CHAPTER 01

Oikawa studies the libero standing on the other side of the net. A smirk blooms on his lips when he sees the worry in his opponent's eyes, and when he observes his stance, he finds bent knees shaking in fear.

Knowing that his own presence was powerful enough to intimidate other players made him feel big. Without even a single move on the court, he knew that the other team didn't stand a chance — he knew that he had already won.

The volleyball spins one last time between Oikawa's hands before he tosses it up, takes a few steps, and spikes it over the net. The libero doesn't even try to receive, letting the ball zoom past and land on the court with a loud smack.

It's the sixth point in a row for Aoba Johsai.

Cheering instantly erupts from the audience. Oikawa displays a proud smile, not caring that the other team is burning red from embarrassment or that his best friend is rolling his eyes.

But the sound of high pitched chanting makes the captain twirl around. He finds a group of girls standing on the balcony behind him — the same group that shows up to all of his games. They hold up fan signs, gifts, and flirty smiles for their favourite captain to see.

When Oikawa acknowledges them with a wave, they lose their control in a fit of screams. It's annoying knowing that most of the girls in the gymnasium were in attendance just for him, and it was an even greater annoyance knowing that you were there for the same reason.

The only difference was that you weren't there to watch; you were there by Oikawa's private request.

This was the third time he called you this week. You usually expect a call from Oikawa once a week, twice at most. He wasn't the type to invite you to his games either.

But with all of his responsibilities piling up, he needed an outlet to relieve his stress. You just happened to be his favourite.

Sighing, you watch Oikawa bask in his fangirls' attention from the other side of the stadium. Not only did the captain have skill on the court, but he also had skill in portraying a perfect image of himself — a lie.

It's so easy for him to fool people, to make them think that he's a good student with good grades who holds good relationships with everyone. To everyone else, he is the captain of Aoba Johsai, but to you, he is someone else entirely.

Oikawa's trance is finally broken when a volleyball flies into the back of his head. He winces in pain, rubbing the back of his head while the crowd shares a laugh. Even his fangirls react, gasping and asking him if he's okay. You stay silent.

When he turns around, he finds his friend glaring in irritation. "Enough of that, Shittykawa," he waves the fangirls off, "Focus on the game."

"Yessir," Oikawa replies, squaring his shoulders and returning to his position. His eyes flick towards the scoreboards, then up to the crowd behind the opposing team. Scanning the faces, he finds yours hidden in a small sliver between two people.

His brows furrow when he finds your expression blank, staring at the court with absolutely no thought in mind. You must feel his eyes lingering, because when you bring your attention to the captain, you find him staring right back.

You expect to find the same flirty grin, but it's not there, now replaced with sternness. Oikawa's eyes seem to sharpen as if asking you, do you remember?

When you finally nod your head, he returns the gesture before scoring another point for his team.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

"Get in the shower and wash up," Oikawa mumbles as he drops his bag next to the front door. He rushes down the hall towards the kitchen, not sparing to glance back at you. "My dad won't be home until midnight, so the whole place is ours until then. I'll meet you in my room in fifteen, okay?"

You don't respond — it doesn't feel like you have a choice anyway.

Walking past the kitchen, you hear shuffling and clinking dishes. Normally, Oikawa would celebrate victories by bringing his team to eat at his favourite ramen shop in the plaza near their school.

But tonight, he had different plans.

While he helps himself in the kitchen, you slide his bedroom door open. Though small, the minimal furniture makes his room feel spacious. It had been a new space to you months ago, but the more he called you to come over, the more his room started to feel like your own.

You hang your bag on the open rack that holds some of Oikawa's clothes. The computer on his low desk plays a recorded volleyball game, the light from the screen illuminating his dark room. A bookshelf stands next to his closet, decorated with the numerous volleyball trophies, medals, and certificates that he's been collecting over the years.

And, in the farthest corner of his room, is his bed. It's small, good for only one. You try not to stay overnight at his place after your sessions, but whenever he offers to roll out his futon and take the floor, you find it hard to reject him.

You appreciate those times when Oikawa allows himself to be vulnerable, but recently, he's been more straight to the point — more ruthless with the rules.

Call, come over, fuck for hours, then leave.

Maybe it's the stress, you think, but it doesn't matter. I deserve to feel good, too.

When you enter the bathroom, you grab your belongings in the back of the cabinet behind Oikawa's. He suggested that you start keeping some of your things at his own home since your visits had become more frequent — it just makes things easier for you.

But, after some sessions, Oikawa would find traces of you laying around his house. Just small, forgotten essentials, like hair ties, lotion, perfume, mints, stockings... underwear.

Evidence, he would think to himself as he collected those small things and hid them in the different crannies around his room. The last thing he needs is his own father finding them.

You tuck a towel around your body and stand outside of his bedroom. Sliding the door open, you peek inside to find Oikawa turning off the monitor on his desk. He grabs the new medal hanging around his neck and places it next to the other ones on his shelf.

Oikawa keeps his back to the door as he begins to strip. His jersey comes off first, followed by his shorts and knee pads. It's weird thinking that the girls in his 'fan club' would kill to be in your position, watching his articles of clothing meet the floor to expose his skin and toned muscles.

You avert your eyes to the pool of clothes on the floor. It reminds you of your first time with him. The pain from losing your virginity was long gone, now replaced with a cold that leaves you feeling numb and empty.

Oikawa kicks his socks off to the side. The sliding of his bedroom door grabs his attention, and when he looks up, he finds your hands clutching onto the towel wrapped around your body.

"Hey," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "You ready?"

"Mhm," you step inside, trying not to stare too long at his body. Instead, you look towards his bed in the corner of the room, the sheets already prepared and waiting. "What should we do first?"

Oikawa licks his lips, hiding a laugh. "First, you gotta take that towel off."

Oh, right. Loosening your fingers, you let the towel drop to the floor. He takes in the sight of your body, every curve and crevice already familiar to his senses. You were his to receive whenever he pleased — all he had to do was call.

You feel heat creep onto your cheeks as his eyes linger on your hips and thighs. They scan up slowly, admiring the curves of your chest and shoulders.

He nods his head approvingly. "You look—"

"I don't want to hear it," you let your anxiety cut him off, "I'm not here to feel flattered. I'm only here for your pleasure, so just tell me what you want."

He bites back an apology, knowing that you wouldn't want to hear that either. Fine, he thinks, If that's what you want, so be it.

"Get on your knees," he slowly strides towards you, each step more intimidating than the last. "I want to feel that pretty little mouth of yours first. Then, I'm going to fuck you."