Anon Ask: Akaashi

Rivalry: Terushima

The club room door slammed open, rattling on its hinges.

“WHERE IS HE?!”

The team froze.

A half-eaten rice ball hit the floor. Water was choked on. Someone knocked over a sports bag in their rush to get out of the way.

Higashiyama whispered, “Oh, shit.”

Futamata grabbed Bobata’s arm. “Is it too late to run?”

Bobata just stared, resigned. “We’re already in the splash zone.”

But the one person who should have been afraid? He wasn’t.

Terushima barely had time to lift his head before you snatched him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, forearm pressing hard against his chest, pinning him in place.

A sharp oof left his lips, but even as you glared daggers at him, even as your breath came in sharp, furious exhales—

He grinned.

“Oh, wow,” he murmured, eyes flickering with something dangerous—something excited. “Didn’t realize you liked it rough.”

Your grip tightened. “Would you care to explain to me why I was just called into the principal’s office to be chastised for my so-called proposal for the volleyball team to offer shirtless pictures as a way to increase funding?”

The entire team collectively inhaled.

Futamata wheezed. “Oh my god.”

Higashiyama muttered, “That’s gotta be a new record for dumbassery.”

Bobata just covered his face with his hands.

Meanwhile, Terushima blinked at you, head tilting back against the wall as he let out a slow, amused exhale. “Damn. They really thought you—?” He laughed, shaking his head. “That’s actually incredible.”

“You absolute menace,” you snapped, shoving against his chest slightly before pressing him back down again. “You submitted that under my name.”

Terushima’s hands lifted lazily, like he was some innocent bystander in all this. “Now, now, let’s not jump to conclusions—”

“Jump to conclusions?” Your voice rose, incredulous. “You’re really about to stand here, pinned to a wall, and try to tell me I did this to myself?”

“Well—”

Futamata cut in, laughing in disbelief. “He’s gonna try it. He’s really gonna try it.”

And then, the real nail in the coffin—

Bobata scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s just trying to get Yoko Nakamura to date him.”

Silence.

Terushima’s expression dropped. “EXCUSE ME?”

Higashiyama immediately nodded. “Oh, yeah. Didn’t Yoko say she liked guys who were ‘confident but not too cocky’?”

Futamata grinned. “And someone said, ‘Hey, I know a way to prove I’m the perfect mix of both.’”

Your jaw dropped. “So you mean to tell me—” You exhaled sharply, shoving against Terushima’s chest one last time. “You pulled me into this mess because of a crush?!”

“Okay, first of all, I wouldn’t call it a crush—”

You leaned in, voice low and sharp as a knife. “Listen to me, very carefully, Terushima.”

For the first time, his smirk faltered.

“If you ever pull something like this again—if you ever use my name for one of your dumbass ideas, if you ever make me sit through another awkward meeting where the principal is looking at me like I’m about to pull out a portfolio of thirst traps—”

Futamata audibly snorted, but you didn’t even acknowledge it. Your glare burned into Terushima.

“I will make your life a living nightmare.”

The air in the room shifted.

You saw it—that flicker in his eyes.

Not fear. No, that wasn’t what you were going for.

It was something else.

A slow, sharp, assessing look. The slight way his jaw tightened, the way his smirk wasn’t quite as smug as before.

It was the realization that you were dead serious.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, finally, finally, you let him go.

The second you stepped back, Terushima rolled his shoulders, exhaling deeply like he had to shake off whatever had just happened.

You, on the other hand, turned on your heel with a huff and stormed out, calling over your shoulder, “Get your act together, Terushima. Or don’t—I don’t care. Just stay the hell out of my way.”

The door slammed shut behind you.

Silence.

All eyes turned to Terushima.

He glared back. “What?”

Bobata shook his head, exasperated. “Honestly? Pulling her pigtails in the schoolyard would be more subtle than this.”

Terushima scowled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re all full of shit.”

Higashiyama shrugged. “Dude. She literally had you pinned.”

Futamata snickered. “I dunno, man. She got the last word and left you looking stupid. You sure you’re not into that?”

Terushima threw his head back with an exaggerated groan. “I hate all of you.”

But even as he muttered under his breath, even as he grumbled about his entire team being traitors, his eyes flickered toward the door.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure who had won that exchange.

hey i wanted to request a fic, but before i request i wanted to say that i really enjoy your fics. there's something about them that makes me read them even when theyre about characters i dont often care much about. also, when i write i often stick to my couple of faves, but your fics have me thinking that maybe it'd do me good to practice writing a variety of different characters.

im not as prolific as you though hahaha

ok and now for my incredibly self-indulgent request because my #1 favorite is Mr. Perfect Kita, can i request a fic about Kita wooing/asking out a Reader who is intimidated by him?? pretty please, and thank you? hehe

i also am curious if there's any character you prefer writing about compared to the rest

have a lovely day! :)

Anon, you are far too kind — thank you so much for your kind words!! it genuinely means the world to me 🥹

Also: you should totally experiment with writing new characters!! it’s legit eye opening (after writing fav positions for Hinata, I can't stop looking at him differently 😭)

Also also, but favourite three characters to write for are Tsukishima (my first love) Iwaizumi and Atsumu for sure. They've stolen my heart ughhh.

ANYWAYS ENJOY <333

--

Anon Ask: Kita

There was something about Kita Shinsuke that made your stomach twist—and not in the butterflies, schoolgirl-crush way you wished it did.

No, it was worse than that. It was the intimidation.

Because Kita was perfect. He was composed, kind, respectful, disciplined. He woke up early, always got top marks, captained the volleyball team with quiet command, and still managed to hold the door open for every single person who walked through it. He was the kind of person who turned in his assignments a week early, whose uniform never had a wrinkle, whose silences were never awkward but intentional.

And you? You were just... there. Always a few steps away. Always too nervous to make eye contact, let alone conversation.

You shared a class with him—sat three rows behind, diagonally to the left—and you could probably count on one hand how many times you'd actually spoken to him. Mostly because every time his steel-gray eyes swept past you, your breath would catch in your throat.

That expression of his—steady, unreadable, unwavering—it made your nerves twist up in knots. It wasn't that he looked mean. It was that he looked like he saw everything.

So when he approached you after school one day, just before he headed off to volleyball practice, your brain completely short-circuited.

He stopped in front of your desk as you were packing up, casting a soft shadow over your notes. When you looked up, he was standing there with perfect posture, his uniform blazer unbuttoned but still crisp, and a small box held gently in both hands.

"Hey," he said, voice quiet but clear. "Can I speak to you a moment?"

You blinked up at him like he’d spoken another language, then scrambled to nod. "Y-Yeah. Of course."

He gestured subtly toward the hallway. You followed him, still clutching your books, your heart thudding in your ears. The corridor was mostly empty now, sunlight from the high windows painting long lines across the floor.

He turned to face you just outside the classroom, gaze even but calm.

Then, gently, he extended the box toward you.

"I put together a few things you might like. I hope that’s alright."

You stared at the box, then at his face, then back again. "Wait... what?"

The box was neat, wrapped in soft brown paper and tied with twine. Inside, you found your favorite snacks, a new set of pens in the exact shade you always used, a mini notebook with the design you'd admired in the campus store weeks ago, and a little envelope with your name on it in his clean handwriting.

You opened it with trembling fingers.

I thought of you, the note read. Simple. Honest.

"I noticed you're always out of ink because you let other people borrow your pens," he said softly, watching your reaction. "And I know you get headaches during long lectures—you press your temples with your thumbs when you're trying not to draw attention to it. So there's some caffeine-free tea in there too."

Your chest tightened. Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. He’d noticed all of that?

“I... uh...”

Then he asked it. Calmly, without fanfare, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Would you like to go out with me this Saturday?"

Your brain lagged, your breath stalling in your throat. Your fingers clenched tighter around the box.

"Why?" you blurted. Then quickly, eyes wide, you stammered, "I mean—I didn't even know you were interested in me."

For a beat, he was silent. Then his eyes softened, his posture relaxing just slightly. His thumbs pressed gently along the edge of his sleeves.

"I am," he said. "I have been for a while. You're always thoughtful. You don't speak just to fill space. You listen. You think before you act. I admire that."

The air caught in your chest. You looked down at the box, then back up at him.

He added, voice quieter now, "You don’t have to decide now. I just wanted you to know it wasn’t an accident that I asked. I see you. Even if you don’t always see yourself."

You bit your lip. Your hands were trembling slightly as you clutched the box tighter against your chest. "You're... really good at this," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath.

"I’m nervous," he admitted, eyes flicking away for just a second. He adjusted the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder. "But I meant what I said. I like you."

Your throat was dry, but your heart was full. Full in a way it hadn't been before.

You nodded slowly, smile shy. "Okay. Yes. I’d like that. Saturday, right?"

A tiny smile curved at the corner of his mouth—small but warm, the kind that made your chest flutter.

"Saturday," he confirmed.

He glanced down the hallway toward the gym, then back at you.

"I have practice now," he said gently, taking a small step back. "But I’ll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded, this time more confidently.

He gave one final lingering look—eyes lingering not on your face but the way you held the box close to you like it meant something—and then turned and walked away, each step measured and light.

You stayed rooted in place.

Blushing, stunned, your arms wrapped tightly around the little box as if it might disappear. You stood there for what felt like ages, listening to the echoes of his footsteps until they faded down the stairwell.

And when you finally looked back at the note in your hand, reading I thought of you one more time, your heart bloomed in your chest.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t so scary after all.

Thank you!!

Thanks so much for all the follows and likes!!! More posts will be coming soon <333

waiting for megumi's class to end so they can play ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა

Favourite Positions: Sugawara

Sugawara Koushi had always been attentive. He had a way of reading you—of knowing exactly what you needed before you even asked. But tonight, you were the one who made the first move.

It started as a simple suggestion, whispered against his lips as you straddled his lap, your fingers curling into his soft, silver-streaked hair. "I want to try something different tonight, Koushi."

He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his brown eyes. "Different how?"

When you told him, his smile widened—slow, intrigued, dangerous.

"Yeah?" His voice dropped, hands squeezing at your waist. "Alright, sweetheart. Let’s try it."

And that was how you ended up here, tangled together, your legs draped over his shoulders, his mouth hot and greedy against you while you did your best to keep up.

It should have been a fair exchange, an even give-and-take. But Koushi wasn’t playing fair.

The second his tongue flicked against you, a slow, precise glide that sent sparks up your spine, you realized you were already at a disadvantage. His grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin as he held you still, fully at his mercy.

You tried to focus, to keep up, your hands gripping him, stroking in time with the slow rock of your hips. You wanted to take him apart the way he was ruining you. But then—

He moaned.

The deep, reverberating sound vibrated against your core, and your body jolted, betraying you.

Koushi chuckled against your skin, smug and knowing. "Oh? That got to you?"

You whimpered, trying to suppress the way your thighs trembled around his head. But he felt it. Of course he did.

"You’re so sensitive tonight, sweetheart." His voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something hungry. "I wonder how long you’ll last?"

Your breath hitched as his tongue worked you over with slow, devastating precision. Each flick, each swirl, each deliberate pressure against your clit sent you spiraling higher, faster than you wanted to admit. He was taking his time with you, making sure you felt every second of it.

You tried to fight back, to make him feel just as wrecked. You wrapped your lips around him, sinking down slow, letting your tongue drag along his length in a way you knew drove him insane.

It worked—his breath hitched, his hips twitching against your mouth. A sharp, shaky inhale.

But then, as if reminded of the game you were playing, he groaned into you, deep and unrestrained.

The sound wrecked you. Your grip on him stuttered, your rhythm faltering, a high-pitched whimper slipping from your lips. And just like that—

He knew he had you.

His hands squeezed at your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer, his tongue delving deeper, flicking faster, sucking just hard enough to send you spiraling.

You couldn’t focus anymore. Couldn’t even think.

"K-Koushi—" Your voice broke, your body arching against him as he worked you to the edge with ruthless patience.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he murmured against you. His voice was warm, coaxing, wrecking you. "Let go. I’ve got you."

And you did.

Pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your whole body shaking, tensing, completely unraveling. A sharp cry spilled from your lips, your fingers digging into his thighs as your climax washed over you, leaving you trembling in his grasp.

But Koushi—Koushi wasn’t done.

As you gasped for breath, he didn’t let go. Instead, his hands guided you, adjusting you so you could move freely while still hovering over his face.

"There you go," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Ride it, sweetheart. Don’t be shy."

Your breath hitched as his tongue pressed against you again, your body twitching from overstimulation.

"I—I can’t—"

"You can," he reassured, hands firm on your thighs, keeping you steady as you ground down against him, chasing the pleasure all over again.

The change in position made it even worse— or better, depending on how you looked at it. You had more control now, more leverage, but the more you rocked against his mouth, the deeper the sensations coiled inside you.

Desperate for something to ground yourself, you let your hands trail down his stomach, wrapping your fingers around him from this angle, stroking in slow, teasing motions as you took him deeper into your mouth.

Koushi groaned into you, his grip on your thighs tightening, fingers digging into your skin as his body tensed beneath you.

His breath turned ragged as your hand moved faster, your grip tightening. He was close.

"Koushi—"

Your voice cracked as you came again, pleasure ripping through you, your whole body trembling in his grasp. The feeling of you tensing, shaking, completely wrecked above him— it pushed him over the edge.

A deep, shuddering groan left his lips as his body tensed beneath you, spilling into your hand as he finally let go, undone by the way you lost yourself above him.

You felt the tremor in his thighs, the way his fingers dug in just a little harder as his breath stuttered, his whole body shaking through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just ragged breaths, aftershocks still rippling through you both, your limbs tangled, your bodies completely spent.

Then—a soft chuckle.

Koushi pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your thigh before murmuring against your skin, "Think that might be my new favorite."

You let out a breathless laugh, still too wrecked to even open your eyes.

Just as you started to relax, his fingers brushed along your skin, soft, teasing, lingering.

"You alright, sweetheart?" His voice was sweet, too sweet.

You nodded weakly, still coming down, not yet realizing the danger.

Then, his lips curved against your thigh, and he murmured—

"Good. Let’s go for three."

Oh. You were in trouble.

Broken Telephone Pt. 4

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

Emphasis on somewhat.

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

You’d say it’s pretty slim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You congratulating me is creepy.”

“Why is it creepy?”

“Because it’s-“

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

“Seems your classes have dumbed me down.”

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

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

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

“You and Megumi to start dating.”

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

Gojo knew about your crush.

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

Fucker had you right where he wanted you.

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

You would spare no expense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HEY! Hii!! How are you? I hope you're doing good!

I have a small question, do you write for Inarizaki characters? Not the Miyas or Suna, I mean like Omimi, Akagi, Ginjima, Kosaku, etc.

That's all I want to know, because I love em (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠)

I hope you have a good day!!

Heyyy I'm doing fantastically thank you for asking heheh

I'll write anyone if you ask me too! The only difference is with more niche characters I just look up their wiki for ideas on their personalities lolol

I hope you have a good day too!! Thank you lovely <333

Rivalry: Akaashi

You had worked your ass off for this promotion.

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

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

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

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

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

Then the words left their mouth.

“Akaashi landed an exclusive with the MSBY Jackals.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

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

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

That smug bastard.

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

Your blood boiled.

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

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

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

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

Your jaw clenched.

The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

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

You blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“…Understood,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

Akaashi nodded smoothly. “Understood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hated how much fun he was having.

But most of all?

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

~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted to throw something at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, the rivalry continued.

Until Akaashi broke the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’m not. I’m being practical."

You scoffed. "Uh-huh. Sure."

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

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

"Fine. I’ll go."

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

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

This was getting too weird.

Hii!!

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

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

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

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

Hii!! 🥺💕

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

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

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

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

Dry humping meian shugo 😈

Literally say less

--

Anon Asks: Meian (NSFW)

He was supposed to be working.

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

And you couldn’t stop staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pressure was perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

It snapped something in you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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