Yamaguchi X Tsukishima - Blog Posts

I have the thought that Yamaguchi would help you dye your hair. Listening to his calming fun playlists on a speaker while you sit in the bathroom, him behind you with the gloves on and the brush going over your sculp. You both talk and laugh about the day, enjoying the time you spend together. Yamaguchi really likes doing your hair.

TSUKISHIMA X YAMAGUCHI X READER

AGED UP CHARACTERS | MDNI

The bass thumped hard enough through the floorboards to rattle the red Solo cups stacked in the corner. Tsukishima Kei leaned against the kitchen counter, his backwards cap low over his eyes, sipping casually from his drink as his gaze swept over the crowd. The party was one of those typical college Friday nights—cheap beer, body glitter, and too many people pressed into a too-small house.

Beside him, Yamaguchi Tadashi stood stiffly, shoulders hunched and fiddling with the rim of his untouched cup. He was overdressed in a cardigan and clearly not in his element.

“You look like you're about to bolt,” Tsukishima drawled, nudging him with an elbow. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Yamaguchi muttered, lying badly.

Tsukishima tilted his head, smirking. “You're not. Which is exactly why we need to fix that.” He took a final sip and set the cup down with purpose. “And I have an idea.”

Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow, wary. “Oh no.”

Tsukishima spotted you across the room, laughing with someone near the fridge. He nodded in your direction.

“You trust me, right?”

Yamaguchi hesitated. “…Ish?”

“Good enough.”

And before Yamaguchi could stop him, Tsukishima was already sauntering over to you, cool and confident, dragging his nervous best friend in tow.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, giving you that lazy half-smile he knew worked more often than not. “Y/N, right? We’ve got a weird question for you.”

You turned, arching an eyebrow at the tall blond who’d appeared out of nowhere, his hand casually clamped around Yamaguchi’s wrist like he was keeping him from running. Your gaze flicked between them—Tsukishima in a sleeveless jersey and too much attitude, Yamaguchi flushed and visibly regretting every life choice that led him here.

“Weird question?” you asked, already intrigued. “That’s a hell of an opening line.”

Tsukishima shrugged. “I don’t believe in small talk.”

Yamaguchi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Tsukishima didn’t miss a beat. “Yamaguchi’s a virgin,” he said flatly.

Your brows lifted, the drink halfway to your mouth paused in midair.

“And he’s in his head about it. Way too much.” He leaned in just enough to drop his voice so only you two could hear. “So I thought maybe… if someone cool, someone chill, helped him out—with me there—he might stop stressing and start actually living.”

Yamaguchi made a sound between a gasp and a groan. “Tsukki!”

You looked between the two of them—Yamaguchi’s eyes pleading (but with what? Panic? Hope?), and Tsukishima watching you like he already knew your answer.

You sipped your drink, slow and thoughtful.

“That’s… incredibly forward,” you said finally.

Tsukishima smirked. “Not denying it.”

“And you’re saying this like you being involved would help somehow?”

He grinned wider. “I’m good at what I do. And he trusts me.”

Yamaguchi looked like he wanted to crawl under the fridge, but he didn’t deny it.

You set your drink down on the counter, stepping a little closer to the two of them, folding your arms.

“Well,” you said, giving Yamaguchi a once-over. “He’s cute.”

Yamaguchi blinked. “Wait—what?”

Tsukishima just smiled.

Yamaguchi was still processing your words when Tsukishima hooked two fingers in the collar of his hoodie and tugged, steering him like luggage.

“She said you’re cute,” Tsukishima murmured, amused. “Don’t pass out.”

“I’m not—” Yamaguchi sputtered, voice breaking halfway through.

"Follow me. Both of you." Tsukishima commands

You followed behind, cup in hand, heart thudding with the kind of buzz that had nothing to do with alcohol. There was something about the contrast between them that made your skin prickle—Tsukishima’s laid-back dominance and Yamaguchi’s overwhelmed sincerity. And both of them were looking at you like you were something just out of reach.

Tsukishima’s room was cleaner than you expected for a college guy’s place—dark walls, a half-made bed, shelves stacked with manga and headphones, and a floor lamp casting a warm low light. He closed the door behind the three of you with a soft click.

“Okay,” you said, setting your drink on the desk. “So what now? You guys just… tag team me?”

Tsukishima shrugged out of his jersey, revealing a lean line of muscle under the tank top beneath. “We’re not animals. Unless you’re into that.”

Yamaguchi sat down stiffly on the edge of the bed like it might combust under him. His eyes darted from you to Tsukishima, then to the floor.

“I—uh—only if you’re really okay with this,” he said quickly. “I don’t want it to be weird, or pressure-y, or—”

You walked up to him, placing your hand gently on his knee.

“Yamaguchi,” you said, voice soft but firm. “Do you want this?”

He looked up at you, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “I do. I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

From behind you, Tsukishima leaned in, bracing one arm on the bedpost and letting his voice drop low near your ear.

“That’s the best part,” he murmured. “There’s nothing to mess up. We’ll show him how it’s done.”

You turned your head slightly toward him, eyes locking.

“I hope you’re as good as you say you are,” you said, lips curling.

He gave a slow, cocky smile.

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

Tsukishima sat beside you on the bed, his long fingers brushing your thigh with idle confidence. “Pay attention, Yamaguchi,” he said, tone low and instructional, like this was just another practice drill. “You’re going to learn something useful.”

Yamaguchi swallowed hard, nodding, his eyes fixed on you like you were something sacred and fragile. His nervous energy hung in the air, almost sweet in its sincerity.

You leaned back, letting Tsukishima coax your legs apart with a firm, practiced hand. He watched your face as his fingers slid under the hem of your skirt, slow and teasing. “Start soft,” he said, almost to himself, as he pressed light, deliberate strokes against you through your underwear. “Get her used to it. Build her up.”

You exhaled, hips twitching slightly, and Yamaguchi’s lips parted as he watched the way your body reacted—every breath, every tiny sound you made like a live wire running straight into him.

“See that?” Tsukishima murmured, voice right against your neck as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric. “How her body tells you what she wants? You don’t need to guess if you’re paying attention.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid inside you, slow and sure, curling just right, your hips twitch as you let out a soft groan. You reached out, found Yamaguchi’s hand, and squeezed. “Come here,” you said softly, guiding him closer.

He obeyed, kneeling in front of you like he was praying, eyes wide and flushed with awe.

Tsukishima’s lips brushed your ear. “You touch her next,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and licking them absently as if to taunt. “But first…”

He stood, tugging off his tank and then undoing his belt, unbothered by how Yamaguchi’s eyes went briefly wide. Tsukishima was lean, toned, confident in every motion. When he pressed against you, his length hard and heavy between your thighs, he held your gaze with a kind of heat that burned low and deep.

“Watch how she opens up when she’s filled right,” he said, guiding himself to your entrance. He slowly pushes in, groaning softly at your tightness.

"Christ..."

He start thrusting, starting of slow and shallow to let you adjust to his thick, long size.

Tsukishima’s rhythm grew more insistent, his hips snapping forward with a precision that sent shockwaves through your core. Each thrust pushed a soft, breathless sound from your lips, and Yamaguchi was completely transfixed—his hand splayed over your stomach, feeling every twitch and tremble of your body as it reacted under their touch.

“She’s so responsive,” Tsukishima murmured, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched the way you arched into him, “Every sound, every breath—she’s telling you everything you need to know.”

Yamaguchi swallowed hard, his lips brushing your jaw as his hand dipped lower, testing the edge of your skirt, your skin hot beneath his fingers.

“Can I…?” he asked, voice tight and low, barely more than a breath.

You turned your head, eyes locking with his. “Yes,” you whispered. “I want you to.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem, tentative but eager, and when they brushed between your thighs—slick, trembling, already worked open from Tsukishima’s steady pace—you gasped his name, sharp and sweet. He flinched like he’d been struck, eyes wide at the way your hips bucked under his touch.

“Just like that,” Tsukishima said, his voice rough now, sweat beading along his neck as he moved harder behind you. “Don’t be afraid to touch her like you want her.”

And he did.

Yamaguchi’s shyness melted into hunger. His fingers learned quickly, stroking your clit in sync with Tsukishima’s thrusts, watching how your mouth fell open, how your whole body shivered. His lips found your neck again, desperate and reverent, whispering your name like a prayer between kisses.

You were floating—caught between Tsukishima’s deep, confident drive and Yamaguchi’s trembling, worshipful attention. One had you gasping, the other had you melting. You couldn’t tell whose name you said next—maybe both, maybe neither—but it didn’t matter. All that existed was heat, breath, rhythm.

“You feel her shaking?” Tsukishima growled low, his voice tight with restraint. “She’s close. Don’t stop.”

Yamaguchi didn’t. You cried out—sharp, broken—your hands flying back to clutch Tsukishima’s arm as you tumbled over the edge, body arching between them.

Tsukishima held you through it, grinding into you with a low groan, and Yamaguchi watched you come apart like he couldn’t believe he was part of it—like you were art, and he’d helped paint it.

When your body finally stilled, trembling and slick with sweat, Tsukishima leaned in and pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder—more tender than smug.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “Nailed it.”

Yamaguchi looked at you, dazed, flushed, lips parted.

“Can I…” he began, voice hoarse, “Can I try more?”

You smiled, slow and breathless, pulling him closer.

“Oh,” you said, your voice a sultry murmur, “we’re just getting started.”

Tsukishima eased back, his breath warm against your skin as he withdrew, letting the moment settle like static in the low-lit room. Your body still pulsed with aftershocks, thighs trembling slightly, skin flushed and damp. He brushed a hand down your spine, slow and grounding, before flopping back onto the bed with a satisfied exhale.

“Your turn,” he said to Yamaguchi, voice thick and heavy with approval. “She wants you now.”

Yamaguchi blinked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected to get this far. His eyes met yours—uncertain, almost shy again—and you reached for him, fingers curling into the collar of his hoodie to tug him closer.

“You okay?” you asked, soft.

He nodded, swallowing. “I… yeah. I want this. I want you.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, less about urgency and more about reassurance. He melted into it, his hands finally steady as they found your waist. He was warm and earnest, his touch lacking Tsukishima’s practiced finesse but making up for it with raw sincerity. Every brush of his fingers, every breath he took, told you he was all in.

You helped him out of the hoodie and the shirt beneath, revealing pale skin and a lean chest, tense with nervous energy. He was beautiful in a completely different way—open, unsure, but trying so hard to get it right. Your hands slid up his arms, coaxing him closer until you lay back, pulling him over you.

Tsukishima’s voice came from beside you, lazy and low. “Take your time. She likes it when you go slow.”

Yamaguchi flushed, but nodded, his lips brushing down your neck as he lined himself up—hesitant but driven. He paused, looking to you.

“Tell me if I do something wrong.”

You cupped his cheek. “You’re not going to.”

Then you guided him in.

The first moment was breathless—his eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open in a soft, broken moan as your warmth surrounded him. He moved slow, almost reverently, as if he couldn’t believe this was real. His hips rocked gently, and you could feel the tension in every inch of him—how hard he was holding back, trying not to lose control too soon.

You met his movements with your own, rolling your hips up to meet him, whispering encouragement between gasps. Every time you moaned his name, his rhythm grew more confident, more fluid. His hands gripped your hips like he needed something to hold onto, and his lips kept finding yours—desperate, breathless kisses between thrusts.

Beside you, Tsukishima watched, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with satisfaction.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already making her moan like that. Told you you’d be good.”

Yamaguchi groaned, burying his face in your neck as your body clenched around him. His control faltered, rhythm stuttering, but you didn’t care—every uneven thrust, every shudder in his frame just made it more real.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him closer, anchoring him to you as he moved faster, needier, the tension in his body finally boiling over. His breath hitched against your skin, and he gasped your name like it was sacred just as he reached his peak, his body jerking in your arms.

You held him through it, stroking his back, your lips at his temple. He trembled against you, breath ragged, overwhelmed in the best way.

When he finally stilled, he looked at you—wide-eyed, stunned, and glowing.

“I—I didn’t last long,” he said, voice cracking.

You smiled, brushing the hair from his forehead. “You were perfect.”

Tsukishima stretched out beside you both, propping his head on one arm. “You’ll get better with practice,” he said dryly.

Yamaguchi shot him a glare, but there was no real bite behind it. Just gratitude. Relief. Maybe even pride.

You lay between them, skin warm, body humming, and you could feel the shift in the air—something new, something fragile and sweet blooming in the afterglow

You lay tangled between them, skin warm and heart steady, feeling the quiet weight of something new settling in the silence. Maybe it started as a lesson—but it ended as something neither of you wanted to unlearn.

Well Kageyama, looks like you’ve been exposed