Nishinoya Yū - Blog Posts

i die a little bit inside when i realise they never do this again

bf!noya texts!

cw: (maybe) ooc, swearing, mentions of mpreg (not really)

a/n

first haikyuu thing

i love nishinoya sm there's barely any content for him so sad like my baby

when the quality decreases mid text message bc tumblr won't let me upload 10+ images on mobile so i have to make it got through my computer but my computer crunches the quality so badly

ooc?

i got the orange thing image scrolling on amazon for nishinoya plushes

"that's so nishinoya" i say as i add the image to my smau

nishinoya left the door open as he went to grab smth outside and when he came back inside the snake was there

the snake was lowkey chill

noya was screaming bad

it eventually got tired of his screaming and just left

good job nishinoya!

main m.list

The Claw (Nishinoya x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Claw machines are unfair, and your boyfriend is seriously impatient. You see where this is going, right?

A/N: Just another imagine I got to write thanks to this prompt by @otpdisaster​. Seriously, if you ever get writer’s block, go check them out, they’re a godsend. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 914

        Buzz buzz.

        The call scared you out of your homework induced trance. After a certain point, you knew you had to give up on zoning out while glaring at the laptop screen. With a sigh, you snatched up your phone and answered. 

        “Hello?”

        “YN!” There’s a muffled screeching in the background of the call that sounds suspiciously like your name. 

        “Tanaka? What’s going on?”

        “You need to come-” his voice breaks away in a chuckle. “You need to come to the mall right now!”

        “Umm, why?”

        “Just come!” The noises in the background become louder and more frantic. “And bring butter!”

        “Why do I-” the call ends before you can ask what the hell is going on, and why a dairy product seems to be the solution to whatever mess your boyfriend’s best friend has gotten into. 

        “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you mumble under your breath, still staring at your phone with wide eyes. Well, it’s better than doing homework on a Saturday. With a shrug, you grab your jacket and your keys, getting ready to drive to the disaster zone. 

                                ~~~

        It’s not much, but it's the best you could find on such short notice, and with such little spare change in your pocket. Walking into the mall with a tub of ‘I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter’ held in your grasp, you anxiously search for the bald volleyball player. 

        “Ooh, there he is!” Your eyes catch on his signature buzz cut and you make a beeline for him. “Tanaka! Hey!”

        The arcade he stands in is dim with neon green lights flashing from the ceiling like a disco. Children shout excitedly and button-mash on the machines like no tomorrow while you shoulder through a crowd of people to grab his arm. 

        “Hey!” You’re barely audible over the sounds of tickets printing and Pac-Man chomping, so you raise your voice to a shout. “Why did you need this?” You hold up the tub in front of his face and he can only guffaw at the sight of you.

        “Oh hey YN! I’m so glad you could make it!” He snickers once more before stepping away from the claw machine he had been standing in front of. “Noya, look who’s here!”

        “Fuck you, man!” Your boyfriend, who had been hidden by the taller stature of Tanaka, is seated on the floor, one arm lodged up the prize door of the machine while the other flips off his friend. 

        The bald man only laughs harder, pressing an arm against his stomach while howls. You, on the other hand, can only gape at the sight.

        “Yuu, what are you doing?!” He rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. 

        “I wanted to get you the little stuffed cat,” he points at the toy with the hand wedged in the machine, fingers just barely visible inside the glass. “But this stupid machine,” he smacks the side of it with a sneer, “totally cheated me!”

        The sentiment made your heart flutter, but the sight made you giggle and avoid eye contact. 

        “Hey!”

        “I’m sorry! It’s just,” you gesture at his predicament, “you know… fucking hilarious!” You can’t hold it in any longer as you join Tanaka in busting a gut while Nishinoya miserably slumps onto the arcade floor. 

        “You guys suck.” You both die laughing at his grumble, holding onto each other for support just in case someone topples over. 

        It doesn’t take long before you get spotted.

        “Excuse me!” It’s a young employee of the arcade, and he looks just about done with all of you from the get-go. “Kid, I’m gonna have to ask you to remove your hand from the machine.” 

        “I’m older than you!” Nishinoya kicks his legs against the ground indignantly and you have to bite your lip to contain yourself. “Plus,” he purses his lips, “I’m stuck.”

        The employee sighs and smacks his palm against his forehead. “I’ll go get the butter.”

        “Oh, no need,” you hold up your grocery store purchase like a prized possession, “I already got some.” The younger man quirks his brow at you before accepting the item and whipping out a handy butter knife from his back pocket. You and Tanaka both gawk and glance at each other at the sight of his preparedness. 

        “Every Goddamn day,” he mutters before getting to work. 

        While Nishinoya’s situation is dealt with, you leave the scene with a promise that you’ll be back to Tanaka. About thirty minutes later, your boyfriend is free as a bird and you pop up in front of him with a gift.

        “Here,” you hand him a stuffed cat with a victorious smirk. Amazement overcomes his features and his jaw drops at the gift. He wiggles excitedly and captures you in a hug, but his appreciation of your present doesn’t last long.

        “Wait,” he pulls away and the overjoyed grin falls from his face. “How did you get this?!” His eyes narrow with suspicion while he observes the toy from all angles like it was a fake.

        “I won it,” you announce proudly.

        “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” 

        If only he knew you were now out forty bucks.

Bad Sleeping Habits (Nishinoya x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: You and Nishinoya have some pretty weird sleeping habits. 

A/N: Just some little shorts for my favorite boy bc he’s the best! My god, if you want to love life, please search up the weirdest things people have said in their sleep. You will die laughing. Anyways, please enjoy!

Word count: 1068

        “DON'T FORGET THE APPLES!” You flinch out of your sleep to find your boyfriend sitting straight up in bed, eyes still closed.

       “Yuu, what the hell’s-”

       “GODDAMN GOPHERS… ate my… fucking carrots.” He flops back down onto the bed, letting out a loud snore as the mattress shakes from his fall. You lie beside him, eyes still open wide with fear.

       “What the fuck was that?” you whisper to yourself, scratching the side of your head and watching Nishinoya warily. After he stays silent for a while, aside from a couple snores similar to a honking semi, you slowly close your eyes once more and cuddle back into his side, smiling when his arms instinctively wrap around you.

                               ~~~

       “Pizza.” Nishinoya’s eyes blink open and quickly adjust to the dark bedroom.

       “Babe?”

       “Pizza babies,” you mumble beside him, worming your way out of bed and blindly trudging out of the room with unopened eyes. 

       “YN?” Nishinoya huffs before clambering out of bed and following your sleep-walking path. “What are you doing?” 

       “SHHH!” you harshly hiss against your finger. “Don’t blow our cover!” Your voice is slow and mumbled, and you are visibly unconscious during your actions. Nishinoya covers his mouth and snickers while you stumble into the kitchen, hands feeling blindly for something.

       “Hehe,” you giggle softly as you caress a watermelon before snatching it up and walking past your highly-confused boyfriend. He trails behind you as you step back into the bedroom and set it on the windowsill. 

       “YN, whatcha doin’ now?” He observes you as you pet the fruit like an animal.

       “The cat likes to see the sun rise,” you smile blissfully, stroking the melon once more before stumbling back to bed and passing out in the middle of the sheets. 

       Nishinoya glances at you, then at the watermelon, then at you again. He rubs his temples and grumbles, “We don’t even have a cat,” before nudging over your body and falling into the bed beside you. He’s too awake now, so he settles for watching you converse randomly in your slumber until his alarm goes off. 

       “I have clown school tomorrow.”

       “Oh really?” Nishinoya smiles at you.

       “Goddamn Tina’s always late though. Fuck Tina.” 

       Jesus, poor Tina, he thought.

                               ~~~

       The comparative sound of a loud, rapturous trumpet echoes throughout your room, disturbing you from your peaceful slumber. The stench that follows urges you to flee the bed and air out the blanket.

       “What the hell was that noise?” Nishinoya grumbles, opening one eye to look at you while you continue the necessary task. Your shirt is lifted over your nose to prevent further nasal contamination.

       “You ripped ass.”

       “Oh.” He nods before closing his eye and returning to sleep once more.

                               ~~~

       “Oooh, right there,” you whined. Nishinoya smiles in his sleep before turning and gazing at you.

       “Right there, huh?” he eggs you on with a smirk. You nod and whimper.

       “Mmhmm,” your voice is breathless. “Don’t move it.” His brow twitches in confusion.

       “You don’t want me to move? At all?” You sigh happily.

       “Yeah, keep it there.” Your nose scrunches up and you shiver while biting your lip. “Mmm, then put that one there.”

       “There’s another one?” Nishinoya’s eyes widen. Who the hell were you also picturing while you were dream-fucking him?

       “Yeah, there’s seven-hundred of them,” you scoff.

       Suddenly, Nishinoya doesn’t want to play this game anymore. “S-seven hundred?” he hesitantly gulps, “What’s wrong with just having the one?” He’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

       “If you’re gonna whine so much, then don’t help me build my fucking puzzle, Noya.”

                               ~~~

       “I don’t wanna die.” Your eyes fly open and you groan. It’s 4 am, what now? “I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all…” your boyfriend’s voice trails off and he begins to hum under his breath to a random tune. It was vaguely familiar to you, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. Then his tempo sped up and his hands began to pat the mattress rhythmically.

       “I see a little silhouetto of a man,” Nishinoya suddenly speaks up once more.

       “Bum, bum, bum, will you…” he slows down once more and you think his solo is finally finished, thank God.

       “THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTNING, VERY, VERY FRIGHTENING, ME!” You screech in terror at his sudden outburst and roll off the bed. The room grows silent while you stare at the ceiling on the cold, wooden floor. Then your boyfriend’s head pops into view after he groans, finally, finally awake.

       “YN?” he asks in a gruff tone. Although you want to revel in his husky morning voice like you normally would, you’re currently busy being totally pissed off at him.

       “Yes?”

       “What are you doing on the floor?” Your eye twitches at the question.

       “It looked lonely.”

       ~~~

       “Hey YN!” Tanaka waves at you while you enter their gym just as they finish practice. He jogs over to you and Nishinoya spots his actions in the distance. 

       “Tanaka, no!” Your boyfriend sprints towards you and his friend, but he’s not fast enough this time.

       “Did you know he screamed out your name in the middle of our overnight stay at the volleyball camp?!” Tanaka erupts into cackles and holds his stomach while you giggle along with him. Nishinoya tackles him to the ground before popping up in front of you and pointing an accusatory finger.

       “Don’t you dare laugh, we both do some weird-ass shit!” he warns, throwing a warning glare at Tanaka when he begins to howl happily at the information.

       “I’m not surprised, honestly,” you shrug, stepping closer to your boyfriend and holding his hand, “I’m more flattered than anything, I promise.” You give him a loving smile and Nishinoya returns the expression. 

       “I’m glad,” he draws you closer to you before whispering, “Now how about I help you return the favor.” You bite your lip and nod, following as well as you can while your energetic boyfriend hastily leads you home. 

       “OH YN!” A familiar voice mockingly moans in the distance. 

       “Shut up, Tanaka!”

HIIII ❤️❤️

Ive been reading around and oh my gosh i’ve been on your page for hours I LOVE THESE SMSMSMSM

I was wondering if you could make a nishinoya yuu x reader jealousy situation of sorts with some other character of your preference 😛

TYTYTY AND HAVE A GOOD DAY

HEYYY ❤️❤️

omggg THANK YOU you're literally the sweetest?? I’m so glad you've been enjoying the writing, that means everything 😭💕

I dug around my heart for this one hehehe enjoy <333

--

Jealously: Nishinoya

The Italian coast had a way of folding people into it.

The small harbor town of Portoscala wasn’t marked on most maps, but it was the kind of place that pulled you in by scent and sound alone—basil, brine, the sharp bark of espresso machines, the hiss of fishing lines cutting into saltwater. The houses stacked up the hillside in sun-washed pastels, terracotta roofs leaning toward one another like gossiping old women, and each morning bloomed in gold, dust, and noise.

Nishinoya had been living there for almost a year.

He liked the simplicity. The rhythm. He fished in the early morning when the water was still like glass and the mist clung to the backs of boats. He traded with the locals for olives, lemons, sun-warped tomatoes. He learned to speak enough Italian to argue over coffee but kept to himself when he could. That is—until the morning he saw the shop.

It was tucked quietly between buildings like it had grown there, ivy tumbling down the stucco in lazy loops. Not flashy. Just a wide, sun-fogged window and a crooked, hand-painted sign that read: “STAMPE DI PESCI – Art of the Sea.”

He might have passed it—would’ve passed it—if not for what he saw in the window.

A fish. Flattened. Inked. Pressed onto thick, textured paper with no signature, no flourish. Just the clean, solemn truth of its shape. It hit him like a wave. Not the artwork—though it was stunning—but the memory it dragged up from deep inside him.

Gyotaku.

He hadn’t seen it in years. Not since Japan. Not since he was a kid trailing behind his grandfather at the docks, watching weathered hands lift up fish with reverence. Not since he learned the words “This is how you honor the catch.”

He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight in.

The bell above the door jingled. The smell inside was rich and unfamiliar—sumi ink, sea salt, rosemary from the windowsill. The walls were lined with delicate scrolls, prints hung to dry on twine lines, their outlines crisp and real, as if they might still swim.

And there you were.

Barefoot, sleeves rolled to the elbows, brush in hand. You were crouched over a long table near the back, smoothing the belly of a halibut with fingers stained black at the tips. Your hair was tied up but loose in places, ink streaked across your cheek in a streak you hadn’t noticed yet.

You looked up at the sound of the bell, blinking once before smiling. “Can I help you?”

He opened his mouth, paused, then blurted, “Where’d you learn to do that?”

You stood, wiping your hands on your apron. “Gyotaku? From an artist in Hokkaido. I lived there for a few months.”

“I’m from Miyagi,” he said. “My jii-chan showed me once. Said it was… respectful.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s also beautiful.”

He stepped closer, eyes flicking over the work laid out on your table. They weren’t just prints. They were preserved motion. Like each fish had whispered something to you, and you'd sealed it in ink.

“I fish,” he said suddenly. “A lot.”

That made you laugh. “Lucky me.”

From that day forward, he brought you fish. Not for money. Not for trade. Just… because.

You specialized in gyotaku: honoring a fish's form by inking it and pressing it into rice paper. Some saw it as odd, but Nishinoya understood it immediately. "You're printing souls," he’d said once, eyes wide. "You're like... a fish priest." You laughed so hard you smudged your sleeve in ink.

Sometimes he brought tuna. Sometimes eels. Once, a marlin.

“Found this guy giving me attitude,” he said, setting the marlin down with a triumphant grin that practically gleamed in the sunlight. His shirt was half-untucked, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and there was a visible scrape down one forearm you suspected had a very fishy origin. “I spotted him darting through the current like he thought he could out-swim me. I told him, ‘No chance. You’re going straight to her studio.’ It was like he knew you’d been looking at other marlins.”

You squinted at him, folding your arms. “Wait. Are you saying you chased down a marlin because you were jealous of hypothetical fish?”

He looked at you with complete sincerity. “He was flashy. Had that whole deep-sea bad boy look. I wasn’t taking chances.”

You stared. “Yuu. Did you wrestle a marlin because you got jealous of how it looked?”

He shrugged, utterly unapologetic. “I mean, I won. So… not that weird, right?”

What he didn’t know was that your manager, back in Tokyo, had recently started sending rare fish your way for commissioned prints. They were oddities—deep-sea rarities with exotic fins and unusual shapes, packed in sleek crates with dry ice and impersonal paperwork. It was nothing personal. Just a business arrangement. Your agent insisted the pieces would catch the eye of collectors and museums. You weren’t even sure you liked it. The fish felt clinical. Shipped from a catalogue. Still, you printed them, because sometimes art meant compromise.

One morning, you were laying a freshly defrosted anglerfish onto your press table, arranging the fins just so, when the studio door creaked open.

“That’s not mine,” Nishinoya said flatly.

You glanced up, brush poised midair. “No. It’s from my manager. Special commission.”

He didn’t respond. Not immediately. He just crossed his arms, standing there in the doorway like he'd been slapped with a cold towel. His brows furrowed hard enough to crease the space between them, and his eyes flicked between the anglerfish and you like he wasn’t sure which of you he felt more betrayed by.

“Yuu?” you asked, already hearing the shift in his silence.

“So now you’re just taking fish from whoever sends them?” he muttered, voice sharp around the edges but too controlled to be casual. There was disbelief there—wounded pride dressed up in sarcasm. His posture was all puffed-up defensiveness, hands tucked under his arms, one foot tapping absently against the tile.

You blinked. “It’s for a commission. I didn’t pick it. They just send them.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, still eyeing the fish like it had personally flirted with you.

“Yuu—”

“I just thought I was your fish guy,” he said, louder now, pacing a few steps forward before turning on his heel. “Guess I got replaced by some frozen deep-sea glow stick.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried not to laugh. You really tried.

“A glow stick?”

He shot you a look, scowl deepening. “With teeth. Look at it! That thing’s got more spikes than a sea urchin in a blender.”

You set the brush down and crossed the room, reaching out to tug gently at his sleeve. “Yuu. Come on.”

He let you pull him a little closer, though he kept his head turned stubbornly to the side.

“You are my fish guy. My ridiculous, dramatic, jealous fish guy. Who once named a swordfish after me and then told the whole pier she was impossible to catch.”

He sniffed. “To be fair, she was very stubborn. And she slapped me. Right in the nose.”

You bit back a grin. “Exactly my point.”

His eyes flicked to you finally—brown and bright and still a little hurt, like he wasn’t quite ready to admit how much the whole thing had gotten under his skin.

Without a word, you reached beneath your worktable and pulled out a wrapped scroll, tied carefully with twine. “I was saving this for your birthday, but… now seems like a good time.”

He took it hesitantly, brow furrowed, and began to unroll it.

The moment the marlin came into view, he froze. The print was bold—ink sweeping across the paper in clean, elegant lines. Powerful. Still. The exact shape of the fish he’d caught for you weeks ago. You’d captured its spirit perfectly, the curve of its body frozen in motion like it was still alive.

“I made this for you,” you said softly. “I couldn’t hang it in the studio. It didn’t feel right. It’s yours.”

He stared down at the paper like it was something sacred. His fingers tightened around the edges.

“You’re not crying, are you?” you teased gently.

“No,” he said quickly, voice higher than usual and cracking a little at the end. “I just got fish guts in my eye or something.”

You laughed, and he stepped forward to pull you into him, one arm wrapping tight around your waist, the other holding the scroll safely behind your back like it was too precious to wrinkle.

“I’m still your number one fish guy, right?” he murmured into your shoulder.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Always.”

He pulled back just enough to grin, the edges of it crooked and boyish. “Even if I name the next one after your middle name?”

“Yuu.”

He laughed into your neck. “Fine. But she better be as stubborn as you.”