I Just Wrote This - Blog Posts

Dry humping meian shugo 😈

Literally say less

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Anon Asks: Meian (NSFW)

He was supposed to be working.

Head down, glasses sliding low on his nose, fingers tapping against the keyboard with focused precision. The glow from his laptop screen bathed him in blue light, casting shadows over the sharp line of his jaw, the furrow of his brow. His hair was slightly tousled from running his hands through it, tension in his shoulders from hours of sitting still. He hadn't said a word in over an hour, only the steady clack of his keys filling the quiet room.

And you couldn’t stop staring.

You’d tried to behave. Really, you had. But every time he shifted in his seat or exhaled through his nose in that sharp, focused way, it made heat curl low in your belly. You watched the way the muscles in his arms flexed with every movement, how his thigh bounced occasionally under the desk, thick and strong where it stretched the fabric of his joggers.

He was so close. So focused. So completely unaware of how much you were squirming on the couch across from him.

You padded over quietly, slipping behind him with a slow smile.

“Baby,” you whispered, hands gently landing on his shoulders.

He didn’t look away from the screen. “Working, sweetheart.”

You hummed, bending down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck. “Thought I could help you relax.”

“You relaxing usually ends with me not getting anything done,” he muttered, though his voice had already dipped a little lower.

“Then you better finish fast,” you teased, sliding your hands down his chest.

Before he could argue, you climbed into his lap, straddling one of his thighs. You didn’t straddle him fully—just perched on the broad muscle of one leg, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck. His fingers paused above the keyboard as your weight settled over him.

“You're distracting,” he said flatly, but his hands found your waist anyway.

You leaned in and kissed him—soft and slow at first, lips brushing his with teasing patience until he tilted his head and deepened it. His tongue slid along yours, slow and claiming. You whined into the kiss, rocking your hips forward just slightly, testing.

The pressure was perfect.

Your thin shorts did nothing to hide how wet you already were. You could feel the fabric of his joggers rough against you in the best way, feel the strength in his leg as it tensed under your movement.

You rolled your hips again. His hands tightened on your waist.

“That needy, huh?” he murmured, breath hot against your lips.

You nodded, eyes glassy. “Please, Shugo.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Then—

“Ride it. Go ahead. Take what you need.”

Your breath caught.

You started moving, slow at first, dragging your core along the firm curve of his thigh. The pressure, the heat, the drag of your slick fabric against the muscle he kept deliberately flexing—it sent shivers shooting up your spine. Meian tensed his thigh even harder, locking it in place, and you nearly cried out.

“There you go,” he muttered, voice like gravel. “You feel that? All for you, baby.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you rocked harder, faster, the friction building with every shift of your hips. You couldn't stop the sounds leaving your throat—little whimpers and gasps, punctuated by desperate moans every time he tensed his leg and gave you just a little more.

“Fuck,” you gasped, forehead pressing against his. “I’m gonna—Shugo, I’m…”

“Then do it,” he growled. “Make a mess on my thigh. Let me feel how much you want it.”

It snapped something in you.

You came with a high, breathy cry, body seizing up as pleasure exploded through your nerves. You rode it out, grinding helplessly through the aftershocks, fingers clutching at his shirt like you were afraid to let go.

He held you there, solid and unmoving, breathing heavy as he watched you fall apart.

But even as your body sagged against him, spent and shaking, you felt the tension still coiled in his muscles.

You felt the hard line of him pressing into your hip.

And then his hands were gripping your ass, pulling you against him with a growl.

“You think we’re done?” he muttered, low and dark.

He stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as your legs wrapped weakly around his waist.

“I let you come once. That was me being patient,” he said, mouth brushing your ear. “Now it's my turn.”

Rivalry: Iwaizumi

You didn’t knock.

The door slammed open against the wall with a thud, reverberating through the quiet of the gym offices as you stepped in like a storm on legs. Iwaizumi barely looked up from his tablet, but the hard flicker of his eyes said everything.

“You want to tell me what the hell this is?” You threw the clipboard down onto his desk—hard enough that the pens rattled.

He set the tablet down slowly, deliberately, like he was resisting the urge to match your energy. “You’ll have to be more specific. I get a lot of aggressive paperwork these days.”

You narrowed your eyes. “The new conditioning plan. The one that overemphasizes lower-body strength for half the defensive line—including Yaku, who, if you remember, has two prior knee injuries and doesn’t need another one.”

“It’s a generalized strength cycle,” he said, already starting to sound annoyed. “And Yaku’s cleared. His knees aren’t glass.”

You leaned forward, voice clipped. “And he’s cleared with a note that says he needs flexibility emphasis. You’re pushing reps on a recovering joint. That’s not generalized, that’s reckless.”

His jaw ticked. “I’m not pushing anything he can’t handle. He’s an elite athlete, not a porcelain doll.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, pacing a few steps across the room. “Jesus, Hajime, sometimes I think you forget you’re not just coaching weight numbers—you’re managing people. People with injuries, with thresholds. If he gets benched because you want him to hit a personal best on a squat—”

“—Then that’s on me,” Iwaizumi cut in, standing now, matching your gaze, his voice sharp. “Not on you.”

You turned slowly, cold fury in your expression. “You’re damn right it won’t be on me. Because I’m not signing off on that.”

He stepped around the desk. “You don’t get to unilaterally veto a team decision.”

“You don’t get to override medical flags like you’re some goddamn authority on joint physiology.” You jabbed a finger into his chest. “Your job is to keep them strong. Mine is to keep them playing. If they’re hurt, no one wins.”

The tension hung thick between you both, barely bridled, mouths drawn tight like you were both holding back everything you really wanted to say.

“God, you’re infuriating,” he muttered under his breath.

“Right back at you.”

You turned sharply, storming to the door. You needed air. You needed to not strangle a nationally-ranked strength coach in the middle of an Olympic facility.

But when you threw the door open, two bodies fell inward with a crash.

Bokuto hit the ground first, limbs flailing like he’d just been knocked out of a tree. Atsumu came next, barely catching himself on the wall, eyes wide as he winced dramatically.

“Ow—shit—”

“Uh… hi?” Bokuto grinned sheepishly from the floor. “We were just… stretching.”

You stared down at them, blinking once. Then twice.

“Stretching,” you repeated flatly.

“In the hallway,” Atsumu added quickly, brushing himself off. “Gotta stay limber, you would know Doc.”

Your glare could’ve turned them to ash.

Behind you, Iwaizumi groaned under his breath.

“I’m going to kill both of you,” you muttered.

“No need!” Bokuto said, already scrambling back. “We were just leaving! Right, ’Tsumu?”

“Yup. Definitely not eavesdropping. Totally respect privacy.”

They both darted off like startled dogs, leaving behind only the faint sound of snickering down the hall.

You didn’t say another word. You just stepped out, slammed the door behind you, and willed your heart to stop pounding through your ribs.

—

The door had barely stopped vibrating when Iwaizumi let out a slow, audible sigh. He turned back to his desk, ran a hand through his hair, and stared blankly at the clipboard you’d left behind like it was personally mocking him.

God, you were impossible.

And you were right.

He wasn’t about to admit that—not to your face, not in front of a pair of eavesdropping idiots, and definitely not when your voice still echoed in his head like a challenge he hadn’t yet figured out how to win.

“Yo, Iwa.”

Iwaizumi turned, slowly, to see Atsumu leaning against the gym wall with all the subtlety of a spotlight. Bokuto was standing beside him, whispering something that earned him a smack on the arm.

“What,” Iwaizumi snapped. Not a question. A warning.

Atsumu raised his hands innocently. “Nothin’. Just, uh… wonderin’ if we’re still runnin’ through defensive drills. Or if you need a minute to, y’know, recover.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Bokuto grinned, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “’Cause that sounded brutal. Like, she murdered you with words.”

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes. “Do either of you want to do ten extra sets of burpees?”

“Shutting up!” Atsumu said quickly, throwing a thumbs-up before jogging off toward the court.

Bokuto lingered a second longer. “Hey,”

Iwaizumi looked up again.

“She’s not wrong. Yaku’s been wincing during cooldowns.”

Then he jogged off too, leaving Iwaizumi alone with nothing but the echo of your voice and the weight of the truth.

He grunted under his breath, shaking his head as he walked toward the training area, jaw tight. His athletes were waiting. The whistle was in his hand. He’d deal with you later.

But even as he barked out the next drill set, his mind drifted back to the fire in your voice, the way you jabbed a finger into his chest like you weren’t afraid of anything—not even him.

And for some goddamn reason, that wasn’t just infuriating.

It was distracting.

Worse: it was getting harder to ignore.

Unrequited Love: Oikawa

You’d known Oikawa for as long as you could remember. From messy sandbox battles to after-school practices that went late into the evening, he’d always been there—your first friend, your longest friend. The three of you—Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and you—had always been a unit, bound by years of shared childhood, inside jokes, and more than a few arguments.

But right now? Right now, Oikawa was testing every ounce of your patience.

“Hajime said you’ve been holed up in here for hours,” you said as you shoved open his bedroom door without knocking. “What’s your excuse this time?”

Oikawa groaned from the depths of his bed, a mess of blankets and pillows hiding all but the top of his ruffled hair. His room was a disaster zone: clothes scattered everywhere, an abandoned volleyball rolling lazily near the desk, and the faint smell of coffee from the cup Hajime must’ve left here earlier.

“Go away,” Oikawa muttered, voice muffled by his pillow.

“No,” you said firmly, kicking the door shut behind you. “I’m not letting you sulk forever. What happened?”

He rolled onto his back, his face pale and his eyes a little red. “She broke up with me,” he muttered, his voice cracking just enough to make you wince. “She said I was too focused on volleyball. That I didn’t care enough about her.”

Your heart squeezed. You’d seen the writing on the wall. Oikawa was intense about volleyball—obsessed, really. It was one of the things you admired about him, even when it frustrated you. But it was hard to hear him like this, even harder to know that he’d never think about you the way he thought about her.

You crossed your arms, steeling yourself. “Well, she’s not wrong,” you said, your tone blunt. “You’ve got a one-track mind, Tooru. Volleyball this, volleyball that. What did you think would happen?”

His face scrunched up in annoyance, and he reached out to grab a pillow, lobbing it weakly in your direction. “Gee, thanks for the support.”

You dodged it easily, smiling despite yourself. “I’m serious, Tooru. You’ve got to figure this out, or you’re going to keep pushing people away.”

He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You sound like Iwa-chan.”

“Maybe that’s because Hajime and I are the only ones stubborn enough to stick around while you throw yourself headfirst into everything,” you shot back, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Do you even realize how much we’ve put up with over the years?”

He peeked at you from under his arm, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You guys are too stubborn to leave me.”

“Damn right we are,” you said, reaching out to flick his forehead. “But don’t push your luck.”

Silence fell between you, the tension lifting slightly. You leaned back, resting on your hands as you studied him. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and he looked younger somehow, like the kid you used to climb trees with instead of the volleyball star he was now.

“Come on,” you said eventually, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off your pants. “The team’s going out. You can’t stay in here forever.”

“I don’t feel like it,” he muttered, sitting up slowly.

“Tough.” You grabbed his wrist and tugged, ignoring his protests. “Go shower, change, and join us. I’ll wait in the living room to make sure you don’t crawl back into bed.”

He sighed, dragging his feet as he shuffled toward his dresser. “You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re so whiny,” you shot back, grinning. “Go!”

Just as you turned to leave, his voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You glanced back, raising an eyebrow. He stood there, clothes in hand, his expression softer than usual.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re a good friend.”

The words hit harder than they should have, settling like a stone in your chest. But you forced a smile, pushing the ache down where it belonged.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice steady.

You closed the door behind you, leaning against it for just a moment.

Being his friend was enough, you told yourself.

It had to be.

Husbandry: Miya Atsumu

Atsumu had absolutely no qualms with his life at the moment. In fear of jinxing it, he could say it was damn near perfect. He had accomplished his professional dream, being on Japan's Olympic Volleyball team, alongside teammates who have known and played with almost half his life. The people he considered to be the highest of the high. To make things better, he had you by his side, the greatest gift he's ever gotten (He'd tell you but you'd laugh at him for being too cheesy). You two had quite the blissful marriage, and with finding out a few weeks ago that you were pregnant with twins, he couldn't be happier with you.

Atsumu had been checking his hair out in the bathroom, prepping it for a luncheon he, and subsequently you, were invited to by the Japan Volleyball Association.

"Fuck!"

Atsumu hears you shriek out of frustration from the other room. He jumps almost immediately, rushing in to see what was causing you alarm. Whipping around the door frame, arms up to defend his wife, his adrenaline dissipates as he finds you in front of your vanity mirror struggling to zip up what was your favourite dress, but has recently become your most hated. Your bump stretched the dress, making it hard for the ends to come around let alone the zipper. Your face is red with effort, and with a lot of emotion swirling in your eyes. "Hey, hey, you okay?" He calls out your name softly, which usually made you calmer, but in this mood, your temper only flared. So of course, you begin to cry. "No, I'm not okay! I wanted to wear this dress and it doesn't fit! Nothing fits me, and I've gotten fat!" You break, spilling your guts as well as your tears, letting the tension break away from you. Immediately, Astumu is at your side, hugging you and allowing you to bury your face in his chest. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, trying to get you to calm down. "Babe, who on earth said you're fat? You're pregnant." He gave you a squeeze, talking gently in your ear, but you shook your head. "But I got so big so fast!" You were whining now, and while Atsumu knew you were genuinely upset, he couldn't help but smile. Still, he gave you a reassuring kiss on your head. "Well yeah, there's two of em' in there." His hands went from your back to your swollen stomach, "They need room to grow." And you groan, being dramatic. "But what if at the party they think I'm fat?" You ramble, clutching Atsumu's steamed shirt. Your husband stutters, trying to think of the right answer. "I'll... Make sure to let everyone know we're pregnant?" "What?! I don't want people to know we're doing it!" Atsumu gives you a look of pure confusion. Atsumu blinked at you, his lips slightly parted in disbelief. "Sweetheart," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, "you do know that's how babies happen, right? I mean, it ain't exactly a secret how we got here."

You groaned, your cheeks heating up. "I know that! But still, I don’t want them thinking about it. It's embarrassing!"

He couldn't help it—he laughed. A real, loud, genuine laugh that shook his shoulders and made his head tilt back. His amusement was contagious, and despite your earlier frustration, you felt your lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

"You’re somethin’ else, you know that?" Atsumu said, grinning as he wiped the corner of his eye. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head again, his hands gently squeezing your waist. "But if you don’t want people thinking about it, fine. I won’t say a word. But listen here—if anyone tries to say somethin' stupid about you tonight, I’ll let 'em know exactly how proud I am of you. No one messes with my wife."

You sniffled, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. "You promise?"

"Cross my heart, darlin’." He tilted your chin up with his thumb, meeting your watery gaze. "And for the record, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t you dare let that dress or anyone at that party tell you otherwise. Got it?"

"But what if—"

"No 'what ifs.'" Atsumu cut you off gently but firmly, resting his forehead against yours. "You’re not just my wife; you’re also the woman growin’ two babies, and if that ain’t somethin’ amazing, I dunno what is. So wear somethin’ that makes you feel comfy, and we’ll go in there and show everyone how perfect ya are—bump, dress, and all."

You sighed, leaning into him. "You always know what to say, don’t you?"

He smirked. "Nah, sometimes I wing it and hope for the best. But I’m glad this worked."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension finally easing from your body. Atsumu, satisfied with your soft giggle, gave you another quick kiss before pulling back and gently guiding you to sit down on the bed.

"Stay put. I’ll pick you somethin’ else," he said, already heading to the closet.

"Wait, you’re picking my outfit?" You raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. "Trust me, babe. I got this."

You weren’t entirely sure you did trust him, but the way he moved so determinedly between your closet and the mirror made you feel a little lighter. Besides, how could you not feel cared for when your husband was doing everything in his power to make sure you felt confident and loved?

Minutes later, Atsumu returned holding a simple but elegant dress you hadn’t worn in years. It was loose enough to accommodate your bump but still flattering in all the right ways. "Try this," he said, holding it up proudly.

You stood and slipped it on, and to your surprise, it fit perfectly. When you turned to face the mirror, Atsumu’s reflection was beaming behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"See? Told ya I got good taste," he said, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Thanks, 'Tsumu."

"Anytime," he murmured, his voice soft and full of love.

As you both got ready to leave for the luncheon, Atsumu leaned in one last time, his hand resting protectively over your belly. "Y’know," he whispered, "they’re real lucky to have you as their mom."

You smiled, your earlier worries completely forgotten. "And they’re lucky to have you as their dad."

With that, you headed out together, feeling lighter than you had all day.

Husbandry: Iwaizumi

It was the dead of night. Your shared bedroom bathed in the night, light speckling from the nightlife in Tokyo. It was perfectly peaceful, and ever since you had found out you were pregnant with Hajime's child, was the perfect condition for you to have a restful sleep. The temperature exactly how you wanted it, the right amount of blanket, and of course, your sleeping husband's chest to rest your head. And yet, you lay wide awake.

You sigh, turning the other way, hoping it would magically put you to sleep. It didn't. All you could focus on was your stomach eating itself in hunger. You hadn't expected your appetite to increase this much so fast, but instead of eating for two you, it was more like a small villiage. You curse yourself, giving into temptation of the beast in your stomach and move to get up. "Hm? Where are you going?" Your husband's voice is rough with sleep as he squints at you. You look at him somewhat sheepily before whispering back, "I'm just getting something to eat, go back to sleep" With a kiss to his forehead. You, thinking that would be all, are shocked when you still feel his hand pulling you back. "Hold on." He grunts as he also moves to get out of bed. You're quick to stop him, "Oh, no you don't have to-"

"Can I not feed my wife and kid?" He asks gently in your ear, giving you a kiss on the side of the head before taking you to the kitchen, heart fluttering in your chest so hard you could feel it.