#+ something to print out and fawn over because someone other than me acknowledges and draws my characters (even though I paid them to lol)

[ice-block]

Question for people who do art commissions or have commissioned art in the past: is it a good idea to buy a commission with very little idea of what I actually want other than “here’s my oc can you draw them looking cool I will give you total creative freedom” or even as broad as “here’s a few ocs pick one you like and draw them looking cool” do artists like that sort of thing or is it putting an unnecessary burden on them

[mizunetzu]

omg i’m so excited i like,, spam read all of your writing and now i can request,,, anyway, could i request maybe something similar to your Tanaka x femboy reader, but with Oikawa? like he mistakes him for a girl and maybe flirts with the reader a little bit and the reader i just like ,,”you do,, you do realize i am a man correct” and hijinks ensue?? sorry if this is too vague i suck at describing things. lotsa love your writing is literally my favorite 💕

Omg wait Oikawa??? And femboy reader??? Hijinks???? Take me now—

——————

Oikawa x reader - Oikawa Tooru Goes Both Ways

⚠️warnings - reader is mistaken and referred to unintentionally as a girl. I assure you, this is a male reader. Femboy reader, if that triggers you.

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

Oikawa couldn’t help but stare as a...rather cute girl stepped into the gym.

“Oi! Shittykawa! Focus!” Iwaizumi was about to hurl a volleyball at Oikawa’s head when he caught sight of where he was staring. He looked from the newcomer, back to Oikawa’s eyes tracing their form up and down.

“Iwa-chan...” Oikawa held his breath as he pointed subtly. “Who is that?”

Iwaizumi looked over back to the intruder. Sure enough, some girl with (h/c) styled hair stood at the foot of the door awkwardly. They weren’t sporting the school uniform, instead wearing a skirt with a cafe apron tied around their waist. Oikawa recognized the cute logo on the somewhat dirty apron as the coffee shop he’d visit on days he wasn’t particularly busy.

All in all, this stranger was incredibly attractive.

Eventually, coach Irihata emerged from the storage closet, and motioned the stranger over. The stranger perked up, pulled out a slightly-wrinkled paper from their back, and timpered off into the office.

Oikawa sighed dreamily. “Iwa-chan...is this what I think it is? Are we fiiiiiinally getting a cute girl manager to manage our team?!”

He draped himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Aaaaah~! I’m so happy~! And it’s such a cutie too!”

“Get off me, dumbass. You have like...millions of girls throwing their panties at you, literally all that look like her. And you go for the one who decides to join our club?”

Oikawa huffed. “What’s so wrong about that! She’s cute! And she looked so shy standing there...aaaah, I’m swooning just thinking about wrapping her up in my arms-!”

“I’m saying,” Iwaizumi bonked Oikawa on the head. “If you manage to get with her, then break her heart, or at the very least make her uncomfortable, she’ll have to see your annoying face all day at practice, and then she won’t wanna be manager anymore! Because she has to see you!”

Iwaizumi pinched at Oikawa’s scalp. “I want a cute girl manager and to have them actually stay! And who knows? We get brownie points if it’s not another one of your fangirls trying to get in your pants by joining the club!”

“Ow! Mean Iwa-chan, bad!”

“I’m not a damn Pokémon-!” Iwaizumi was about to kick Oikawa in the back, before letting himself simmer down and take a deep breath. He lowered his legs, and turned towards the office door. “...I’m gonna go look at that girl’s application and see what class she’s in. Maybe we can, I dunno, make her a welcome basket of fruit or some corny shit like that.”

“Let me come with you-!”

“No! You’ll just scare her away, and you have cleaning duty! All you need to do is take down the net, and I’ll meet you outside when I’m done. If you be good, I’ll tell you her name.”

Oikawa thought about it for a second.

“Deal.”

He disappeared to take down the net from the poles. Iwaizumi sighed, and walked towards the door. They were the only two left in the gym, as they were in charge of cleanup for the day, so no one else but him should be in the office. Well, minus the new girl and coach Irihata.

Iwaizumi slid open the door. “Yo.” He greeted. He looked around the room, only finding coach Irihata.

“...Didn’t someone come in here with you with an application form?”

Coach Irihata chuckled. “Oh, yeah,”

“He just wanted to drop in his member application before his part-time job made him go back to work.”

Iwaizumi froze.

“...he...?”

“Yeah, he wanted to join the club as a (Position name). He’s not confident about his jumping or spiking abilities, but he claims to be really dang good at digging and receives.”

The two looked at eachother in silence. Wasn’t she-well, he—wearing a skirt? Now that he thought about it, everything about him looked like...well...a him, minus the skirt. Iwaizumi dashed to the table and picked up the application resting there peacefully.

‘(L/n) (Y/n) - 2nd year, class 4’

‘Position - (Position name)’

Iwaizumi scanned the page. He wanted to doubt this was the ‘cute manager’ they laid their eyes on, but they even had a school photo clipped onto the corner of the paper. Sure enough, that was him. His eyes eventually landed on something printed on the middle of the page.

‘Gender - male’

That proved it. The ‘cute girl manager’ Oikawa was just fawning over turned out to be a guy. And their future teammate, no less. Iwaizumi wanted to laugh in Oikawa’s face.

“Is there something wrong, Iwaizumi-kun?”

“Pfft-no! N-no, sirrrrr....” Iwaizumi set the paper down and walked out the the room, doing his best to keep in his snickers.

Oikawa jogged up to him excitedly once he stepped out of the gym. “So? Did ya find out her name? Her class? Is she our manager?”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to say something, before letting his mouth clamp shut.

“Nah, coach said I couldn’t see it.”

He watched as Oikawa deflated, trudging his way over to the club room to change and go home. Iwaizumi did his best not to bust out laughing on the spot.

This should be fun.

——

“Iwa-chan!”

“No, you stalker.”

“But Iwa-chaaaaaan!” Oikawa whined. “Why not?! Practice ended early, and we could use some coffee! Come buy coffee with me!”

“You just wanna use me as an excuse to see that bo-that girl who came into our club yesterday, idiot! That’s stalking! You’re acting like your little fangirls!”

Oikawa pouted, and Iwaizumi prayed he didn’t catch him on his little slip-up. He turned around, walking off out of school gates. Oikawa dejectedly trailed behind him.

“I’m going home. Don’t bother me if it’s about that manager again—“

Just then, a text tone pinged from Iwaizumi’s pocket. He stopped mid-sentence, fishing out his phone and opening his messaging app.

‘Mom - no ones going to be home because we have to go out real quick. The house is locked, and you left your spare keys with me again. Go out and have fun with Tooru-kun before I come back!’

Iwaizumi deadpanned. Oikawa had his chin resting on his shoulder, with a shit-eating grin Iwaizumi didn’t even have to look at to know was there.

“Yeah, Iwa-chan. Listen to Mrs. Aina and hang out with Tooru-kun for a bit. We can go to the cafe and hang out like your she said, Iwa-chan~”

Iwaizumi pushed past Oikawa bitterly. “Don’t... fuckin’... call my mom by her name... dumbass... stalker... Shittykawa...” he grumbled as he trudged his way in the direction to the cafe. Oikawa let out a small “Yay~!”

——

Hiding behind the big, laminated menus the cafe provided, Oikawa kept glancing over to the cashier-area to try and find (Y/n). Iwaizumi deadpanned, sitting back in his chair nonchalantly.

“You’re acting stupid.”

“I’m being sneaky.”

“You look more suspicious than if you were to act like yourself.”

“As if you would know!” Oikawa whisper-yelled to Iwaizumi, momentarily letting his menu fall flat. “I’m trying not to get caught, unlike one of us-!”

“Hello?”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi froze. Oikawa rigidly turned to the voice, while Iwaizumi almost fell back in his seat.

There stood the boy—well, the ‘girl’, in his work apron, this time, up close. Oikawa could see the detail in his eyes, the way a few of his hairs fell onto his face and stuck because of the small layer of sweat on his forehead, even taking in the small kitty hair clip resting in his hair.

“Hu...huaai...” Oikawa breathed out. Iwaizumi bit his lip. If he started laughing now, Oikawa would tell his mom he was bullying him again.

“Hello! I was wondering if I could get you two anything to drink! No worries if you aren’t ready to order yet.”

His voice had a soft tamber to it, a warm, welcoming aura that fit the vibe of the cafe perfectly. Iwaizumi could see how Oikawa, and probably other people, could mistake him for a girl. Especially with the way he dressed and carried himself as evident to yesterday’s practice.

Iwaizumi tilted the menu infront of him up a bit. “I’ll get a small black coffee. Whabout you, Oikawa?”

When he got no response, other than the hum of acknowledgment from (Y/n), Iwaizumi looked up. Oikawa was staring dumbly at (Y/n) again, and seconds later (Y/n) was caught under his gaze. He stared back awkwardly, waiting for Oikawa to say something or at least order something, until he suddenly jolted up in pain.

Iwaizumi dug his heel deeper into Oikawa’s foot. “Say something, dumbass! Stop staring!” He hissed, covering his mouth from (Y/n) in petty attempts to mask their conversation.

“Ow! Ow! I’ll get a peppermint tea please-! Stop it!”

(Y/n) scribbled down Oikawa’s order, smiling patiently as he did. Iwaizumi removed his foot. There was a beat of silence, until Oikawa smoothly rested his chin on his hand.

“Soooo, (L/n) (Y/n)-chan, is it?” Oikawa said, as he peered at (Y/n’s) name tag. “Pretty masculine name for a cute girl like you~”

Iwaizumi choked on his spit. (Y/n) tilted his head to the side, looking up from his notepad to peer back at Oikawa.

“What...did you say?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Oikawa rubbed the back of his head cutely. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I think (Y/n) is a cute name~”

Iwaizumi didn’t know if he wanted to die from laughter or embarrassment. He was going to pop a vein trying to keep in his cackles.

“Ah. It’s the clothes, isn’t it?” (Y/n) mused. He took a step back, looking at his rather-feminine clothing choices for the day. “I understand why. I get that a lot.”

“...What does your clothes have to do with your name?” It was Oikawa’s turn to sound confused. Iwaizumi let out a few haggard, stifled snickers at his dense expression. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow.

“You...” He pointed at himself with his pen. “You do realize I’m a man, correct?”

Oikawa choked. His eyes widened as his smile cracked a bit. Iwaizumi had to hide his face in his jacket to prevent himself from bursting out into hackles. Oikawa gave a nervous smile.

“Aha...haha...funny joke..”

“I’m not joking, though...” (Y/n) smirked. He wouldn’t deny that seeing the faces of people flirting with him after he told them he had a dick was a guilty pleasure. “Want proof?”

(Y/n) grasped Oikawa’s wrist, tugging it forcefully, and moving his apron to the side. He brought it down closer to his groin until Oikawa sputtered and flailed on the table.

“No! I-I believe you! I-I can see it from here—I don’t need to touch it-!” Oikawa shrieked. Iwaizumi clutched his stomach from laughing too hard, already given up on keeping it in. He snorted loudly, choked on that snort, and erupted into a series of cough-laughs.

By the time Iwaizumi’s laugh turned into the kind where no noise came out-but it hurt in your stomach anyways—Oikawa was laying his head on the table, embarrassed, while (Y/n) chuckled along.

“You knew, Iwa-chan! You knew!” Oikawa hissed, holding his poor, abused hand. “You set me up for failure!”

“You did that to yourself.” Iwaizumi said between breaths. “He’s actually gonna start attending practice as a (position name) starting next week. We don’t have a manager after all.”

“And you got my hopes up for what?!” Oikawa cried out, making Iwaizumi snort again. (Y/n) raised his eyebrows.

“Manager?”

“Oikawa thought that when you came to drop your registration form in yesterday, that you were signing up to be a manager since he thought you were a girl. I saw your form though, so I knew but this guy here didn’t.”

Iwaizumi nudged at Oikawa, who was hiding his face in his hands. “You better be nice to him, though. He’s your new captain starting next week.”

“Ah! How fun! Having my new playboy captain flirt with me before I even join the club. ” (Y/n) mumbled, as he scribbled down something else in his notepad. Iwaizumi heckled when Oikawa whined with his head down.

He didn’t raise his head back up until a slip of paper was placed gently on top of his head. He heard a “I’ll go get your drink ready.” From (Y/n), before he looked up and noticed he was gone. He caught the slip of paper falling off his head as he sat up.

“What’s that?” Iwaizumi said lazily. Oikawa was staring giddily at the paper. He turned the paper around smugly, holding it up for Iwaizumi to read.

‘Call me. If you’re feeling fruity, that is. (xxx)-xxx-xxxx. -‘(Y/n)-chan’’

Iwaizumi stared at the neat handwriting, then back at Oikawa’s smug face.

“...Were you not just listening? He just tried to make you touch his dick? He’s a dude?”

“Eh. Cute girl, cute boy, he’s still cute~” Oikawa dreamily sighed as he watched (Y/n) make his tea behind the counter. “I’d still hit it till he breaks~”

“Pervert.”

“Says you.”

Oikawa earned a sharp thunk to the head.

——————

[saffron-nova21]

VII. Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer Pt. 2

The Next Chapter Masterlist

< Previous Chapter • You Are Here • Next Chapter >

Warnings: Iwaizumi is smooth, like one minor suggestive joke

As the three of you walked away from your apartment, you moved your hand into Kenma's, contently swinging your interlaced hands back and forth while Kuroo spoke to Kenma. You didn't tune in to all of it, instead just looking around. It looked dangerously close to raining and after glancing at your friends, you quickly realized that none of you were dressed for the rain.

Kuroo was surprisingly casual today, a white shirt with some dark print against it, a cross-body shoulder bag, and a pair of black skinny jeans that most certainly did him justice. Kenma, for once, had pulled something that wasn't his signature black hoodie out of his closet. Wearing a long sleeve black shirt that hung off of his form, along with some black joggers. You had gone with a crewneck for your own comfort. Kenma's merch, as usual for you.

You couldn't explain what it was about wearing Kenma's merch, but for whatever reason, it brought you a great deal of comfort, which was the main reason that Kenma made sure you got at least one of everything he sold, no matter how 'exclusive' it was supposed to be, you had one. Not to mention, he liked to have his name, even if it was the one he used online, displayed on you.

But you didn't have to know that part.

"Like I said, Lev is already on top of it. If you two want to take a serious break and not even have to deal with Twitter or streaming, just say the word." Kuroo reassures, patting his smaller friend on the back, "You know, I really don't understand why you two, who hate social interaction, chose a career that depends solely on it."

Looking over, you're quick to respond, "What can we say? We like staying at home. Plus, it's not exactly a lot of work. It's just hard work and it's draining, y'know?"

Both boys give you a peculiar look, Kenma being the first of them to speak. "You know, I think you need a nap when we get home." He squeezes your hand with his own before looking forward again. "Hard work and a lot of work are... Rather close to being the same thing. Don't undermine your profession, just because other people do."

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, though he doesn't say anything as he faces forwards as well. "There he is, in the flesh," he notes as he gestures in the direction of a man leaning against a car.

Your eyes widened a bit as you took a good look at the man. He looked... Where there even words for it? Muscular arms and what you could only guess was a muscular chest was barely contained by a black shirt. Unluckily for you, blocking your view was what you assumed to be a compression sleeve, covering one of his arms from his wrist, up past his sleeve. He also wore the same black joggers that Kenma did, though through them, you could see muscular thighs and calves.

"Tetsuro, I thought you said we were going to meet a colleague, not someone who I would let do horrible, vile things to my -." Your words are cut off by an abrupt cough from Kuroo. "Come on, you both know I'm kidding!.. More or less..."

Kuroo and Kenma couldn't help but exchange pained looks - you really were going for a reverse harem, at this point, weren't you? You'd think they'd both be used to your fawning over 'pretty' and 'respectful-looking' men. Though, Hajime wasn't the worst person you could pick, at the very least.

After shaking his head in amusement, Kuroo raises an arm over his head to wave towards the other man. "Hajime!" Kuroo's deep voice cuts through the air, catching the Athletic Trainer's attention.

Looking up from his phone, the black-haired male gives a light wave, adjusting his posture to stand up straight. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he shifts his weight, his biceps flexing more than they should be allowed to, in your opinion. He might be an athletic trainer, but no one should be allowed to look that good, in just a t-shirt. Looking at the way the material stretched over his muscular arms, you wondered if it was about to tear... It certainly looked like it was close to it.

Iwaizumi allows the three of you to catch up to him as he reaches the entrance of the restaurant. He gives you and Kenma a nod, because he turns to Kuroo and begins to speak to him, though you tuned out pretty quickly when you heard him speaking to Kuroo about the previous Captain's job. What could you say? It was boring.

Crossing your arms, you spare Kenma a glance, "He could have at least said 'hi.'" You complain, not quite expecting the two in front of you to hear you.

You can hear Iwaizumi let out a quiet laugh, before he turns to face you, voice dripping in dry amusement. "I'm so very sorry, your highness." He shifts so his face is directly in front of yours. "Hi, I'm Iwaizumi Hajime, Athletic Trainer of the volleyball team. I can't wait to start our work together."

You narrow your eyes a bit, brows furrowing at how close he was to you. Heat rises to your face and you attempt to take a step back, only to find that Kenma was conveniently preventing that. You find a reason to finally look away from him as he takes your hand from Kenma's to shake it, amusement pooling in his features. Underneath the surface, though, Iwaizumi was silently thanking Oikawa for the years he'd spent with the other male, learning how to shock him enough to shut him up.

Kenma bites back his smirk, raising a hand to cover his mouth before he let out the laugh of amusement that threatened to escape him. He raises an eyebrow, nudging you, "You could at least respond, now that he has said hi."

Your two friends found far too much amusement in the interaction, in your opinion.

"Well, it's a pleasure, Iwaizumi Hajime, Olympic Trainer." You recover from your previously stunned state, a slight huff of air escaping you. "So kind of you to finally acknowledge our presence."

Kuroo sighs deeply, "Kuroo Tetsuro, table for four," he nods to the hostess, who looked amused by the interaction.

"Right this way."

Iwaizumi withdraws his hand so that he can begin following the other two, towards your normal booth in the corner. Kenma liked to have his back against the wall, always saying how it helped him stay calm. Neither you nor Kuroo had any qualms, especially if it made him feel more comfortable with you all going out in public. Though rather than moving to sit across from you both so that you could sit next to Kenma, as per usual, Kuroo slips into the seat beside Kenma, ensuring that you'd be seated next to Iwaizumi.

Puffing out your cheeks, you open your mouth to protest, only to stop and glance at Iwaizumi when you hear him speak. "Any day now, your highness."

You slide into your seat with palpable reluctance, you hostess giving you a sympathetic smile, before nodding. "Your waiter will be with you shortly."

Sinking further down into your seat, you cross your arms, "You know, I - Woah, buddy!" Jumping back up straight in your seat, you point an accusing finger at Iwaizumi, "You better watch where you're putting that leg of yours, buddy! There shouldn't be any premarital under-the-table knee touching."

Kenma lets out a breath, "You think they'll give us the check, yet?"

You and Kenma hold hands a lot in public. More than anything else, you both use it as a way to silently let one another know when you're uncomfortable. One squeeze for reassurance, two for an 'are you okay,' three for 'get me away from this conversation/person,' and four for 'home. now.'

Kuroo isn't sure how well Kenma is going to take it, when you truly start spending time with good-looking athletes, every day.

Kenma doesn't know that Suna and Atsumu are on the Olympic team and will probably kick Kuroo's ass, when he finds out. You were hurt badly, after everything. Worse than anyone but Kenma saw.

I hope you all are having a wonderful day. It is spring break and I, for one, have lost all concept of time. But still, I hope you guys are enjoying the story and having a good break. As usual, don't forget to eat and sleep, okay? And drink some water, I know you probably haven't, today.

General Taglist:

@kookie-doughs @halesandy @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @its-the-aerieljeane @onlyonew @kac-chowsballs @saltylettuce @thathoneybee3 @daninaninani @akkeyomi @vintagexparker

The Next Chapter Taglist:

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[izzyphantomgamer]

You made me wait too long [Oikawa]

Oikawa felt depressed.

It was lunch break, a time to relax and unwind from the stress the students received in class. It was supposed to be, but Oikawa felt miserable and Iwaizumi was the receiving end of his complaints. It was hard to brush him off because he was particularly querulous that day. His desire for a peaceful lunch was in pieces, but Oikawa was persistent despite his threat.

“I can’t believe it.” He muttered and hid his face between his hands. He felt embarrassed and stupid. “How could I not see this coming?” He continued to whine, his head now buried between his folded arms on the cafeteria table. Iwaizumi heard his trouble more often than necessary and knew the reason he felt discouraged without the need to ask him the source.

The situation unveiled itself a long time ago. The story began at their elementary school days. [L/N] [F/N] was a transfer student that came in the middle of their third year. She was distant, expressionless and boring, nobody wanted to become her friend. Oikawa and Iwaizumi never paid much attention to her until the day their academic results were announced. The two boys were diligent in their study; Thus, it was no wonder they were the undisputed top students of their school until that fateful day. The small brunette placed a rank higher than his friend and he was overjoyed, but his excitement died when his eyes read the words printed on the piece of paper on the bulletin board. He was second. Oikawa Tooru was second. Above his name, [L/N] [F/N] was placed. She was first.

She was first, and he was second.

He felt something inside of him snap. The changes occurred little by little and Iwaizumi never noticed until the annual sports festival rolled around. A volleyball match between two classes. If there was one thing Oikawa was proud of, it would be his aptitude for the said physical activity, but his pride tampered with the moment the ball fell behind him. He was shocked, he was devastated but most of all; he was infuriated. She was able to block his attack with ease. He made sure to use all of his strength but her face showed no fatigue, no sort of emotion that let him know that she acknowledged him. It pissed him off. The match came to an end, their team lost. It felt a bitter taste in Iwaizumi, but he enjoyed the match, nonetheless. Oikawa, however, felt the ground shake under his feet. He swore that one day he would make the girl cry and apologize to him, but it never happened.

In middle school, the situation got out of hand. Oikawa remained determined to make her cry, but as a teenager, he wanted to attempt a new approach: He would make her fall in love with him and he would reject her, plain and simple. He smirked at his plan. It was perfect - he thought, but little did he know how wrong he was. He wanted her to be conscious of him, but it was Oikawa Tooru who began to realize that, despite her blunt and dull personality, she was still a girl.

He noticed her annoyance when she was unable to fix her hair properly, her small and soft hands that were incapable of lifting big and heavy objects, her small stature that rendered impossible to reach high places, her eyes that would shine when she saw the few things that she took a liking to. He would never admit it but he always had his eyes on her. Her routine, her mannerisms, her speaking pattern, the small things she disliked and the fewer things that she came to like. He was aware of all.

Iwaizumi wanted to laugh, the whole ordeal was ridiculous - he thought, but he also took pity at his best friend, he never saw him so worked up over a girl. Let alone a girl that never acknowledged him. He continued to listen to him, not attentive as he had to, but he still understood a few words in case Oikawa began to question him, he wanted to relish his meal before their lunch break came to an end.

“She called me this morning, I was so thrilled! It was the first time she called me by her own initiative and asked me if we could see each other after class, I was so enthusiastic that I never considered the motive behind her request.” He groaned and buried his face even more in shame and exasperation “She wanted to personally introduce me to a classmate of hers!” His voice close to a scream, frustration coursing through his system. He wanted to cry, he honestly wanted to although he wanted to laugh as well, how pathetic he felt to continue to chase his unrequited love.

“Iwaizumi. Oikawa.”

The sound of a familiar voice caused them to stare at the girl who stood in front of their table although they already knew the owner of such a monotonous tone.

[L/N] sat next to Iwaizumi and in front of Oikawa, her bag placed on the floor and the book she carried on the table. The ace noticed that she began to read the book instead of eating and asked her about it, therefore initiating small talk with the girl. It was a wonder how Iwaizumi was congenial towards her while Oikawa always felt a sense of rivalry between them. The two began to talk in frivolous fashion, little things that had no importance but neither of them cared much for details.

Oikawa remained silent however, he had another matter in hand. He leaned his chin on his hand and observed the girl in front of him: her [h/c] hair that was like silk, her [e/c] that showed no emotions but little did people know how much brighter they became when she saw a thing or two she liked, like a child that found their present under the Christmas tree. The way she talked in a nonchalant way, her straightforward words that were never filtered. She was kind and gentle, in her own little way, anyway.

A lost strand of hair that fell on her delicate features pulled him out of his thoughts. Unconsciously, he reached out his hand and tuck the said piece of hair behind her ear, much to her confusion. He noticed how soft her skin was to touch, her body temperature that was comforting. The lock once again fell and instead of putting it into place, he took it between his fingers, a gentle kiss on her soft and perfect hair. It had a sweet scent - he thought to himself.

“Oikawa?” She stared at Oikawa, in the thought of what the boy might be doing. It took no more than a second for Oikawa to realize what happened. He immediately retracted his hand and shoved it in his pocket. A heavy blush on his face and all he wanted to do was scold himself in shame. He gave her a meek glance, but what he saw made him feel worse. Her face void of emotions and it made him feel irritated. If she was any other girl, her face would have already exploded in embarrassment from being touched by him so why? Why was she not reacting to him at all? Maybe it was for that very reason that she was not like any other that he fell for her, hard.

Oikawa felt like he was pushed to his limit. He almost had enough of it. Almost. He had to leave, he was afraid of what he might do if he was to stay any longer in front of her.

The girl was left dumbfounded, but for Iwaizumi an explanation was never necessary. For a decade, he watched their relationship change through time. Oikawa, from rival to love interest but he was not on his own. He was trapped in his secluded world of competition, affection but at the same time denial, and he never noticed her soft gaze whenever she looked at him, her brief smile and her quiet laughter when he started to act childish. He missed all of that, but Iwaizumi was a witness. It happened once in the middle of their conversation; She told him how comfortable she felt around him, how he made her feel safe and how she wanted to be by his side. Iwaizumi was by no means an expert when it came to matters related to love and relationship, but it took him little time to figure out that, for a person of high intelligence, she was very dense. It honestly made him laugh, but he also found annoyance in the whole ordeal. Oikawa was in denial of his feelings for her, but little did he know how she felt. On the other hand, she was oblivious to her own feelings.

The ace thought that it was time to give the two a push.

In the school hallway, Oikawa walked in silence. There were many whispers from the female students, admiring from afar, but he paid no heed to them. He was busy with his own thoughts to notice. He continued to walk with no destination in mind, his hands in his pockets and a frown displayed on his lips. It was outrageous. For someone of his caliber to be incapable of making a girl fall in love with him despite his numerous attempts. His sister, upon learning about his situation, laughed and mocked him. He had many girlfriends ever since his first encounter with his love interest. There were small, cute and very feminine, they were indeed his type of girl and there was [L/N] [F/N].

“I am such an idiot… " he told himself and sighed. He became lost in his thoughts that he failed to notice the presence of a group of girls before him.

“Oikawa san, hello!” They greeted with a bright smile. The boy managed a smile, and he began to converse with them. It felt nice to have people compliment him, to have people fawn over him, to stare in awe when he walked past, to feel warm and fuzzy in his presence. This was the life he wanted, the life he should live. He should forget about his problem, it was for the best.

“Oikawa!” The brunette felt a hand pull his school jacket from behind. He turned around and saw none other than the reason for his own misery. He saw her flushed face, her erratic breathing and her hair disheveled. To say that he was shocked was an understatement, but a blush was inevitable. He wanted to punch himself at the inappropriate image that passed through his mind. Why did she have to be so cute - he wondered. He clenched his fist and bit his bottom lip. All was well, he felt better surrounded by people who acknowledged him but her mere presence prevented him from erasing his feelings.  

A minute went by but she continued to hold his jacket in her hand, she looked up at Oikawa, right into his eyes and the boy was mesmerized at the newfound emotion that she conveyed by her mere gaze, the emotionless eyes he always saw no more and instead were filled with determination and unknown sentiment that it was hard for him to detect.

A decade ever since their first encounter, he thought he was able to move on from her, from all the times she denied him despite her unawareness, from all of his failed effort to make her notice him but there he was, he was smitten. His crazy heartbeat, the nostalgic butterflies in his stomach, the warmth of his cheeks. Gosh, this girl was the sole person able to make a mess out of him and he never understood how.

They were outside of the school building, in a small corner in front of the football field, no students roamed during those hours. Oikawa pulled [L/N] away from the crowd that formed around them, after a little stunt like such, he felt the need to be alone with her despite not much thought about his hasty decision.

A little trail of sweat rushed on the side of her temple, it was a little difficult for her to follow Oikawa. He was so much taller than he was when they were small and his body was far more developed compared to his small frame from their elementary years, she blushed at the thought of how much he changed from the boy who used to cry when he lost, the little boy who got frustrated at every turn, the one who always looked at her with anger in his eyes.

There he was, Oikawa Tooru, his last year of high school, the captain of the volleyball team, there was no more comparison to who he was, but at the same time, he had always been the boy she knew ever since her transfer. She had known him for a decade, but she never noticed how he was in truth.

The boy stared at her, he saw her red face, but in his thoughts, he told himself that it was due to the fact that they ran at a fast pace. He already gave up on her feeling anything for him, or so that was what he wanted. The stare she gave him, he wanted to believe even for little more that he was wrong and she indeed felt something.

She wanted to speak but Oikawa placed an arm above her head, on the hard wall behind her. He leaned close to her face, his thoughts were in chaos and all because of his feelings for one girl. He pitied himself, hundreds of girls fawning over him and he had to fall in love with the one that never saw him as a man.

“[F/N] chan...” he said, a hidden despair in his husky voice “You really are cruel.” He failed to take note of how close their faces were. The said girl was in a tight trap, she began to feel uncomfortable under his stare and presence but she also felt her cheeks warmer than before. Although she felt nervous and felt herself tremble, she did not feel the need to flee or push him away.

“T... Tooru...” she whimpered and backed herself more against the wall. Oikawa stared at her in bewilderment, he must be in a dream. “Tooru, too close.” Again, she spoke his name. She was not the first to call him by his name though the way his name rolled from her tongue was perfect. That moment he began to be aware of their small distance. Damn, if she continued like this he might not be able to restrain himself. He still remained close, he had to wonder why she remained still and why had she not push him away? Did she still not feel anything? Not even a shred of embarrassment? Oikawa was honestly oblivious to her emotions. He was too focused on the history of their relationship to consider the change.

“A whole decade, a whole damn decade I chased after you and you always neglected me. Now, you look at me with those eyes and call me by my name? How long do you still plan on toying with my heart?!” he almost flinched when he heard himself raise his voice at her, he disliked it but he wanted to pour out all of his overflowing concealed emotions. "[F/N], how can you not understand how much I love you and you still treat me like this?!”

She felt the world come to a halt. Oikawa was in love with her. He really was in love with her. In the brief conversation she shared with Iwaizumi in the absence of the brunette, he revealed how Oikawa felt towards her despite his aggressive nature when they were little. She found it hard to believe, but the black-haired ace insisted to look for Oikawa to confirm his words and there he was, confessing.

Silence. Oikawa waited for her to talk or at least a sign, but she was silent. He began to feel embarrassment and frustration in his chest, he was about to pull away but she felt her shift under him. He was incredulous of what his eyes saw: [L/N] was covering her mouth, her furrowed brows, her burning cheeks. He continued to stare at her in anticipation and the girl felt herself melt. He thought he saw enough but she still had something left to say.

“Tooru, you idiot... Stop staring at me like that…”

Oikawa Tooru almost died at the spot. It happened all at the same time, all so fast and it was bad for his heart. He needed time to calm himself but how was it possible when [L/N] [F/N], his love interest for the past decade, blushing and embarrassed right in front of him.

"Hey, [F/N] chan… Can I?" He asked as he leaned in, his lips almost on hers. The girl in question only placed her hands on his shoulders, her half-lidded eyes, she felt lightheaded about the events that occurred in the past minutes but all she was certain of was that she trusted Oikawa. She nodded in silence and waited for him to close the space between them.

"You made me wait for too long."

[gagmebucky]

summary—

in which bucky retaliates against your public teasing. (includes exhibitionism, sex, dirty talk, and cock warming.)

(a/n—i’ve never written for bucky (or marvel at all) so please, please, please be nice!! this turned out way different originally imagined but i think it’s better? but feedback is greatly apperciated!! anyway, love you! thank you for reading! do NOT repost)

excerpt—

“Don’t fucking move,” Bucky growls. “You hear me? You move even an inch, and I will fuck you right here. I’ll rip this pretty dress off, and keep going and going until you can’t anymore. In front of everyone. Do you understand me?”

when the tease gets teased—

You’re the world’s greatest tease, according to him. But you argue you’re only as good as the object of your desire, that if he wasn’t so sensitive to you, so responsive with the lightest touch, half hard by the simple bat of your eyelashes, you wouldn’t be as successful as you are.

It’s your favorite pastime, the most thrilling game—provoking him in public: testing his limits until he’s so overcome with need, he’s got you in the nearest private space, fucking you with a bruising and delicious brutality. The look in his steely eyes, that flash of sexualized anger, the struggle against what you invoke in him, to not react then the way he handles you after; it’s addicting.

You don’t consider yourself the world’s greatest tease, you consider yourself his best tease. You know him well, to his delight and frustration, turned in into an art form. At any given moment, alone or in the presence of others, you know exactly how to spark the dark flicker of his eyes, cause that defined jaw tick and tick, make his capable hands clench and flex in waning restraint.

And nobody's the wiser.

Like today, perched on his lap, at a barbecue while he talks with his closest friends: your legs strewn across his sideways, your shoulder resting against his chest, your head nuzzled underneath his neck, close enough to hear the steady beat of his heart.

He has a possessive, metal hand on your exposed thigh, fingers still, the coolness nice underneath the beam of the sun. In his other, he’s nursing a condensated beer bottle, setting it down after downing the last gulp.

That’s when you make your move. He’s distracted, engrossed in a high spirited conversation. Other than a curious glance,  he doesn’t pay you any attention—something you’ll make him think better of, next time—as you grab his free hand in yours.

You’ve always had a thing for his hands, his organic and inorganic one. You can’t count the times you’ve fawned over the latter, completely eviscerating whatever insecurity he might’ve had about the prosthetic. But, you’ll admit, you’ve neglected his fleshy one—of the other, you’ve thoroughly appreciated the robotics, the craftsmanship ship, the way he uses it, but not this one.

And it’s a damn shame, especially given how sensitive his hand is.

You trace your fingers over his, clipped nails, digits long and proportionally thick, the faint twinge of redness in his knuckles. Languidly, you follow around the underside, prompting him to subconsciously flip it around. Except for that does he respond--only reacting on the lightest of levels. But you focus on his calloused palm, rough from hard work and heroism; a fact that makes you swell hotter.

While some may prefer softer, you don’t: the texture works wonders when the pads of his fingertips are rubbing you into a quivering mess. Dexterous, heaven when on you, inside you, feeling as if made just for you, times of such flit through your mind, heat flaring within the pit of your stomach.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, manipulating and kneading his hand, thumbs pressing into pressure points that make him attempt to shift underneath you. In the middle of his story, he stammers, quickly clearing his throat and laughing it off, but you catch the dark glance flickered your way.

A silent behave! and you almost scoff aloud. He can’t possibly believe you'll behave in public when he can’t do a damn thing about it, when you get off on provoking him like this. Especially when he’s been neglecting to give you the attention you deserve!

With no acknowledgement of him, you continue with those purposeful strokes, your soft fingers spidering along his. It’s funny how such an innocent act can create such a reaction. He’s twitching, a strain in his jeans that you thankfully hide.

You compare your sizes, palm to palm, enjoying how his dwarfs yours, reminding yourself (and him) of a similar comparison with his cock: a comparison you wish you were making right now. Your long lashes flutter as you flash big and wanting eyes, a pout to your lips, a shared gaze narrowing as your cupid’s bow nestles his fingertips.

“—later, Buck,” someone is saying, prompting his smile, though its forced, nodding as he watches them walk off.

Once he’s sure they’re gone, he’s grabbing you up, his hand closing around yours, metal tangling in your hair and yanking, a sweet stinging in your scalp. “You’re being bad,” he hisses, eyes thundering with all the filthy things he’d do if you guys were alone.

You don’t flinch, thrilled by the prospect. You run your tongue along your bottom lip, barely suppressing a saucy grin, mischievousness reflecting in your striking pools. “That’s implying I’ve ever been good,” you tease, leaning in so he can feel the fan of your breath.

He looks between your gaze and lips, tempted, and that pretty blue darkens a shade and narrows on you. “You’re good when I make you.”

“Then make me.”

His frustration suddenly wipes away, something wicked twinkling in steely blue pools, the corner of his lips twisting. “Okay,” he surprisingly accepts—or so you think, initially, not processing his intention until it’s done.

After a sly survey of the backyard, confirming no one else’s attention, he manhandles you in his usual effortless and firm manner, fixes you so you’re fully straddling him now. His hands clutch underneath your ass, yours splayed on his strong chest, the apex of your legs centered above his, your dress ruffled but still covering.

Following swiftly is the one handed unzipping of his jeans, in tandem, a palm slides up the inside of your thigh, two fingers hooking under your panties and pulling then aside. The realization begins to sink in as you catch a flash of his hard anatomy then—WHAM! A sharp jerk of his hips, and you’re filled, his hands on your flanks to force you down completely.

The visceral shock of being impaled, a shadow of smarting pain colliding with sweet relief, tears a cry from your lips. Thankfully, quick reflexes and all that, his hand clamps around your mouth in time to muffle your quivering, “Bucky!”

A shudder slams down your spine, spasming around the long and thickness that is him. As you attempt to get some ground on the fact that you’re sitting on his cock in the middle of a gathering of your closest friends, gasping, he tightens his hold: refusing any additional movement despite the ache in your belly.

It shouldn’t be possible to look so inconspicuous when he’s deep in your guts. To onlookers, it simply seems like you’re just a girl on her boyfriend’s lap, your legs dangling over the chair sides, your hardened nipples hidden by his chest pressing against yours, knee length sundress swaying in the wind yet no giveaway to other activities.

Your eyes are blown wide, and he fucking loves it, practically glows in satisfaction at rendering you boneless, finally flipping the script on you. “B—Buck—Bucky—” you splutter, trying to rock into him but his grip is a vice. “What—what’re you—”

“This is what you wanted. Couldn’t behave like I asked, and I asked very nicely, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His fingers dig into your ass, voice a throaty growl. “Wanted to be stuffed full of my cock so bad, and now here you are.” To punctuate, he snaps his hips up, and you squeak, slapping a hand on your mouth, paranoidly checking your setting. “And you’re going to stay like this for as long as I want. You are going to behave, or else.” His words are law in your ear, deep and gruff.

Because you’re, well, you—you acquiescence then immediately disobey: you nod, then try to writhing on his lap. An action thwarted by him, prints surely to be bruised into your cheeks by the end of the day. “Don’t fucking move,” Bucky growls. “You hear me? You move even an inch, and I will fuck you right here. In front of everyone. I’ll rip this pretty dress off, and keep going and going until you can’t anymore. In front of everyone. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. How can you? A whine sounds at the back of your throat, but nothing coherent. A lack of verbal response doesn’t play well with him. In retaliation, he pushes you harder down, a swirling motion that has his pubic bone rubbing on your clit before abruptly stopping. A whimper escapes, inner muscles clenching and unclenching as he repeats, “I said, do you fucking understand?”

“Yes!” you finally manage, breathless, hoarse. “Buck, oh, please. I’ll be good, just please, please. . .”

He chuckles darkly. “Yes. You will.” And it confirms that he’s going to do this, he’s going to keep you seated on his cock for as long as possible while all your friends walk by, greet you, attempt to make conversation.

You bury your face in his shoulder, taking your birthday present between your teeth: of the same material of his prosthetic, a pendant necklace of his initial, a capital B. It’s strong, a perfect makeshift gag, because you honestly think you might scream.

Beyond your struggle, you can hear someone else coming up to talk with him. Unlike yourself, he’s perfectly controlled, maintaining his cool like you aren’t throbbing around him, like he isn’t ruining you right now.

You have zero clue how he does it. You can feel the vein along the underside pulsing in time with you, also in need of release. You run warm, but he’s scorching especially inside you, the outline of him will be engraved inside you for a long time to come.

God, you think with an unintentionally audible whimper, I need to come.

“Bucky, is your girl okay?” You recognize Sam’s mildly concerned voice, feel his curious glance on your back, and you’d smile at the care and show some flattery for it but you don’t have the strength to.

Bucky shifts, and you swear you can hear the resilient necklace crack underneath the force of your teeth. “Yeah, yeah.” His hand rubs soothingly up and down your back, his explanation teasing, “She’s doing good, just a little tired from late night’s activity.”

Sam laughs. “All right, then.” You can imagine him taking a step back. “There’s a guest room, if she wanted to lay down,” he tells you both like the good friend he is, hope aflutter in your stomach. “No one should disturb you.”

Bucky head tips down, lips at your ear, humming. “Princess,” he croons softly, taking pity and pleasure in your ruined state, “d’you want to go to bed?”

Finding strength in the possibility of actually getting fucked, relieving that painful ache inside you, you manage to lift your head. Eyes half mast, needy and dark, your gaze meets his. “Please, please,” is your gentle plea.

With a slow nod, he gives you a peck then looks back up. “Thanks, man,” he says and starts to move. His hands slide underneath the back of your knees, your legs clinging to his hips. He hoists you up as he finally stands, cock gyrating inside you. And you might come, oh God, you might actually orgasm with every undulating stride.

You’re practically panting when he reaches the patio door, suddenly stopping, his lips at your ear. “You’ve been good, princess. Don’t ruin it now unless you want a real punishment,” he warns. “You come before I say, and I’ll have you like this all night if I have to.”

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