Ooh, is your version of sweet talking baby boy?”
He pouts, his eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance. “I like to be in control,” he states simply, hoping you could catch onto his underlying meaning. He didn’t want to outright say you made him feel like he was drowning, how you easily made him putty with your unconventional touches and aberrant words. You were unpredictable, uncontrollable, and he couldn’t seem to get a footing on where you or he stood. Quite frankly, he craved you just as much as he wanted to blot you out of his mind. “Which is why you need to stop that.”

You immediately halt, your hands retracting from his hair. “Stop what?”

“Just… everything,” he sits up, and you follow him to better meet his austere gaze. He squeezes your hips as you slide into his lap, gripping hard enough to leave bruises as he brings you flush against his chest. God, he must have been one self-sabotaging son of a bitch from the way he pulls you closer when his words say otherwise. “I can’t think straight when you do this to me, and I need you to stop before it starts to hinder my progress in volleyball. Which is why this is the last time I’m going to do this with you.”

“Aww, so soon? And here I thought you were just turning into a stunning casanova! You have gotten a bit better at kissing, I’ll admit.” You kept the fact to yourself that he was the one who initiated the make-out spell, that he was the one who tugged you into his lap (where you may or may not feel a half-hard friend poking your thigh), and that he was the one who practiced kissing in his free time just to impress you! Still, you had only intended for this to be a long-term fling, not really committed due to having mutual priorities in life, whether he realized it or not. But, if this was the last time you’d be able to see his cute red face and feel his trembling hands grip your waist, you might as well enjoy it.

“Stop it,” he hisses.

“Hm, I would say make me but I don’t think you’re ready to handle that kinda heat.”

He bites down into your bottom lip, a warning not to push him any further. He might’ve felt bad about hurting you as you wince, if it weren’t for the shameless, breathy giggle you give him, pressing your breasts further against his chest and his back into the couch. Your tongue swipes against the seam of his lips, and he hesitantly lets you slip inside to swirl around and explore him. Despite his big words, this was technically only his second kiss, and for all his reading material on random health websites, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He would let you take control, for now, just until he gets the hang of it.

“You've been kissing your pillow at night? Maybe making out with your hand?” Much to Kageyama’s dismay, he can’t shut you up for five seconds; even when your tongue is halfway down his throat. It causes a growl to rise in his throat as he feels your smirk against his lips, and he plunges back into you without remorse. Unfortunately, your smart mouth can only be silenced for so long. “Don’t think you’ve dominated the kissing realm just by watching a few pornos and reading a wikihow article. I’ve got years of experience on you.”

“I’m a fast learner,” he brushes you off effortlessly, claiming your lips quickly, savoring your softness flush against him, admiring the drool spilling down your chin from his messy affections. Every time you two pulled back, a string of saliva would glisten between your tongues, distracting him from whatever words those pretty lips mocked him with.

“Novice,” you hum. “lacking experience. Do you remember studying this term?”

“Don’t try to quiz me while we’re like this!” You giggle at his red cheeks and surprised expression, and you wiggle your nose against his just to rub salt in the wound.

“But that’s my job as your tutor,” you pout, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. His stare bores into you, absolutely mesmerized. “I just wanna know if you remember anything from our lesson these past few days. Besides, a little hands-on learning might be good for you.”

“Hey—!” He nearly moans as you roll your hips against his. There’s no way of hiding his erection from you now (not that it was very well-hidden in the first place), your crotch brushing against his prominent bulge with sinful grace. His fingers slide up your oversized t-shirt, pulling at the soft flesh and stroking over your warmth as he chases your wandering lips with his.

“Provocative—do you know the definition?” How you ask any questions when you’re practically grinding against him is cruel, his mind too focused on you, you, you. Primal, wanton, with a desire to claim and to mark and to make his entirely. This was not helping his internal dilemma whatsoever, not when he so desperately wanted to take control of your movements, to pin you down and have you writhe underneath him, and to dominate you in every way possible. “Hmm, it means to provoke a reaction—” a particularly sensual roll of your hips has him hissing, “or to cause arousal”

“You’re being unfair,” he pouts.

“But it’s more fun this way, hmm? Better than flashcards, wouldn’t you say?”

“Asshole.” He presses a needy open-mouthed kiss against yours, mostly missing your mouth as you smirk. His hands were scrambling over your hips, doing anything he could to take control of the situation. As much as he hated your snarky remarks, know-it-all attitude, and how easily you took command when he fell short, he couldn’t deny how it made his chest tighten with want. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You don’t enjoy it?” You tap your chin in mock thought, trying to distract his gaze from your mischievous hands. “Well, I have one more word for you—” you lean your weight against his chest with your hands, forcing his back to fall flat against the floor. You loom over him with a victorious smile, one he doesn’t take kindly. “Spontaneous: to act suddenly, or unpredictably.”

Kageyama stares up at you, your eyes twinkling with a playful aura, hair falling around and framing your face. He feels pang in his chest as he’s once again reminded of just how stunning, how pretty you are. He wants to drag you down and press his lips to yours once more, to force your mouth to meld into his with a hand on the back of your neck. But something else stirs in the pit of his stomach, something competitive and domineering, and with a growl, he flips you over onto your back.

A sharp gasp leaves you as you flop down onto the hardwood floor. Stunned, you blink as you look up at Kageyama’s uncharacteristic smirk, looking downright evil. He’s situated between your legs, your knees propped up onto his thighs. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve bit off more than you can chew with this kid, not anticipating such bold moves so soon, but you appreciate the switch that’s been flipped. Maybe your mocking words have finally got to him, or maybe something’s just been awakened. Either way, you take this as your own victory.

“How’s that for spontaneity, huh?” He asks, breathless and prideful. You’re so small underneath him, his larger frame easily overwhelming you.

“I’m impressed,” you hum. Languidly, you drag your arms around his neck to secure him above you. “You changed an adjective to its noun form, good boy!”

He grunts as you pull him down for another kiss, his heart fluttering slightly at your praise. One arm balances beside your head as the other snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He sneaks a hand underneath your shirt, feeling the soft skin of your waist and plush muscles of your lower back, and he nearly moans at the feeling of how foreign it feels in comparison to his hardened muscles and calloused fingers. You raise your hips slightly, your clothed crotch brushing against his hardened length, and he lets go of your lips with a pained grunt. Kageyama digs his face into the side of your neck, his embarrassment burning against your skin. He can’t seem to pull away, no matter how much the small voice in the back of his mind yells at him to. All he can think about is how soft and supple you feel against him, how downright sinful it feels to rut against you. You pepper small kisses to the side of his face and neck, anywhere your lips can reach.

The creak of the front door opening causes him to freeze. A swarm of panic overcomes his system as he hugs you to his body, his head twisted to peer at who the new intruder is. If Hinata had returned for whatever reason, he was ready to unleash his pent up wrath on the short ginger for catching him in such a vulnerable position. His broad shoulders block your point of view, hiding you from any wandering gaze.

“Hey Miki!” You call your roommate, waving your hand above the setter’s head. You can’t see her with his bulky body concealing you, but you could recognize the heavy footsteps of her heels clunking against the floor. Shooting a small glance at the man above you and patting his flushed cheeks, you snicker slightly at the dead look on his face. “I was just finishing up a tutoring session with one of my classmates.”

“Is that what you call that?” She hums in response, tossing her stuff to the ground and sliding off her shoes before slipping past the two of you to head to the kitchen. “Is he going to stay for dinner?”

“Ignore her,” you mumble sheepishly. You sit up, forcing him back onto his knees as you rub the back of your neck. Kageyama’s expression is unreadable, but he avoids your gaze in favor of staring at the ground with his eyebrows tilted down, a frown evident on his reddened features. You lick your lips, a sudden wave of unease washing over you, your stomach churning. “We can conclude our study session here.”

He nods absentmindedly, and you help him gather his papers and books into his backpack and lead him to the door. Miki hums from the inside the kitchen, and you both step outside to grant a bit of privacy once more. The late spring air is colder with the darkened sky, and you stroke your exposed arms to create some friction.

“I’m serious about that reward, by the way,” you say, catching the setter off guard. You lick your lips, as you continue, “I’ll give you something really special, if you want. Then you can wash your hands clean of me, Mr. Volleyball-Man.”

His cheeks flush red, either from the cold or from your seductive words following a brisk makeout session, and he grits his teeth as he looks over your tiny, pliant form. He knows you’re more trouble than you’re worth, that getting tangled up in your lust and forming an addiction to you will only end up as a terrible distraction, but he can’t help the words that tumble from his lips.

“I want you to come to my game.”

You smile and, god, he wants to kiss you again. He really just can’t satiate himself after having a simple taste, but he has to. He’s worked too hard to waste it all on a foolish girl.

“I told you I’ll think about you,” you say, dismissing him easily. That doesn’t make him happy in the slightest, glaring at you as you wave your hand. “I’ll try my best, I can promise you that. And if I miss it, well, I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

You lean up to press a chaste kiss against his cheek, a stark contrast to the raunchy liplock the pair found yourselves in earlier, and his tongue goes dry as you step back inside your apartment, clicking the door shut behind. It makes him want to scream.

Just another boner to fix with his own fist later.

A heavy puff of air leaves your lips as you sigh, nearly collapsing on the other side of the door. You hadn’t expected the turn of events to be as enjoyable as it was, thanks to whatever inspiration Kageyama had learned to kiss from; you half anticipated to be teaching him how to kiss like a proper frat boy, but his sudden initiative and roughness threw you for a complete loop. It was nice though. It meant he cared enough about you (or whatever you did to him and his cock, as most college boys were) to try to learn and appease you. Maybe you’ll take him to third base as that reward. He’d look so cute all whiny and desperate above you—

“New boyfriend?” Miki cuts through your wandering fantasies, chewing on a celery stick idly as she flips through the weekly newspaper. You groan and waltz into the kitchen, dramatically flopping down onto the counter with an exaggerated sigh. “Didn’t expect you to find a rebound so quick, but I guess I shouldn’t underestimate you.”

She pokes the side of your body with the half-eaten celery, and you groan louder. “He’s not my boyfriend, just a… hookup…” You trail off, unsure of what to call him. It’s not like you could outright say you wanted to corrupt that boy and train him to be the perfect sex god before releasing him back out into the wild; that would just make you sound like a scheming villain.

“Hmhm,” Miki hums, not sparing you a glance. "Well, whatever he is, you should keep that nasty shit in your bedroom. I just cleaned in here."

A retort loses its path from your brain to your mouth as your phone screen lights up, Hinata’s name displayed in big bright letters. There’s a photo attached to his text:

hs: Studying for midterms! My favorite food is TKG ;)

Rolling your eyes, a small grin tugs at your lips as you shuffle the carrot into your mouth. You would have to remember to cook up the breakfast food for the first-year as a congratulations for completing his midterms. Clicking on the attached image, you nearly choke as you see the ginger’s selfie in front of his books and paper, but what catches your eyes is in the background, where Kageyama’s dishevelled form had seemingly slammed open the door, just then arriving back to the dorm. You almost feel pity for the poor guy, a sweatshirt tugged down low over his pants as his face is still slightly tinged red. Did he know Hinata was taking a photo to send to you?

That cute little picture is definitely being saved to your camera roll.

Chapter Text

You weren’t necessarily a shy person in general, not by a long shot, but walking into a gym full of sweaty, hormonal college men without your personal safety net wasn’t really your element. Why was it that the one time you decided to visit the old gymnasium of your own accord she just so happens to be running late? You assume you could just wait for her to arrive, but seeing as how you showed up thirty minutes before the practice was even supposed to start, you just wanted to get it over with.

A wrapped yellow bento box sits under your arm, still slightly warm after fetching the rice straight from the cooker; you prepared it just before leaving your apartment, hoping it would still have the same taste and texture as though you served it immediately off the pot. You’ve never made egg rice before, so the little fucker better appreciate the genuine love and effort you’ve seasoned the food with.

As for the tall fucker, you’ve got a box of handmade sugar cookies tucked away in your bag with the setter’s name on it. He never mentioned what he wanted in terms of a reward, and you weren’t going to give Hinata something without returning the favor to his other half. Still, there were always other ways you could requite his academic efforts, ways that could benefit yourself as well…

The metal sliding door opens in front of you, knocking you out of whatever perverted spiel you found yourself spiraling in. How long had you been standing blank and drifting outside?

Long enough for Karasuno’s vice captain to notice and greet you, the man offering a kind smile as he peeks out. Perhaps practice has already started, the sounds of leather smacking wood echoing throughout the room and traveling through the widening crack in the door; or maybe athletes were just insatiable and felt the need to practice before practice; or maybe Kiyoko had lied when she said the club meeting would start at four-thirty instead of four o’ clock—

“Oh, it’s you!” Sugawara, if you remember correctly, says, drawing your attention back to the grey-haired man still waiting for you. “Kiyoko’s friend, right? She’s not here at the moment, she texted Daichi a little while ago that she would be running late.”

“I’m actually here to see a few of the first-years, if that’s okay?” He seems nice enough from the limited interactions you’ve had with him, but talking to people who were ten times prettier than you always made your voice stutter and knees shake. It’s a wonder how you’ve ever managed to make friends with a goddess like Kiyoko. “I’ve been tutoring some of them lately and, uh, got something to give them…?”

“Oh, sure! We haven’t gotten started yet, so it’s all good,” he says, sliding the door open fully, allowing you to see the warm lighting inside. A swarm of humidity hits you, the late May air mingling with the musk and heat of the gymnasium interior, and a small grimace crosses your features as you pass over the threshold inside. Sugawara slides the door shut behind you, sidling up beside you to help navigate you to the court, his fingers tapping on his thighs in thought as he tries to make conversation.

“You’re a junior, right? I think I’ve seen you around campus a few times. Actually, I’m pretty sure we share Multicultural Lit together,” he hums, pausing as you both reach the sidelines of the court. There’s a few other students running around, setting up the volleyball net or grabbing the rolling bin of balls from the storage room. Your eyes scan the limited number of people for your true targets.

“... and I was thinking we could get coffee sometime after class next Monday.”

“Huh?” You spout dumbly, not aware that he was still talking to you. Something about having class together sometime? Noticing your oblivious expression, Sugawara just sighs and shakes his head, prepared to elaborate on his question once more, but the flash of orange in your peripherals catches your attention before he can continue.

“Hey, Hinata!” You call, breaking away from the vice captain’s side to wave down the hyperactive ginger, who immediately drops the three volleyballs he was carrying to race over to you. He skirts to a stop, his heels squeaking against the glossy floor as he grabs either one of your shoulders.

“Miss Tutor! You came to see me at practice, huh?” He’s practically bouncing up and down, like a golden retriever pup greeting his owner at the door after a long day. Your body rocks slightly with his movements, and you brush off his goofy antics with a laugh.

“Ah, Hinata! I heard the good news about you and Kageyama passing your midterms,” you hand over the neatly wrapped bento box, his eyes glowing in anticipation as he wiggles his hands greedily. “And, as promised, I came to deliver your well-deserved reward.”

He wastes no time snatching the box from your grasp, unceremoniously ripping off the hand towel and tossing the lid somewhere towards the benches.

“Woah! Thank you miss tutor!” He grins down at you, giving a curt bow before inhaling deeply. You’re glad to see the raw egg survived the ten-minute walk from your apartment and the rice still emitting a thin waft of warmth. As long as he’s happy with your first attempt at the dish, you’ll consider your efforts a success. “Ah, it smells so good~”

A small blush dusts your cheeks at the compliment, and you rub the back of your neck as a means to humble the pride bubbling in your chest. Now, you just need to see if Kageyama enjoys his reward half as much as the middle blocker. You don’t have time to scout out the tall first-year before your head is being dipped down, an arm thrown over your neck as you’re brought to eye-level with Karasuno’s infamous libero.

“Hey buddy! Long time no see—are you bringing snacks for the team?” Nishinoya asks, pointing towards Hinata readily shoving rice into his mouth with chopsticks. He doesn’t let you out of his friendly embrace, even as you playfully roll your eyes and push him off of you. He settles for resting his elbow on your shoulder as a compromise.

You tap the tip of his nose, taking him off guard. “Depends, did you pass your midterms, Noya?”

“Ha! Take a look at this Nishinoya! She made me and Kageyama treats for passing our exams.” Hinata’s voice is muffled, stuffed full and overflowing from his lips, and he thrusts the little bento towards the second-year to boast his winnings. It’s already halfway gone.

“Didn’t you barely pass with a C-minus?” You turn your head to see a blond with glasses enter the conversation, brushing past the three of you to settle on a bench to slip on his sneakers. Hinata bristles at his comment. “I hardly think that’s something to throw a celebration over.”

“Hey, I passed my exams too!” Nishinoya says as he turns his attention back to you. Hinata’s now arguing with the other man, who seems indifferent to the ginger bouncing around his seated form blabbering about how you ‘said he did such a good job’ and that Hinata was ‘better than Kageyama at english.’ You’re only half listening as the libero continues, “you never offered a reward for passing when you helped me study literature!”

“Because you didn’t pass last winter—” you flick him on the forehead, earning a high grunt as he recoils with a pout, “—and you didn’t want me to tutor you again this semester because you were ‘confident in your own abilities,’ no?”

“And I was! Mainly because I’m taking a lower class this year, but still!” He scoffs at your accusations, flicking your forehead in retaliation for your previous attack on him, and you slap your forehead over the sharp sting he leaves. He snickers at your pain, proud of himself as he stands up straighter, and you narrow your eyes at him. This was no way to treat an upperclassmen—you weren’t Tanaka or one of his teammates for christ’s sake—and you had earned your rights to tease him as his former tutor after the torture he put you through last winter.

“I didn’t know you helped Nishinoya study last year, how many people do you tutor?” Hinata asks. The glasses kid is long forgotten, the blond already moved on to bother someone else on the other side of the court as Hinata returns to your conversation.

Around the corner, the starting setter hangs just within earshot, hovering unsurely on the threshold to the volleyball court. He was in the locker room changing into his gym shorts when he heard you and Sugawara pass outside, and he was drawn towards your sweet voice like a siren’s song. You’ve been talking to his teammates for a while now, rubbing shoulders with his upperclassmen; it makes his blood boil, to have them so close to you, touching you, stealing your smile and laughs from him. It’s this strange feeling of possession that forces his feet out from his hiding spot and into the small ring gathered, immediately finding your eyes with his burning gaze.

“Oh, hey Kageyama—hey, check out what she cooked for me for passing! It’s mostly gone but it’s my favorite,” he shoves the near-empty box towards the setter just as he did to the libero, displaying the few grains of rice and egg yolk that remain. Kageyama doesn’t spare his friend’s reward a single glance, still focused entirely on you. The middle blocker continues, rocking from his toes to his heels with smug deliverance, “what did she give you as a reward, hmm?”

“I need to talk to her for a second,” he says, not bothering to give the ginger a proper answer. He’s already grabbing your forearm and dragging you towards the far hallway, and you struggle through your surprise on shaky legs.

You turn your head back and wave sheepishly as you’re forced behind Kageyama, an apology and a lie on the tip of your tongue. He can’t just drag you out of a conversation without proper reasoning, that asshole! “I’ll be right back, I left his snack outside!”

He pulls you into the empty locker room, your feet stumbling as you skid forward from the force of his throw. When you turn around to face him, you’re obviously pissed off, which is fine, because so is he. He knows he’s in the wrong in this situation, he shouldn’t have snatched you away to have you all alone and to himself, shouldn’t have gotten prickly when others got far too close to what technically wasn’t his, but he’s never experienced these feelings before. So he replaces it with anger.

“What the hell was that little performance?” He practically barks. There’s no one else in the room except you two, Kageyama had made sure of that before he snuck away, and everyone else who could interrupt your lover’s quarrel were already on the court preparing for practice.

“Performance? You mean talking to other people—I told both you and Hinata that I would be coming by to give you something special if—”

“And for Noya, too?” It’s a pathetic blow, not even a valid one at that. He has no claim over you, no right to your attention, no say in who you get to associate with, so why does he feel the need to grasp onto your affections and regards; the desire to define just what the two of you had together. It was driving him insane, not knowing where the two of you stood. “He gets to just- just throw his hands all over you? Is that his reward, huh?” He’s not even going to mention Sugawara, since the older setter has a better chance with you to begin with. In fact, he wishes you would just elope with the vice captain, that way Kageyama can feel secure in the fact that you’re far outside of his reach—like Kiyoko, unattainable and forbidden.

“No, we’re just good friends, it’s nothing perverted,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Suddenly, your eyes light up as a certain realization dawns upon you, and you meet his stern gaze with a smirk that makes his stomach curdle. You pat his shoulder, patronizing and cocky and god he hates that. “You don’t need to act all jealous and possessive, kid, we’re not a couple.”

Jealous. He was not jealous. Was he?

“I’m not jealous,” he exhales sharply through his nose, snatching your wrist in his hand. “I don’t care what you do in your free time—” But it’s too late, you’re already prepared with a cat-like grin showing off a lovely row of teeth, and he’s still babbling aimlessly as neither of you really listen to what he’s saying. Your arms slipping around his neck silence whatever thoughts bounce around that thick, empty skull of his, drawing every ounce of his attention onto you pressing your chest up against him, his back hitting the lockers behind.

“You’re really cute like this, you know?” You purr into his ear, clearly amused with how quickly he falters under your touches. His hands hover just over your skin, unsure of where to place them under your advances. “I do admit it's my fault, I never set any ground rules for us.”

It’s not like his jealousy was a terrible thing; in certain circumstances, it could’ve been quite endearing to know he was protective of your relationship. Too bad you didn’t have a relationship to begin with, and you didn’t need some handsy freshman thinking he had a say in who you associated with—‘control tower’ or not.

“Ground rules?” He mumbles, more to himself than you, as you’re busy peppering his jaw with lascivious kisses and little nips. It’s when you drag your tongue from his collarbone along the curve of his neck to his chin that he snaps back into present tense. Within seconds, you're slammed into the lockers, the loud echo reverberating off his eardrums as he forces his body onto yours.

You could talk about your ‘ground rules’ later. Right now, with your teasing lips and scorching touches, he needed to feel you.

His mouth is on yours, already invading every inch you offer to him with pleasant surprise as his tongue swipes over your teeth. A small muffled grunt escapes your lip as he pushes you further into the metal, the hard surface biting into your back. He’s moving so fast your head is spinning, so you hardly notice when he tugs hard enough on your top to tear off a few buttons.

“H-hey, watch it!” Your choked squeal has him salivating, lips trailing across the newly exposed flesh as he digs for more, more, more. He wants everything you have to give him, your cute little sounds, flushed face, clenched thighs—all for him, he thinks. He kneads a fistful of your thigh, hiking it up along his hip as he mouths across the tops of your clothes breasts. This position is even worse for his sanity, as your adorable plaid skirt is now hiked up enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties, to grind it against his clothed cock along that’s perfectly lined up. And the sound you make when he does just that—a high-pitched mewl strangled in your throat as you try to keep your volume low—it nearly makes him cream his pants.

This predicament is getting out of hand faster than either of you can realize. All it would take is one of Kageyama’s teammates waltzing in through the unlocked doors of the locker room to see the two of you foaming over one another, saliva dripping from your lips as he rubs against you. It’s embarrassing to think about, to say the least, even if the original intention behind dragging you off was less than innocent. Still, you needed to rein in his inexperience before he ran too far ahead of himself, and you weren’t confident in the thickness of the walls to hide the eroticism steaming throughout the room.

You tug his pretty pink lips away from your cleavage by his hair, the setter blindly following your movements with dark eyes, ones that cloud over with lust and greed, and you give him a taste of his own medicine.

A sharp pain shocks him back into reality, your teeth latched around his throat causing him to dig his blunt nails into the flesh of your arm. He doesn’t stop you as you suckle a bruise into his skin, laving your tongue over the angry red mark just below his jaw where the crewneck collar of his t-shirt won’t reach. Once you’re satisfied, you detach from his neck with a smug grin, drool gathered on the edge of your pretty, swollen lips.

“What the hell?” His hand instantly releases your leg and shoots up to feel the wet spot on his neck, his face a furious red as he realizes what you’ve just left on him. There’s no way he’s going to be able to hide a hickey when he goes back to practice, and an embarrassing concoction of anger, shame, and arousal floods his system as he meets your hazy eyes.

“Your punishment, asshole,” you mutter, twirling your finger around a lock of his black hair. How were you supposed to let him off with ruining a good shirt of yours—a walk of shame you’ll be taking out the locker rooms after this session. The least you could do was return an ounce of public humiliation. You lick your lips, drawing his gaze downwards to those plush pillows. “I couldn’t let you just get away with that, you know; I really like this top,” you vaguely gesture down to the ruined remains of your outfit with a sigh, “I meant for this meeting to go a different way, especially when I still owe you your reward for passing your midterms.”

And with that, you slink down to your knees, face aligned with his crotch, and he could combust at the way you glance up at him through your eyelashes. His questions die before he can formulate them on his tongue, already answered as you pull down his gym shorts just beneath the apparent bulge in his crotch. There’s a small wet spot staining his boxers where his tip strains against the fabric, and despite his lack of protest, you pause before delving him further; denying him what he craves.

“Is this okay?” How considerate, even with your face inches away from his dick and your tits halfway out your shirt, you’re still wary of your thin boundaries between the two of you. It’s cute, but it’s not what he needs right now; which is to say, he needs to absolutely ruin you.

“Fuck, yes,” he practically whines when you finally peel down his boxer’s waistband, your fist closes around his cock. Soft, delicate touches and perfect pouty lips, you look so small and dainty on your knees in front of him. There’s a small smile gracing your lips as you give it an experimental stroke, and he can’t help the swell of pride as you admire his weeping dick.

“Pretty,” you whisper. He’s fairly average, maybe a little longer than most of the guys you’ve had the displeasure of being with, but he’s pretty; a thick pink head with a nice vein running along the underside, and you feel his skin vibrate as you press a kiss to his tip. “Tell me what you want, yeah?”

“Your mouth,” he groans, your hands twisting up and down at an agonizing pace, followed by little kitten-like licks. He meets your mischievous gaze, one that promises sin and lechery, and it spurs his determination to maintain the upper hand. “Let me use your annoying little mouth.”

You pout against his head, still sporting an audacious grin that sends a jolt of electricity straight through his twitching cock. “That’s not very nice,” you hum, “I’m doing you a favor right now, so be good for me.”

Ever merciful, you indulge him in his requests, taking him into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his tip. His precum is salty and bitter, but you lap at it greedily; sliding along his slit before slipping out to run your tongue along that protruding vein to the underside of his cockhead. His tight moans encourage you to bob your head along his cock, pumping his base between your hands, and you flutter your pretty eyelashes up at him to really hammer the nail in the coffin. He nearly creams himself just from looking at you, breath hitching in his throat, and he has to yank your treacherous mouth from his pulsating length.

“It’s my gift,” he says, breathy and stern as he knocks your hands away from his pulsing cock, positioning the tip against your lips. You don’t protest as he slides past your teeth, your hot mouth taking him halfway before you start to recoil slightly. He clicks his tongue; that won’t do. He wants you to take him fully to choke and sob on him, if only to quiet your incessant mocking. “You’re the one who should be good,” he rocks his hips into your mouth harshly, holding you tight enough to not let your head bang against the hard lockers, “so stop teasing.”

Like the saint you are, you release your control unto him. He guides your head to bob up and down his length, taking as much as you can with every dip whilst hollowing your cheeks until he’s tired of the repetition. Even when you try to take his base into your hands, he pulls them away to press your wrists into the lockers behind you, forcing you to only use your mouth. His cockhead taps against the back of your throat, soft and wet and tight, and he can’t help the guttural moan as he desperately grinds further and further past your limit.

The palms of your hands rest against his muscled thighs, attempting to gain some form of leverage as he thoroughly uses you. You wanted to treat him nicely, really show off your skills and work him into this kind of thing, but he effortlessly takes charge and manipulates your movemenments. Sparing a glance upwards with a wide-eyed gaze, you catch him absolutely lost on the throes of passion, teeth grinding in a pleasurable grimace, eyes squeezed shut as if he’s afraid to look at you. He’s murmuring something, dark and breathy, and you can just barely make out the small whines hidden in the back of his throat.

“Take it,” he grits his teeth, sucking in a harsh breath as he fucks your skull. He’s not kind in his movements, jackhammering into your throat over and over with his fingers threaded tightly into your hair, allowing him to use you as he pleases. And the sounds you make as you gag on his cock has him cursing and sweating, hastening far too quickly to his own release, too lost in his own pleasure to pull back and show mercy on your poor, abused mouth. “Take it, take it, take it—fuck—”

Your name falls from his lips, over and over again he tosses his head back, cock buried in the back of your throat. You’re forced to swallow every bitter ounce of cum he shoots with your nose scrunched against his dark curls, and even as he stills and pulls out slowly there’s a distinct bitter tang sitting on your tastebuds. Marveling at your mouth hanging open stupidly, more out of your overwhelmed senses than a desire to show off your clean palette, he swirls his thumb along your bottom lips to collect the dripping drool pooling on your skin.

There’s no recovery time for you to catch your breath, but he lets you cough and sputter before he tugs you upwards to seal your lips with a kiss. It catches you off guard; his mouth capturing yours to taste his own release lingering on your tongue, but shit he doesn’t seem to mind all that much.

When he pulls away, still hovering over you, you can’t help but look up at him as though he’s placed that stars in the sky just for you—fuck, no guy has ever kissed you after you’ve given a mind-numbingly good blowjob (you had the experience to boast), but this kid… it makes your lower stomach flutter with heat. You were so focused on him using your mouth like a fleshlight, you neglected the wetness clinging to your panties.

“We should really discuss this little arrangement.”

That sobers you near immediately. “You say that after I’ve had your dick down my throat?”

His deadpan is level with yours, but no less blunt. “I’m serious. I don’t want a relationship right now, but you make that incredibly difficult for me.”

You sigh. This conversation was bound to come up if the two of you continued seeing each other regularly like this, and seeing as how neither of you were currently into commitment, an arrangement would be necessary. “Why don’t you tell me no then?”

“Because I like this,” he explains, tucking himself back into his shorts as he helps you to your feet. There’s a slight wobble as you stand, knees no doubt hurting like a bitch from the tile flooring. “I like seeing you underneath me, to have you suck me off, release my tension. You’re a distraction from volleyball, but… a nice one.” He closes his eyes, basking in the afterglow of his rapture. It’s a complicated mixture of emotions that he’s not quite sure how to categorize just yet. “My head feels clear.”

It’s true. The jealousy and possessive emotions that spurred him on have faded into the past like a distant memory. He can’t even remember why he was so upset in the first place—who were you talking to again? It was an error of judgement, a missed line in his script of control, and he makes a mental note to hide away the vulnerability he exposed to you today.

“How about this then,” you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, ridding any excess semen or spit still persisting, “A mutually beneficial sexual relationship—no strings attached, no bullshit dates, no romantic expectations—where you get your dick wet without having to do all the emotional work, y’know? You’re coming along nicely, but there’s a few more things I’d like to really teach you.”

“Like friends with benefits…?”

“Yeah! Except we’re not really friends, are we?” You tap your chin in thought. It’s amazing how casual you are after everything that’s gone down this afternoon, as if it were little more than a trivial dealing. He’s just happy there’s no remaining malice. “You can focus on volleyball, and I can focus on my studies, and we both get a nice release from our sexual frustrations.”

“Hmm… alright.” Kageyama holds out his hand. “Give me your phone number.”

You roll your eyes at his straightforwardness, but pass over the device anyway. “Here, just don’t try to booty call me at like three in the morning. I can get really pissy when it’s early.” You adjust your blouse grimacing at the loss of buttons. There’s no way in hell you can piece the flimsy top back together, not when there’s a tear in the seam well past your breasts. You should have brought a jacket or something, even if it would’ve been awkward in the warmth of late May.

“One more thing,” he says as he passes your phone back, eyes wandering over your small hands futilely pulling your shirt back together, and he grabs the fabric from your useless grasp. Not that he can fix it any better, eyebrows scrunched together as he fumbles with it, as if he has any clue what he’s doing better than you, and he continues, “I’ll let you show me how to do certain things or whatever, but I still want to be in control. I hate it when you tease me like that.”

“Aww, but that’s half the fun,” you tease, leaning up to press a playful kiss against his nose. He glares at you, but the redness decorating the apples of his cheeks lessens the intimidation factor. “I promise you’ll always top, if that makes you happy Mr. Control Tower.”

He pauses. “What’s the difference?”

“Forget it,” you mutter. Maybe that’ll be a lesson for another time. With such a dominating persona, you doubt you could convince him to travel down that route without motive.

“I have an extra sweatshirt in my locker,” he backs away from you moving a few compartments down and popping it open. He won’t be able to look at Yamaguchi’s locker for quite a while after he practically banged you against, but he can’t conjure any remorse as he grabs one of his cleaner sweatshirts, “for you to cover up with. Your tits are out.”

“How chivalrous.” But you accept it nonetheless, not eager to walk out into a gym full of hungry men without an ounce of dignity still rushing through you. “Won’t anyone notice I’m wearing your volleyball club-issued clothes when we leave after this undocumented amount of time? Awfully suspicious.”

He shrugs. “Would you rather walk around with missing buttons and a crumpled shirt?” That wasn’t a bad idea; he certainly wouldn’t mind Hinata and Nishinoya knowing who just came down your throat, and having his tag of ownership printed across your chest was like icing on top of the cake. “Here, put it on.”

Kageyama helps pull it over your head, and you blow a tuft of hair out of your face. “Touché, pretty boy.”

It’s not a bad look on you, he admits. The sweatshirt is too large for your smaller frame, the sleeves coming down past your wrists and bottom hanging over the top of your skirt. It even had his name spelled out in kanji along the breast pocket, embroidered just for him, and he admires the way you look in black and orange. Something sour hits the back of his tongue, and he forces down the possessive demon gnawing from within his esophagus.

As if on cue, both of your heads shoot to the door as the sound of oncoming footsteps spell out your impending doom. Luckily, the two of you are dressed and inconspicuous enough (despite the obvious blush decorating each of your cheeks, the swollen lips, and Kageyama’s little hickey) to possibly pass it off as nothing more than upperclassmen-lowerclassmen banter. Very unlikely, but still plausible.

A good excuse is already developed in your mind, but Kageyama drags you by the forearm once more further into the locker room, sealing your fate as he pushes you into an empty bathroom stall. Your back hits the side, and he slaps his hand over your mouth to cover the squeak of protest.

“Shh,” he hisses. If the two of you were caught now, there was no excuse either of you could come up with to hide the unmistakable position of your circumstance.

“Kageyama, you in here?” He recognizes the voice immediately, belonging to second-year Ennoshita. Coach Ukai must have sent him to fetch the absent setter. He forces his voice to remain calm, nonchalant.

“Uh, yeah?”

Ennoshita pauses, his footsteps going silent before he calls out again, more lighthearted. “Practice is starting, so hurry up—Suga’s gonna take your place if you don’t get your ass on the court!”

Kageyama doesn’t respond, doesn’t even breathe until he hears the door open again, and his steps pad back out of the locker room. He releases you, and your voice is breathy as you give a little laugh and push your way out of the claustrophobic stall. Being in the men’s restroom at a gymnasium was probably the grossest space you’ve been situated in thus far.

“That was close,” he says.

“Embarrassed of me already?” You poke his ribs, a cheek-to-cheek grin spread across your face. He leads you back into the main room, pressing his ear to the exit to make sure there's no one passing by who would catch you leaving. “Gotta say, that’s the closest I’ve been to getting caught without actually getting caught.”

He ignores you, ready to run off to the court. “I have to get back to practice,” he says, already cracking the door open to peek out. Hopefully he hasn’t missed too much yet; he would promise to stay after to make up for his tardiness, and to push himself twice as hard this practice and the next. But that just means, if this arrangement were to continue, he would have to consider timing your affections without interfering with his true passions. “Thanks for the help.”

“Consider that your reward for today,” you nod. “I’m not gonna be your blowjob whore whenever you feel like it, though; I’d like a little something in return in the future.”

“Sure,” he waves his hand, half-listening, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s already out the door.

“Bye-bye, Tobio~” If he hears your yelled whisper, he doesn’t respond as he runs back onto the court, leaving you alone. Stupid kid, always a one-track mind.

With him now gone, you discreetly nuzzle your nose into the collar of his sweatshirt to sniff at his scent. It’s at least half-way clean, maybe worn once or twice since washing, and lightly reminiscent of his natural odor. You’re just thankful he didn’t toss you one of his sweat-stained t-shirts rotting at the bottom of his locker.

With your backpack slung around a shoulder, you make your way out the back entrance, away from the prying eyes of your fling’s teammates. A jostling in your pack brings your attention to the metal tin of sugar cookies tucked away, Kageyama’s original reward for passing his exams. Miki will just have to eat them when you get back to the apartment, so it won’t be a total waste; besides, you’re quite satisfied with the outcome regardless of the sweets.

Kageyama rushes onto the scene to see the team finishing their warm-up drills. Coach Ukai notices him, shouting for him with a less-than-pleased expression.

“There he is! Kageyama, you're on the left side of this match today!”

He simply nods, already finding his spot on the lineup between Hinata and Tsukishima. The blond spares him a sideways glance, hovering far too long to be anything friendly, and he’s thankful to turn his gaze away when Hinata calls to him.

“What took you so long?”

He knows his friend isn’t stupid, not when he’s still sporting a blossoming bruise on the side of his neck and a sweaty brow despite it only being the beginning of practice. Maybe if the ginger could rub two brain cells together hard enough to connect the dots between his recent behaviour with their tutor, then he could’ve called out the reasoning behind the setter's red-tipped ears. If Hinata knows, he keeps it to himself.

Kageyama shrugs. “Had to take a shit.”

“Did she at least give you your bento box reward before you stank up the locker room?” He asks, sticking his tongue out at the setter’s vocabulary choice before turning his attention to the volleyball on the other side of the net.

The whistle blows, and he rushes forward as the ball comes into play, a small smile playing on his lips at the memory of you on your knees in front of him, cute little mouth taking him whole as you look up at him with big puppy-dog eyes. The sight alone was worth more than any bento box surprise reward you could’ve made for him.

“Yeah, she did.”

Chapter Text

You weren’t there.

After nearly two weeks of seeing you, a few study sessions to help him pass his midterms, a fucking blowjob in the men’s locker room—and you didn’t even bother attending the game he invited you to?

His blood was boiling, practically seething beneath the surface of his skin, where every nerve was alight with the pressure of the game resting on matchpoint. Twenty-four to nineteen in the second set, an easy win by anyone watching in the stands. Karasuno could easily claim the game for themselves swiftly and effectively.

He grits his teeth as his eyes dart around the gymnasium, scanning every person sitting and standing on the sidelines, narrowing in on no one in particular. It had been well over three hours, and now onto their second match of the night, Kageyama couldn’t help but feel his anxiety bubble and froth, knowing you weren’t there.

Fuck, he invited you to the game, didn’t he? He couldn’t seem to shake the goosebumps running along his skin, the hair standing up on his neck after every toss of his perfect sets, greedily taking in the thought of your celebration after successfully stealing a point from the opposing team. You should have been there to praise him with wide eyes and open arms, shouting his name from the stands and watching in amazement at his complete dominance over the court.

And that was why he was upset. A spike of adrenaline shot through him every time he had the opportunity to show off his natural talents, a chance to show you just how much of a man he actually was. Maybe if you were there, he wouldn’t have tossed a set that was far too high for Tanaka to hit effectively; maybe if you were there, he could have reacted faster to the incoming volleyball and received with his wrists rather than his shoulder (which was now vibrating with a dull pain, one that would show purple and blue within a few hours); maybe if you were there, he wouldn’t have spiked the ball out of bounds, the impact still tingling his fingertips.

But he did.

You seemed to cloud his judgment and throw him off balance simply with your absence, his calculations off, his movements rushed and furious. He knew his teammates could feel something was off about him tonight, if Sugawara’s pointed pep talk during a break was anything to go by. The atmosphere was electric, like the air before a thunderous rainstorm. Calm, but anticipatory.

A whistle blows, blood rushing to his ears as he runs forward, the ball flying overhead from the force of Daichi’s serve. The opposing team returns the hit with fervor, clearly not ready to give up just yet, and Kageyama can’t help but feel a pinch of satisfaction as he prepares the final toss to Asahi. He just needed to clear his head for one more toss, one more point. He could end this game quickly, and then focus on his little personal problem.

The ball slams into the court just beside the opponent's ace, his attempt at receiving Asahi’s powerful hit futile, and another whistle signals the end of the match. The small crowd gathered roars, his team following suit as they clap Asahi on the back, a chorus of “Nice kill!” echoing off the wooden walls.

The thrill of winning a match creeps up his spine, his nerves on fire as he heaves a sigh of relief. There is no resolution to his pounding heartbeat or his sweaty palms, his thoughts simply shifting from one problem area to another. Even in victory, he doesn’t feel the same satisfaction as usual, the long awaited climax of pressure and adrenaline throbbing without ever tipping over into relief.

No, he needed to see you again tonight, if only to confront this strange swelling in his chest and drifting daydreams. He’ll see you tonight to clear his head, and then he can focus solely on volleyball again. Just like normal.

He stalks over to the benches, deep in thought; even as Tanaka punches his shoulder with a shout of excitement, he can’t bring himself to care.

“Hey, Kageyama!” Hinata shouts as he bounds up to the taller man. “Aren’t you gonna come eat dinner with us? Coach is treating us all to barbecue! Woo woo!” He pounds his fist in the air, jumping in his excitement, and Kageyama fixes him with a blistering stare.

“I can’t, I have… someone—something to do right now…” he mutters, wiping his sweat streaked face with a hand towel his manager provided him and tossing his dark blue gym bag over his shoulder. He could change out of his gross uniform later; it was almost nine at night, and he needed to catch a bus to your complex before they stopped running. “I’ll catch up with you guys later, I shouldn’t be long.”

Hinata hums, preparing a retort to his vague response just as Noya calls him over to congratulate him on his penetrating spike earlier that match. The ginger turns to the buoyant libero, easily matching his enthusiastic energy as he relives a particularly exciting play from earlier in the match. Kageyama takes his distraction as a free pass to leave, but not before Sugawara can clap him on the back with a questioning grin. He shakes off the older setter to weave through the crowd filtering out after the final match, not eager to get sidetracked in the post-game celebrations.

He had to find you, find out why you weren’t there. Hinata had asked you to attend the game too, didn’t he? You wouldn’t just forget about it, especially since you know how important it is to him—would you?

The streets of campus are still fluttering with signs of life, a few students walking around late into the night, and the small crowd from the game still flooding out of the gymnasium after Karasuno’s win. A small part of him regrets missing out on the companionship after a victory, the good food and hearty fun the team would share, but there would be other times to bask in their triumphs. He needed to find you first.

Shit, he would just waste time waiting around for a bus; besides, you were only a twenty minute walk from campus where they were holding the home game. He could just jog there—or better yet, sprint—he’s still hopped up on pure adrenaline and an after-game victory rush that forces his legs to move before he’s even made his mind up.

He was going to fix this problem once and for all.

This stupid arrangement, his distracting feelings; his reaction to your absence tonight only proved how he couldn’t function within the restrictions of your abnormal relationship. He needed to break it off, push you out of his mind for good, but as he approaches your dingy apartment complex just outside of campus, he thinks, could he really let go of his newfound feelings?

He’s only just gotten his first taste of you, his touch-starved nerves aflame with the desire for your embrace, for your sinful mouth and wandering hands. It’s purely sexual, he knows. He’s never had romantic affections for anyone, he’s not even sure what those types of emotions would feel like, so why was he so dead set on having you specifically?

Before he realizes it, Kageyama’s standing in front of your door, a knock bouncing off the wood from his raised fist, and he blinks out of his thoughts. Maybe he should just back out now—you’re probably sleeping, and there must have been a good reason as to why you didn’t show up to his game—

“Kageyama…?” Your voice is muddled with sleep, light and soft as you rub your bleary eyes, but it sounds like heaven to him. Leaning against the open door, you raise your gaze to him with a quirked eyebrow. He briefly remembers your comment about getting pissy when you’re tired, but it’s long forgotten as he observes the rest of you. Thighs exposed to the blooming warm air, barely covered by a loose t-shirt that hides your form from his wandering eyes, and he instinctively grabs your wrist to hold tightly.

“You weren’t at the game tonight,” he states, as if it’s obvious.

That’s right, you missed his game, forced him all the way out here in the dead of night just to find you. His tongue tastes sour as he recalls his performance in the game; it was your fault he fucked up tonight, the thought of you too distracting, your absence permeable to him and him alone.

You blink, the heavy fatigue momentarily clearing from your thoughts to look up at him; his hair is sticking up and to his forehead with sweat, the humid air causing it to frizz; his stern blue eyes peering down at you, somewhere between annoyance and desperation from what you can tell; and the grip on your wrist tight and bruising, even as you give a tug of resistance.

“Huh?” You mumble, shaking your head. “Is that what you came all the way here to tell me?” It was entirely too late to be showing up at your doorstep like this, and after the day you’ve had, dealing with this brat would be the spoiled cherry on top. Quite frankly, you didn’t have the energy to argue. “Listen, I’m sorry but I was a little busy this evening and just forgot.”

He interjects quickly, “I specifically asked you to come to this match.”

“And I have a life, so,” you sigh, tiredness still seeping into your bones as you gently take his hand. There’s something else you're not telling him, another reason tucked away behind your sleepy stature, but he doesn’t ask. Whether you simply don’t want to bore him with the details of whatever assignment you stayed up late to work on, or if it’s something personal he really shouldn’t pry from you, he doesn’t know. “Just come on inside, we can talk in the morning if you’re so pushy. ‘M tired.”

You push yourself off the doorframe and turn heel, and he stands dumbstruck as he watches you waddle back into your apartment. After a beat of silence, he shakes his head and follows you, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Wait, I wanna—” your bedroom door nearly shuts on him, and he pushes inside. “Let me talk to you.”

He catches you, easily trapping you in his embrace before you can push him off, and his lips immediately attach to yours. It takes you off guard, but his strong arms prevent you from stumbling backwards as he holds you against him. The kiss is frantic, messy, and your teeth clack together from his sloppy technique; had he been in the right state of mind, maybe he wouldn’t have bitten your bottom lip so hard, causing you to wince. He nearly growls in frustration at the less than enthusiastic manner in which you return his zeal.

It’s the only way he can communicate his internal turmoil to you, the only way the two of you have ever communicated. He needs you to understand—you’ve done this to him, so you should fix it, right?

“Kageyama, please,” you huff, pulling away from him with a glare. He releases you, your firm voice catching him off guard. As much as you enjoyed his affection, now wasn’t the time; you needed to stop things before they could get out of hand, even as your tingling lips beg for more. Pale streetlamp light illuminates the room just enough for you to see his soft features, and your heart softens in turn. “I’m really not in the mood for our little games tonight, just—come here.”

Your hand slips into his, tugging him toward your bed, and his eyes widen as you tumble in. “What are you doing?”

You shuffle underneath the covers, leaving enough room for him to slide into your twin-sized bed. “I’m going back to sleep. You’re free to come or stay, I don’t care.”

He lingers at the edge. Your eyes meet in an intense staredown, neither willing to give in to the others demands. Kageyama really didn’t want to let this conversation go—he never had the chance to truly vent his frustrations with your behavior in detail—but the dim lighting did wonders to ease his overactive nerves. He could feel his adrenaline waning; even with you in the room, his strange anticipation has simmered down to a calm hum.

“C’mere,” you relent first, grabbing his wrist to tug him onto the bed beside you, and he acquiesces as you maneuver him into wrapping his arms around your waist. Kageyama freezes as he feels you tuck your head against his chest. He sucks in a harsh breath, feeling your cheek press against his sternum. Yes, he’s had both his tongue and dick down your throat, but this is the closest he’s ever been to anyone; it spurs a warm, melting feeling in his chest at the intimate contact, and the sound of your hazy voice makes his heart skip a beat. You sniff him, your face twisting slightly. “Did you bring a spare change of clothes? I have some men’s tees to spare if you need it, you reek.”

“I came here straight from my match,” he replies. As much as he hates to remove himself from your embrace, he wants to talk to you face-to-face, despite your protests. He sits back up to hover over you, and the pale light filtering through the blinds casts a faint glow on your face. “We won.”

“Congratulations.”

“You should’ve been there to see it,” he continues, ignoring your deadpan statement. It irks him how easily you dismiss him, but he softens slightly when he meets your tired, half-lidded gaze. The urge to kiss you again is damn near overwhelming, but he reins in his instincts at your request. You don’t want to be riled up tonight, so he’ll keep his hands to himself—mostly. “I want you at my next game.”

And the next one, and the one after that, and every other match he has in the future.

“Mmm,” you hum noncommittally, languidly draping your arms over his shoulders. “I’ll be at the next one.” You drag his form down over you with little effort, pressing a kiss against his lips as an apology for disregarding his commands to see him play. He can’t help but grind into the kiss, wanting to embrace you further, to feel the touch of your skin against his, but he refrains when you pull away, breath lingering over his cheeks as you idly run your fingers through his dark hair. “I promise. Now if you’re gonna stay then go change, I don’t want your sweat-stained gym shorts stinking up my bed.”

Kageyama grunts, but abides by your wishes. You direct him towards an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms—likely belonging to some ex from your past that he couldn’t give two shits about—and he changes shamelessly in front of you. It doesn’t feel any different from changing in a locker room, other than your sultry gaze trained on his chest and abs as he slides the borrowed shirt over his torso, or your eyebrow raising as you observe his striped blue boxers.

He lays back down, and your head returns to its rightful place in the crook of his neck, a quiet hum of contentment buzzing past your upturned lips. He feels your warm breath tingle his collarbones, and his hand sinks into your hair. He’s so close he can smell your shampoo—something fruity or tropical, he’s not sure, but it might be his new favorite scent. You shift slightly, causing him to go stiff.

“G’night.”

He’s lucky the exhaustion of his athletic endeavors are finally catching up to him, because he doubts he could’ve fallen asleep without the drop. After a beat of silence, he mumbles out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

————

Sunlight drifts through the open blinds, soft and warm as Kageyama blinks awake. The early morning sun forces him to stir, his body’s internal timer going off at its first light. He raises his arms above his head to stretch out his stiff muscles, only to find his right arm numb and unmoving. His half-lidded eyes suddenly go wide as he turns to find what had trapped his limb, finding your sleeping form nestled against his side. Your eyes were closed, lips parted in blissful slumber as your chest slowly rises and falls in time with your breathing.

You use his arm as a pillow, trapping it between your neck and the bed as you rest your cheek against his shoulder. A hand rests against his chest, small and delicate compared to the broad, lean muscle tensed beneath a thin t-shirt.

He stops breathing. It’s as though last night’s events had suddenly hit him, and as innocent as those actions were, he can’t help the bright red tinge warming his cheeks and ears. The ravenous kiss he had attacked you with, excitement and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he desperately tried to convey with his actions moreso than words his conflicted feelings. And here you were, nestled in his arms with a dopey grin on your face, and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to jump up and run out of the room, or roll over atop you and express his newly discovered desires.

Uncharacteristically, his mind and heart operated on two different wavelengths, forcing his body to remain still and tense. On the volleyball court, everything was clear and to the point; he could identify a problem, form a strategy, and carry out an attack to perfection. His mind and body worked in sync, his motions carried out on pure instinct. But when he was with you, it was as though he couldn’t seem to think straight. It would be drastic to consider his mysterious obsession with you similar to his passion for volleyball, but you seemed to extract a comparable drive within him, one to control and claim. You were his court, and he was the King again.

Shit, what was he supposed to do? Wait for you to wake up? Shake you awake himself? It was early Saturday morning, meaning he would be expected at volleyball practice soon. But with the pale morning light illuminating your gentle, sleeping face, he couldn’t bear to move himself in one direction or another, for fear of missing your restful state. God, the intensity of his stare, unwavering and refusing to let you leave his sight, could mistake him as a creep had you not been wrapped up in his embrace.

Still… he really did have to leave soon. He tries to slide his right arm out from underneath you, but he’s met with a sharp tingle shooting up his skin, and he curses at the unpleasant sensation. Plan B. Slowly, he grips the wrist resting on his chest with his free hand, prepared to push you off of him, but he’s met with enervated resistance.

Instinctively, your body curls even further into Kageyama’s side, your nose nuzzling into his neck, and his breath hitches as he feels your warm, quiet breath hitting his exposed skin. Your breasts press against him in a lewd manner, drawing his undivided attention to the fact you had forewent a bra before bed, nipples hard and outlined against your thin top as a chill runs along your body. Your hand grasps onto his t-shirt, twisting it as your pelvis jerks forward to press against his hip, and your knee slides up his thigh to press into his crotch.

“F-fuck—” Kageyama curses, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent any other lecherous sounds from leaving his downturned lips. You were sleeping, and yet you still managed to get him half-hard without even trying. You did things to him that he could never explain, whispered unspoken promises that made his dick jump in anticipation, and when you smiled and praised him for guessing a right answer when studying, he felt his heart skip a beat with unparalleled pride and delight.

His thumb rubs circles into your wrist absentmindedly, partially to give his idle hands something to do (for fear they may wander elsewhere), partially to distract himself from the strain in his boxers now resting against your lower thigh. You remained blissfully unaware of the perverse thoughts racing through his mind, oblivious to just how erotic you were cuddling against him innocently.

He should leave. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand already reads 6:57 AM, and his volleyball practice starts at 8:00 AM sharp. Usually he’d be out of bed by now, dressed and halfway to the gymnasium, but your soft breath brushing along his exposed neck and the subtle rise and fall of your chest has truly captivated him, holding him in place with your presence. Like a little parasite that’s weaseled its way into his brain, you consume his waking thoughts. Well, you and volleyball of course, but his passion for the sport has always lived there. No, you have somehow made a home nestled in the back of his mind, ever present and lingering; your teasing gaze, bitten lip, and sinful voice are the subjects of his daydreams. Even when he has the object of his obsession in his embrace, he’s motionless, content to stare and observe every little detail of your sleeping face and plush body.

He should really, really pull away from you now. But he can’t.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, ‘cause you’ve got a real creepy staring problem,” your grumbled voice reverberates along the skin of his collarbone. Kageyama blinks. How long have you been awake? Your eyes are closed, a subtle smirk twitching on the corner of your lips as you shuffle your body slightly against his. Your thigh moves down his leg—thankfully away from his throbbing erection—as your nose finds its home against his neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“I have to leave soon,” he informs bluntly, but he can’t pull himself out from under you. He doesn’t even attempt to move so long as your perfect body is pressed against his. His brain is short circuiting. “I have volleyball practice.”

“Volleyball, volleyball, volleyball,” you groan, hiding your face further into the crook of his neck, your warm breath tickling his skin, and the last time your lips were this close to his throat you left a warm purple bruise in your wake. His body is tense and anticipatory, a sharp contrast to your languid movements and pliant shape. “Is that the only thought bouncing around that big, thick skull of yours?”

“I have priorities.”

“You have a girl in your bed and you’re thinking about volleyball.”

“Volleyball is one of my top priorities. You know that,” he answers. There’s no way he can ever let you know just how deeply you affect him, how you’ve practically rewired his brain into a new mode of thinking.. That knowledge would give you far too much power over him, power he’s not willing to relinquish. No matter how deeply he craves you, wants to explore your arrangement in any lustful way you’ll allow him to, he keeps you at arm’s length emotionally.

You yawn. “Right, right, that’s why you’ve never gotten your dick wet: too busy thinking about slamming balls across a net.”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that. Volleyball is a game of strategy and reaction, defense and attack—”

You push up off of his chest, eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled. Kageyama’s lip twitches as you cut him off with your actions, his eyes narrowing as you hover a few inches about him, and he has the urge to pull you down onto his lips.

“I’m kicking you off the bed if you mention volleyball again. I had something really sexy I wanted to show you this morning, but now the mood is ruined.”

His face scrunches up slightly. “Why does that ruin the mood?”

“Because volleyball talk isn’t exactly pillow talk.”

“It can be.”

“What? No, it isn’t, I don’t wanna hear volleyball-flavored pillow talk.” You roll your eyes, your body following suit as you turn away from him, already annoyed. Like magnets, his body follows yours, and before he knows it, he’s hovering over you again, trying to get your attention. Really, he wants to see your face; your scrunched nose, squinted eyes, and pouty lips are far more interesting than going to volleyball practice right now.

He should take your retreating form as his opportunity to escape your bed and go about his day, but he can’t bring himself to abandon you just yet. Not when the prime opportunity to tease you has appeared in front of him, served up on a silver platter.

“Your skin is smooth like a volleyball.” He observes. He places his hand on your knee—his fingers are long and the knuckles are bony, the tips are calloused from years of practice—and spreads your legs apart, tracing along your skin, down to your thigh. Your skin feels the softest here. “But squishier. Not as firm.”

“That’s not sexy.”

“It’s sexy to me.” He marvels at the sight beneath him, soaking in the view to remember for later: your body splayed out beneath him, your hip raised on his knee and legs spread. He grabs a handful of your soft fleshy tush, squeezing your rear as he leans forward. His shoulders are broad, blocking out the light and caging you in his shadow. The dark shapes chiseling his facial features creates an intensity to his unwavering stare. “When I’m ‘slamming balls across a net’ today, I’ll picture your round ass as my volleyball instead.”

A sharp SMACK! resounds around the room, his palm striking your asscheek, leaving behind a red sting you’ll see in your mirror late. You can’t even gasp with the way he’s knocked the air from your lungs, simply shocked that the motherfucker spanked you. The sheer audacity of this man leaves you flabbergasted, wondering when the hell he learned that little maneuver. It certainly wasn’t something you taught him in your limited sexual encounters. You blink up at him dumbly, and the corner of his lip twitches upwards. God he wants to kiss you, but if he indulges in his little distraction further, then he really will be late to practice.

The look of pure shock on your face is priceless, and your lips curl into a stuttered response before you even know what to say. It’s a sight he could get accustomed to: you, speechless and flustered underneath him.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday for tutoring,” he interrupts whatever stuttered response you prepared to give him, his gaze unwavering. Even he’s impressed at his own willpower as he lets your leg slide down his hip to rest against the bed. He pulls away from you, but your magnetic connection forces your body to follow him as you sit up straight. Now he has your full attention, those pretty eyes tracing up and down his figure as he hops off the bed and grabs his long forgotten gym bag off the floor.

“Do not miss my next game.” His voice is cold and stern. A reminder, but also a warning for what’ll happen if you do skip his next match. He wasn’t pleased with your absence last night, and the building tension and lack of stimulation between you two is starting to grate on both of your patience. You roll onto your side, your chin resting on your palm as you watch him gather his things and prepare to leave.

“I won’t.” Your answer melts the tension from his shoulders. There’s a brief pause and a sigh. “And for the record, I am sorry I missed your first game.”

He nods, accepting your apology, and he turns away. It doesn’t quell the adrenaline thrumming across his skin, and he doesn’t quite forgive you just yet. Perhaps he’ll let you make it up to him in a different way (he quickly tosses out that notion as his thoughts spiral into lechery and blood shoots to his cock, his overactive imagination betraying his body).

You watch him leave, pouting at your time together cut short. There’s still so much you want to show him, a whole new world of pleasure awaiting the two of you the next time you can get your hands on the setter. A devilish smirk crosses your lips as his back turns.

“Try not to get too distracted picturing my ass all practice~” You call out, voice singing as you listen to the front door shut behind him.

Kageyama curses himself for trying to tease you with his words. Now your soft ass will be plastered all over his mind for the remainder of the day.

Chapter Text

Monday Afternoon.

The warm, late-spring air weighs heavily around Karasuno Community College. A gentle breeze blows, carrying the scent of rain and earth from the earlier storm. Dark clouds hang on the horizon, threatening the students with another downpour in the coming hours. You readjust the strap on your backpack, your waterlogged footsteps carrying you out of your final class of the day. After five long hours in your morning lectures, the last thing you wanted to do was walk through that deluge again. Your clothes had finally dried off (save for your sneakers—which trudged through puddles deep enough to trip you once or twice—and your faithful backpack, which you held valiantly above your head in lieu of the umbrella you forgot on your kitchen counter). Even after living in Japan for nearly two-and-a-half years, the early rainy season always catches you off guard.

“Yo! Miss Tutor!”

Ah, the joyful sound of your student seeking you out. You recognize Hinata’s distant voice immediately, and turn to see him running towards you in the distance, his arms raised and waving vigorously to catch your attention. His sneakers splash against the lingering puddles on the sidewalk, eventually screeching to a halt as he catches up to you. His body is bouncing with a nervous energy, but he wears the sweetest grin as he greets you.

“Hinata, fancy seeing you here,” you reply, matching his excitement. His aura is magnetizing, like a bumbling ray of sunshine coming to bless your gloomy day. You tilt your head at the ginger. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you busy?” He asks, rocking from his heels to his toes. “Let’s get lunch together!”

Lightning crackles in the distance, a loud boom of thunder following soon after. A drop of water splashes on your face as you look to the sky, with scattered drizzles following. In a flash, Hinata grabs your wrist before you can respond to his invitation properly, tugging you along with him. For a guy as short as Hinata, his legs can sprint faster than men twice his size. Somehow, you manage to keep up with his pace as more water descends from the heavens, returning with a vengeance for round two of soaking you to the bone. Thankfully, like an over-excited puppy dragging his owner’s leash, Hinata tugs you by the arm all the way to the covered entrance of the dining hall moments before Mother Nature enforces her will upon your poor college campus. With your head ducked down to dodge the rain pelting your face, you hardly register the freshman screech to a halt, your body smacking into his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry!” He releases your wrist, panicking as he sees you hunched over, your hands on your knees as you catch your breath from the Olympic level dash. He shakes out his hair like a dog, droplets flinging in every direction until his bright locks are no longer dripping. “I didn’t want you to get wet and hey, look, the cafeteria is right here—“

He tenses immediately under your firm hand on his shoulder, his words dying in his throat. Loose hairs cling to your wet forehead and a drop of water slides down the slope of your nose.

“A little warning before you drag me halfway across campus next time?” Fortunately, the hustle spared you the full might of the oncoming rain. Raindrops fall down around you, water bouncing off the metal canopy and mist riding along the breeze to stick to your skin. “You are deceptively fast.”

“Thanks?” The tail end of his voice rises in slight confusion, but he nods his acceptance of your unconventional compliment. He’s just thrilled there’s going to be a next time.

“Since you brought me all the way here, I might as well indulge you with my presence for lunch,” you acquiesce with a sigh. As if on cue, your stomach rumbles, reminding you that the protein shake you bought from the convenience store this morning can only sustain you for so long. You can’t even feel embarrassed at noise. After the downpour you faced this morning, you could really use a warm, fat-filled meal.

The cafeteria is packed with its usual lunch rush crowd, with students bustling from line to line, chatting vigorously over their lunches, and rushing out again before their afternoon classes. Hinata makes small-talk as you wait in line for one of the restaurants; his grades are up in English, thanks to your tutoring, though he struggles in other academic areas. It’s no surprise that he, like Kageyama, could not give less of a fuck about attendance or GPA unless it directly affects his ability to play volleyball. The cafeteria worker raises her arched brow as the ginger babbles in your ear while you politely order a bowl of beef stew with rice, and his rambling ceases only long enough to order the pork cutlet bowl for himself.

Finding a seat in the crowded cafeteria resembles the fourth circle of Hell as you weave through the bodies of students, one hand tucked in Hinata’s elbow so he doesn’t get separated from you. A single empty table stands abandoned beside the garbage receptacles—likely the reason for the vacancy—and you grab a chair from a busier table and slide it to your new nook. Hinata follows suit, and you hardly notice the smell over the noise radiating throughout the dining hall.

“Taking an exam later?” You ask, pointing towards his bowl of katsudon. You weren’t sure if Hinata was a superstitious man by any means, but the guy could use all the help he can get when it comes to his schooling. Even you had spent your late nights pouring over study material while choking on cold pork and rice in hopes that the meal will somehow help you ace your exams.

“I have an Algebra test this afternoon,” he groans, shoveling a mound of rice into his mouth. He mumbles around the grains, “Are you as good at math as you are English?”

You sigh, poking at your bowl of roasted beef and rice. “Can’t help you there.”

“Damnit.”

You giggle at his expletive, his forehead slamming into the table in defeat. He’s just too cute, you can’t help but reach over and ruffle his orange locks affectionately. Hinata grumbles something unintelligible, feeling your nails briefly scratch against his scalp before pulling away. He rotates his head, resting his chin on the table as he pouts. His cheeks are faintly flushed pink, and you almost feel bad for teasing the little guy.

“If you spent half as much time studying for your classes as you do practicing volleyball, you’d be a star student,” you confer, raising a spoon of the broth to your lips, the steam swirling as you gently blow to cool it off. That’s something Kageyama and Hinata have in common: a one-track mind dedicated to their favorite sport. “Don’t think I haven’t seen your latest English grades. Is my tutoring a joke to you?”

“No, Miss!” His eyes light up, his fists clenching in determination. “I’m passing, thanks to you. Even my professor says my conversational skills are ‘sufficient’ now, and my GPA is high enough to keep playing volleyball!”

‘High enough’ for athletes like Hinata and Kageyama is really just slang for ‘not failing.’ You nod knowingly, scooping more rice into your mouth as he falls down the dreaded rabbithole of leather-bound balls and eight-feet tall nets. Perhaps it’s your own fault for mentioning the one thing that seems to infiltrate your life from all angles. Between Kiyoko, Kageyama, and Hinata, you think your brain will turn into a fucking volleyball at this point.

“Speaking of volleyball,” he slides his palms down the table towards you, his body leaning forward as if he’s about to give you the juicy details of the latest gossip. If he notices your weary face twist in dread, spoon paused in front of your puckered lips, he doesn’t comment on it. “I missed you at the game Friday night. It was a killer match, really!”

“Heh, you and Kageyama both,” you remark nonchalantly, remembering the younger man’s desperation after that game. The setter’s stern expression as he showed up to your doorstep, still smelling of sweat and buzzing from the adrenaline of winning a match; his fervent demands to see you at the next game before crashing on your twin-sized mattress. You sigh at the memory, wondering when you’ll see him again. Hinata’s puppy-dog eyes immediately narrow, his face twisting slightly before returning to his neutral, cheery expression.

“So… you and Kageyama talk often then?”

“Talk?” His inquiry catches you off guard, and you blink once or twice as images of Kageyama looming over you, his cock in your mouth and his fingers threaded through your hair, flash through your mind. “No, no we don’t really talk much. Not outside of our tutoring sessions, that is,” you quickly answer, trying not to come off as too defensive. While you never agreed for your relationship with the setter to be a secret, it’s not a fact you want spread around campus.

Hinata observes you coolly, the emotion in his brown eyes undecipherable as you dismiss any implications of your carnal relationship with the other man. He contemplates your response as you take a sip of your drink to wash down the anxiety bubbling in your throat.

“Are you single?”

Water sputters from your mouth as you choke on his words, the unexpected question giving you whiplash. He pales at his mistake, immediately rushing to your side to clap you on the back. After a minute of coughing and struggling to think properly, you gingerly accept Hinata’s outstretched napkin to wipe your wet lips and chin. He returns to his seat, looking more abashed than you, despite the public fit you’ve entertained him with.

“S-Sorry! You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” he apologizes, cracking his knuckles nervously as he watches you wipe the liquid off the table. He looks down at his katsudon in shame. “I just assumed that a girl as pretty and smart as you would’ve had a boyfriend or girlfriend or something.”

“It’s… complicated?” You offer him a weak smile. The arrangement you have with Kageyama lacks any semblance of romance, driven purely by your desire to educate that poor virgin. You see great things in him, like a geode that needs to be cracked open with some sexual finessing. “No, I’m not in a relationship per se…” you add, trying not to sound as unsure as you are, eventually settling on, “Yes, I am single.”

“Score!” His elation is evident, his toothy grin churning your stomach with guilt, and you brace yourself for the inevitable words to fly out of his mouth, “Would you wanna go out sometime? I’m free this weekend if you are.”

“Hinata…” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly, wincing as you try to find a way to shut him down without revealing your true arrangement with Kageyama. After all, you don’t have the time or energy to invest into a proper courtship, and Hinata definitely wants a date, which is the last thing you need on your plate right now. You shake your head, clearing your thoughts as you continue, “I think you’re very sweet and all, but—”

“Actually, don’t answer that, just forget I asked,” he interjects quickly, sensing your rejection. His smile doesn’t waver, only faintly fades as he rationalizes your decision making. He sighs wistfully, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, chopsticks poking around at the spare grains of rice still left in his bowl. “It’s because I’m younger than you, right? Girls always get so caught up over dating younger guys…”

“Oh trust me, it’s not that,” you reach across the table to rest a hand gently on his wrist. He really does seem like a decent guy, and it’s hard not to be drawn in by those rosy cheeks and fluffy orange curls. Like your own personal pocket of sunshine on a rainy day, but you can’t keep the warmth of his radiating personality for yourself. “I’m just not looking for anything serious right now. I’m focused on my studies.”

“Yeah, I understand,” he nods, crossing his arms over his chest. The dining hall is starting to clear out now that it’s nearing the mid-afternoon. The noise gradually recedes, and the smell of the trash receptacles are starting to emanate from the piles of discarded lunches. Hinata’s gaze travels around the room before returning to meet yours, his soft brown eyes full of sincerity and vulnerability as he continues, “I’m pretty focused on volleyball myself, not a lot of room for extracurriculars. But I’d make time for you.”

He’s just too sweet, his cuteness amplified by his consideration for you is like a spear through your beating heart. It almost hurts, draping the veil of ignorance over him in this way, but these boundaries need to be established if you’re ever going to keep your fling a dirty little secret. You finish off your beef stew and rice, holding the bowl to your lips to disguise your flustered grin.

The two of you conclude your unofficial lunch date, tossing away your respective trays of food and heading back outside. Hinata lingers underneath the metal canopy protecting the entrance to the cafeteria, unwilling to separate so soon. The sky has cleared up significantly, the brief shower that forced you inside now passed.

“Hey, Miss Tutor,” Hinata speaks up, his hand brushing along your shoulder. “We should do this again sometime. I really feel like I can talk to you about anything!”

He pulls you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you, bringing your body to his chest. You’ve never realized just how strong he really is until now, his years of athleticism evident as he squeezes you tightly. Just as fast as he pulls you into his embrace, he separates, either hand on your shoulders as he holds you at arms length to send you a heartwarming smile.

“See ya!”

And just like that, he sprints off down the sidewalk, rushing off to his next class. You raise your hand to wave goodbye, but he’s already rounded a corner and disappeared from your eyesight. A sigh leaves your lips; you didn’t get to wish him good luck on his algebra exam before he left.

“Why were you with Hinata?”

Kageyama’s voice draws you from your thoughts, your heart racing as his tall form materializes beside you out of thin air. He’s dressed in his usual gym shorts and a grey t-shirt—you can’t remember seeing him in anything else—his white-knuckled grip clinging onto the strap of his navy blue gym bag. His hair is slightly damp, and he smells like petrichor from the rain still clinging to his skin. His expression is blank as he looks down at you, nearly impossible to read if it weren’t for the slight twitching of his left eye.

“Geez, you scared the shit outta me. Were you stalking me or something?” You place a hand over your heart to emphasize your panic. He doesn’t seem to care, his eyes narrowing at your accusation.

“No,” he replies bluntly, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to himself. He repeats, “Why were you with him?”

“We just had lunch together.” Your deadpan matches his. He doesn’t like that response, not one bit, but he doesn’t have much to work off of just yet. He presses again.

“Do you like him?”

That nearly makes you laugh; not because the notion of liking Hinata is something foreign and unimaginable, but because Kageyama does such a piss-poor job of hiding his jealousy. His brow is furrowed, his gaze austere and posture stiff. The subtle grimace he wears conveys his disgust at the idea of you and his closest friend together.

“I think he’s charming and sweet,” you remark, feeling the corners of your mouth twitch upwards in a cocky smile. His apparent insecurity, thinly masked behind his stoic expression and intense eye contact, is as endearing as it is annoying. “Not really my type though.”

He grunts in response. With little concern for your surroundings, you slip your arms around his neck, and his hands find their home on your hips, tugging you closer to his body. His fingers bunch up your shirt, his body immediately forgiving you for your transgressions despite his mind wanting to express his displeasure. A gaggle of passing girls toss judgmental glances and whispered disdain at your public display of affection.

“I’m more into the tall brooding types who don’t speak more than five words at a time and think volleyball is the way to get into a girl’s panties.”

“You think you’re so funny,” he scoffs.

“I think it’s funny how you prove my point,” you state, giggling as you twirl a strand of ebony hair near the base of his neck around your finely manicured finger. A brilliant idea flashes before your eyes, a way to make up for your mock infidelity and satiate the craving that’s been pestering you for weeks now. It’s not like you have anything better to do this afternoon. “You know… we could always go back to my place and I can show you how much I prefer you over that little ginger~”

“Hmph.” It takes a few seconds for him to fully process your words, the provocative suggestion finally clicking in his mind. He releases your waist and snatches your wrist, turning heel immediately. Sure, he has a history lecture in thirty minutes, but how could he possibly pass up this golden opportunity to finally have you for himself?

“Let’s go,” he orders, his body and brain aligning to perform a common goal.

His excitement overrides any other rational thought, but you force him to intertwine your fingers together and slow down enough to accommodate your shorter stride (you’d rather not get dragged across campus a second time today). The intensity of his creased brow and firm grasp could easily mistake his horniness for anger as he casts not-so-subtle glances over his shoulder to ensure you’re keeping pace. He navigates the way to your apartment from campus, a route he’s easily memorized from his frequent tutoring sessions.

Kageyama watches impatiently as you fumble with the keys to your apartment, and you chide his punctuated ‘tch’ with a pointed glare when you clumsily drop your keys on the concrete ground. The sound of a random television show greets you as you push open the unlocked door, alongside the clicking of computer keys that halt upon your entry. Miki, your beloved roommate, reclines with her legs kicked out on the coffee table, her laptop burning her thighs. Shamelessly, you raise a hand in greeting, paying no mind to the mountain of a man trailing after you.

“Hi Miki!”

“Hey,” Miki greets, looking up from her laptop screen. Her expression immediately shifts to one of surprise as she raises an eyebrow at the two of you, her gaze lingering on the Kageyama-shaped shadow attached to your back. “And hello Mystery Boy, good to see you’re still here.”

“Don’t listen to her,” you huff, sliding the shoes off your heels. You tug Kageyama past the living room and down the hall to your bedroom. Tossing your backpack off your shoulder and releasing the setter to freely roam, you then shut the door and lock it securely behind you.

“Wait right there.” Kageyama’s eyes never leave your form as you head into the adjoining bathroom and shut yourself in, his gaze lingering on the paneled wood for a moment longer. He stands awkwardly for a moment more, unsure what to do now that he’s momentarily left to his own devices.

In the light of day, Kageyama takes a moment to look around your bedroom. It’s sparsely decorated, with a few post-it notes stuck to the wall above your desk stacked with papers and books. He plops down on the soft duvet of your twin-sized bed, allowing his hands to dangle limply between his legs, his elbows resting on his knees. Your apartment is certainly nicer than his own dorm room; far cleaner and organized (save for your messy workspace), with a few posters of bands he doesn’t recognize taped above your bed, and a cracked mirror hanging off the closet door.

After a one-sided staring contest with one of the band members on your posters (the boyish brunette with hearts drawn around the edges and a killer smile—likely your bias, if his limited knowledge of idols served him well), Kageyama stiffens immediately upon your return from the toilet. He nearly chokes at the sight of your body on display, your outer clothes discarded, leaving you in your bra and panties, and his gaze travels lower to flash of cleavage and swaying of your hips as you approach him. Your hands trace along his shoulders as you move to straddle his lap, taking in his dumbstruck expression with glee. A soft giggle emanates from your throat as you notice the warmth spread to his cheeks. It’s endearing to see that—despite reaching the near apex of your sexual relationship, the culmination of the past month’s tension and longing between both of you—he’s still just as bashful as when you met him.

“Like what you see?” You hum, raising his chin to look you in the eye (as opposed to gawking at your exposed cleavage). His lips brush against yours, barely restrained by the hand on his collar, holding him back from completely ravaging you. “Are you ready for this? I must admit, I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time~”

God, he’s been dreaming about this moment. His lust is near uncontainable, the object of his desires sat prettily upon his lap and dressed like a perfectly wrapped present. And he plans on tearing you apart like it’s Christmas morning.

“Yes,” he replies. Dragging your hips across his crotch, he captures your lips in an eager kiss. Teeth clack together from his enthusiasm, his hands kneading the flesh around your hips. Messy and quick, the kiss ends sooner than you’d like, but his erection pressing against your clothed cunt distracts the both of you. His fingertips trail along the textured fabric of your bra. “Take this off.”

“Take it off yourself.”

His eyes narrow at your silent challenge, but he steps up the plate. It takes a solid minute for him to understand how the clasp works, his frustration at the stupid bit of plastic nearly convincing him it’d be far more efficient to just rip it off like useless packaging. Once it’s undone, he slides the straps down your shoulders, exposing the soft mounds of your breasts. He doesn’t care about the size—he’s had nothing to compare it to, after all—nor does he waste any time pinching the hardened buds between his fingers. His lips find your decolletage, mouthing over your skin as he takes your being into his senses; your softness, your scent, the acceleration of your heartbeat as he nips the top of your cleavage—it’s intoxicating and intimate, a closeness he’s never experienced with another person, and he intends to devour you whole.

Your soft, whispered encouragement only spurs his exploration of your body, gnashing and clawing whatever flesh you’ll allow him to consume. Soft kisses intermingle with unskilled love bites as his lips trace the curves of your chest. When your hand sneaks between your bodies to press against his crotch, he forces himself to remove his face from your bosom (even if he could imagine spending the rest of his life between those tits).

“Wait,” he halts your advances and releases your nipple from between his teeth. He pulls your hand away from the tent pitched in his pants; the excitement and anticipation is already getting to him, swelling inside like a balloon begging to burst. “Touch yourself.”

You pause, his unexpected request surprising you. “But that’s what I wanted you to do.”

“You’re my tutor, show me how you like to be touched first.”

You can’t argue with that logic. Moving to lie down on your back, your thumbs hooked on either side of your panties as you slowly drag the fabric down your thighs, claves, and finally ankles. Kageyama watches, waiting impatiently to see what treasure you’ve been hiding away, the sweet pussy that’s been the center of more than one of his wet dreams. With great restraint, he keeps still as you spread your legs, revealing your dripping cunt and glossy clit, wet with arousal.

“I don’t want to be the only one naked,” you pout, leaning back against your pillows as you lazily circle your clit with your fingertips. He barely registers your words, captivated by the squelch of your hole as you slide a finger inside. “Give me something nice to look at while I touch myself~”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs the back of his shirt and yanks it off, alongside his shorts. Kageyama is solidly built, his years of athleticism giving slight muscular definition around his abdomen and hips. A dark happy trail decorates his lower stomach, disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers. You grin, biting your lips as you continue to pleasure yourself; he’s certainly given you what you asked for.

Kageyama moves between your legs for a proper seat to enjoy the voyeuristic display. When you slip a second finger past your glistening lips, his hand shoots to gently push your knee to the side, forcing your thighs to part wider under his scrutinizing gaze.

“You can touch me if you want to.” Your offer catches his attention, your cheeky grin promising unspoken desires that buzz between you. You retract your fingers and bring them to your lips to suckle in a dramatic manner, satisfied with the demonstration. “Go on, don’t be shy~”

The bed is already slightly damp from your dripping arousal. He takes a moment to observe the pulsing of your pussy and little nub tucked away above your hole. He cautiously rubs his thumb against your clit, pressing the bundle of nerves in a slow circle just as you had demonstrated. The slight rocking of your hips against his hand and the lip worried between your teeth convey your enjoyment, though he can tell it’s not quite enough for you. He sets his sights lower, finger prodding at the fleshy ring of your pussy, which is pleasantly lubricated for him.

“That’s it,” you giggle. “Keep going.”

Kageyama eases his finger in. Slowly testing unexplored waters with a calloused touch. Your soft walls stretch to accommodate him, sucking his long finger deeper and deeper into your sweet hole. You let him do as he pleases, giving him space to explore and touch freely. His thrusts are shallow at first, barely leaving your spongy embrace before pulling him back in again. He thrusts and curls his finger inside you until he’s familiar enough to press further, a thin layer of arousal coating him down to the knuckle. You're wet enough to slip in a second finger, and the stretch pulls a strangled moan from your throat.

Your puffy pussy enraptures him, leaving him unable to look away. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows down his own nerves, your pleased moans distracting him from his intense focus on finding just what makes you tick. Eventually he settles into a steady rhythm that pulls soft gasps and moans from your lips, his thumb swirling across your clit every time he sinks another finger knuckle-deep. If you’re this tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how tight you’ll feel around his cock.

“You catch on fast,” you hum, your face flushed and eyes half-lidded as you stare down at him approvingly. “Hah, are you sure this is your first time fingering someone?”

“A setter should be good with his hands.”

“Knuckle-deep inside me and you still manage to insert volleyball into our dirty talk.”

“I told you it’d be sexy.”

Your delicate hands run through his dark locks, nails scratching along his scalp as reward for being so willing to learn and please. As much as you enjoy the feeling of his fingers probing your insides, his full potential has yet to be tapped into.

“You can use more than just your hands,” you comment, your hand sliding down from his hair to rest on his cheek, your thumb brushing against his lips. His eyes meet yours, a mistake on his part; your blissful expression and lustful gaze captivates him, distracting him from his fixation with your cunt. Not even your teasing, seductive words can pry him out of you. “I wanna feel those pretty lips wrapped around my clit.”

“Not this time,” he shushes you, his brow furrowed and gaze refocusing on your juicy pussy. He’s mesmerized at how greedily you suck his fingers into your hole, how deep he can delve inside you, even the texture of your walls are a point of interest for him. Once he makes you cream on his fingers alone, he’ll explore your reaction to his lips suckling your clit and his tongue exploring your folds. For now, he wants to sit back and watch his money-makers in action.

You pout in response. “You know, I’m trying to tutor you here and you’re not even listening to my advice.”

“I am listening.” Every jerk of your hips and gasp from your lips tells him everything he needs to know about your body and how to handle it. Despite his sex tyro status, he catches on quickly, observing intently and keeping score every time you give him a response he likes. A soft curl of his fingers has you clenching down around his digits. “Here?”

A startled moan answers his question. His eyes light up as he feels the tension in your body growing, your hole eagerly sucking him in with every thrust.

“You gonna cum for me?” He asks, speeding up his motions. He wants to see you come undone, needs to see you cream on his fingers. Subconsciously, Kageyama rocks his hips against the bed in time with his fingers. Your high-pitched whine in response stirs something deep within him, his cock twitching in his boxers.

Your thighs tremble, trying to entrap his working hand between them as your whole body tenses. He won’t let that happen, keeping his free hand underneath your knee, spreading you wide as he works you diligently through your first orgasm. He drinks in every small movement of your body: the arch of your back, the silent moan from your open mouth, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest as you collect your breath. Only when you whimper and swat away his persistent hands does he relent his onslaught. He withdraws his fingers, slick and covered in your release, and he slides one into his mouth to taste you. It’s remarkably tangy, the tart reminding him of his bitter vending machine yogurt he eats before volleyball practice.

“That… that wasn’t half bad,” you remark, slightly breathless and tingling from the aftermath of the best non-masturbatory climax you’ve had in quite some time. You run your hands through his hair as your eyes flutter shut, simply recuperating before the main event. “Good boy.”

His chest swells with pride at having made you cum by his own hand. Your writhing body and gushing cunt are more than enough of a reward for his doing, one he plans on replicating over and over again in as many different ways as possible. He wants to keep going, to play with your pussy until he uncovers the best way to pleasure you; he hasn’t even used his mouth yet, and he’s salivating at the thought of diving between your thick thighs, your essence laid out before him like a buffet. A palm on his forehead prevents him from delving between those lower lips once more, much to his discontent.

“Another time,” you dismiss, pushing him out of the way. You roll over onto your stomach to blindly sort through your nightstand drawer, finding your prize and holding it out to the setter. His face scrunches slightly.

“What’s this?”

“A condom.”

“I know what a condom is.” He takes the square packet from your hand. He admits, “I don’t want to feel you through a layer of rubber.”

“Just put it on. You’ll hardly feel a difference.”

Kageyama grumbles something unintelligible, but settles for tearing the silver foil with his teeth and spitting it out onto your bed. He finally pulls down his boxers, freeing his stiff erection from its confines. Rolling the rubber onto his cock, he smoothes it over with a few strokes in his hand. He’s already painfully aroused and nearly bursting, the long awaited moment of intimacy laid out before him just like one of his nightly fantasies. Only this time, he’ll indulge himself with your pretty pussy rather than his strained fist.

God, he could cum just from the anticipation alone as he positions his protected cockhead against your entrance, your greedy cunt sucking his tip in with ease. You whine, low and breathy as he pushes his length inside for the first time. It’s been a few months since your last sexual encounter, but his thorough preparation allows him to ease his way into your wet cunt with little resistance.

You’re so tight and wet and you’re squeezing him in a vice-like grip, one he willfully delves further into despite how close he is to creaming already. His face is bright red from his sheer concentration, one that seems to falter as his balls meet your ass, your clit brushing against his pubic hair, and his cock has fully submerged in your juicy depths. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, trying to look anywhere other than your plump bottom lip caught between your teeth and the slight crease of your forehead as you watch the entry intently. He’s so close, and the playful clenching of your inner walls is the bane of his fucking existence until—

“Tobio…?”

“Fuck.”

It’s too much; the stimulation of being inside a girl’s pussy for the first time has him spilling his seed far sooner than he’d like. It’s a moment of brief ecstasy, muddled with mortification at the loss of his finely constructed control. He pants through grit teeth, his dark bangs obscuring his eyes from view as he refuses to meet your gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you coo, which only makes Kageyama’s eye twitch. You don’t offer him a moment of reprieve from his suffocating embarrassment, his gaze hardening as you keep fucking talking. Please, spare him the humiliation. “You know, a lot of virgins are one-pump-chumps their first time!”

“Shut up,” he warns.

“It’s fine, we’ll work on it. Though I expected an athlete to have a little more endurance than this—”

“Shut it now,” his voice seems to go in one of your ears and out the other, and he slips his softening cock from your hole. He slides off the used condom, anger brimming as he politely ties it off and tosses it to the side. You continue babbling, unphased by his threatening command, one he doesn’t like repeating.

“—but I work with what I’m given. You know, my last ex could barely get a few thrusts in before—”

Your face is abruptly shoved into the pillows, your body flipped and your ass raised as Kageyama manhandles you like you’re nothing to him. Two fingers circle your wet entrance before slipping inside.

“Stop fucking talking for two seconds.” The bed creaks as he leans over your body. “Don’t talk about your other men when you’re underneath me.”

A gasp escapes your lips as he thrusts those god forsaken fingers inside you cunt once more, the new angle deriving a new spark of pleasure to shoot across your skin. He spreads apart your cheeks with his spare hand, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh. From this position, Kageyama has a perfect view of your winking asshole and leaking pussy as he bullies your sensitive areas. His thumb grazes across your tight hole curiously, his mind wandering to the future when he’ll be able to explore more of your sweet body. A strangled moan brings him out of his fantasies.

“So loud. At least you’re not blabbing more bullshit.”

He knows he’s being too rough on your poor cunt, but your tightening walls and reverberating moans only fuel the concoction of lust and irritation brewing in his mind. It’s a side of Kageyama you’ve briefly seen in the men’s locker room and in the early morning light of your bedroom. That stiff, blushing freshman with zero sexual or romantic experience who walked through your apartment door a month ago for tutoring is now unrecognizable to the starved man dwarfing your pliant body and ravaging your used hole. God, if he wasn’t so pent up from his untimely ejaculation and the consuming desire to put you in your place, he might’ve shown your learned weak points a greater mercy than you bestowed upon him. He marvels at how your mouthiness evaporates under his domineering grasp.

“Tobio, hold on~!” You whine, cheek planted against the pillow. His wide palm splays out on your back, running along your spine and digging into your shoulder blades to hold you right where he wants you. His thrusting fingers pick up their pace as you beg for him to slow down. Your prior release left you oversensitive, a sensation that only works in his favor as he pushes you closer and closer to another mind numbing climax. Right as you feel yourself about to tip over that delectable cliff of euphoria, he pulls his soaked fingers from your greedy hole, your pussy clenching uselessly under his hot-blooded gaze.

A whine escapes you at the loss of stimulation, and he scoffs at your sudden reversal of attitude. He knows he’s being unfair, but the way your lewd body made him cum too fast was unfair to begin with. It’s only fair that he makes you suffer just a little, just like he has.

Kageyama reaches his free hand to dig through your nightstand drawer and pulls out another condom. His cock stands to attention once more after his brief refractory period, prepared to prove his true worth to you. He spreads your lower lips, your quaking hole tensing and releasing around nothing as he gives his length a few tugs. Your lips part in a gasp as he presses into you, his movements calculated and determined and entirely too much for how tightly he’s wound you around his skilled fingers.

“W-Wait, I’m already so—” Your muscles contract around his cock near instantly, your face twisting in pleasure as a wave of ecstasy rolls over your skin and bounces along your nerves. He bottoms out in a single thrust, stilling himself as you vibrate on his shaft, his middle finger rubbing slow circles into your clit. Your back is glistening with sweat, writhing underneath his calculated touch, and his eyes drink in every minute detail of your body.

“All that vocabulary disappears when you’ve got something stuffed in this cunt,” his grunts, eye twitching and teeth grit as he focuses his energy on not cumming, even as you tense and shudder and cum on his cock. A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

You mumble into the pillow, likely some half-witted retort to distract him from your still trembling knees and the obscene wetness between your legs, but he slips his cock halfway out only to slam it back in, a squeak erupting from your hidden lips.

“How noisy.”

As you recover from the sudden intrusion, he picks up the pace of his thrusts. He builds himself back up to that edge he’s been balancing on, frustration evident as his hips slap against your plump ass, his balls smacking into your clit every time he bottoms out. He digs his fingers into your hips, pulling you back onto his cock despite your weak whines and shaking thighs.

He knows he won’t be able to last, but he’s determined to outlive his previous record. He wants to feel your tight walls clamp down around his cock, for your cunt to milk him as you both surrender to the ecstasy only he can provide you. There’s no way he’ll ever let someone else bring you to the edge of bliss again, not while he’s still around. As far as he’s concerned in his dubious state of mind, muddled with lust and anger, this pussy belongs to him.

“Don’t give up just yet,” he grumbles, flipping you over onto your back. He grasps the base of his cock tightly, willing himself to calm down enough to slip back inside your gaping, welcoming hole. Now he can see your pretty face again, especially the way your eyes roll back into your skull as you refuse to meet his victorious gaze. He’s going to have so much fun with you. “I heard girls can cum over and over again; I wanna test that.”

Finally having your tight pussy wrapped blissfully around his cock, your body convulsing underneath him as you come apart, did nothing to quell the building hunger manifesting deep in his gut. Yes, he’s had you completely now, his virginity lost to your sweet embrace, but that only filled his mind with perverse ways he could further explore his curiosities and desires.

The experience only made him crave you more. And now that he’s had a real taste of you, he’s not sure if his obsession will ever be sated.