He realized it too late.

At first, it was almost funny. He saw you laughing with Kageyama and thought it was a joke. The stupid king? You, with that delicious body, that look that seemed to hide secrets that would make any man hard just thinking about deciphering them, with him? Oikawa laughed internally, convinced it was nothing more than a casual friendship.

But things fell into place too quickly. His touch on your waist, the knowing glances you exchanged with Kageyama when you thought no one was looking, the discreet smile when the idiot said something out of place. Tooru felt his stomach churn. It was like being hit in the face on the court, painful, unexpected, impossible to ignore.

The obsession began there.

He hated to admit it, but you were becoming the center of everything. He trained, gave interviews, posed for photos, but when he closed his eyes, it was your laughter he heard, the curve of your mouth, the sway of your hips. He found himself thinking about you in his bed, the sheets tangled, moaning his name as he pushed on you too deeply for you to even remember Kageyama.

He jerked off thinking about it about your breasts bouncing as you rode his lap, about your throat swallowing his member until you gasped for air, about your core clenching like it had been custum made for him. He was pissed, furious, because in the end, the one who got all this treat was the boy he despised most.

And Oikawa wasn't a man who accepted losing.

He started to move closer to you, with that practiced charm, that smile of someone who knows exactly how it affects him. Tooru treated you like a jewel, making a point of showing you that he noticed every detail, your new nail polish, your perfume, even your damn eyeshadow. And it was cruel, because he knew that, compared to Kageyama's rough and limited manner, he was a delight. He knew how to talk, how to touch, how to look like someone who wanted to devour you.

But reality always hit whenever you pulled away smiling and returned to the other's arms.

Oikawa found himself imagining in detail what it would be like to snatch you away. Trapping you in a corner, grabbing your chin, and forcing your eyes to meet his while saying, "Tell me who you really want." And then fucking you against the wall, hard, rough, until you forgot the name of the idiot you called your boyfriend.

There were nights he dreamed about this: you sneaking into his hotel room after a game, still wearing Kageyama's jersey. He ripped off every piece of clothing with rage, with jealousy, until you were naked, scarred, touch you to the point where you couldn't walk the next day. And the most perverse thing of all was that, in those dreams, you begged for more. You begged. You begged him not to stop.

Anger and lust ran together in him. The desire to have you burned like a fever, but along with it came the damned frustration of knowing you weren't hi, yet.

Oikawa was already fed up with the party before it even started.

Sure, he smiled for the cameras, lifted the trophy like a god on the court, toasted with his teammates, and let drunken fans hug him. But every time his eyes found you in the crowd, laughing with Kageyama, his stomach burned with a jealousy so acidic he almost wanted to smash the glass on the floor.

He tried to distract himself. One, two, three girls clung to him, all too easy, all too available. None of them had your look, your fucking laugh, the innocent yet naughty way that made him hard instantly.

When you walked away for a few minutes,probably to get a drink, Oikawa didn't miss his chance. He followed you through the hall's corridors like a predator, his every step timed to avoid attracting attention. When you turned the corner and were alone, he grabbed you by the arm and push you against the wall.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

"You have no idea how much I've masturbated thinking about you…" His teeth grazed her ear. "What it would be like to fuck you until you forgot his name. Make you cum so many times that there'd be nothing left for that idiot."