Haii This Is The First Time I Ever Make A Request But I Really Liked Your Content

You must have a lot of notepads in your place

A fair assumption but I'm just a freak who just uses one single word doc to write all my stories. sorry to disappoint lolol But as always thank you for the send!! <33

Unrequited Love: Kenma

Kenma Kozume had never been good with change.

He liked things predictable. Safe. Video games had taught him that if he kept his strategy consistent, if he memorized the patterns and played smart, he could survive anything. Life was just another game to him—one where he preferred to stay in the background, keep things stable, and avoid unnecessary risks.

But nothing about this felt stable. Nothing about this felt safe.

Because you were leaving.

Kenma sat on the floor of your apartment, legs crossed, a cardboard box in his lap. Around him, the room looked smaller than it used to, packed with boxes stacked high, shelves stripped of their usual clutter. The air smelled like old books, packing tape, and a faint trace of your perfume, and for the first time since he had known you, your space didn’t feel like home anymore.

Maybe because it wasn’t. Not for much longer.

You had been a part of his life for so long that he barely remembered what it was like before you. Since childhood, you had been there—first as a quiet presence at his side in elementary school, then as the only person who could sit with him for hours, gaming in comfortable silence. You never questioned the way he was, never pushed him to be anything other than himself. And as the years passed, you became his constant, his safe place, his person.

And now, you were leaving.

“So, you’re really going, huh?” His voice was quiet, neutral, but even he could hear the strain in it.

You looked up from where you were sorting through a pile of miscellaneous things—old letters, tangled earbuds, random trinkets you had shoved into drawers over the years. You smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. It’s happening.”

Kenma’s fingers curled around the edges of the box. He had known about this for weeks now, ever since you told him about the job opportunity in another city. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He had told himself it wouldn’t change anything. That you would still text him, call him, visit when you could.

But now, with everything packed up and your walls bare, the reality of it all settled like a weight in his chest.

He had never thought about a life where you weren’t here. Where he couldn’t just send a message and have you show up at his door an hour later with takeout, where you weren’t sitting beside him on his couch, watching him play through whatever new game he was obsessed with that week. Where you weren’t just…

Here.

You sighed and flopped onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m kind of freaking out,” you admitted, voice light, almost playful. “New place, new people, new job. It’s exciting, but also terrifying.”

Kenma swallowed. He should say something. Something encouraging, something that made it sound like he was happy for you, like he wasn’t falling apart inside.

“You’ll be fine.”

You turned your head to look at him, and for a second, he thought you could see right through him. That you could tell he was barely keeping it together. But then you smiled—soft, familiar, warm.

“Thanks, Ken.”

He nodded, looking away. He focused on the box in his lap, on the way his hands clenched the cardboard just a little too tightly.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He had never needed to say anything before. He thought you just knew—that you had always known. That there was no rush, no deadline, no moment where he would run out of time. Because you were always here.

But now, you weren’t going to be.

And Kenma realized, too late, that he had never even given himself a chance.

The packing took hours, and Kenma stayed through all of it. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else, anyway. He helped you sort through things, separate what you were keeping from what you were leaving behind. Every item had a story, a memory attached to it. The hoodie he had lent you once and never got back. The game controller he had bought for you so you could play co-op with him. The tiny cat figurine you had won at a festival and insisted looked just like him.

All these little things that made up you.

All these little things that reminded him of what he was losing.

He wasn’t good with words. He never had been. He wasn’t like Kuroo, who could charm his way through anything, or Bokuto, who could wear his heart on his sleeve without fear. Kenma had always been quiet, reserved, hesitant. But when it came to you, his feelings were loud, screaming inside him, demanding to be acknowledged.

But he had never said anything.

Because what if he did, and you left anyway? What if it changed everything? What if losing you as a friend hurt worse than losing you to distance?

“You should take this,” you said at one point, holding out an old, well-loved game case. “We never finished it together.”

Kenma stared at it, then at you. “Then take it with you.”

“I don’t have my console anymore. Sold it.” You grinned sheepishly. “New city, new start.”

His grip tightened on the game. He didn’t like that answer. He didn’t like any of this. He had never been an emotional person, but right now, something bitter sat at the back of his throat, something wrong.

You were leaving. You were letting go of all these things, of this life, of him—and you were acting like it was just something that had to happen.

Kenma had spent years convinced he had all the time in the world. But time was up. And for the first time, he didn’t know what to do about it.

It was late by the time everything was packed. The apartment looked empty now, stripped of everything that made it yours. You stretched, yawning, then turned to him with an expression that was far too casual for what this moment felt like.

“This is it, huh?” You nudged his arm lightly. “One last night before I go.”

Kenma’s stomach twisted. He forced himself to nod. “Yeah.”

“Hey.” You tilted your head, watching him. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t. Because this wasn’t fair. Because he should have said something sooner. Because he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that tomorrow, you wouldn’t be here anymore.

“Yeah.”

You frowned, unconvinced, but you let it go. Instead, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. Kenma stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, before his body reacted on instinct, arms lifting to hold you back just as tightly.

“I’m gonna miss you, Ken.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, trying to memorize this—the feel of your arms around him, the warmth of you against his chest, the way your head fit perfectly against his shoulder. Trying to ignore the aching thought that this might be the last time.

He wanted to say don’t go. Wanted to tell you to stay, that you didn’t have to leave, that he—

But he didn’t.

Instead, he whispered, “Me too.”

And he held on for as long as he could.

Unrequited Love: Bokuto

The stadium lights burned like stars overhead, casting long shadows across the polished court. The roar of the crowd swelled in waves, a living, breathing force that surged and broke against the walls of the arena. Bokuto Koutarou stood still in the center of it all, his heartbeat syncing with the rhythmic beat of the game.

This was home. It always had been.

He bounced on his heels, palms slapping softly against his thighs, golden eyes flicking up and over the rows of fans packed into the stands. He always did this before a game—scanning. Searching.

Hoping.

You came to one of my games in college once. Said you wanted to support me even if you didn’t know all the rules. You sat in the front row with snacks and one of those handmade signs, grinning like it was the best thing you’d ever done. You were so proud of me. I couldn't stop staring.

It wasn't until the second set that he saw you.

Not in the front row this time. A little higher up, tucked into a row of seats that caught the golden light just right. You looked the same. Soft expression. That familiar warmth that never failed to center him, no matter how chaotic the world got.

But this time, you weren’t alone.

Your fingers were laced with someone else's—a man with kind eyes, a relaxed smile, and a wedding band that mirrored the one glinting faintly on your hand.

Something in Bokuto's chest twisted. An old, familiar ache he had kept buried deep down beneath years of laughter, late-night texts, and every moment you sat beside him without ever realizing what he wanted to say.

But his body knew what to do. The ball was set, high and perfect, and he soared to meet it. Muscles coiled, arms arched, and then—the strike. The ball slammed to the floor on the opposing side like thunder cracking through silence. The crowd erupted.

He didn't hear any of it.

We used to sit on the school rooftop and eat lunch together. I’d talk about volleyball like it was a religion. You’d talk about music, books, strange little thoughts that made no sense but always made me laugh. I think I fell for you the first time you passed me a rice ball and told me to stop overthinking my spikes.

He never told you.

Not once.

There had been chances—so many chances. Late-night calls that lasted too long. Moments when your eyes lingered. When your laughter felt like something he wanted to wrap both hands around and never let go.

But the words never made it past his throat.

He told himself he had time. That he didn’t want to ruin the beautiful, easy thing you had. That being near you was enough.

And now, watching you from across the arena, smiling at someone else the way he used to dream you’d smile at him, Bokuto felt the weight of every second he’d spent silent.

As long as you’re watching, I’m happy.

That’s what he told himself. And maybe, on some level, it was still true. Because you were watching. Eyes bright, expression soft, hands clapping politely after every point. You were here.

You came.

Just not for him.

Even so, he glanced up again, caught one more glimpse of you laughing at something your husband whispered in your ear. His chest ached, but his lips pulled into a quiet smile.

Because even if your heart belonged to someone else, even if he was just a fond memory in a long list of friendships—

He would still play his heart out.

Because if you’re watching, then that means some part of you still remembers. Still cares.

And maybe that was enough.

He wiped sweat from his brow, steadied his breath, and returned to the service line.

Eyes on the ball.

But just for a second longer, heart still caught in the stands—

Watching you.

Husbandry: Daichi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d be insufferable.”

“And yet, you’d still watch with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Favourite Positions: Suna

Suna Rintaro was patient. Too patient.

He liked to take his time, to watch, learn, memorize—every reaction, every sharp inhale, every way your body responded to his touch. He was never in a rush. Never let his ego get ahead of him. But this?

This was new.

You were pinned beneath him, legs hooked around his waist, your body shaking as he pushed into you—deep, slow, relentless. His hands were firm against your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted. The feeling of your warmth wrapped so tight around him sent a slow, burning pleasure through his spine, but what really had him losing his mind was you.

The way your breath stuttered every time he rolled his hips. The way your nails scraped at his arms, your legs twitching as he stretched you out. The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you knew.

And then it happened.

The moment he angled his hips just right, just deep enough to press against that sweet spot—

Your breath hitched—

Your entire body tensed—

And then, you came.

Fast. Hard. Too hard.

Suna felt it, the way your walls squeezed him tight, the way your legs locked up, a choked cry breaking past your lips. The way your hands clawed at his back, searching for anything to hold onto as you shattered underneath him.

He stilled—just for a second—his sharp eyes flicking up to watch you completely fall apart beneath him.

Oh.

Oh, yeah. This was it.

A slow, wicked smirk stretched across his lips. He liked that.

"Didn’t even last a minute," he murmured, voice low, teasing, smug.

You barely registered his words, your body limp, your mind foggy with the aftershocks. But Suna wasn’t done.

He let you catch your breath for a second, his hands rubbing slow, lazy circles over your thighs. But then—

He pressed his weight into you, rolling his hips again—deeper, slower this time, dragging out the pleasure until you gasped, your body twitching from oversensitivity. And he felt it. The way you clenched involuntarily, still on edge, still sensitive.

"Oh?" His grip on your thighs tightened, his smirk deepening as his voice dipped into something darker, lower. “Still sensitive?”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as you whimpered, your nails digging into his arms. He was going to have fun with this.

One of his hands left your thigh, sliding up the length of your body—slow, teasing, purposeful—before wrapping around your throat, his thumb brushing over your pulse. His mouth hovered just above yours, his breath warm, teasing, his words coated in amusement.

"That was too fast, baby," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, watching your dazed expression with something like satisfaction. "Guess that means this is my new favorite."

His thumb pressed against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His dark, lidded gaze roamed over your features, soaking in the flush on your cheeks, the parted lips, the way your chest heaved. You were wrecked. And that made something primal twist in his stomach. He wanted to see it again.

So he moved.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The pace was different this time—no teasing, no holding back. He wanted to feel you come apart again. Wanted to feel your walls flutter around him, to watch you drown in the sensation. He wanted to chase that reaction again and again until it was burned into him.

"Too much?" he mused, his voice dripping with false innocence as his thrusts got sharper, pushing you right back toward that edge.

Your response was lost between a gasp and a moan, and Suna grinned.

"Nah, I think you can take it," he murmured. "You were made for this, weren't you?"

You barely had time to process his words before he angled his hips just right again— and that coil in your stomach snapped.

Your head tilted back, a cry tearing from your lips as pleasure flooded through you, crashing over you even harder than the first time.

Suna groaned, feeling your body clamp down around him, squeezing him so tight that his rhythm stuttered for half a second. His grip on your throat loosened, his hand sliding down to grasp at your waist instead, holding you steady as you shook beneath him.

"Fuck," he muttered, watching the way your body trembled, the way your fingers scrambled at the sheets. He let his hips slow, dragging out your high, letting you feel every second of it.

And when you finally collapsed, boneless and wrecked beyond belief, Suna pressed a kiss to your jaw, his smirk returning as he murmured—

"Yeah... definitely my favourite."

helloo!!

I was reading your work at Ao3 and I’m wondering if there’s going to be more chapters for Nosedives

Please write moreee!!! Please please please 🥺😭😭

ughh i'd love to continue that story!!! but honestly im having the hardest writers block :/// i'll take another look and see if I can think of something lolol, but if you have any ideas feel free to let me know :DD My asks and DMs are always open <33 Thank you for reading! every comment makes me want to write even more, truly thank you!

Photographs (Tsukishima x Reader Pt. 1)

You had been accepted to do a foreign exchange student program in Japan. For the rest of your high school career, you would be living in a completely different country and culture, filled with people with different mannerisms from you.

And you couldn’t be more thrilled.

From a young age you had been studying the country, its culture, and their language. Reading, writing, and speaking for hours on end ever since you were nine. It simply enthralled you, for no particular reason. While it’ll never be the most useful language, you didn’t care. You found beauty in it, and it made you happy.

So, when you found an opportunity at your local high school to travel to the country you always wanted to, you jumped at the chance. Your parents were a little hesitant at first, not exactly keen to the thought of their child leaving for a huge majority of the year, but, to your honest surprise, you had managed to convince them after few weeks of begging. The easy part was getting accepted; Since you spoke the language at a high level, they couldn’t have found a better candidate. All that was left was the paperwork and the preparations necessary.

Which only took a whole year.

To say you were impatient was a bit of an understatement, but once you had completed your first year at your local high school, they had given you the exciting news that next year you would be attending Karasuno High school in Miyagi. You were so ecstatic that the next couple of weeks flew by and soon you were on the plane heading to your greatest dream true.

When you got off the plane, you were greeted by your host family that you would be staying with for the rest of the program. It was quite a small family, with a single mother and two brothers. Not that you had minded. The mother and the oldest son, Akiteru, his name was, seemed quite nice actually, both exhibiting a friendly and pleasant aura. They were comforting to talk to and had settled any kind of nerves you had mustered on the plane.

You wish you could same about the other one.

The other boy, Kei, who was your age and was going to be going to the same school as you, seemed extremely cold and distant. He hadn’t even said hello, but just looked at you funny. As if you were already somehow an inconvenience to him. He also was extremely intimidating, with not only his lackluster enthusiasm, but his almost 6’3 stature. He seemed to loom over you, eyes screaming distaste and annoyance. When egged on by his brother to ‘loosen up’, he had uttered the most exhausted greeting, not bothering to listen to yours before turning to leave to the baggage area. Flipping his headphones to his ears and leaving any sort of social opportunity to get to know you.

If it weren’t for the physical similarities, you wouldn’t even think he was related to the other two. Definitely a black sheep if you’ve ever seen one.

But nevertheless, you wouldn’t let him ruin your experience. He was a speed bump at most, and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop you.

That was your initial mindset. And while he certainly didn’t stop you, he did manage to make it all kinds of shitty.

During the first month of you living with his family, Kei hadn’t said a single word to you. He was always in his room and acted like he didn’t even know you existed. The only time you’d ever see him, was during dinner. And even then, he acted like he didn’t know you, not saying a single word as he quickly ate everything and marched right back up to his room.

Now, you didn’t mind if someone didn’t like you. You weren’t a child; You knew that not everyone gets along. But it seemed liked he hated you for simply existing; without even giving you a chance. And it frustrated you. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why it bothered you as much as it did.

You didn’t even know him, and still, it was one of the most infuriating things you’ve ever experienced.

Over the course of the days, (That felt more like months) you had reasoned that why it angered you so much was that it almost always was you and him alone together in the house. You had learned later on that Akiteru was a college student, so he rented a small apartment and only visited for the holidays, and that their mother’s job required her to often have full time shifts to support you all securely.

You figured that you were just insulted that you were the only option in this empty, silent house, and Kei still chose to not speak to you; opting to be left in virtual loneliness.

But you wouldn’t dare admit that it hurt you more than it should’ve.

To add on to the list of problems, since school wouldn’t start for another two weeks, you were basically stuck with yourself. Which got boring really quickly, but manageable, nonetheless.

You moved on and acted as though you weren’t bothered; Simply figuring that if Kei was that much of a prick that didn’t want to speak with you it was his loss and your gain. School started, and the first term flew by. Not being cooped up in a house with someone that seemed to hate your guts proved useful to you, making some decent friends by the end of it, and soon the second term had started.

To your surprise, during those months he did start talking to you, but in classic asshole fashion, it was only to annoy you.

(Maybe it was the fact that he saw you thriving, but it’s not like he’ll ever admit it).

Apparently, the man had the frustrating abilities to make fun of anything he put his mind to. To your dismay, this meant your clothes, the way you talked (Heaven forbid you mess something up in Japanese), your looks, your friends, and countless other little things.

It seemed that misery really did enjoy company, since Kei clearly couldn’t stand the thought of you being happy, for some inexplicable reason.

Each and every comment had started to pile up inside you, and with each new one, your patience grew thinner and thinner for the tall blonde boy.

You had tried to let the little things go, since you could clearly tell that Kei was one of those people who loved getting a reaction out of others. Countless adults from speeches, presentations and logic said that if you showed you didn’t care, he would stop.

But he didn’t. In fact, it made him all the more relentless.

He’d constantly torment you, no matter what you did. You found that whether or not you ignored him was irrelevant. So, if it didn’t matter, you realized that at least you didn’t have to take his shit sitting down.

If he wanted to play mean, you could play mean.

You slowly started fighting back, and that only caused him to fight back harder. He seemed to like a challenge and boy did you hate to lose. It went on like this for some time, your ‘relationship’ only growing more and more tense all the while filling with more annoyance and hatred for the other person. You enjoyed watching him reel back for a second, seeing him process if what you said was correct at first, but it had started to get exhausting extremely quickly.

It got to the point where all you wanted now was for him to stop. Not have anything else to say. Not have the last word in an argument. To say something and have him be silent. To see with your own eyes, him flustered and struggle to form words in anger and embarrassment. Just one time would make you satisfied. To give him a taste of his own medicine, and you would die happy with your life choices.

You were snapped out of your daydreaming when your history teacher stated he had just assigned a partnered task. To create a presentation about an influential moment in Japanese history. You have to stop a groan of pain from escaping your throat. It was just your luck. Although you’ve never loved the concept of group work, with too many bad experiences in group projects, to add on to the shitlist, this was the one class that you had no friends in. So, in torment, you had to watch the excited students go to their chosen partners desk and wait until the teacher had to pick a partner for you from the scraps of the useless souls left behind.

At least until Kei had walked up to your desk.

You blink. You had forgotten he was in this class; you never paid him any mind in school, with him only talking to you to try and annoy you and all. You whistle lowly.

“What a surprise. I don’t remember summoning a minion of the Antichrist.” Your tone is dry, not even having to look to know that Kei is rolling his eyes.

“And I don’t remember asking to have you in my house. Things happen.” You scoff.

“What do you want, Tsukki?” You coo, using a mocking tone. After you found out that Kei had a friend, and accepted the reality that someone out there genuinely wanted to be his friend, used that nickname, you refused to let it go. You were quite happy with the way he reacted to it. He glares at you hard, and you only smile. He lets it go after a moment, and you watch is distaste as his face returns to the calm and indifferent expression that you’ve come to despise.

“Let’s work together.” He said simply. There’s a beat of silence as you process the words.

You.

And Kei.

Working together… On a project that would require a lot of time… Hours, even days…

…

Yeah, that isn’t happening.

You didn’t have to say anything, just with the quirk of a brow, you showed your hesitation. Or more like ‘Even if Hell freezes over, or if pigs fly, I still wouldn’t say yes’. He just tsked, as if you were a toddler not getting a simple concept. You felt your nails dig into your palms.

How did he always manage to get on your nerves so easily?

“We already live in the same house. It would be easier than trying to meet up with others.” Kei spelled it out for you, and you look away. Unfortunately, he did have a point. And even more so, Kei wasn’t an idiot. Sure, he acted like a complete jackass, but he did have good grades. Better than yours at least. And you needed to do well on this assignment too. You sigh, not seeing any real reason to say no.

But you weren’t going down without a fight.

“Guess you really favour convenience over your asshole ways.” You click your tongue as the bell’s rings, signalling that the period is over. His reaction is cut off by that sound. You sigh heavily, before giving in.

“Alright.” He nods and goes back to his seat to collect his stuff. He walks away you feel a pit start to form in your stomach.

Suddenly you don’t want to go home.

~~

The rest of the day had gone by smoothly enough, with you and Kei having different classes, the project had flown out of your mind. It was a Friday, so you had planned to walk home with your friends, and maybe get some food on the way. It would be a nice way to unwind and relax from a stressful week.

Key word *planned. *

Just as school was over you received a text from yours truly.

Are you going straight home?

You raise a brow at your phone. What did it matter to him?

No. I’m hanging out with some friends.

Which ones?

Does it matter?

**Not anymore. Stay until I’m done practice. **

You stop to stare. He’s never asked you to stay before. He’s actually quite quick to push you anyway when it came to his practice. Not that you minded.

Why?

**It’s important. **

Care to explain?

**Just wait until after practice. **

Kei, I have plans.

Kei?

You let out a frustrated grunt, trying to decide what to do. About ninety percent of you wanted to forget that Kei ever existed and go out anyway, but the other ten percent is nagging you with the fact that he said it was important. It could be anything, and it could be serious. Ultimately, you gave into that ten percent, with a curse to your conscience and a grit of your teeth you cancelled your plans with your friends and went to sit in the library.

For the next five hours.

You were pretty sure that your soul had left your body when Kei finally texted you.

Where are you?

Library

You saw outside the doors, so you finally got up and went to him, your mind going insane over what could be so important that you wasted your precious Friday. But he doesn’t say anything, only looking to you and walking to the entrance of the school to begin to walk home. You recoil with an extremely confused expression, having to jog to reach him. He doesn’t say anything as you catch up to him. You clear your throat. He turns to look at you, raising a brow.

“What?” You give him a look of disbelief.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ You made me miss my plans for something ‘important’. I’d like to know what it is.” You finish, hands on your hips. Kei simply looks you up and down, like he’s measuring you. You can feel your blood pressure start to raise.

“We need to work on our project. Let’s work on it after dinner.” If this was a cartoon, your jaw would’ve hit the floor, then maybe there would be steam coming out of your ears.

This bastard just kept surprising you. It’s like he wanted to find new levels of low. You couldn’t even believe he just did that. How could someone be so petty?

“Are you fucking serious?! I had to stay afterschool for five hours so you could tell me something that fucking stupid?!” You could barely think straight, not even having the mental capacity to come up with something witty. Kei rolls his shoulders, causally stretching while you’re about to combust, lazy smirk adorning his face. You’ve never wanted to slap a smile off more…

“You didn’t have to stay.” You almost choke.

“You said-”

“Exactly. ‘Said’. I never forced you to do anything. You could’ve left at anytime.” You let out a lot of strained sounds. What kind of argument was that? Couldn’t he just for once, let go of his pride and accept he was an all-around asshole? You saw red.

“You know what? I’ve seen a lot of shit in my day, but you are the most immature, petty-” Kei cuts you off.

“Anything new to say? I’ve heard it all before, trust me.” You practically growl. You see him smile even wider out of the corner of you eye. This was what he wanted. Remember, all he wants is a reaction. That thought calms you down considerably. You take a huge, tired sigh, all of your previous energy gone. He was like a parasite, you realized. He completely drained your being. Not to mention annoying as fuck.

“What Yamaguchi sees in you; I’ll never know.” Kei shrugs. “Heard that one too.” Kei slips on his headphones, clearly seeing that you’re not going to be entertaining him anytime soon.

One of these days, you’ll get him back. Just be patient.

The rest of your walk was spent daydreaming about that day.

~~

Kei had told you to meet up in his room to start working on the project, so after a silent fuming dinner, you had reasonably calmed down enough and gotten the necessary supplies and knocked on his door. You seriously considered barging in to tell him to fuck himself and the project, but your grade average was at stake, and your schoolwork was something you could never risk over some stupid boy. You decided to bite the bullet, taking a deep breath, and attempt to let all of your previous irritation wash over you as he calls through the door.

“Come in.” You open the door to his room and take a look around. To no one’s shock, you had never actually been in Kei’s room before, not really needing or wanting a reason to do so. It was fairly neat, with huge white desk and matching white walls with his volleyball jersey set cleanly on top. A couple of shelfs with some plushies of dinosaurs that you decided not to comment on but kept stored for future mockery. Boringly enough though, it just looked like a boy’s room, which did give your ‘Kei is the source of all evil on earth’ theory a few heavy hits. You didn’t realise you were staring until Kei pulled you out of it.

“Are we going to do some work? Or are you just going to stand there gawking?” You glared at him slightly.

“Well how often do you get to see the Devil’s lair? This might be the last thing I ever see if I don’t get out here alive…” You mumble the last bit, ignoring his eye roll, before sitting down on his bed, spreading out all your work material on the mattress. Once finished you both just looked at each other.

Now what?

“Uh… So… What do you think we should do our project on?” You ask awkwardly. Kei looks at you like you’re suddenly the biggest inconvenience known to man. You resist the urge to throw your notebook at his very hittable face.

“How should I know?” You snort in annoyance. Someone’s cranky. Is it his time of the month?

“Well sorry I was asking my partner a question about the project we’re both assigned to work on. We must alert the church elders at my audacity.” You can hear him ‘tsk’ loudly, his swivelling chair moving to face away from you, slightly. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his pettiness.

This wasn’t going to lead anywhere, and you really wanted to get this over with. You take another deep breath, attempting to be the bigger person.

“Okay, how about we both start by researching some important events, then choose from there?” Kei takes you suggestion into consideration, before turning away from you.

“Fine.”

And with that he opened his computer and when down to it. You as well opened up your laptop and started your research. Things start to move better than you would’ve thought, because after about twenty minutes of searching, discussing, arguing you both finally decided to go with the Atomic Bomb dropping, with it piquing both Kei’s and your interest.

Well, with it piquing your interest and Kei being indifferent rather than disgusted at the ‘shitty’ choice.

You soon started researching, both going into your own little worlds, writing notes, and finding new sources. In the middle of the session, Kei had randomly got up and left the room. You assumed it was to get a drink or use the washroom.

You didn’t take any notice to him leaving, too focused on the task at hand. You had been taking notes on the event and had gone to set down your pencil to remove a rebellious strand of hair that had been getting in the way of your vision. Truthfully, Kei’s bed wasn’t the sturdiest material to study on, so when you set your pencil to the side, it had obeyed the laws of physics and rolled off, making a sound as it clattered on the wooded floor.

Sighing tiredly, you lean over the edge of the bed to look for the astray pencil, only to find it underneath his nightstand. Reaching your hand into the darkness to grab the pencil, you felt a small piece of folded paper near it. Curious, you picked it up and brushed it slightly. It had been covered in dust, lost, and forgotten.

You unfold the small piece of paper, like any person would, to find a picture. It looked to be an older picture; Maybe couple years at the least, with the colours fading and the edges being tattered, you guess.

Though the colours were fading, you could see the photo just fine. In the photo was a small boy, outside with trees surrounding what looked to be a park. He had a volleyball in his hands, the hugeness of the ball showing just how tiny his hands were. He wore a huge smile, the ones that were contagious, but with light hints of a smug and cheeky attitude; The kind of attitude that only looks cute with kids. With warm blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and huge black glasses sliding down the bridge of his small nose. You couldn’t put off the fact that he looked extremely familiar…

A light switch flicked in your head, putting two and two together.

Oh my God.

That’s Kei!

…

That’s Kei?!

You let out a small laugh of shock as you inspected the picture closer.

He looks so different. Well, not really. Physically speaking, they were basically a shot for shot remake, but just the energy of Kei in and photo and Kei now was astoundingly different. Just looking at the photo made you smile. He seemed like such a happy kid. Not to mention completely and totally adorable.

I wonder what happened…

Well, he grew up, that’s what happened. You thought cynically. But he had to have kept some of that childlike wonder and happiness. The debate continued on in your head. He was only fifteen after all, but it seemed like it had been stripped from him, and pretty early on. Thinking about that made your heart feel heavy, but you had managed to brush it off just as Kei had came back into the room. While you hadn’t noticed his return, he sees you on the bed, not working, holding a small photo, and looking at it with the stupidest smile he had ever seen on you. To say he was a little confused was an understatement.

“What are you doing?” His voice makes you jump, looking up at him. You don’t respond as you look back the old photo, then back at him. Now that you actually think about it, he’s still pretty cute.

You pause at your own thoughts.

Woah okay, that came out of nowhere.

You shake it off as you finally go to respond, the smile still plastered on your face, not able to stop. “Look at what I found.” You sing with small giggles, getting up as you show Kei his photo. His face is priceless. It’s a mix of confusion, realization, then complete and total mortification. You can’t hide your laugh as he tries to snatch the photo, but you pull it to you before he had the chance.

“Where did you find that?!” He shouts, and you laugh harder.

“Your worst nightmares, apparently. Look at how cute you were!” You say between wheezes, laughing so hard your stomach started to hurt. You hold the picture to your chest when he tries again to grab it from you. He covers his face in his hands before giving you the hardest glare you’ve ever seen. And if it were any other situation, you would’ve been scared shitless, but the glare loses all intimidation when you see his cheeks and ears are flushed pink.

He’s blushing. He’s cute when he blushes. You take a mental picture of this moment as your laughter dies back down to small giggles.

“Give. It. Back.” He holds his hand out, expecting you to be completely compliant. You weren’t going to give in that easily. It was thrilling to see him embarrassed. Seeing him so flustered that he couldn’t form words.

The satisfaction was almost addicting.

You had always thought Kei needed a taste of his own medicine, to see just how bitter it was. Also, you wanted to keep the photo. It was just so precious, you bet that you could look at it after having the worst day and instantly feel better.

So, dawning his trademark smirk, you boldly utter the words.

“Make me.”

You two hold each others’ eyes for a couple seconds, fighting a power struggle, and you clearly winning. But without any kind of warning, he charges at you, using his long arms to try and reach the photo. You laugh at his attempt and quickly step back from him, going into the centre of the room, and extend your arm behind your back.

“Why do you even want the stupid picture?” He spits, extremely irritated, not to mention embarrassed, and you smirk. Oh, how the roles have reversed. You could see why he enjoyed it so much. It was an absolute riot.

“Are you kidding? This picture can make the usual unbothered Tsukishima Kei act like an embarrassed schoolgirl. This thing is gold. Plus, you’re adorable.” You add, and Kei blushes harder. Your eyes widen at an idea popping in your head.

“I wonder how your volleyball team would react to this picture…” You say excited, and Kei widens his eyes in, dare you say it, fear.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You scoff. He clearly doesn’t know how serious you are. You were fully prepared to give him Hell. You hum.

“To be honest, normally I wouldn’t, but those five hours I spent in the library today have really changed me. You know, as a person.” As soon as you finished that sentence, Kei had had started trying even harder to get that photo away from you. Each time trying to reach your arm with newfound vigor, with you stepping back each time he got close. Eventually, after playing for a little while, he was actually managing to overpower you, which isn’t a surprise. With those arms and legs there was only a matter of seconds until you would be backed into a corner.

So you decided to broaden the playing field.

“C’mon Kei~ Try a little harder, won’t you?” You teased, waving the picture in front of you, like a matador with a very, very angry bull. Once again, he reached for you, long arms trying to reach the photo you held behind your back, not expecting you to also pull his door open and dash out of his room, not even trying to contain your laughs as he stumbled through his doorway, letting out an angry groan.

His misstep gave you enough time to run down the stairs, and all the way down to the dining area. He was right on your tail though, sprinting to you, ending up on the other side of the table. Staring you down with heavy, infuriated eyes.

Neither of you move, the room being filled with only gasps for breath and your small giggles.

“You’re acting like a child.” Kei spits at you, perhaps hoping for a response that wasn’t a simple shrug, with you accepting the insult all the while dawning a lazy grin slapped on your face.

“Probably. But this is most fun I’ve had in this house. And you’re playing along. So, aren’t we both the children here?” He doesn’t respond, taking your moment of contemplation as his chance, running around the table, and attempting to reach the photograph in your hand.

Your reaction wasn’t fast enough, running away from the table but not far enough to keep a safe distance. You were so concerned with where he was that you didn’t see the couch behind you, legs hitting the front of the cushions. The movement way too strong for you to stay balanced.

Out of pure instinct, and with Kei being the closest upright object to you, you grabbed at him.

Apparently, he hadn’t been expecting you to grab him, and with such force too, because when you fell you had taken him down with you, both landing on the couch. Hard. You both make sounds of surprise before falling on top of each other.

You could feel his weight on you, and you struggled to move as he used his arms to push himself up, looking directly at you. His face was still flushed pink, you bet yours was too. You could feel the mood instantly change, from hatefully playful to…

Not.

You two were so close you could feel his breath on your skin, but you didn’t care. Both of you hadn’t said anything, staring at each other still, until ultimately you realized what kind of position you both were in.

Kei was between your legs, his pushing your thighs apart. You had unconsciously hooked your legs around his thin hips. When did that happen? You were so close that your chests were bumping into each other with every breath; His arms had caging your face in, causing you to only be able to look at him.

Your face and heart exploded.

“Uh-uhm… Kei?” You whispered, not being able to say anything louder. He continued staring, not saying a single word. You could tell from his eyes that he was lost in thought, weirdly. You try to snap him out of it.

“Kei, you’re crushing me- “

“Shut up.”

Kei out of nowhere, slams his mouth on yours. You freeze, and so does your mind. Your body stiffens, but Kei doesn’t stop. The kiss is aggressive, on his part at least, pouring out all of his frustrations into that single kiss. Your teeth clack together but you still don’t respond, and Kei starts getting impatient, and bites your lip. Not hard to draw blood, but hard enough to make you gasp. With your mouth open, he pushes his tongue in and that’s when you finally start to react. Feeling the bottom of stomach start to heat up, your mind buzzing, and your body giving you weird sensations, you slowly kiss him back, forgetting all common sense.

You could feel his smugness coming off in waves about that fact that you had started to respond, so put him in his place, you ran your hand up his arm to the back of his head. You comb your fingers through his amazingly soft fluffy hair and tug a little harder than necessary. He groans in slight pain. The sound sends shivers down your spine.

Things begin to get more heated, the kisses becoming longer and sloppier when Kei decides to run his hand up your thigh, leaving you to let out a soft mewl. His hand goes to rest on your hip, when he goes to kiss your cheek, down your jaw all the way to your neck. He gets into a rhythm there, with kissing, licking, sucking, and even biting lightly all down your neck. After some experimenting, he had found out where the most sensitive parts were, and absolutely ravished them. By then you were an absolute mess, hair sticking in all directions, lips swollen, a light sheen of sweat covering your body, and a completely destroyed neck much to Kei’s pleasure. His hands had gone from your hips to your back, pulling you up so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck as much. His mouth reaches where your neck meets your shoulder, and starts leave light butterfly kisses, clearly teasing you. You whine in protest, but he just chuckles.

You tug his hair to indicate that you want him to face you again, once he removes his face from your neck you lock your lips with his. He returns it immediately, taking his hand to go under your shirt and rub your warm and slightly sweaty skin. You let out a light sigh.

Then it all stops.

The warmth, the kisses, his hands, his body, everything. You hadn’t realized that you closed your eyes until you open them, to see Kei looking down on you, smirking as if he just won the lottery. In his hand, was the photo.

“I win.” He declares, as he rips up the photo and throws it in the trash. He goes to sit down in his desk, wiping his lips and sitting on the couch causally, as if nothing even happened. You can’t say anything, your brain too stunned.

You inhale all the air you had lost in those moments, feeling the cogs in your mind turn as you abruptly stand, confused with all the new sensations and feelings that just happened.

And with Kei of all people.

Kei…

“Y-yeah, I guess you did.” You mutter, averting your eyes and refusing to look at him, knowing that his eyes were burning holes in your back.

“Let’s work the project some other time.” You say quickly as you practically run to your room, slamming the door, and sliding down it. Running your fingers on your lips before burying your hand in your arms. Face burning with red hot embarrassment and shame.

What in the fuck just happened?

Confessions: Osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you can tell it's good food.”

“Yer a menace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Husbandry: Tsukishima

Tsukishima Kei had always been a man of quiet focus. He wasn’t one for unnecessary emotions on the court, and even in a high-stakes match, his expression rarely changed from that of mild indifference. It drove some of his teammates crazy, especially during moments like this—tied score, final set, the pressure mounting like a heavy storm cloud over the court.

The crowd roared around them, the energy in the gym palpable, but Kei remained as impassive as ever as he stepped up to serve. The ball rested in his hand, his fingers flexing over the synthetic leather, calculating the perfect trajectory. He took a breath, tuned out the noise—

And then he heard you.

“LET’S GO, KEI! YOU GOT THIS, BABY!”

Your voice cut through the chaos like a knife, loud and unwavering, filled with pure, unfiltered enthusiasm. It was the kind of cheer that had heads turning—not just in the stands, but on the court as well. The sideline players of the Sendai Frogs exchanged looks, one of them letting out an amused snort.

On the bench, the sideline players of the Sendai Frogs nudged each other, exchanging grins.

"Man, they're such opposites," one of them chuckled.

"Seriously," another added, shaking his head. "I bet he just tunes it out entirely."

Kei, however, did not react. Not outwardly, at least. He merely exhaled, tossing the ball into the air, bringing his arm back, and striking it with precision. The ball sailed over the net, untouched, an ace. A perfect point.

You erupted from your seat. “WOOHOO! THAT’S MY HUSBAND!”

Your cheers drowned out the announcer’s call, your hands clapping wildly as you beamed at the court. The energy was infectious, even drawing a smirk from one of Kei’s teammates.

“He really doesn’t deserve someone as fun as her,” a player on the bench teased.

Kei, who hadn't actually heard the comment, still felt like he was being talked about. His gaze shifted toward the teammate in question, sharp and unreadable. The player stiffened slightly under the weight of the look, laughing nervously. "Uh—never mind."

Though his expression remained neutral as they reset for the next point, you didn’t miss the slight twitch at the corner of his lips—a flicker of something, almost imperceptible, but you knew better. You knew he heard you. And you knew, despite his attitude, he didn’t mind.

The match pressed on, the tension thick in the air. Every point was fought for, the score inching closer and closer to victory. You kept cheering, never once faltering, your voice the constant, unwavering backdrop to Kei’s unshakable calm. Each time he stepped up to block or assist, you felt your heart race, willing him to succeed. Even when he wasn’t actively playing, your eyes remained glued to him, catching the subtle movements—his sharp gaze, the way his fingers curled into his palms, the way he subtly adjusted his position to anticipate the next play.

One of the opposing players served a near-perfect ball, fast and aggressive, but Kei anticipated it. His block was perfectly timed, and the ball slammed to the floor on the other side of the net. The referee signaled the point, and the crowd went wild.

“YES! THAT’S MY MAN!” you shrieked, standing up so fast that the people next to you startled.

“Hey, sit down, you’re blocking the view!” someone called playfully, but you barely heard them. Your entire world was on the court, watching Kei as he straightened, not even celebrating the way his teammates were.

And then, the final point.

A perfectly executed play sealed the win, and before you could process it, the Sendai Frogs were celebrating. The crowd erupted in cheers, but none were as loud as yours.

“YES! WOOOO!”

The players exchanged congratulations, the team huddling together in exhausted relief. Kei, as always, stayed a step behind the others, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward the sidelines. But his eyes flickered to the stands, just once, just enough for you to catch it before he looked away.

Your grin stretched even wider. He didn’t need to say it. That glance alone told you everything.

Tsukishima Kei was not a man of grand gestures or loud emotions. But you were, and that was okay.

Because when the dust settled, when the match was won, and the crowd began to disperse, Kei walked straight toward you. And in that split second before he passed by, his fingers brushed against yours—a silent acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of appreciation just for you.

You didn’t need anything more than that.

But you still made sure to yell one last time as he walked past, just to see his ears go a little red.

“I LOVE YOU, KEI!”

His teammates howled with laughter as he groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“…I regret everything.”

And yet, as he walked toward the locker rooms, his fingers lingered just slightly against the edge of yours, as if to say he didn't regret it at all.

Hey I really love the way you write it’s so fun to read and really fits the characters. I wanted to request you making small drabbles or a series on how the haikyu characters would treat you while youre pregnant. If it’s something you don’t want to write no worries. 🩷

OMGG yesss I love that idea 🙈🙈🙈 It goes so well with my other mini-series ehehe, I'm 100% adding it to the roster!! Thank you for your sweet words, they never fail to make my day.

For you! Gorgeous Human!! Enjoy <333 --

Pregnancy: Ushijima

Ushijima has been overprotective since the very beginning.

The second those two lines showed up on the test, it was like a switch flipped in him. He became your personal guard dog, nurse, chauffeur, meal planner, and human forklift all rolled into one stoic package.

It was kind of sweet—at first. The way he’d gently tug your hand away if you tried to carry anything heavier than a spoon. The way he’d Google symptoms with intense focus, like your morning sickness was a tactical challenge he could overcome with enough research. The way he sat through every prenatal appointment like it was the Olympics and he was preparing to win gold in fatherhood.

But by the third trimester?

You’re one more “let me do it” away from committing actual murder.

“I’m gonna change the sheets,” you say, bracing a hand on your lower back as you waddle toward the linen closet.

Before you even touch the doorknob, he’s there. He must have materialized from the floorboards.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

You blink up at him. “Wakatoshi—”

“The mattress is heavy.”

“I’m not flipping it! I’m just changing the sheets.”

Still, he reaches over you and pulls out the linens like it’s already been decided. “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.”

You stare at him, nostrils flaring, lips twitching, but you don’t fight it. Not yet.

Then come the groceries. The laundry. The vacuum you so much as glance at. And every time, he gets to it before you can even try. Every time, he gently insists. Every time, you swallow the urge to scream.

Until now.

You step onto the footstool to reach the top kitchen cabinet—one single bowl, that’s all you want—and he appears in the doorway like a haunted house spirit.

“Don’t,” he says sharply.

That’s it. That’s the moment you snap.

“USHIJIMA,” you explode, flinging your arms wide in a very dramatic but very off-balanced motion. “I am pregnant. Not porcelain. I can do things! I can move and lift and stretch and reach and I would like to do one thing—just ONE THING—by myself without you treating me like I’m going to spontaneously combust!”

He pauses. Blinks. That stoic face giving you absolutely nothing.

“…You were wobbling,” he says.

“I always wobble! I’m basically a giant, sentient bowling pin at this point!”

“I don’t want to take chances,” he says, calm as ever.

“Well I want to do something myself!”

He hesitates. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Eventually, he steps back and says simply, “Okay. Do it.”

Oh. Oh he did not just call your bluff.

You puff out your chest, grab the cabinet door for balance, and go for it. Fingers brush the edge of the bowl, victory within reach—

—and then you realize you can’t quite twist back down. You’re halfway off the stool and stuck. Pride flickers. Stomach tightens. Arms flail just a little.

“…Toshi?” you call, voice small. “I, um. I need help.”

He’s there in seconds.

Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. He sets you gently on the floor like a queen being lowered onto her throne.

“You were saying?” he murmurs, hand on the small of your back.

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he replies smoothly. “You just hate that I’m right.”

You slump against his chest, bowl in hand, your forehead hitting the middle of his sternum. His hand rubs up and down your spine. You sigh dramatically.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re still holding the bowl.”

“…Shut up.”