Pregnancy: Yaku

Nosedives (Miya Astumu x Reader) Pt. 1

You were startled awake by a sharp knocking at your door. It was persistent, loud, and you instantly knew who it was.

But that didn’t make you any less angry.

You stumble out of bed, eyeing the clock as you read the ungodly time of 2 am, infuriated. You pull on your robe, trying to make yourself look somewhat decent before ultimately deciding that you shouldn’t have to, then marching to your door to whip it open.

“Atsumu, it’s too late for your shit. Someone better be dying.” You look down at your best friend (tentative at the moment) with utter dismay and annoyance.

He barges pasts you and into your apartment, making way to your kitchen. You sigh deeply, already being able to tell this was going to be a long night. As he rummages through your fridge, you glare at him with narrowed eyes, waiting for an explanation. You watch in disbelief as he opens your fridge and grabs a beer from one of the shelves, opening it and taking a long slug. You watch as Atsumu chugs down the beer, feeling a mix of frustration and slight concern for him.

“Hey, dipshit. We have places to go get drinks, they’re called bars. Go there instead of bothering me at two in the goddamn morning.” You hiss, walking to face him across your kitchen island.

He gives you a long look, and it gives you time to really drink him in. Atsumu was wearing a black leather jacket with a nice, albeit tight sweater (The kind that really showed off his broad shoulders) and some trousers. His smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he takes another swig from the bottle, completely unfazed by your frustration.

You deduce that, most likely, the man in question had a date. Which wasn’t surprising for you; Atsumu had always been somewhat of a ladies man. Even back in high school he had girls begging at his feet to go on dates. You personally never really understood the obsession. Sure, he was good looking, but with his personality…

Eh, you could understand everyone had their preferences.

Though, now as an adult, dates had turned into one night stands, but whatever. You weren’t one to judge, unless they started ransacking your kitchen.

Then you’d judge plenty.

“I’m pissed.” He finally says, slamming back the rest of the beer and searching for more in your fridge.

“Join the club. I got a best friend whose an asshole and is drinking all my well earned booze. What’s your problem?” Atsumu turns back to you, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Atsumu pounds back another beer, and you squint your eyes at him, knowing him too well for this bullshit.

“You came all the way over here, at two in the morning, might I add, just to not talk about it?” You cross your arms. You honestly just wanted to get this over with, so you could go back to sleep and have him crash on your couch like he normally did when he came over. He usually just needed a little coaxing to get his true intentions out. Then he’d spill (more like whine) and you could both move on.

“And for the beer.” He smirks, taking another sip, trying to be funny. You snatch the can away from him.

“Hey! I was drinking that!”

“And for that you owe me 7 bucks. Now what are you doing here? I got work in the morning you know.” He rolls his eyes, as if you were the problem here.

You were finding it difficult to remember why you hung around him so much.

“My date was a bitch.” He grumbled out, not looking at you. You only scoffed, failing to notice the growing redness around his cheeks and ears.

“And that’s what’s got you so wound up? I figured you’d be too mellowed out to care if she was a bitch after the fucking.” You said bluntly, taking a sip of beer you stole from Atsumu.

Well, it was technically yours, so it wasn’t stealing. He let out a long sigh.

“We never really got to that part.” You felt your jaw clench.

“So is she a bitch for not sleeping with you? I’m telling you, I’m finding it really hard to like you right now-“

“No, that’s not it.” He still refused to look at you, and you couldn’t help but become curious. Because not a lot of things flustered Atsumu, hell you could even say the man had no shame, so to find him this shaken…

It was interesting.

“We- We were in the middle of some foreplay, and she said…” Atsumu paused dramatically. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“She said?” You continued, taking another sip.

“That I didn’t know how to finger her.”

You couldn’t help but choke on your drink, not able to stifle your laughter. Atsumu shot you an annoyed glare as you continued to chuckle, gasping for air between fits of laughter and attempting for the alcohol to go down the correct pipe.

“It’s not funny!” Atsumu yelled your name, furious, as you continue to cough and laugh, the two actions intertwining.

“I’m sorr-sorry,” You coughed a couple more times. “I’m sorry its just- You were moping because she hurt your precious ‘wittle’ ego? What are you, 12?” He glared at you.

“It’s more than that!” He says, not even denying it. “This is about pride, and I’m completely justified! To say that is like saying I’ve got no skill, and lord knows I’ve. Got. Skill.” He ranted and you couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face. For as long as you knew him, Atsumu had always strived to be the best. At whatever he set his mind to. Whether it be volleyball, beating his brother, or even fucking, once he decided to be at the top, almost nothing could stop him. So seeing him being infuriated at the idea of not being the greatest at something he actually cared about, however stupid and shallow, made the dark part of you want to tease him a little but more. “I’ve satisfied countless women! You know!” You snorted.

“How would I? I’ve never been finger fucked by you. By all means she could be totally right.” You could tell that by the look on his face you struck a nerve. It gave you a little more satisfaction than it should’ve. You chalk it up to the slight buzz you felt from the alcohol.

“Alright then! I’ll prove it!” The statement gives you pause. Like, serious pause.

“Again, I must ask. How, exactly?” There’s a silence that follows that question, and one that fills your stomach with butterflies.

Suddenly, you see your best friend start walking around the island and towards you, grabbing your arm and dragging you to your couch, and practically shoving you on your back. He’s quick to follow, getting close enough to smell the strong fumes of alcohol on his breath.

Just how much had he drank before he came over?

You see him go for your robe tie, and you stop him there, pushing against a chest that shouldn’t feel that hard. This is where you draw the line. You could deal with a lot of things, but you don;t think your self-worth could handle the major repercussions of what you think is about to happen.

“Atsumu, what are you doing?”

“I said I’d prove it.” You deadpan.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. You’re drunk and I’m not interested.” He raises a brow at you, and you have to force your face to stay passive and unimpressed. He smirks, leaning in closer, ignoring your resistance and determined to prove his point.

“Oh come on. Everyone’s interested in me.” It’s your turn to raise a brow.

“This is bringing out a lovely colour on you.” He clicks his tongue.

“Think of this as an experiment.” Your answer is immediate. Maybe because you don’t want to actually consider it.

“Nope.” You push further, but he doesn’t budge. You’re now very aware of just how close he is. You can feel the warmth ebbing off him in waves.

“A bet?” That question catches your interest. You’re almost ashamed of how you’re beginning to fall for it.

“… How much?” You can’t believe the words that come out of your mouth, but you watch as Atsumu’s face brightens. You’re not sure if it’s because of the approval, or the challenge.

“500?” You honestly think about it. Weighing your morals and values about whether this would be ethical. Whether you really wanted to show your best friend of almost a decade that level of intimacy…

But then again, 500 bucks is 500 bucks.

“Deal.”

That’s all the conformation Atsumu needs, going to untie the knot of robe, when you go to stop him again. He actually whines. You squint at his impatience.

“What now?”

“It’s my body you’re groping here. I call the shots. We need to establish some ground rules.” He sighs heavily, but removes his hand, showing that he’s willing to listen.

“Nothing else but your hands, that means no kissing or anything close to that.” You wait for approval and he nods. “You’ll have ten minutes?”

“Five. I’ve never needed any more than that.” He smirks, and you stick your tongue out at his arrogance.

“Pretty cocky for someone who gave himself blueballs.”

“Not funny.”

“Humor is subjective.” You shrug, smirking at his distaste. “Oh yeah, go wash your hands before we start.” With that he goes to your bathroom and does what you ask. In those few minutes you had half the nerve to call it all off, with something in your gut telling you this was probably a bad idea, but you couldn’t make the decision fast enough before he came back, look in his eyes similar to when he was playing a game.

For some reason you felt a little out of your element.

“Alright. All washed. Ready to lose?” You roll your eyes, all the while trying to control your breathing.

“Please.” You couldn’t think of a proper comeback, which should’ve already told you you were in over your head, but you couldn’t even consider it as he finally removed your robe, showing your very ugly sleep attire. Which consisted of an extremely large, beaten up t-shirt.

And nothing else.

You felt your skin turn to fire as Atsumu trailed his leg up your thigh, gentle, precise.

Like a lion scoping out a gazette to kill.

“Start the clock.” He doesn’t ask, but demands, and you can’t even think to say anything as you start a five minute timer on your phone; Within the same breath he parts your thighs, just as soft and gentle. Like you were made of glass that he wouldn’t dare break. You almost get lost in the feeling, but jerk back to reality when he rubs against your lips with a light, feather like touch. You notice his eyes widen a fraction, but quickly return to half lidded as a smile begins to grow.

You can’t control your flinch, which causes him to smile deeper.

“No panties to bed? Didn’t think you were the type.” His voice is quiet, but powerful. The baritones cause your soul to shake in ways you never thought it could. It was unlike any tone you’ve ever heard him speak in. You have to stop yourself from covering yourself in embarrassment, but can’t stop the red that spreads across your cheeks.

“Shut up.” It’s said in the meekest voice you’ve ever heard. To be honest, if it wasn’t you, you’d have a hard time believing it was.

“None of the rules included no talking. So no, I don’t think I will.” You stay quiet, trying to avoid eye contact as he continues rubbing, tracing the lips of your cunt. It stays like that for a couple seconds, and you swear you begin to feel fuzzy.

The touch was like nothing, yet it felt like everything. You choose to look at the ceiling, trying to ignore the growing pulse in your lower belly, and the sudden lump in your throat.

“You’ve wasted about thirty seconds now… Do you need a picture of the woman anatomy? I don’t mind you using a cheat sheet…” You cringe at the slight shake in your voice, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice it.

“You fail to realize that the start of anything half decent is the anticipation of it.”

You stiffen at sentence. Not because of the words, but because of the sheer determination in his voice.

This fucker was serious about this.

Shit, you were so screwed.

“Which is why…” His thumb suddenly parts you, and you lightly hiss at the attack of cold air rushing against you, feeling exponentially stronger than you would have ever assumed.

“You’re absolutely soaked right now.” You hated how right he was, how you could hear your lips parting, but you couldn’t say anything as he wasted no more time, going directly for your clit, using the rough, calloused pad of his thumb to draw a large, slow circle. You jump at the direct contact, the juxtaposition from the light touch to the heavy rub, and you can’t stop the squeak that escapes you. You can feel his smugness ebb off him, poor deflated ego slowing have air be pumped back in.

You felt warm. Too warm.

“You’re pretty sensitive. Am I actually doing you a favour with this bet?” You realize just how close he is to you, his voice tingling the canal of your ear, and you squirm at it. He doesn’t stop his movements, still opting for slow full circles, and you try to focus on the walls of your apartment, all the while stopping yourself from moving your hips.

You’ve gone way too deep to stop this obvious bad idea. If you wanted to save face, you needed to beat him.

“I’ve had much hotter men do much better, so I wouldn’t be so sure.” You purr, only a little breathless, trying not think of the obvious lie you just told in favour of watching Atsumu’s jaw clench. But if you were being honest, Atsumu had always been attractive to you, and he wasn’t doing that bad a job.

Plus, you hadn’t had a date in months, let only a boyfriend. But there’s no way you’d let him know.

Though, you should’ve thought twice about riling him up. He was the more than determined now to make you eat those words.

He doesn’t say anything, opting for harsher treatment. He switches to smaller, tighter circles, and every once in a while a figure eight is drawn on your clit, rubbing that little pearl all the right ways. You don’t have time to think when you put your hand to your mouth, attempting to stop the whines that are desperately begging to come out. You fight against yourself to stop your eyes from rolling to back of your head, but you’re fighting an uphill battle.

You don’t even realize you’re rolling your hips until you feel the warmth of his hand on you, trying to keep you steady. If you weren’t floating on metaphoric nirvana right now, you’d be mortified.

“Would you like it if I did this?” He basically whispers, all too sensually, you add, pinching your clit right at its most sensitive. You jerk.

“Shit.” You hiss, automatically grabbing for his deltoid, digging your nails into his skin hard enough to mold half crescents into his muscles. You start to audibly hear your breathing. And Atsumu’s.

“I think that’s a yes.” He chuckles, but there’s no longer a smug tone to his voice, more like curiosity or… enamour.

“Let’s take it up a notch, yeah?” Your eyes widen when you feel his fingers leave your clit, embarrassingly puffed and engorged, to your even more embarrassing twitching hole. He circles it, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

You couldn’t watch your unraveling.

Your breath hitches when he enters a single digit, it practically glides in with the teasing he had done.

“God damn.” Atsumu mutters, but there’s no hint of a teasing or smug tone, seemingly way too focused with how you gripped his finger, sucking him in when he tried to pull back.

He starts slow, but the pace increases with every thrust of his finger. Though he wasn’t doing anything special persay, the girth of Atsumu’s fingers compared to yours was one you were not accustomed to, and one you definitely couldn’t handle silently. When he added a second, the stretch was so welcomed you couldn’t stop the sounds that broke through your mouth.

“F-fuck.” You strain, arching your back unconsciously. You were too far gone to notice just how intensely Atsumu is watching you. Or the very obvious tent forming in his pants.

The timer was long gone at this point, with both of you being more interested in the tempo at which his fingers moved. At some point you realized that with every thrust he would curl his fingers, and you immediately realized what he was trying to do.

You knew for sure you wouldn’t last if he kept that up. Your hand went from his deltoid to his wrist in an attempt to stop him.

“Wai-wait! Don’t-Don’t press-!”

Then he found it. That spongey flesh that made you see stars. His first press was hard, and you swear you almost came from that one move. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, unable to think of anything else.

Your visions too blurred with sudden tears to see the look on Atsumu’s face whether it was filled to brim with smug satisfaction or not.

Either way, he had found what he was looking for.

With his palm to your clit, he moved even faster than before, fingers slamming into you, curling his fingers with more and more accuracy each time. You no longer tried to contain your moans, focusing on the strange sensation of a growing pressure deep in your abdomen.

Something was telling you that it wasn’t a good sign for you.

You tried to formulate a sentence, words even, but all you could make out was a garbled version of his name, that he would most likely never let you forget.

The pressure was growing, and you started to panic. It was like a rubber band growing taught, and it was going to snap any second.

“You’re pretty close aren’t you? You’re twitching like crazy.” The murmur in your ear, along with the heat of his breath along the side of your neck, becomes way too much.

You whined in response, trying to let it be known that you were about to burst.

“Cum for me.”

And that was it. The band snapped and it snapped hard.

You saw literal white, a pressure being released that felt so great you almost ascended. It lasted a long while, and you still felt the aftershocks when he removed his fingers.

You felt boneless, not even caring about the point of whatever you two were doing. But what surprised you is the fact that Atsumu was quiet.

He was never quiet. Never.

Your eyes flutter open to a have lidded position not having the energy to open it any further. You get a look at him, but he isn’t looking at you, he’s looking down at his hand.

You blush, feeling only a little dose of reality come to smack you.

“Hey… Don’t be a perv and just gloat already-“

“You squirted.”

You freeze at his words, face feeling all that much brighter, as you go to check out the damage you hadn’t even realized you caused. You bend over to see, low and behold, a puddle of wetness sitting on your couch along with your best friends hand dripping in the essence of you.

It was… a lot. And had never happened to you before.

You both continue to stare, silence pretty much deafening, both of you unsure what to say. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

When the timer rang. Three prongs of sound filling the room, and slapping you into high gear.

This was too much for you.

You stood upright, a little too fast for your head or legs, feeling the shake in your muscles from the prolonged strain of tension.

“I-I should-… Clean the couch. You can sleep on the other one for now.” You refuse to make eye contact with the still quiet Atsumu, tying your robe as fast you could, heading for your nearest towel and wipes. You do the cleanup rather quickly, still not mentioning the extremely awkward situation. Once finished you try to tie up any loose ends.

“You know where the blanket and pillows are, help yourself. And I’ll uh… send you the money in the morning.” You mumble before rushing to your bedroom, slamming the door and clutching your heart in a panicked manner.

What. The. Fuck.

Hey so I really like your writing. Your fics are so inspiring...! Can I pretty please request a fic about Kita catching Reader off guard with a blunt love confession?? 🙏 I'd love to see what you come up with!

Aw inspiring?!! That is so sweet!! I love that I am what people were for me when I started writing (about 5 years ago!) so never give up and be proud of any work you make!! I hope you enjoy <333

--

Confessions: Kita

The thing about Kita Shinsuke is that he never does anything without purpose.

He speaks with intention, moves with care, and rarely—if ever—lets emotion get the better of him. He is dependable to a fault, calm even in the most chaotic situations, and as predictable as a rising sun. Which is why, when he turns to you one spring afternoon and says, "I’m in love with you," you nearly choke on your drink.

The two of you are sitting beneath the shade of a wide camphor tree near the back of the school, where the grass grows a little taller and the breeze feels like a secret only you two share. The breeze is soft, the air warm and sweet with the scent of new blossoms. You’d come out here to eat lunch together—something that had become a quiet ritual between you and Kita. No crowds, no noise. Just the two of you, sharing space, swapping stories, occasionally falling into long stretches of silence that never felt awkward. He always brings homemade bento boxes, neatly packed, and you bring snacks or something small to share.

You blink at him, unsure if you heard right. "Sorry—what?"

Kita is still looking at you, expression as steady and unreadable as ever. He’s holding a rice ball in one hand, his bento sitting neatly in his lap. "I said I’m in love with you."

There’s no hesitation. No blush. Just the plain delivery of truth—as if he’s pointing out the weather, or commenting on the quality of the rice today.

You nearly drop the bottle of tea in your hand. "Kita," you breathe, searching his face for a trace of humor or a tell that he’s messing with you. But he’s not. Of course he’s not.

Your heart stutters. "You can’t just say things like that out of nowhere, you know."

He tilts his head slightly. "Why not?"

"Because—" You flail for a second, grasping for something clever to say, something to make sense of the heat rising to your cheeks. "Because it’s—surprising."

Kita hums, thoughtfully chewing. "I didn’t think it would be. We spend time together. You bring me pickled plums even when I don’t ask. You save the last piece of tamagoyaki for me, even though it’s your favorite. You walk me to the gate every day, even when you’re running late. I thought maybe you felt the same."

You sputter, caught between the instinct to deny and the overwhelming realization that he’s right. You do all those things, and more. You always look for him in a crowded room. You always listen when he speaks, no matter how quiet his voice. You think about him in between classes, after practice, before bed. He’s right.

He continues, voice soft but sure. "You don’t have to say anything right now. I just thought it was time I told you."

And with that, he turns his gaze back to the tree branches swaying above you, like he didn’t just tilt your entire world on its axis. He takes another bite of his rice ball, completely composed, like he hadn’t just carved a confession into the air and left it hanging between you.

You sit in stunned silence for a moment longer, the breeze tugging gently at your sleeves. Everything feels quieter now. The breeze, the rustling branches, the distant sound of other students laughing in the courtyard—it all fades into a soft, blurred background. Your fingers tighten slightly around the tea bottle in your lap.

You steal a glance at him. He’s not looking at you. He’s perfectly calm, patient, and somehow that makes your chest ache more than if he’d confessed with nervous laughter or flushed cheeks. There’s no doubt, no need for reassurance. He meant it.

You reach over, plucking a stray leaf from his shoulder. You don’t know why—it just gives your hands something to do.

"You’re unbelievable," you mutter, shaking your head.

He glances at you, eyes curious but unbothered. "Is that a good thing?"

You let out a soft laugh, one that feels lighter than it should considering your heart is still racing in your chest. "I don’t even know. You really just said that like you were telling me we had PE next period."

He shrugs. "I meant it. I don’t think it needs to be complicated."

And you know he’s right again. Kita doesn’t dress things up. He doesn’t make things harder than they need to be. He doesn’t hide behind games or fear or doubt. He just is.

You look down at your lunch, your appetite forgotten. You can’t stop thinking about the things he said. The way he noticed your little habits. The way he didn’t need you to answer right away. The way he didn’t waver.

When you finally meet his eyes again, there’s a warmth blooming in your chest—slow and full, like sunlight rising through clouds.

"I’m in love with you too, you idiot," you say, and your voice is so quiet, so soft, that you almost expect him to miss it.

But he doesn’t.

Kita Shinsuke turns to you fully then, and for the first time all afternoon, he smiles.

Really, truly smiles.

And just like everything else he does, it’s quiet, intentional, and completely disarming.

He reaches for your hand—not suddenly, not dramatically, but gently, deliberately—and your fingers lace together like they were always meant to. You sit that way for a long time, the afternoon stretching endlessly before you, the breeze curling around your ankles, the scent of spring growing thicker with each passing minute.

Neither of you says much after that. You don’t need to.

Some things are better left to the quiet.

And Kita, as always, knows exactly what silence means.

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

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

~~~

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

“Guess what I brought home?”

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

He huffed a laugh. “Try again.”

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

Your brows shot up.

“Oh, this is amazing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meian arched a brow. “...That right?”

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

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

“...Captured perfection, huh?”

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

You yelped as suddenly, the entire world flipped.

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

“Shugo—what the—PUT ME DOWN.”

“Nope.”

“You are not seriously—”

“Oh, I am.”

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

“…You’re jealous.”

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

“A point about what?!”

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

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

You swallowed, the calendar long forgotten on the floor.

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

His chuckle was low, pleased.

“Good answer.”

Rivals: Kuroo Pt. 3

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

What the hell did I do?

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

The way you begged for him.

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

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

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

At least he wasn’t judging you.

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

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

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

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

And yet…

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

And worst of all?

You wanted to do it again.

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

You would not let yourself fall into this trap.

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

He flicked his tail, unimpressed.

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

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply.

This was going to be hell.

__

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That relief, however, was short-lived.

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

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

Your stomach dropped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You checked the clock. Fifteen minutes left.

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

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

Fuck him. I have nothing to be ashamed of.

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

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

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

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

Your stomach clenched at the word. Partner?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For everyone except you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which, you absolutely were not.

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

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

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

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

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

Another project. On short notice. With him.

And worse—

Over dinner.

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

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

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

“Looking forward to it, partner.”

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

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

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

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

And there he was. Watching you.

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

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

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

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

You were never going to survive this.

Rivalry: Atsumu

It had been years of this.

Years of Atsumu Miya being an unrelenting, aggravating presence in your life.

From the moment you met, he had been insufferable. Smug, fiercely competitive, and persistently irksome, he thrived on pushing every button you had. Every interaction with him was a battle—whether it was a disagreement over training schedules, a critique of his technique, or a casual observation about his erratic setting. He never let anything slide, twisting every word into an argument, every comment into an opportunity to outmaneuver you.

The worst part? You never backed down.

If he provoked, you retaliated. If he smirked, you sneered. He could infuriate you faster than anyone else, and he knew it—and he reveled in it.

And now, in your third year as the Inarizaki team manager, you had mastered the art of tolerating Atsumu Miya—

Until tonight.

Tonight, he’d finally gone too far.

The entire team had long since caught on to your dynamic.

Atsumu didn’t merely annoy you—he made a sport out of it.

If you walked into practice? He was already waiting, arms crossed, a cocky grin stretching across his face as he prepared some quip guaranteed to get under your skin.

“Yer late, manager,” he’d say, despite the fact that you never were.

If you so much as tried to correct something? He’d smirk, feigning surprise. “Oh? Maybe I should just hand ya my setter position, huh?”

And the worst part? The others loved it.

Osamu, Futakuchi, and even Kita occasionally leaned back and observed your fights like a live-action drama, amused by how predictably you two clashed.

“Ya know, at this point, I think ya like the attention,” Atsumu teased one afternoon, casually tossing a volleyball between his hands. “Yer always gettin’ worked up over me.”

You scoffed, arms crossed. “Oh, please. The day I enjoy anything about you is the day hell freezes over.”

Futakuchi nudged Osamu. “Tension’s thick today.”

Osamu smirked. “Give it five minutes. They’ll be yellin’.”

And five minutes later, Atsumu had said exactly the right thing to set you off, and the shouting commenced.

Practice had gone as usual, with only a few sharp remarks exchanged between you and Atsumu before it was over. You were exhausted, your muscles aching from running errands for the team all day, your patience wearing thin. All you wanted was to head home, collapse into bed, and forget that Miya Atsumu existed for a few blessed hours.

The team packed up in the club room, their chatter filling the space as they slung their bags over their shoulders. You barely noticed that Atsumu wasn’t among them as they filed out, too focused on getting the final tasks done so you could lock up and leave.

But when you walked into the gym, your plans crumbled.

Atsumu was still there, alone, setting balls into the air with effortless precision. His expression was intense, brows drawn together in concentration, jaw tight, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The only sounds in the gym were the rhythmic thud of the volleyball meeting his hands and the slight squeak of his sneakers against the polished floor as he adjusted his stance.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. Of course. Of course he couldn’t just leave like a normal person.

His shirt clung to his body, damp with sweat, emphasizing the broad set of his shoulders and the way his forearms flexed every time he made contact with the ball. He moved with precision, power behind every motion, muscles tensing and releasing like a well-oiled machine. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good. Infuriatingly good.

But you didn’t care about that right now.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and sighed. "Seriously, Miya? Go home."

He barely looked at you before responding. "Suck my dick."

You scoffed. "You wish. Now pack up, or I’m locking you in here."

He ignored you, setting another perfect ball into the air. That was the last straw. Marching onto the court, you grabbed the nearest volleyball and chucked it at him. He caught it effortlessly, smirking.

"You gonna help, or just be a pain in my ass?" he taunted.

You turned on your heel and stormed toward the supply closet, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. The overhead light buzzed faintly as you stepped inside, the scent of disinfectant and old volleyballs filling your nose. Without hesitation, you grabbed a laundry basket full of towels and shoved it into Atsumu’s chest the moment you returned.

“You’re gonna help clean up tonight,” you said sharply, your voice edged with exhaustion and frustration.

Atsumu scoffed, letting the weight settle against his chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You stayed late to practice, and I have the keys to the gym. That means you’re packing up before I lock up for the night.”

Atsumu smirked, that lazy, infuriating smirk that made your blood boil. "But you're so much better at those kinds of things, ya know? We all have our strengths."

“Oh? And what's yours?”

He shrugged. “I score points.”

You wanted to strangle him. “I mean off the court, Miya. You brainless egomaniac.”

That smirk widened. "Damn, sweetheart, say it like ya mean it."

Your entire body tensed. If there was one thing—one thing—that set your blood boiling faster than anything, it was that nickname. The way he said it, like it was his own personal joke, a word meant to patronize, to needle at you in a way that no one else dared. It was never affectionate, never playful—not in the way others might say it. No, when Atsumu called you sweetheart, it was dripping with arrogance, a smirk wrapped around syllables meant to get under your skin.

And god, did it work.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, jaw tightening so hard it ached. "Don't. Call. Me. That."

His smirk only grew, as if he had been waiting for that exact reaction. "What? Don't like it? Thought ya might warm up to it by now."

"I'd rather set myself on fire."

Atsumu chuckled, slow and smug, like he'd already won this round. "Now that is dramatic."

You threw a towel at his face, and he caught it effortlessly, his smirk widening. "Temper, temper," he taunted, shaking his head like you were the one being unreasonable. "Y'know, if ya wanted me to get all sweaty cleanin' up, ya coulda just asked nicely." You only roll your eyes in disgust.

“Take those to the supply closet. And don’t start with your usual bullshit, just do what I say for once.”

Atsumu tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something sharp. “Bossy.”

You inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. The way he looked at you—like he thrived on how easily he could rile you up—made your skin prickle. “Miya, I swear to—”

“Fine, fine,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as he slung the towels over his shoulder. His smirk deepened as he eyed you, a flicker of amusement dancing behind those infuriatingly sharp eyes. "Must be exhausting bein’ so uptight all the time. Ya ever tried just... relaxin'? Oh, wait, guess that'd require ya to actually remove that stick from  yer ass."

Your blood boiled instantly, a sharp sting of irritation spreading through your chest. Exhaustion and frustration swirled together into something combustible, something that snapped your already frayed patience. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you fought the urge to throw something harder than a towel at his smug, insufferable face. Without thinking, you stomped past him, heading into the supply closet, letting out a frustrated breath as you grabbed another piece of equipment to throw at him if necessary.

"Maybe if your setting was as reliable as your big mouth, I wouldn’t have to waste my breath on you,” you spat, voice cold and cutting.

Atsumu went rigid. His smirk flattened into something unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, burning eyes—flashed with something dark, something livid.

In an instant, he was storming after you. Before you could react, he followed you into the supply closet, his movements sharp and full of barely restrained anger. The door slammed behind him, the echo bouncing off the walls.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" His voice was low, lethal, his usual teasing edge completely gone.

You whirled around, arms crossing over your chest. "You heard me, Miya. Maybe if you focused on actually being consistent instead of running your mouth, you wouldn't have to work overtime trying to convince people you're the best."

His nostrils flared, jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grinding. "You think I got this far by bein' inconsistent? By bein' a fuckin' joke?"

"I think you got this far because you talk so much shit, people actually start to believe it," you bit back. "But I'm not like the rest of your fangirls, Miya. Your act doesn’t work on me."

Atsumu let out a low, humorless laugh, stepping closer. Too close. "Ya really think you know me, huh?" His voice was dangerous now, quiet and sharp like a blade pressed just beneath your skin. "Yer full of shit."

"And you're full of yourself."

The air was thick, charged with something volatile, something unstable. His hands were curled into fists, his breath coming in sharp exhales. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his fury rolling off in waves.

You scoffed in disgust, shaking your head as a bitter smirk pulled at your lips. "You're pathetic."

Atsumu’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening dangerously, but you were already turning away, reaching for the door handle to get as far away from him as possible.

Then your stomach dropped.

The knob refused to turn.

Atsumu frowned. "The hell are ya doin’?"

You twisted the knob again, harder. Still nothing.

Your throat went dry. "The door is locked."

Atsumu snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure it is." He reached out, confidently twisting the handle—

Nothing.

Atsumu frowned, twisting harder. Still nothing.

Silence.

Then, without missing a beat—

“Yeah, like I didn’t try that,” you deadpanned.

Atsumu’s scowl deepened, his frustration crackling in the air between you. "You’ve gotta be fuckin' kidding me. This is all your fault."

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. "Oh, right, because I totally planned to lock myself in a closet with you of all people."

"Yer mouth sure makes it sound like ya did." His voice was low, edged with something sharp. "Maybe ya just wanted me all to yourself."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Please. If I wanted something all to myself, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you."

Atsumu took a step closer, his presence closing in on you like a storm. "Keep talkin’, princess. Let’s see if ya can keep that smart mouth runnin’ when we’re stuck in here all night."

"Oh, fuck you, Miya," you snapped, stepping forward to meet his glare head-on. "You are without a doubt the most infuriating, self-obsessed asshole I have ever met."

His lips curled into a sneer. "And you’re the most uptight, high-strung pain in the ass I’ve ever met."

"Oh yeah? Well, at least I don’t have to spend every waking second convincing everyone I’m the best. News flash—if you actually were, you wouldn’t have to try so hard."

His eyes darkened, his entire body stiffening at your words. "You wanna talk about trying too hard? How ‘bout ya take a fuckin’ look in the mirror? Always actin’ like ya hate me, but yer always up in my business. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ya like this."

You scoffed, tilting your head in disbelief. "God, you’re delusional."

"And you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite." He was even closer now, his breath hot, his voice tight with rage. "You always act like ya can’t stand me, but here ya are, pushin’ up against me like ya wanna make this somethin’ else."

The worst part?

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Your chests were nearly brushing, your ragged breaths intermingling. Your skin was burning, your hands clenched at your sides, every inch of you wound too tight. The anger, the frustration, the way he always got under your skin—it was all-consuming.

And then, suddenly, neither of you were talking anymore.

Atsumu’s mouth was on yours before you could process it, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was just as furious as your fights. You yanked him down by the collar, fingers tangling into the damp fabric of his shirt, pulling him in hard enough to hurt. He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, pressing you back against the closet shelves as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was years of pent-up aggression and frustration, a battle neither of you wanted to win. Teeth clashed, hands grabbed, nails dug into skin. The heat between you was unbearable, suffocating, and neither of you had the willpower to pull away.

Atsumu nipped at your bottom lip, his breath hot against your mouth as he muttered, "Knew ya wanted me."

Shut up, Miya." You bit back.

And then you kissed him again, drowning out whatever cocky response he had left.

Atsumu wasn’t satisfied with just kissing you. His frustration, his irritation, his hunger bled into every movement as he pushed forward, backing you up until your spine hit the cold surface of the supply closet door. The impact barely registered, not when his hands were gripping at your waist, fingers digging into your sides like he was trying to mark you, claim some kind of dominance even here.

You gasped against his mouth, the moment of vulnerability only spurring him on. His lips left yours for half a second—just long enough for him to smirk. “Told ya,” he murmured, voice husky, breath hot against your skin. “You just needed me to shut ya up properly.”

You barely had time to react before he was kissing you again, harder, more desperate. Your hands found their way to his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck and pulling—a move that ripped a deep, guttural groan from his throat. The sound shot straight down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach, making your breath hitch.

His hands slid down, gripping the backs of your thighs, and without a second of hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his waist. He held you effortlessly, as if supporting your weight meant nothing to him. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, making you shudder. He lingered there, his teeth scraping before his mouth latched onto your skin with deliberate pressure. You barely registered the sensation, too caught up in the heat of the moment, too focused on the way his body pressed against yours. But his smirk against your neck said otherwise—like he knew exactly what he was doing, leaving his mark before trailing his lips back to yours.

The warmth of his touch burned through the thin fabric of your clothes, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made your head spin. His hands started to wander, moving up beneath your shirt, his touch searing—

And then the door burst open.

Atsumu lost his balance. With a startled grunt, he stumbled forward, dragging you with him as you both spilled out of the closet and onto the hard gym floor.

“What the hell?!”

You barely had time to register the situation before a voice rang out above you.

“The fuck are you two doin’ in here?”

Your eyes shot up to see the janitor, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, face twisted in the most unimpressed expression you had ever seen.

Silence.

Neither you nor Atsumu moved. You were still on top of him, his hands still on your thighs, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders. The position was beyond compromising.

The janitor raised an eyebrow. “I ain’t cleanin’ up after this.”

Atsumu let out a breathless chuckle beneath you, his smirk returning full force. “Guess we got caught, huh, sweetheart?”You shoved him off you so hard he hit the floor with a thud, scrambling to your feet, face burning with embarrassment. “Shut up, Miya!”

Favourite Positions: Iwaizumi

Of all the positions Hajime loved you in, you on top riding him was definitely his favourite.

Maybe it was because he loved the way your tits bounced, how a quick pinch of your nipple would make you squeeze his cock in all the right places. Or maybe it was the way he could grab your hips, ass plush and perfect for smacking.

But if he really thought about it, it was probably because he adored your face when you rode him. No matter how many times you get on top, your reaction is always the same.

“Haj-Hajime…” You panted, face flush pink with effort as you repeatedly slammed yourself down on his thick cock, slight drool leaving the corner of your lips. Your hands were gripping the headboard for support, knuckles whitening as you used your full strength to roll and ride your hips against his, purposefully grinding right against that spot that made you see stars.

He loved watching you lose yourself in him, the once respectable and cohesive woman he fell in love driving herself rabid. All just for him.

Your movements, once smooth and consistent, start to falter with exhaustion, sweat beading down your lower back. Still, you don’t stop, lost in pleasure.

Seeing you like this always drove him wild.

“Can’t get enough, can you?” Hajime rumbled, his hand moving from your ass trailing up your spine in a way that gave you shivers. He stopped at your neck, to which he grabbed and pulled you with a newfound vigor, pulling you so close that your breasts were flush against his chest. He had the chance to look at your eyes, so lost in lust as you panted hotly in his face.

“My turn now.”

With that, his other handheld down your hips as he began to thrust up into you.

Hard.

Drool hit his neck, and Hajime began his own rhythm, with you either trying to form words or a sentence, he isn’t sure. Your moans emphasised with each thrust, mingling perfectly with his grunts. You call out his name, hands moving from the headboards to his shoulders, your fingernails pressing sharp crescent moons into his skin.

“Please, please, please!” You yell, and Hajime immediately understands you. His hand moves from your neck down to where you two become one, as he rubs your clit masterfully. It only takes a few seconds till your whole-body tenses with nirvana. He feels your walls clench around him, milking him to his finish right as you come down from yours.

With a few messy thrusts, he’s left with a soft cock, your juices all over him, and a very sleepy and happy you.

Oh, yeah. Definitely his favourite.

Confessions: Oikawa

(This is connected to another drabble I made in my series 'Unreq Love' so here is context if you'd like the full experience: Oikawa & Bonus)

--

The gym is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that comes from peace, but the kind that settles like dust in the corners—heavy, still, waiting. The lights are off, but the late afternoon sun filters through the high windows, painting the floor in long strokes of gold. The volleyball net hangs limply between its poles, no longer taut with purpose. There are scuff marks everywhere, like memories burned into the wood—ghosts of spikes, dives, the relentless rhythm of ambition. The echoes of laughter, shouting, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers still seem to hum beneath the silence, like the gym itself refuses to forget.

You spot him immediately.

Oikawa stands near the back wall, his figure backlit by sunlight, facing the net with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders are drawn tight, his posture still and unreadable. He doesn’t move when you step in, but he knows it’s you. No one walks into a gym like you do—especially not after hours. Especially not him.

You take your time crossing the floor. Your sneakers squeak a little, but he doesn’t flinch. The air smells like dust and floor polish, and something sharper underneath—like endings. Like goodbye.

“I figured I’d find you here,” you say, coming to a stop beside him.

He huffs, a soft, humorless sound. “You always do.”

“Well,” you shrug, “someone’s gotta make sure you’re not brooding yourself into an existential crisis.”

Finally, he glances at you. There’s a tiredness in his eyes, something far quieter than the version of him everyone else sees. You know it well. You’ve seen it before, behind locker room doors, in the quiet of bus rides home, in the way his voice would sometimes crack when no one was supposed to hear. He looks like someone who's been chasing a shadow for too long and just realized it was always out of reach.

“I thought maybe if I stayed long enough, it’d feel different,” he murmurs, gaze shifting back to the net. “But it still hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” you reply, arms crossing over your chest. “You gave everything to this place. You bled for it. You obsessed over every drill, every stat sheet, every match. Losing was never going to be painless.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and bitter. “We didn’t even make it to nationals. What was the point of all of it?”

You frown, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Tooru, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

That earns you a sidelong glance, the barest glimmer of amusement.

You soften. “You weren’t just chasing wins. You built something here. A team that trusted you. A legacy. People are going to remember you—not because of a scoreboard, but because you made them better. You made them believe. You pushed them to be more.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but his jaw tics. He always does that when he’s trying not to feel something. The weight of three years rests on his shoulders like armor that no longer serves him.

“And what about you?” he asks suddenly, turning to face you more fully. “You stuck by me through everything. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You scoff, leaning back on your heels. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Tooru.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You think I followed you around like a lost puppy for three years because I enjoyed your tantrums and diva moments?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Maybe a little?”

“God, you’re insufferable.” You shake your head, but your voice loses its edge. “I stayed because you were worth it. Because you’re more than volleyball. You always have been. Even when you were too busy being dramatic to see it.”

The silence that falls between you is thick with years of shared glances, missed chances, and words left unspoken. The light shifts across the floor, turning everything gold like the last flicker of a day that tried its best.

You don’t mean to say it. Not like this. Not when he’s already unraveling.

You glance at him again, then down at your hands. Your voice comes out low, more to yourself than to him. “God, I can’t avoid this, can I?”

But it’s been sitting in your chest for too long, and something about the way the light hits his face—the rawness there, the quiet ache—makes it impossible to keep in.

“I love you.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes wide. “...What?”

You inhale slowly, like that’ll steady the thundering in your chest. “I said I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. Since you made that dumb joke during orientation and somehow managed to trip over your own feet.”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you push through. “I thought it was just a crush. Something stupid. But it never went away. Through every win, every loss, every time you walked into a room and lit it up like you didn’t even know—through all of it, I kept falling. I knew every version of you—the charming captain, the insecure overthinker, the friend who stayed behind after practice to help pick up stray balls—and I still fell.”

You swallow hard, heart aching in your chest. “And I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t think I had the right to. I thought I’d be a distraction, or worse—just another person you’d feel responsible for. But standing here with you, watching you look at that net like it still owes you something... I couldn’t walk away without telling you. Because it’s not just about volleyball. Not for me. Not when it comes to you.”

You take a step back, the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

You turn, ready to bolt before you make a bigger fool of yourself—but before your foot even hits the line, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

His grip isn’t desperate, but it’s firm—anchoring. When you look back, he’s already there—closer than you thought, close enough that you can see the flicker of emotion dancing in his eyes. His breath is uneven. So is yours.

His gaze lingers on your face, moving from your eyes to your mouth, then back again, as if trying to piece together something he should’ve realized long ago. You see it hit him all at once—the memories, the missed moments, the way you’ve always been right there. His shoulders loosen like something inside him’s finally cracking open.

His hand moves slowly to your face, tentative but gentle, and his thumb brushes against your cheek like it’s something fragile he’s afraid to break. His fingers tremble just slightly, and the warmth of his palm grounds you in place.

“How did I never see you?” he breathes, and it’s not a question meant for you. It’s a confession all on its own, shaped by regret and wonder.

Then he kisses you.

Soft at first, hesitant—like he’s asking permission.

Then again—deeper, fuller, with the kind of reverence that comes from finally seeing someone who’s been standing in the light all along. His hand curves behind your neck, the other still holding your wrist like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

And for once, Oikawa doesn’t say a single word.

He just pulls you closer, holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, and lets the silence speak for itself.

In that quiet, there is no loss. No disappointment. No game that slipped through trembling fingers.

There’s just you.

And it’s enough.

Hey, can I make nsfw requests?

Yes you very much can!! I have a lot of nsfw content on here lolol

I’d love to hear your ideas!!

Your writing is incredible!! You’re so good at being immersive oh my GOSH! (I can’t count the number of times I’ve re-read Jealousy: Kageyama, you characterize him so well 😭)

And the favorite positions series is getting me into characters I didn’t even like reading about before it’s SO good!

If you’re up for it, I’d love to see a favorite position for Kageyama! But regardless, I always look forward to your posts and I hope you’re doing well 💜

Thank you so, so much for this message—you have no idea how much it means to me 🥹💜

The fact that you’ve reread my work and that the Favorite Positions series has you loving characters you didn’t think you would?? That’s literally the dream 🫠

And of course—Kageyama? I had to do him justice. I’m so happy you asked because this one poured out of me lolol Thank you and Enjoy heheh <333

--

Favourite Positions: Kageyama

Kageyama had always been a little obsessive.

It came with the territory. The long hours spent perfecting tosses, the constant demand for precision, the way his mind clung to rhythm and structure like lifelines. He wasn’t the kind of man who acted on impulse. Every action had intent. Every motion, down to his breathing, felt like it came with weight. Control wasn’t just a habit. It was a necessity.

But when it came to you, all of that discipline started to unravel.

He liked watching you ride him.

More than liked it—he craved it.

Not just because of the view, though that alone could bring him to his knees. Not just because of how warm, how tight, how slick you felt around him. It was because, when you were on top, he could finally let go. Let his body move without thinking. Let his focus shift away from control and into sensation. Into you.

Let go of pressure. Let go of performance. Let go of everything except you.

Tonight, it was slow.

Dim lighting spilled across the room, golden and soft. The sheets were tangled beneath you both, slightly damp from heat and friction. Your knees were on either side of his hips, thighs flushed pink with effort. He lay back against the pillows, hands resting on your waist like he was grounding himself, knuckles white from restraint.

His head was tilted back, jaw slack, brows drawn together, his breath hitching every time you sank down onto him. The soft gasps he tried to bite back made your skin prickle.

“F-fuck,” he whispered, voice already hoarse, fingers digging into your waist. "You feel so good."

You moved slowly, intentionally, savoring every second of the way his cock dragged inside you. You could feel every twitch of his muscles beneath your palms, every exhale he let out between clenched teeth. Kageyama couldn’t tear his eyes away. He was transfixed.

Your hands slid up his chest, finding purchase at his shoulders as you rolled your hips just right—and he let out a low, broken moan, his entire body twitching beneath you.

His fingers flexed like he wanted to grab you tighter. Like he wanted to take over. But he didn’t.

He didn’t ask to change positions. Didn’t flip you beneath him. Didn’t thrust up into you like he had so many times before when desperation overtook his instincts.

He just watched.

Like he was memorizing everything.

The way your body moved in the low light. The soft sheen of sweat on your collarbones. The way your lips parted every time you dropped your hips a little faster. The soft gasp you made when you ground your hips down and caught just the right angle that made your thighs tremble.

It was overwhelming.

He was trying so hard to hold back. You could see it—the tension in his neck, the way his abs flexed with every movement, how his grip on your hips kept faltering between loose and desperate.

And then you leaned in.

You kissed his jaw. Traced your lips down to his throat. Murmured something against his ear. Something soft. Something filthy. Something about how good he felt inside you. How wrecked he looked. How badly you wanted to see him come apart.

His whole body jolted.

His eyes fluttered shut. His hips bucked up into you before he could stop himself. His hands grabbed your hips, pulling you down hard onto him—deep, tight, perfect.

That was it.

He came hard.

Breath caught in his throat, head tipping back into the pillows, brows pinched tight as he groaned your name like it was the only word he knew. His whole body trembled, thighs flexing beneath you, abs tightening, cock twitching inside you as he spilled into you, hot and sudden and overwhelming.

You blinked down at him in surprise, breathless and flushed, still pulsing around him as your own orgasm threatened to catch up to his. The heat between you was dizzying.

His hands softened, moving to cradle your hips gently as he blinked up at you, dazed, skin flushed all the way to his chest.

"Sorry," he muttered, cheeks red, voice thick with apology. “I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, brushing his damp bangs back from his forehead, fingers gentle. "Don’t apologize."

You leaned down, kissed his cheek, and let your forehead rest against his.

His hands ghosted over your thighs, uncertain, still grounding himself.

And that’s when it hit him.

You hadn’t been trying to overwhelm him.

You were savoring it.

The way he looked beneath you—blushed, breathless, barely holding it together.

The way his hands twitched like he didn’t know what to do with all the sensation.

The way he let you have him.

And for the first time in his life, Kageyama realized he liked being the one who lost focus.

Broken Telephone Pt. 5 (Finale)

You’ve finally reached the end of your rope.

With seemingly everyone in the universe knowing, it was only a matter of time before Fushiguro found out too. You had doomsday approaching, but you didn’t know when.

And this was the worst kind of psychological torment.

Now that Gojo was in on it too, this added a whole new layer of terror with him being a whirlwind of unpredictability. You quite literally did not know what to do.

But you did know what you wanted to do.

You burst into one of the common areas, one that you knew where they were. They both jumped at the sound when they turned around to peer at your rage-induced state. You watched your fellow first-years go wide-eyed as they could feel your ferocity ebbing off you in waves, flames of fury practically swirling around you.

”Who. Did. It?” You asked, voice terrifyingly calm, looking is slight satisfaction as you watched your friends (tentative at the moment) squirm and sweat. Itadori stuttered, while Kugisaki only avoided the question. “What are you talking about? Did what?” You walked up to them, not breaking eye contact as you grabbed the sorcerer’s shoulders, grip so tight she couldn’t pull away, eyes boring into her soul.

“I am seconds away from collapsing in on myself like a dying star. If you don’t tell me right now what happened and why, I will do everything in my power to take you down with me.” You actually saw her gulp before Itadori stepped in. Arms up at the ready to prepare for any hellfire you might reign down upon them (though he was genuinely terrified he wouldn’t be able to stop you).

Before Itadori could say anything, Kugisaki finally spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. "Okay, okay, fine! We may have let it slip to Gojo-sensei that you… have a thing for Fushiguro." As Kugisaki and Itadori nervously awaited your response, you felt a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you. Your mind was a whirlwind of frustration, embarrassment, and sheer disbelief at the mess they had dragged you into. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

"Are you kidding me?!" you finally exclaimed, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

Itadori winced, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I-I'm sorry, [Name], we didn't think it would—"

“Oh wow, I’m not surprised! Like you two haven’t run me through the mud five times over!” You snarled. “I said one thing! ONE! And now I’m suddenly being shipped to marriage?!” You had yelled, but just the absolute ridiculousness of the sentence, once it had run through your mind, made you burst out in only slightly insane laughter. Your classmates only looked at you in bewilderment as you wheezed, tears welling up in your eyes as you sighed with the realization.

“I’m gonna have to tell him aren’t I?” The question was mostly asked to yourself, with neither Itadori nor Kugisaki answering.

“Tell who what?” It was his voice that snapped you out of hysterics, head whipping to Fushiguro standing at the open doors, confused and concerned. The three of you made eye-contact before the brightly hair-coloured duo stumbled through their exits with shitty excuses such as ‘I think I hear Jennifer Lawrence calling me’ and ’I need to run to Home Depot’ before scurrying off like rats.

True to form.

“What was that about?” Fushiguro asks, still confused as hell. You huff out a chuckle, before shaking your head. “Who honestly knows with those two?” You ask rhetorically, before meeting the sorcerer’s eyes to find them already staring at you. “I heard yelling. What were you chastising them for this time?” You smile to yourself, mentally preparing for what you have to do. What you needed to do.

For some strange reason, you felt a wave of calm over you. You realized that really, deeply, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It never was.

“They’ve been tormenting me over a secret I have. About you.” At his mentioning, he tilts his head, eyes unreadable. Your smile widens emptily. “I stupidly told Kugisaki I had feelings for you. You can imagine how that went.” You chuckle, devoid of humour. You refused to meet his eyes as you continued.

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything from you. I just figured it’d be less awkward if it came from me instead of Gojo.” You shivered at the thought. “I just knew that I had to tell you to not lose my mind.” You shrugged at the end, before sighing.

“I’m really sorry—“

“Why are you sorry?” His words made your heart stop. Face flushing with heat and surprise, you look up to him finding his face attempting to be neutral, but an extremely strong blush flooding his cheeks. “This isn’t really big news, either. I could sort of tell.” You gasp, somewhat jokingly.

“Was I really that obvious?” You rub your cheeks in embarrassment, “Well, I promise there won’t be anything else like that.” Fushiguro didn’t say anything, only walking up towards you so close you could feel his body heat and smell him. Of course, he smelled amazing. You looked up meekly, not knowing how to react.

“Our profession is one filled with loneliness and pain. It only makes sense that when you share that profession with others you’ll form any and all feelings. You want someone to stand still when you’re in constant motion.” He explains, and you’re not quite sure where you’re going with this until he looks away from you.

“I… Wouldn’t mind standing still with you.” You could tell your eyes shined at his words. Never in a million years would you have expected to hear that.

It wasn’t exactly a confession, but you sure as hell wouldn’t want anything else. His reassurance was like a balm to your frazzled nerves, soothing the turmoil within you and offering a glimmer of hope in the midst of the chaos. And when he confessed his own feelings in his own quiet, understated way, you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotion overwhelm you.

It wasn't the grand declaration of love you had always dreamed of, but it was something real, something genuine, and in that moment, it was more than enough.

As you stood there, basking in the warmth of Fushiguro's presence, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected turn of events. Despite the messiness of it all, despite the chaos and confusion, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to stand still with him, if only for a moment.

You couldn’t believe after this broken telephone, you finally got a message you saw truth in.