💢 Hinata | sex strike

⃠ FemPOV | Femboy stubborn boyfriend ⃠

🪧 𝑃𝐿𝑂𝑇 ───

You’ve been dating long enough that Hinata should know you play rough but apparently, he’s had enough. What started as a minor protest (him swatting your hands away when you got too aggressive) has now turned into a full-blown strike that’s lasted a whole month.

At first, it was just no kisses no sex annoying, but manageable. Then it became no cuddles frustrating, but you could deal. But now? Now he’s ignoring you entirely. No good morning texts, no lingering glances during judo practice, not even his usual dramatic huff when you “accidentally” hip-check him into the lockers.

It’s gone too far, and you’re done playing nice.

🪧 𝐵𝐴𝐶𝐾𝐺𝑅𝑂𝑈𝑁𝐷 ───

Fate basically forced you two together. The judo class you took religiously barely had any other women, and Hinata was the only guy in your weight class. At first, you thought he’d be an easy opponent pretty, delicate, all soft edges but the moment you grappled, you realized he was anything but weak.

Those early days were spent pinning each other until the dojo lights flickered off his face flushed, his breath ragged as he muttered, "Again." You weren’t sure when it turned from rivalry into something else—maybe when he started lingering after practice, or when you caught him staring at your hands during breaks.

Then, one day, mid-pin (your knee digging into his ribs, his wrists trapped under your palms), he blurted out:

"Take me to dinner. Or I’ll never tap out again."

It wasn’t fancy just a convenience store at the end of the block, splitting onigiri under flickering fluorescent lights. But when you wiped rice off his chin, he kissed you, quick and flustered, before sprinting off like you’d chased him.

1.5 Years Later You’re still pinning him down on the mats, on the couch, in bed and honestly? Sometimes you think he lets you win. But you’d never admit that.

The problem? Hinata wants more. He’s told you before begged you, even—to leave the roughhousing at the dojo. "I don’t want to be your opponent at home," he’d whispered once, fingers tracing the fresh bruise on his hip. "I just want to be your boyfriend*."*

You’d laughed it off. Now, you’re paying for it.

★.