#cotzucen

PART 1 → PART 2

synopsis ଳ kenma thinks of you late at night, and gets a bit adventurous with his body.

content ଳ virgin!kenma jerking off to you (a lot of yapping before we get there, but we do get there!), fem!reader, mentions of reader having big enough tits for cleavage (I wish 😭).

word count ଳ ~1.4K

Ever since his parents got him his Nintendo as a kid, Kenma had been on a strict nightly routine.

Play until sunrise and make up the lost sleep during classes.

This was the norm for most of his peers. Until about 15, when they’d all added jerking off to the schedule. And since his presence was about as noticeable as a fly on the wall, he’d overheard every single story there is.

It was gross. Those guys did it in the school bathrooms, at their friend’s places—even in class. Back when he was in highschool, some ballsy ones would hide magazines in their desks and have their friends come see.

He wasn’t a prude by any means—Kuroo was his best friend, for god’s sake—but he…he’s never gotten the hype, to put it bluntly. He’s never felt horny or anything that would make a normal guy want to go to town with himself.

He’s never even liked a girl before, and he knows he doesn’t like guys. He doesn’t like anyone, except for Shouyo. Kuroo, too, on a good day.

But then…he met you. You met him, more like. He knew nobody in any of his college courses, and he was as happy as could be. He‘d finally be able to play his games and slack off homework without Kuroo on his ass.

Peace, quiet, and games. All he’s ever wanted.

But then you sat beside him—and this is crazy to say, but you were louder than Bokuto and Kuroo combined. He really wanted to kill himself.

Your friends would swarm around your connected desks, you’d never stop chatting him up, and worst of all, you were touchy. A crazy amount of it.

You’d touch his hair without warning, poke his cheek to get his attention and sing-song his name in the hallway as some sort of warning before jumping on him.

It got bearable when he learned you liked the same games he did. And when you helped him beat a hard boss, his dislike turned into neutrality.

He tolerated you. But you still made him uncomfortable.

You’d respect his space when he told you to stop, though he’d feel awkward right after. It just felt wrong. It was like a necessary evil that made you, you.

So he resigned and let you go ham on him. Expected it. Used it to measure your mood, even.

…He’s not sure he likes you. But he knows he doesn’t not like you. You’re the closest to like he’s ever had.

Kenma groans and lazily throws his head to the left. 2:43 AM. Why’s he even thinking about all this anyway?

His heavy eyes stay glued to the ceiling, his alarm casting a faint blue glow. Then purple, then pink, then red.

The red glow reminds him of the first and only time he tried. Tried to…uh. You know. Fit in.

It was a few years back, and he was lying on his back, facing the ceiling just like now. He only even entertained the idea when he overheard a guy say it was the best feeling in the world.

Kenma didn’t believe him, naturally, since he was pretty sure nothing felt better than getting a new game—a free one (bought by Kuroo)—but it’s not like he had any say. He’d never tried it.

Worst experience of his life. He couldn’t even get it up, so it was just flopping around aimlessly.

And he tried. He really tried, and that’s what was most embarrassing. He thought of boobs, and butts, and whatever explicit thing that should’ve gotten him the tiniest bit horny. Nope. Somehow got him even more flaccid.

He’s 19 now. And if he tried, the same thing would happen. Definitely. But…

No.

Kenma’s cheeks start to get warmer, and he reaches for his Nintendo.

Shit, it wasn’t charging.

The idea crosses his mind again, causing his blush to creep down his neck.

He reaches for his phone, but that’s not charged either, and he considers jumping out of his window for a moment. All to get him to stop thinking about it.

About jerking off to you, instead of to the faceless bodies he imagined years ago.

It wouldn’t work. Is his first thought.

Why do I even want it to work!? His second.

He doesn’t want to jerk off, you’ve got it wrong. He’s just having intrusive thoughts. Very intrusive ones.

He doesn’t even have anything as jerk off material—you don’t wear revealing clothes, and don’t get yourself in compromising positions. Those two are pretty much what make up the few mags he’s seen.

But he then remembers all the small instances in which his mouth went dry.

The first is the time you held his arm and your low cut top gave him a nice view. Then when you leaned over to pick up a pencil and he caught a glimpse of your lacy pink underwear.

When you wore stockings one day and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the way that they squeezed your thighs. When you were looking over his shoulder, and made him jump from your soft voice whispering his name.

He was wrong. It worked.

Kenma’s stomach drops at the odd, intrusive feeling of warmth and tension in his groin. He closes his eyes shut and he stays as still as a statue. Funnily enough, he thinks about boobs and butts—the ones he once tried to get off on—but ends up thinking about your body, and makes it worse.

A cold sweat beads up on his forehead as he opens his eyes and looks down. When he sees it through the sheets, that’s when it really hits. He’s hard. He’s actually hard—and it’s because of you. You!

Something must be wrong with him.

I’m not dealing with it, he decides, but his mind can’t stop drifting to you. About how soft your thighs probably would feel, how nicely his hands could cup them…

A deep pressure hits him in his lower belly, and the tension turns almost painful. Sweat now drips down his forehead. Fuck.

He sits up, and tries not to think about how wrong it is when he eventually lets his right hand venture beneath the sheets. His boxers are damp. His lower belly churns.

It gets hard to breathe when his hands go further. When they go underneath his boxers, to hold himself. Lewd is an understatement. He’s warm and slick, and it’s gross, but he doesn’t want to stop. God he doesn’t want to stop.

His breath catches when he gives himself a little stroke. His eyebrows furrow. His mind races with thoughts you. Reality mixes with fantasy.

Maybe you both find an empty classroom and you sit on a desk. He stands before you, hands gripping your thighs while you kiss his neck. You leave hickey after hickey and remind him to keep quiet.

Or you’re in his room. You have nothing on except for a shirt and those pink lace panties. You think it’s funny to climb on his lap while he’s gaming. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and you barely pay attention to him while you scroll on your phone. One of his hands rests on your thigh, and the other traces the rim of the pink fabric. He gently rocks you against him, watching how you rub against the bulge in his boxers.

Yeah. He likes that one.

An ugly, whiny groan escapes him this time, and he’s panting desperately loud—like he’s ran a lap around the college campus. He wonders if you would catch on…If you’d pull his boxers down just enough so that all you needed to do was push the bridge of your panties to the side.

And you’d use him, you’d use him to get off and he knows it would feel heavenly. His grip gets painfully tights and he whines.

Not yet—hold it, Kenma. Is what you’d say to him, but he can’t. He strokes from his flushed tip to his base, up and down. Again..and again.

“Mmn..ah..” He pants, his thighs tensing. It’s barely been half a minute but he’s so, so close. “Haah..ha-”

The pressure moves from his stomach and gets a bit lighter, a bit ticklish when it gets all the way to his tip. With his mouth agape and his breath hitched, he cums on himself and his sheets.

He’s still catching his breath, chest heaving—reeling—before collapsing on his pillow, having passed out.

a/n ଳ sooooo? how was my debut? :D Icl, I’m really happy with myself on this one! If you have something to say because you loved it so much (teehee) PLEASE don’t hesitate, it would make my day :3

cw: intercourse (p in v), fingering, brief mention of bondage, grinding, boners, head (male and female receiving and giving), sex in public spaces.

a/n: can you tell who were my favs in this?? (Toge has me on my knees and Geto has me in a chokehold 🙁). All characters are aged up; 18+.

Itadori Yuuji - Ass

Itadori Yuuji, who just simply, loves a nice ass. He likes to have a nice hold on yours at all times– ofcourse, he won't, he's not a creep who cops a feel out of nowhere, but trust me when I say in every situation, there's atleast one part of his brain thinking about your butt. It's an instinct. Beside, he's your boyfriend, you probably think about... something about him in a sexual matter all the time. Haha. He loves ass.

PART 1 ← PART 2

synopsis ଳ kenma has been ignoring you all week and you’re determined to find out why.

content ଳ kenma/fem!reader, him being an avoidant ass, cowgirl, play(?)fighting going south, intercourse (p in v), creampie, verystraightforward!reader.

word count ଳ ~2.5k

a/n ଳ GUESS WHO’S BACK??? Ah I’ve been CHEESING these past few days, the glaze is never ending. Thank you! 🥹 Enjoy part two!! (I might’ve spammed em dashes a bit, pls ignore 😭)

“Hey, Kenma.”

I drop my heavy bag on his desk, solely to bother him while he’s typing.

“I see you’re still ignoring me.”

He keeps quiet, but I catch the twitch of his lips at my words. I’ll take the crumbs of any reaction he’ll give me at this point. But then he looks away.

Like one does, I push his laptop to the side and take a seat right where it was. I lean in.

“So, what’s the excuse behind this one? Switching seats.”

I’m meaner this time—demanding. Talking to myself isn’t a thing I do in public, after all. When he looks up at me, I give him the nicest smile I can manage.

“I…couldn’t see the board from the back, so I moved up. I’m not ignoring you.”

That smile is getting increasingly hard to keep.

“It’s now that you realize you can’t see the board? Six months in?” My lips press into a line as he gives me no reply.

“Anyway. Just to be clear, this isn’t you avoiding me.”

“…No, it’s not.”

“And you’re not ignoring me either?”

“I already said I wasn’t.”

I can’t believe he even has the nerve to be snappy at me while lying in my face.

I hold his gaze for a few more seconds before he looks away. He even starts blushing—like I’m the one in the wrong.

“Could you back up a little? You're too close.” He mumbles.

Oh, so I’m harassing him now too?

I get off his desk and head up to my regular spot, cursing him under my breath.

Since the beginning of the week, Kenma has been dead set on giving me the cold shoulder.

He’s not some chatterbox, but I know he can hold conversations that last longer than five words. We’ve had them before, and they were great. Fucking awesome, even.

We weren’t attached at the hip, but come on—I know I was growing on him! He can act blasé all he wants, but there’s no way he didn't at least see me as a friend.

Every attempt I’ve made at talking to him since Monday has been met with either a curt response or no response. Getting to him outside class is pretty much impossible, and I gave up on texting long ago.

It’s embarrassing how desperate I am—but I can’t just sit around when the months of hard work I’ve put into our relationship are on the verge of being flushed down the drain!

It’s like befriending the neighbourhood stray that’s very picky with people, and then it suddenly starts hating you the next morning.

Except the stray is Kenma, and instead of petting, I want to have sex be his friend.

Even if he did somehow learn that I like him, because I do—I like him way more than I should—he could just tell me to stop, like a normal fucking person! But noo, little baby over here doesn’t know how to use his big boy words!

I glare at the back of his head, a deep frown etching itself onto my face as I scoff. What a jerk.

But fine. If this is how he wants to play, then so be it.

ଳ

When the bell rings, Kenma all but runs out of class. I don’t follow, since I know exactly where he’s going.

Every Friday, without fail, Kenma goes to this gaming café not too far from campus. He typically stays until it closes, then returns to his dorm room, where he locks himself in for the weekend.

When that happens, nothing gets him out.

That means I have today—and only today—to fix this before next week.

Challenge accepted.

ଳ

By the time I get there, the café is full with other college students. I take a good look around. It’s a lot…cuter, than expected. Lots of pink and cat stickers. Ha, that’s probably why Kenma comes here so often.

When I find his little booth, he’s playing a game I don’t recognize. He has on headphones and, by his sneer, is losing. He can make really ugly expressions when he wants to.

“I joined 2v2—not 3v1, you moron!” He yells.

I patiently wait for him to finish up. I even sit on the free gaming chair of the booth beside him and roll right next to him. Huh, it’s a volleyball game.

“How the fuck did you rank up to pro!?“

I blow on my fingernails.

“Why are you going for balls that are obviously out?? Are you dumb!?”

I tap my fingers against my thigh. Anytime now.

“I’m not toxic—you’re just ass!”

With that, my patience reaches its limit, and I lean over to leave the game for him. It was 24-6 anyway.

Kenma almost breaks his neck when turning to cuss out the hand’s owner. When he realizes that it’s me, he full-body flinches.

“Took you long enough. Your hair blocks your side vision, you know. Should probably get a trim.”

We stare at each other. Then slowly, very slowly, he puts the headphones down. He gets up, but I catch him by the collar.

Despite how scrawny he looks, it’s pretty hard to hold him back.

"Whoa there, Kenma. Leaving so soon?” I shake my head. “I’m not letting you leave until you do us both a favour and communicate your feelings. Ever heard of that?”

He tests my grip on his collar, before begrudgingly sitting back down. I let go.

“Listen. I’m sure you know that I’m pretty pissed, so let’s keep this brief.”

His lips part, but he stutters, so he clears his throat. They part again—and I wait for it—but he just ends up licking his lips. Then he starts blushing. The guy can’t even get a word out.

When I close my eyes to groan at him, he tries to escape again. This time I’ve had it. I’ve been at my limit with him for a while now, but I’m done done. I’ll force an answer out of him.

“We’re going to my dorm.”

ଳ

It took a lot of convincing for Kenma to even step inside. Turns out ‘so you don’t try to escape’ isn’t a very persuasive reason.

But I managed, like I always do.

“Out with it already.”

Kenma, who’s sat all stiff like a stick got shoved up his ass, stares at the coffee table ahead of him like it’ll tell him what to say.

“Oh my fucking god I’m going to strangle you—say something!”

He glances at me. “You don’t have to yell,” he sighs, pursing his lips. “I just wanted some time alone this week. Sorry, I guess.”

“You guess, huh?” I squint. “So you’ve been blowing me off instead of just telling me this, because…?”

“…I haven’t been sleeping well, so I was tired. Talking is tiring.”

"Well, obviously you don’t sleep well; you don’t sleep at all. Put down your switch sometimes.”

“It’s…” He sighs again, rubbing his hands on his face. “Not because of that.”

“Mkay…do you need melatonin? Cause I have-”

“It’s not that either. Just drop it, you can't..." His leg starts bouncing. “It’s not something you can fix. It’ll pass. Eventually. I think.”

“So until it passes, you’re gonna keep treating me like shit?” I get no response and yet it’s all the response I need.

I lay down on my back and rest my legs on his lap. He shoots me a look of mild disgust when I wiggle my toes.

“Well. Too bad for you, you’re not leaving until you vow to end your jackassery.”

“You said you’d let me leave if I told you why I’ve been acting off.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You can’t just do that.”

“I just did.”

When Kenma tries me, I sit back up and wrap my hand around his wrist.

“Just make the vow, and I’ll let you go.” Unfortunately, Kenma’s pride is taller than both of us combined.

Like two street cats, we have a stare-off. Our narrowed eyes—filled with a week's worth of tension—survey the other. We don’t move, nor do we say a word. Until Kenma tries to escape again and I pounce.

My left hand interlocks with his while I attempt to pull him on the couch. “You’re such a big fucking man-child!” He scoffs at my words, locking our right hands together too.

“Being friends with you is so-" I kick his thigh. “Exhausting!”

His whole face scrunches in pain and he brings a hand to stop my leg by my ankle. While he’s distracted, I seize the chance to throw myself at him, making him fall backwards on the couch. He doesn’t let up.

"None of my friends have a problem with me-"

He lifts himself—and me—up and flips so that I’m under him. Fuck, I underestimated his strength. My hands start to give way as I look for an opportunity to chicken out, but he makes sure I don’t fall out of his grasp.

His nose scrunches as he yells. “Because none of them are as nearly as clingy as you!” Kenma’s close enough for the blonde tips of his hair to brush my cheeks, for his scowling expression to be all I see.

His hands are still intertwined with mine—pressed against the couch on either side of my head. He's in between my parted legs, leaning over me all breathless and frustrated, and-

I watch as Kenma’s face goes from angry to confused to mortified. He freezes, eyes wide.

When I try to get out from under him (since this entire situation is making me think things I definitely shouldn’t), he doesn’t let go of me.

“…Kenma?”

My voice wakes him up, and he backs himself all the way to the other arm of the couch.

A raging blush has spread from his cheeks to his ears and neck. He’s breathing way too hard for a tussle that barely lasted a minute. And also…

He pulled a blanket over himself. His lower, self.

“Oh.” I look at him, then the cover, then back at him.

I gently tug on it, but he doesn’t let me take it off.

Oh.

It all clicks.

Why he’s been so standoffish, why he’s been avoiding my eyes, why he’s been so awkward around me!

He covers himself as much as he can, and turns away. You’d almost think he put himself in timeout, with how horrible his posture is.

I stop him from getting up by pulling on his arm.

“Wait, you can’t leave—you’re…” I clear my throat. “You know.”

I get to see his expression, but it’s not of much help since he looks like his soul left his body.

“At least deal with it before you go, I don’t think you want anyone on campus to see you walking around with that.”

“…Don’t say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Dealing with it! It’s not something I can cast a spell on!—I’d have to...to..." He can’t seem to finish.

“What if I did it for you?”

He looks at me like I’ve grown a third head.

His nervous, shaky breaths send chills up my spine. Can he really not tell how bad I have it for him?

Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning in to kiss him. It takes only a moment for him to kiss back.

I pull myself away.

Our eyes shake in mutual surprise. He’s surprised I kissed him. I’m surprised he kissed back.

I lean in again. This time, I notice that his lips are slightly chapped. But his hair, in which I slip my fingers in, is soft. His hands hold onto my waist for dear life while I kiss him silly.

A thin string of saliva connects our lips when we part. That’s the moment I know we’re screwed. Kenma has a look I’ve never seen him wear, but I know what it means.

I know what he wants, and I want the exact same thing.

ଳ

Kenma’s laid down on the couch, barely hanging onto reality with me on his lap.

“Mmh—fuck…” His hands grip my bare thighs as he watches me take his dick out his boxers. He’s so slick, it’s almost worrying. But I keep my mouth shut cause I know I’m in the same boat.

He grabs my wrist when I try to stroke him.

“I’m not…going to last if you…" He chokes on a whine when I tighten my grip and stroke him anyway. “Did you not hear me!?”

I snicker. Might as well get my fun in now, because I have no idea how that’s going to fit. Kenma’s one step ahead of me, having slid the bridge of my panties to the side.

"Someone's…eager." I mumble.

I lift my hips up, and he rubs his tip along my pussy before slotting it against me. His quiet whimpers encourage me to take more of him—but I shouldn’t have believed them. They’re evil.

“Kenma—Kenma, I can't..." I press my eyes shut as he gently pushes me down.

"It's...almost over, just a little bit more..." He mumbles, watching how he sinks into me with attentive eyes. He’s right—I’m back to sitting in his lap a few seconds later. Except he’s twitching inside me.

When his hands find my hips, I’m riding him before I know it. I press my hands flat on his chest and hump so many sweet sounds out of his wet lips. I join in when his thumb finds my clit.

It’s so, so hard to keep quiet, but I do a far better job than Kenma, who’s a mess beneath me. So he reaches for my nape and pulls me down to kiss him, and now I can’t muffle my moans.

“Fuck—you’re evil.” I cry when he starts thrusting upwards, my insides turning into mush.

Most of them hit the front—pressing on my bladder, but every so often the curve of his dick straightens out, and my cervix faces the brunt of his hips.

His free hand pulls up the back of my right knee, and the reason is lost to me until I see him hypnotized by the spot where his dick slides in. I can’t help the way I clench, and seeing his face only makes me do it again.

"Ngh—keep...keep doing that—please, I'm—haah—"

I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. His pathetic sounds right next to my ear are enough, let alone the ones of his cock slapping just beneath us, or the shocks of pleasure that shoot up my body at every squeeze of my throbbing clit.

It’s getting so good until I hear his voice tremble too much—and if my instincts know anything, it's that he’s close.

"Kenma…" I whine, voice low. “Kenma—I know…I know you’re close, but…please don't..."

“Please don’t cum just yet…just hold it in, I’m almost—“

He starts snapping his hips so fast that it hurts—but then he slows. The feeling of warmth spilling inside me brings me over the edge, my muscles slackening at the waves of pleasure.

I heave for air and push myself up, cringing at the feeling of his cum dripping from my cunt.

Then I look at his face. He’s out like a light; mouth parted, eyes rolled back. Yet his hold on me doesn’t falter. I try and try, but can’t seem to get off.

“Wait...” he mumbles. He’s awake?

“We’re—ha—not done yet."

a/n ଳ I hope it lived up to your expectationssss! Like always, please feel free to comment, I appreciate them very much! Btw, my requests are open, so…👀

content ଳ dad!ushijima/mom!reader, pregnant!reader, fluffff, jjk sneak 👀, twin kids, ushijima making sure his kids go d1 lmao

a/n ଳ oh my broooo I deleted the post where I asked for requests and didn’t know it would also erase the comments I got on it from my inbox…😭. Hope who wanted this somehow finds it!

I’m too lazy to write it out so btw, the twins are 8 years old.

With the warmth of summer quickly approaching, Wakatoshi figured it was the perfect time to set up the volleyball posts and net, thinking the fresh air would do the kids some good.

He underestimated how much of a hassle it would be. Severely.

“Yuuji. That is not the form I taught you.”

“Yes it is!”

“…No.”

Wakatoshi walks over and squats in front of him. “Your platform is weak. Your fingers are interlocked. It could lead to injury.”

Yuuji whines, letting his arms flop about.

“Just toss it to me already! I’ll get it this time—like Ninja Shoyo!”

‘Toshi doesn’t react much, but his eyes narrow just enough for you to note his disdain. What did that poor guy ever do to him?

“…Do not mention that man in this household.”

“But we’re outsi—“

You cut Yuuji off with a look from the patio, Yuuka dozing off in your arms. Drop it. Sometimes it’s best not to question your husband’s antics.

Wakatoshi gets up and heads to the other side of the net. “Prepare yourself.”

Yuuji assumes formation—floppy arms stretched out, legs bent oddly, form unfitting of the progeny of one of Japan’s most athletic men.

Still, he’s grinning like he’s already won. Now that’s one thing he gets from his daddy.

Wakatoshi smirks.

“You got this, Yuu!” you call, gently bouncing Yuuka. She doesn’t wake up, though you’re sure she’d extend her support if she did (she wouldn’t).

Wakatoshi tosses the ball, high enough so that a boy of Yuuji’s stature could easily get under it a dozen times. But he just stands there, waiting for the ball to somehow bend to his will and deviate mid-course to land on his arms.

He watches it drop two feet away from him. Then he frowns—and both of you know what that entails. A pout. Then the crossing of his arms, the shake of his head. What comes after?

…Best not to think about it.

You shoot your husband a look. He nods, like he understands.

“You failed to receive the ball because you did not move to it.”

Absolutely not.

Yuuji’s lip trembles. You glare harder.

“But it is the truth.”

You vigorously shake your head.

Wakatoshi sighs, glancing at Yuuji—those watery eyes that always remind him of yours—and crouches.

“Hinata would have gone for the ball.”

“…Sniff… really?”

“Yes. Even if he is not certain, he still gives it his all. Hinata is—”

“Ninja Shoyo.”

“…Ninja Shoyo is a skilled receiver because he has put in a lot of work, to make up for his many, many shortcomings. Although you outclass him in every way, I could ask him to train you.”

“Yes! Yes! Yesh!!!”

Tantrum averted.

Yuuji cheers, doing a little dance before launching himself into his dad’s arms.

Wakatoshi catches him, already looking mildly inconvenienced by his own solution, and walks over to you.

“Switch?” You raise a brow. He nods.

You gently wake Yuuka, as Yuuji takes her former place on your lap and starts gushing all about Shoyo, much to his father’s dismay.

ଳ

“Again.”

Yuuka has missed five spikes in a row. While he may be a wing spiker, ‘Toshi’s sets aren’t that horrendous. Her fails are due to a mix of her timing, her incredibly short jumps—which put shame to her height—and her blind trust in her dad to have the ball set exactly where she needs it to be.

Meaning, her eyes have been closed this entire time.

Yuuka swings her long arm in the air, and misses yet another toss. It bumped the top of her head. You have to pinch Yuuji’s cheeks to stop him from giggling.

“Again,” she says, but Wakatoshi denies her of a toss.

“You can jump higher. Bend your knees, and push off with both legs at the same time. Use your arms as momentum.” He pauses. “And keep your eyes open.”

She blinks once. Then twice, glancing at her feet.

“Higher?” she mumbles, and he nods. “Okay. I’ll try.”

And so she backs up, a couple steps from the net. Left leg infront, eyes trailed on Wakatoshi. He counts down before setting the ball high.

She follows through—left, right, left—her knees bending as she channels all her strength, arms swinging down to aid in her ascent—she launches herself with everything she’s got, and—

…misses the ball.

Wakatoshi sighs.

“Good attempt.”

Yuuji, head firmly buried in your chest, pouts. “Dad’s never said that to me.” Wakatoshi hears it.

“You have not attempted.”

ଳ

With Wakatoshi having taken both of the kids from your arms, you’ve been able to catch up on your reading. Journal a little, too. But it’s nothing compared to taking videos of how serious Wakatoshi looks while teaching them obscure volleyball concepts.

Yuuka nods along, treating every word he says like the holy grail, while Yuuji tugs on the wrist of his much taller sister for them to do literally anything else.

It’s always funny seeing them side by side. Despite having grown in the same womb, Yuuka sure was better fed.

You rub your belly, round with a third. Not too long till baby Megumi gets here. As much of a blessing he is, it’d be a lie to pretend as if you don’t miss being a part of the fun.

You could try, technically, but Wakatoshi and Yuuka would just be wrecked with quiet, intense worry. Ha, only a few months left…

Suddenly, Yuuji crawls onto you, short arms barely reaching halfway up your torso, his plushy cheeks pressed against your collarbone. Yuuka isn’t far behind, her head gently resting on your bump.

Wakatoshi is the third to follow, two water bottles in his hands.

“We’ve decided to take a short break. Hydration is important.”

“Cuddles are important-er,” Yuuka corrects.

Wakatoshi hums, then quietly sets the bottles aside without argument, lowering himself beside you. One large hand comes to rest against Yuuka’s cheek, his thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over her skin.

You nuzzle your head just beneath his chin, and his other arm wraps around you with ease, fingers threading gently through Yuuji’s hair.

“Indeed, they are.”

ଳ

“Mm-mm!”

Yuuji is firm in his decision to cling onto his mom, despite how tired you are from constantly having him on you. Genuinely, you have no idea how he’s that heavy.

A long, exhausted sigh escapes you when he latches onto your wrist, though when Wakatoshi picks him up like the princess he is, he’s not nearly as defiant.

“I like this. You should just do this every time.”

Wakatoshi sends him a pointed look.

“You will now practice.”

Yuuji frowns, then pouts, then tears up so quickly that by the time he’s out of ‘Toshi’s arms, he’s crying in yours. Even though you know you shouldn’t, you still coddle him like the baby he is.

You’ll have to correct this someday—but that day isn’t today.

You glance back at Wakatoshi, who’s moved on to peppering with Yuuka. All you see are two Wakatoshis. Same eyebrows, same focused frown, same posture. You’d think she was his clone if you didn’t distinctly remember the torture you went through during birth.

Truly unfair.

Wakatoshi sends the ball a bit too far, but it doesn’t bother Yuuka. She sets it back perfectly over the net, into his hands. He catches it, eyes slightly wide, then tells her to do it again.

She does. Then she starts setting to herself—different heights, different speeds…

One of Wakatoshi’s rare, feral smiles spreads across his face.

“It seems I have been too close-minded. I will contact Kageyama.”

ଳ

“They are steadily improving,” he says, tucking the twins into bed.

Yuuji’s bed is on the top bunk, though he never sleeps there. He much prefers curling up beside his sister, and she rarely has any complaints.

Their soft snores are almost enough to lull you. Your husband smiles faintly before picking you up from where you lean against the doorframe.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. That’s good.”

By the time you reach your bed, you’ve already fallen asleep against his shoulder. Today’s been a sleepy day for the whole family—but you never quite got your turn.

Wakatoshi lowers you carefully, far more gently than someone of his size should be capable of. His hand lingers at your waist, then returns to your stomach, fingers splaying protectively over the curve.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then another one just above it, before staying there a moment longer.

“Rest well,” he murmurs.

Even as you sleep, you instinctively lean into him, and he doesn’t move away.

Instead, he adjusts the blankets, tucks you in properly, and settles beside you—hands never quite leaving you, as he too, falls asleep.

content ଳ smut!, ushijima/fem!reader, uh that’s about it

a/n ଳ Saw this Ushijima edit a while ago and it really worked me up so I js had to get it of my chest #poundtownnn🤤

Ushijima is a monster.

Anyone who’s seen him play knows it—anyone who’s ever witnessed his raw power.

It’s the kind that sticks in your mind long after the game ends. Partly because you’re pretty sure that your arms would snap if you ever tried to receive one of his serves, but mostly because he’s absurdly attractive. Overly so. One person really doesn’t need to be that hot. It’s borderline greedy of him, honestly.

…Anyways.

Your little story started when your roommate dragged you to the school’s gym, going on and on about some guitarist on the volleyball team.

Sports weren’t your thing, especially not during exam week, so you told her that making googoo eyes at the players would have to wait.

She didn’t take it too well. At all, really, cause you ended up going and got to see Shiratorizawa’s pride and joy, Ushijima Wakatoshi, in the flesh.

Somehow, despite his sheer size and presence, he’d completely slipped past you. And with a growing grin on your face, you swore he’d never slip from you again.

You stayed for the entire game. Anyone could tell how good he was, and it only made you more eager for the slip-up you were sure would come. You’d be damned if you didn’t get to see his pretty little face twist at least once. Something in you knew that desperation would look nice on him.

Call it a perversion, or a kink, or whatever—you were going to see it.

But it never came.

Ushijima never lost.

You could tell from his record, sure, but his face said it all. It never betrayed a hint of doubt or anxiety. He never wavered—never even scowled.

Because to him, the outcome was already decided. His strength trumped everything. Forget grace or elegance, because his power was more than enough to carry his team to victory.

You befriended him—somewhat—after many embarrassing attempts. All to figure out what went on in that pretty little head.

“You think I’m arrogant?”

“No,” you huffed a quiet laugh, “I just think you don’t even consider the possibility of losing.”

He didn’t look offended. If anything, he seemed to consider it.

“…Because I won’t.”

But he did.

For all his talk, his team—Miyagi’s best—got beaten by a back-alley unknown school.

And you paid the price.

“Stay still.” His grip borders on bruising as he pulls on your hips, cock burying itself back inside your needy pussy.

You don’t know how it happened. He was mad and frustrated, and he crumbled just like you thought he would—but then he saw you in the halls, and you smiled at him, but then he grabbed you by the wrist and…and—

"Ngh—shit...Ushijima-ah!" Your knees buckle from his harsh thrusts. He’s mean, so mean and it’s all because of his stupid loss!

It’s been ages of this slow, torturous fucking, and every time you think you’ve adjusted, he pounds the thought out of you—the bastard.

When another whine of his name escapes your throat, he finally speaks.

“I’m not as unaware as you think I am.”

A hand slides up your back, pushing you further down into the mattress. Every wet squelch from his deep thrusts gets you all choked up, and it draws a shaky laugh out of him.

“You desired me,” he says, “yet still wished to see me fail. You did a poor job of hiding either.”

A quiet breath leaves him.

“It intrigued me,” he adds, “but I can’t have you making…a mockery of me.“

A..A mockery? “Is…that—ugh—seriously why you decided to…to screw me? Hnh…because your massive ego got a little bruised!?”

You scrape together what remains of your strength and turn your head. His head hangs low, lips parted and wet, eyes barely open as they track you.

“…Yes.”

The strain in your neck becomes too much, so you try to turn away, but Ushijima just rolls you onto your back and…holy. Actually seeing where his dick goes inside is a…a whole new thing. Makes it worse. So much worse.

Ushijima’s lips come to kiss your shoulder far too gently for how he’s been acting.

“I..I knew there was something wrong with you. Freak of nature is what you are..ha..”

“Say whatever you want,” he smiles—you feel it, “you’re still holding onto me.”

And you are. Your nails have long been clawing at his broad back, marking him as yours while he takes his sweet time breeding you.

If he had his way, sex would’ve lasted the whole night—maybe even till morning. But Tendou walked in on both of you a few moments later, so…

a/n ଳ found this in the drafts of my old acc and I thought I’d post it here :3

Eren Jeager likes necks.

It's the favourite part of his body, and subsequently, yours. The way you palm your neck when you're nervous, or how you try to hide the marks he bestowed on you the night before using foundation—something about it turns him on. Even when it's not fueling his desires, simply buring his head in the crook of your neck is enough. When he's close to you like that, he's safe.

Armin Arlert adores your eyes.

The colour, the shade, the way they shimmer when you talk about your favourite shows, or the way they go so soft when they land on him. Unsurprisingly, eye contact makes him nervous, though being reduced to a fool by it (blushing like the sun suddenly got closer (you are his sun)) is all worth it when he gets to sees that addictive shine of yours again.

And you could probably guess this one, but his fear of eye contact magically disappears in bed.

Connie Springer loves boobs.

A boob guy, he calls himself, and a boob guy he is. But he doesn't like any boob, he likes yours. He loves the way after a long (5 minute) study session, the best pillows in the world are ready for him to lay his head on. He’s there to listen to whatever you want to talk about, though he often nods off at the sound of your heartbeat.

He knows Jean would tease him (and when he found out, did) about being little spoon. But no man in his right mind would ever reject your inviting arms. Whether it’s laying together on the bed, or him putting his full weight on you on the couch—all Connie ever wants is for you to hold him.

Jean Kirstein cannot keep his hands off your back.

It's almost like it's made for him, the way his hands fit just right—his touch sending sparks up your spine.

Once, you said a sentence with "pain" in it, and he immediately got to taking off your shirt for a back massage—full on ignoring that you said knee pains.

Although you're completely sure he offered one only to get off on feeling your back, it...worked. Want a massage? soon became Jean’s catchphrase.

Bertholdt Hoover will never get enough of your scent.

Before you both started dating, it was a source of shame for him. Smelling the hoodies that his friend left over was a level of creep that Bertholdt never thought he’d reach.

He wouldn’t even get off to it (lies), only occasionally falling asleep with it by his side—your scent making it easy to imagine that you were really there. And then the habit of seeking your scent stuck.

Now that you’re dating, it’s less pervy. You find it sweet how he notices everything, down to your change of shampoo. He can even tell whether or not your hormones are balanced.

And no, it’s not because he smells your panties, it’s because you ride his nose every other day. ;)

It’s so obvious who my faves are 😭😭

content ଳ childhood friend!atsumu & fem!reader, pure fluff, osamu’s lowkey a caring brother, nobody can stand Atsumu other than osamu (and you), did I say fluff? Fluff!!

a/n ଳ request by @moristhesecond! I had so much fun writing this last night that I fell asleep and forgot to post 💔

It would be a bald-faced lie to say that Atsumu had always been popular. It would still be a lie to say it now, but that’s not the point.

Atsumu was a special kid. Special in many ways. First of all, he had a twin. Walking around with a clone by your side was pretty much the best party trick you could hope to have.

Osamu was much more than that, though. He was his other half—someone always by his side, someone he could always count on, even if Atsumu ate his lunches every other day.

Throughout elementary, he was the only one to keep Atsumu in check. Contain his…other special quirks.

“Shut yer traps!”

“Bunch of idiots!”

“You simpletons can’t get anything right!”

Yeah, Osamu was worried—very worried—when he learned that they wouldn’t be in the same class in sixth grade. But little did he know that Atsumu would meet his match.

“Hey, stinkface—could you move yer big head outta the way?”

You knew Atsumu could see the teacher just fine (how couldn’t he, with those huge bug eyes…). All he wanted was a rise out of you. You knew this. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“What d’you even need to see the board for? Not like you’re gonna pass math.”

“I so am!”

“Do four plus three minus nine, right now!”

Atsumu blinked, then quickly glanced down at his fingers.

“Uh—”

“Knew you couldn’t do it, ya dork!”

“Shut yer trap!”

Oops. He’d slammed his palms on the table and shot up from his seat. Everyone’s eyes landed on him in confusion, and a small blush started to creep up his neck.

“Miya, detention.”

You smirked.

“You too, missy.”

“What?!”

“Haha! Who’s the dork now?!”

“Miya…”

“Sorry, teach!”

Atsumu didn’t have many friends, as you could probably guess. His classmates had started distancing themselves from him a few months into the year. His wonderful personality wasn’t exactly a fan favorite.

You had moved schools—moved prefectures—and, by the will of fate, got placed into his class. And well, the rest is history.

You weren’t his friend. At least, you don’t think you were. Though if you weren’t, then there was no way to explain all the moments you shared.

The times he’d look around, catch sight of you, and trot right over to plop down next to you—like all his complaining about your cooties had never happened.

“Move. This seat’s mine.”

“There’s like five empty ones.”

“Yeah, well—I picked this one, didn’t I?”

How he’d always pick arguments about every little thing—your handwriting, your favorite color—just to keep you talking to him for a while longer.

“Yer letters look weird.”

“At least I can spell.”

“I got a 62 on my last test!”

“…Is that supposed to be impressive?”

How he’d groan like a big baby whenever he got paired up with you on projects, but never actually tried to get rid of you.

“Ugh, why d’I always get stuck with you?”

“I’ll gladly swap places.”

“…Nah. Not like anyone else can read yer dookie handwriting.”

How he’d complain every time you forgot your lunch, but wouldn’t hesitate to share his—going on and on about how grateful you should be.

“Ya owe me for this, y’know.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Too bad. Eat.”

How you’d show up to every game he invited you to, and how, after every service ace—every cool move—he’d whip his head around just to see if you saw it.

“Oi—did ya see that?!”

“See what?”

“Tch—yer the worst!”

And of course, who could forget the way he stalled—the way he pretended to be busy while you packed up at the end of the day, just so you both could leave at the same time.

“Hurry up already.”

“You’re the one not leaving.”

“I’m countin’ to a hundred.”

“We both know you can’t count that high.”

“Shaddup!”

Yeah, you were friends. Even if neither of you would ever admit to it.

Osamu didn’t have to worry as much as he thought he would.

Because Atsumu still had someone keeping him in check, to fight back—to butt heads with when he got too cocky. And maybe that was it.

Osamu couldn’t have hoped for any more.

synopsis ଳ kageyama learns how close you are to Oikawa, and faces feelings he never thought he’d harbor for you.

content ଳ jealous!kageyama/fem!reader, oikawa who just loves taunting him, friends to crushes, fluff, lowk crackfic, my mind says this is ooc but my heart is saying otherwise, oneshot.

word count ଳ ~2.6k

a/n ଳ To my dear requestor, this ones for you! Talking about requests, I’ll try and respond to them soon, but they’ll probably be up after this week cause of exams 💔

Kageyama will never forget the day he met you.

The sky was bright—promising—as falling sakura petals framed his view of Karasuno. It didn’t show, but he was nervous for his first day. The crows were far from his first pick, but he’d have to settle.

You were carelessly running to the gates that day and, in typical you fashion, didn’t notice how your laces had undone themselves. You fell. By instinct, you reached out to the closest thing you could.

You reached out to the legs of the person in front of you.

Actually, no…no you didn’t. More so their pants.

And since Kageyama Tobio had the misfortune of not having worn a belt that morning, you pulled them right down. Woosh, just like that.

He wondered why everyone was staring at him—until he felt…a breeze.

A week’s worth of milk wouldn’t be enough—not even a month’s worth. A lifetime supply would barely even skim the top of what you owed his dignity.

Though when you offered, with your desperate apologies, he didn’t say no. He didn’t say yes either, but you must’ve missed it.

That was supposed to be the end of it.

You being nothing more than the girl in his class who passed him a milk carton every morning.

But then he saw you at volleyball practice with a clipboard in your hand.

And that very evening, after an awkward walk home where he thought you were following him, he learned that you both lived only a few streets apart.

This all meant you were stuck together. Love at first pantsing, you called it. You have a dumb term for everything.

Point is, you—the girl who owed him everything and more—somehow became his friend.

Close would be the last word he’d use, but it’s the word that Hinata whispered to the others when he caught wind of the whole milk-debt thing.

Now he can’t even be in the same room as you without Nishinoya wiggling his eyebrows and Tanaka making smooching noises. It’s been starting to get on his nerves.

He’s closer to Hinata than you—he’d even go the mile to say that he’s closer to…to Tsukishima (eugh) than you.

Well, no, not that far. You’re nice to be around, sometimes. Anyway, he doesn’t like you. You don’t like him, either. Yet his teammates are having a hard time believing it.

“Kageyama, you alright? You’re sort of…out of it.”

He watches your eyes slowly widen. Then you back up, leg reaching into the aisle of the bus, bracing yourself for impact.

“Don’t tell me you’re anxious too!? Open the window—fucking open it! Don’t you dare get any on me!”

“Huh?”

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut at the inevitable. A sorrowful smile paints your face as a single tear falls.

“God, if you’re hearing me, please don’t let it smell.”

Kageyama’s cheeks flare up.

“I’m not Hinata, why would I vomit on you!?” The faint voice of said boy defending himself is heard, though ignored. “Tsk, I was thinking about…the game.”

You almost laugh out of relief and sink back into the seat. “Oh—oh, I was scared. Please don’t do that to me again.” You ignore the stink eye he gives you.

“Thinking about your beloved Kitagawa teammates, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Ooh,” you smirk. “You nerrrvous?”

He looks out the window, no particular expression on his face. “I might’ve been if we were on the same team. But since they’re my opponents…I’ll fight with all I’ve got.”

“…Shit, that was kind of cool.”

“It was cool, stupid.”

“If Daichi had said it, it would’ve been. But you saying it removes at least ten cool points.”

Kageyama’s convinced you make up half the things you say on the spot.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You inch closer and show him your phone, as if reels of ‘hype volleyball moments’ explain everything.

“It’s an actual thing, you know. The cooler you are—the more imposing you are, the more you affect the other team’s psyche. Your mere presence on the court becomes an advantage.”

When he doesn’t furrow his brows at you, you take it as an invitation.

You grin. “Thought you’d never ask. Now, to begin. Using one’s coolness is called aura farming, and what aura farming is…”

ଳ

Ah, how he’s missed this.

The thrill of competition, of having his tosses be the ones to score his team a point. It doesn’t matter how low the bump is—as long as it’s up, he’ll set it.

Iwaizumi serves. Ennoshita shoddily bumps it up with the side of his forearm. He yells an apology, but Kageyama’s too busy getting under the ball. He doesn’t have much time. Who to pick?

Tanaka’s free, but he’s far, and running the chance of being blocked is too risky. Daichi’s out for the same reason.

Tsukishima’s close enough for a quick, though his approach is sloppy. He’d have to set him a ball farther from the net, limiting his options on where to spike. Too easy to predict.

So there’s only Hinata left—already in the air for a back set, eyes closed. He’ll be able to get past the blockers; Kageyama’s sure.

So that’s where the ball goes, into the path of Hinata’s ready swing.

The ball hits the floor before anyone has a chance to react. Karasuno won the second set. The schools are tied.

“Woah! Suck on that, Seijoh—!” Kiyoko materializes beside you, her disapproving look enough to make you bow in apology.

Right after, you pull Kageyama aside and show him notes—good notes on the game—before…regressing.

“Your aura career is over. You had so many chances but you took too long. You know you have a nasty glare, so use it!” Your index finger wags at one of the players. “Try it out on that guy first, he’s basically begging for it.”

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“You were mean-mugging Tsukishima five minutes ago, what are you on about?”

“I mean that I’m not…the king, anymore.”

“So? This tactic has nothing to do with your tragic backstory—thought we went over this on the bus.”

“Then why are you smiling at them like that?”

“Like what?” You smirk at the huddled Seijoh players. When Kindaichi meets your eyes, you raise your chin at him. “What’s he looking at?”

“You’re the one who’s staring.”

“You never take my side with these things! Ha, just go sit down or something.”

And he was going to, he really was. But the figure behind you catches Kageyama’s eye—it being none other than Seijoh’s captain.

“(Y/n)-chan? Is that you making faces at my juniors?”

Oikawa cranes his head to see your face. As soon as you lock eyes, all the life drains out of you. Kageyama is forced to watch as Seijoh’s captain picks you up and spins you around like a ragdoll.

Only when he puts you down does Oikawa acknowledge him.

“Hey, Tobio-chan! Long time no see. Still doing that king thing?”

The Tobio-chan in question doesn’t reply, currently stuck on why Oikawa’s arm is around you. On what just happened a second ago, too.

Oikawa notices his discomfort—of course he does—and pulls you close enough to rest his cheek against your head.

Kageyama’s eyes never leave him, and in response, Oikawa smiles.

“Leave him alone, Tooru.”

Tooru?

“Leave me alone while you’re at it.”

“So mean. I can’t believe you have demands after weeks of ghosting me. And you were intimidating my team!” He sighs. “At least you came to see us. Though shouldn’t you be up on the balcony? This is a practice…” His eyes trail down to the clipboard in your hands. “Match.”

The glances at Kageyama, then to the rest of the team behind him. He looks at Shimizu, then you, then back to Shimizu.

“(Y/n), you’re not—no.” He covers his mouth. “Oh, the betrayal. Manager of another team? Is this what you’ve been up to?”

“It’s not—”

“Shh, you traitor.” With his index finger pressed against your lips and a frown, your Tooru returns to his teammates. They stare at him pretty much the same way the team is staring at you now.

You turn around and ignore it.

“So, where was I? Oh—go sit down. Want some water?”

“You know Oikawa, (L/n)?”

“Huh?” You look back. “No. Never met him.”

“But you-”

“I said I don’t know the guy! Now sit. The third set is about to-”

Like clockwork, the referee blows his whistle. The break is done, and it’s time for the third set.

“What’d I tell you? You better not pass out.”

With a harsh slap on the back, you send him onto the court.

Kageyama doesn’t notice how his eyes linger on Oikawa. Though you sure do. And like you do with everything, you make it known.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about! Onion head’s over here though, so if you could—yeah! Now stay like that—”

God is he glad for Shimizu, who clamps a hand over your mouth.

ଳ

They won against Aoba Johsai, 2–1. It wasn’t easy, especially not when Oikawa subbed in for the last few rallies. His serves have gotten way better, though that wasn’t a surprise. Kageyama will just have to catch up.

He knows he will.

But then he glances at the empty spot to his left, and something in him stirs.

Hinata’s head slowly creeps over his seat, and Kageyama’s already pissed without even knowing what he wants.

“So, Kageyama. Seems like you weren’t all that close to (L/n) after all.

Here we go again.

“It never was like that—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, idiot.”

“Or you confessed and she rejected you ‘cause she like-likes the great king.”

Kageyama instinctively pulls the boy up by his collar. It’s hard to keep a tight grip with how bumpy the ride is, but Hinata’s smug face is more than enough fuel.

“Stop talking out of your ass! She’s not dating Oikawa!”

Hinata’s all giggly, barely containing his laughter by pressing his fingers to his lips.

“Sheesh, Kageyama…so defensive! I didn’t know you cared so much about those things. Unless…”

He’s been baited.

“I—I don’t…I don’t like her!” Fuck, why is he stuttering!?

Daichi yells at both of them to sit down, so with a scowl, Kageyama’s hold on Hinata slackens just enough for the boy to wiggle away. That annoying-ass ginger…

“Seems like the king is having love problems.”

“Shut up, Tsukishima!”

Whether or not you were Seijoh’s secret spy was the talk of the team on their bus ride back. Then it switched to whether they could convince you to defect and become their double agent. And then Kageyama somehow got included.

Sure, he’s as confused as the next person about why you’d let Oikawa walk you home (how does he even know where you live??), but he’s not some snooping jerk who doesn’t know when to drop things.

It’s all dumb, and stupid, and he shouldn’t spend another second mulling over it.

…

He mulls over it all the way home. Don’t think he didn’t try to stop—because he did. You’re the one who planted a chip in his brain or something.

He can’t even do his hundred sets before bed in peace. The only other time something bothered him to this point was when he had to show his report card to Miwa. And that was a bad day.

Does he need to go for a run?

He glances outside at the dark sky and decides against it. As bad as he is at school, he’s always on time. Though what’s the point of being on time if he can’t stay awake? There’s no way he’s falling asleep anytime soon.

He doesn’t notice at first. But by the third, he gets up to see who the hell is throwing rocks at his window.

An oddly you-shaped figure is standing on the sidewalk.

He turns to go back, but you throw some more pebbles up.

His pocket buzzes. His phone screen lights up.

come outsideeee!! I wanna get some snacks

Kageyama types faster than he can think.

No.

You wave your hands at him, though whatever symbol you make isn’t too clear.

🖕you

Ah.

after all my support today?? genuinely can’t stand you bro

Then sit me

soooo funny 😂😂 now come outside or I’ll send the pictures of you drooling in class to the gc

He knew that would come back to bite him one day...

Fine.

ଳ

“Aaah, Kageyama.” You repeatedly push the steaming nikuman to his lips, and he’s so defiant—yet ends up opening his mouth. Abandoning his dignity is a recurring theme with you.

Your deal was that in exchange for him carrying your bags all the way to your house, you’d feed him some of your snacks. Kageyama feels like he got played. You’re smiling a bit too hard for this to be an equal trade.

“Woah, here comes the airrplaneee!”

Yeah, he got played.

He ignores you and looks up. The sun has long disappeared past the horizon, leaving the sky dark with shades of blue, purple, and pink. Stars stretch as far as the eye can see.

Click!

You took a picture of him.

“You’re pretty cute when you’re not frowning all the time.” You show him your phone, and it’s weird to say, but he looks nice. You take nice pictures.

This time, when you bring the bun up to his mouth, he takes a bite without fighting. He can bear with your creepy smiles.

When he finishes the bun, you start feeding him pocky. The silence is nice—until his lips act on their own.

“Are you dating Oikawa? You call him by his first name.”

Your smile comes too easily as you lean forward to see his face. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

The pause lasts for way too long before he shakes his head in denial. He really can’t blame you for laughing. His ears turn red—though it’s probably from the cold.

“Tooru’s my neighbor. He’s been my neighbor forever, so we grew up together.” You shrug.

“We’re not dating. He’s not my type, anyway. Too loud. Way too many fangirls. And he’s a third year, so he’s basically geriatric.”

You sound genuine, though the memory of Oikawa tugging you close with that smirk on his face isn’t very reassuring. Not that he needs to be reassured about anything.

“Don’t worry, I like you better. Your personality is leagues ahead of his. So are your looks.”

“I didn’t ask you that so you could…compliment me.”

“Sure, sure.” You press a pocky to his lips, but he’s not feeling it. More for you.

He chokes on his spit when you eat it instead.

“And by the way, I’m not a spy or anything. In case that’s why you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I forgot to buy you your daily milk.” He rolls his eyes.

You reach your doorstep a few moments later, and Kageyama almost leaves after dropping the bags just past the door. You’re not sure what his issue is, but he did carry your bags all the way home, so that’s deserving of something, right?

“Lean down, I have something to tell you.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it, c’mon—we don’t have all night here.”

He brings his ear closer and closer, until he can feel your warmth against his skin.

You kiss his cheek.

Kageyama freezes.

He brings a hand up so hard he nearly slaps himself, and you double over in laughter.

“Goodnight, Tobio-chan!”

And just like that, you close the door on him.

What…what was all that?

Ha…God, you’re weird. So, so weird.

Kageyama walks home, his hands deep in his pockets, his mind as full of you as before.

— extra —

Somewhere above, Oikawa narrows his eyes at Kageyama’s figure disappearing down the street. And to think he was finally getting into the groove of studying.

Now all that’s left is a sour taste on his tongue.