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martellprincess-writes · 3 years

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haikyuu!! bad boyfriends: osamu miya

tw: 20+, minors & under-20s DNI please noncon, somnophilia, gaslighting, slight degradation, toxic boyfriend, manipulation, eventual dubcon? (ish?)

summary: In this fic, Osamu Miya is your college boyfriend who you’ve put a sex ban on. He knows what he’s done. He’s apologized multiple times, but you’re still pissed so it’s been weeks of your boycott. Tonight, however, after getting home from a Halloween party, he’s horny as ever. But you….have fallen asleep.

halloween AU | collegeathlete!osamu | angrygirlfriend!reader

wc: 3.2k

"Now, moan for me a little more please, you little slut."

“No!” You yank yourself out of your boyfriend’s grip as you get out of the elevator.

“Come on!” Osamu groans. “What did I even—“

“You know what you did,” you warn, getting to your apartment door. You struggle to get the key in so Osamu tries to help, but you jerk your hand away.

He chuckles, resting his hand on your back. “Baby, you are so drunk right now.”

“No, I’m not,” you argue, finally pushing the key in. “See?”

“Okay, sure.” Osamu follows you into your apartment, shutting the door behind him. “Now how long are you gonna do this?” He wraps his arms around your waist and carries you further into the entryway.

“Forever!” You try to wriggle out of his grip.

He groans, dropping you to your feet. “Baby, it’s been weeks, okay? I’m a young man. I can’t go a few days without sex,” he pouts. “You’re killing me.”

He tries to kiss you but you roll your eyes— “No” —and push him, walking away. You throw your keys on the kitchen counter and head into your room, but he grabs you, pinning you to the door frame.

“Baby, please,” he says, the corners of his lips curving before he kisses you softly. “What do I have to do for you to stop being mad?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you shrug, slipping off your heels and kicking them aside. “But I figure you were smart enough to get me to this point in the first place, so maybe you can figure out how to make it right to me too.”

“[name], come on.” He wraps you in his arms, kissing your cheek before he goes down your neck. “I know you want me too. Couldn’t keep your hands off me at the party.”

You push him and walk into your room, undoing your dress while he whimpers. “And you’re in that sexy little costume. [name], baby, you’re making me crazy. Do you want me to beg?”

You duck your head through a baggy t-shirt, and when you pop your head through the collar, the needy man is right in front of you. He kisses you sweetly, little pecks on your mouth while you take your heavy earrings off. You toss your jewelry on your dresser, then put your hands on his chest. You kiss him back now, pushing into him and getting more into it. He responds in excitement, wrapping his hands around your waist, but as soon as he slips his tongue into your mouth, you push him away again.

“Nope,” you say, falling into your bed.

“[name]!” he groans. He can see your eyelids drooping as he tries to reason with you. “Baby, I have needs. I’ve already apologized multiple times, but you’re just stretching this out for no reason. You’re being a tease—”

His phone starts ringing. It’s one of his teammates. “Damn it. Okay, I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep!”

And just like that, you’re out.

When Osamu comes back in, he sighs.

“Goddamn it,” he says, knowing you’ll be completely knocked for the next twelve hours or so, being as drunk as you are. Osamu repeats your name a few times. It’s no use. He throws his head back, groaning loudly.

He adjusts you, bringing your legs onto the mattress and tucking you under the bed sheet. He sits down on the bed, putting one hand on your hip and brushing your hair out of your face with the other.

He looks at you, so vulnerable, so soft. Your body heaves and sinks as you breathe in and out deeply. He lifts the sheet off you, slipping the edge between his fingers and tossing it aside so he can see more of your body. Your legs are bare….your thighs drive him fucking insane.

He wants you so bad, he’s insatiable. Maybe it’ll be enough just for him to lie beside you. To feel your body against him. To take in your scent. Just the thought makes him wild. He can’t get out of his clothes fast enough, throwing his shirt on the floor and slipping out of his pants.

He gets in the bed slowly, hoping not to wake you. He lies with his chest pressed up against your back, pulling the sheet over the both of you. With a soft touch, he slips his arm over your waist, holding your hand. You adjust yourself and he freezes.

You twist under the sheet, trying to get comfortable. You put your arm over his, intertwining your fingers with his. Okay, he thinks to himself, at least she’s not mad about this.

As he cuddles you into his chest, he feels himself getting hard. It’s been so long. He typically couldn’t keep his hands off you, so this was just torture. He’d try to get you alone multiple times a day, but now? Weeks? He feels himself getting harder just by being against you. And you smell so good.

Osamu’s arm slips out from under you. His hand moves to his boxers. Maybe just having you near him will be a relief enough. He starts to stroke himself, thinking about how you looked tonight in your slutty costume, dancing with your girls. You teased him way too much, grinding on him in the corner of the room, and then as soon as he’d start to get into it you’d leave him and walk away.

He pushes his nose into your hair, whispering, “you make me crazy.”

He pulls his dick out of his boxers, wanting to feel your skin against it. Just a touch, that’s all he needs.

He adjusts himself so your backside sits on top of his pelvis. He pulls your shorts up so the back of your thigh touches his cock, the skin-to-skin contact making him restless. He strokes himself more, but eventually, you being beside him, your skin touching his...it’s not enough.

Osamu looks at the back of your head. He thinks, just the tip.

He pushes you so that you lie on your stomach, then he very carefully takes off your shorts. He spreads your legs, pulling your knee up closer to your chest. Osamu guides his shaft to your opening, clenching his jaw in anticipation and desperation as he does. He guides his tip along your lips, feeling your softness against his aching cock. He slowly inserts his tip, holding his breath so as not to wake you. It’ll be just the tip, just something to hold him over. You won’t need to know.

He sets his open mouth on your shoulder, muffling his moans into you as he feels your warmth. Fuck.

Osamu wraps his arm over you as he works his hips into you. You’re wet too. He knew you’d be horny. The way you were dancing up on him all night. You were just like him, that’s why you two worked so well. Couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

He knows you want it. He wants it too.

He nuzzles his head in between your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent mixed with alcohol as he cups your breast. He wants to be in you, fully in you. He wants your tight pussy.

He brings his hand down to stroke himself, but it’s no good when he’s so close to the real thing. Fuck, you make this so difficult.

He brings his hand to your stomach instead, reaching lower and lower until he’s under your shirt, reaching between your legs. He starts to rub you in circles as his breath sears the side of your neck. Osamu works his hips into you, the head of his cock inching a bit deeper each time.

He closes his eyes, picturing you in your slutty costume again and then he moves quick. He sits on his knees and rolls you onto your back. Osamu opens your legs and positions himself between them, bending one of your legs up as he crawls over you.

He holds your leg firmly in place as his tip slips between your folds. He goes in slow, wanting to savor the feel of your body above anything else. A sleepy moan escapes your mouth as he fills you. He indulges himself in the warmth of your pussy, your soft walls wrapping around his thick cock.

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. He starts to pick up the pace, getting impatient.

You moan as his pace quickens. In your deep, drunken sleep, you dream about being with Osamu. You two are back at the party, in the corner of a dark room with loud music playing. He has you pushed against a wall, kissing you fervently. You pull him in as his hand slips down your body to the front of your skirt. He starts rubbing you, and you pull away.

“Stop!” you giggle. “Not here.”

He grabs you by the arm and hauls you into one of the bedrooms. He slams the door shut as soon as you get in, pulling you into him by your waist. Osamu’s lips envelope yours in a deep kiss. You kiss him back as he thrusts you against a wall. The dream-kisses are cloudy, like you’re in the moment but not physically feeling the motions. You kiss him harder, eager to feel something, but just as you do, the setting changes. You’re in your bedroom. You moan loudly as his fingers slip into you….

Osamu sees your eyelids just barely slip open as he thrusts into you. He should stop, he knows he should, but he’s too far gone now. And you know what? Fuck it. He doesn’t want to stop.

He leans over you and sighs into your mouth as he pounds into you. In the midst of your dream, you start to feel pressure on your body. Your eyelids are slightly open, you’re in and out of your dream and possible reality, both of which, you’re in bed with your boyfriend. You try to wake up, but it’s like your body is made of lead, too heavy to move. You can’t bring yourself to fully wake up. Maybe this is all a dream. Your eyes close and you feel his lips on yours. Or maybe they’re not there. You try to force yourself to wake up, but your eyelids are just so heavy, along with your head. You kiss him back, head spinning in this drunken haze of sleep.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” Osamu whispers as you start responding to his kisses. He presses his forehead against yours, whining as he comes to his last thrusts. Your soft moans drive him over the edge, making him cum quickly after weeks of build up. He grinds into you a few more times before he drops your leg, lying on top of you.

You finally wake up the next day around noon when Osamu comes back to your place after practice. You hear him get into the shower and that’s what wakes you. You lie in bed, still drowsy with a mild headache, although it seems like you’ve slept through most of your hangover. You check your phone, answering texts and DMs, and scrolling a bit through your socials before you throw your phone down and bring your fingers under your eyes, wiping off the mascara you slept in.

As your mind begins to clear, you start to replay last night in your mind. You put your hand on your phone up again, wanting to find a good picture to post, but parts of your dream start to come to mind. There’s something about it, but you can barely remember. It’s just hazy fragments.

You do, however, have one image in your mind. Osamu was on top of you. He was inside you.

Just as that thought appears in your head, Osamu opens the door to your bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He sees you’re awake and quickly averts his eyes.

“Morning,” you say in a raspy voice, breaking the ice.

“Hey, baby,” he responds. He sounds down. He shuffles through his gym bag. “Did you sleep okay?”

You sit up and swing your legs over the bed. “I still kind of have a headache, but yeah.”

You walk to the bathroom sink and begin taking off your slept-in makeup. You look at yourself in the mirror. You feel the nerves. But you say it. “I feel sore.”

He doesn’t bite. You look over your shoulder to see him at your dresser. He’s in his boxers now, combing his hair.

You take off your makeup, brush your teeth, wash your face. By the time you’re back in your room he’s fully dressed in sweats and a full-sleeved shirt. He sits in the chair by your dresser, scrolling through his phone. You try to study his face as you change into another pair of shorts and a bralette. There’s nothing there, really. He looks bored and a little upset. You take a deep breathe.

“Osamu?”

An awkward pause before a lazy, “hm?”

“Did we…” you eye him, hesitant to ask. “Have sex last night?”

He slows down his scrolling. “Nope,” he says.

You continue to watch him as he scrolls, wondering why he doesn’t ask why you’re asking. You stop the staring and stand in front of the dresser, adjusting your bralette.

Osamu gets up and walks across the dresser, leaving your bedroom. When he does, you slump into your bed for a while, gripping the edge of the mattress with your hands. You don’t want to fight. You can feel it coming. But you can’t ignore this.

You get up and walk to your door, leaning against the door frame while you watch him settle onto the couch with his laptop. He knows you’re watching, but again, he doesn’t bite.

You wrap your arms around your chest. “You had sex with me didn’t you—”

He slams his laptop shut and jumps off the couch like he was just waiting for this. “Oh, fuck off, [name]!”

You watch him roll his eyes as he walks out of the room. “If I’m wrong, why are you so upset?” you yell back.

“Fuck you—”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I know you did.” You follow him into the kitchen. “Your guilt is making it a bit too obvious—”

He spins on his heels, getting right into your face. “Yeah, we did, we had sex. God. Fuck!”

Your eyes widen just as your shoulders slump. You look so small to him.

“Last night?” you ask, unable to wrap your mind around what you already knew to be true.

“Yes, last night,” he hisses.

The tears bellow in your eyes. Your voice is hoarse. “Get out.”

He just stares at you, the spite in him unwavering.

“Get out,” you repeat.

He scoffs and checks your shoulder as hard as he can when he walks past you, sending you steps back. He goes to your bedroom, grabbing his things while you try to work out and piece together what this means for you.

When he comes out of the room you spin around, watching him gather his things in a haste from the living room. He starts to laugh.

“You know what?” he looks over his shoulder, grinning down at you. He tosses his bag on the couch and storms up to you. You inhale sharply as he does. With a firm hand, Osamu grabs you at the side of your arm and reigns you with a quick shake before pulling you up against his chest. “You liked it too.”

You look at him, your face turned up in disgust. “Do you hear yourself?”

You break yourself free of his grip and bolt into your room, but he follows, standing at the door when you sit on your bed.

“I told you to get out!” you shout.

He has the most arrogant look on his face as he leans against the door frame and crosses his arms. He smirks like he knows something you don’t.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Cuz I know who you are, baby,” he says, stepping forward. “I know what you like. I know you like the power. The teasing. Making me crazy. It makes you feel in control. And I know, for you, the best part of that power….”

You suddenly feel overexposed in your bralette and shorts as his eyes start to lick you. “Is when it’s ripped from you. You like the imbalance. I know you do.”

“Fuck off,” you fume, but other than that, you don’t know what you can say. You simply stare up at him, your mouth ajar. He smiles knowingly.

He speaks low. “You should have heard those moans. You were just….aching to be taken—“

“Osamu, if you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops—“

“So needy for my dick, pulling me in,” he continues. He stands right in front of you now. You refuse to look up at him, but with his pelvis in your face, you turn your head away. He bends down in a squat so you can look down at him instead. You bite, turning to face him.

“And you know what else?” he asks, cupping one side of your face. “I know I can take you whenever I want, and I can do whatever I want. Because I know deep down, it’s what you‘re begging for.”

He stands, keeping his back bent so he can be at your eye level. Although, he doesn’t look you in the eyes. He’s too busy trailing your body. Your bare shoulders, your supple lips, your exposed collarbone….

He speaks even lower, almost a whisper. “You’re not gonna call the cops on me. You’re not gonna tell anyone a damn thing. Because you don’t want to. I know you want….” his hand clamps your throat. You whine softly and put your hands on his forearm, but it’s as if you’re hugging him into your breasts.

“....to be tamed. You want me. To take you. Even now. I can tell by the way your knees clamp together.”

“That’s not what I want,” you whisper in a soft whimper.

The hand on your throat slowly trails down after he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. He traces his long finger down your collarbone, down your breast, making sure to pass over your nipple. He goes down to your stomach. Your breath hitches like he’s dragging a knife across your body. Your core comes to life as his fingers get closer, reaching the waistband of your shorts, but he changes course, bringing his hand to your tightly clamped knees.

His finger trails up between your legs, just barely gracing your thighs with a sinister touch. He gets to your shorts, to your pelvis. He extends his hand so all his fingers align right in front of you. You open your legs up the slightest bit, not wanting to look like you’ve given up the fight, but wanting him to be able to slip his hand in with ease when he does. He slides his hands in between your thighs and you softly gasp, feeling yourself get wet already.

Osamu brings his lips to yours, keeping his eyes down at your cheeks. He whispers:

“Now, moan for me a little more please, you little slut.”