Jealousy: Tendou (NSFW)

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.

Blushing yuuji please?

u make a compelling argument

Aran-kun is just…so cool!! (he can hear youuu)

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

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

Thank you in advance mwa mwa !!

🌱

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

It started with a panda.

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

And then Tsukishima walked in.

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

“...You good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stared at you.

You stared back.

“Absolutely not,” he said flatly.

“You’re doing it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

"You owe me so much for this."

"Add it to my tab."

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

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

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

“...You look adorable.”

“I look like a joke,” he said dryly.

You took a photo.

“Delete it.”

“Never.”

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

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

“So?”

“So what?”

“Do you feel refreshed and radiant?”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “I feel sticky.”

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

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

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

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.

hi i LOVE ur writing sm!! i look forward to pretty much every single one of ur posts, ur super talented :)

do you think you could do an akaashi x insomniac!reader? akaashi is known for overthinking and stuff so tbh i think his anxiety might make him stay awake sometimes, but prob not full blown insomnia. i js think a oneshot of him helping reader or maybe just the two of them hanging out super late one night because neither of them can get any sleep (maybe college!au where he’s stressing about his classes? or could be just volleyball related. whatever works for you!).

maybe it could be pre-relationship too. like they might be friends then reader sees him active on some social media and decides to text him to hang out and they get super close after this night. again, whatever works for u!!

omgg my heart thank you 😩❤️ Your words mean so much to me 🥹

I think I hit all the boxes, I hope you enjoy <333

--

Anon Ask: Akaashi

The clock blinked 2:47AM in soft digital blue, casting a dim glow that painted the walls of your dorm room in slow, pulsing light. You stared at it from where you lay on your back, eyes wide open, blanket pulled up to your chin like it would somehow coax sleep into settling over your body. It didn’t.

It never did.

Insomnia was a loyal companion. Even on nights when your limbs were heavy and your mind felt worn thin, your thoughts refused to settle. They danced along the edge of reason, hyper-fixating on things that didn’t matter: words you said three days ago, the shape of clouds you saw that afternoon, the persistent question of whether you locked the door. A quiet ache had formed behind your eyes from sheer exhaustion, but sleep wouldn’t come.

You turned over, grabbed your phone off the nightstand. No new messages. Just a faint glow from the charging screen illuminating your tired face.

Then, a notification.

akaashi_keiji posted to his story

You tapped it open without thinking. A dim photo of a laptop lit up against a pile of books and a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. The caption read: 2AM is a perfectly reasonable hour to still be working, right?

You stared at it. Your fingers hovered.

Then you sent a message.

you: you up up?

The reply was almost instant.

akaashi: Unfortunately.

you: Wanna hang? Can’t sleep and you look like you need a break.

A beat passed. The dots wavered, stopped. Then—

akaashi: Give me 5.

--

Akaashi showed up at your door at exactly 3:03AM. Hoodie pulled over his head, dark sweats clinging to the chill of the night, his hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His eyes were tired but alert, flickering with that same sharpness he always carried—like he was cataloging everything, even now.

You stepped aside without saying a word. He entered just as quietly, slipping off his shoes and placing his bag beside your desk with a soft thud. He dropped to the floor beside your bed with a sigh that seemed to deflate the weight on his shoulders.

“Rough night?” you asked gently, perching on the edge of your mattress.

“I have a presentation next week, three deadlines, and Bokuto keeps texting me motivational memes like it’s going to fix my GPA.”

You laughed under your breath. “It won’t.”

“Exactly.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. The hum of your mini fridge and the occasional creak of pipes running through the dorm added to the low ambience of sleeplessness. You looked down at him, his knees pulled up slightly, arms draped over them, like he didn’t know how to get comfortable in his own skin.

“Wanna watch something?”

He shook his head. “Too much noise.”

“Read?”

“Already tried. Can’t focus.”

“Lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling until we disassociate?”

He glanced up at you with deadpan humor. “Honestly, that sounds ideal.”

You grabbed a second pillow and tossed it to the floor beside him. He didn’t hesitate. His body uncurled, long and lean as he stretched out beside your bed, head cradled in the fluff of borrowed comfort.

You joined him moments later, lying back so the ceiling filled your view. Pale shadows danced above you, shapes warped by passing cars and the swaying leaves outside the window. The ceiling fan ticked rhythmically above.

“You get this often?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice matching his. “Like... more nights than not. It just doesn’t stop. My brain, I mean."

Akaashi sighed, breath feathering the space between you. “Mine too. It’s like it waits until I have to sleep to start racing.”

You turned your head, studying the outline of his profile in the glow from your desk lamp. The slope of his nose, the delicate curve of his lashes, the soft press of his lips.

“So why’d you come?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Because you asked. And I figured... maybe it’d be better to not be alone with it.”

You nodded, the pillow rustling beneath your cheek. “Yeah.”

Minutes passed in silence. He turned to face you, and you mirrored the movement. The two of you laying side by side, not quite touching, breaths moving in rhythm.

“We could do this again,” you whispered. “If you ever can’t sleep. You could just... come over.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I think I’d like that.”

At 3:57AM, you both fell asleep.

Shoulders brushing. Minds quiet. The night finally letting you rest.

Rivals: (Haikyuu! x Reader)

A sharp-edged, slow-burn collection exploring the tension-filled dynamics between Reader and various Haikyuu characters. Fueled by banter, unresolved competition, and the kind of chemistry that crackles under the surface, each drabble blurs the line between hate and something dangerously close to desire.

1. Tsukishima 2. Terushima 3. Atsumu, Part 2 (NSFW), Part 3, Part 4 (NSFW), Part 5, Part 6 (NSFW) 4. Akaashi 5. Kuroo, Part 2, Part 3 (NSFW) 6. Sakusa 7. Oikawa 8. Kyotani/Mad Dog (NSFW) 9. Tendou 10. Iwaizumi, Part 2, Part 3 (NSFW) 11. Shirabu 12. Kita 13. Suna

Back to Masterlist

HIIII ❤️❤️

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

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

TYTYTY AND HAVE A GOOD DAY

HEYYY ❤️❤️

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

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

--

Jealously: Nishinoya

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

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

Nishinoya had been living there for almost a year.

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

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

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

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

Gyotaku.

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

He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight in.

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

And there you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fish,” he said suddenly. “A lot.”

That made you laugh. “Lucky me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuu—”

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

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

“A glow stick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuu.”

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

hey i loveee your stufff . really amazing. do you think you could do a yaku x female reader NSFW? you really dont have to . all loveee ☺️

Hiiii thank you for reading hehehe

Also, I'd love to 😩

Enjoy <333

--

Anon Asks: Yaku (NSFW)

You hadn’t expected Morisuke to be like this.

Not when you first started dating. Not when he’d leaned against the lockers with that sharp tongue and tight jaw, the kind of guy who made jabs at your clumsiness and then lingered a little too long when he thought you weren’t looking. He wasn’t the flirty type. He didn’t flirt—he challenged.

So you gave it right back.

At first, it was banter. Sidelong glances. Him stealing the last protein bar from your bag. You calling him a pest under your breath when he caught your stumble in practice and wouldn’t stop grinning for the rest of the week. You weren’t even sure when it started to feel like something else.

But the first time he kissed you—short, hard, like he couldn’t help himself—you felt it.

Tension. Power. A pressure right under the skin.

And what surprised you most was how fast that pressure exploded the second the door shut behind you.

You didn’t remember how you ended up against the wall, just the way his hands gripped your thighs and hauled you up like you weighed nothing. The sound of the towel hitting the floor. The warm thud of your back against tile. And the way he looked at you—really looked at you—like he was done talking. Like he was ready to prove a point.

“Morisuke—” you gasped as his mouth brushed your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin before he lined himself up and pushed in.

The stretch was instant and overwhelming. Sharp, fast, brutal in the best way. Your head tipped back, mouth falling open in a wordless cry as your legs tightened around his waist. He felt everywhere. Deep, filling, steady in a way that made your entire body light up.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His breathing was rough, his jaw clenched tight, his arms flexed as he adjusted your weight with practiced control.

You clung to him, nails dragging across his back.

He started moving, and your breath caught.

Tight, efficient thrusts, the kind that lifted you up and slammed you back down—over and over—with a rhythm so controlled it bordered on cruel. One hand held your thigh in a vice grip. The other pressed into the base of your spine, anchoring you while he drove into you with focused, brutal precision.

The slap of skin echoed sharply against the tile, water steaming around you from the still-running shower you’d forgotten to shut off. The air was wet, heavy, fogged with heat, but nothing was hotter than him—than the fire under his skin, the muscles straining against yours, the sheer force of his focus.

You buried your face in his shoulder, gasping into his skin, trying to keep the sounds in.

“Mori—fuck, I can’t—”

His grip tightened.

“You can,” he said, voice barely more than a breath. “You already are.”

You were. Falling apart in his arms. Your thighs burned. Your stomach clenched. Your mouth couldn’t form real words anymore—just moans and broken sobs of his name. You were trembling, barely hanging on.

And then he adjusted.

Just a small shift—his hips angled higher, deeper—and your gasp cracked into a cry.

“Right there?” he rasped, voice wrecked but smug. “Yeah. I know.”

You nodded—or tried to. Your head was tipped back, hair clinging to your damp forehead, and your body was too far gone to do anything but take it.

Then his thumb found your clit.

The pressure was firm, steady. Unrelenting.

You shattered.

The orgasm tore through you so hard it knocked the breath from your lungs. Your body locked up, every nerve alight, your walls clenching around him so tight he nearly buckled.

You cried out, voice cracking, thighs quaking in his arms.

He swore—sharp and raw—and shoved into you harder, hips grinding in deep as he came with a guttural sound against your neck. He spilled inside you, fingers bruising into your skin, his chest pressed flush to yours like he needed to keep you pinned there forever.

You didn’t come down—you just collapsed. All of you. Muscles limp, lungs empty, brain blank.

He held you up like it was nothing.

Didn’t let go.

Just stood there, still inside you, your legs tight around his waist, his mouth pressed against your jaw.

“Morisuke,” you whined, too soft, too shaken.

He kissed your cheek. Then your temple. Then lower.

With a voice hoarse and wrecked, he breathed against your skin, “Say that again.”

You did.

And his hands started to move again.

Because Morisuke wasn’t even close to done.

Favourite Positions: Sugawara

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew he had you.

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

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

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

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

And you did.

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

But Koushi—Koushi wasn’t done.

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

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

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

"I—I can’t—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Koushi—"

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

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

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

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

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

Then—a soft chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. Let’s go for three."

Oh. You were in trouble.