Blushing Yuuji Please?

Confessions: Osamu

The shop is quiet, bathed in the golden light of the early evening, the kind that settles over wood and stone like a warm sigh. A gentle hush lingers in the space, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional click of the camera shutter. Most of the chairs are stacked, the door flipped to its "CLOSED" sign, and the scent of vinegar and freshly cooked rice still lingers in the air. You're both still inside—Osamu behind the counter in his slightly wrinkled apron, you crouched near the front display trying to get the perfect shot of a tuna nigiri against the fading light.

You’d met in college—him, a culinary student with arms always dusted in flour or sea salt, and you, a sharp-tongued marketing major who could charm a room with a smile and tear apart a branding pitch in under a minute.

You clicked almost immediately. It started with coffee-fueled group projects, late-night ramen runs, and long, quiet study sessions where neither of you said much but never seemed to want to leave. By the time you graduated, you'd both moved back home, and when he opened up his own nigiri shop, it felt natural to call you in to help make it shine.

Osamu’s had a crush on you since your second year. He’s certain of it. The first time you snapped at him for being late and then bought him lunch anyway, he was done for. But he never said anything—not when you were swamped with internship applications, not when he got too busy building his dream from scratch. He just... kept you around. Close. Safe. Until now.

“You’re supposed to be takin’ photos,” he says, voice low and amused as he leans against the counter, watching you from across the room.

“I am,” you say around a mouthful of nigiri, holding your phone up with one hand, chopsticks in the other. “I’m multitasking.”

Osamu lifts a brow. “That your fancy marketing term for stealin’ my hard work?”

You grin, chewing contentedly. “Not stealing. Quality control.”

He huffs a laugh, arms crossed, apron a little wrinkled from the long day. You’ve been at this for hours—prepping a new campaign for the shop’s upcoming anniversary special, trying to capture the perfect lighting, the perfect angle, the perfect bite. The trouble is, the food is too good. And you’re hungry. And Osamu’s expression every time you sneak another piece is too funny not to provoke.

“Y’know,” he says, walking over to the bar where you’ve made a makeshift photography studio of cutting boards and empty plates, “I could’ve just hired a photographer.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have my good side memorized.”

He pauses behind you, and you feel his gaze on the back of your head before he leans slightly over your shoulder to glance at your camera roll.

“Half these are just you eatin’ food,” he mutters.

“Well, you can tell it's good food.”

“Yer a menace.”

You laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of the quiet shop. As you're reaching for another piece of nigiri, he eyes you from behind the counter.

“Oi,” he says, pointing a chopstick at you, “I said stop eatin’ 'em all.”

You pop the bite into your mouth with a grin. “Oh, c'mon. This is my payment for staying late and taking these photos.”

Osamu raises a brow. “Yeah, well, you can’t get the damn photos if there’s nothin’ left to shoot.”

You reach forward and pluck another piece off the plate just to spite him.

Osamu throws his head back with a groan, but the sound blends into a laugh—low and unfiltered. His arms uncross, one hand resting on the counter’s edge as he leans forward, shaking his head.

His smile cracks wide across his face, tugging at the corners of his eyes, and for a moment, he just watches you with something helplessly fond behind the amusement. His shoulders lift slightly with each breath, the kind of laugh that takes over your whole body before you even realize it. There’s no trace of the usual teasing smirk, no sarcasm—just the kind of joy that escapes when you stop trying to hide it.

“Hey—stop eatin’ all the—ugh, I love you.”

The words slip out in the middle of a breathless laugh, tangled in warmth and amusement, tumbling into the open before either of you can brace for the impact. His voice trails off at the end, like his brain only just caught up with his mouth—and then the moment hangs.

Still.

Your fingers hover above the plate, chopsticks clutched mid-air, and your smile falters as the weight of what he just said sinks in. The warmth still lingering in your chest twists into something deeper—sharper.

Both of you freeze, suspended in golden light and thick, heady silence. His laughter dies like a flame catching wind.

Your hand stops mid-air, halfway to your mouth. “...What did you say?”

Osamu straightens up like he touched a live wire. “Nothin’. I didn’t—I mean, that wasn’t—”

“No no,” you say, slowly lowering the chopsticks, your eyes narrowing with disbelief and something else—something softer. “Did you just say you love me?”

“I didn’t mean to say it like that!” he blurts, already rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just—ya were bein’ you, and I laughed, and it slipped out, but I do, I mean, I didn’t plan to just—shit—”

You cut off his rambling by stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him in a sudden, fierce hug.

Osamu goes completely still for a second, his breath shallow as his arms remain half-curled like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to hold you yet. Then you feel the tension give way as he exhales against your hair, and his arms tighten around you just slightly, enough to pull you flush against his chest.

You bury your face into the soft cotton of his shirt, the scent of soy and rice grounding you. “I love you too, you moron.”

You feel his breath stutter against your temple, and you tilt your head up just enough to see his eyes—soft, stunned, and a little dazed.

"Took you long enough," you add with a teasing smile.

He huffs a laugh, low and disbelieving, the sound rumbling through his chest. His shoulders sag, relief pouring through him in quiet waves. “You’re not just sayin’ that?” he asks, voice rough at the edges, like he still doesn’t fully believe he didn’t just hallucinate this entire thing.

You grin. “Would I lie to the man who makes me free food every week?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face before ruffling the back of your hair affectionately. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but his tone is nothing but fond.

He’s smiling, really smiling, like the kind of smile that lives in the corners of his mouth even after it fades, the kind you remember for days. His hand finds yours without hesitation, fingers curling through yours like he’s done it a thousand times in his head already. You stay like that for a moment—standing in the golden hush of the closed shop, surrounded by the scent of rice and vinegar and the lingering echo of laughter.

“You still owe me promotional photos,” he murmurs against your lips.

You pull back just enough to smile. “Only if I get to eat the props after.”

“Fine. But I’m writin’ you off as an expense.”

Broken Telephone Pt. 4

A full week has passed since your dignity had been ripped to shreds, and since then you could say that it had been somewhat restored.

Emphasis on somewhat.

Now that the whole group was in on your dirty little secret, they refused to let it go. Well, just Itadori and Kugisaki, the second years didn’t really care all that much (Though they joined in on the fun sometimes). They would make sly comments whenever given the chance; always to the point that left your blood boiling and eyebrows twitching. You prayed that they would eventually forget about it, but with the way it’s going currently…

You’d say it’s pretty slim.

And to make matters even worse, you could tell that Fushiguro was beginning to notice the looks, the snickers and the inside jokes. With every jab at you, his suspicions would rise, along with your stress levels and blood pressure.

You could say with ease that your mental health was starting to take a nose dive when a certain someone decided to stop by for a quick chat.

“[Name]! Do you have a minute?” You turn from your book to see your teacher walking towards you with a huge smile on his face. You immediately took caution. You had seen enough of your questionable teacher to know what his smiles meant. And it was never good.

He was either going to bother someone or bother a group of people. It seems today the main target was you.

“I don’t have your shirt. I gave it to Kugisaki.” You return to your book, hoping he will take the hint and leave you alone.

But he doesn’t take it. Then again, he never does.

“I’m not here about that. I just wanted to check up on you.” You pause, looking up slowly with heavy disbelief, sighing, and closing your book already knowing that you weren’t going to get to it any time soon. “You? Wanted to check up on me? You?” Your voice is laced heavy with suspicion. Gojo only smiles.

“What’s wrong with a teacher checking up on a student?”

“Nothing wrong with it. It’s just that it’s You.” You watch your 28-year-old teacher pout. You start to feel a headache coming on.

“Why does everyone assume the worst in me?” You raise a brow.

“Because it’s You. There’s an ulterior motive in everything you do. Now what do you want?” Your teacher tsks, leaning against the rails of the stairs you were sitting on.

“I don’t want anything. I just wanted to congratulate you.” Your face morphs into confusion, then clear disdain and disgust.

“You congratulating me is creepy.”

“Why is it creepy?”

“Because it’s-“

“Don’t you have anything more original than ‘it’s you’? When you first got here you were witty, you know.” You only hum.

“Seems your classes have dumbed me down.”

“That’s a little better. Like a solid 4.” You roll your eyes. “Why are you congratulating me?” Gojo’s smile widens, and you can feel your heart sinking to your stomach. Oh, you didn’t like where this was going.

“On winning my blessing.” His voice is filled with pride, and you feel your soul bunch up in dread. You feel a lump start to form in your throat as you formulate your words.

“For what?” You almost didn’t want to ask with the way he’s acting. Gojo’s grin stretches a mile wide now, and you’ve quite literally never been more terrified.

“You and Megumi to start dating.”

And there it was. The thing you’ve been secretly hoping to never happen. The thing that kept you up at night, could cause sweat to cover your entire body in seconds.

Gojo knew about your crush.

You immediately start choking on your own spit, the shock of his words causing your entire brain to shut down for a second. You could hear the blood pounding in your ears as you stared at your worst nightmare materialized before your eyes Gojo's grin remained plastered across his face, clearly loving your reaction. You couldn’t play this off now, you couldn’t feign ignorance or confusion. He caught you off-guard and there was no denying it.

Fucker had you right where he wanted you.

You quickly realized that you quite literally had nothing to lose, seeing that everything was about to collide and go down the shithole. So, while seething, you asked through clenched teeth. “Who told you?” You wanted to, no, needed to know. Because that person was going to be put into a world of pain.

You would spare no expense.

“Call it a teacher’s intuition,” He chuckled, leaning back in absolute glee in your misery and anguish as if he had just achieved the greatest victory in the world. You could feel your face burning, a mixture of embarrassment, frustration, and betrayal churning inside you.

"Teacher's intuition? More like teacher's nosiness," you retort, trying to regain some semblance of composure despite feeling like the ground had opened up beneath you.

Gojo's grin only widened at your response. "Now, now, don't be too hard on your friends. It's not easy keeping secrets in a place like this." He seemed to revel in the discomfort he'd caused, thoroughly enjoying the situation.

You clench your fists, fighting the urge to march off or, better yet, fling some retort that might wipe that smug look off his face. Instead, you force a tight-lipped smile, trying to think quickly about damage control.

"So, what now? Planning our marriage?” The sarcasm dripped from your words.

Gojo laughed heartily, leaning closer as if sharing a conspiratorial secret. "Oh, no, not at all. I just wanted to be the first to offer my congratulations. And perhaps give you a little push in the right direction." His wink made you shudder.

"Right. Because that's what I needed today, more unsolicited advice," you mutter, feeling the weight of this revelation pressing down on you.

"Just think about it," Gojo teased, patting your shoulder before strolling off, leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions.

You slump against the railing, replaying the scene in your mind, trying to figure out who might've spilled the beans. The suspicion fell on Itadori and Kugisaki, the ones who had made your secret a running joke. But then, Fushiguro's recent observations made you wonder if he had caught on and confided in Gojo.

The idea of confronting anyone felt daunting. You didn't want to expose your vulnerability any further. You longed for a moment of peace, a chance to gather your thoughts without feeling like everyone was in on your personal struggles. Taking a deep breath, you straighten up, determined not to let this revelation completely unravel you. You gather your belongings, trying to focus on your studies despite the turmoil brewing within. The day had taken an unexpected turn, and navigating through it without feeling like your whole world was spinning out of control seemed like an impossible task.

Jealousy: Tendou (NSFW)

The event was a swirl of warm lighting, soft laughter, and the rich, heady scent of tempered chocolate and burnt sugar.

Somewhere in the heart of Tokyo, a five-star patisserie had been transformed into an evening affair—a private industry showcase for chefs, culinary press, and the occasional wide-eyed investor. Tendou Satori moved through the space like he belonged to it. Which, of course, he did.

You stood near the back wall, watching him with an easy smile. Even dressed in black slacks and a soft linen shirt, half-buttoned and rolled at the forearms, he looked like trouble. The smooth curve of his freshly-shaved head caught the ambient light, shining faintly as he turned in profile to greet a cluster of press. He was striking—his angular features more mature now, but his grin still full of mischief, his eyes always dancing.

You were his plus one tonight—his girlfriend, his anchor, his favorite distraction. And while you didn’t know the first thing about ganache ratios or butter emulsions, you did know the way he talked about his craft with such unfiltered joy. It was endearing. Infectious. Sexy.

The event had gone well—Tendou had been in his element, the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand as he joked his way through tasting stations and critiques. You’d lingered behind while he stayed back to help clean up, perched near the edge of the room, sipping something bubbly and watching him from afar.

That’s when Ryouta—one of the younger chefs, clean-cut and too confident—approached you again. You’d met him earlier, briefly, and now he was back, a tray of glossy pastries balanced on one hand.

“Still hungry?” he asked with a smirk, holding out a delicate lemon-honey tart on a golden tasting spoon.

“It was really good,” you admitted politely.

“Here,” he said, stepping closer, holding out a dark, glossy square balanced on a miniature spatula. “This one’s been giving me trouble all month—bittersweet ganache with orange blossom and sea salt. Let me know if it actually works this time.”

He watched you intently as you leaned forward. “It’s all about the bloom at the end. Should hit just after the salt fades.”

You bit. Smiled.

“Yeah?” he asked, already reaching into the tray again. “Alright. Try this one too—different profile, less floral.”

He held it between two fingers, lifted it toward your lips.

You hesitated. “Uh…”

“It’s fine,” he laughed. “Happens all the time at these things. No one touches anything with their own hands.”

That logic was questionable, but the dessert smelled incredible, so you took it gently from his fingers and let it melt on your tongue. Rich. Decadent. It bloomed in layers—bitter, then sweet, then citrus.

You were nodding in delight when a voice—low and sing-song—broke the moment in two.

“Well, this looks cozy.”

You turned.

Tendou stood just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, head tilted like a cat watching something wiggle in the grass. His expression was all sharp corners and candy-coated charm, but you could see it—the tension. The tightness in his shoulders. The twitch of his jaw as his eyes dragged over Ryouta’s hand, still hovering too close to your mouth.

“Oh, Satori,” Ryouta said, laughing. “She’s got a good palate. I was just letting her—”

“Feed her with your fingers?” Tendou cut in, smiling wide. “How generous.”

You blinked. “Wait, it’s not like—”

But he was already by your side. He slid an arm around your waist and plucked your champagne flute from your hand like it had offended him personally.

“We’re gonna head out,” he said cheerfully to no one in particular. “Enjoy the rest of the night. Try not to lose any more chocolates to strangers.”

And then he was guiding you—no, steering you—toward the doors. Not rough, not rude, but with enough silent urgency that you didn’t ask questions.

Not until you were in the car.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “What was that?”

Tendou didn’t answer at first. His fingers drummed against his knee, eyes fixed on the city lights flashing past the window.

You leaned in. “Satori.”

“I watched another man feed you dessert with his fingers,” he said, tone bright and clipped. “Which was wild, by the way.”

You blinked. “He’s a chef.”

He turned his head toward you, smiling a little too wide. “So am I. But I don’t let people lick chocolate off my hands unless they’re gonna moan about it later.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I didn’t moan.”

“Not yet.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. But your body wasn’t. Your heart drummed loud in your ears, a slow and fluttery pulse you could feel all the way down your arms. There was a weight behind his silence that made your thighs press together involuntarily, your breath shallow with anticipation.

Every glance he didn’t give you felt like a brush of fire, and every flex of his fingers against his knee sent a little jolt down your spine. You were still tasting the chocolate—but now it was wrapped in tension, thick with something dangerous and deeply personal. It sat behind your teeth like a promise unspoken.

But the moment the door shut behind you both at home, it was like the tension snapped loose.

Tendou grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him—not harshly, but with purpose. His mouth met yours in a kiss that was all teeth and caramel heat, hands sliding up your sides like he couldn’t decide where to hold you first.

You gasped into him. “Satori—”

“I don’t share,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “Not food. Not you. Not the way you taste.”

He backed you toward the kitchen counter, palms skimming down your thighs to lift you up with practiced ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist without thinking.

“I didn’t think it would bother you,” you whispered, breath catching as he kissed your collarbone, nipping just hard enough to make you shiver.

“It didn’t,” he said, voice dark. “Until it did.”

He tugged your dress up, mouth following the line of your thigh, his hands everywhere—hot, demanding, worshipful.

“You gonna let anyone else feed you like that?” he asked, just before he slid your panties aside with two fingers.

You moaned. “No—”

“Say it.”

“I won’t,” you gasped, hips jerking as his mouth met you, tongue sweeping slow and devastating. He licked into you deliberately, like he wanted to savor every reaction—every stuttering moan, every twitch of your legs around his shoulders.

His fingers gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open while he devoured you. It built steadily—no teasing, no games—just hungry focus and the low hum of pleasure as he drank down every sound you gave him. You couldn’t stop it; your legs were trembling, your fingers tangled in his shirt as the heat curled, then peaked—

You came with a cry that echoed through the foyer, hips bucking as his name slipped broken from your lips. He didn’t stop until you were shivering, overstimulated, eyes glassy.

He looked up, mouth slick, eyes shining with something darker than mischief. “We’re not done.”

Then he stood, leaned in close, and kissed you deep—slow and messy and full of intent.

And melt, you did.

Again and again, until the only thing you could remember was how his name sounded in your mouth and how good it felt to be wanted this much.

—

The morning after, the room was quiet.

Golden light slipped through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the sheets. Tendou lay on his side, propped on one elbow, head tilted slightly as he watched you sleep. You were sprawled against the pillow, breathing slow and steady, hair tousled from his hands and the night before. The blanket had slipped down just enough to reveal the evidence.

His marks.

Your skin was littered in them—hickeys blooming along your collarbone and throat like wine-stained petals, small bruises dusting your ribs, and faint bite marks along the curve of your thigh where the sheet barely clung. Some were shallow, teasing reminders. Others were darker, deeper. Possessive.

He let his fingers trace a lazy path down your spine, not enough to wake you, but enough to feel you sigh in your sleep, your body instinctively curling toward the touch.

He smiled to himself.

“You’re covered in me,” he murmured, voice low, smug, and barely audible. His hand ghosted over the marks like he was admiring a painting he'd made just for himself.

You stirred slightly, blinking against the pillow. “You went feral,” you muttered, voice rough with sleep.

He chuckled, eyes still on you. “You liked it.”

You rolled onto your side, facing him now, the sheet falling from your shoulder.

“You got jealous over chocolate.”

“I got jealous over you.” His eyes met yours—sharp, unrepentant, glowing in the morning light. “And I’d do it again.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just leaned in and kissed him, slow and warm, lips brushing his lazily, your hand cupping his jaw.

“I think you left a tooth mark on my hip,” you whispered, breath curling against his mouth.

“Good,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching up. “Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

hello lovely!! I hope ur doing well! I’ve been to gobbling up all your writing recently and I just wanted to say that you’re so talented! Your ability to accurately characterize, well, the characters is so important and it’s just overall fantastic. Please keep up the good work!! <33

I wanted to request Sugawara — possibly taking care of the reader when they’re sick? Or maybe period pains? Either works, I really don’t mind! There’s not a lot of Suga writing on tumblr as a whole (that I’ve been able to find), and I’d like to see you work your magic! Thank youuu!

Hi sweet anon!! 🥹💛 Thank you so much for your kind words — They genuinely mean the world to me. I’m so happy you’re enjoying the writing!! Hopefully this is want you pictured in your head hehe

Enjoy<333

--

Anon Asks: Sugawara

The door creaked open before you could even lift your head from the couch.

"Hey, you should be resting," came Sugawara’s voice—soft, teasing, but edged with concern. The sound of it washed over you like a balm, even as your body rebelled against every small movement.

You grunted in response, curling deeper into the fortress of blankets you'd made for yourself. Every inch of your body ached with a dull, persistent throb. Your head pounded in time with your heartbeat, and your stomach twisted and cramped unpleasantly, making you feel heavy and brittle all at once.

Koushi set the grocery bag down with a soft thud, the rustling of plastic filling the room as he moved around. You cracked one eye open to find him methodically unpacking supplies: herbal teas, a box of your favorite crackers, a heating pad, a fresh bottle of painkillers, and—to your complete and utter dismay—a small bouquet of daisies.

“You didn’t have to,” you croaked, voice hoarse.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, eyebrow arched in a way that immediately made you feel silly for even suggesting it. “You’re right,” he said lightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

You huffed, burrowing deeper into the blanket, trying—and failing—to hide the way your face flushed. Whether it was from embarrassment or overwhelming gratitude, you weren’t sure.

Sugawara padded over, kneeling down so you were eye-level. His hand, warm and slightly calloused from years of volleyball, brushed against your forehead. Gentle, steady.

“Still warm,” he murmured, his brows knitting together in a tiny frown. “Poor thing.”

You cracked a weak smile, the motion tugging at the ache in your temples. “I’m fine, really,” you mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, clearly not believing a word of it.

Without asking, he cracked open one of the heat packs, giving it a firm shake until it warmed to life. He slipped it under the blanket, pressing it against your lower abdomen with slow, careful movements. A soft, involuntary sigh slipped past your lips as the warmth seeped into your cramping muscles.

He smiled at that, eyes crinkling in that boyish, heart-melting way he had.

“There’s my girl,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it over the gentle thrum of the rain starting outside.

Sugawara busied himself preparing tea—the comforting clatter of the kettle, the soft clink of a spoon stirring honey into a mug—all while stealing glances at you every few moments. Watching. Making sure you didn’t strain yourself.

When he returned, he slid onto the couch beside you, coaxing you upright just enough to press the steaming mug into your hands.

“Easy,” he murmured, one hand steadying the cup with you. “Small sips.”

You obeyed, too tired to argue, the warmth from the tea and his touch making the ache behind your eyes begin to loosen.

Once the tea was safely set aside on the coffee table, he didn’t retreat back to his corner. Instead, he carefully pulled you into his arms, arranging you across his lap with an ease that made your heart ache. His hands found your lower back almost immediately, working slow, tender circles into the tense muscles there.

The world outside faded. The rain against the windows softened into a background hum. Your muscles remained sore, but the sharp edges of your pain dulled—replaced by the steady, grounding beat of Koushi’s heart against your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing, the feeling of being wrapped up in something—someone—solid and sure.

Your hands tightened weakly in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, voice cracking from the weight of everything you were too tired to say properly.

He only squeezed you tighter, thumb stroking lazy, soothing patterns across your hip.

“Always,” he murmured.

And as your eyes fluttered closed, your body giving in to the exhaustion at last, you realized: with Koushi here, you could finally let yourself rest.

Truly, completely, safely rest.

Favourite Positions: Oikawa

Oikawa Tooru had always thought of himself as adaptable.

He prided himself on his precision, his control, his ability to read people. It was what made him an incredible setter, what gave him the edge both on and off the court. He could analyze, adjust, anticipate—always one step ahead.

And when it came to the bedroom, it was no different.

He had tried every angle, every pace, every way to make you fall apart beneath him. He loved variety, experimentation, keeping you on your toes, teasing you with the unexpected.

But tonight, when he had you on your back, your legs wrapped around his waist, his body flush against yours—

Everything clicked.

It started when he shifted just slightly, adjusting his hips, driving deeper into you.

You gasped—sharply, loudly—your entire body tightening around him, your fingers clawing at his back.

Oikawa’s rhythm faltered, his brows lifting in surprise. Then, his smirk curled, slow and knowing. "Oh?" His voice dripped with amusement. "That was cute."

You barely had the brainpower to glare at him, the pleasure crackling through your veins making it impossible to do anything but tremble beneath him.

Oikawa’s grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin as he rolled his hips again, aiming for that exact spot.

Your reaction was immediate—a choked, broken moan spilling from your lips, your legs twitching around his waist.

"Bingo," he murmured, eyes darkening with something dangerous, something addictive.

And then he did it again.

And again.

Harder. Deeper. Hitting that perfect spot every single time.

Your breath hitched, turned into a gasp, then into something close to a sob, pleasure tightening inside you too fast, too strong, too much. Words spilled from your lips before you could stop them—nonsensical, desperate, completely unfiltered.

"Tooru, oh my god—fuck, fuck, please—don’t stop, don’t stop—right there, right there, please—"

His lips curled at your rambling, reveling in how unrestrained, how utterly gone you were.

"You really do like this, huh?" he teased, his voice honeyed, smug, but laced with something raw. "Didn't expect my pretty girl to get this desperate for me." His hips snapped forward, drawing another cry from your lips, your fingers tightening against his back. "Fuck, baby, you're shaking."

"T-Tooru—" your voice cracked, barely coherent.

"Mmm, that’s it," he murmured, watching you come undone beneath him, completely lost in the way your body trembled, the way your breath stuttered, the way you clung to him like you needed him to hold you together.

"Fuck," he continued, voice low, satisfied. "I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so tight, twitching every time I move—" he groaned, rolling his hips even deeper, grinding against you, drawing out another strangled moan. "I think…" He exhaled sharply, his cock twitching inside you at the way you fluttered around him, "I think this is my new favorite."

You barely had a moment to process that before he angled his hips just right, pressing deeper, harder—

And you shattered.

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, wracking through you in sharp, uncontrollable bursts.

Oikawa groaned at the feeling of you pulsing, tightening, coming undone around him. His head tilted slightly, breath catching at the sheer need in your voice, the way you were rambling, unraveling beneath him.

"God, you sound so fucking cute," he muttered, voice strained, watching your lips part, words tumbling out in gasping whimpers. "Didn’t know you’d lose it like this, baby."

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he angled his hips just right, dragging out another broken moan from you. "Keep talking for me," he whispered, grinning as your words blurred into helpless sounds. "I wanna hear every little thing you feel."

His pace turned relentless, his hands gripping your thighs, his body pressing into yours so perfectly, so devastatingly right.

You couldn't think—your body a livewire of sensation, drowning in the heat of him, the way he filled you, the way he knew exactly how to break you.

"Tooru—" your own voice was a wrecked, incoherent mess as he drove you toward another peak.

"Hmm?" he hummed mockingly, watching your blissed-out expression, the way your nails raked down his back. "That close again? Fuck, you’re so easy like this, aren’t you? Falling apart every time I move."

You were trembling, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your already-sensitive body. Your head tipped back, vision hazy, mouth open in silent cries as he pushed you over the edge again, even harder than before.

Oikawa groaned as you convulsed beneath him, your body milking him as he buried himself deep, a sharp groan breaking past his lips as he came with you, spilling inside, his grip tightening, holding you down, grounding you as your bodies unraveled together.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just the sound of ragged breaths, the faint trembles of your body still reeling in the aftermath.

Oikawa was the first to break the silence, his lips pressing lazily against your jaw, grinning against your damp skin.

"Looks like I just found my sweet spot."

Hii!!

First of all, I wanna say that I really really love your writing, I literally check ur page multiple times daily to see if you posted - your writing is just that good.

I wanted to ask if it was possible to maybe have a "fav positions" w Aone? 👀 He's honestly such a gentle guy, I love him smm

Or if that's not rlly smth for you, maybe smth for the manager duty section? I'd love to see smth w Shiratorizawa !!

Again, I absolutely adore your writing, keep it up!! 💕

Hii!! 🥺💕

First of all—your message seriously made my entire day. I can’t even express how much it means to hear that you check my page like that!! Thank you so, so much for all the love and support, truly. 🫶

Also... your request?? Immaculate taste. Aone is such a soft, gentle giant—he absolutely deserves all the love and intimacy. I actually just posted the fav positions drabble for him, so it’s up now if you’d like to check it out!! 😌💕

As for the Shiratorizawa manager drabble—YES, 1000x yes. I’ve been wanting to write something for them, and your message gave me the perfect excuse to start brainstorming. They’ll definitely be getting their moment in the Manager Duties series soon 💜

Thank you again for being the sweetest ever!! Sending you the biggest hugs—ily 🫶💌

Rivalry: Atsumu Pt. 5

The sharp clang of the school bell signaled the end of class, jolting you out of your thoughts. You blinked, realizing you had barely absorbed a single word of the lecture. Your fingers mindlessly traced the spine of your textbook as students shuffled around you, chairs scraping against the floor, the din of conversation rising as everyone spilled into the hallway for lunch.

Your body moved on autopilot, gathering your belongings and slipping into the throng of students, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. The past few days had been a blur, a tangled mess of secrets, frustration, and moments you couldn’t quite categorize. Your lips tingled at the memory of his mouth on them, your skin still seemed to burn where he had touched you, and no matter how much you tried to shake it, you felt restless.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed when you stepped into the cafeteria—

Until a loud, unmistakable voice cut through the noise like a whip.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

You barely had time to process before Hana Yoshida came barreling toward you, her long dark hair swaying dramatically behind her, eyes narrowed with accusation and concern.

You winced. Shit.

"You have been straight-up ghosting me, and I swear to god if you say it's because of some stupid schoolwork, I will lose my mind."

Her hands found her hips as she planted herself in front of you, blocking your path with the kind of intensity only Hana could manage. She was radiating energy, a force of nature wrapped in an oversized school sweater and a skirt she had definitely rolled up against dress code.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she immediately cut you off, her sharp brown eyes narrowing further. "No. Don’t even try to make an excuse, because I know you. And I know when you’re hiding something."

You shifted uncomfortably, your hands gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. "I—uh—"

"Yeah, uh-uh, my ass." Hana scoffed, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward your usual lunch spot with zero room for argument. "Spill. Now. Before I start making up my own theories, and trust me, you won't like them."

You swallowed hard.

"I've just been busy," you tried weakly, avoiding her piercing gaze. "You know, school, club activities, the usual."

Hana’s eyes narrowed even further as she leaned in closer, scanning your face with an almost predatory level of scrutiny. And then, as if something suddenly clicked, her jaw dropped.

She gasped so loudly that a few students actually turned their heads in curiosity. Then, without missing a beat, she pointed an accusatory finger directly at your chest.

"Oh. My. God. You’ve been having sex!"

Your stomach plummeted.

Panic shot through you at lightning speed, your hand flying up to clasp over her mouth before she could blurt out another humiliating declaration for the entire cafeteria to hear.

"Shut up!" you hissed, your face heating up so fast you thought you might combust on the spot. "Would you keep your voice down?!"

Hana’s muffled laugh vibrated against your palm before she wrenched your hand away, eyes practically sparkling with glee. "Oh, I knew it! I knew something was up! And judging by how flustered you are, I’m right!"

She smirked, leaning in even closer, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "You look so mellow and relaxed lately. And honestly? You’re glowing. Whoever is dicking you down is doing a great job."

Your face erupted in flames. "Will you just shut up?!" you hissed, mortified beyond belief, your eyes darting around to make sure no one else had overheard.

Hana only grinned wider, clearly having the time of her life. "Oh, I am so not shutting up. I need details."

You stuttered, scrambling for a way out of this conversation. "T-there's nothing to say. It was just a fling," you lied through your teeth, knowing full well that wasn’t the case.

Hana's eyes narrowed like a predator locking onto its prey. "Oh, sure. Just a fling? You, Miss ‘I Don’t Do Hookups’? You expect me to believe that?"

Before she could press you further, a loud voice cut through the cafeteria noise, pulling you from Hana’s relentless interrogation.

"Hey, manager!"

You turned, internally sighing in relief, as Osamu, Atsumu, Aran, Suna, and Hitoshi made their way toward you. The group moved with familiar ease, their casual bickering bleeding into the air like background static. Even before they reached your table, you could tell they were in the middle of one of their stupid arguments.

"God, you guys can’t leave me alone, huh?" you teased, forcing yourself to sound as normal as possible while shifting slightly in your seat. You could still feel Hana's gaze boring into the side of your head, but for now, she was momentarily distracted.

Hana huffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, you guys get her before and after school. Can't I reserve her for lunch?"

"Don't worry, we only need her for a quick second," Suna added with a smirk, earning a roll of your eyes.

"We got a serious debate," Hitoshi declared, arms crossed, his expression dead serious. "Would you rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?"

Osamu sighed, shaking his head. "A hundred duck-sized horses, obviously. A horse-sized duck would be terrifying."

Suna scoffed. "Nah, you’re thinking too hard about it. A horse-sized duck would have hollow bones. It wouldn’t even be that strong."

You blinked, deadpan. "That’s what you’re arguing about?"

Atsumu grinned, leaning forward, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "C’mon, we need a tie-breaker."

You rolled your eyes, already feeling the familiar urge to snark back. "Knowing you, Miya, you’d lose to both."

Atsumu’s smug expression instantly dropped, replaced with mock offense. "Excuse me? I’d destroy that oversized poultry."

"Doubt it," you shot back. "You’d probably trip over your own ego before you could throw the first punch."

Atsumu’s golden eyes gleamed with challenge, his smirk widening as if he was ready to throw another quip your way. He leaned in slightly, opening his mouth—

"Oh, sweetheart, you really gotta work on your comebacks. That one barely stung."

"Oh, up yours, you insufferable—" you began with a sweet smile, voice dripping with venom, but before you could finish, Aran cut in with a sigh. "Okay, okay, let’s get food before this turns into another screaming match."

You raised your hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm the one with self-control."

Atsumu shot you a glare, clearly not amused, his mouth opening to retort, but you only grinned wider. "That being said—a horse-sized duck."

Half the boys erupted into a small but silent victory celebration, their smug grins a stark contrast to the ones rolling their eyes in annoyance. With that, the group turned and began heading toward the lunch line, still bickering about the logistics of fighting oversized poultry.

Atsumu threw you one last smirk, his golden eyes flashing with something too smug, too knowing, before turning on his heel to follow the rest of the team.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but there was something in that fleeting glance—a silent challenge, a lingering amusement, a spark of something neither of you wanted to name. Your stomach twisted at the way his smirk lingered even as he walked away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the lunch crowd.

You barely had time to process it before Hana's nails dug into your arm with newfound intensity.

"Oh. My. God. Miya Atsumu?!"

Your stomach dropped, the cafeteria suddenly feeling too bright, too loud, every sound around you fading into a dull hum compared to the sheer horror of what had just left Hana’s mouth.

Hana’s voice was barely a whisper, but the absolute horror and uncontainable glee in her tone made your face burn hotter than the sun, the heat creeping up your neck and settling into your ears.

"What?! You are out of your mind—" you sputtered, words tumbling out before you could even think of a solid defense. Your hands instinctively gripped the edge of the table, like you needed something to ground yourself before you keeled over in embarrassment.

But Hana just grinned, completely unfazed, watching you with a predatory kind of giddiness, like she had just unearthed the juiciest gossip of the century.

"I mean, it makes sense," she continued, tapping her chin as if she were solving a grand mystery, her eyes dancing with amusement. "He’s stupid pretty, and you both hate each other’s guts."

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, to tell her she had completely lost her mind, but then—

Hana’s expression shifted.

As if a switch flipped.

Her eyes widened, her breath caught, and then—

She gasped, loud and dramatic, clutching your arm so tightly you thought she might dislocate your shoulder.

"You’ve been having hate sex and didn’t tell me?!"

You winced, her words cutting through the already overwhelming noise of the cafeteria, but to you, they felt magnified, exposed, like she had just put you on trial in the middle of lunch hour.

A groan ripped from your throat, your hand dragging down your face as if you could physically wipe this moment from existence.

"Goddamn it, can you stop being so perceptive?" you gritted out, your voice half a plea, half a curse, the mortification settling deep in your bones.

Hana, however, looked delighted, her grin only stretching wider, eating up your suffering like it was the most entertaining thing she’d ever witnessed.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, your head dropping onto the desk with a resigned sigh.

"What do you want to know?" you mumbled, knowing full well you had just opened the floodgates to hell.

--

You told her everything—from the late-night encounters to the insults exchanged between breathless moans, the ridiculous tension that neither of you acknowledged in daylight, the way he was just so frustrating even when he wasn’t talking. Every stupid detail, every infuriating moment, all of it. The way his smirk made your skin prickle with annoyance, how his hands always seemed to leave behind an unbearable heat, the way he had this infuriating ability to push every single one of your buttons. And yet, somehow, you kept going back. Again and again.

By the time you finished, Hana was just staring at you, blinking slowly, like she needed a moment to actually process the sheer absurdity of the situation you had just described. Then, she leaned back, exhaled slowly, and with the most deadpan expression, simply said:

"Wow. I'm so jealous."

A snort escaped you before you could stop it, your body tensing and relaxing all at once. "Only you would be jealous of this kind of situation."

Hana shrugged, her lips pulling into a lazy, knowing grin. "I mean, what’s not to like? The sex is good, he’s not bad to look at—"

"I hate his guts," you cut in, scowling, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table. There was no way in hell you were letting her finish that sentence.

Hana just stopped, her eyes scanning your face with undisguised skepticism, her head tilting slightly like you had just said the dumbest thing imaginable.

"Right." She dragged the word out, voice drenched in disbelief, as if she was humoring a child who just declared they didn’t like sugar.

Your teeth clenched, frustration flaring hot in your chest. "I’m serious, Hana. I can’t stand him."

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk only growing, clearly unimpressed. "But you can stand him inside you."

Your mouth fell open in horror, your entire body locking up before you slapped her shoulder—hard enough to make her burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh my god, shut up!" you hissed, your face burning.

Hana just grinned, completely unrepentant, rubbing her arm with mock injury. "I’m just saying. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a thing for him."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Absolutely not. I could never see myself with him. It’s just physical. That’s it."

"Mmhmm," Hana hummed, tapping her chin dramatically, like she was filing away her own private analysis of your situation. Then, after a few seconds, she tilted her head, as if casually remembering something.

"Then you shouldn’t care that Ayumi Tanaka is planning on asking him out."

Your entire body tensed before your head snapped toward her so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

"What?" you blurted out, voice sharper than you intended.

Hana blinked, her lips quirking as if she knew exactly what she was doing. "Oh, yeah. She was talking about it in the locker room the other day. Said she’s been into him for a while and figured she’d shoot her shot."

Your jaw locked, a strange heat curling in your chest. "And… he said what?"

Hana shrugged. "Dunno. She hasn’t asked him yet. But she was pretty confident."

You hated the way your stomach twisted at that. Absolutely despised it. Because it shouldn’t matter. It really, really shouldn’t. This thing with Atsumu? It wasn’t real—just something to get out of both your systems. That’s it. That was the agreement. And yet, the thought of him with someone else, letting someone else touch him, whisper things into his ear, run their hands over his skin—

No. Absolutely not.

Wait. Why do I care?

Hana leaned forward, watching your expression with obvious amusement. "Oh, wow. You hate him so much, yet here you are, looking like you just swallowed a lemon."

You tore your gaze away, forcing yourself to breathe. "I don’t care."

Hana smirked. "Right. Totally buying that."

Before you could snap back, the sharp ring of the school bell split the air, signaling the end of lunch. You shot up from your seat so fast it nearly knocked your tray over.

"Oh wow, the bell! Gotta go!" you rushed out, grabbing your bag and making a beeline for the exit like your life depended on it.

Hana, still seated, only crossed her arms, watching you flee with an exasperated shake of her head. "This isn’t over!" she called after you, her voice carrying over the cafeteria noise.

You barely heard her as you pushed through the hallway, her words still rattling in your head. Your stomach twisted as you replayed the conversation, the image of Atsumu with someone else digging its claws into your brain like an itch you couldn't scratch. The idea of another girl sliding her hands over his skin, pulling those same groans from his throat, whispering in his ear—it sent a fresh, unwanted wave of irritation crawling through your veins.

You trudged down the hallway, weaving through the clusters of students lingering outside their classrooms, your mind still clouded with the lingering conversation you had barely escaped from. Hana’s words played on a loop in your head, irritating and persistent, no matter how much you tried to shake them off.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

For What It's Worth (Tsukishima x Reader Pt. 2)

It’s been a week since it happened.

A week since you’ve spoken to him.

Seven days since you felt his corrupt lips on you. Since you’ve felt his poisonous yet addictive hands.

The whole situation had been burned into your memory the minute you walked out of his door. Seven days you’ve been in complete emotional turmoil.

You’re nothing short of furious. You’re furious over the fact that all this happened over a stupid photograph, you’re furious that you allowed it to happen for so long, you’re furious that you can’t forget his stupid smirk. His figure leaning over yours, the look in his eyes making you see red. But for the most part, you’re furious over the fact that you can’t bring yourself to truly hate him.

You can’t hate Tsukishima Kei. No matter how hard you try. You can’t stop yourself from feeling your insides heat up when you remember his lips on your neck, your fingers combing through his hair. The tiny sounds he tried to repress when your lips were locked on his. The shivers that rake your body when you pass your fingers on the almost healed hickeys on your neck.

You’d be lying if you said that it hasn’t made you lose sleep.

But he lied. He lied through all of it. Kei didn’t like you. Hell, you doubt he even could even give you the time of day. That bastard only cared for himself. He’d do anything to win, to get what he wants. No matter who he hurts along the way.

He was selfish.

You don’t know why you’re so surprised now. It’s not like you didn’t know this fact. You’ve seen the way he interacts with others. Whether it be his classmates, his volleyball team, Yamaguchi, or even Akiteru. He never once cared for their feelings.

You can’t be around someone who treats other humans like that. You refuse to.

You’ve avoided him like the plague. You pretend like you don’t know who he is during school and lock yourself in your room at home. Tsukishima’s mother had come back a couple of days ago, so you had to say that you weren’t feeling well to avoid having dinner with them. You didn’t even talk to him for the rest of the project. Just sending your part of the work you had completed, and he took care of the rest. You’ll be forever grateful that you didn’t have to present that assignment. You really didn’t know how you would manage that. Of course, there were times when you would cross paths in the corridor, because to your dismay its impossible to avoid someone you live with, but you did your best to see right through him. You refuse to meet his eyes, to give him any sort of chance. He doesn’t deserve it.

Another week passes like this, then another and another. By the time a full month passes, it’s become routine. He doesn’t see you and you don’t see him, just like when you first started living with his family. Your anger has faded significantly over the course of the month, but there’s still some unchecked emotion swirling around in the deepest parts of your self conscious. Whether you want to believe it or not, Kei had become part of your life. A tiny one, but a part nonetheless, and without him, it almost seemed dull. Like something was missing from your day. Empty. You assume it’s because you never got closure from the situation.

Yeah, that’s why.

You’re thrown out of your thoughts when you hear your name called from a distance. You stop your exit from the building, when you see familiar friendly face waving in your direction. You feel a soft smile force it’s way on your face.

“Yamaguchi-kun, what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to be late for practice?” You ask as when he reaches your person. He rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “I told Tsukki to tell the others I was going to be late.” The sound of Tsukishima’s name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. No matter how sweetly Yamaguchi can say it.

“Oh. Well, did you need something?”

“Yes. Actually, it’s about Tsukki.” You feel yourself tense up slightly. “I just figured you would be the best person to ask considering you’re around him the most.” Is that really how he saw it?

The thought gives you pause. You had to admit that from a distance it did look like you were close to Kei. Closer than others at least. You’ve talked during and between classes, sometimes waited for him to finish practice and walk home with him. If people didn’t witness the insults you used to constantly hurl at each other, and the glares of pure annoyance and hatred, they probably would have thought you two were friends.

Maybe even more.

You shake off the thought as you’re about to tell Yamaguchi that you haven’t spoken to Kei in a month, and that you know nothing about anything that has to do with him but decide last minute to hold your tongue. You were curious to say the least. What could be bothering the unbothered? “Is something wrong with him?” Yamaguchi looks off, thinking for a minute.

“Well, I’m not sure, that’s what I came to talk to you about. Over the past month he’s been acting off.” You tilt your head slightly.

“How so?”

“He’s been acting cold lately. More distant. Picking more fights with the rest of the team. He’s more irritable. He’s letting little things bother him.” Yamaguchi lists off. You snort slightly.

“Yamaguchi-kun, that’s how Kei usually acts. I’d start getting worried when he stops acting like that.” Yamaguchi gives you an uneasy look. “I still feel like somethings wrong. So do the rest of the team. Something is definitely bothering him. His performance in games is also being affected. It’s almost like he can’t focus.”

Could it be about before?

No… He couldn’t possibly be upset about what happened… Could he? You subconsciously shake your head. You can’t bring yourself to believe that he could. Kei was the reason all this shit happened in the first place. But, looking at the boy in front of you, you can feel your heart sink. Yamaguchi really was a good friend. You could see the genuine worry in his eyes as he spoke about Kei. You have no idea how Kei managed to gain a friend like him. One of the worlds greatest mysteries, you muse.

“I just wish he would talk to me.” Yamaguchi says, defeated. You wanted to say something, anything to help him out of his miserable state. You decide on one thing that minute.

You needed to talk to Kei. To tell him to get over himself and stop fucking over everyone around him. That whatever is going on with him needs to be dealt with him and him alone.

Maybe you could get that closure you wanted in the process…

“I’ll talk to him, Yamaguchi-kun.” You see Yamaguchi eyes flicker with something you could only assume was hope. He’s about to thank you when he hears the late bell ring. Yamaguchi turns his head to the school, obviously not expecting the conversation to last this long. “Go, I don’t want to hold you any longer. I’ll talk to him as soon as he gets home.” Yamaguchi flashes you a boyish smile, before shouting a quick thanks and jogging over to the gymnasium. You let out a sigh of relief as he jogs away.

During the walk home, you can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach.

~~

The more you think about it, the more irritated you get as you wait patiently (or impatiently) for Kei to return. Kei’s mother had left once again, leaving just you and Kei in the house, like usual. Over the course of the months you had gotten used to being by yourself, so you really didn’t mind it anymore. However, by being constantly alone, you were left at the mercy of your thoughts.

And all of your thoughts were consumed by Kei.

It felt like all of the emotions you had laid to rest had come back in the few hours you were left alone. But you have self control, and unlike Kei, you’re able to keep your emotions in check.

You hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. Before everything happened, he’d usually announce his arrival, but now that you two aren’t speaking, he just enters and walks straight up to his room. You take a small breath. You can feel your heart thrum nervously as you try to catch up to him.

Well, it’s now or never.

“Oi.” You start, trying to sound unbothered as possible, when you’re anything but. You watch as he stops walking and turns around slowly. Kei gives you a look you can’t decipher, but you can tell that he’s surprised you’ve said anything to him. You don’t want to give him time to think about and get straight to the point. You want to be done as soon as possible and go back to ignoring him. But you hesitate under his stare, giving him an opening. His gaze hardens, as you watch the grip on his bags tighten. You stand your ground. You’ve seen and witnessed his micro aggressions firsthand; it’ll take a lot more than this to intimidate you.

The air around you two is tense. The emotions that were swept under the rug are out in the open, suffocating you.

“Well, this is interesting. Deciding to talk to me now? I’m so grateful you’ve chosen to bless me with your words.” His cold words are laced with so much venom and bitterness that you almost take a step back. You’ve never seen this before. The Kei you knew was always calm and collected, smart with his choices. Knew what to say and to do to play people right where he wanted to. This Kei seemed more… emotional? Unhinged?

You don’t know. But the look he’s giving you isn’t exactly filling you with confidence. Still, you stand strong. You won’t let this asshole make you vulnerable. He’s done it once before; you won’t let it happen a second time.

“Don’t get too happy. I don’t want to waste my breath talking to you. I’m only doing this because Yamaguchi is worried about you, and unlike you, I actually care about his feelings.” Kei looks away at the mention of his best friend. The tiny action brings you slight satisfaction. “He told me you’ve been acting off lately. Picking fights and acting like an all-around asshole. Now, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to get your shit together.” Kei scoffs, gazing down at you. Patronizing. Your fists clench.

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” He had said it with such coldness, you actually had to fight a shiver running down your spine.

“I wouldn’t have to if you acted like a decent fucking human.” You snap right back. Kei takes a step toward you. You don’t back away. He leans slightly, making it so you’re at eye level in a way that is so obviously condescending.

“Stop acting like you’re such an angel. It’s pissing me off.” His honesty surprises you, but you don’t let it show. You know Kei wasn’t easy to anger, so you knew you were getting somewhere. But, at the same time, his sentence bothers you.

From the very beginning, you always tried to be nice to people you’ve met here. You wouldn’t call it sucking up to others, but you were slightly nervous people wouldn’t like you. During your program that anxiety had faded, but being that Kei was the first person you met who was your age, he significantly decreased your confidence. So, in turn, when school started you were the kindest you could be, always studied the hardest you could, and so on. You had made a name for yourself, one that Kei didn’t seem to like.

“It’s easy to act like an angel when you’re the devil incarnate. And you have no right to say anything about my behaviour, you prick. I’m not the type of person to use others to get what they want. I’m not the type to bring others down to feel better about my sad sack of a life. And I’m definitely not the type that would take advantage of someone to win. So, I suggest you have a cold hard look in the mirror before you go criticizing me.” You bite, voice filled with anger. It’s like all the emotions you’ve held in the pits of your stomach are now flowing through your veins. Each item you list off is like rocks falling off your tense shoulders. You stand taller, move closer, and refuse your eyes to leave his.

The hall is quiet for a while, but it’s the loudest silence you’ve ever heard. So much tension and emotion hanging around in the air. You and Kei share a staring contest, both breathing slightly heavy. Even if you wanted to break the gaze, you couldn’t. Kei’s hard glare had so much emotion, so much that you couldn’t figure out. You can’t help but bring your mind back to when this moment felt a little too familiar…

You wait for Kei’s reply, knowing that not even demons straight from the pits of hell can stop Kei from saying something, anything, back. But to your utter surprise and disbelief, he backs away. You can’t hide your confusion as he stays silent, lips in a thin line and a look in his eyes you can’t make out, as he turns around and walks away. You stand there, slightly gawking as you watch him retreat up the stairs. Brain frozen until you heard the door to his bedroom close.

…

What the fuck just happened?

Did Tsukishima Kei, THE Tsukishima Kei, just walk away from an argument? Without an insult, or even a sarcastic comment?

Did you just win?

…

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won.

You can’t help but still feel… Off. You had gotten what you wanted. To say something and have him be silent, but it’s definitely not as satisfying as you expected it to be. Not like the hours you used to spend daydreaming about a moment like this. You felt empty. Like you were expecting more.

To have him care enough to respond.

You feel tears start to well up in your eyes.

Never in a million years, would you have expected this.

You were crying over Kei. Over that sick bastard.

Why did you feel like this? Why did you feel so disappointed when you watched him walk away? You shouldn’t need him to care. You don’t.

So why are you so sad?

You put your face in your hands, willing the need to scream out your frustrations to leave.

Even like this, he still wins.

~~

It’s been a couple days since your talk with Kei. You had pushed down all of your newly found feelings right back down into the depths of your soul.

Like that worked so well last time.

You were done with him once more. You didn’t want to have to deal with these new feelings. Or him in general.

Just a fresh start. Without Kei in the picture.

You had expected things would be exactly the same with him. He’d ignore you and you’d ignore him. Like clockwork. But ever since your argument, the atmosphere around you two has changed. Into what, you weren’t sure, but it was definitely off-putting.

And extremely frustrating.

The very next day after your argument, Yamaguchi had told you that whatever you said to Kei must’ve worked, because he’s started to return to his old self, (Whatever that means). And while you were happy to see Yamaguchi smiling, you weren’t able to get the pit in your stomach to leave.

New problems you didn’t expect were starting to arise.

Whenever you and Kei had the displeasure of being in the same area, you’d feel his eyes on you. Staring at you. His eyes locking onto you in a way that left you utterly confused, and completely flushed at the same time. You couldn’t help your heart beat a little faster every time you saw him in the halls of his house, or at school.

You weren’t able to stop the pulse of heat that would rush through your body either.

Either way, to say you were a little displeased with this advancement would be an understatement. But, what could you do? Just march up to him and tell him to stop staring?

Normally you would. But with what happened last time, you were a lot more than hesitant. You’d dig your own grave and bury yourself alive before having the tiniest chance of crying in front of Kei. That was more than your worst nightmare.

So, you decided the only possible solution was to get your mind off him. Just like the previous month, you’d go back to acting like he didn’t exist. If you could do it once, you could do it again.

You were feeling confident about your plan. At least until someone up in the heavens decided to completely fuck you over just for the hell of it.

It was the end of school day, and while most of the students rushing out the doors eagerly, excited that they had the rest of the day to themselves, you were clearing out your entire locker frantically. Each second passing with you getting more and more nervous of the outcome you hoped to any of the Gods that wouldn’t happen.

Oh God, please tell me I didn’t do this…

Yes, you did. You had lost the keys to the house. You almost punch a hole in the nearest wall, but you do slam your head against your locker. What did you do to deserve this?

You take a couple of deep breaths, trying to find any other possible solution then asking Kei for his keys. Maybe… picking the lock? Or popping a window opening? You sigh heavily. Who were you kidding? You could barely open your phone most of the time. You weren’t exactly keen to brandish your breaking and entering skills. To make matters even worse, all of your friends either had clubs or had already went home. You were far too awkward to call them up and ask if you could crash their night, and far too tired to wait for those who had clubs up until eight at night.

You let out an agonized whine, seeing no other option other than to drag yourself to the boy’s gym. As you approach you could hear sounds of boys screaming and laughing. They must still be stretching, as you hear no noises of balls slamming into the ground. You take a deep breath as you stand in front of the doors. Just get in, take what you need and get out. Even though you keep repeating that mantra in your head, you still found yourself on the other side of the doors, too nervous to open them.

“Could you let me through please?” You hear a soft voice from behind you. You whip around to find a rather beautiful looking third year. She must be their manager. You didn’t realize you were staring until seconds later. “Oh, yes. Sorry about that.” You give a nervous chuckle as you move out of the way. She walks up the stairs gracefully and goes to open the doors but stops, turning to you.

“Did you need something?” You tense up slightly at the question, “I need to talk to Kei.” You somehow managed to say evenly. The third year looks at you confused for a second, before her eyes light up in realization. “You mean Tsukishima-kun?” You nod. You usually forgot that most people (Well, everyone apart from his family) called him by his last name. Everyone except you. You pause now, thinking about it.

Why did you call him by his given name?

Why did he let you?

“Follow me then.” You were about to tell her that you really didn’t want to, but she slid the doors open with practiced ease. She walks in, ignoring two particularity rowdy voices yelling ‘Kiyoko-san!’, as she motions you to follow her. You gulp, and not wanting to disrespect a senior, you duck your head to enter the gym in shame. All eyes are suddenly on you, curious. Your heart beats slightly faster under the eyes of the team. You were never good at being in the spotlight. You manage to glance in Kei’s direction.

If looks could kill, you’d probably be six feet under the ground right about now.

He always made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near the gym when he was practicing, making sure that if you had to wait for him, he’d make you wait in the library.

You never understood why, but you didn’t question it.

“Tsukishima-kun. Someone’s here to talk to you.” Kiyoko spoke for you, only adding to the embarrassment that was this situation. All eyes that were on you, snapped to Kei’s form. On the outside he appeared unbothered, but his eyes spoke the true annoyance he was feeling. He makes no sound as he briskly walks to you, grabbing your wrist quite tightly, making you wince, letting a hushed hiss escape your mouth as he practically drags you out of the gym. The second you leave everyone’s prying eyes, you whip your hand anyway from him, practically snarling at him. “That hurt, asshole.” He makes no comment at that, only glaring at you.

“Why are you here?” He sounded genuinely frustrated. Join the club pal.

“I lost my keys.” He scoffs. “I’m failing to see how that’s my problem.” You clench your fists. You really didn’t think this through. What were you expecting? For him to be a nice guy and hand you his keys? Willingly? Yeah, right.

Well you aren’t giving up without a fight.

“It’ll be your problem when you find your window smashed in.” Empty threats, and Kei knows it. Kei sighs tiredly, and it only makes you more upset.

“Listen, either wait until my practice is over, or figure it out. Why don’t you go and ask one of your little friends? I’m sure they’d love to have you.” He spits out the last part, and you narrow your eyes at his pettiness.

“Oh, trust me. I wouldn’t have come to you if I had any other choice. But sadly, here I am talking to you. Now, you could do us both a favour if you could just stop being an all-around jackass for once and let me borrow your damn keys.” You try to say without hitting his very punchable face. Succeeding, you add. Kei only rolls his eyes, “Tempting, but I’ll pass. I’ll text you when I’m done. If you’ll excuse me.” He smirks that god-awful smirk, before walking back to the gym, leaving you enraged. You go to attempt to say something but find yourself at a loss for words.

Why even try?

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. Fuck him. Was your only thought as you left the school grounds.

No way in hell were you waiting for him. You doubt you could even look at him without sending him to the emergency room.

This is going to be the death of you if things continue like this.

~~

You took your sweet time walking your way back to the house. Admiring the changing colours of the trees, stopping by the convenience store. After all, you did have a couple hours to kill while you wait for the asshole to come back from practice. You had only wasted two hours by the time you reached the house. The time you had spent trying to get your mind off him only left you more frustrated. He really knew how to piss you off.

Yes, it was your fault that you had lost your keys, and he didn’t necessarily have to give his to you, but what harm could it have done? What did he expect you to do? Lock him out of the house? You pause. Not a bad idea. Your thoughts only continue as you cursed the existence that is Tsukishima Kei, and sat outside the steps of the house, pulling out your phone and start playing around with it, trying to forget about the slight wind chill that comes with the start of Fall. You sat there, trying to cover your legs from the wind blowing past them. Every time you got a strongest burst of wind, you thought back to Kei.

I hope a volleyball smashes him in the face. A smile finds it way onto your face as you think of that. As time passes, boredom fills you as you feel yourself getting slightly drowsy. Being angry really wasn’t helping you conserve your energy. You felt your eyes getting heavier with every passing second. It wouldn’t be a problem if you closed them for a bit, would it?

Apparently, it would.

~~

You don’t even realize that you’ve dozed off, being woken by a buzzing in your pocket, your shivers and a dark night sky. God, how long had it been?

Groggily, you answer your phone, sleep clouding the need to read the caller ID. “Hello?” Your voice was surprisingly hoarse. Probably from lack of use.

“Where are you? You aren’t in the library and I’ve searched everywhere.” You could only pinpoint that aggressive tone to one person.

“K-kei?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Normally, you would’ve come back with something, but you were far too tired to think of anything smart to say. “I’m outside the house.” You hear him curse under his breath. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” And with that, he hangs up.

You sit there, slightly dazed before shivering. The night sky wasn’t keeping you as safe from the brisk wind like the sun did, and you were still in your school uniform, which consisted of a light sweater and a skirt. You removed your phone from your ear, only to be blinded by the notifications blocking your phone screen.

You had twenty-five missed called from Kei, and more that thirty messages. You scroll through them.

**I’m finished with practice. **

You aren’t in the library, where are you?

**Seriously, answer me. **

where are you?

God damnit answer my calls

I swear if you’re at home

I’m coming home and if you’re not there, you will be sorry

You furrow your brows as you scroll through the rest of them. Was he… Worried about you?

Your thoughts are cut off by severe shaking. Damn it was cold. You take your sweater off, leaving you in short selves, to cover your legs. You figured it was better than nothing, but it did leave your arms to the strong winds. You curse outwardly.

After a couple minutes, you see the asshole himself, jog towards you, face slightly red and panting heavily. Was he running? You don’t think too much about it as you hear the heavenly noises of the keys jingling.

“Idiot. I told you to wait for me.” Kei breathes out, you scoff at him calling you an idiot. “You said w-wait or figure it o-o-out.” You cringe at how vulnerable you sound. The stutter definitely doesn’t help. He huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “And this is figuring it out?”

“S-s-shut up and open th-the damn d-door.” He doesn’t respond as he finally manages to open the door. You let out a breath of relief as you try to get up, only to have your knees buckle; sitting down in the crouch position you were in plus the cold weren’t exactly the best for your joints. You almost fall but feel warm hands grip your waist to prevent it. Your head turns to find Kei’s extremely close, staring down at you. The same expression he wore when you glance at him looking at you. You feel your face slightly flush as you step away and walk through the doors, welcoming the warmth of the house. You hear Kei walk in after you, closing the door behind him.

A few seconds of silence pass before another violent shiver passes through you. Guess it’ll take a little more than the house to warm you up. You hear a sigh, before feeling those warm hands grip your wrist for the second time today. This time was a lot gentler than the last. Your brain freezes as Kei pulls you to the living area and sits you down on the couch before leaving to retrieve something from the other room. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any stupider. You go and pull shit like this.” You hear his slightly distant voice, and you grit your teeth. This asshole just couldn’t help himself, could he?

You go to defend yourself when you feel something warm and fluffy lay on top of you. Kei had just thrown a blanket on you. All comebacks die in your throat as he turns to you and fixes the blanket to make sure not a single area of skin is exposed. Kei makes sure to not meet your eyes when he’s satisfied with his job.

“Stay here. I’m going to make some tea.” You’re at a loss for words as he turns to the kitchen.

Are you in some sort of parallel universe or something?

Was Kei… Taking care of you? Maybe he just feels bad because he left you in the cold, but still. You had never seen this side of him before.

This boy was just full of surprises. Whenever you thought you had seen it all, he comes back with more.

Confusion swirls your thoughts, but your broken out of it when you see Kei walk back into the room with a tray. It consisted of two cups of tea and two servings of strawberry shortcake. Kei’s favourite food. You remember the day you found out it was his favourite food, you remember the teasing and the laughs, with Kei turning slightly pink and telling you to shut up.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss those days.

“Surprised you’re still here. You usually have trouble following simple instructions.” He jabs, as he sets your tea and cake on a table in front of you. You narrow your eyes at him. “Well I did make a promise to the never follow the Devil.” You find it hard to say your comebacks with your usual venom. He only rolls his eyes in response. Kei sits across the table on the floor, having his portions in front of him. He stares at you. “Eat.”

Usually, you would’ve said no, because you hated listening to him, but you were starving. The snacks from the convenience store could hold you for so long. “How do I know this isn’t poisoned?” You ask, suspicious. He couldn’t be this nice to you for no reason, there has to be a catch. Kei doesn’t even look up at you as he responds, “If I had that, I wouldn’t waste it on you, that’s for sure.” You click your tongue, and with half hearted annoyed look, you go and take a sip from your tea. Surprisingly, Kei did know how to make some good tea. You felt the it go down smoothly, warming you from the inside out. And the strawberry short cake wasn’t at all bad either; a little sweet for your taste, but you’ll take it.

The two of you ate in silence, the tension getting to be too much for you until you decide to break it. You had decided that minute that things needed to change. You couldn’t take this anymore. You needed the truth. “I don’t understand you.” You can’t manage to look at him, poking at the rest of your cake, but you know he’s looking at you.

“You go from not wanting to talk to me, to annoying the hell out of me, to ignoring me again and now this. I just don’t get it. What do you what from me? I need to know, because if things keep going on like this, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” A beat of silence follows your speech.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

The evenness of his voice makes a piece of your heart break. You didn’t know he had the power to destroy you with a simple sentence until he just did. You could tell that you had somewhat of a deranged smile plastered on your face. Something akin to disbelief and pain. You take a deep and shaky breath in. “You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t want anything from me’, you sure do go the extra mile to include yourself a whole lot in my life.” Kei remains silent, and for some reason that sets you off even more.

You’ve come to realize that you despise when he does that. That you’d much rather have him bite back or snarl an insult at you, when just a month ago you would’ve given anything to have him rendered mute.

Maybe its because it gives an easy reason to hate him. But right now, he’s given you more than enough.

“So, if you don’t want anything from me, why do you go so out of your way to bother me? Make me so angry I want to rip your head off? Make fun of anything that has to do with me? Stare at me every time you get a chance?” You’ve stood up now, throwing the blanket off you in the process, voice getting louder with ever question. You were no longer cold; Instead, overheating with frustration. But you weren’t even close to be done. You chuckle humorlessly.

Kei just sits and listens to you, face blank and unable to read. The look causes tears to well in your eyes, but you will them with all your life to not let them drop.

You don’t even have the time to try and stop the next words that come out of your mouth.

“Why did you kiss me, if you don’t want anything from me?” You hear your voice crack at the last question. You were beyond furious at this point, and your rage had caused you the throw out the real reason you were upset. The real reason behind all of it. The reason you had tried to hide so badly from yourself.

When Kei had kissed you, you liked it. And you were devasted that he didn’t.

You liked Tsukishima Kei. You liked that sarcastic asshole. And there was nothing good about it. At the epiphany, you can’t stop the slightly strained laughs that escape you.

What a ridiculous situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

“I should’ve left the night it happened right? I should’ve known that since you hate me with your entire existence, of course you’d choose the one thing that would cause me the most emotional turmoil. Well congratulations! I no longer want anything to do with you! You’ve won, okay?! You’ve gotten me to fall for you, and subsequentially ruin me!” You laugh at little more, not even realizing the tears falling down your face.

There’s a long silence between you two, only being filled with your heavy breaths. You wait a couple seconds for a response, an apology (yeah right), simply anything. But he stays silent, not even giving you the courtesy of looking you in the eye.

At the feeling of tears warming your cheeks, you turn and attempt to go to your room, mortified that your literal worst nightmare is occurring.

When you for the umpteenth time today feel a hand grab at your wrist, pulling you with a force. A sense of urgency.

You turn to him to immediately feel his lips on yours. Your eyes widen in surprise. With a sense of Déjà vu, you feel your entire body freeze.

His lips are forceful on yours, like he’s putting every emotion he’s ever felt into that kiss. It was quite literally searing, as if you feel your lips burn. And despite every rational part of your mind screaming at you to slap him, bite him, kick him in the balls or any other action that would result in him backing away from you…

You find yourself kissing him back with an equal amount of ferocity. Even going as far as to forcefully deepen the kiss. On your terms, unlike the last time. You can’t stop the moan that enters his mouth when you feel his tongue rub on yours.

You him groan through the haziness. Whether in satisfaction or surprise, you’re not sure. But all you’re sure of, is that you could never get enough of that sound. Your fingers go to rub his neck, then travelling into the soft curls of his hair, tugging hard whenever you felt he wasn’t close enough. You feel his hands, the hands you’ve thought about for nights on end, going to wrap around your waist and under your shirt, lightly pressing into the small of your back, which causes a heavy shudder to go down the length of your spine. You could feel the pride ebbing of him in waves, to much he earns a rather harsh tug.

When you both pull back for air, a string of saliva following you both, you find his long but strong arms wrapped around your waist, and yours his neck, pulling each other closer. Silence is filled by both of your pants.

“Still want nothing to do with me?” He asks, foreheads still leaning on each other; Still so close you can feel is breath on your cheek. Only amplified by the tear streaks. You continue to close your eyes as you pull away further, cheeks heated and red, knowing full well that he’s got you right where he wanted.

“You… Are such an asshole.” You breathe out, yet still choosing to remain in his arms. He rolls his eyes. “And you’re a bitch.” His tone was so smug, like he had just won the lottery. You couldn’t help but threaten him with attempting to remove his hands from your waist, to which he applies strength to his hold, keeping you in his arms.

You’re almost scared at how your heart flutters at the action. You scoff, ignoring your feelings of dread at how easy he managed to get you back in his hold.

You were certain that this man would be the death of you. The thought brings a sort of clarity to you.

“Where do we go from here?” You ask, still slightly breathless. Kei only gives you an indifferent shrug.

“I know what I want to do.” He mumbles, taking his hands once again and sliding them under your shirt, feeling his calloused fingertips on your back. You immediately grab his wandering hands. He sighs at you stopping him, giving you that look of ‘what an inconvenience’ again.

Even in moments like these, he still manages to irritate you.

“You’ve done way too many things for that to be your choice tonight.” You say, only seriousness in your tone. You’ve acknowledged your feelings sure, but that doesn’t mean you’ll do what he wants when he’s screwed you over like this. You refuse to be used like that.

“You hurt me, Kei. In more ways than one. A simple kiss won’t fix anything. If you want us to be on better terms, you need to start by showing that you’re sorry.” Kei gives you look that you can’t decipher, before letting go of you to fix his glasses that were starting to slide down his face.

“What do you want me to do?” Honestly, you were taken aback by his abruptness. You didn’t expect him to agree so soon. You didn’t even know what to say.

“I’m not sure yet.” You reply honestly, and he gives you an annoyed gaze, to which you narrow your eyes. “That’s something you’ll need to figure out on your own, but you need to start with changing your attitude towards me.” To your surprise he takes in what you were telling him, and nods. Then immediately goes to leave the room. You sputter and jog after him.

“Where are you going?”

“To figure it out. I’ll be doing that for the rest of the night so make sure to tidy up the living room.” You hear his voice distantly, to which you turn to the living room, remembering the plates, cups and blanket that was now your responsibility.

“I can’t believe I like that asshole.” You grit to yourself, beginning the process of cleaning up.

~~ Bonus:

You finally finish cleaning up the living room, and retreat to your bedroom practically flopping on your bed. You realize that you were still in your school uniform, so you groaned as you got up to get dressed into for bed. When you go to your dresser trying to find something to sleep in, you find something that isn’t yours on top of it. It was a large black binder.

Curious, you pick it up and sit back down on your bed. You open it and find a small note at the beginning.

Show this to the team and I’ll kill you.

You flip through the first couple of pages. It was a photo album.

Tens and tens of photos with Kei as a child. The same child that makes your heart swell three sizes bigger. A lot of volleyball related photos, and a lot of ones with him and Akiteru. You flip through more and more, feeling the biggest smile on your face.

You didn’t go to sleep for a while, you wanted to commit each photograph to memory.

For what it’s worth, Tsukishima Kei did have hope. Whether he knows it or not.

omgggg you're the sweetest (T_T)♡

oh! can i request a fic about rivalry with kita? i'd love to see him fuming and stuff since he rarely mad about anything. by anything, i mean ANYTHING. and... i don't mind a pinch of nsfw in it btw (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ but if it's not necessary for the plot you can take that away, that's okay. thanks in advance ^^♡

(you don't have to rush, take your time writing it (*ゝω･*))

Thank you so much for the sweetest request!! ♡ I had so much fun exploring what it would take to actually get under Kita’s skinn heheheh

no smut just yet! but trust me—I’ve got some spicy ideas brewing for part two 👀

Thank you for reading lovely 🥰

--

The gym echoed with squeaking sneakers and shouted drills, the clash of balls against hardwood punctuated by the shrill calls of coaches on either end. Co-ed training camps were chaos on a good day. On this day, it was warfare—at least, it felt that way to Kita Shinsuke.

Across the net, you stood with your hands on your hips, eyes cool and sharp, as if you could predict every move his team made. And worse—you smirked when you were right.

“That’s the fourth time your middle’s fallen for the cross,” you called out across the net, voice far too casual for his taste. “You might wanna switch it up before he tears his ACL.”

Kita’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t respond. He rarely did. But he filed it away. Like he always did.

Osamu muttered beside him, “They’re good.”

Kita hummed in agreement. “Too chatty.”

You were, admittedly, talented. Strategic. A good captain. But the way you barked directions with a bite of sarcasm, the way you smirked when things went your way, the way you carried yourself with this insufferable looseness like volleyball wasn’t sacred—

It got under his skin.

And you knew it.

You took every opportunity to needle him. Subtle things. Walking just a little too close when switching drills. Offering sly suggestions to his players during breaks like you knew them better. Commenting on his rigidity with a grin that never met your eyes.

Today was only day three of the camp. And he was already counting down to the end.

Later that afternoon, the teams broke into a scrimmage. Mixed lineups, random assignments.

Unfortunately, you were on his side of the court.

“Wow,” you said, eyes scanning the rotation chart as you stepped into place beside him, “I didn’t think they’d actually put us together. Do you think they’re trying to test how long you can tolerate me?”

Kita didn’t even glance at you. “Keep your mind on the game.”

“Always do,” you chirped.

The first serve came, and to your credit, you didn’t miss a beat. Your timing was perfect. Your approach was clean. You called the ball clearly, landed sharply, and turned back with a smirk.

“What, no feedback?” you asked breathlessly. “Not even a little pointer?”

Kita stared at you, flat and unimpressed. “You were slightly late on your first step.”

You blinked. “Was not.”

He turned away. “Yes, you were.”

You scoffed. “Kita, if I was any more precise, I’d be a stopwatch.”

He didn’t reply.

You, of course, took that as a challenge.

Practice ended, finally, after a brutal hour. Kita dismissed his team with a bow and collected the stray balls with quiet efficiency. You lingered, sweat still clinging to your brow, hair pulled back, muscles humming with exertion.

You approached slowly, ball in hand, rolling it against your palm.

“You know,” you said mildly, “I can’t tell if you hate me or if that’s just your default personality.”

Kita didn’t look at you. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”

“Yup. I like the view.”

His jaw ticked. His shoulders squared just slightly, a subtle but unmistakable signal of irritation.

You came a step closer. “What is it about me, huh? The fact that I don’t shut up? That I challenge you? That I coach with instinct instead of a clipboard?”

“You coach with your ego,” he replied, finally turning toward you. His voice was sharp—colder than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t respect the game. You treat it like a stage for your mouth.”

You raised a brow, momentarily taken aback by the vehemence in his tone.

“And you treat it like a religion,” you said evenly, though the smirk had faded from your voice. “But not everyone worships like you, Kita.”

He stepped forward once, not quite in your space but close enough to make your breath hitch. His posture was tense now, fists loosely clenched at his sides, back straight like he was trying not to launch into a full tirade. His voice was low, deadly quiet.

“You think being loud makes you better. You think swagger makes up for gaps in discipline. But this—this isn’t your team. These aren’t your players. And I’m not going to stand by while you make a spectacle of the game I’ve spent years building.”

You stared at him.

For a moment, all your usual wit dried on your tongue. Your hands curled tighter around the volleyball in your grip. His jaw was set, the muscle twitching, and his brows were drawn low, eyes locked on yours with a kind of restrained heat you didn’t expect.

No sarcasm. No smirk. Just anger. Real, burning anger.

You hadn’t expected that.

“You’re mad,” you said finally, voice quieter.

“I’m focused.”

“No.” You took a step forward this time. “You’re mad.”

His nostrils flared. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

“And why is that?” you continued, cocking your head. “Because I’m not like you? Because I don’t worship your little routines? Or is it because someone finally rattled that polished little mask of yours?”

His mouth parted slightly, but he didn’t answer.

“Right,” you murmured, taking another step closer—close enough to see the veins in his neck standing taut, the slight tremble in his fingertips. “Because someone like you would never snap, right? You’re too composed. Too perfect.”

Kita didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

Because you were right. And he hated that.

The silence buzzed between you, thick and electric. And something shifted in the air—sharp, magnetic, inevitable.

“Say it,” you whispered. “Say you hate me.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, firm but not painful.

You sucked in a breath.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, voice low and strained. “I just don’t know how to stand you.”

And that was the moment.

The shift.

The crack in the dam.

Your fingers twitched. His hold tightened. And for one suspended heartbeat, it felt like the entire gym faded around you.

Then—

“Everyone outta the locker rooms!” a coach barked from the entrance.

Kita dropped your wrist like it burned. You took a full step back, breath sharp, eyes wide.

No words passed between you.

The look he gave you said everything.

He was absolutely going to snap.

And you were absolutely going to be the reason why.

Rivalry: Atsumu

It had been years of this.

Years of Atsumu Miya being an unrelenting, aggravating presence in your life.

From the moment you met, he had been insufferable. Smug, fiercely competitive, and persistently irksome, he thrived on pushing every button you had. Every interaction with him was a battle—whether it was a disagreement over training schedules, a critique of his technique, or a casual observation about his erratic setting. He never let anything slide, twisting every word into an argument, every comment into an opportunity to outmaneuver you.

The worst part? You never backed down.

If he provoked, you retaliated. If he smirked, you sneered. He could infuriate you faster than anyone else, and he knew it—and he reveled in it.

And now, in your third year as the Inarizaki team manager, you had mastered the art of tolerating Atsumu Miya—

Until tonight.

Tonight, he’d finally gone too far.

The entire team had long since caught on to your dynamic.

Atsumu didn’t merely annoy you—he made a sport out of it.

If you walked into practice? He was already waiting, arms crossed, a cocky grin stretching across his face as he prepared some quip guaranteed to get under your skin.

“Yer late, manager,” he’d say, despite the fact that you never were.

If you so much as tried to correct something? He’d smirk, feigning surprise. “Oh? Maybe I should just hand ya my setter position, huh?”

And the worst part? The others loved it.

Osamu, Futakuchi, and even Kita occasionally leaned back and observed your fights like a live-action drama, amused by how predictably you two clashed.

“Ya know, at this point, I think ya like the attention,” Atsumu teased one afternoon, casually tossing a volleyball between his hands. “Yer always gettin’ worked up over me.”

You scoffed, arms crossed. “Oh, please. The day I enjoy anything about you is the day hell freezes over.”

Futakuchi nudged Osamu. “Tension’s thick today.”

Osamu smirked. “Give it five minutes. They’ll be yellin’.”

And five minutes later, Atsumu had said exactly the right thing to set you off, and the shouting commenced.

Practice had gone as usual, with only a few sharp remarks exchanged between you and Atsumu before it was over. You were exhausted, your muscles aching from running errands for the team all day, your patience wearing thin. All you wanted was to head home, collapse into bed, and forget that Miya Atsumu existed for a few blessed hours.

The team packed up in the club room, their chatter filling the space as they slung their bags over their shoulders. You barely noticed that Atsumu wasn’t among them as they filed out, too focused on getting the final tasks done so you could lock up and leave.

But when you walked into the gym, your plans crumbled.

Atsumu was still there, alone, setting balls into the air with effortless precision. His expression was intense, brows drawn together in concentration, jaw tight, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The only sounds in the gym were the rhythmic thud of the volleyball meeting his hands and the slight squeak of his sneakers against the polished floor as he adjusted his stance.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. Of course. Of course he couldn’t just leave like a normal person.

His shirt clung to his body, damp with sweat, emphasizing the broad set of his shoulders and the way his forearms flexed every time he made contact with the ball. He moved with precision, power behind every motion, muscles tensing and releasing like a well-oiled machine. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good. Infuriatingly good.

But you didn’t care about that right now.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and sighed. "Seriously, Miya? Go home."

He barely looked at you before responding. "Suck my dick."

You scoffed. "You wish. Now pack up, or I’m locking you in here."

He ignored you, setting another perfect ball into the air. That was the last straw. Marching onto the court, you grabbed the nearest volleyball and chucked it at him. He caught it effortlessly, smirking.

"You gonna help, or just be a pain in my ass?" he taunted.

You turned on your heel and stormed toward the supply closet, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. The overhead light buzzed faintly as you stepped inside, the scent of disinfectant and old volleyballs filling your nose. Without hesitation, you grabbed a laundry basket full of towels and shoved it into Atsumu’s chest the moment you returned.

“You’re gonna help clean up tonight,” you said sharply, your voice edged with exhaustion and frustration.

Atsumu scoffed, letting the weight settle against his chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You stayed late to practice, and I have the keys to the gym. That means you’re packing up before I lock up for the night.”

Atsumu smirked, that lazy, infuriating smirk that made your blood boil. "But you're so much better at those kinds of things, ya know? We all have our strengths."

“Oh? And what's yours?”

He shrugged. “I score points.”

You wanted to strangle him. “I mean off the court, Miya. You brainless egomaniac.”

That smirk widened. "Damn, sweetheart, say it like ya mean it."

Your entire body tensed. If there was one thing—one thing—that set your blood boiling faster than anything, it was that nickname. The way he said it, like it was his own personal joke, a word meant to patronize, to needle at you in a way that no one else dared. It was never affectionate, never playful—not in the way others might say it. No, when Atsumu called you sweetheart, it was dripping with arrogance, a smirk wrapped around syllables meant to get under your skin.

And god, did it work.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, jaw tightening so hard it ached. "Don't. Call. Me. That."

His smirk only grew, as if he had been waiting for that exact reaction. "What? Don't like it? Thought ya might warm up to it by now."

"I'd rather set myself on fire."

Atsumu chuckled, slow and smug, like he'd already won this round. "Now that is dramatic."

You threw a towel at his face, and he caught it effortlessly, his smirk widening. "Temper, temper," he taunted, shaking his head like you were the one being unreasonable. "Y'know, if ya wanted me to get all sweaty cleanin' up, ya coulda just asked nicely." You only roll your eyes in disgust.

“Take those to the supply closet. And don’t start with your usual bullshit, just do what I say for once.”

Atsumu tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something sharp. “Bossy.”

You inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. The way he looked at you—like he thrived on how easily he could rile you up—made your skin prickle. “Miya, I swear to—”

“Fine, fine,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as he slung the towels over his shoulder. His smirk deepened as he eyed you, a flicker of amusement dancing behind those infuriatingly sharp eyes. "Must be exhausting bein’ so uptight all the time. Ya ever tried just... relaxin'? Oh, wait, guess that'd require ya to actually remove that stick from  yer ass."

Your blood boiled instantly, a sharp sting of irritation spreading through your chest. Exhaustion and frustration swirled together into something combustible, something that snapped your already frayed patience. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you fought the urge to throw something harder than a towel at his smug, insufferable face. Without thinking, you stomped past him, heading into the supply closet, letting out a frustrated breath as you grabbed another piece of equipment to throw at him if necessary.

"Maybe if your setting was as reliable as your big mouth, I wouldn’t have to waste my breath on you,” you spat, voice cold and cutting.

Atsumu went rigid. His smirk flattened into something unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, burning eyes—flashed with something dark, something livid.

In an instant, he was storming after you. Before you could react, he followed you into the supply closet, his movements sharp and full of barely restrained anger. The door slammed behind him, the echo bouncing off the walls.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" His voice was low, lethal, his usual teasing edge completely gone.

You whirled around, arms crossing over your chest. "You heard me, Miya. Maybe if you focused on actually being consistent instead of running your mouth, you wouldn't have to work overtime trying to convince people you're the best."

His nostrils flared, jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grinding. "You think I got this far by bein' inconsistent? By bein' a fuckin' joke?"

"I think you got this far because you talk so much shit, people actually start to believe it," you bit back. "But I'm not like the rest of your fangirls, Miya. Your act doesn’t work on me."

Atsumu let out a low, humorless laugh, stepping closer. Too close. "Ya really think you know me, huh?" His voice was dangerous now, quiet and sharp like a blade pressed just beneath your skin. "Yer full of shit."

"And you're full of yourself."

The air was thick, charged with something volatile, something unstable. His hands were curled into fists, his breath coming in sharp exhales. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his fury rolling off in waves.

You scoffed in disgust, shaking your head as a bitter smirk pulled at your lips. "You're pathetic."

Atsumu’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening dangerously, but you were already turning away, reaching for the door handle to get as far away from him as possible.

Then your stomach dropped.

The knob refused to turn.

Atsumu frowned. "The hell are ya doin’?"

You twisted the knob again, harder. Still nothing.

Your throat went dry. "The door is locked."

Atsumu snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure it is." He reached out, confidently twisting the handle—

Nothing.

Atsumu frowned, twisting harder. Still nothing.

Silence.

Then, without missing a beat—

“Yeah, like I didn’t try that,” you deadpanned.

Atsumu’s scowl deepened, his frustration crackling in the air between you. "You’ve gotta be fuckin' kidding me. This is all your fault."

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. "Oh, right, because I totally planned to lock myself in a closet with you of all people."

"Yer mouth sure makes it sound like ya did." His voice was low, edged with something sharp. "Maybe ya just wanted me all to yourself."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Please. If I wanted something all to myself, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you."

Atsumu took a step closer, his presence closing in on you like a storm. "Keep talkin’, princess. Let’s see if ya can keep that smart mouth runnin’ when we’re stuck in here all night."

"Oh, fuck you, Miya," you snapped, stepping forward to meet his glare head-on. "You are without a doubt the most infuriating, self-obsessed asshole I have ever met."

His lips curled into a sneer. "And you’re the most uptight, high-strung pain in the ass I’ve ever met."

"Oh yeah? Well, at least I don’t have to spend every waking second convincing everyone I’m the best. News flash—if you actually were, you wouldn’t have to try so hard."

His eyes darkened, his entire body stiffening at your words. "You wanna talk about trying too hard? How ‘bout ya take a fuckin’ look in the mirror? Always actin’ like ya hate me, but yer always up in my business. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ya like this."

You scoffed, tilting your head in disbelief. "God, you’re delusional."

"And you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite." He was even closer now, his breath hot, his voice tight with rage. "You always act like ya can’t stand me, but here ya are, pushin’ up against me like ya wanna make this somethin’ else."

The worst part?

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Your chests were nearly brushing, your ragged breaths intermingling. Your skin was burning, your hands clenched at your sides, every inch of you wound too tight. The anger, the frustration, the way he always got under your skin—it was all-consuming.

And then, suddenly, neither of you were talking anymore.

Atsumu’s mouth was on yours before you could process it, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was just as furious as your fights. You yanked him down by the collar, fingers tangling into the damp fabric of his shirt, pulling him in hard enough to hurt. He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, pressing you back against the closet shelves as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was years of pent-up aggression and frustration, a battle neither of you wanted to win. Teeth clashed, hands grabbed, nails dug into skin. The heat between you was unbearable, suffocating, and neither of you had the willpower to pull away.

Atsumu nipped at your bottom lip, his breath hot against your mouth as he muttered, "Knew ya wanted me."

Shut up, Miya." You bit back.

And then you kissed him again, drowning out whatever cocky response he had left.

Atsumu wasn’t satisfied with just kissing you. His frustration, his irritation, his hunger bled into every movement as he pushed forward, backing you up until your spine hit the cold surface of the supply closet door. The impact barely registered, not when his hands were gripping at your waist, fingers digging into your sides like he was trying to mark you, claim some kind of dominance even here.

You gasped against his mouth, the moment of vulnerability only spurring him on. His lips left yours for half a second—just long enough for him to smirk. “Told ya,” he murmured, voice husky, breath hot against your skin. “You just needed me to shut ya up properly.”

You barely had time to react before he was kissing you again, harder, more desperate. Your hands found their way to his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck and pulling—a move that ripped a deep, guttural groan from his throat. The sound shot straight down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach, making your breath hitch.

His hands slid down, gripping the backs of your thighs, and without a second of hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his waist. He held you effortlessly, as if supporting your weight meant nothing to him. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, making you shudder. He lingered there, his teeth scraping before his mouth latched onto your skin with deliberate pressure. You barely registered the sensation, too caught up in the heat of the moment, too focused on the way his body pressed against yours. But his smirk against your neck said otherwise—like he knew exactly what he was doing, leaving his mark before trailing his lips back to yours.

The warmth of his touch burned through the thin fabric of your clothes, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made your head spin. His hands started to wander, moving up beneath your shirt, his touch searing—

And then the door burst open.

Atsumu lost his balance. With a startled grunt, he stumbled forward, dragging you with him as you both spilled out of the closet and onto the hard gym floor.

“What the hell?!”

You barely had time to register the situation before a voice rang out above you.

“The fuck are you two doin’ in here?”

Your eyes shot up to see the janitor, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, face twisted in the most unimpressed expression you had ever seen.

Silence.

Neither you nor Atsumu moved. You were still on top of him, his hands still on your thighs, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders. The position was beyond compromising.

The janitor raised an eyebrow. “I ain’t cleanin’ up after this.”

Atsumu let out a breathless chuckle beneath you, his smirk returning full force. “Guess we got caught, huh, sweetheart?”You shoved him off you so hard he hit the floor with a thud, scrambling to your feet, face burning with embarrassment. “Shut up, Miya!”