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Managerial Duties: Nekoma

"Absolutely not."

Yamamoto lets out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back as if you’d just crushed his dreams with a single stomp. “C’mon, manager! The captain of the boys’ soccer team was pissing me off, and I just thought we could flaunt the fact that we have a hot girl manager!”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I’m going to not try and take that as an offensive statement.”

“But think about it! If we show off our amazing manager—who, by the way, is way cooler than any other team’s manager—those other guys will be so distracted, their defenses will crumble before we even start playing!”

Yaku lets out an exasperated groan, smacking Yamamoto upside the head. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like an idiot.”

“I’m thinking strategically!” Yamamoto argues, rubbing the back of his head with a deep frown. “It’s all about getting in their heads before the match even starts! They’ll be so busy staring, they won’t know what hit them!”

Kuroo, who had been listening in with an entertained smirk, finally cuts in. “You sure that’s gonna work? Sounds more like you’re the one who gets distracted by a cute face, Yamamoto.”

“Hey, hey, hey! This isn’t about me!” Yamamoto quickly defends, flailing his arms as Kenma sighs beside him, eyes still glued to his game. “This is about our team having a clear mental advantage.”

Kenma lets out a slow breath, thumbs lazily pressing at his screen. “I don’t think anyone is intimidated by your ‘mental strategies.’”

You cross your arms, fixing Yamamoto with a deadpan stare. “So, your plan is for me to just… stand around looking pretty while you all practice?”

Yamamoto brightens. “Exactly! You just have to stand there, maybe flip your hair a little—”

“Okay, you can stop talking now.” You cut him off, shaking your head as Kuroo bursts into laughter beside you.

“C’mon, manager, just think about it!” Yamamoto pleads. “You wouldn’t even have to do anything extra! Just be your natural, intimidating self!”

“I don’t think standing still counts as intimidation,” you reply flatly. “And I already have an actual job managing you guys. I don’t need to add ‘team mascot’ to the list.”

Kuroo drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, grinning. “Oh, but what if we paid you extra?”

You raise an eyebrow. “With what money?”

“Uh.” Kuroo blinks, looking to the rest of the team. “Yamamoto, do you have money?”

“I might have enough for a convenience store snack,” he mutters, checking his pockets. “But that’s beside the point!”

“You hear that?” You turn to Yaku, feigning disappointment. “They were gonna bribe me with convenience store snacks.”

“Pathetic,” Yaku agrees, shaking his head.

Yamamoto throws his hands in the air. “Fine, forget the money! This isn’t about bribery, it’s about team pride! Think about it! The Nekoma basketball team has a manager, the badminton team has one, even the track team has one—but none of them have a hot girl manager! But you’re here! We can use that to our advantage! We can—”

“Yamamoto.” You cut him off again, your patience thinning. “If I hear one more word about me ‘flaunting myself,’ I’m making you run extra laps after practice.”

Yamamoto stiffens, mouth snapping shut immediately.

Kai, who had been quietly observing, finally speaks up. “Yamamoto, maybe try thinking of a plan that doesn’t involve embarrassing our manager?” His voice is calm, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Lev grins, nudging Fukunaga. “I dunno, I think it’s kinda funny.”

Fukunaga smirks before leaning in and whispering something to Lev, who immediately bursts out laughing.

Yamamoto groans. “See? At least some of you get it!”

“Not really,” Kai corrects. “We just enjoy watching you dig yourself into a hole.”

The silence is almost peaceful—until Kuroo nudges your side again. “Still,” he muses, a teasing glint in his eye. “You do look pretty intimidating when you’re pissed.”

“Well, maybe you guys should stop pissing me off.”

Kuroo snorts before shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “If I quit being manager, you all only have yourselves to blame.”

Kenma hums, finally looking up from his game. “Yeah, but you won’t.”

You glance at him, frowning. “How do you know?”

He shrugs. “Because you care too much.”

The rest of the team goes quiet. Even Kuroo, ever the instigator, doesn’t argue. Yamamoto looks at you hopefully. Yaku smirks. Kai shakes his head fondly, and Fukunaga snickers at whatever he just whispered to Lev, who is still laughing.

You sigh again, rubbing your temples for what feels like the hundredth time that day. “I’m still not doing it. Now get off your asses, we have work to do.”

Yamamoto groans in defeat. Kuroo chuckles. And Yaku pats your shoulder with a satisfied nod. “That’s our manager.”

Favourite Position: Akaashi

Akaashi Keiji was always composed.

He prided himself on control—measured movements, careful touches, a steady rhythm that never wavered. But right now? Right now, control was slipping through his fingers like sand, and he was powerless to stop it.

Because you were in his lap, your back pressed flush against his chest, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He was buried deep inside you, the warm, slick heat of you squeezing him so perfectly that his breath kept hitching, his hands tightening against your skin as he tried—tried so hard—to keep his pace slow.

But he was losing it.

"Keiji…" Your voice was soft, breathless, and he could feel it everywhere—your body shifting against his, your pulse hammering under his fingertips.

His forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath heavy against your skin. "Feels too good," he admitted, voice strained, nearly shaking. "I—"

He swallowed hard as you rolled your hips, and a groan ripped from his throat.

Fuck. Fuck.

Akaashi had never felt like this before—this weak, this desperate, this close to breaking apart. He’d always been able to focus, always been able to last as long as he wanted. But this? This position?

With you like this, stretched out against him, your body molding so perfectly to his—

It was wrecking him.

"You’re shaking," you murmured, fingers reaching back to tangle in his dark hair, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He groaned at the sensation, his hips jerking up involuntarily, forcing himself even deeper into you. Your breath caught, and the way you clenched around him made his vision blur.

Shit.

"I can't—" He exhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening, his muscles tensing as he felt himself teetering on the edge. "I don't think I can—"

You turned your head slightly, pressing a teasing kiss to the side of his jaw. "You don’t have to hold back."

Akaashi cursed under his breath, his composure unraveling completely.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, his thrusts turning needy, frantic, desperate. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his moans muffled against your skin as he fucked into you—

Hard. Deep. Sloppy.

He was unraveling with every motion, every clench of your body around him, every little sound you made that sent fire through his veins.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice raw, his rhythm stuttering. "I'm—" He sucked in a breath, his entire body shaking, trembling, losing control.

You reached back, dragging your fingers through his hair again, your voice a whisper. "Let go, Keiji."

And that was it.

The coil in his stomach snapped so violently he almost blacked out.

A deep, shuddering groan tore from his throat as pleasure crashed through him like a tidal wave. He spilled into you, hips jerking as his entire body trembled, the overwhelming intensity making him bury his face deeper into your neck. His breathing was ragged, erratic, completely wrecked.

He had never come that hard before. Ever.

For long moments, he just held you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his body still shaking from the aftershocks. His fingers traced absentminded patterns against your waist, his breath slowing, but his mind was still reeling.

What the hell just happened?

You shifted slightly, and he groaned at the oversensitivity, his arms instinctively tightening around you, keeping you still. You giggled softly, your voice laced with exhaustion and satisfaction. "I think you liked that, huh?"

Akaashi swallowed hard, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before murmuring—"Didn't know I could feel like that."

His grip on you softened, fingers brushing against your thigh. He exhaled a slow, shaky breath, the realization settling in.

This was his favorite.

And now that he knew?

He wasn’t sure he could ever have you any other way again.

Favourite Positions: Ushijima

Ushijima Wakatoshi had never paid much attention to positions before.

He had always focused on precision, control, endurance. He knew his own strength, the way his body worked, the way he could move with purpose. Most of the time, he stuck to the same tried-and-true motions, favoring what was familiar and effective. But tonight, you had looked at him with those eyes, voice soft and teasing as you asked, "Wakatoshi, can we try something different?"

He hadn’t expected much of a difference. A position was a position, right? But when he had you pressed against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted you effortlessly—

Everything changed.

The first deep thrust had your breath hitching. The second had you whimpering, nails clawing at his shoulders. And by the third—

You were gone.

Your body tensed up so fast, so hard, that Ushijima nearly stopped, his brow furrowing as he felt you clench down tight around him, your head dropping back against the wall, mouth open in a silent moan.

His grip on your thighs tightened instinctively, muscles flexing as he kept you lifted, held, pinned completely at his mercy.

And then he felt it.

The sharp, desperate way you squeezed him. The way your entire body shuddered, overwhelmed and trembling.

Ushijima’s breath caught.

“Already?” His deep voice was laced with something close to wonder.

You gasped, hands gripping his broad shoulders, nails pressing into his skin. Your thighs quivered around his waist, your body limp from the force of your release. Overstimulated, wrecked—completely unraveled.

A slow, deliberate breath left him as realization settled in.

This position had made you lose control.

His jaw clenched, something dark flickering behind his usually calm expression. He wanted to see it again.

His grip on your thighs adjusted, his large hands spreading your legs wider, securing you against the wall like you weighed nothing. And before you could even recover, before the aftershocks of your first orgasm had fully settled, he started moving again.

Deep. Steady. Unforgiving.

His pace was measured, controlled, devastating. Each thrust pressed you tighter against the cold surface, the contrast of his warmth and the chill of the wall making your senses blur. Your body twitched in response, oversensitive and already on the edge again.

Your breath hitched, your back arching against the wall, and Ushijima watched.

His sharp eyes took in everything—the way your lips parted, the way your hands clawed at his skin, the way you gasped his name between every movement. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your thighs as he picked up the pace just slightly, enough to make you shudder.

“You like this.” His voice was calm, deep, but something about it felt different now. Like he was coming to terms with something new. Something he didn’t know about himself before.

Something dangerous.

The way your body reacted to him, the way you broke apart so quickly in his arms— he liked it.

A lot.

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping even lower. “I like it too.”

Your head tipped forward, forehead pressing against his shoulder as your nails raked down his back, the pressure inside you tightening so fast it was unbearable.

You whimpered, the sensation of being lifted, stretched, completely at his mercy making your head spin. Ushijima could feel it. The way you clenched down around him again, the way your thighs trembled in his grip.

He exhaled sharply, holding you even tighter.

“Cum,” he ordered, voice like gravel and heat.

Your entire body obeyed.

Pleasure slammed through you like a tidal wave, your moan caught somewhere between a cry and a gasp as you shattered all over again, trembling in his grasp, body locking up completely. The force of it left you whimpering, completely spent, completely undone.

Ushijima groaned at the feeling of you convulsing around him, his pace unwavering as he rode you through it, relishing in how easily he could pull you apart.

When you finally collapsed, head lolling back against the wall, Ushijima didn’t move.

He kept you pinned against him, breathing deeply, grounding himself in the sensation of you still trembling in his arms.

His lips ghosted over your jaw, warm and firm as he pressed a kiss to your temple—but he wasn’t finished.

With a sharp inhale, he pulled back slightly, shifting his grip on your thighs before his hips snapped forward, hard. A strangled cry tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at his back as the sudden force sent pleasure crashing through your system all over again.

“Too much?” His deep voice rumbled against your skin, deceptively calm despite the way his movements turned unrelenting.

You barely managed a response—your mind too fogged, your body too overwhelmed as he pounded into you, each thrust deeper, harder, perfectly precise.

The intensity coiled tight inside you, every nerve on fire as you felt it creeping up again—fast, uncontrollable.

His grip on you tightened as he felt it too. The way your walls fluttered, how your legs trembled around him. He knew.

“You’re going to cum again.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—a promise.

And he made sure of it.

Another deep thrust, another perfectly timed roll of his hips, and your vision whited out. The pleasure hit like lightning, your entire body jerking, shaking, completely wrecked as you gushed around him, soaking his thighs, the sound obscene in the air.

Ushijima groaned, his jaw clenching as the feeling dragged him over the edge with you. His hips stuttered, his pace faltering as he drove in one last time, spilling deep inside you with a low, guttural moan, his fingers bruising into your skin as he held you against the wall, his.

For a moment, neither of you moved—just the sound of ragged breaths and the faint, aftershocking trembles of your body in his grip.

Then, slowly, his lips brushed your jaw once more, voice deep, steady, satisfied.

“We'll have to do that again.”

Husbandry: Oikawa

The first thing you register upon waking up is warmth. A steady, lingering heat against your back, an arm draped lazily over your waist, the rhythmic rise and fall of a chest pressed flush against you. The scent of something familiar—clean linen, faded cologne, a hint of salt from the sea breeze slipping through the open window—fills your senses. Oikawa’s grip tightens instinctively as you shift, pulling you impossibly closer, his face buried against the curve of your shoulder.

“Tooru,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

A muffled groan is his only response. His body is heavy against yours, limbs tangled in a way that makes movement difficult. You try once more to shift, but his arms only tighten around your waist.

“Nope,” he grumbles, his voice rough from sleep. “No getting up yet. It’s illegal.”

You huff, already knowing how this is going to go. Sunlight spills in through the sheer curtains, painting the walls of your shared apartment in soft golden hues. The distant sound of life beyond the bedroom—muffled chatter from the streets below, the occasional car passing by, the faint melody of a street performer’s guitar—reminds you that the world is awake, moving. And yet, Oikawa remains completely unfazed, as if time doesn’t exist beyond the warmth of your shared bed.

“I have things to do,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Lies,” he mutters against your skin. “You have exactly one obligation today, and that’s to stay right here in bed with your incredibly handsome husband.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “It’s scientifically proven that getting up too early makes you ten times more cranky.”

“More cranky?” you repeat, raising a brow. “Are you saying I’m cranky now?”

He hesitates.

“…No?”

You elbow him lightly, and he lets out a dramatic wheeze, flopping onto his back as if you’ve mortally wounded him. “Oh my god, the betrayal,” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I let you into my home, my heart, my bed—and you stab me in the stomach.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you’re already smiling.

“I’m wounded.”

“You’re fine.”

He peeks at you from under his arm, brown eyes still hazy with sleep but glinting with amusement. “You’re not even going to check?”

“I know you’re fine.”

He lets out another exaggerated groan before reaching for you again, pulling you back into his embrace. This time, you let yourself sink into his warmth, the sound of the city fading into the background. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your arm, absentminded, soothing. The morning breeze flutters through the curtains, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery down the street, mingling with the salt-tinged air of Barcelona’s coastline.

“You really don’t wanna stay in bed with me?” he asks after a while, voice softer now, more genuine.

You sigh, pressing your cheek against his. “I do, but I also don’t want to waste the whole day.”

Oikawa scoffs, shifting to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s not wasting if we’re spending it together.”

“You always say that when you want me to be lazy with you.”

“Because it’s true,” he argues. “C’mon, just a little longer? Please?” He tilts his head, lips brushing against your jaw as he whispers, “For me?”

You groan, knowing you’re done for. Oikawa is many things—dramatic, annoying, way too smug for his own good—but he’s also incredibly hard to say no to, especially when he’s warm and sleepy and clinging to you like this.

“Fine,” you mumble. “But only for a little longer.”

A victorious grin spreads across his face as he pulls you flush against him, tangling your legs together under the sheets. “See? I always win.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me.”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother denying it. Instead, you let yourself relax into his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the hum of the city outside, the quiet comfort of being wrapped up in him. The world can wait a little longer.

Maybe, just maybe, staying in bed with him isn’t the worst way to spend the day.

Rivals: Kuroo Pt. 3

The crisp morning air hit you the moment you stepped outside, your cheeks still flushed with residual heat from the sheer embarrassment of what had just transpired. You adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, tugged your coat tighter around your body, and walked. Faster than necessary, eyes fixed ahead, ignoring the unmistakable ache in your legs that served as an unrelenting reminder of last night.

What the hell did I do?

The question looped in your mind as you trudged down the sidewalk, each step bringing another humiliating flashback. The way his lips had trailed down your throat, the rasp of his voice murmuring your name like a prayer, the heat of his breath against your ear.

The way you begged for him.

You groaned out loud and shook your head violently as if you could physically shake the memories loose. This was bad. This was so bad.

By the time you reached your apartment, your heart was still hammering in your chest, the adrenaline of your walk of shame still rushing through your veins. The second your key turned in the lock and you pushed the door open, a familiar weight landed against your legs.

“Hey, buddy,” you murmured, bending down to scoop up your cat, pressing your face into his fur for a moment of comfort. He meowed in response, blinking up at you with wide eyes before batting at the collar of your coat.

At least he wasn’t judging you.

You set him down and made a beeline for the shower, peeling off your clothes as fast as you could. You needed to wash off Kuroo Tetsurou, scrub away any remnants of his touch, his scent, his presence.

But no matter how hot the water was, no matter how much you lathered soap against your skin, it didn’t leave you. The heat of his hands, the press of his body—it was all still there, lingering like an impossible-to-ignore memory.

You groaned, pressing your forehead against the shower tiles, letting the water cascade down your back. Why him? Of all people, why Kuroo?

The man drove you insane. Always teasing, always pushing, always so damn smug. You’d spent years butting heads with him, rolling your eyes at his antics, gritting your teeth at his unrelenting wit.

And yet…

The minute he touched you, something inside you had snapped. You’d met his fire with fire, let yourself get lost in the burn of it.

And worst of all?

You wanted to do it again.

You sucked in a sharp breath and shut the water off, gripping the edge of the shower door for stability. No. No, no, no. This was a mistake. A one-time lapse in judgment.

You would not let yourself fall into this trap.

By the time you were dressed, your cat had curled up on the couch, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you ran a towel through your damp hair. “Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered. “I know I made a bad decision.”

He flicked his tail, unimpressed.

You threw the towel into the laundry hamper and collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, mind still racing. You had to go back to work on Monday and pretend nothing happened. You had to look Kuroo in the eye and act like you hadn’t had his name spilling from your lips over and over again.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply.

This was going to be hell.

__

The weekend blurred by in a haze of distractions. You tried everything—burying yourself in errands, binge-watching dramas, even deep-cleaning your apartment twice—but nothing worked. The memory of Kuroo was burned into your brain, lingering at the edges of your mind no matter how hard you tried to shove it away.

You could still feel his fingers digging into your hips. The sharp scrape of his teeth against your neck. The husky, teasing laughter in your ear as he dragged you down with him into the mess of tangled sheets and breathless whispers.

You growled at yourself, shaking off the heat pooling in your stomach.

Before you knew it, Monday morning arrived, and the reality of facing him hit you like a freight train.

You stepped into the office, coffee in one hand, your other gripping the strap of your bag tightly, as if that alone would keep you grounded. You could do this.

Thankfully, Kuroo was nowhere in sight. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past your lips as you made your way to your office, eager to lose yourself in work and push all thoughts of him aside.

Settling into your chair, you opened your laptop, sipping your coffee as you began typing out emails, reviewing contracts, and approving documents. The mundane rhythm of work was a welcome distraction, something solid and predictable to keep you from spiraling back into the humiliating thoughts of the weekend.

That relief, however, was short-lived.

Just as you started drafting a compliance report, your office door swung open without a knock. You glanced up, already annoyed, only to find your boss standing there, arms crossed, an expectant expression on his face.

"Good job getting that campaign finalized," he said, nodding as if you had done something worthy of recognition. "There's a shareholder meeting this week to discuss it. You need to be there."

Your stomach dropped.

Shareholder meetings were always a pain, but that wasn’t the real issue. No, the real issue was that Kuroo would be there. You’d have to see him sooner than you thought.

You quickly straightened in your chair, trying to compose yourself. “Sir, I have a full schedule today, a backlog of approvals, and several reports to review—surely someone else from legal can attend?”

Your boss gave you a flat look, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, don’t even start. You’re the one who finalized this campaign, so you’re the one explaining it. Be in the meeting room in half an hour.”

You barely had time to protest before he turned on his heel and left, leaving you staring at the empty doorway, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Half an hour.

Your pulse quickened as you slumped back in your chair, rubbing your temples. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You had been hoping—no, praying—for more time before you had to see him again. But now, in thirty short minutes, you’d have to sit across from him in a professional setting, pretend nothing happened, and endure whatever smug, knowing looks he threw your way.

You inhaled deeply, rolling your shoulders back as you forced yourself to think rationally. Kuroo might have the upper hand in teasing, but that didn’t mean he had the power here. You were damn good at your job, and if he thought he could waltz in and fluster you with a few smirks and carefully placed jabs, he had another thing coming.

Straightening in your chair, you pulled up the campaign documents, reviewing them with meticulous attention. You weren’t just going to walk into that meeting unprepared. No, you were going to walk in with confidence, fully armed with every technicality, every regulation, every damn reason why you knew what you were doing.

You checked the clock. Fifteen minutes left.

With one last steadying breath, you closed your laptop, grabbed your notes, and stood, smoothing out your outfit. He’s just another coworker. Nothing more. If Kuroo wanted to play games, fine. But you weren’t going to lose. Not this time.

Squaring your shoulders, you stood, grabbed your notes, and marched toward the meeting room, determination outweighing the lingering heat in your face. You weren’t going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

Fuck him. I have nothing to be ashamed of.

Yet, the moment you stepped inside, you instantly regretted everything.

Kuroo was standing near the far side of the room, engaged in conversation with a few of the shareholders, his usual easygoing charm on full display. His sharp suit was tailored perfectly, the slight smirk on his lips too damn self-assured. And then, as if he could sense you, his golden eyes flicked toward the door, locking onto you instantly.

His knowing smile deepened, and you had to physically fight the urge to turn around and leave.

“Ah, there she is,” Kuroo announced, casually gesturing toward you. “My partner on this campaign.”

Your stomach clenched at the word. Partner?

The older gentleman Kuroo had been speaking to turned, his expression brightening. “Oh, so you’re the legal mind behind all of this! I’ve heard good things. Very impressive work.”

You forced a polite smile, waving a hand dismissively. “It was a team effort.”

But Kuroo, of course, wasn’t about to let you downplay your role.

“Don’t be modest. She kept me in check the whole time,” he added, his tone dripping with amusement.

You clenched your jaw, swallowing down the urge to shove him into the nearest chair. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Before you could formulate a response, he gestured to the seat beside him. “Come on, have a seat.”

You hesitated for the briefest second—just long enough to see the glint of mischief in his gaze—before forcing yourself to step forward and sit down, mentally cursing every decision that led you here. That wasn’t even enough time to mentally prepare yourself for the inevitable disaster that was seeing Kuroo again.

You hesitated for the briefest second—just long enough to see the glint of mischief in his gaze—before forcing yourself to step forward and sit down, mentally cursing every decision that led you here.

More people trickled in, the sound of chatter filling the room as the shareholders settled into their seats. Small conversations broke out, professionals exchanging pleasantries while waiting for the meeting to begin. The air in the room was light, easy, full of smooth laughter and the clinking of pens against notepads.

For everyone except you.

You turned to Kuroo, lowering your voice in a hiss. “Partner?”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, voice full of teasing amusement. “Would you have preferred I introduce you as my handler?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt beneath the table, nails pressing hard enough to leave marks. You were already regretting every single interaction you had with him. Smug bastard.

You narrowed your eyes, about to snap back, but before you could, the meeting was called to order.

Kuroo led the discussion with practiced ease, his voice smooth and effortlessly engaging. He was sharp, confident, weaving through each point with that natural charm of his, drawing in the room like he belonged there. And the worst part? The shareholders loved him.

You mostly kept quiet, answering questions when necessary, keeping your responses measured and precise. You weren’t about to let him run circles around you. Still, you had to admit—grudgingly—that he was good at this. Too good. His ability to present information with just the right balance of authority and ease was frustratingly effective. It made you irrationally angry, watching the way he commanded the room with nothing but a few smirks and a well-placed joke.

And he knew it. Every so often, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he could feel your irritation thrumming beneath the surface.

Bastard.

Just as you thought you were in the clear, your boss spoke up. “We were actually discussing another campaign that needs some serious revisions. Given how well this one turned out, we’d like the two of you to work on it—on short notice.”

Your breath caught. No. No, no, no.

Panic shot through you like a live wire, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. You had barely survived the last time you worked with him—mentally, emotionally, professionally. And now they wanted you to do it again?

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. You had told yourself the project was a one-time thing, an unfortunate alignment of responsibilities that you had somehow, miraculously, endured. You had barely made it out of the last collaboration with your sanity intact, and after what happened between you two, the very thought of working with him again made your stomach churn.

It wasn’t just about the way Kuroo existed to push your buttons. No, it was the fact that you had let him get under your skin—too far under, past the point of irritation and into something more reckless, more dangerous.

And now, you were supposed to do it all over again?

Your fingers clenched under the table, nails pressing hard into your palm to stop yourself from blurting out something unprofessional. This isn’t fair. This isn’t my fault. You had done your job perfectly. If Kuroo hadn’t gone out of his way to be Kuroo, none of this would even be an issue. Now, because of his antics, because he couldn’t help himself, you were getting roped into another late-night headache with him.

Your pulse thudded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the boardroom as your mind scrambled for a way out. Any excuse. Any way to get literally anyone else assigned to this instead.

But you knew your boss. He didn’t care. He had made up his mind. And Kuroo—that smug bastard—had probably already figured that out too.

You straightened in your seat, carefully choosing your words. “Of course, but we’d need extended work hours to meet such a tight deadline—”

Kuroo, the bastard, cut you off effortlessly. “No need. We’ll just work on it after hours, like last time.”

The room barely reacted, but you felt the shift like a blade pressed against your skin. The way he said it—so casually, so naturally—it was almost as if the two of you had some kind of established dynamic. Like you were some seamless, perfectly functioning duo.

Which, you absolutely were not.

Your jaw clenched, hands curling into fists beneath the table. And then, just to drive the knife deeper, he added, “In fact, let’s get started tonight. Over dinner.”

Your head snapped toward him, but he didn’t even have the decency to look at you. He was still facing forward, still completely composed, as if he hadn’t just publicly tricked you into agreeing to spend more time with him.

Your teeth ground together as your boss nodded approvingly. You had no choice but to nod along, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Sounds great.”

You could feel Kuroo’s eyes on you, the weight of his amusement pressing into your skin like an irritating heat you couldn’t shake. Your fingers curled around your notes, grip tightening as you fought the very real urge to smack that insufferable smirk right off his face. This bastard.

The shareholders murmured their satisfaction, the meeting officially winding down as the final notes were made. The conversation naturally shifted to small talk as people began gathering their things, but you were barely listening. Your mind was stuck in a loop, replaying the past minute over and over.

Another project. On short notice. With him.

And worse—

Over dinner.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, schooling your features into something neutral, something capable, because the last thing you needed was for Kuroo to see the way your pulse had spiked at the mere thought of spending another evening alone with him. You could already hear the smugness that would drip from his voice. The lazy, self-satisfied amusement. The way he’d push your buttons just enough to make you snap—because that’s what he did.

You should have argued more. Should have demanded proper work hours. Should have reminded your boss that he had hired you for legal work, not to babysit the marketing team. But instead, you sat there, forcing a strained smile while Kuroo all but preened beside you like a cat that had just caught a canary.

A chair scraped back beside you. He was standing. Stretching. As if he hadn’t just successfully trapped you into another night of torture disguised as collaboration.

“Looking forward to it, partner.”

The way he said partner made you want to throw something. Preferably his overpriced watch right out the nearest window.

He strolled past you, his confidence almost offensive, and you knew—you knew—that he was expecting a reaction. A flustered glare, a sharp retort, anything to fuel his amusement. But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

You took a slow, calming breath and gathered your papers, pressing them together with deliberate patience. Kuroo was still lingering, just at the edge of your vision, but you refused to acknowledge him. If he thought you were going to give him what he wanted, he had another thing coming.

You stood, keeping your expression perfectly schooled, smoothing out your skirt like this was just any other normal meeting, like he hadn’t just completely thrown you off balance. Then, just as you turned to leave, you made the mistake of glancing up.

And there he was. Watching you.

Golden eyes, sharp and waiting. The barest trace of a smirk still pulling at his lips.

Something inside your stomach twisted—not in anger, not in frustration, but something dangerous. Something reckless.

You gritted your teeth, ignoring the traitorous warmth creeping up your spine, and turned sharply on your heel, storming toward the exit without a word.

Kuroo chuckled under his breath behind you, the sound deep and far too amused.

You were never going to survive this.

Gurllll

So we're in college and tsuki get dragged into a party, but he ends up chilling in the back just drinking or smoking and listening to music

That's where we first spot him,and like we knew each other from the high-school team but not really know each other y'know?

Then they end up talking and chilling and playing some gamesss like truth or dare or sm

Idk I'm kinda imagining it just chilling and having deep conversations and talk about things in common

Gorl I gotchu ;p ~~

Anon Ask: Tsukishima

Tsukishima had no idea why he was here.

Correction—he knew exactly why. Yamaguchi had guilt-tripped him into coming, saying something about how he needed to "expand his social life" and "stop being a recluse." He hadn't been able to argue much when he was already agreeing just to get his best friend off his back.

Of course, Yamaguchi wasn't even here. Some excuse about having an early morning study session had conveniently surfaced at the last second; Leaving Tsukishima alone at a party he had no interest in attending when a better use of his Friday night would be staying in his dorm with his headphones on, zoning out to some documentary about prehistoric marine life.

All he felt was betrayal.

This was the same useless chatter, the same shallow interactions, the same pointless noise that made him want to walk right back out the door. He leaned against the back wall, drink in hand, half-listening to whatever trash playlist was blaring through the speakers. His gaze occasionally flickered over the room, not because he was interested in anything but because it gave him something to do other than stand there like an idiot.

He didn’t recognize most of the people here. He barely cared to. Drunken laughter rang in his ears, a couple stumbled past him, and someone yelled something incomprehensible from the other side of the room. His patience was already wearing thin. His foot tapped against the ground, a subtle tick of irritation.

Then, through the shifting bodies and dim, flickering lights, his gaze caught on someone who was familiar.

You.

You were weaving through the party, clearly uninterested, your expression giving away just how much you didn't want to be here. There was something oddly reassuring about that—someone else in the same predicament. A memory clicked into place after a few seconds. Second-year. Same class. You'd sat a row over by the window, always making snide remarks under your breath whenever the teacher said something ridiculous. He'd smirked at a few of them but never actually talked to you.

And now, here you were. And you’d seen him too.

Your eyes met across the room, a quiet recognition passing between you. Then, without hesitation, you started making your way over. He briefly considered looking away, pretending he hadn’t noticed, but it was already too late.

"Hey... Tsukishima, right? We had a class together in second year." You stopped beside him, tilting your head slightly. "Never thought I’d see you at a party. Let me guess—you lost a bet?"

He huffed, taking a sip from his drink. "Close. My friend thought I needed to ‘socialize more.’"

You deadpanned. "That’s disgusting. I’m sorry for your loss."

A snort left him before he could stop it. "Yeah, well. He’s not even here."

You raised a brow. "He ditched you?"

"Told me he had ‘studying’ to do." Tsukishima made air quotes with his free hand. "Like that wasn’t his plan all along."

"Brutal." You leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed. "And yet, here you are. Holding up your end of the deal like a good little soldier."

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. "For now."

You smirked, turning your gaze back to the chaotic mess in front of you. "This place is awful."

"Yeah." His gaze flicked over the crowd, unimpressed. "Not sure what’s worse—the music or the people."

"Tough call," you mused. "The music is bad, but at least it doesn’t try to hold a conversation with you."

Tsukishima let out a quiet, amused exhale. "Fair point."

A beat passed before you sighed, shifting your weight. "You wanna get out of here?"

He glanced at you, gauging if you were serious. He wasn’t usually the type to just leave somewhere with someone he barely knew. But this was unbearable. And you? You at least had a functional brain in your head.

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. "God, yes."

Neither of you said anything more as you slipped through the party, out the door, and into the cold night air. The shift was immediate—the tension of the party dissipating the moment you stepped onto the sidewalk, the dull hum of the city streets far more tolerable than whatever chaotic mess was happening inside.

You walked without a real destination, just following the quiet rhythm of the night, side by side under streetlights casting long shadows across pavement. The city wasn’t asleep, but it was quieter now, the occasional car passing by, a few other night-walkers making their way home.

"So, what’d you do to deserve being dragged here?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I thought I could be like everyone else our age." You sighed dramatically. "Clearly, I make poor choices."

Tsukishima huffed. "Yeah, you and me both."

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The streets were mostly empty, the occasional passing car throwing streaks of light across the pavement. You kicked a stray pebble down the sidewalk, watching it bounce before speaking again.

"So, are you still doing that volleyball thing?"

Tsukishima looked at you, unimpressed. "Wow. Stalker much?"

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, totally. I spend all my free time keeping tabs on people I barely spoke to in high school."

Tsukishima let out a quiet scoff but found himself smirking despite himself. "Right. Of course."

You nudged him lightly with your elbow before switching topics. "So, what’s your major?"

He glanced at you, wondering if you actually cared or if you were just making conversation. "Geology."

You raised a brow, a knowing look crossing your face. "Dinosaurs, huh?"

Tsukishima tensed. "What? No. Rocks."

You let out a low laugh. "Sure. Totally not related."

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched. "What about you?"

"Oh, I don't really have one. I prefer to just float. You know, jack of all trades and that jazz."

Tsukishima found that slightly funny, though he didn’t show it beyond a slight shake of his head. "So you plan to graduate with nothing, then?"

"That’s the dream."

The back-and-forth was easy, natural. Neither of you felt the need to fill every silence with meaningless words, and yet, the conversation kept flowing. Complaints about professors, stupid classmates, the absurdity of group projects—somehow, it all felt lighter when it was shared.

At some point, your steps slowed, and you both lingered near a street corner, neither of you saying anything for a few beats. A breeze rolled past, cool against the lingering warmth of the night, and you rocked back on your heels before tilting your head slightly to glance at him.

"You know," you started, drawing out the words, "I half-expected you to be a bigger ass."

Tsukishima blinked at you, arching a brow. "And I expected you to be less annoying."

You let out a low laugh, shaking your head. "So we’re both disappointed. Great."

Tsukishima didn’t answer, but he huffed out something close to a laugh, subtle but there. The conversation had been nothing but casual snark and easy complaints, but there was something oddly comfortable about it—like the banter wasn’t just passing time but filling a space that neither of you had realized was empty until now.

Eventually, you stopped at the entrance to the subway station. You looked up at him, hands stuffed in your pockets, shifting slightly on your feet before smirking.

"I like complaining about things with you," you said, voice lighter than before. "Let’s do it again sometime."

And then, just like that, you turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Tsukishima stood there, watching as the train rumbled to life, departing into the tunnels with you on it.

A sigh slipped out of him, and he muttered to himself, "... yeah... me too."

Then, like an idiot, it hit him.

He didn’t ask for your number.

Great.

Rivals: Kuroo Pt. 2

The office buzzed with the sounds of people wrapping up their day—chairs rolling back, papers shuffling, conversations turning light and easy as employees grabbed their things and made for the exit. The hum of voices filled the space as groups gathered near the doors, excitedly chatting about after-work drinks, dinner plans, or simply the bliss of heading home.

You forced a tight smile as you exchanged goodbyes, nodding along as a coworker clapped you on the shoulder, laughing about how you were always working too hard. If only they knew. If only they realized that, while they were off unwinding at some izakaya, you were about to be trapped in a nightmare.

The moment the last of them walked out, the heavy glass doors swinging shut behind them, your smile dropped. You exhaled sharply, shutting your office door with more force than necessary before leaning against it, letting your frustration take full hold. The walls muffled the distant chatter of people heading to the elevators, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own irritation.

This is ridiculous.

This is so, so ridiculous.

You should have been out there with them. Should have been free from all this nonsense. But no—because of him, you were stuck here, hunched over a campaign that never should have made it past a brainstorming session.

There was no way in hell you were about to march down to Kuroo’s office and work beside him like some cooperative pair. If you had to see his face right now, you might actually punch him, and that would be hard to explain to HR.

So, you settled for the only tolerable option: virtual communication.

You pulled up the campaign document and began typing out edits, slashing through the legal landmines Kuroo had casually placed like a menace. Your comments were pointed, efficient, and—fine—maybe a little passive-aggressive.

“You can’t claim this product ‘enhances’ anything without direct, proven research. I assume you don’t have a scientific study hidden somewhere? No? Then take it out.”

“This violates four separate consumer protection laws. FOUR, Kuroo. Are you collecting them like trophies?”

“You know full well we can’t guarantee these results. Unless you have psychic abilities, this has to go.”

It didn’t take long before Kuroo’s own comments started popping up.

“Trophies? I was thinking of making a bingo card.”

“No psychic abilities, but I do predict you’re going to keep glaring at your screen like that for another ten minutes before you take a break.”

You clenched your jaw, fingers hovering over the keyboard as his infuriatingly smug tone bled through even in text form.

But at least this way, you didn’t have to hear his voice. Didn’t have to see that lazy grin or the way he leaned against desks like he was permanently comfortable in any given space.

The two of you went back and forth like that for a while—your frustrations fueling your edits, his infuriating commentary punctuating them like some editorial nightmare.

Then, suddenly—

He stopped responding.

You frowned, staring at the document, watching the cursor blink mockingly. Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Was he ignoring you? Giving up?

You tapped your pen against your desk, debating whether you cared enough to message him first, when—

A knock sounded at your door.

Before you could even react, it swung open, and there he was—Kuroo Tetsurou, in the flesh.

His lean frame filled the doorway, one hand resting against the frame like he owned the place. He had his signature smirk in place, but there was something else in his expression too—something entertained, something knowing.

"Miss me?" he drawled, eyes flickering over your stiff posture, your clenched jaw. "You looked like you were having so much fun talking to me virtually, I figured you’d want the full experience."

You inhaled through your nose, already feeling the blood pressure spike.

You exhaled sharply, leveling him with a flat stare. "I figured there’d be less opportunity for violence."

And honestly, that wasn’t even a joke. The amount of restraint it had taken not to march down to his office and rip that smirk off his face with sheer force was immeasurable. You had chosen the safer option—the one where you didn’t have to look at him, hear him, or risk throwing a stapler at his head. And yet, here he was, standing in your doorway like he had been summoned from hell itself to personally test your patience.

He was insufferable. Smug, self-assured, a walking headache in human form. And if there was one thing you knew about Kuroo Tetsurou, it was that he never did anything without a reason. If he was here, standing in your office when you had both agreed to keep this virtual, then that meant—

Oh god. He had something planned.

Your fingers twitched, already anticipating whatever bullshit he was about to pull.

Kuroo chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "I come in peace. And—" he paused, reaching into his bag, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes followed the movement.

Your breath caught when he pulled out an expensive-looking bottle of liquor. Not the cheap stuff you’d grab from a convenience store, but something premium, something that had been picked out with actual effort.

"—with a peace offering," he finished, his smirk tilting just enough to make your stomach twist.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion lacing your thoughts as you stared at the bottle.

Was this a trick? Some underhanded play? He was good, you had to admit that—good at worming his way under your skin, good at making you react, good at playing you like a game he had already won.

Your pride warred with your exhaustion. The righteous fury you had been carrying all day was begging you to tell him to take his bottle and shove it where the sun didn’t shine. But then reality settled in.

You were going to be here for hours.

With him.

Your head throbbed at the thought, and suddenly, the idea of a drink didn’t seem so bad.

You sighed, rubbing your temple before muttering, "Let me get glasses."

As you turned toward the office cabinet where you kept miscellaneous supplies, including the occasional emergency stash of glassware, you heard the unmistakable sound of Kuroo grinning. Smug. Bastard.

"Well, that was easy," he mused, leaning lazily against the doorframe. "Didn’t think you indulged while working."

You shot him a sharp glare as you pulled out two glasses. "Well, I would've been at the bar by now, so consider yourself lucky."

Kuroo snorted, shaking his head. "Hey, blame the boss, not me."

You narrowed your eyes. "If you hadn’t pissed him off with that ridiculous campaign, he wouldn’t have cracked down on us."

Kuroo just grinned, pouring the drinks. "Technicalities, technicalities."

You huffed, shaking your head as you took a sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol seep into your system. "Focus, Kuroo. We actually need to get this done."

"I am focused," he said, swirling his glass with lazy amusement. "Multitasking. Drinking and working—very efficient."

Rolling your eyes, you dragged your laptop closer, forcing the conversation back on track. Despite his insufferable presence, the two of you made progress, fine-tuning the proposal, fixing the compliance issues, and actually making something presentable.

And, unfortunately, the drinks didn’t stop at just one.

At first, it was just a sip to take the edge off. Then another when Kuroo cracked a joke so unexpectedly funny that even you couldn't suppress a snort. Then another after you argued over phrasing in a particularly stubborn section of the document, only to realize you were both right in different ways. Somewhere along the way, the line between tolerating Kuroo and actually enjoying the banter blurred.

Your body felt warm, pleasantly buzzed as the stress of the day melted away. You stopped feeling the sharp edge of frustration every time he spoke, and—maybe it was the alcohol—but the way he leaned back in his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, smirk easy and lazy, didn’t seem quite as aggravating as before.

Another drink. Another laugh. Another sidetracked conversation.

Until—

Darkness.

When you blinked your eyes open, you weren’t in your office.

You weren’t even in your apartment.

A sharp, groggy awareness hit you all at once as you registered the unfamiliar ceiling above you, the soft sheets against your skin, the distinct lack of a work desk or legal documents anywhere in sight. And then—

The realization slammed into you like a freight train.

You were naked.

Your body stiffened, the cool air against your bare skin making it impossible to ignore the fact that you had absolutely nothing on beneath the sheets. Panic surged through you in waves, your mind scrambling to piece together what the hell had happened last night.

Then came the real kicker—the slow, steady sound of breathing beside you.

Heart hammering, you turned your head—and there, lying next to you, Kuroo Tetsurou.

Still asleep. Still shirtless. Still in his bed.

Oh, hell no.

Your breath caught in your throat as fragmented flashes of the night before flickered through your mind—hazy, disjointed, but unmistakable.

Your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer as your lips crashed against his. The low groan in his throat as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping your waist, his touch feverish, desperate. The feeling of his fingers dragging down your spine, his mouth trailing along your neck, leaving marks you probably still had.

Your voice—breathless, needy—whispering his first name like a secret. "Tetsurou..."

The way he murmured your name against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. His body pressing against yours, strong, unrelenting, claiming every inch of you. The undeniable fire between you, building, burning, until there was nothing left but the desperate need to consume each other.

Another flash—

Your head tilting back, a gasp leaving your lips as his mouth devoured the sensitive skin of your throat. The way his voice turned hoarse, possessive, when he whispered in your ear, "You drive me insane."

Your body arching into him, nails raking down his back, every touch sending electric heat through your veins. The sound of the sheets rustling, the deep gravel of his moan, the feeling of being completely, utterly unraveled beneath him.

And then—

Your legs wrapped around his waist, his gritted teeth against your shoulder, his grip bruising as he held you still, his body pressing into yours with a hunger that felt like it would break you apart. The way he cursed under his breath, muttering something too low to fully remember, but you knew it was about you—about how good you felt, how much he wanted you.

Your own voice, breaking on a whimper, a moan, pleading—

"Tetsurou—"

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes wide as your pulse pounded violently in your ears. No. No, no, no.

Your entire body tensed, your fingers gripping the sheets as if that alone could ground you. You felt too warm, too aware, heat crawling up your spine as your skin tingled with the ghosts of his touch.

What the hell had you done?

A fresh wave of panic surged through you as you peeked beneath the sheets, confirming what you already knew. Your clothes were nowhere in sight.

You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second, willing yourself to wake up from whatever twisted fever dream this was—but when you reopened them, Kuroo was still there, breathing evenly, looking far too comfortable in his sleep.

Your stomach twisted as your brain scrambled for something—anything—that could explain how this had happened. You had been working. You had been arguing. And then there had been drinks, and—

Your fingers pressed against your temples.

You weren’t an idiot. You knew exactly how this had happened.

You had slept with Kuroo Tetsurou.

And the worst part? The way your body still thrummed with the memory of it.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

This wasn’t just some nightmare. This was real.

And you were absolutely screwed.

Heart pounding, you slowly—carefully—peeled the sheets away, trying to move as silently as possible. You needed to find your clothes. Now. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to get out before Kuroo woke up and made this entire situation even more unbearable.

Your eyes darted around the room, scanning for any sign of your belongings. You spotted your shirt draped over the back of a chair, your underwear crumpled on the floor near the bed. No sign of your pants.

Biting your lip, you held your breath and gingerly slid out of the bed, wincing as the mattress shifted beneath you. You crept forward, grabbing your shirt first, hurriedly clutching it to your chest as you crouched down to retrieve your underwear.

Just as you were about to reach for them—

"Mornin', sunshine."

You yelped, stumbling back against the nightstand, your grip tightening around your shirt as you clutched it against your bare chest. Your wide, panicked eyes shot toward the bed where Kuroo was now very much awake, watching you with groggy amusement. His voice was still thick with sleep, deep and gravelly in a way that sent an unwanted shiver down your spine.

"God, you scared the shit out of me!" you snapped, still holding your shirt up like a makeshift shield.

Kuroo’s lips twitched, clearly enjoying this far too much. He stretched, arms reaching over his head, the sheets slipping just enough to reveal more bare skin than you needed to see this early in the morning. His messy hair somehow looked even worse than usual, and yet—

You shook your head violently, banishing whatever treacherous thought had just formed.

"Trying to sneak out?" he mused, his golden eyes glinting with amusement as he propped himself up on one elbow. "Rude."

You opened your mouth, then shut it, feeling heat creep up your neck. "I don't—I mean—did we—?"

Kuroo chuckled, the sound deep and lazy, sending a fresh wave of mortification through you. "Oh yeah. Several times." He tilted his head slightly, watching as your grip on your shirt tightened. "You were quite eager."

Your face burned, the words hitting you like a wrecking ball to the soul. "Oh my god," you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut for a second, as if that would make the entire situation disappear.

Kuroo smirked wider, clearly relishing your reaction. "I gotta say, I didn’t know you had it in you."

You snapped your eyes open, glaring daggers at him, your heart still pounding a million miles an hour. "Shut up, Kuroo. Just—shut up."

"Oh, but you weren’t saying that last night," he teased, stretching lazily, the motion making his muscles flex in an unfairly distracting way. "In fact, if I recall correctly, you were saying—"

"Don’t. You. Dare."

His grin widened. "Tetsurou—please—" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, clearly enjoying this too much.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his face. "I hate you."

He caught it with ease, laughing. "Hate me? That's funny, 'cause last night, you were—"

You groaned, pressing your palm against your face, praying for the ground to swallow you whole.

"I'm leaving." You turned sharply, spotting your pants halfway across the damn room, and cursed under your breath.

Kuroo only hummed, watching you scramble with amusement. "Sure you don’t wanna stay for round…what was it? Five?"

You threw another pillow at him. "I swear to god, Kuroo—"

His laughter followed you as you yanked your pants on, still red-faced, still mortified beyond belief.

You snatched up the rest of your belongings—your shoes, your bag, even the stray hair tie that had somehow ended up on his nightstand—moving so quickly you nearly tripped in your haste. Every second in this room was a second too long, every moment spent within Kuroo’s amused, knowing gaze only fueling the burning humiliation in your chest.

As you shoved your arms through your sleeves, pulling your shirt over your head, Kuroo propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with the kind of infuriating satisfaction that made you want to launch something heavier than a pillow at him.

"See you Monday," he drawled, voice thick with teasing amusement.

You shot him a withering glare, but it only made his smirk widen. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

You could still hear his low chuckle as you slammed the door behind you.

Unrequited Love: Atsumu

Atsumu Miya has experienced a lot of victories in his life.

Winning nationals in high school, standing on a podium with a gold medal around his neck, putting on his MSBY Jackals uniform for the first time—all those moments were huge. Defining. Things he’d worked his whole life to achieve.

But none of them compare to this.

None of them feel like the world just tilted sideways, like something fundamental in his chest just snapped into place.

All because of you.

But before that happens, he’s just living his normal life—coming off a grueling practice, shoulders aching, hair still damp from the shower he took before leaving the stadium. It’s not unusual for him to swing by your place. He’s been doing it since you were kids, long before volleyball was more than a game he played with Osamu in the backyard.

Back when you were there to keep him and his twin from going at each other’s throats.

He still remembers it so clearly—one of their first real fights, barely more than kids, fighting over a volleyball like it belonged to one of them more than the other. He doesn’t even remember what was said, just that he and Osamu were practically nose to nose, hands gripping at the ball like it was life or death.

And then, you appeared. Huffing, exasperated, already tired of their nonsense even at that age. You didn’t yell at them, didn’t try to make them share.

No, you just showed up with a second ball and tossed it right between them.

“There,” you said, hands on your hips, watching them with that unimpressed look you still give him when he’s being stupid. “Now you both have one. Can we play now?”

It was such a simple thing, but from that moment on, Atsumu couldn’t imagine life without you in it.

Through middle school, high school, and even now, with Osamu off running his shop instead of playing, you’re still here.

So he doesn’t hesitate to knock on your door, doesn’t even think twice about it. He’s just tired—wants a break from the noise of his own place, maybe some food if you’ve got anything lying around. You always let him crash, let him just be without the weight of being a pro athlete pressing down on him.

But the second the door swings open, everything changes.

Because you’re standing there, looking at him like this is just any other visit, wearing his jersey.

His mind shuts down completely.

The MSBY Jackals jersey. His number printed on the back. His last name stitched across your shoulders.

And worse? You're a mess. Hair disheveled like you just rolled out of bed, mismatched socks pulled halfway to your shins with a pair of his old shorts—ones he barely remembers giving you, but you always claimed were comfier than your own clothes. The jersey is oversized on you, hanging loose around your frame, the sleeves slipping past your shoulders.

It shouldn’t make his stomach flip like this. Shouldn’t make his chest tighten, heat rushing up the back of his neck like he’s some dumb teenager who’s never talked to a girl before.

But it does.

He stares. Blinks. Forgets how to function.

"Is that—" His voice cracks like a loser, and he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. "Is that my jersey?"

You blink at him, then glance down, pulling at the fabric as if you just noticed what you’re wearing.

“Oh.” You inspect it briefly before shrugging. “Yeah, it is. I got it after your first game. I had to have your number.”

Atsumu feels like he just got hit with a full-speed serve to the chest. You had to have his number?

Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything.

And that somehow makes it worse.

Atsumu short-circuits.

Because you mean it. And you don’t even realize what it’s doing to him.

His brain is stuck on a loop.

You didn’t even realize it was his. You put it on without thinking. You’ve been wearing his number all day, and it wasn’t a big deal to you. But it is to him.

His ears burn. His entire face burns. His heart is pounding in his chest, so loud he swears you can hear it.

You frown, tilting your head. "Tsumu? You okay?"

No. No, he is not.

Because suddenly, he gets it.

This feeling in his chest, this weird tightness, this warmth that’s always been there but never quite like this—it’s been building for years, hasn’t it? And he never noticed.

But now, staring at you in his jersey, standing in his doorway, looking at him like you always have, like you belong here—

It finally clicks.

And it wrecks him.

His mouth opens, then closes. He should say something. He should say anything. But what the hell is he supposed to say? That seeing you in his jersey makes his entire body feel like it’s overheating? That the thought of you buying it because you wanted his number is making his brain malfunction? That he suddenly doesn’t know how he’s supposed to just go back to normal after this?

He swallows thickly. His hands clench at his sides before he forces himself to shove them into his pockets. "Yeah. I—uh—guess it looks good on ya. Or whatever."

You give him a look like you don’t believe him. Like you know something’s off. And he knows you—knows you’re about to press, about to dig in and make him talk about this sudden identity crisis he’s having.

Which means he needs to stop you.

"Anyway," he blurts out, pushing past you and into the apartment like nothing just happened. "Ya got anything to eat? I’m starvin’."

You let it slide, just like you always do, shaking your head as you close the door behind him.

But Atsumu?

He knows he’s never letting this go.

Because this isn’t just some passing thought, not some weird, fleeting moment of confusion.

This is real. This is big.

And for the first time in his life, Atsumu Miya is terrified.

Worse? He thinks he might like it.

And that might just be the scariest part of all.

Favourite Positions: Matsukawa

Matsukawa’s fingers have always been dangerous—long, skilled, patient. The kind of touch that never rushes, never fumbles—always intentional, always knowing exactly how to pull you apart.

And right now, he’s enjoying himself.

“Fuck, babe,” he murmurs, his deep voice laced with amusement as his fingers curl inside you just right. His other hand rests lazily against your thigh, keeping it spread while his dark, hooded gaze drinks you in. “You’re really soaking my hand like this?”

You don’t even have the breath to answer—not when his pace is slow, teasing, deliberate. Each drag of his fingers sends pleasure curling up your spine, each flick against that sweet spot making your thighs twitch.

Matsukawa just smirks. He likes seeing you like this—messy, desperate, coming undone because of him.

He drags his fingers out almost completely before sinking them back in with an infuriatingly slow roll of his wrist, the slick sound of your arousal making his smirk widen. “Hear that?” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “So fucking wet for me.”

His fingers work in deeper this time, curling just so, rubbing in slow, purposeful strokes against that sensitive spot that makes your breath stutter. He watches your face, reveling in the way your brows pinch, your lips parting in a desperate little gasp.

"You can take it," he coaxes, thumb circling your clit in lazy, wet strokes. "I know you can."

He starts a rhythm—his fingers thrusting deep, dragging back, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure. The sensations build in slow waves, each motion pulling you higher, tightening the coil in your belly until it’s unbearable.

Your back arches, a choked moan slipping past your lips. He hums at the sound, clearly pleased, and then—he speeds up.

The shift is devastating—his fingers pumping harder, his thumb pressing just a little firmer, dragging you toward the edge so effortlessly it makes your head spin. He angles his wrist slightly, pressing his fingers deeper, rubbing in steady strokes that make your whole body tighten.

“Shit—Issei—”

“Yeah?” His grin is slow, teasing, as he leans in, lips grazing the inside of your knee. “You close, baby? Feels like you’re about to—”

He shifts again, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit, working you with practiced ease, and that’s all it takes. Your stomach tenses, pleasure snapping through you like a lightning strike.

You cry out as the pressure inside you snaps, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes over you—white-hot, overwhelming, electric.

Matsukawa groans as you clench around his fingers, but he doesn't stop.

"That's it," he praises, still working you through it, his voice dropping to a rasp. "Fuck, that's so hot."

Your body jerks as another wave builds too fast, too intense—your moan cuts off into a strangled whimper as the overstimulation crashes through you, and suddenly—

"Ohh, shit—look at that."

Heat floods your face as pleasure rips through you again, liquid gushing over his hand, dripping onto the sheets. Your thighs shake, muscles spasming, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your body writhes in the aftershocks. A strangled whimper escapes you, your legs instinctively trying to close, but Matsukawa's firm grip keeps them spread. Your fingers clutch desperately at the sheets, your body trembling, overwhelmed and spent.

Matsukawa just watches—his tongue flicking over his lips, his expression damn near predatory.

"Fuck," he breathes, finally slowing his movements, letting you collapse against the bed. His fingers slip out of you, glistening, and he hums, clearly impressed.

"Didn't know you could do that, babe," he muses, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a smirk. "But now that I do…"

He leans down, voice dropping to a wicked whisper.

"Bet I can make you do it again."

Rivals: Kuroo

Tension crackled in the air like a live wire as you strode through the halls of the Japan Volleyball Association, your heels clicking against the polished floors with sharp precision. Every step carried purpose, controlled and deliberate, but anyone who knew you well enough would recognize the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Clutching the latest stack of paperwork in one hand, you pushed open the glass door to Kuroo Tetsurou’s office with a level of force that was just shy of inappropriate. You were a professional, after all. Barging in wouldn’t do—but making a statement? That was entirely different.

Kuroo was at his desk, leaning back in his chair with an almost bored amusement, as if he had been expecting you. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the defined lines of his forearms, and his tie was slightly loosened, the very picture of a man who thrived in controlled chaos. He barely even blinked when you entered.

“Ah, Legal finally graces me with their presence,” he mused, setting his pen down atop an open document. “Didn’t expect you so soon. Usually, you let the frustration simmer a little longer before storming in.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, pressing the papers down onto his desk with more force than necessary. “I am not signing off on this.”

Kuroo barely glanced at the document before flicking his gaze back up to you, an infuriatingly lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Which part?”

You crossed your arms. “The part where you once again try to push through a sponsorship campaign that violates endorsement regulations, misleads consumers, and—oh—could land the association in serious legal trouble.”

He exhaled dramatically, tapping his fingers against the desk as if deeply inconvenienced. “That’s a lot of negativity, don’t you think? Maybe try looking at the bigger picture.”

You scoffed. “The bigger picture? Kuroo, the bigger picture is that I keep having to drag you back from launching ideas that would get us fined, sued, or—if we’re lucky—just scolded by compliance.”

Kuroo chuckled, stretching his arms above his head before fixing you with a look that bordered on scandalous. “You just love dragging me, don’t you?”

Your jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly, pushing himself up from his chair. The sudden shift in proximity sent a subtle prickle down your spine, but you didn’t move. He reached for the document you’d slammed down, flipping through it leisurely, clearly unbothered. “So what you’re saying is, if I tweak the wording…”

You narrowed your eyes. “If you tweak the wording, I’ll still reject it. It’s not just semantics, Kuroo. It’s about following the rules.”

His lips curled at the edges, sharp and teasing. “I think we both know I prefer to toe the line.”

You let out a sharp exhale, trying to ignore the way your heart beat just a little faster. This was the problem with him. He made everything a game, a cat-and-mouse dance where he got off on pushing boundaries just to see you react.

“I’ll tell you what,” he continued, placing the proposal down and leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll revise the proposal—to your unbearably strict standards—”

“How generous.”

“—if you grab drinks with me after work.”

Your grip tightened around your arms, heat creeping up your neck. “I’d rather spend my evening rewriting Japan’s entire corporate compliance manual.”

Kuroo let out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with uncontained amusement, but there was something else there too—something deliberately slow, measured, almost sultry. He tilted his head slightly, letting his voice drop just a fraction as he said, "That’s a shame. I think you’d find our conversations much more stimulating outside the office."

The deliberate weight behind his words sent a traitorous warmth crawling up your neck, but you forced yourself to keep your expression cool, even as your fingers curled against your arms.

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. “I think you’d find your ideas much more successful if they didn’t regularly violate corporate policy.”

Kuroo grinned, pushing back from the desk, his gaze never leaving yours. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Before you could fire back, the intercom crackled to life, and Kuroo’s secretary’s voice came through, smooth and professional. "Kuroo-san, your next meeting is waiting."

You shot him a sharp glare, your frustration still simmering just beneath the surface. "Fix it," you said, voice clipped, before turning on your heel and making your way toward the door.

Kuroo, however, didn’t move. Instead, he leaned back slightly, watching you leave with a slow, unapologetically amused expression. His gaze lingered—maybe a little too long—lowering slightly as you walked away, the sway of your hips pulling his attention before you disappeared into the hallway.

He exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I’m definitely fixing something."

You straightend your posture, pushing away the lingering heat of irritation (and something else) that settled over you. This wasn’t new. This wasn’t surprising. This was just Kuroo being Kuroo.

And yet, damn him. Damn that insufferable, arrogant smirk and the way your pulse skipped just a little too fast every time he directed that sharp, knowing gaze at you.

This was a game neither of you were willing to lose.

And unfortunately for you, Kuroo Tetsurou played to win. __

You stormed—as professionally as possible—back into your office, dropping the file onto your desk with a little too much force. The sharp slap of paper against wood echoed in the otherwise quiet space, but it wasn’t nearly enough to drown out the infuriating replay of your conversation with Kuroo looping in your head.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, but the words on your screen blurred together. Instead of drafting reports or reviewing contracts, your mind was stuck on the smugness in his voice, the arrogance in his smirk, the way he looked at you like he was perpetually three steps ahead. Every damn interaction with him was exhausting—a battle of wills where he seemed to enjoy watching you get riled up a little too much.

God, he was insufferable.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, willing the irritation out of your body as you sat back in your chair. Focus. You had other things to worry about. Work that didn’t involve him.

You had barely started scrolling through your inbox when the door to your office slammed open.

"What’s this I hear about you rejecting the campaign?"

Your boss’s voice boomed across the room before you even had a chance to react. You immediately straightened, hands folding neatly in front of you, as you turned to meet his hard gaze.

"Kuroo-san’s proposal does not pass policy guidelines, sir," you said smoothly, keeping your tone measured and professional.

Your boss scowled, pacing in front of your desk like you had just personally cost the company millions. His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up—a sign that he had been fielding other problems all day, and now, you were one of them.

"So make it pass!" he snapped. "What did we hire you for?"

You barely resisted the urge to grit your teeth. "Sir, with all due respect, the proposal in its current state violates multiple advertisement clauses. If we move forward with it as is, we risk legal repercussions."

He waved a dismissive hand, clearly uninterested in the specifics. "That’s your job to fix. I want it approved by the end of the day."

"You can't possibly be asking me to rewrite the campaign?" you asked, your voice carefully controlled despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Your boss scoffed, rubbing his temples as if this conversation was an unnecessary burden. "Don't even get me started on that bastard," he muttered, clearly referring to Kuroo. "I'm going to yell at him too. You both will be staying as long as it takes to finish this. No excuses."

Before you could argue, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on your desk. "And I don’t care if you two can’t stand each other. If this campaign doesn’t get approved, it’s both your heads on the line. Figure it out." He straightened, smoothing his tie as he exhaled sharply. "I expect progress by the next meeting. No more of this back and forth." Then, without waiting for your response, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the door wide open behind him.

You sat there for a moment, fingers clenched around the edge of your desk, trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

This wasn't even remotely close to being your fault. If anything, you had been doing your job correctly, stopping Kuroo from pushing through yet another one of his reckless, barely compliant proposals. And now, somehow, you were being punished for it. You had been following protocol, making sure the company didn’t find itself in a legal nightmare, and yet—you were the one getting scolded? Forced to stay late?

Because of him?

Your jaw tightened. Of course, he wouldn’t face the consequences alone. No, you had to be dragged into this mess alongside him, forced to sit in a room with that smirking, insufferable bastard and work together until this campaign was approved.

The mere thought made your blood pressure spike.

You could already picture the look on Kuroo’s face when he found out. That lazy, knowing grin. The cocky tilt of his head. The way he’d draw out every syllable of your name just to see you twitch. He would probably love this—getting to push your buttons for hours, knowing you had no choice but to endure it.

And the worst part? You knew exactly how he’d spin it.

“Oh? Stuck working overtime with me? You really just can’t get enough, huh?”

You let out a long exhale, trying to push away the irritation clawing at your nerves. The last thing you needed was to let Kuroo live rent-free in your mind. But the thought of having to sit across from him, in a room, alone, for hours, was already grating on you.

This night was going to be hell.

Your nails tapped impatiently against the desk as your mind raced. There was no way you were going to let Kuroo think he’d won just because you were forced into this situation. You would get this campaign approved, on your terms, and you would do it without giving him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

Because if this ended with him smugly leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, with that knowing smirk on his lips while he said, “Told ya we make a great team,” you were going to commit a corporate crime.

You straightened, rolling up your sleeves, your determination settling like steel in your spine.

If you had to suffer through this, so did he.

And if Kuroo wanted a fight, he was about to get one.

Jealousy: Osamu

The scent of rich broth and fresh noodles hung thick in the air, filling Osamu’s restaurant with a warmth that, under any other circumstance, he would have appreciated.

But tonight? Tonight, it was the smell of betrayal.

Osamu leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled irritation as you happily slurped down another bite of Atsumu’s ramen.

His twin sat across from you, looking way too pleased with himself, arms folded as he watched you enjoy his so-called cooking.

Osamu hated that look.

It was the same damn smirk Atsumu had worn their whole lives—whenever he managed to piss Osamu off, whenever he got away with something he shouldn’t have, whenever he won by sheer bullshit luck.

And now? Now he was wearing it in Osamu’s own shop.

"Damn, ‘Tsumu," you sighed, tilting the bowl to sip the broth. "This is amazing. I didn’t know you could cook like this!"

Osamu felt a deep, personal offense settle in his bones.

His entire career revolved around food. He had spent years perfecting his recipes, testing flavors, fine-tuning every last detail. He had trained under some of the best chefs, built this restaurant from the ground up.

And now, here you were, gushing over a bowl of glorified college survival food.

Atsumu leaned back, smug. "Told ya. I got talents."

Osamu let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose.

"You put a packet of dried seasoning into hot water," he said flatly.

You blinked. "Yeah, but the broth is really flavorful! What did you put in it, ‘Tsumu?"

Atsumu smirked, tipping his head like he was about to unveil some grand chef's secret. "Oh, ya know, just instinct—"

"It’s instant."

You didn’t even catch the shift in energy, completely oblivious to the deadly stare Osamu was leveling at his twin.

Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Technically, yeah," he admitted, "but I added some stuff—”

“Oh, yeah?” Osamu lifted a brow, arms still crossed tight. “And what’d ya add, exactly?”

Atsumu suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. “Uh. A soft-boiled egg.”

Osamu’s eye twitched.

Silence stretched between them.

Tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

You, utterly unaware, stretched with a satisfied sigh. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”

You leaned down to press a quick kiss to Osamu’s cheek—normally enough to calm him down—but he was too busy staring daggers at his brother to even register it.

The second the door shut behind you, Osamu turned to Atsumu.

“What’s your deal?”

Atsumu blinked, mouth half-full of noodles. “Huh?”

Osamu’s jaw tightened. “Ya woke up today and decided to piss me off?”

“For makin’ ramen?”

"She liked it."

Atsumu stared, then—as if the realization physically smacked him across the face—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, like he was witnessing something life-changing. His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Are ya—jealous?"

Osamu stiffened.

"Shut up."

"No. No way." Atsumu clutched his chest like he had just been blessed with the funniest joke in history. "Yer seriously mad ‘cause she liked my ramen?”

"Ya don’t cook," Osamu shot back, glaring. "That’s my thing."

Atsumu laughed. Full, loud, obnoxious cackles that echoed through the kitchen.

“Oh, ‘Samu,” he wheezed, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "I promise, yer the only chef in my heart."

Osamu grabbed a dishtowel and launched it straight at his face.

Atsumu barely dodged in time, still laughing like a damn hyena.

By the time you returned, Atsumu was half-wheezing into his bowl, Osamu was murdering a pile of green onions with his knife, and the air was thick with something way more intense than sibling rivalry.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh… did I miss something?"

Atsumu, struggling to breathe through his grin, pointed a dramatic finger at his twin.

Osamu, without looking up, muttered, "He’s banned from my kitchen."

Husbandry: Tsukishima

Tsukishima Kei had always been a man of quiet focus. He wasn’t one for unnecessary emotions on the court, and even in a high-stakes match, his expression rarely changed from that of mild indifference. It drove some of his teammates crazy, especially during moments like this—tied score, final set, the pressure mounting like a heavy storm cloud over the court.

The crowd roared around them, the energy in the gym palpable, but Kei remained as impassive as ever as he stepped up to serve. The ball rested in his hand, his fingers flexing over the synthetic leather, calculating the perfect trajectory. He took a breath, tuned out the noise—

And then he heard you.

“LET’S GO, KEI! YOU GOT THIS, BABY!”

Your voice cut through the chaos like a knife, loud and unwavering, filled with pure, unfiltered enthusiasm. It was the kind of cheer that had heads turning—not just in the stands, but on the court as well. The sideline players of the Sendai Frogs exchanged looks, one of them letting out an amused snort.

On the bench, the sideline players of the Sendai Frogs nudged each other, exchanging grins.

"Man, they're such opposites," one of them chuckled.

"Seriously," another added, shaking his head. "I bet he just tunes it out entirely."

Kei, however, did not react. Not outwardly, at least. He merely exhaled, tossing the ball into the air, bringing his arm back, and striking it with precision. The ball sailed over the net, untouched, an ace. A perfect point.

You erupted from your seat. “WOOHOO! THAT’S MY HUSBAND!”

Your cheers drowned out the announcer’s call, your hands clapping wildly as you beamed at the court. The energy was infectious, even drawing a smirk from one of Kei’s teammates.

“He really doesn’t deserve someone as fun as her,” a player on the bench teased.

Kei, who hadn't actually heard the comment, still felt like he was being talked about. His gaze shifted toward the teammate in question, sharp and unreadable. The player stiffened slightly under the weight of the look, laughing nervously. "Uh—never mind."

Though his expression remained neutral as they reset for the next point, you didn’t miss the slight twitch at the corner of his lips—a flicker of something, almost imperceptible, but you knew better. You knew he heard you. And you knew, despite his attitude, he didn’t mind.

The match pressed on, the tension thick in the air. Every point was fought for, the score inching closer and closer to victory. You kept cheering, never once faltering, your voice the constant, unwavering backdrop to Kei’s unshakable calm. Each time he stepped up to block or assist, you felt your heart race, willing him to succeed. Even when he wasn’t actively playing, your eyes remained glued to him, catching the subtle movements—his sharp gaze, the way his fingers curled into his palms, the way he subtly adjusted his position to anticipate the next play.

One of the opposing players served a near-perfect ball, fast and aggressive, but Kei anticipated it. His block was perfectly timed, and the ball slammed to the floor on the other side of the net. The referee signaled the point, and the crowd went wild.

“YES! THAT’S MY MAN!” you shrieked, standing up so fast that the people next to you startled.

“Hey, sit down, you’re blocking the view!” someone called playfully, but you barely heard them. Your entire world was on the court, watching Kei as he straightened, not even celebrating the way his teammates were.

And then, the final point.

A perfectly executed play sealed the win, and before you could process it, the Sendai Frogs were celebrating. The crowd erupted in cheers, but none were as loud as yours.

“YES! WOOOO!”

The players exchanged congratulations, the team huddling together in exhausted relief. Kei, as always, stayed a step behind the others, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward the sidelines. But his eyes flickered to the stands, just once, just enough for you to catch it before he looked away.

Your grin stretched even wider. He didn’t need to say it. That glance alone told you everything.

Tsukishima Kei was not a man of grand gestures or loud emotions. But you were, and that was okay.

Because when the dust settled, when the match was won, and the crowd began to disperse, Kei walked straight toward you. And in that split second before he passed by, his fingers brushed against yours—a silent acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of appreciation just for you.

You didn’t need anything more than that.

But you still made sure to yell one last time as he walked past, just to see his ears go a little red.

“I LOVE YOU, KEI!”

His teammates howled with laughter as he groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“…I regret everything.”

And yet, as he walked toward the locker rooms, his fingers lingered just slightly against the edge of yours, as if to say he didn't regret it at all.

Favourite Positions: Tendou

Of all the ways Tendou loved to fuck you, taking you from behind while standing was his absolute favorite.

It was the way you had to hold onto anything in front of you for dear life, your legs barely working as he pounded into you from behind. The way your ass bounced against his hips, how your body arched every time he drove deeper, filling you up so perfectly that your words turned to breathless gasps.

But the best part? The sounds you made.

Your moans were already deliciously wrecked, but what really did it for him was when you started whimpering his name.

“Satori—”

Tendou groaned, fingers digging into your hips, yanking you back onto his cock.

“Satori—oh my God—”

His grip tightened, and suddenly, his palm cracked against your ass, a sharp smack that had you gasping.

“Oh? What’s wrong, baby?” he taunted, grinning wickedly even as his thrusts didn’t slow. “Thought you were gettin’ all cocky earlier? What happened?”

You tried to respond, but it was impossible—he was fucking you too good, too deep, too fast, and all that came out was a choked moan.

Tendou loved it.

“Not so mouthy now, huh?” he teased, snapping his hips forward, grinding in deep, feeling you flutter around him. “Bet you thought you were gonna be in charge. So cute.”

You let out a frustrated little whine, your fingers clenching against the table in front of you, nails dragging against the surface as another sharp thrust stole your breath.

Still—you weren’t going down without a fight.

With whatever strength you had left, you tilted your head back just enough to meet his gaze over your shoulder, your eyes glassy but defiant as you bit out:

“Then—shut up and fuck me, Satori.”

Tendou froze for half a second—his cock twitching at your tone—before letting out a low, dark chuckle.

“Ohhh, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

His fingers slid up your spine, fisting in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to arch, forcing you to take him even deeper.

Then, he wrecked you.

His thrusts turned brutal, relentless, hitting that spot inside you over and over until your mouth fell open in a silent scream, pleasure crashing over you in waves.

Your legs buckled, but he held you up, laughing against your ear as you trembled, shaking apart in his grip.

“Satori—” you gasped again, your voice high, needy, broken.

“Oh yeah, baby,” he panted, grinning against your neck. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

And just to seal the deal, his hand snaked down between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in messy, frantic circles—

And you shattered.

Your whole body locked up, your walls clenching so hard around him that Tendou groaned deep, his thrusts stuttering as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a deep, shuddering moan.

For a long moment, all that was left was panting, shaking, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

Then, Tendou grinned against your skin, pressing lazy, teasing kisses along your shoulder.

“Still got somethin’ smart to say, babe?”

You tried—tried so hard—to come up with a response. But your brain was pure static, and all you could do was let out a soft, exhausted whimper:

“… Satori…”

Tendou laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Rivalry: Atsumu (Pt.2) NSFW

You barely remembered the trip home. Your body moved on autopilot, the mortification from earlier fogging your brain to the point that you couldn't focus on anything else. The second you made it through your bedroom door, you slammed it shut behind you and slid down against it, your legs giving out as you collapsed onto the floor.

"What the fuck did I just do?"

The words came out in a strangled whisper, as if saying them too loudly would make the situation even more real. You pressed your hands to your face, groaning into your palms as every moment replayed itself in your head like a sick joke. The shouting, the insults, the way he kissed you like he was trying to win—as if any of this was a game.

And worse? The way you kissed him back.

You wanted to blame the heat of the moment, the sheer exhaustion that had worn you thin, the suffocating tension that had been building up for years. But that didn’t excuse the fact that you had wrapped your legs around him, pulled him in, let yourself get so lost in him that you had completely forgotten where you were.

You smacked your forehead against your knees. "I am such an idiot."

The embarrassment made your skin crawl. You had let Atsumu Miya kiss you. And not just kiss you—practically devour you in a damn supply closet. You had been seconds away from—

No. No, you weren’t even going to think about that.

You forced yourself to stand, limbs still shaky as you shuffled toward your dresser, pulling out your sleepwear. Maybe if you went to bed and didn’t think about it, this entire thing would disappear from your memory by morning.

Right. Because that’s how trauma worked.

You peeled off your shirt, letting out a sigh as you tossed it into the laundry pile. Your fingers ran absentmindedly through your hair, eyes barely focusing on your reflection in the vanity mirror—

And then you saw it.

Your entire body went rigid.

There, on the side of your neck, just below your jawline, was a hickey.

Not just any hickey—a big, obnoxiously dark mark staining your skin, bold as fucking day. The kind that wasn’t going away anytime soon. The kind that was going to be impossible to cover up without half the school noticing.

Your eye twitched. Your pulse spiked.

That bastard.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, a fresh wave of fury searing through your veins.

"I’m gonna kill him."

___

The moment you stepped into the school building, your body was on edge.

You had taken extra time getting ready, draping a scarf around your neck despite the warm weather, just in case. The last thing you needed was for anyone to see the evidence of last night’s catastrophe.

But the second you stepped through the gym doors, you could feel him watching you.

Atsumu was already there, leaning lazily against the lockers, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk already in place.

“Yer all bundled up today,” he drawled, golden eyes flickering to the scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. “Ain’t it a little warm for that?”

You didn’t respond. You marched straight toward him, grabbing him by the arm before he could react and dragging him toward the back of the building, away from prying eyes.

“Oi—what the hell?” he complained, but he didn’t resist, letting you pull him along with a smug chuckle.

The second you were alone, you spun around, fire in your eyes. “You have a lot of goddamn nerve.”

Atsumu raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Me? What’d I do?”

You ripped off the scarf and pointed at your neck. “Care to explain this?”

His gaze flickered downward, and when he saw the mark, his smirk grew into something far too pleased for your liking. “Huh.”

“Huh?! That’s all you have to say?!”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? Looks good on ya.”

Your blood boiled.

“Where did you find the gall and the nerve to mark me like some sort of animal?!” you seethed. “Do you even care?!”

Atsumu sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his head. “Aww, sweetheart, didn’t know ya were that ashamed of me.”

Your eye twitched.

“Ashamed?! Oh, please—”

“Oh, so ya liked it?”

Your breath caught, your brain short-circuiting just long enough for him to chuckle. “I knew ya weren’t as immune to me as ya act.”

Your fists clenched, the fury behind your eyes nearly burning holes through him. “I swear to god, Miya, if you don’t wipe that smug look off your face, I’ll—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice low and taunting. He took a step closer, invading your space. “Ya gonna hit me? Scream at me? Oh, wait—ya already did plenty of screamin’ last night.”

Your stomach twisted into a violent knot. “Go to hell.”

Atsumu smirked, tilting his head. “Only if you join me, sweetheart.”

Red. All you saw was red.

Your hand shot out, shoving him hard in the chest. He barely stumbled, his smirk widening as if he’d expected it—wanted it. His eyes burned, dark and taunting, daring you to push him further.

“I fucking hate you,” you spat, voice shaking with rage. “Stay the hell away from me.”

Atsumu let the silence hang, watching you, unreadable—until his lips curled, voice dropping to something dangerous, something hungry.

“That’s not what I was gettin’ last night.”

Your breath hitched, your entire body locking up.

He leaned in just a fraction, enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His voice was nothing but a rough murmur. “In fact, from where I was sittin’… ya couldn’t get enough of me.”

You snapped. Without thinking, your hand whipped out, aiming to smack that cocky look off his face—but he caught your wrist before it could land. His grip was firm, tight, and the moment your skin met his, something flared in the space between you. A live wire, electric and burning.

For a second, neither of you moved. Your chest heaved, his fingers tightening around your wrist, his golden eyes locked onto yours, daring, challenging, waiting for your next move.

And then, just as quickly, he released you, stepping back with that damn smirk still in place. “See ya at practice, sweetheart.”

He turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, fists clenched so hard your nails bit into your palms.

You hated him. Hated him.

And you hated the fact that your skin still burned where he touched you.

__

The moment you stepped onto the court, the entire atmosphere had shifted. The usual lightheartedness was replaced by something else—something charged, something that even the others could feel. The tension between you and Atsumu was palpable, filling every space between you like static before a storm.

You did everything you could to ignore him, keeping your focus locked on the drills, on making sure everything ran smoothly as usual. But even as you busied yourself with tasks, taking inventory, filling water bottles, making sure the practice schedule was followed, you felt him. His presence, his gaze. And every single time you so much as glanced his way, you caught it—that smug, infuriating smirk, the one that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

Osamu was the first to crack. “She's even more pissed off than usual. What’d ya do to her?”

Atsumu’s head snapped toward his brother, jaw tightening. “Why do ya always assume I’m in the wrong?”

Osamu raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Dunno, maybe ‘cause ya usually are?”

Atsumu scoffed, gripping the volleyball tighter in his hands before tossing it up and setting it with too much force. “Fuck off, ‘Samu.”

Suna, from across the court, watched the exchange with mild interest, his usual lazy expression barely concealing the amusement behind his eyes. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The shared glance between him and Osamu said enough.

Even Kita had noticed. “Focus,” he called out flatly, directing the attention of the team back to practice. “Don’t need anyone actin’ stupid today.”

Your jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the clipboard in your hand. The fact that it was so obvious was frustrating enough. You’d hoped that whatever happened between you and Atsumu could be contained, that it wouldn’t seep into practice, but it was everywhere—in the way his passes came off just a little harder, in the way your own movements felt stiff and mechanical. In the way your stomach twisted whenever you so much as thought about the night before.

The second the whistle blew, signaling the end of practice, you didn’t hesitate. You were gone, out the door before anyone could stop you, barely pausing to acknowledge the rest of the team as they wrapped up.

You didn’t care. You just needed to get away.

You tried to go about your day. You really did. You sat through your classes, eyes locked on the board, scribbling down notes that you knew wouldn’t make any sense later. You went through the motions, completing assignments, answering when spoken to, doing everything you were supposed to do.

And yet, despite all of it, your mind refused to let you be.

It kept circling back to him.

The way he looked at you. The way his hands had felt gripping your waist. The heat of his breath against your skin. The smugness in his voice when he threw your own reactions back in your face, like he knew he was getting under your skin. Like he thrived on it.

You shook your head, frustrated, dragging a hand down your face as you sat in the back of the library, books open in front of you but nothing sinking in. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. And the worst part? He knew it.

Because Atsumu Miya was the absolute worst.

And you hated that, deep down, he knew it too.

It was like an itch under your skin, a pressure in your chest that refused to ease. No matter how much you told yourself you could push it away, forget it, move on—it lingered. Every time you blinked, you could still feel the way his hands had gripped you, how his breath had ghosted over your skin, how he had smirked like he had won.

You weren’t going to let him take up another second of your time.

Fuck this. And fuck him.

Jaw tight, you yanked your phone out of your pocket, fingers moving faster than your thoughts as you typed out a message to Kita.

Not feeling well. Can’t make it to afternoon practice.

Your thumb hovered over the send button for a split second before pressing down. As soon as the message was out, a weight lifted from your chest. There was no way in hell you were going to spend another hour in that gym, breathing the same air as him, pretending like everything was normal when it wasn’t.

You tossed your phone onto the table, running both hands down your face, exhaling slowly. You needed to clear your head. You needed space. One day—just one day—where Atsumu Miya wasn’t in your fucking mind.

A small vibration broke the silence, and you glanced at your phone again.

Kita: Okay. Feel better.

You stared at the message for a second before locking your phone and shoving it into your pocket.

You weren’t sick. But he sure as hell was making you feel like you were.

__

After spending the rest of the day trying to distract yourself—hanging out with friends, grabbing food, doing anything to keep your thoughts away from him—you finally made it home. The moment you stepped inside, the silence was welcoming, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

Your parents were gone for the weekend. No one was home. Just you, an empty house, and, finally, some peace.

You exhaled slowly, rolling your shoulders as you set your bag down by the door. The tension in your chest had begun to fade, little by little, replaced by the relief of knowing you didn’t have to see him, didn’t have to deal with his bullshit. You could relax, unwind, maybe even—

A knock at the door shattered the peace into a million fucking pieces.

Your head snapped toward the door, heart lurching into your throat. No way. It couldn’t be—

A second knock.

You stood frozen for half a second before irritation overtook any disbelief. Of course, it was him. Of course.

You stomped forward, already feeling the irritation claw its way back up your spine. The second you yanked open the door, your glare could’ve burned holes through his head.

Atsumu Miya, standing on your doorstep, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Your instincts kicked in immediately. Without thinking, without hesitating, you moved to slam the door shut.

But his foot jammed in before the door could close, wedging itself into the gap, keeping it wide open. He stepped forward, forcing his way into your space with that same smug arrogance he always carried. You glared at him, voice low, venomous.

“I didn’t invite you in.”

Atsumu turned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, completely unfazed by your hostility. “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t.” You crossed your arms tightly, shifting your weight as if physically bracing yourself for whatever ridiculous excuse he was about to pull from his ass.

He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing in determination. “I think we do. This whole thing between us? It’s screwin’ with the team.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “And whose fault is that?”

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is fixin’ it. And I got a solution.”

You narrowed your eyes, already regretting even entertaining this conversation. “I swear to god, if this is some dumbass idea—”

“Let’s just fuck and get it outta our systems.”

Silence. Heavy. Thick. Suffocating.

Your brain stalled for a moment, your mouth parting as if waiting for an explanation that would somehow make his words less ridiculous.

“…Excuse me?”

Atsumu leaned against the doorframe, completely relaxed, completely serious. “You heard me.”

You blinked. Then a sharp, disbelieving laugh tore from your throat. “You are actually out of your goddamn mind.”

“Think about it,” he continued, as if he were suggesting something completely logical, completely normal. “All this pent-up tension? It ain’t gonna go away on its own. We fight like hell every time we’re near each other, and it’s makin’ shit hard for the team.”

You scoffed, arms crossing even tighter. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

His smirk sharpened. “You sure it’s just mine?”

Your fingers twitched, itching to strangle him. “Yes, Miya. It is. And I don’t know what kind of delusional fantasy you’ve been living in, but I wouldn’t touch you if my life depended on it.”

Atsumu’s grin widened. “Oh yeah? That’s not what it felt like the other night.”

Your blood boiled instantly. “I hate you.”

“Good,” he said, voice dropping slightly, gaze darkening. “Makes it easier.”

You hated that your breath caught. Hated that there was something dangerous in the way he looked at you, something that sent a sharp, electric pulse straight through your stomach, tightening like a vice, making your breath come just a little too short. He was standing too close, the heat radiating from him brushing against your skin, tangible, suffocating. It was infuriating—how he took up space, how he filled every damn inch of it like he belonged there, like this moment was inevitable.

Your mind screamed at you to slam the door in his face, to push him away, to tell him to go straight to hell where he belonged. But you knew, deep in the marrow of your bones, that it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d still be there, in your head, smirking, taunting, winning.

Because he was right about one thing.

The tension? The energy? The pull between you? It wasn’t going away. It had been festering, simmering beneath every argument, every pointed glare, every sharp-edged word exchanged over the years. It had always been there, a wildfire waiting for a spark.

You sucked in a sharp breath, trying—desperately—to rein in the rage, the irritation, the heat that was threatening to consume you whole. Every logical part of you screamed to shove him out, to not give in, to refuse him like you always had. But the rest of you? The part that was tired of the fight, of the push and pull, of resisting something that never truly went away? That part just wanted relief. “You’re serious about this?”

His smirk faded slightly, but the intensity in his eyes remained. “Dead serious.”

A battle waged inside you, every single nerve in your body screaming for you to shove him out, to tell him to rot in hell.

And yet, somehow, the words never left your lips.

Instead, you held his gaze for a long moment before exhaling sharply, tilting your chin up in defiance. "Leave your shoes near the door," you said, voice firm, unwavering. Then, without another glance, you turned on your heel and walked toward your bedroom, every step deliberate, controlled—as if daring him to follow.

Behind you, Atsumu's smirk widened. He toed off his shoes without hesitation, stepping inside with the confidence of someone who had already won.

Every rational part of you screamed that this was a terrible idea, that giving him even this was playing into exactly what he wanted. But another part of you—the part that had felt the full force of his mouth on yours, the part that still burned from the way he had grabbed you,—told you this was inevitable.

The moment the bedroom door shut, the air thickened, charged with something electric, something volatile. Hands clashed in a war of dominance, tearing at clothing like this was less about passion and more about proving a point. Fabric hit the floor in a frenzied, heated mess, discarded in a battle neither of you planned to lose. His grip was rough, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt before yanking it up and over your head with no patience, no hesitation.

You weren’t any gentler. Your hands fisted his hoodie, dragging it up his torso with force, exposing tanned skin and hard muscle, your nails scratching over his ribs just to hear the sharp breath he sucked through his teeth. It was satisfying, watching his composure waver, watching him react to you instead of the other way around. But his eyes burned when they met yours, something dark and dangerous flashing through them as he let the hoodie drop to the floor and stepped closer, pressing you backward, swallowing any satisfaction you might have felt.

His lips found the base of your throat, hot, biting, a stark contrast to the cool air against your flushed skin. He kissed like he fought—ruthless, demanding, relentless. His teeth scraped over your pulse point, lips dragging along the sensitive skin before sinking in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“When are your folks gonna be home?” he muttered against your throat, voice rough, half-amused, half-starved.

The question barely registered, your mind already dizzy from the way his hands slid down your sides, gripping at your waist like he was staking a claim. “Monday,” you managed to breathe out, your voice embarrassingly unsteady.

Atsumu grinned against your skin, that cocky smirk pressing into your flesh, making you want to shove him away just as much as you wanted to pull him closer. “Good.” His breath was hot against your ear as he dragged his lips to your jaw, his voice dropping lower. “Means you can be loud.”

His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, pressing against your throat just enough to make you dizzy, gripping your waist hard enough that you were sure you'd feel it tomorrow. His smirk never faltered, even as his rhythm stuttered when you clenched around him, even as you matched his energy, dragging your nails down his back, leaving marks that would remind him exactly who he was dealing with.

Before you could register it, he pushed you back, guiding you toward the bed with a roughness that sent a pulse of heat down your spine. Your knees hit the mattress, and as you fell back, you reached behind you, flicking open the clasp of your bra and letting it slide off your shoulders. Atsumu's gaze darkened, his hands immediately finding your bare skin, his thumbs swiping over your nipples in a slow, testing motion.

A sharp breath escaped you, and before you could bite it back, he grinned. "Sensitive, huh?" His voice was low, teasing, full of wicked amusement as he leaned in, dragging his tongue over the already aching bud before his teeth grazed it—just enough pressure to make you arch slightly.

The sting made you hiss, your hand shooting up to tangle in his hair, yanking hard. He groaned, the sound reverberating against your skin, but instead of annoyance, his smirk only widened. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips curving against your breast as he let out a breathy chuckle. "That all ya got?"

Heat crept up your neck, a flash of irritation mixing with something else—something dangerous. You could feel the smirk against your skin, smug and insufferable, and without thinking, you decided to wipe it off his face.

Your hand shot down between you, fingers deftly working at his belt, yanking it open with a confidence that made his breath hitch. The sound was satisfying, nearly as much as the way his smirk flickered for half a second when you popped the button on his jeans and dragged the zipper down in one smooth motion.

His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, and the second you wrapped your fingers around him, Atsumu let out a ragged groan, his forehead briefly pressing into your collarbone.

You shouldn’t have looked. You should not have looked. But curiosity got the better of you, and the moment your eyes flickered down, something inside you stuttered.

Fuck. He was bigger than you thought.

Atsumu felt you hesitate. You knew he did because when he looked up, there was something knowing in his gaze, something amused and all too smug.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he drawled, voice thick, teasing. "Bit off more than ya can chew?"

Your grip tightened instinctively around him, wiping the smirk off his face just as quickly as it had returned. But inside, your thoughts were spiraling.

Then, without missing a beat, you scoffed, tilting your head as your fingers gave an almost lazy stroke along his length. "Please," you murmured, voice dripping with defiance, "don’t flatter yourself."

Atsumu’s jaw ticked, the teasing glint in his eyes sharpening into something darker, something more challenging. But before he could throw back one of his usual cocky retorts, you surged forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was all teeth, all aggression, all sheer willpower to stay in control. Your hand still worked him over, slow but deliberate, and you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

For once, he wasn’t smirking.

And that was exactly what you wanted.

His breath came heavier now, his body betraying him even as he tried to maintain his usual smug composure. You didn’t give him time to recover. Your hand kept working over him, stroking slow and firm, and you could feel the way his cock twitched against your palm, how his muscles tensed beneath your touch. He let out a low groan into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, like he was trying to steady himself.

But you weren’t done proving a point.

Atsumu’s grip tightened, and in one swift movement, he pushed you back onto the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The sudden shift sent a shiver through you, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him through hooded eyes as he reached for the waistband of your pants, fingers toying with the fabric.

He paused, gaze flicking up to meet yours, almost as if he was waiting for you to protest.

You didn’t.

His smirk returned, sharp and knowing. "Knew ya wanted this," he muttered, more to himself than you, and then he hooked his fingers into your pants, dragging them down along with your panties in one slow, torturous motion.

The cool air hit your skin, and that was when it fully sank in—how wet you were, how badly you had needed this despite every ounce of denial you had fed yourself. Atsumu’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip, that self-satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth again.

“Well, well,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement as his fingers trailed along the inside of your thigh, not touching where you needed him most, just teasing. “Guess I’m not the only one enjoyin’ this.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, an involuntary reaction you hated, and Atsumu caught it instantly, his smirk deepening with the kind of satisfaction that made your blood boil. Your breath came out sharper than you intended, but you refused to let him get the upper hand.

Grinding your teeth, you quickly recovered, tilting your head with a defiant glare. "Just shut up and fuck me."

Atsumu’s smirk faltered for a split second, and you caught it—the flicker in his eyes, the sharp inhale, the way his grip on your thigh tightened ever so slightly. He tried—tried—to act unfazed, but the way his cock twitched against your leg told you everything you needed to know.

You only smirked, fingers reaching up to drag through his hair, tugging him down until his mouth crashed against yours. If he wanted to act like you weren’t affecting him, you’d just have to prove otherwise.

But then he pulled back, breath ragged, eyes dark with something unreadable. Without a word, he reached for his discarded pants, fishing in the pocket before pulling out a condom. He tore it open with his teeth, rolling it on with a practiced ease that had your stomach flipping.

Atsumu’s gaze flicked to yours as he crawled back over you, spreading your legs apart with both hands, his touch firm, demanding. The tension crackled between you, heavy and intoxicating, his gaze drinking you in like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

And then, finally, finally, he pressed into you—slow, deliberate, stretching you inch by inch until you could feel every bit of him. The sensation was overwhelming, a deep, aching stretch that made your breath falter, your fingers tightening around your sheets as your body adjusted. It felt impossibly slow, like time had deliberately decided to crawl just to make you feel every single inch of him sinking into you, filling you more than you had anticipated, more than you had prepared for.

Your walls clenched involuntarily, the pressure making your body thrum with a mix of pleasure and tension. A choked sound escaped you, something between a gasp and a whimper, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, pooling behind your eyes as the sheer fullness of it sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked at the corners of your vision, unbidden, unexpected, as if your body was trying to process how completely he had taken over your senses.

You almost didn’t dare to look at him. You expected his usual cocky smirk, a teasing remark, some smug comment about how he knew you’d struggle to take him. But when you forced yourself to peek up at him, what you saw made your breath hitch for an entirely different reason.

Atsumu was wrecked.

At first, you thought he was in pain. His whole body was trembling, jaw locked so tight you could see the tension ripple through him. You blinked, suddenly unsure, shifting slightly beneath him, instinctively moving to push at his chest, to tell him to stop if it was too much—

But the second you moved, Atsumu let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a curse, his hands clamping down hard on your thighs as he all but growled, "Don’t move."

You froze, lips parting in confusion. "Why—"

Then, you saw it.

The way his forehead dropped against yours, the way his entire frame shook with the effort of keeping himself together. His breath was ragged, his nails digging into your skin, his control hanging by a thread so thin you could almost see it snapping.

He wasn’t in pain.

He was holding back.

Holding back from cumming.

The realization sent another wave of heat through you, something dark and wicked unfurling in your chest. He was barely holding on.

And something about that made the heat in your stomach coil tighter, deeper. Seeing him like this—wrecked, struggling, trying so damn hard to hold himself together—was intoxicating. You had spent so long thinking of him as smug, as unshakable, as someone who never let anything get to him. But now? Now he was unraveling above you, and it was because of you.

Your breath caught, and you swallowed hard, trying to shove the thought down as far as it would go. That’s so ridiculously hot.

No. No, you couldn’t let yourself think that, couldn’t let yourself dwell on it, couldn’t let yourself enjoy it. Not with him. Not like this.

You forced yourself to focus, to ease the tension in your body, to relax just enough so it wasn’t as tight, wasn’t as overwhelming for either of you. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself, feeling the way his grip tightened just slightly, like he was waiting, like he was barely managing to hold himself back.

And then, without warning, he thrust into you.

A sharp, unrestrained scream tore from your lips, your entire body jolting at the sudden movement. The sensation of being stretched even further sent a shockwave through your system, a mix of pleasure and sheer overwhelming fullness that made your breath stutter. Your back arched instinctively, hands flying up to cover your mouth, eyes blown wide in disbelief at the abruptness of it.

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, your pulse roaring in your ears. The shock took precedence over everything else, and before you could think better of it, you swung your hand out and smacked his shoulder—hard.

“Maybe let me know when you start?!” you half-yelled, voice sharp, breath tumbling out in a shaky exhale as you tried to regain some semblance of composure. Your body was still reeling, trying to adjust to him, and the last thing you needed was to be caught off guard like that.

Atsumu only grinned, completely unbothered by the slap, looking down at you with that insufferable, golden-eyed amusement. His breath was uneven, his jaw tight, but that cocky smirk still curled at his lips like he had all the control in the world.

“What? Thought ya liked surprises, sweetheart,” he teased, voice thick, a little wrecked despite his best efforts to hide it.

As he spoke, he started moving—slow at first, but deep, each thrust deliberate and unrelenting. Whatever sharp remark you had locked and loaded in your brain was lost instantly, the words dying in your throat as a broken moan escaped instead. Your fingers dug into his arms, gripping hard enough to leave marks, your body already responding despite every stubborn effort to resist.

His smirk widened, golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "What was that?" he taunted, his pace steady, unhurried, like he was enjoying watching you struggle to hold yourself together.

You tried—tried—to find your voice, to glare at him, to force something cutting past your lips, but all that came was another breathy moan, your head tilting back against the pillow as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

Atsumu chuckled, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear. "Guess ya don’t got much to say now, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers twitching, half a second away from smacking him again. Smug bastard.

But if he thought you were just going to lie there and take it, he had another thing coming.

Your walls clenched deliberately around him in retaliation, squeezing tight just to throw him off his rhythm. The reaction was instant—his breath hitched, his smirk faltering as his jaw clenched hard enough to make his muscles twitch. You felt the tremor that ran through him, the way his fingers dug just a little deeper into your hips, his control barely holding on by a thread.

A satisfied smirk flickered across your lips as you rolled your hips up to meet his thrusts, matching him, challenging him. If he wanted to play smug, you could play harder.

"Fuckin’ hell," Atsumu groaned, voice strained, his movements stuttering before he caught himself. His golden eyes, usually filled with amusement and arrogance, were darker now, hazed over with something dangerously close to desperation.

He exhaled sharply, trying to recover, trying to push past the way you were throwing him off, but you knew. You could see the effort it was taking him to keep control, to not let it slip, and that only made you push more.

His thrusts picked up in response, deeper, more desperate, like he was trying to wrestle back the upper hand. But even he was struggling now, and when he tried to open his mouth for some cocky remark, all that came out was a low, broken moan.

The tension snapped like a live wire between you, the push and pull combusting into something raw, something reckless. His movements grew sharper, more relentless, his grip on your hips tightening as if trying to ground himself, as if trying to drag both of you under with him. The heat pooling in your stomach grew unbearable, white-hot pleasure licking up your spine, making every nerve in your body hum.

Your head tilted back, lips parting as the sensation overwhelmed you. And then, without thinking, without hesitation, the words tumbled from your lips, breathless and pleading.

"Tsumu... harder."

Something inside him snapped.

A sharp curse tore from his throat, his control completely disintegrating as he buried himself deeper, his rhythm shifting from teasing to ruinous. His pace turned brutal, driving into you with a force that sent you arching into the sheets, your fingers clawing at his back, nails dragging down his skin as you lost yourself to the sheer intensity of it.

Every thrust sent you spiraling higher, the coil in your stomach twisting impossibly tight, your entire body trembling from the mounting pleasure. It was too much, too good, each snap of his hips pushing you closer to the edge until—

You shattered.

A choked cry ripped from your throat, pleasure slamming through you in waves, body tensing, back arching, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. The sensation ripped a strangled groan from Atsumu, his movements growing erratic as he chased his own release, barely holding himself together before he followed, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering moan.

For a long moment, there was nothing but ragged breathing, heavy silence, the lingering heat of everything that had just happened wrapping around you both like a smothering fog. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his chest heaving against yours, the weight of him grounding you in the aftermath of the storm.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you exhaled shakily and muttered, "Well... what now?"

Favourite Positions: Bokuto

Of all the ways Bokuto loved to fuck you, having your hips dangling off the edge of the bed while he pounded into you from above was by far his favorite.

There was just something about it—how it let him watch you, take in the way your body stretched out beneath him, the way your tits bounced with every hard thrust. How your legs, struggling to stay wrapped around his waist, trembled from the sheer force of him. But more than anything?

It was the way you looked up at him.

Eyes wide, dazed—needy.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so—” Bokuto cut himself off with a groan, grip tightening on your thighs as he slammed into you, his cock driving deep, deeper, until you were arching, gasping, fingers clawing at the sheets.

The angle was almost too much. He could tell by the way you squeezed him, the way you trembled every time he bottomed out, hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body jolt.

“You feel it?” he panted, his abs flexing with every thrust. “Yeah, you do. Fuck—you’re so tight.”

You could barely respond, words lost in broken moans as he set the pace brutal. Skin meeting skin, the slick sounds of your bodies tangling together—his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

His hands left your thighs, one gripping your hip to hold you still, the other sliding down, fingertips ghosting over your stomach before pressing firmly right where he could feel himself inside you.

“Shit,” he groaned, head tilting back, muscles tensing. “I’m so deep in you, baby. Fuck, you take me so well.”

Your back arched at the pressure, the sensation overwhelming, white-hot pleasure spreading through every nerve.

Then, his hand moved lower.

The second his fingers found your clit—rubbing messy, frantic circles—you snapped.

Your whole body locked up, pleasure crashing into you so hard you let out a cry, a high, desperate sound as your walls clenched tight around him. The feeling had Bokuto gritting his teeth, his thrusts turning erratic, chasing his own release as you milked him for everything he had.

One, two, three more thrusts—

Then he was spilling inside you, groaning your name like it was the only thing he knew, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

For a long moment, the only sound was heavy breathing, the heat of your bodies pressed together, sweat slick and satisfied.

Then, Bokuto let out a breathless, giddy laugh, leaning down to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against your parted lips.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, voice still wrecked. “We’re so doing that again.”

Rivalry: Akaashi

You had worked your ass off for this promotion.

Late nights, impossible deadlines, last-minute rewrites—you’d done it all. You had sacrificed weekends, spent too many nights hunched over your desk, and powered through mind-numbing meetings, all in the hopes that your work would finally be recognized. And now, with the senior editor position finally up for grabs, it was down to you and Akaashi Keiji.

Akaashi—the picture-perfect editor. Calm, meticulous, frustratingly good at everything. The kind of guy who never looked frazzled, never rushed, never flinched under pressure. It was like stress simply did not affect him.

And somehow, despite working just as hard as you, he always seemed one step ahead.

You wanted to win this. Not just for the raise or the title, but to finally beat him at something. To prove that you were just as good—better, even.

So when your boss called you both into the office, hands folded with a pleased smirk, you thought, Maybe, just maybe, I’ve got this.

Then the words left their mouth.

“Akaashi landed an exclusive with the MSBY Jackals.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Your boss nodded. “Full-length feature. First-hand accounts. Exclusive team coverage. Bokuto introduced him to the players himself—an incredible opportunity. The kind of coverage that puts our magazine on the map.”

You snapped your head toward Akaashi, who sat calmly beside you, hands folded neatly, expression unreadable.

That smug bastard.

This was his play? Getting his old volleyball captain to pull strings for him?

Your blood boiled.

“Oh, come on,” you said, barely keeping the irritation out of your voice. “That’s not exactly fair.”

Akaashi finally turned to you, blinking in that cool, composed way that made you want to shake him. “How so?”

You scoffed. “You used connections to land the interview. It wasn’t based on merit.”

Akaashi tilted his head, looking entirely unbothered. “I leveraged resources available to me. That’s part of the job, isn’t it?”

Your jaw clenched.

The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

Your boss leaned back in their chair, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement before raising a hand to cut off the argument. “Enough. If you both want this promotion, you’re both going to prove you deserve it.”

You blinked. “What?”

Akaashi didn’t react, but you saw the faintest flicker of curiosity in his sharp blue eyes.

“You’re both going to work on the feature together,” the boss continued, tapping a finger against their desk. “I want the best piece possible. If you can’t put aside your rivalry long enough to get this done, neither of you will get the promotion. Understood?”

Your fingers tightened around your notepad. This was not what you wanted. The whole point was to beat him, not work with him.

But you couldn’t back down now. Not when the stakes were this high.

“…Understood,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

Akaashi nodded smoothly. “Understood.”

“Good.” Your boss glanced at the clock. “Get started. I expect a solid first draft by the end of the week. And with the deadline, I imagine you’ll be staying late to work on it together.”

You bit back a sigh, already feeling the impending headache.

The moment the meeting ended, you stormed past Akaashi, but before you could make it out the door, his voice followed, low and amused.

“Try not to let your frustration get in the way of our work,” he said smoothly, adjusting his glasses. “It’d be a shame if I had to carry you through this project.”

You turned on your heel, eyes narrowed. “Oh, don’t worry, Akaashi. If anyone’s carrying this project, it’ll be me.”

His lips twitched, just slightly. “I look forward to seeing that.”

You hated how much fun he was having.

But most of all?

You hated that he always found a way to stay one step ahead.

~~~~

The office was silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of keyboards and the occasional irritated sigh escaping your lips.

You had been here for hours, stuck in the same damn room with Akaashi, going back and forth on revisions, disagreeing on everything.

“That transition is too abrupt,” Akaashi said, his tone calm as he skimmed over your section. “It needs more context.”

“It’s concise,” you shot back, stretching in your chair. “We don’t need extra fluff.”

He exhaled softly, as if reigning in patience. “It’s not fluff. It’s clarity.”

You groaned, leaning back. “You’re impossible.”

Akaashi didn’t look up from his screen. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You wanted to throw something at him.

After another hour of back-and-forth edits, your eyes started to sting from staring at the screen for too long. You rubbed at them, sighing deeply as you slumped in your chair.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered. “We’re never going to finish at this rate.”

Akaashi glanced at the clock. “Then we should stop arguing and be efficient.”

You shot him a glare. “Oh, so now you’re suddenly a team player?”

His lips quirked. “I always was. You just refuse to acknowledge it.”

You groaned again, running a hand through your hair. This was going to be a long night.

Akaashi sighed, leaning back in his chair as well, adjusting his glasses. “We’re making progress. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. The article was shaping up, the writing crisp, the interviews well-structured. And despite your deep frustration, working with Akaashi wasn’t as horrible as you wanted it to be.

Still, you weren’t going to let him think he had the upper hand.

“We’ll see,” you muttered, turning back to your screen.

Akaashi hummed, watching you for a moment before returning to his own work.

The night stretched on, both of you determined to outdo the other, neither of you willing to be the first to give in.

And just like that, the rivalry continued.

Until Akaashi broke the silence.

"I have extra tickets to the MSBY game this weekend. You should come."

Your fingers froze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turned your head to look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Akaashi didn’t even glance up, still focused on his screen as if he hadn’t just said something completely out of character. "The game. It would be beneficial to see the team in action if we’re writing about them."

You narrowed your eyes. "You could just send me the game footage."

His fingers tapped lightly against his desk before he finally looked at you, gaze unreadable. "That’s not the same."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"I’m not. I’m being practical."

You scoffed. "Uh-huh. Sure."

Akaashi tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You don’t have to come. I just thought you’d appreciate an exclusive firsthand look. But if you’d rather rely on secondhand reports, be my guest."

Your jaw tightened. You hated how effortlessly he manipulated situations in his favor.

"Fine. I’ll go."

Akaashi nodded, returning to his work as if nothing had happened. "Good. I’ll send you the details."

You stared at him for a second longer before shaking your head, muttering under your breath.

This was getting too weird.

Meian and jealousy‼️‼️‼️ I just love this man so much

oooh good pick hehe... Your wish is my command :p

~~~

Meian walked through the door, casually tossing his bag onto the couch before holding up a glossy calendar with an amused smirk.

“Guess what I brought home?”

You barely looked up from your spot on the couch, lounging in one of his oversized hoodies. “Groceries?”

He huffed a laugh. “Try again.”

When you finally glanced over, your eyes landed on the calendar in his hands—MSBY Jackals 12-Month Exclusive Athlete Calendar. The cover alone was pure chaos: Bokuto flexing dramatically, Hinata grinning mid-spike, Sakusa looking entirely unamused while still managing to look good, and Meian himself, standing dead center with his usual captain’s stance—shirtless.

Your brows shot up.

“Oh, this is amazing.”

Meian chuckled, flipping it open. “Didn’t even know they were makin’ this until they asked me to pose for it.” He turned the pages, showing you a year’s worth of ridiculously chiseled volleyball players. “Thought you might get a kick out of it.”

You grabbed the calendar, flipping through the months with increasing delight.

“Oh my god, look at Bokuto’s arms—wait, they oiled him up for this.” You laughed, tapping the glossy image. “I mean, I get it. If I had muscles like that, I’d want them to shine, too.”

Meian hummed, crossing his arms. “Uh-huh.”

You kept going, completely unaware of the way his jaw was starting to tense.

“Sakusa actually looks incredible here, wow—he must have hated this photoshoot.” You turned another page, eyes widening. “Damn, even Hinata’s looking ripped.”

Meian arched a brow. “...That right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you grinned. “Seriously, whoever planned this deserves a raise. They captured perfection.”

Meian let out a slow, deliberate exhale through his nose.

“...Captured perfection, huh?”

You nodded, still obliviously flipping pages. “I mean, look at these guys, Shugo. They’re built like—”

You yelped as suddenly, the entire world flipped.

Before you could even react, Meian had hauled you up over his shoulder, calendar completely forgotten as he marched toward the bedroom with zero warning.

“Shugo—what the—PUT ME DOWN.”

“Nope.”

“You are not seriously—”

“Oh, I am.”

His grip was firm, his tone too smug, and you finally realized.

“…You’re jealous.”

He snorted. “Not jealous. Just provin’ a point.”

“A point about what?!”

Meian kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, tossing you onto the mattress effortlessly before climbing over you, his hands braced on either side of your head.

“Since ya like praisin’ the team so much,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, rougher, “I figured I’d remind ya which one of us ya like the most.”

Your breath caught.

For someone who claimed not to be jealous, the heat in his gaze said otherwise.

“Still think they captured perfection?” he asked, his smirk dangerous.

You swallowed, the calendar long forgotten on the floor.

“…I might need a closer look to compare.”

His chuckle was low, pleased.

“Good answer.”

My Masterlist

By request, the post to navigate all posts! Welcome :D

Due to the limit of links allowed in a single post, I'm beginning the process of linking my series to different posts, so expect changes!

My Ao3 has more of my works!

Haikyuu (Character x Reader):

Pregnancy:

1. Ushijima 2. Iwaizumi 3. Kuroo (NSFW) 4. Atsumu 5. Yaku 6. Daichi

Confessions

1. Tsukishima 2. Iwaizumi 3. Atsumu 4. Kita 5. Oikawa 6. Osamu 7. Kuroo

Rivals

(Link to all posts)

Jealousy

1. Tsukishima 2. Meian 3. Osamu 4. Kageyama 5. Iwaizumi 6. Atsumu 7. Kyotani (Mad Dog) 8. Oikawa 9. Suna (NSFW) 10. Nishinoya 11. Tendou

Unrequited Love

1. Oikawa & Bonus 2. Atsumu 3. Kenma 4. Bokuto

Husbandry

1. Iwaizumi 2. Atsumu 3. Tsukishima 4. Oikawa 5. Daichi 6. Bokuto (NSFW) 7. Kuroo (NSFW) 8. Kenma

Favourite Positions (NSFW)

(Link to all posts)

Anon Asks

1. Tsukishima 2. Aran 3. Aone 4. Inarizaki 5. Sakusa 6. Kenma 7. Tsukishima 8. Akaashi 9. Meian (NSFW) 10. Kita 11. Sakusa (NSFW) 12. Sugawara 13. Kuroo (NSFW) 14. Bokuto (NSFW) 15. Yaku (NSFW)

Managerial Duties

1. Nekoma 2. Karasuno & Part 2 3. Inarizaki & Bonus 4. Aoba Johsai 5. Fukurodani

Stand Alone Fics

1. Iwaizumi (NSFW) 2. Tsukishima Parts 1, 2, and 3 3. Atsumu (NSFW)

Unrequited Love: Oikawa (Bonus)

The team was loud, as always.

Oikawa, now freshly showered and looking somewhat like himself again, was in the middle of being teased by Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

“So, Captain, let’s talk about your tragic love life,” Matsukawa said, slinging an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders.

Hanamaki took a dramatic sip of his drink. “Yeah, we all knew she was gonna break up with you before you did. What does that say about you, huh?”

“Shut up,” Oikawa groaned, smacking Matsukawa’s arm off him, though there was no real heat behind it. You could see his mood rising with every passing moment.

“Hey, at least you still have volleyball,” Matsukawa said, raising his glass like he was making a toast.

“Right, the one true love of your life,” Hanamaki added with a smirk.

Oikawa sighed dramatically. “You guys are the worst.”

You watched from the side, letting their banter wash over you. The ache from earlier was still there, a dull weight in your chest, but at least Oikawa wasn’t sulking anymore. That was the important thing.

A presence appeared beside you, and you didn’t even have to look to know it was Hajime.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted, crossing his arms as he watched Oikawa shove Hanamaki. “I tried to get him out of bed earlier, but he wouldn’t budge.”

You smirked, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “That’s because you don’t know how to sweet-talk him, Hajime.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. If I tried sweet-talking Oikawa, I’d never hear the end of it.”

You snickered. “Yeah, he’d probably take that as an invitation to propose.”

Hajime shook his head, amused, before glancing at you, his expression shifting into something more knowing. “So,” he said casually, “are you going to make a move, or are we just going to keep going in circles?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Please, you should’ve seen what he told me earlier.”

Hajime raised an eyebrow.

You turned to him, pressing a hand to your chest mockingly, and sighed dramatically. “He looked me in the eye, Hajime. And do you know what he said?”

Hajime waited.

“You’re a good friend,” you deadpanned, voice dripping with bitterness.

Hajime winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “So, no, I’m not making a move. Not when he clearly doesn’t see me that way.”

Hajime was quiet for a moment before shrugging. “You never know. He’s an idiot. You might have to spell it out for him.”

You huffed, watching as Oikawa dramatically whined about something to the others. “Yeah, well… I think I’ve done enough for one night.” Then you hear a whine of your name. You look over to Oikawa's pleading face along with Matsun's and Makki's devious ones.

“You promised me they would give me a break!” Oikawa suddenly called out, his voice carrying over the chatter of the team. His eyes locked onto yours, pleading dramatically, though the glint of betrayal was exaggerated.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk. “C’mon, guys, give him some slack,” you called, raising your hands in surrender.

Hanamaki gasped in mock offense. “Oh, so now you’re defending him?”

“She’s going soft,” Matsukawa said, shaking his head.

“I am not going soft,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

Hajime, beside you, smirked before stepping forward. “Actually, now that I think about it… didn’t Oikawa almost cry in first-year when he lost his favorite knee pads?”

Oikawa whipped around. “Iwa-chan.”

“Oh, right!” Hanamaki’s eyes lit up. “The ones with the little stars on them?”

“You guys swore to take that to the grave!” Oikawa cried, scandalized.

“I don’t know, man,” Matsukawa said, leaning back with a grin. “Kind of sounds like a moment that deserves to be remembered.”

As the teasing escalated, Oikawa slumped in his seat, arms crossed, pouting like a child. “I hate all of you.”

You laughed at the whole exchange, and when you glanced back at Oikawa, expecting him to still be sulking, you caught something different—something small, almost imperceptible.

He was smiling.

It was barely there, just a slight tug at the corners of his lips, but it was real. And for a brief moment, as his gaze lifted, he met your eyes.

The world around you blurred, and warmth spread through your chest. You swore you felt your heart stutter, just for a second.

And then, as quickly as the moment had happened, you cursed yourself for it.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, tearing your gaze away.

Oikawa was still laughing with the others, completely unaware of the effect he had on you.

You exhaled, shaking your head, willing the butterflies away.

Hajime, still standing beside you, didn’t say anything, but when you glanced at him, he was looking at you with a knowing expression.

“Not a word,” you muttered.

He smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder, but he only chuckled in response.

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.

The Saga: Tsukishima x Reader Pt. 3 (Pt. 1)

Being on a level in which you were ‘okay’ with Tsukishima Kei was odd.

You still teased each other sure, but that was simply in both of your natures. There was a lack of venom; a lack of hatred in the jabs you took at each other. It was just simply something that you weren’t used to. Ever since that night where you ‘confessed’ to him, he’s began treating you with a sense of neutrality. The change was small, but it was very much impactful.

Even other people were starting to notice it.

“You two seem to be doing better,” Yamaguchi had commented once, while you were giving him and Kei some advice on an English assignment. It was a sort of abrupt comment, said while Kei was off getting a drink from a nearby vending machine, and one that you didn’t expect. It caused to you look up in slight surprise. Yamaguchi stuttered at your expression.

“N-not that you- you two had an-any trouble in the beginning-“ Your laugh cuts off his rambling, “Please, Yamaguchi-kun, don’t pretend like Kei is the nicest person to be around.” You chuckled, watching Kei from afar waiting for his drinks. You didn’t realize, but you were smiling. “But you’re right. We’ve kind of come to an…” You pause, trying to find the right word for it, “Understanding.”

And you really had. You had asked him to start treating you better, and he did. On the nights that he could, he would walk home with you, join you on dinners, and all in all was just more amicable.

You were happy with this evolvement, but that didn’t mean you were satisfied with it.

Because it seemed to bring up so many questions.

You knew that Kei liked you, and you knew that he knew you liked him, yet nothing ever came of it. You were both in that were place, a kind of limbo between just being friends and being more than that, and you seemed perpetually stuck; unable to decide to come down, or march on forward. And Kei wasn’t helping.

He never brought up that night. In fact, it seemed as though he pretended it never happened, and that bothered you. You knew that you shut it down that night, and you would do it over if given the choice, but you couldn’t tell whether he wanted to put in the actual effort to start it up. And while you never had the guts to bring it up with you two doing so well, you could tell that it lingered in the air between you two. Like an awful smell that grew and grew more potent with every moment you ignored it.

But what could you do?

Nothing. You couldn’t do anything about it. You were never one for emotional confrontation, and you’d avoid for as long as you possibly could. If you had the choice between not knowing and being happy, and knowing then being embarrassed and crushed, you’d take not knowing any day.

Yes, because that seems very healthy.

You’re torn from your thoughts when you feel a soft knock to the top of your head. You look up to a suspicious looking Kei.

“What are you thinking about?” Over the past couple weeks, you’ve grown pretty good at masking your facial expressions; so instead of heating up at the idea of telling him that you were in fact thinking about him, your expression remained light and neutral as you quickly thought of a white lie. “About how your tall ass is blocking my sunlight. Move.” You push at his legs, moving him out of eyeline, knowing that he’s rolling his eyes at you.

“I’m going to be leaving for the weekend. Volleyball finals.” He’s extremely short with his sentences. It’s almost as though if he saves his words for the possibility of insulting someone or something. Still, you’re quite used to his abrupt nature, so you nod.

“Tough competition?”

“Should be.”

“You’ll be fine.” He looks down at you, face still passive and neutral as ever.

And if you were being completely honest, you were getting tired of neutrality.

“I didn’t ask for reassurance.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “It’s called being polite, asshole.”

“Insinuating that I’m worried about my skills for the finals, is polite?” Kei has a kind of glint in his eyes, and a sort of upward tilt on his mouth when he tries to start an argument or tease you. Something that used to drive you crazy a couple of months ago, is now something that you realize you yearn for.

You can’t help but smile back at him. A wide teasing one, and it made your stomach flutter.

“If that’s your interpretation of what I said, maybe you’re projecting.” Kei is about to respond, when the bell to signify the next class rings; one of the only classes you two don’t share. You go to pick up your things.

“I’ll be heading home early today. So I’ll see you later, yeah?” Kei only nods, and with that you’re only somewhat charged conversation dries out. You do your best to hide your disappointment and begin to trudge to your next class; slouched and unsatisfied. The whole class is a blur while you try to settle the slush of agitation at the situation and yourself, because you’ve let your emotions block your education once more. The lunch bell rings but you still haven’t settled yourself.

You walk out of the classroom knowing that you’ll need to teach yourself the lesson once you get home tonight, trying to find a quiet place to sit and relax before your next period. Usually, you’d sit with your group of friends or even Kei if you found him, but you seriously wanted to avoid the possibility of someone asking questions on why your face was on a permanent and unmovable downturn.

And it would’ve gone so well had whatever God not have different plans for you.

“Hey it’s her!” It’s a yell full of excitement and amazement. Like the kind you’d hear at a zoo or festival. It surprises you a little, but the boy’s voice was definitely not directed to you anyways. Probably some girl he’s had eyes on, or something like that. You don’t turn around and keep walking towards the stairwell.

“Hey stop!” The voice again.

Okay, that felt a little directed towards you.

You look around, to find a lot of people staring at you and somewhere behind you.

Shit. Those calls were for you, weren’t they?

You slowly turn around, trying to keep your grimace at a minimum when you spot the source of the voice. A short, ginger-haired boy with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on a person waving at you like a maniac as he jogged towards you, being accompanied by a taller dark-haired boy that seemed to have a permanent look of disdain on his face.

Like night and day.

“Can…Can I help you?” You ask meekly, your eyes shifting to the other students heavy and unyielding stare, extremely confused as to what they wanted. You couldn’t shake the thought that the both of them looked somewhat familiar…

“I’m Hinata Shouyo! And this guy’s name is Kageyama!” The ginger pointed to himself and his friend respectively, and then it clicked. “And we’re—”

“You’re Kei’s teammates, aren’t you? From volleyball?” Hinata smiles wide, nodding enthusiastically, while he goes to open his mouth when Kageyama cuts in. “You really do call that pretentious shit ‘Kei’.”

It wasn’t even a question, moreso a statement of bewilderment as you hear Hinata’s hiss of warning to the taller player. You didn’t know how to respond, only laughing nervously with a hint of strain in your voice. “Force of habit I guess? Listen, I really gotta—”

“Wait, we need your help!” That made you pause. What could they possibly need you for?

Did something happen with Kei again?

You wait for him to continue. Hinata takes a deep breath like he’s been preparing for this. You have to hold back a slight chuckle at the ridiculous amount of effort he seems to be putting in.

“Your first language is English right?” Ah. Immediately you knew where this was headed.

It was quite clear that you were a foreigner. Your Japanese wasn’t perfect, and there was the more obvious hint that you weren’t Japanese. As well, being in the countryside didn’t help you in looking in-place.

Far from it actually.

Most days you stuck out like a sore thumb. But you didn’t mind it as it never really caused you any harm or benefit. What it did cause though, was an increase in people thinking you were some kind of Messiah in English.

Yes you were in an advanced English class, despite being a first-year, but still. The assumption in itself got you a lot of requests for help with test prep, assignments, readings…

Hell, Kei’s asked you to look over something at least once.

Your expression turned tired as you gave a simple nod. They seem to sense your mood shift. “W-well, we both have this huge assignment due, and you probably know we have the nationals this weekend,” You remember Kei mentioning it earlier.

He never said it was the nationals though. Must be pretty damn important.

You’re a little upset he didn’t tell you just how important it was.

“—We don’t want to let the team down, but if we don’t finish it, we can’t go! Will you help us?” Hinata’s pleading places you back in reality, looking into the desperate eyes of the two boys. Kageyama passionately yells out a ‘Please!’ causing you to step back a little in surprise. You hesitate, unable to keep their unyielding gaze. You really want to tell them that you can’t, make up some fake situation you urgently need to attend to.

But Volleyball is really important to Kei, and you don’t know if you could be at the hands of the team’s loss. Even if it is second-hand.

Plus, these two terrors seemed unrelenting.

You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your eyes a little. “I… Guess I could look them over?” You could’ve sworn you saw stars in their eyes.

The next few moments were a slew of praise, thanks and plans becoming instantly created as to how you were going to your evening.

And your lunch.

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.