Jealousy: Osamu

Husbandry: Kuroo (NSFW)

Kuroo’s grandparents’ house was packed. The warm hum of conversation filled every corner, blending with the occasional burst of laughter and the distant sound of kids squealing as they ran through the hallways. His entire family had gathered for his grandfather’s birthday, a rare full-family event that happened maybe once a year.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity, aunts swapping recipes and gossip over steaming dishes while his uncles gathered around the dining table, engaged in heated debates over sports. Kuroo’s grandmother had you both cornered earlier, asking—no, demanding—when you two planned on giving her great-grandchildren, and before you could even attempt an answer, Kuroo had expertly steered the conversation to something else, saving you from the relentless interrogation.

You had smiled, nodded, played your role as the perfect daughter-in-law, but after hours of dodging prying questions and smiling at distant relatives whose names you barely remembered, you were in desperate need of a break. The stuffy warmth of the crowded living room and the persistent hum of voices pressing in from all sides made escape your only option.

So, you slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a quiet sigh, pressing your hands against the sink. A deep breath, a few moments to yourself—that was all you needed. A little peace, a little space, a moment where you weren’t being eyed like a future baby-making machine.

Then, a few minutes later, the door clicked open again.

You barely had time to turn before Kuroo slipped in, shutting it behind him.

Your eyes widened. "What are you—"

"Let’s fuck."

You blinked. "Wow. How romantic. You really know how to set the mood, Tetsurō. Maybe light a candle next time? Play some soft jazz?"

His smirk was slow, lazy, dangerous. "Oh, I’d play something, alright. But I don’t think you’d be able to focus on the music."

You scoffed, folding your arms. "Tetsurō, we’re at your grandparent’s house. At a family event. With people literally roaming the halls. But sure, let’s add public indecency to our marriage résumé. That'll really impress your grandma."

He leaned in, pressing his hands against the sink behind you, caging you in. “And?”

Your heart pounded. “And it’s a terrible idea.”

Kuroo tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “You remember that bet we made a few weeks ago?”

Your stomach dropped.

Of course, you remembered. Some stupid, petty argument over who could name more world capitals or something equally dumb. You lost.

And Kuroo? He said he’d save his favor for the right moment.

This was apparently it.

“Tetsurō.” You crossed your arms, trying to look firm despite the way your pulse hammered in your throat. “Absolutely not.”

He grinned. “You agreed to the deal.”

“I didn’t think you’d cash it in like this!”

He hummed, tilting his head. “Well, it’s the perfect time. No one even notices we’re gone.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the second his hands slid down to your waist, his fingers pressing into your hips, his body heat radiating against yours—

Your resolve crumbled.

“You wouldn’t.”

Kuroo leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Oh, I would.”

And with the way he was pressing into you, his hands gripping you like he’d already won— you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to stop him.

His fingers trailed lower, teasing, playful, pressing into the fabric of your dress just enough to make you gasp. “You know, I was gonna save this for something special, but…” he exhaled against your neck, his voice dark, teasing. “I think you’d rather pay up right now, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath hitched, hands coming up to push against his chest—half-heartedly. “Your Mother is outside.”

His smirk deepened. “And? No one’s paying attention.”

“Tetsurō—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up. His lips hovered over yours, barely brushing, mocking. “You’re acting like you don’t want this.”

Your skin burned, and you cursed how easily he could unravel you. The worst part? He knew it. He knew you’d fold for him, knew exactly how to make your body betray you.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he murmured, lips pressing just beneath your ear, his breath hot and slow.

You swallowed hard. “Tetsu—”

His hands slid further down, gripping your hips, pulling you against him. “Say it, baby. Say you don’t want me to touch you.”

You couldn’t.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, your resolve slipping further with every second.

Kuroo chuckled, the sound low and full of satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands slipped beneath the hem of your dress, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing along the sensitive skin of your thighs. “You’re already getting warm, baby,” he whispered. “You sure you wanna keep resisting me?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to fight the way your body shuddered under his touch.

You parted your lips, ready to say something—anything—but the moment his fingers pressed just a little higher, your breath hitched, and you knew you were done for.

Kuroo’s smirk widened. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

And then, he kissed you.

Deep, slow, devouring.

Your back hit the bathroom counter, your arms winding around his neck as he took his time, teasing you, making you fall apart without even trying.

“We have to be quiet,” he whispered against your lips.

And with the way he was dragging you under, drowning you in heat, in want, in him— you knew that was going to be impossible.

But instead of answering, you simply nodded, your breath uneven, your body already melting against him. His eyes darkened at your silent surrender, and before you could process it, you were kissing him again—deeper, more desperate, all hesitation gone.

His hands moved instantly, slipping further beneath your skirt, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing, waiting. "That's my girl," he murmured against your lips, his grip tightening as he pressed you harder against the counter. "Now, let's see how well you can keep quiet."

His fingers slid between your thighs, parting them just enough before slipping under your underwear, skimming over your warmth with a featherlight touch. You sucked in a sharp breath, your hands gripping the sink behind you as he chuckled low against your lips. "Already so warm for me, baby."

You bit down on your lip as his fingers pressed in, slow but firm, stretching you just enough to make your legs shake. He worked you open with practiced ease, his other hand wrapping around your hip to hold you still as your body responded to every precise curl of his fingers.

A whimper nearly escaped your lips, but you slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes widening as you remembered where you were.

Kuroo smirked, dark and wicked, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling that sensitive spot that had your stomach tightening. "That’s it," he whispered, nipping at your jaw. "Keep quiet for me. You don’t want anyone to hear, do you?"

You shook your head, muffled sounds slipping between your fingers as your thighs trembled around his hand. He was relentless, teasing, playing, knowing exactly how to push you to the edge without letting you go over.

Then, just as your breath hitched, just as your body started to tighten around his fingers, he withdrew.

You let out a desperate, choked sound, but before you could protest, you felt the unmistakable press of him against you. Hot. Hard. Teasing.

He groaned as he rubbed himself against your entrance, just barely pushing the tip inside before pulling away.

"Shit—you're shaking, baby," he whispered, his voice rough, strained with control. "You want it that bad, huh?"

Before you could answer, he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the sink. The cool porcelain against your skin sent a shiver up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the way he slotted himself between your legs, teasing you further as he lined himself up.

"Hold on to me," he muttered, voice thick with hunger.

Your arms wrapped around his neck just as he pushed inside, slow but deliberate, stretching you inch by inch. A strangled moan built in your throat, but you barely bit it back, eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out, filling you completely.

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he started to move, deep and steady at first, but quickly growing more desperate. His breath was hot against your neck, each groan rumbling through his chest as he thrust into you, the wet sound of skin against skin mixing with your ragged breathing.

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in deeper, chasing the edge that was already creeping up on you. His hand snuck between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive spot, circling, pressing, sending white-hot pleasure straight to your core.

"T-Tetsu—" you gasped, one hand flying to your mouth as your body trembled around him.

"That’s it," he groaned, fucking into you harder, faster. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."

You were right there, so close, when—

Knock. Knock.

Your eyes shot open, panic freezing you in place.

"Tetsurō?" came the unmistakable voice of his older sister from the other side of the door. "Are you in there?"

Kuroo barely faltered, grinning like the devil as he stilled inside you, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah, be out in a sec," he called back easily, voice steady despite the fact that he was currently buried inside you.

His sister huffed. "Hurry up, it's time for cake. Also, where’s your wife?"

Your breath caught, but Kuroo? Unbothered.

"Dunno," he lied smoothly, thrusting into you just once, slow and teasing. "Maybe she got lost."

You bit your lip, glaring at him, nails digging into his shoulders.

His sister sighed. "Whatever. Just get your ass out here."

The second her footsteps faded down the hall, you swatted his arm, chest heaving.

"You are unbelievable."

Kuroo grinned, pulling back only to slam into you again, harder this time, forcing a muffled cry from your lips. Your arms tightened around his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin as your entire body clenched around him.

"That’s right," he whispered against your ear, his pace unrelenting, each thrust sharp and punishing. "You're shaking so much—gonna act like you don’t love this? Like you don’t get off on almost getting caught?"

You tried to glare at him, but with the way his cock was hitting that perfect spot inside you, all you could do was shudder, mouth parting in helpless gasps.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," he taunted, watching the way your body twitched under him, the way you clung to him like you needed him to keep you from falling apart.

His fingers slid back between your legs, finding your swollen, desperate clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles. The sudden sensation sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, and you bit down hard on your own hand to keep from crying out.

"That close already?" he murmured, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your legs trembled around his waist. "Bet you love this, don’t you? Letting me fuck you like this when anyone could walk in."

You tried to protest, but all that came out was a broken moan, breathless and wrecked.

Kuroo chuckled, breath hot against your cheek. "No snarky comeback? No sarcasm? Baby, you’re too far gone to even argue, huh?"

His words only pushed you further, the tension inside you winding impossibly tight. His thrusts grew sharper, his fingers working you relentlessly until you finally shattered, your entire body convulsing as pleasure crashed over you.

Your orgasm triggered his, his rhythm stuttering as he groaned low against your skin, spilling deep inside you.

For a long moment, the only sound in the bathroom was your combined heavy breathing, the weight of what just happened settling between you.

Then, Kuroo smirked, pressing one last slow kiss to your jaw. "See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

You barely had the strength to lift your head, your breath still coming in heavy, uneven pants. Swallowing hard, you managed to rasp, "Never again."

Kuroo only chuckled, brushing his lips against your temple before pulling back. "Come on, there's cake."

You groaned, still trying to reassemble your thoughts, your body tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. With shaky hands, you reached down, pulling up your panties—now soaked with his release—and quickly adjusted your dress, trying to look at least somewhat composed before stepping back out into the party.

Kuroo, the smug bastard, was already fixing his shirt, completely unbothered, his smirk not fading for even a second as he reached for the door handle. "Think Grandma will notice how wrecked you look?"

You swatted at him, glaring. "Shut up, Tetsurō."

But as you stepped out, legs still wobbly, Kuroo just shot you a knowing grin. "Too late. You already look guilty."

Managerial Duties: Karasuno

The rhythmic sound of volleyballs being packed away and shoes scuffing against the polished gym floor filled the otherwise quiet space. Practice had ended, but cleanup was still in full swing. You, Yachi, and Kiyoko had stayed behind to help, making sure everything was back in place before leaving. The rest of the team was scattered around, gathering equipment and wiping down surfaces, their movements routine after countless practices.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima were putting away the practice net while Asahi and Suga worked on reorganizing the stray volleyballs left rolling across the floor. Daichi had stepped out to check on something, leaving you with the quiet murmur of post-practice exhaustion settling in. Kageyama was off to the side, sipping from his water bottle while keeping an eye on Hinata’s usual spot. The gym carried an air of mild fatigue, a contrast to the high-energy chaos that had occupied it just minutes ago.

That’s when Yachi’s voice cut through the calm. "Where are they?"

You looked up from where you had been wiping down one of the benches, catching the way Yachi’s brows furrowed, her gaze darting around the gym like she had just realized something was missing.

"Who?" you asked, already bracing yourself for the answer.

"Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Hinata. They’re gone."

Your movements slowed as you scanned the gym again, this time with sharper focus. Sure enough, the usual ruckus that followed the three of them like a storm cloud was eerily absent. Your stomach dropped slightly, already knowing that their silence was far more concerning than their noise. It was never a good sign when they were quiet—never.

Kiyoko sighed, finishing her task before speaking. "Can you go find them? They need to be supervised."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Aye aye, captain."

But you knew what she meant. If they were up to something—and they most certainly were—it was better to find them before they actually did whatever half-brained scheme they had cooked up this time. With a nod, you handed your rag to Yachi and stepped out of the gym, making your way toward the clubroom with a sense of impending doom curling in your chest. The halls were eerily quiet, save for the occasional squeak of sneakers against linoleum, and that only furthered your suspicions.

As you got closer, muffled voices reached your ears, their tones a mix of excitement and hushed anticipation. That was never a good sign. You pressed closer, listening as Nishinoya’s voice carried through the door.

"Steady, steady! Just a little more—"

You didn’t hesitate, pushing the door open, and the sight before you made you stop in your tracks.

What the actual hell.

Nishinoya was perched on Tanaka’s shoulders, gripping a bucket of water with both hands while wobbling precariously. Tanaka, legs slightly bent, was visibly struggling to keep steady, his teeth gritted in effort. Off to the side, Hinata was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists clenched in excitement, watching the process unfold like a kid on Christmas morning.

Your eyes flickered to the bucket, then back to the three of them. "What the hell are you guys doing?"

All three of them froze. Nishinoya’s grip tightened on the bucket, Tanaka swayed slightly, and Hinata turned toward you with an enormous grin, completely oblivious to the growing sense of dread pooling in your gut.

"Oh! Manager! You’re just in time!" Nishinoya chirped, grinning like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar but still thinking he could talk his way out of trouble.

Tanaka groaned under Nishinoya’s weight, his arms tightening around his legs as he tried to keep his balance. "We’re gonna prank Tsukishima!" he declared with absolute confidence, as if this wasn’t one of the worst ideas they had ever come up with.

Hinata, practically vibrating with excitement, threw his hands up like he had just scored the winning point. "I’m the bait!" he announced proudly, beaming at you like you should be impressed.

You blinked at him, not even bothering to hide your disbelief. "That’s not something to be proud of. Why did you guys drag him into this?" You jabbed a finger in Hinata’s direction, because there was no way he had come up with this on his own. He was many things, but this level of reckless planning was usually Nishinoya and Tanaka’s specialty.

Hinata blinked, looking genuinely confused as he tilted his head. "Tsukishima?" he asked, his tone innocent. "Or me?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Never mind. This is a terrible idea."

Nishinoya, ever the stubborn one, pouted. "Come on, it’s perfect! Tsukishima walks in, bam! Instant karma!"

You crossed your arms, eyeing the way Tanaka’s legs were starting to tremble. "Yeah, except karma usually doesn’t involve potential concussions and water damage."

"Okay, but look!" Nishinoya beamed, adjusting his grip. "It’s balancing! We got this!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "No, you don’t—"

Too late. Nishinoya made the final adjustment, and the bucket settled, wobbling slightly before holding steady above the doorway. With a triumphant grin, Nishinoya pumped his fists—only to realize he was still on Tanaka’s shoulders. In a flash, he scrambled down, nearly toppling them both in the process. Tanaka staggered, arms flailing to keep himself upright as Nishinoya hopped off, landing with an eager bounce before spinning toward Hinata. "Alright! We’re good to go!" he whispered excitedly, rubbing his hands together like an evil mastermind.

Hinata gasped. "It worked!"

"It worked!" Nishinoya hissed.

You groaned. "This is still a bad idea."

But they weren’t listening. With a determined nod, Hinata scampered back toward the gym, his voice carrying through the hall. "Tsukishima! Oi, come here for a sec!"

Silence.

Then—

Footsteps, slow and steady, echoed through the hallway. Each step was deliberate, methodical, like the sound of impending doom marching ever closer. Tanaka, Nishinoya, and you turned toward the doorway in perfect synchronization, a creeping sense of dread washing over you like an oncoming storm. The playful anticipation that had been buzzing in the air evaporated, leaving behind only the cold bite of realization.

Daichi appeared in the doorway, and time seemed to slow. The bucket teetered precariously for a split second before tipping forward, a perfect arc of water cascading down in slow motion. The moment it made contact, Daichi’s entire frame stiffened, his breath hitching as the cold liquid soaked through his hair, dripping down his face and pooling in the folds of his jacket. His usually composed expression was eerily blank, too calm, too quiet, which somehow made everything infinitely worse.

Tanaka’s face morphed from exhilaration to pure horror, his eyes so wide they looked ready to pop out of his skull. Nishinoya’s grin faltered, his entire body rigid as his mind struggled to process the disaster that had just unfolded. And you? You could already feel the headache forming, your lips parting slightly in silent resignation.

Hinata, standing just behind Daichi, let out a small, strangled noise. "No, wait! Don’t—!"

Splash.

The air went still. Slowly, you peeked around the doorframe just in time to see Daichi standing there, drenched from head to toe. Water dripped from his hair, his jacket clinging to him in soaked patches. His expression was eerily blank, which was infinitely worse than immediate rage.

Hinata was mid-step, looking like he had seen his life flash before his eyes.

Tanaka and Nishinoya were frozen, as if staying completely still would erase what had just happened.

The silence stretched, unbearably tense.

You exhaled through your nose and turned away. "I told you."

Then, without another word, you walked off, leaving them to their fate.

Behind you, all hell broke loose.

"YOU IDIOTS!" Daichi’s voice roared, shaking the very foundation of the building.

"RUN!" Nishinoya shrieked, bolting toward the hallway with the kind of agility that came only from the fear of divine punishment. His feet barely touched the ground as he shot past you, arms pumping as if sheer speed could somehow make him disappear from Daichi’s wrath.

Hinata scrambled backward, hands raised in surrender. "It wasn’t me, I swear!"

Kageyama, who had been returning from the locker room, took one look at the chaos and deadpanned, "You guys are so dumb."

Asahi groaned, covering his face. "I don’t want to be associated with this."

Back in the gym, you rejoined Yachi and Kiyoko just as Daichi’s furious yelling echoed in the distance.

Kiyoko barely looked up from where she was stacking volleyballs. "They’re idiots."

You sighed, running a hand down your face. "Hundred percent."

Confessions: Osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you can tell it's good food.”

“Yer a menace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HIIII ❤️❤️

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

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

TYTYTY AND HAVE A GOOD DAY

HEYYY ❤️❤️

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

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

--

Jealously: Nishinoya

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

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

Nishinoya had been living there for almost a year.

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

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

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

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

Gyotaku.

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

He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight in.

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

And there you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fish,” he said suddenly. “A lot.”

That made you laugh. “Lucky me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuu—”

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

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

“A glow stick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuu.”

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

Confessions: Iwaizumi

The overhead lights buzz faintly, casting a dim yellow glow over empty desks and scattered papers. Practice ended hours ago, but you’re still here—half because you’re sorting through lineup sheets for Coach, and half because Iwaizumi never knows how to leave when Oikawa’s still in the gym pretending he’s immortal.

It’s just the two of you now. Oikawa finally gave up ten minutes ago, muttering something about stretching at home, and the silence that follows his absence is a rare kind of peace. You can hear Iwaizumi breathing again. That quiet, controlled rhythm he always slips back into once he isn’t yelling, chasing, fixing. The gym’s been quiet, too, like it’s exhaling after hours of pounding sneakers and shouting voices.

He’s sitting across from you now, chair turned backward, arms crossed over the backrest. Watching you. Probably not even trying to. He just does that—studies you like you’re part of the game plan, like your existence needs analyzing in case it ever falls out of line.

“You should go home,” you mutter without looking up, thumbing through one of the stat sheets. “You’re gonna pass out before you make it up the hill.”

“I could say the same to you,” he fires back, voice low, tired but still that familiar gravel that’s embedded itself into the fabric of your after-practice routine.

You shoot him a look, but it doesn’t have much heat. “Yeah, but I’m not the one who’s been diving face-first into the court all evening.”

He smirks. Leans his chin onto his forearm and shrugs, like the ache in his shoulder isn’t something he’s been carrying for weeks now. You wonder if he even notices the way he favors it. Probably. He just ignores it.

“You never quit,” you murmur, half to yourself.

“Neither do you.”

You don’t say anything to that. Mostly because it’s true. He sees right through you. Always has.

The silence stretches. It’s comfortable, warm in the way only Iwaizumi can make it feel. There’s no pressure to fill it. No need to perform. He’s always been like that—solid, grounded, the kind of person you could fall into without worrying if they’d catch you. And he would. Every time.

You’re not sure when you started noticing it. The way his hands lingered when he handed you a towel. The way he remembered how you liked your drinks cold, not iced. The way he always checked your clipboard before practice started, just in case you forgot something. He never made a show of it. He just… did. Like breathing.

You look up at him, and he’s already watching you.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs again. “Nothing.”

“Creepy.”

His smirk deepens. “You’re the one talking to yourself.”

“I was talking to you.”

“Sure.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and you hate that it’s so easy with him. So natural. Like your heart hasn’t been clenching in your chest for months now, like every little moment with him doesn’t echo louder than it should. It’s loud right now. Deafening.

You look back at the papers. “Seriously, though. You should rest. You’ve got a game this weekend, and if you overdo it now—”

“I know.”

Of course he knows. He always does. That’s part of the problem.

You press your thumb into your temple, eyes scanning over messy handwriting. Your back aches. Your stomach’s been growling since the second set ended. You know you should pack it up and go home, but there’s something sticky in the air tonight. Something that hasn’t settled.

“Here,” Iwaizumi says suddenly, and before you can react, he’s pushing something across the table.

A protein bar. Slightly squished, but still sealed.

Your brow furrows. “You brought this for me?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “You always forget to eat after practice. Thought I’d try being useful.”

You stare at him. “You’re already useful. Like, medically essential. You’re the only reason Oikawa still has knees.”

He snorts. “I mean to you.”

The air shifts.

It’s subtle. Barely a tremor. But it leaves everything a little quieter, a little sharper.

You don’t answer. Just take the protein bar and turn it over in your hand. You trace the crinkled edges of the wrapper with your thumb like it’s a puzzle.

“Thanks,” you say finally, soft. “That’s… thoughtful.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. But his eyes are still on you. Warmer now. He looks like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know if he should.

You try to focus on the sheets again, but your fingers don’t move. The pen in your hand feels suddenly pointless.

“You ever get tired of it?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “Doing everything for everyone else?”

He hums, leaning back. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

Another pause. His voice, when it comes, is soft. Almost too soft.

“Because I care.”

You glance up at him.

His eyes don’t waver. “It matters to me. That people are okay. That you’re okay.”

Your breath catches.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but the words knot up in your throat. They don’t come.

And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says it.

“I love you.”

Just like that. No lead-up. No dramatics. Just the truth, falling out of his mouth like it’s been there the whole time. Like he’s been saying it in a hundred other ways already.

You freeze.

He freezes.

It’s only a heartbeat of silence, but it stretches. Stretches until it feels like the air might snap.

He blinks. Swallows hard. “I—shit. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did, but I wasn’t gonna—fuck.”

You just stare at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of calm unraveling. “Forget I said that.”

“Hajime—”

“No, seriously. I didn’t want to make this weird. I just—shit, I don’t know. You were just… sitting there, and I—”

“Stop talking.”

He does. Immediately.

You reach for him without hesitation—close the space between you, one hand curling into the collar of his sweatshirt as you pull him down and press your lips to his.

It’s soft at first, like you’re testing the waters. But he responds almost instantly, his hands rising to your back, grounding you like always. Like he’s been waiting. Like he’s been holding his breath.

The kiss is short, almost clumsy, but it burns. You can feel every second of restraint he’s practiced up until this point unraveling between you.

When you finally pull away, breath shallow, he’s staring at you like he’s still trying to catch up. Like he’s not sure it really happened.

And then you smile, smug but breathless.

"Took you long enough," you whisper, your voice barely grazing the space between you before you're kissing him again—firmer this time, with all the words neither of you said until now pressed into the space where your mouths meet.

He smiles against your lips.

This time, he kisses you back like he means it.

Hello!! I just want to say before I request anything that I absolutely ADORE your writing. You’ve quickly become one of my favorite writers! I’m constantly checking to see if you’ve posted LOL please keep it up! <3

if it’s not too much trouble, could I request us doing face-masks with Tsukishima or Akaashi? Either or both is fine, I have zero preference!

Thank you in advance mwa mwa !!

🌱

This is adorable and I am in LOVE. I literally just spat this out lolol Me being a favourite writer of anybody is a dream 🥹 Thank you for enjoying my work!! I'll make sure to post just for you 🥰 I hope you enjoy <333 --

It started with a panda.

Or rather, it started with you, lounging on the couch with a ridiculous animal-print face mask plastered to your face, scrolling through your phone like nothing was out of the ordinary. You wore it like a second skin—completely unbothered, completely at peace.

And then Tsukishima walked in.

He froze halfway through the doorway of your shared apartment, one brow raised as he took in the sight of you in your oversized hoodie, face glistening with a panda-shaped sheet mask.

“...You good?”

“Thriving,” you said simply, not even bothering to look up.

He didn’t respond right away. Just dropped his bag by the door and walked in with that usual lazy gait, eyeing you like you were some sort of cryptid he wasn’t sure how to handle.

“You look ridiculous,” he said eventually, standing behind the couch now, arms crossed.

You peeked up at him with a smirk. “That’s rich coming from someone who used to wear sport goggles indoors.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. You stuck your tongue out.

“Is this one of those self-care things?” he asked, nose wrinkling slightly as he stared at the mask. “Like cucumbers-on-the-eyes and bath bombs?”

“Exactly that,” you nodded. “Except these ones are more fun. They have animals on them.” You pointed to the half-empty package on the coffee table. “You wanna be a tiger or a polar bear?”

He stared at you.

You stared back.

“Absolutely not,” he said flatly.

“You’re doing it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You were already peeling one of the masks from its packaging with careful fingers, holding it up like a peace offering. It was orange-striped with little ears on top. Then you reached behind you and grabbed a matching tiger-print headband, complete with pointy ears.

"And this," you said, holding it up triumphantly. "To keep your hair out of your face."

He looked positively scandalized. "There is no way I—"

"Oh, you are," you cut in, already nudging it toward him. "C'mon, Kei. Don't you want the full experience?"

He looked at the headband, then at you, then back at the headband like it personally offended him. But when you wiggled your brows at him and smiled with full confidence, he muttered something under his breath and snatched it from your hand.

"You owe me so much for this."

"Add it to my tab."

He rolled his eyes but said nothing as you helped him unfold the mask and carefully place it over his face.

“Okay, hold still. It has to line up with your eyes… okay, a little to the left—no, my left… there.”

You leaned back to admire your work. Tsukishima, volleyball star, tall and smug and forever exasperated, now sat beside you wearing a bright orange tiger face mask that made his scowl look ten times funnier.

“...You look adorable.”

“I look like a joke,” he said dryly.

You took a photo.

“Delete it.”

“Never.”

Despite all his complaining, Tsukishima stayed there with you for the full fifteen minutes, arms crossed and huffing dramatically every so often. But he didn’t move. And when you started scrolling through your phone again, his thigh pressed just a little closer to yours.

And when the timer went off and you both peeled the masks off with grossed-out noises, you glanced at him with a grin.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Do you feel refreshed and radiant?”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “I feel sticky.”

You laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You’re glowing, tiger boy.”

He shook his head but didn’t push you away. In fact, a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Maybe face masks weren’t the worst way to spend a lazy evening.

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.

Husbandry: Daichi

The rain comes down in steady sheets, tapping against the windows in a soothing rhythm. The streets outside glisten under the glow of streetlights, the occasional car passing by leaving behind a faint hum of noise. It’s the perfect kind of evening—the kind meant for staying in, wrapped up in warmth, with nowhere to be and nothing urgent pressing on your mind.

Daichi is already settled on the couch, a soft throw blanket draped over his legs, the remote lazily balanced on his stomach. The TV is on, playing some crime drama, but his attention isn’t fully on it. Instead, he glances over at you, a slow, easy smile tugging at his lips as you walk into the living room carrying two mugs of tea.

“You’re the best,” he says as you hand him one, fingers brushing against yours in the exchange. His hands are warm, even against the ceramic.

“I know,” you reply, sinking onto the couch beside him. The heat from the tea seeps into your fingers as you take a slow sip, savoring the way the warmth spreads down your throat.

Daichi shifts, draping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close, his body solid and reassuring against yours. You relax into him easily, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His thumb moves absentmindedly over your arm, slow and steady, and you exhale, feeling the tension of the day melt away.

On the screen, the detective is interrogating a suspect, voice low and serious. Daichi lets out a quiet scoff. “That’s not how real interrogations work.”

You smile against his shoulder. “Oh? Care to enlighten me, Officer Sawamura?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s just unrealistic. No one confesses that easily. And look at how he’s holding that report—like he’s never actually read one in his life.”

You chuckle, shifting so you can look up at him. “You say this every time we watch crime shows.”

“Because it’s true every time,” he argues, but his voice is light, teasing. “It’s a shame, really. They should just hire me as a consultant.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure the Tokyo police force would love for you to moonlight as a TV consultant.”

He grins, taking a sip of his tea. “I’d be good at it.”

“You’d be insufferable.”

“And yet, you’d still watch with me.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you say, laughing softly.

Daichi shakes his head, eyes narrowing at the screen as the detective makes a sweeping accusation that somehow miraculously leads to a confession. He scoffs, growing more animated now. “That’s not even how questioning works. There’s a whole process! There’s procedure, and paperwork, and—why does this guy always get away with breaking protocol?”

You watch him, amused, as he continues to rant, his brows furrowed, hands gesturing as he lists every inaccuracy he can spot. His passion is endearing—adorable, even. And before he can go on any further, you reach up, cupping his jaw and pressing your lips to his mid-sentence.

Daichi stills for a moment, surprised, before he leans into the kiss, his earlier frustration forgotten. When you pull back, his brown eyes flicker with something softer, more intrigued, but you don’t stop there. You press another kiss to the sharp line of his jaw, then lower, trailing down the side of his neck.

His breath hitches slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, waiting.

You smile against his skin before slowly pulling away. Rising from the couch, you peel off your shirt, letting it drop to the floor as you make your way toward the bedroom. Just before disappearing through the doorway, you glance back at him.

“Still pissed at the show?” you ask, voice teasing.

Daichi exhales sharply, setting his mug down without even looking. “You’re good.”

You giggle, knowing full well he’s already getting up to follow you.

Confessions: Atsumu

You’ve known the Miya twins for as long as you can remember. They were the loudest boys on the playground, all scuffed knees and sunburned cheeks, their laughter carrying across the schoolyard like a war cry. Atsumu, the loudmouth with a cocky grin that drove teachers insane, and Osamu, the quieter one who always seemed two seconds away from dragging his brother out of trouble. You were caught in the middle—sometimes willingly, sometimes not—but you never complained. Being with them was easy. Natural. Like breathing.

“Yer too slow!” Atsumu had whined once, standing at the edge of the sandbox with his hands on his hips while you struggled to keep up. “Then go ahead without me!” you’d huffed, kicking sand in his direction, cheeks flushed and breathless.

But he never did.

No matter how many times you fell behind, no matter how many times Osamu rolled his eyes and threatened to leave you both behind, Atsumu always waited. And somehow, that pattern never changed.

Years passed. Middle school turned into high school. The three of you didn’t hang out as much anymore—between club activities, exams, and life pulling you in different directions, it was harder to find the time. But you still showed up. For them.

You never missed a game, sitting in the stands with Osamu’s mom and cheering as loud as the rest of the Inarizaki fans. You watched Atsumu serve with impossible precision, eyes narrowing with focus before the ball left his hand. You watched Osamu spike with terrifying accuracy, his smirk barely contained afterward. You were proud of them both, proud to see them rise, proud to be part of the crowd that supported them.

“Yer comin’ to the next match, right?” Atsumu asked one afternoon after practice, leaning against the fence with his bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was damp, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead, and his uniform was loose, hanging casually over his broad frame. The sun was dipping lower, casting warm orange hues across the field where a few stragglers still kicked a soccer ball around. You glanced up from your phone, pretending to be nonchalant. “I always do, don’t I?” His grin stretched wide—cocky and confident, just like always—but there was something in his eyes. Something… uncertain. Hidden beneath the bravado. “Just checkin’.” He kicked at the dirt, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement. “Ya don’t gotta, y’know. Betcha got better things to do than watch us all the time.”

Osamu was the one who noticed it first, the subtle shift in Atsumu’s behavior. It was after another win, and the three of you had gone out to grab a bite. Atsumu was unusually quiet, barely picking at his food while you and Osamu bickered over the best dipping sauce for karaage. “Oi,” Osamu had muttered under his breath when you went to the counter to grab more napkins. “What’s with ya?”

“Nothin’,” Atsumu had mumbled, poking at his plate, but Osamu’s eyes had narrowed. “Ya never shut up. Now yer quiet? Somethin’s up.”

“Nothin’s up,” Atsumu insisted, but Osamu didn’t look convinced. He shot his brother a look but didn’t press further. Later that night, as you waved goodbye and promised to see them at the next game, Osamu lingered behind. “He’s actin’ weird,” he muttered, watching Atsumu walk ahead. “Ya notice?”

You had laughed, brushing it off. “When isn’t he weird?”

It wasn’t until you started talking about someone else—Takahiro, a guy from your class—that things started to change. He was smart, funny, and polite in a way that seemed almost too perfect. You didn’t even realize how often you were mentioning him—how your eyes lit up when you talked about how he made you laugh during group projects, how he texted you after class to ask if you understood the material. At first, Atsumu barely reacted. Just a quirk of his brow and a half-hearted, “Huh. Cool.” But then it happened again. And again. And suddenly, Takahiro’s name was slipping into conversations more often than not, and Atsumu noticed. Every. Single. Time.

He didn’t say anything to you about it. But he did talk to Osamu.

“He likes her, don’t he?” Atsumu had muttered one afternoon, his voice low, barely audible as they sat in the back of the gym after practice. His knees were drawn up, elbows resting loosely on them while he picked absentmindedly at the tape around his fingers, pulling at the frayed edges like they held the answers to his problems.

Osamu raised a brow, glancing sideways at his brother. “Who? Takahiro?” His tone was neutral, but the way he looked at Atsumu was anything but.

“Yeah.” Atsumu’s jaw clenched as he peeled another strip of tape from his skin, eyes fixed on the floor. “She’s always talkin’ about him lately. Laughin’ at his dumb jokes. Her face lights up when she talks about him.”

“Since when do ya pay attention to that kinda thing?” Osamu’s tone was teasing, but there was something careful underneath it, something that probed deeper.

“I don’t.” Atsumu’s answer was too fast, too defensive. His fingers stilled against his knee, tape forgotten as he shifted, posture rigid.

Osamu tilted his head, watching his brother closely. “Right.” Silence stretched between them for a beat, thick and unspoken. “So, why do ya care?”

“I don’t.” Atsumu’s voice was quieter this time, almost too quiet. But his jaw was tight, his eyes dark with something Osamu didn’t need to ask about.

Osamu exhaled softly, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Yer full of shit, y’know.” He didn’t push, didn’t ask any more questions. But his words lingered in the air, hanging heavy between them. Atsumu didn’t respond, and Osamu let it go—for now. But the silence that followed spoke louder than anything Atsumu could’ve said.

You started noticing the shift after that. Atsumu was different—quieter around you, shorter with his words. His usual sharp remarks didn’t carry the same playful edge anymore. They were clipped, like he was forcing himself to stay distant. At first, you thought he was just tired. Volleyball took its toll, and with nationals approaching, it wasn’t unusual for the entire team to be running on fumes. But this was different. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by something colder, something heavier that settled in the pit of your stomach. His eyes didn’t linger on you the way they used to, and when they did, there was something in them you couldn’t place. Frustration? Hurt? You weren’t sure, but it left a bad taste in your mouth.

It all came to a head during the next game.

It was an intense match—one where every point mattered, the air thick with anticipation. You were in your usual spot in the stands, cheering louder than most of the crowd, but this time… you weren’t alone. Takahiro was beside you, leaning in close, his shoulder brushing yours as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. You didn’t notice the way Atsumu’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp and fleeting, but he saw it. He saw the way you smiled—soft and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners—and it knocked the air out of his lungs.

It burned.

Atsumu’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling a little too tightly around the ball as he lined up his serve. He tried to shake it off, to focus on the game, but your laugh echoed louder than the roar of the crowd in his ears. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, faster, harder, until it drowned out everything else. The whistle blew. He tossed the ball, went through the motions—but his mind wasn’t in it. His focus was shattered, replaced by a tangled mess of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with.

The ball sailed too far.

Out of bounds.

By a mile.

The murmur that rippled through the crowd was deafening in his ears. Atsumu’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his teeth grinding together as he forced himself to breathe through the frustration. He didn’t look at you after that. He couldn’t. But he felt it—your eyes on him, concern etched into your features, even as you turned back to Takahiro. The tension settled like a weight in his chest, suffocating and inescapable.

Throughout the rest of the game, Atsumu was off. His sets were technically perfect, but they lacked their usual precision. His timing was a second too late, his movements a little too forced. The fire that usually burned in his veins, the one that made him relentless on the court, was barely a flicker. And no one noticed but Osamu.

“Get yer head outta yer ass, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered under his breath during a timeout, his voice low enough that only Atsumu could hear. “Yer messin’ up, and I know why.”

Atsumu didn’t respond, eyes locked on the floor, jaw clenched. But Osamu wasn’t done. “If ya don’t fix it, we’re gonna lose. And if we do, it’s on you.”

By some miracle, Inarizaki still scraped by with a win—but barely. Atsumu was the first one off the court when the final whistle blew, not bothering to stick around as the team lined up to thank the crowd. His skin was crawling, frustration boiling beneath the surface as he tore off his sweat-soaked jersey and tossed it into his bag. He needed to clear his head. He needed to breathe.

And you? You noticed.

“Where’s Atsumu?” you asked, concern lacing your voice as you turned to Osamu while everyone congratulated the team. Osamu’s eyes flickered toward the gym, his expression neutral but his tone softer than usual. “Needed some air,” he muttered, his voice quiet but knowing. “Ya know how he gets.” And that was all it took.

Your chest tightened. Something told you this wasn’t just about a bad game.

“Oi, Miya!” Takahiro’s voice broke through the hum of post-game chatter as he stepped forward, flashing a bright smile. “Hell of a match out there. You guys pulled through in the end.” His words were polite, his tone smooth, but the second they left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted.

Ginjima, who was standing nearby, narrowed his eyes, barely masking his distaste as he gave Takahiro a once-over. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, it looked like he was about to say something. "So, ya think—"

But before he could finish, Aran stepped in, his usual easy-going demeanor firming up as he gave Takahiro a curt nod.

“Thanks,” Aran cut in smoothly, his tone polite but clipped just enough to send a message. “Appreciate it.”

Takahiro, oblivious to the silent exchange, just smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “No problem. You guys really pulled through.”

You felt the tension rolling off Ginjima, and even Kita’s usually neutral expression was unreadable as his eyes flickered between Takahiro and the team.

You lingered with the team for a little while longer, standing by Aran as he exchanged a few polite words with Takahiro, who was blissfully unaware of the underlying tension. You nodded along, adding the occasional "yeah" or "for sure" as Takahiro talked about how intense the game had been and how impressed he was by Inarizaki's performance. But your mind was elsewhere.

Atsumu’s absence gnawed at you. The way he’d left the court so quickly, the frustration rolling off of him in waves—it didn’t sit right. Something was wrong, and no matter how much you tried to focus on the conversation happening around you, the pit in your stomach wouldn’t go away.

Eventually, as the crowd began to thin out and the post-game buzz started to fade, Takahiro turned to you with that same easy smile. "We’re all gonna grab something to eat after. You coming?"

You hesitated, your heart tugging you in a different direction. "Hey… I think I’m gonna head home," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m kinda tired."

Takahiro’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. "You sure? We were all gonna hang out for a bit."

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you replied, offering him a quick, reassuring smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright… text me when you get home, yeah?"

“Of course.”

But you had no intention of going home.

As Takahiro rejoined the group, you slipped away, weaving through the crowd without a second glance. Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you back toward the gym, where you knew exactly where Atsumu would be. Something gnawed at your gut, telling you this wasn’t just about a bad game. You could feel it, a weight settling in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

As you got closer to the gym, the familiar sound of volleyballs slamming against the floor echoed through the quiet night. The steady thump reverberated through the empty halls, each hit carrying a frustration that was almost palpable. Your steps slowed as you approached the entrance, the muffled grunts of effort and the sharp sound of rubber meeting wood growing louder with each step.

When you reached the doorway, you stopped, heart hammering in your ears as you took in the sight before you. Atsumu was there, just as you’d known he would be. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his hair damp and sticking to his skin. His jersey was clinging to his back, soaked through, and the gym floor was littered with scattered volleyballs, some rolling lazily across the surface after missed targets. But Atsumu wasn’t slowing down.

His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on an invisible target as he tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, body coiling with raw power. The crack of the ball echoed through the gym as it slammed into the floor, and a grunt of frustration escaped his lips, reverberating off the walls.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, watching him pour every ounce of frustration and anger into each serve. He didn’t notice you. Not yet.

“You're gonna break the damn floor at this rate.”

Your voice echoed across the empty gym, but Atsumu didn’t stop. He tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, slamming it with a grunt that reverberated off the walls. The ball ricocheted off the floor and hit the back wall with a loud thud. His breathing was heavy, shoulders rising and falling with each ragged inhale.

“Go home.” His voice was clipped, laced with exhaustion and something sharper. He didn’t turn to look at you, eyes locked on the next ball he was already lining up.

“Atsumu,” you said softly, stepping further into the gym. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about.” He tossed the ball, and another loud thwack echoed through the gym as the ball hit the floor. “Go home.”

But you didn’t move.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Your voice was firmer this time, crossing your arms as you stood your ground. But then, as Atsumu lined up another ball, ready to serve, you couldn’t take it anymore. Your feet moved before your brain caught up, and you stepped forward, planting yourself right in front of him.

“Atsumu, stop.”

His eyes widened in surprise, the ball still gripped tightly in his hand, but you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, heart pounding as you met his gaze head-on.

“Move,” he muttered, his voice low, but there was no real heat behind it.

“No,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “I’m not moving until you talk to me.”

“Why even bother?” His voice was sharper now, but there was something raw beneath the anger. “Go back to yer boyfriend. Bet he’s waitin’ for ya.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his words. “Boyfriend? You mean Takahiro?”

“Yeah, him.” He finally turned, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place—hurt, frustration… jealousy? “Bet he’s real smitten with ya, sittin’ in the stands, watchin’ ya smile at him like that.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Atsumu snapped, his voice rising. “I saw ya. Laughin’ at his jokes, lettin’ him get close. Ya looked real happy. Real fuckin’ happy.”

“That’s what this is about?” Your voice sharpened, anger bubbling to the surface. “You’re pissed because I was talking to Takahiro?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Atsumu drawled, his tone dripping with mock sweetness as he dropped the ball and crossed his arms. “‘Takahiro’s so nice,’” he mimicked, his voice going higher, mimicking yours in an exaggerated, sing-song way. “‘Takahiro helped me with my assignment.’ ‘Takahiro said the funniest thing today.’” He scoffed, his expression darkening as he took a step closer, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to jealousy. “Ya never shut up about him.”

If you weren't pissed before, you sure as hell were now.

Your jaw clenched, heat rushing to your face as your hands balled into fists at your sides. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” He let out a bitter laugh, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just sick of listenin’ to ya gush about him like he hung the damn moon.”

“Are you serious right now?!” You raised your voice, the frustration bubbling over. “You’re actin’ like a damn child, Atsumu!”

“Maybe I am!” Atsumu’s voice shot up, matching yours as his face flushed with anger. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that made your pulse race. “But at least I’m not the one actin’ blind to what’s right in front of me!”

“Blind to what?!” You threw your hands in the air, voice sharp and cutting as you took a step toward him, closing the space between you until there was barely any room left. Your chest brushed his as you tilted your chin up to meet his fiery gaze. “Why do you even care so much, Atsumu?!”

“Why do I care?!” He was practically towering over you now, his breath hot and ragged as his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with frustration. “Because ya never stop talkin’ about him! ‘Takahiro this, Takahiro that!’ It’s all I ever fuckin’ hear!”

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t act like you don’t give a damn about me!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t back down, standing your ground even as the tension between you became suffocating.

“I don’t give a damn?!” Atsumu’s voice was louder now, the frustration bleeding into his tone as he stepped even closer, his chest brushing against yours. “You’re the one who’s been actin’ like I’m invisible! Like I’m just—just some guy while yer out there with him!”

“Then why didn’t you say something?!” You screamed, voice echoing through the gym, your frustration boiling over. Your hands were trembling now, knuckles white from how hard you were clenching them at your sides. “Why do you even care so much?!”

“Because I love you!”

The words erupted from him, loud and raw, his voice breaking as the confession echoed through the gym and filled the space between you. His chest heaved, his face flushed from a mix of anger and desperation, and his eyes—wide, vulnerable, and filled with something you hadn’t seen before—were locked onto yours.

You froze, the weight of his words crashing down like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. The world went silent, and for the first time since you’d stepped into that gym, neither of you had anything left to say.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you stared at him, his chest still heaving from the force of his confession. The air felt thick, suffocating, as your mind raced to process what he had just said. Seconds stretched on, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Then, without thinking, without giving yourself a chance to second-guess it, you stepped forward. Your eyes locked on his, your expression unreadable, and before he could say another word, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanking him down.

"You’re so fucking stupid," you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was fierce, fueled by weeks—no, months—of pent-up frustration, confusion, and feelings you had pushed down for far too long. Your lips crashed into his, and Atsumu froze for half a second before he was kissing you back with just as much desperation. His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and the world around you blurred until nothing else existed.

The anger, the yelling, the unspoken words—they all melted away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in the heat of the moment, finally giving in to everything you’d both been too stubborn to admit.

heyy first time requesting from you but i looove your work so if you don’t mind can you please write a timeskip!kenma x female!reader where reader is sick w high fever and kenma takes care of her and everything but two or one n a half day in she starts feeling really needy but is too tired embarrassed to tell kenma but he eventually finds out about what getting her so fussy and moody (other than the fever) and gives her what she longs for🙏🏻🙏🏻 I apologize if this is too long i mean no pressure at all you dont have to do it but i love the way you write fics please make it as long as possible thank youuu<33

I think I've ticked all your boxes hehe NEVER apologize for a request I love every one <333 thank you for your lovely words of encouragement! Enjoy!!!

--

Kenma had never liked seeing you sick.

Not in high school, not now, not ever.

He wasn't the overly expressive type—not with words, not even with touch unless prompted—but he was attentive in the quietest, most precise ways. It was in how he brewed your tea with exactly the right amount of honey, how he remembered which corner of the blanket you preferred, how he adjusted the thermostat a degree lower without being asked. It was in how he never once complained when you sneezed directly onto his hoodie and then apologized like you'd committed a crime against humanity.

You'd caught a fever two days ago. High. Dangerous enough to make him drop his controller mid-stream, tell his viewers he was logging off, and shut everything down without a second thought. His fans could wait. You couldn't.

Now you were curled up in bed, cocooned under three layers of blankets, face flushed and eyes watery. Your hair stuck to your temples in damp strands, and your lips were dry despite the water and juice he kept coaxing you to drink. A warm haze clung to you like a second skin.

Kenma sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing a clammy strand of hair from your forehead, his brows drawn together with a soft, worried furrow. You looked so small like this. Fragile in a way he hated.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, voice soft.

Your response was a quiet hum—too soft, too weak. Your hand barely moved when you tried to reach for him and gave up halfway through.

He sighed. "I’ll take that as a 'no' then."

He rose and padded barefoot to the bathroom to change the cool compress on your head. When he returned, you winced slightly at the shock of it against your heated skin but gave him the smallest of smiles. That smile was all he needed to stay planted beside you for the rest of the evening.

The first day was simple: fever, rest, more rest. Kenma read to you in a soft voice when you couldn’t sleep, half-watching the screen of his Switch when you drifted off. The second day, the fever didn’t break. Your cough got worse. You started getting whiny—not in a mean way, just more clingy, more fussy. You tossed and turned, grumbled at the blanket for being too heavy and then too thin. Kenma adjusted it each time without complaint, wordlessly refilling your cup when it was empty.

"Don’t leave," you murmured once when he stood up to grab your medicine.

"I’m just going to the kitchen."

"Still. Don’t."

He paused. Then slowly sat back down. "Okay."

You fell asleep not long after, your fingers curled in the fabric of his sleeve like a tether.

By the start of the third day, the fever had started to dip, but something was off. Not worse—just different. You were moody. Restless. Your eyes kept drifting toward him, then away. You fiddled with your sleeves, pulled your legs up under the blankets only to stretch them back out a moment later. You weren’t saying much, but when you did, it was to complain—your pillow was too soft, your tea was too sweet, your shirt was itchy.

Kenma didn’t mind. He never minded when it came to you. But the inconsistency in your behavior pinged in the back of his mind like a notification he couldn’t swipe away.

By mid-afternoon, he closed his game console and leaned forward, placing it gently on the nightstand. His golden eyes watched you with subtle intensity as you fiddled with the edge of your blanket.

"Okay," he said flatly. "You’ve been squirmy and weird all day. Spill."

Your eyes widened, and your face—already flushed from the fever—somehow turned redder. You immediately turned your face into the pillow.

He waited.

You groaned. "It’s nothing. I’m just... tired."

He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. "You’re not tired. You’re needy."

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Kenma blinked, letting the silence stretch for a moment as he watched you squirm. His voice dropped lower, a little softer, more curious than accusatory. "...That it?"

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, voice muffled and near-incomprehensible.

"What was that?"

You turned just enough to peek at him with one eye, your lip trembling slightly. "I just... I wanna be held. But I’m gross and sweaty and disgusting, and I didn’t wanna bother you."

Kenma stared at you for a long beat. Then he gave a soft sigh, scooting closer until his knees bumped the side of the mattress.

"Move over."

Your eyes widened again. "But—"

"You think I care about sweat?"

"I literally sneezed in your hair yesterday."

"You did," he admitted. "And I’m still here."

You shifted slowly, cautiously, your heart fluttering like the fever had sparked all over again. Kenma climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He was careful not to press against you too hard at first, but once you leaned into him, he wrapped his arms around you with a slow, deliberate tenderness, pulling you close until your head rested just beneath his chin.

You melted.

The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers settled gently against your spine and started tracing soft, grounding lines—it was everything you hadn’t been able to ask for.

"Better?" he murmured.

Your voice cracked. "Yeah."

He kissed the top of your head, barely a brush of lips against fever-damp hair. "Next time, just say it. I can’t read your mind, you know."

You made a weak, embarrassed sound. "I didn’t want to be annoying."

"You’re always annoying," he mumbled, brushing his thumb against your arm. "But you’re mine. So it’s fine."

Despite the congestion, the soreness in your throat, the heat in your cheeks—you laughed. A breathy, tired little sound that still managed to be real.

He felt your smile against his collarbone.

Kenma held you tighter.

Neither of you moved for a long time. Minutes passed, then maybe an hour. Eventually, you dozed off in his arms, breathing soft and slow, and Kenma didn’t dare shift or get up.

He stayed right there, running his fingers along your back, as the fever began to retreat.

The medicine was working.

But more than that, you had finally let yourself rest in the place you needed most.

With him.