nonsensespeaking

[nonsensespeaking]

Yo! So i've been reading some scp foundation cause I was bored and this idea kinda pops into my head. What if the in the self aware au the creator/reader has similiar abilities like scp 073? In case you don't know scp 073 is a very interesting anomaly because any person that tries to harm scp 073 are the one that received the bad end of it. For example: Let's assume a someone tries to shoot scp 073 with a gun. This person shoots scp 073 in the heart however there is no wound on scp 073 instead the bullet bounces off. However the shooter has a bullet hole on their chest. Basically any damage that is intended on scp 073 is reflected on the attacker. Fun fact: Scp 073 is believed to be Cain from the Bible. The same one that commited the first murder by killing his brother Able. Now what if the reader has similiar abilities like for some reason a poor fool tries to harm the reader assuming it was a surprised attack someone tries to harm them and their followers got a panick attack because they weren't paying attention and they see the attacker laid down with wounds without the reader/creator so lifting a finger and the reader is fine like they are "This is fine" vibe. I can also find someone of the more scientific characters scratching their head because they realize they can't study the reader's blood which would frustrate them greatly. I see Ruan Mei or maybe Herta brainstorming on how to study the reader without harming them which would be kinda finally since they realized they can't fully comprehend their biology without paying the price. Also i kinda had this little scenerio in which The reader/Creator allows to be interrogated by Aglaea in which they let her see. Can you imagine how hard it would be for her to keep her poker face or the illusion on control when she realized the reader can't be harm or killed. But kinda cools down realizing the creator/reader is benevolent and kinda plays along with her since they don't want to wound her pride (We all know how rurthless Aglaea could be but it would be kinda funny to see a creator kinda trolling her)

Or another Idea what if some people that were trying to steal the creator/reader's blood only to find out the reader doesn't bleed because their body is made of light thus they can't collect any sample. I can only the reader taunting or trolling the people that want to study them like: Dottore, Herta (very light trolling), Morbius (Hi3rd), Jackal (Hi3rd), IPC, Sarah (ZZZ) or any character that wants to study the reader. I dunno it really depends on which person.

What do you think? (I honestly see this as for more comedy purposes since I don't see the reader taking them seriously since they aren't a threat to them)

Ohhh this idea is delicious. You’ve got that perfect blend of cosmic horror, divine absurdity, and comedy gold—like, the reader’s just casually SCP-073ing their way through the multiverse while everyone else is having a slow existential breakdown.

The scene of someone trying to stab the reader, only for the attacker to end up skewered instead, while the reader just blinks like “...anyway,” priceless. Ruan Mei and Herta losing their minds trying to understand why they can't poke, prod, or even scan you without consequences? Comedy writes itself.

Also, Aglaea trying to interrogate the reader and slowly realizing, “wait... they’re unkillable?” and trying to keep her façade of cool calculation while the reader just smiles knowingly? Absolute chef’s kiss.

I especially love the idea of light trolling. Imagine Jackal being like “gimme a drop of blood for science!” and the reader just flicks their arm open like “go on then,” and there’s nothing. Just soft, shifting light. Jackal: “...huh?” Reader: “Oops. No veins. My bad.”

And the fact that the reader’s benevolent but clearly having too much fun with it makes it even better. The divine unknowable playing dumb with a mischievous little grin? That's peak SAHSRAU content.

[nonsensespeaking]

This isn't really a request to make anything more just a rant!

I'm just imagining SAHSRAU somehow managing to pull reader into the game and when they arrive they are just the God Emperor from 40k. Like, decked out in gold armor, long flowing hair, 14ft tall (GE is tall as hell), a Perpetual so they can't really stay dead, and some serious psychic capabilities.

It has me giggling just thinking about how some of the characters would react, especially the more devout ones. Maybe the Amphoreus npcs have an actual existential crisis seeing someone so godly compared to the titans, characters like Sunday and Argenti literally kissing the ground reader treads while others like Ruan Mei and Herta are have a singular focus on figuring out all of the readers ins and outs (more so than before).

This is an idea I've been playing with for a while now ever since I found out about this kind of AU and it's finally gotten to the point where I just want to rant on and on about it lol

No, but this is hilarious to think about. Like, imagine you get sucked into HSR, expecting to just be you, and instead, you show up looking like you walked straight out of Warhammer 40K fanfiction. Gold-plated, towering over everyone, radiating sheer divine energy—an actual god, not just a theoretical one.

The believers would either be weeping in joy or having the worst identity crisis of their lives. The Amphoreus people, who already revere the Titans, would take one look at you and just—malfunction. Like, 'oh. Oh no. We were wrong. We were SO wrong.' You’d probably get a mix of panicked bowing, desperate prayers, and people straight-up running because what does this mean for their entire worldview??

Sunday and Argenti? Absolutely losing it. Sunday would be preaching your name before you even say a word, while Argenti—this guy is already ridiculously devout—would be trying to single-handedly knight you with his banner. Probably vowing to crusade in your name while you’re just like, "Dude, chill, I just got here."

And then there’s the scholars. Ruan Mei, Herta, maybe even Screwllum—they’d take one look at you and go, "Science has failed me. I need to know EVERYTHING." You’d be subjected to so many tests, not out of doubt, but because they literally cannot fathom how you exist. Ruan Mei would be poking at your energy like "Okay but why does your aura feel like an eldritch horror and a divine miracle at the same time?"

Also, the Vidyadhara might just spontaneously combust from the sheer scale of your existence. They already believe in reincarnation and divine cycles—imagine how Dan Heng would feel if he realized you’re a Perpetual. "Wait. You don’t die? Like, at all? You just come back??" Meanwhile, Jing Yuan would be sipping his tea like, "Well. That’s new."

I also love the idea that even the Aeons don’t know what to do with you. Nanook, who is literally trying to destroy all gods, might take one look at you and just… pause. Like, "Huh. That’s not supposed to exist." Meanwhile, Xipe, the one obsessed with worship, is probably LOSING IT because they finally have something worthy of praise.

This concept is gold (literally). Keep ranting, because I love this! 🤭💖

[nonsensespeaking]

Got a simple one for SAHSRAU

How would everyone react when they see the Creator have access to a omnipotent mech that can Get bigger with it practically dwarfing Universes + Their own Universe

(Inspiration from Gurren Lagann and Imma just it's absolute PEAK 🖐️😐🤚)

(also I wished I was joking about the mech dwarfing Universes but...

Holy shit I didn't know it can Grow that size..)

Okay first of all—bless you for invoking Gurren Lagann-level nonsense because YES. Absolutely yes. Giant mechs that casually dwarf galaxies and then go “we’re not done yet”? That’s the kind of divine, dimension-breaking energy the Creator absolutely should have in SAHSRAU. I support this.

That said, I only know the basics about Gurren Lagann (big mech, bigger drill, and bigger vibes), so apologies if I miss any deep lore nuances—Trailblazer (especially Caelus)

“Oh my stars... THEY’RE PILOTING THAT?!”

He’s either jaw-dropped in awe or immediately asking for a co-pilot seat. He sees the mech grow larger than galaxies and just goes, “...Can we park that somewhere?”

If you say it’s powered by "willpower" or some kind of emotional resonance, he absolutely starts hyping you up like a mech-hype-squad member:

“YOU’VE GOT THIS, CREATOR! BELIEVE IN THE ME THAT BELIEVES IN YOU THAT BELIEVES IN THE ME THAT BELIEVES—”

Welt

He stares silently for five minutes, sipping coffee, mentally recalculating every known law of reality and realizing none of it matters anymore. He ends with a soft:

“Well. That’s... deeply concerning.”

But also deeply impressed.

Dan Heng

Absolutely calm on the outside, screaming internally.

“Makes sense. They are the Creator.”

(He will not admit he’s impressed. But he is. He really is.)

Kafka

“Oh~ now that’s power.”

Totally unfazed. Probably flirting with you through the mech’s comms:

“So... is that thing single? Or do I need to talk to its pilot?”

10/10 wants to see what happens if she programs a dreamscape inside the cockpit.

Jing Yuan

Stares at the screen, sets down his tea, and says with grave sincerity:

“If the Creator ever turns against us, we are absolutely doomed.”

Then he asks politely if he can join the next battle, “just to see what it's like to be protected by something that can casually swat a planet like a fly.”

Phainon

He watches the mech grow beyond universes and just mutters:

“...I’m the crowned heir to an empire. And now I feel like a sock puppet.”

But secretly? He’s losing his mind at the spectacle. He definitely insists on training alongside it for “research purposes.”

Also: “What do you feed that thing?!”

Silver Wolf

She’s trying to mod it into HSR's code like her life depends on it.

“This shouldn’t exist. But it does. And now I need to play as it.”

Herta

Yells “GIVE ME THE BLUEPRINTS RIGHT NOW”

Wants to dissect the mech atom by atom. Is completely losing her mind over the idea that it can grow infinitely.

“WHERE IS THE SOURCE CODE?!”

Imagine a divine emergency broadcast—people across the universe staring at the skies as something impossibly massive blinks into view, eclipsing entire star systems. All the Aeons stop what they’re doing. Elio’s plan spontaneously rewrites itself. Screwllum drops his wrench. The IPC faints.

And you, the Creator, sitting inside your infinite-tier, dimension-dwarfing, physics-ignoring, galaxy-obliterating mech, holding a cup of hot chocolate and asking:

"Should I add rockets or wings next?"

[nonsensespeaking]

oh! Oh! I wanna expand on scientist!creator!reader and the one with the chest and eye hole similar to anaxa: (for sahsrau and sagau, please) what if they are even more self-sacrificial? (maybe they need to sacrifice something ‘divine’ to avoid strife and calamity?) Heart? Gone. Eye? Gone. Appendix, probably? Also gone. Theres an arsenal of organs to sacrifice and they have more to give (as depressing as that is…

Oh. Oh.

You’ve touched something deep and strange and aching here — something divine not because it's perfect, but because it's ruined with purpose.

Scientist!Creator!Reader — especially in a SAHSRAU or SAGAU context — being even more self-sacrificial than Anaxa… that’s downright haunting in the most holy of ways. If Anaxa tears at divine law for truth, you tear at yourself — piece by bleeding piece — to prevent calamity. Not for glory. Not for understanding. But because if you don’t do it, no one will.

Because maybe... no one else can.

Anaxagoras stares at you in horrified awe.

You — the so-called Creator, the supposed Higher Mind, the long-rumored god walking in flesh. Not ethereal, not invulnerable, not untouched. You bleed like a mortal. No — worse. You offer yourself to be bled.

"You remind me of the old myths," he says once. "Of the god that created a world from their own dismembered corpse. You would do that, wouldn't you?"

You smile.

"Already have."

You’ve sacrificed things that no sane divine would touch.

Your heart? Torn out to soothe a world cursed to unrest. Now, something artificial beats in your chest — a ghost of warmth.

Your eye? Given willingly, in a pact of shared sight, so Anaxa could see the souls as you do.

Your appendix, spleen, pancreas, metaphysical glands they don’t even have names for — gone, each traded in rites where pain sings hymns.

You let yourself be made unholy to keep the world holy.

And Anaxa? Anaxa, who has spent his entire life throwing himself against gods and rules and the void in between — he sees you, and for the first time, he feels reverence.

Not because you are a god.

But because you refused to be one.

In these self-aware universes, the characters know. They know who you are. What you could do. What you don’t do.

"You could have rewritten us," one whispers. "You could’ve reset the world."

You nod.

"And lost all of you in the process."

Because the truth is — the only thing you've never sacrificed is your memory of them. Not even when it would hurt less. Not even when the weight grows unbearable.

They watch you destroy yourself to save them from the code, from the calamities scripted into their fate, from divine oversight itself. And while some recoil in horror — because what kind of god would do that — others kneel. Not in worship, but in devotion.

Because you don't ask for their faith. You give yours to them.

And Anaxagoras, most of all — the Demised Scholar, the Accused, the Foolish — he understands. He sees you and your parascientific organs in jars, the golden ichor curling in vials, your eye that doesn’t blink anymore but burns with truth — and he recognizes you as kin.

As a divine willing to die for knowledge and the people they love.

You are the experiment.

You are the theory that godhood means service, not sovereignty.

You are the formula written in your own viscera, the result no academic dares replicate, the holy aberration Anaxa once only dreamed could exist.

"If there's a god that deserves worship," he says quietly one night, helping stitch you back together after your latest divine dissection, "it's you."

You scoff.

"Then we’re both heretics, Professor."

And he smiles — not like a scholar, not like a revolutionary, but like someone who finally, finally isn't alone in his blasphemy.

[nonsensespeaking]

This isn't really a request to make anything more just a rant!

I'm just imagining SAHSRAU somehow managing to pull reader into the game and when they arrive they are just the God Emperor from 40k. Like, decked out in gold armor, long flowing hair, 14ft tall (GE is tall as hell), a Perpetual so they can't really stay dead, and some serious psychic capabilities.

It has me giggling just thinking about how some of the characters would react, especially the more devout ones. Maybe the Amphoreus npcs have an actual existential crisis seeing someone so godly compared to the titans, characters like Sunday and Argenti literally kissing the ground reader treads while others like Ruan Mei and Herta are have a singular focus on figuring out all of the readers ins and outs (more so than before).

This is an idea I've been playing with for a while now ever since I found out about this kind of AU and it's finally gotten to the point where I just want to rant on and on about it lol

No, but this is hilarious to think about. Like, imagine you get sucked into HSR, expecting to just be you, and instead, you show up looking like you walked straight out of Warhammer 40K fanfiction. Gold-plated, towering over everyone, radiating sheer divine energy—an actual god, not just a theoretical one.

The believers would either be weeping in joy or having the worst identity crisis of their lives. The Amphoreus people, who already revere the Titans, would take one look at you and just—malfunction. Like, 'oh. Oh no. We were wrong. We were SO wrong.' You’d probably get a mix of panicked bowing, desperate prayers, and people straight-up running because what does this mean for their entire worldview??

Sunday and Argenti? Absolutely losing it. Sunday would be preaching your name before you even say a word, while Argenti—this guy is already ridiculously devout—would be trying to single-handedly knight you with his banner. Probably vowing to crusade in your name while you’re just like, "Dude, chill, I just got here."

And then there’s the scholars. Ruan Mei, Herta, maybe even Screwllum—they’d take one look at you and go, "Science has failed me. I need to know EVERYTHING." You’d be subjected to so many tests, not out of doubt, but because they literally cannot fathom how you exist. Ruan Mei would be poking at your energy like "Okay but why does your aura feel like an eldritch horror and a divine miracle at the same time?"

Also, the Vidyadhara might just spontaneously combust from the sheer scale of your existence. They already believe in reincarnation and divine cycles—imagine how Dan Heng would feel if he realized you’re a Perpetual. "Wait. You don’t die? Like, at all? You just come back??" Meanwhile, Jing Yuan would be sipping his tea like, "Well. That’s new."

I also love the idea that even the Aeons don’t know what to do with you. Nanook, who is literally trying to destroy all gods, might take one look at you and just… pause. Like, "Huh. That’s not supposed to exist." Meanwhile, Xipe, the one obsessed with worship, is probably LOSING IT because they finally have something worthy of praise.

This concept is gold (literally). Keep ranting, because I love this! 🤭💖

[nonsensespeaking]

The Breathe Of First Life

A sentient Dan Heng hsr fic

--

Dan Heng felt eyes burn on the back of his head.

His companions, the Cloud Knight and the merchant doesn't seem to feel it, let alone alone notice it.

It was unnerving, maybe even frightening, so much so that he decided to keep quiet -- earning himself the nickname, "Silent But Deadly," from the Cloud Knight girl. Atleast it's not as bad as Cold Dragon Young.

When in combat, Dan Heng's moves are calculated. But when the mysterious, staring precense, he suddenly feels light. It feels like something or someone is telling him to attack, to target. He feels stronger.

Dan Heng feels as if he's being puppeteered. He should be mad, rightfully so. How dare someone control him? It doesn't matter if it was an Aeon or anything. But then again, it feels nice, sort of.

The moment his conversation with Caelus through the phone ended, the precense suddenly ceased -- it was as if it evaporated.

He should be glad but all he feels is numbness. It was like part of his soul was ripped away, and he didn't even know if he had his soul complete in the first place.

The precense came back when he was fighting the familiar Stellaron Hunter and the Xianzhou's Lieutenant. Instead of controlling him like he was used to in the previous battles, the precense just watched him. It was lingering all over the place. Sometimes its gaze was on him, sometimes it wasn't.

--

As he split the sea, revealing Scalegorge Waterscape, the precense watched intently. He felt quite a bit of pressure, both from the people below him and the mysterious precense. It didn't really matter as he executed his task, perfectly.

Maybe when this all blows over, he could ask Mr. Yang about this strange phenomenon. After all, the Data Bank seemed to be a bit empty.

--

The fight with the Emanator of Destruction, Phantylia went off without a hitch... Is how the others would have described it. But Dan Heng knew better.

Phantylia struck the General, leaving him on his knees, blood seeping out.

And everything stopped.

Then everything went back into place. Everyone was in the same position whe the battle first begun. It was as if he had turned back in time. He wanted to ask someone what just happened but Phantylia attacked before he could get a word out of his mouth.

There was one time when all of them were on their knees, defeated by the Emanator. Then it stopped again, everything just stopped.

Then he was back again, fighting Phantylia with his allies he swore were on the ground drawing their final breathe.

The battle repeated three or four times before Phantylia was eventually defeated. General Jing Yuan was nearly turned into a member of the Anti-Matter legion, but thankfully the Emanator failed in doing so.

This is his chance, now is the time to ask what the hell's going on. What is it with the precense staring at him? What is it with the timeloop during the battle against Phantylia?

He asked, yet received no answer.

It was only when he asked Caelus that same question.

"Do you feel.. that?" Dan Heng asked after approaching the silver-haired boy. "Feel what?" He spared his companion a confused glance. "A precense, eyes," He responded, looking around them cautiously.

"Precense? Yeah, what about it?" Caelus answered a he crossed his arms, ignoring the oddity of the situation or maybe he just didn't know it was odd.

"You feel it too?" Dan Heng asked again, his eyes widening. The trailblazer nodded, "Yeah, the others can't seem to notice it," Caelus added, glancing at March and Mr. Yang briefly.

Dan Heng felt a bit reassured that he wasn't going crazy, but then again the Trailblazer was a bit crazy... some people just have trashcan searching as a hobby, he supposed.

"Mm, what about the timeloop when we were fighting Phantylia? Does it have anything to do with it?"

"..."

"...?"

"What timeloop?"

--

A/N

AAAAAH!! This is my first time writing a short fic in TWO YEARS, can you believe that!? Sure you can. But anyways, please excuse my writing as you can see, I am awfully rusty and in need of shaping up. I hope you liked this first post and I'll hopefully see you on my next~♡

[nonsensespeaking]

Oh sorry first time using the ask section I love your self aware au, is not much but what if the reader is a vtuber so when they enter the 3worlds (hoyoverse) they look like their vtuber design. I'm saying because just imagine the reader vtuber is just a cat like maro the cat from yourube

You were supposed to look normal. Unfortunately, your “relatives” (ones that were chosen and raised by Balthasar) arrived earlier than you. They didn't manage to get followers, and Tyrant didn't discover them. However, they caused enough trouble for Tyrant to be on their guard. There was something (or someone) who was challenging their right to rule.

That's why before your first trip, Aletheia and Dimer, among other charms, put an illusion charm on you. One, that would make you look like your VTuber avatar.

At that moment, you asked yourself a question. Why did you select a normal cat as your avatar?

Honkai Star Rail

They knew. Terminus saw that appearance all the way back before Akivili's Rebellion.

Everyone thinks that you are cute. Clara and Arlan, during your first meeting, tried to feed you treats and pet you. March and Guinaifen have thousands of photos with you (and videos in Guinaifen's case).

When you were on Herta Space Station, you were mistaken for Ryan Mei's Creations. Because you could talk.

When you were on duty and had your bodyguards with you, the situation quickly became a farce. Only Jin Yuan looks fine during that and is actually enjoying his role as a "cat's guardian". Others look slightly embarrassed.

Genshin Impact

Before you clear up the misunderstanding about your bloodlines, the gods of Celestia will assume that Tyrant got with a cat youkai, and they had you. It's the only explanation why you look like that.

Even after everything is settled, a lot of people will think that you are just a youkai. A powerful one, but youkai. It will take a lot of effort to convince them that you aren't a youkai.

Diona, Kirara, Lyney and Lynette especially like you. Diona would love you to visit Cat's Tail. Kirara wants to play together with you when she is in her full cat form. Lyney and Lynette want you to take part in their performances.

Zenless Zone Zero

Your appearance caused panic. Either thriren are evolving backwards and will soon become just animals, or Hollows made cats evolve, and soon they will take over the world.

It will take a miracle (you getting rid of a Hollow before dozens of witnesses) for people of New Eridu to believe your story.

You became popular among bangboos. You are smart. You help when they are in trouble, and you can talk. You can ask any Bangboo for help, and they will do anything they can.

Nekomata is your number one fan. If you, a divine being, choose a cat as your form, it must mean that cats are superior.

There will be tales about cat dragging missing people from the Hollows.

[nonsensespeaking]

timeskip!sakusa x fem!reader cw: dom!sakusa and sub!reader, cockwarming, a lot of dirty talk, mix of praise and slight degradation, this ended up longer than intended not gonna lie lmao nsfw / mdni

"c'mon doll, focus," kiyoomi says, holding you still on his lap. his chest is firm against your back as he wraps one arm around your waist. he uses his other hand to brush the hair off your shoulder, leaving it bare for him to trail kisses up to your neck.

"i'm trying, omi, you're just making it hard," you say, doing everything in your power to hold back from squirming for more friction.

"you're the one who wanted to do this, and you're the one who agreed to do it by my rules," he gently chastises, "isn't that right?"

it's true. you told him that you wanted to try cockwarming to see what it feels like. you were sure your boyfriend would be willing and it would definitely lead to some more fun later on, so it's basically a win-win situation for you two.

however, you made the mistake of texting him about it in the middle of his training, sending him a little photo of you wearing his favorite lingerie set with your request for the night. now don't get him wrong, he thinks you look absolutely stunning—but that's the problem. he ended up distracted for the rest of the day. his serves were messed up and his spikes weren't as accurate, leading atsumu to annoy him endlessly and tease him about "wasting his beautiful sets".

so he figures that if you're already suggesting this, he might as well make the most of it. it's enough of a punishment to get you desperate and enough teasing for him to let off some steam—the perfect start to what he is intending to make a long, long night.

"i asked you a question, pretty," he reminds you, kissing your jaw, "you wanted to do this, and you agreed to my rules. correct?"

"yes," you breathe out.

"good girl," you can feel his grin against your neck, "so just sit still and look pretty on my cock, okay? that's all you need to do."

"but i want you, omi, please."

"but we can't always get what we want, princess. i mean—" he moves to massage your breast, eliciting a moan from you, "i wanted you all day, but it's not like i could have fucked you in the middle of the gym right? or is that what you were hoping for?"

he moves his other hand down to start rubbing at your clit, finally giving you some relief. you let out soft whines, trying to be as obedient and as still as possible despite how good his fingers feel.

he hums, "sounds like you want to show everyone what a slut you are for me, want everyone to know that you spent the whole day thinking about my cock in this pussy, right pretty girl?"

the words he's saying, his fingers on your clit, his cock stretching you out—all of these plus the way you're trying so hard to be obedient has your head fuzzy. you can't even speak at this point, reduced to whines and whimpers that just make kiyoomi even harder.

"you're being so good for me doll. do you want your reward?"

"please!" you whine, finally arching your back to get some friction from his cock. he allows it this once, before gripping your hips again to keep you still.

"i need you to ask nicely, baby."

you take a beat to breathe before leaning back and looking up at him, eyes wide and almost watery. he has you exactly where he wants.

"please fuck me, i'll be good. just want to feel your cock and be a good slut for you, please."

he grins. he grips your thighs and pulls them up to your chest as he gets ready to start pounding into you.

"that's my fuckin' girl."

[nonsensespeaking]

“Things They Didn’t Mean”

They didn’t mean to hurt you — but they did. And you started changing because of it. Now they notice… and it’s already different.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

“Watch what you eat,” Ushijima says, voice low, neutral. He’s looking at your tray like it’s offended him.

You smile—a practiced, automatic thing—and laugh it off. “Oh, right. Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”

He nods. Just once. And that’s the end of it. To him, anyway.

The next day, you bring a salad. You poke at the lettuce with your plastic fork, chew each bite like penance. He glances at your lunch, says nothing.

The day after, it’s just fruit. You peel a clementine slowly, fingers sticky with juice, and avoid his eyes.

Then you stop bringing your usual snack. The one he used to reach over and steal a bite of without asking. The one that always made him smile—subtly, but still. Now your bag is empty. So are you.

By the fourth day, Tendou corners him by the gym doors. “Hey, Wakatoshi,” he says, voice too light. “You realize she’s barely eating, right?”

Ushijima blinks. Still, silent. His gaze drifts toward you—sitting against the wall, water bottle untouched, your eyes vacant in a way he can’t quite name.

That evening, practice ends. The sun is low, gym almost empty. You sit alone on the bleachers, staring at nothing, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve.

He approaches without a word, sits beside you like it's instinct. In his hands: two onigiri, wrapped carefully.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, eyes on the rice, not you. “I just… I care if you're healthy. Not thinner.”

You don’t respond. Your fingers twitch toward your bag, but fall short. He places one onigiri in your lap, the other in his own hands.

You pick at the rice. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you’ve forgotten how to be hungry.

He doesn’t speak. Just sits with you, quiet, steady. Watching. There’s guilt in the way his shoulders slope. In the way his chopsticks pause every few bites, waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

You finish half. It’s the most you’ve eaten all week.

He nudges the second one a little closer. Not pushing—just offering.

“Please eat,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “With me.”

And you do.

For a long time, he says nothing else. But his silence is kind now. Careful. And when he finally looks at you, it’s with eyes that say he’s sorry in all the ways words can’t.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

The words slipped out of Shirabu’s mouth like a diagnosis—clinical, cold, final.

And the worst part? You weren’t even fighting.

You had just spilled tea on your notes—weeks of lectures and scribbled diagrams now soaked through and curling at the edges. You laughed, a little sheepishly, brushing at the mess with your sleeve. “Well. That’s my sign to take a break, I guess—”

He didn’t laugh.

He stared at the papers like they’d personally offended him. “You’re not cut out for the kind of future I want.”

You blinked. “…Future?”

He nodded once, distracted, eyes already flicking back to his laptop. “Medicine’s not for people who lose focus. Who make little mistakes.”

You smiled, like it didn’t sting. Laughed, like you hadn’t heard that same voice in your own head on bad days. “Right. Of course.”

That night, you stayed up redoing your notes from scratch. And the night after that. And the one after that.

You started waking up before him. Stopped doodling in the margins of your med books. Stopped humming when you cooked, because every second needed to be productive. Coffee became a meal. Sleep became a luxury.

You didn’t complain. Didn’t cry. Just… shifted. Quietly. Carefully. Willfully.

The version of you Shirabu fell for—the one who teased him while quizzing him on anatomy terms, who wore fuzzy socks to study groups, who once made him a human heart out of Jello just to prove a joke—she was slowly fading.

At first, he liked the change.

The silence. The discipline. The way your pens were always aligned now. The way you never interrupted him mid-sentence anymore.

But then… He noticed.

You never touched him just because anymore. Never made dumb puns over dinner. Your shoulders stayed tense even in your sleep. The music in your world had gone quiet—and he hadn’t realized how much he loved its sound until it disappeared.

One night, he came home late from the library and found you at your desk, fast asleep. Your glasses were still on. Your hand was stained with blue ink, fingertips trembling slightly from too much caffeine and too little rest. There was a cut on your thumb from a broken pen. Your lips were dry. You looked pale—drained, like all your color had been slowly siphoned away.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, heart sinking.

And when he touched your hand, you didn’t even stir.

He sat down beside you, swallowing guilt like poison. “I didn’t mean for you to become someone else,” he whispered, the words raw and foreign in his mouth. “I just wanted you with me. I didn’t realize I was asking you to lose yourself.”

His voice cracked. For the first time in years, he cried.

Quietly. Beside you.

Because you were still there. Breathing. Trying. But something in you had cracked.

And he had been the one to make the first fracture.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

That was the last thing he said to you that day. You had just finished gushing about your favorite show—something about parallel universes and time loops and a sad, smiley villain who reminded you of him (your words, not his). You were laughing, hands moving, eyes bright.

And he had sighed, leaned back in his chair, and muttered: “Are you done yet?”

You blinked. Laughed it off. “Right. Sorry. Got carried away.”

He didn’t respond. Just went back to scrolling.

After that, you didn’t talk about your favorite shows anymore. Stopped sending him memes. Stopped rambling in long voice notes that always ended with you laughing at your own jokes.

He noticed, of course. But didn’t say anything.

Yamaguchi did.

“She doesn’t text you stuff anymore, huh?”

Tsukishima scoffed. “Didn’t realize you were tracking my notifications.”

But later that night, alone in his room, he opened your chat. Scrolled through the silence. Past the last thing you sent—a meme, three weeks ago. A stupid one, about dinosaurs and headphones. He hadn’t even reacted to it.

The empty space beneath it felt louder than any rant you used to send.

The next day, he walked past a store on the way home and froze. In the window: a little keychain of your favorite character. The one you wouldn’t shut up about for two whole weeks. The one he pretended not to care about but secretly knew the name of.

He bought it.

He didn’t even think. Just… did.

The next morning, he dropped it on your desk before class. No warning. No note.

You blinked, staring at the tiny figure in your hand. “What’s this for?”

He adjusted his glasses, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “So you’ll annoy me again.”

You stared at him for a beat, stunned. Then your lips twitched.

You didn’t say anything. But that night, he got a message.

[you]: i just rewatched episode 8 again and i need you to understand how emotionally devastating that scene was. also this keychain is SO cute i might cry.

He read it three times. Smiled. Just a little.

(Translation: I forgive you. I missed you too.)

SUNA RINTARO

He had said it offhandedly. Barely looking up from his phone.

You had just sent him a selfie—your hair a little messy, eyes a little dull, but your smile was there. Honest. Tired, maybe. But still you.

And he said: “You look tired.”

You blinked at the screen, lips twitching in a way that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Then replied, “Yeah. Been a long day.”

After that, you stopped sending selfies. Started fixing your hair more before calls. Wore cooler tones. More neutrals. Nothing bright. Nothing bold. Started double-checking the lighting. Your angles. Yourself.

One day you joked, “Better not look tired again, right?” But your voice was too quiet. The kind that curls at the edge of something fragile.

Atsumu noticed it first.

“She doesn’t send you stuff anymore, huh?” Suna didn’t answer. “You told her she looked tired, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. But his thumb froze over your chat. Unread messages: none. The last picture you sent had disappeared after twenty-four hours. You didn’t save it. And you hadn’t sent another since.

The silence in the thread felt heavier than words.

So he stared at his camera for a long second, then sighed and snapped a picture. No filters. No angles. Just him—messy hair, hoodie hood half-on, eyes barely open.

He sent it with a message: “This is how I look when I actually look tired.” “You always look like someone I wanna keep looking at.”

You stared at the screen. Chest aching. Then, finally:

[you]: you're still bad at words. [suna]: yeah. but i’m trying.

And he was. In his own way—awkward, quiet, a little late.

But trying.

(And somehow, that was what mattered most.)

OIKAWA TOORU

You didn’t mean to bother him.

You had only sent three messages. Short ones. Thoughtful, even.

[you]: hey, u free later? [you]: you okay? you’ve been quiet today. [you]: let me know if you need anything. i’ll leave you be. promise.

And then it came. His reply.

Flat. Dismissive. Laced with exhaustion and that familiar edge he gets when he’s overwhelmed.

[oikawa]: you’re really needy sometimes.

You stared at the screen for a moment too long. Then you smiled. The kind of smile you force when people are watching. “lol sorry. my bad.” One last message. That was all.

And then you stopped.

You stopped texting first. Stopped sending him memes you knew would make him laugh. Stopped double-texting, triple-texting. Stopped reaching out at all.

You gave him what he seemed to want.

Space.

He noticed by dinner.

By the time the team wrapped up practice, Oikawa was already scrolling through your messages, rereading old ones like a lifeline. There were no new ones. No “I miss you.” No “Goodnight.” Just… nothing.

He opened your chat three times that night. Typed. Deleted. Typed. Deleted again.

What was he even supposed to say?

Iwaizumi noticed the silence too.

“She’s not needy,” he said while they packed up. “You’re just used to being worshipped.”

That stung.

Because it was true.

Oikawa Tooru had always been admired—on the court, online, in every room he walked into. He thought love looked like attention. He hadn’t realized until now that he’d treated your warmth like a reflex, not a choice. Until you took it away.

Until your silence said everything.

So three nights later, he was standing in front of your door.

A hoodie pulled over his head. Hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He looked small. Not in height—but in guilt.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

You opened it.

Your eyes were tired. Guarded. The space between you filled with things unsaid.

Oikawa’s voice was low. He didn’t even try to smile.

“…I miss your ‘needy,’” he said.

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“I miss you.”

Still, you said nothing. Just looked at him like you weren’t sure if this was another performance or the real thing.

“I don’t want space,” he continued. “I want your clingy texts. I want the memes. The constant check-ins. The way you send me random thoughts at midnight.”

He looked down at his shoes.

“I want everything. Even the parts I didn’t appreciate.”

Silence.

Then he looked up, eyes raw.

“I only push away the people I care too much about,” he whispered. “And that’s you.”

It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just honest.

For a long moment, you stood there. Then, slowly—quietly—you stepped aside.

He didn’t wait for permission.

He just walked in, shoulders trembling slightly.

You closed the door behind him.

And neither of you said another word. Because this time, he would show you through presence what he failed to express in words.

He came back.

And he didn’t let go.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

It was just a bad game.

He was frustrated. Quiet. His shoulders tight. His jaw locked.

You knew how he got. You didn’t say anything.

You just reached out—softly, gently—for his hand. Not to fix him. Just to say I’m here.

But he pulled back like your touch burned him.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

You blinked, hand frozen mid-air. Then you let it drop, your voice a quiet crumble. “…Sorry.”

That was it.

You stepped back. Gave him space. And from that day on, you stayed there.

You stopped reaching for him. Stopped brushing your fingers against his sleeve when you passed by. Stopped fixing his hair when it curled over his forehead. Stopped lacing your fingers through his on long walks.

You hesitated now—every time. Your hands hovered near him, never landing.

And Kiyoomi… didn’t notice.

Not at first.

But Komori did.

He waited until the locker room was empty, then slammed his locker shut louder than necessary.

“You told her not to touch you,” he said, arms crossed. “And now she doesn’t. Happy?”

Kiyoomi blinked, confused.

“She flinched when you brushed her arm, Omi. She flinched. That girl used to hold your hand like it was second nature.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Komori left. Kiyoomi sat down, heart unsettled, brain replaying every tiny moment—your hands curled into your lap, your stiff shoulders, the way your gaze flicked to his fingers then away.

It was true.

You were gone, somehow, even while still beside him.

That night—no, early morning—he couldn’t sleep.

He stared at his phone screen in the dark, thumbs hovering. Then:

[sakusa]: i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.

No typing bubbles appeared.

He didn’t expect them to.

But the next day, he found you outside the gym, hugging your arms to yourself, pretending not to see him.

He walked straight to you.

You looked up, cautious.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He just reached forward—and for once, it was him who was shaking—and took your hand. Both of his around yours, like anchoring something fragile.

You looked down at the connection. Then back at him.

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I want you close,” he said. “Even when I’m upset. Especially then.”

Your lip trembled.

He held your hand tighter.

And in that quiet moment, on the edge of hurt and healing, you let yourself believe him.

Because sometimes, people push away what they need most. And sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get the chance to hold it again.

KENMA KOZUME

You used to sit beside him.

No words. No noise. Just quiet company while his fingers danced across the keyboard, headset snug over his ears.

You liked being close. He never complained—until one night, between matches, he muttered without looking at you:

“You’re kind of distracting when I’m streaming.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t sharp.

But it stuck.

You blinked. “Oh.”

And after that… you stopped.

You stopped bringing snacks and dropping soft kisses to his temple when he won. Stopped curling up next to him. Stopped humming under your breath or watching from the corner of his screen.

You stayed in your room more.

Quiet. Out of sight.

Invisible.

Kenma didn’t notice at first—too busy adjusting his settings, managing collabs, climbing ranks.

But Kuroo noticed. Over Discord, mid-game, as Kenma sat in silence between rounds, Kuroo muttered:

“She doesn’t bug you anymore, huh?”

Kenma blinked. “What?”

“You look kinda lonely now.”

The words landed like a delayed hit.

Kenma glanced to the side—out of instinct—at the space where you used to sit. Empty. Still.

He stared longer than he meant to.

His fingers paused over the keys. The stream kept running. The chat wondered what happened. But Kenma didn’t move.

Later that night, he found himself in front of your door. A bag of your favorite snacks in hand. Slightly crumpled from how tightly he’d been holding it.

He knocked once. Soft.

You opened the door, eyes tired. Surprised.

He didn’t speak at first. Just held out the bag.

“…What’s this?” you asked quietly.

“Peace offering.”

Your brow arched. “You said I was distracting.”

He looked down, fingers flexing.

“I know,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”

You stayed quiet.

So he stepped forward, placed the snack gently beside his controller on his desk, then turned back to you.

“Come sit with me?” he asked. Then, even softer: “I miss your noise.”

You blinked.

And for the first time in days, your lips curved—just slightly.

He held his hand out toward you.

And this time, when you took it, he didn’t let go. Not even when the game started. Not even when chat noticed.

Because he wasn’t playing to win anymore. He just wanted you back beside him.

Even if you distracted him. Especially if you did.

MIYA ATSUMU

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You didn’t even realize it was happening—until your voice cracked mid-sentence, and you saw the way Atsumu’s expression tightened, not with concern, but irritation.

“I’m not in the mood for your drama right now.”

It hit like a slammed door.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then you nodded.

"Sorry," you said, voice barely there.

And after that—you stopped.

You stopped venting. Stopped opening up. Started smiling too wide, laughing a little too quickly.

"I’m fine." "Just tired." "Nothing big."

You said it so much, you almost believed it.

But Atsumu didn’t.

Not at first—he was too wrapped up in training, in pressure, in exhaustion and ego. But Osamu noticed.

“You broke something, y’know,” he said one night, tossing a towel over Atsumu’s head. “You might wanna fix it before it stays broken.”

That’s what finally made him pause.

And that’s what led him here— To the empty gym hallway, where he found you sitting against the wall, knees to your chest, eyes blank.

You didn’t notice him at first. Didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch.

He walked over, crouched down, and gently rested his forehead against your shoulder.

“…I’m the drama,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not you.”

You stayed quiet.

He clenched his fists. Loosened them. Then tried again.

“Please don’t hide your feelings from me. Ever.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked away, eyes burning, lip trembling—but still, you said nothing.

So Atsumu pulled you into his arms.

Held you there. Not asking for forgiveness, not rushing it—just there.

“I was stupid,” he mumbled into your hair. “I was tired and selfish and I made you feel like too much.”

His voice cracked.

“You’re not too much. I was just too stupid to handle someone real.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

But your hands slowly—finally—gripped the back of his jersey.

And that was enough.

Because this time, he wouldn’t let go first.

KITA SHINSUKE

You were tired. Not just physically, but the kind of tired that settles in your chest and makes everything feel heavier. You forgot to do something small — misplanted a row of seedlings in your shared garden, or maybe you overslept and missed breakfast with him.

He didn’t yell. He never did. Just that calm, steady voice:

“That’s not very disciplined of you.”

No anger. Just disappointment. And somehow, that was worse. It clung to you for days.

You started fixing your posture more, triple-checking tasks, waking up earlier than needed. No more lazy mornings. No more spontaneous dancing in the rain or lying in the grass just to feel the sun. You stopped being soft. You started being… correct.

And he noticed. How your laugh faded. How your hands trembled when you thought he was watching.

It was Aran who quietly pulled him aside one afternoon. They were harvesting. The sun was warm. But Kita felt cold at the words:

“She’s not blooming anymore. She’s surviving.” “You’re so focused on raising standards… you didn’t see her lower herself.”

That night, he found you tending the garden. The same bed you both built together. The soil was dry. The petals curled inward. And so were you.

He knelt beside you silently, heart heavy.

“Discipline matters,” he started. “But so does grace. I should’ve given you more of it.”

You didn’t look at him. Your fingers kept digging gently through the soil.

So he did something rare. He placed his hand over yours. Soft. Still. Sure.

“You don’t need to be perfect… to be precious to me.”

Your breath hitched. And when you finally looked up — eyes glassy, dirt smudged on your cheek — he smiled, just barely.

“Let’s grow softer things. Together.”

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You’d tried something new. Maybe you curled your hair, tried eyeliner, wore that outfit you weren’t sure about but finally had the courage to put on. You didn’t expect a grand reaction. But you didn’t expect that either.

“You look weird.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just said it like a volleyball stat: flat. Unthinking. Unfiltered.

You smiled like it didn’t hurt. Went to the bathroom that night and wiped it all off. Told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

But the next day, you played it safe. No more makeup. Neutral clothes. You toned it down, layer by layer, until it felt like you’d erased something. And he didn’t even seem to notice.

But others did. Sugawara asked Kageyama during practice, teasing but genuine:

“What happened to all those selfies she used to send you? I kinda miss the glitter.”

Kageyama blinked. Paused. Scrolled through his phone that night. Through bright lipstick, messy buns, silly filters, captioned doodles. Gone, now.

And then it hit him.

You’d stopped sending anything. Stopped showing anything.

He found you that night, seated quietly on the porch or your shared bench near the gym.

“Hey…”

You looked up. Tired. Dull.

He sat beside you, awkward fingers twitching on his knee.

“You’re… not weird. I mean, you are, but like. Not—bad weird. Like… your kind of weird. And I liked that.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared ahead.

So he added, softer this time:

“I’m stupid with words. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to disappear.”

You swallowed. He turned slightly, desperate and clumsy:

“Please don’t change for something dumb I said. I didn’t realize how much I loved… all of that. All of you.”

You turned to him. Eyes glossy, voice small:

“Then why didn’t you say that sooner?”

He didn’t have an answer. So instead, he reached into his pocket and held out the phone screen — a selfie of you from a month ago.

“I saved this one. I liked your smile here the most.”

DAICHI SAWAMURA

It was something small. You tripped on a stair and instinctively, he caught your wrist, pulling you close before you fell.

Someone whistled. A teammate teased: “Ooh, Daichi, playing knight in shining armor?”

He panicked. Embarrassed. Tried to play it cool. So he shrugged and muttered,

“She’s not my responsibility.”

Laughed it off.

But your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You’d never expected him to take responsibility for you. You weren’t asking to be saved. But you’d thought — maybe — it was okay to lean. To trust. To fall near him.

After that day, you stopped doing that.

You handled everything alone — even when your hands shook carrying too much, even when your emotions threatened to spill.

No more late-night texts. No more spontaneous hangouts. No more quiet moments walking beside him.

You avoided everyone for a while.

Until Suga found you missing again from another group outing and went straight to Daichi.

“She knows she’s not your responsibility, Daichi. She just thought… you gave a damn.”

That silenced him.

That night, he went up to the school rooftop — the place you always went when you needed to breathe. You were already there, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes on the sky.

He didn’t speak. Just sat beside you. Let the silence ache between you both.

Then finally, barely audible:

“I wanted to protect you. Not push you away.”

You didn’t look at him. You just said, hollowly:

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

But he shook his head gently.

“No, you don’t. I didn’t say that because I didn’t care. I said it because I was scared of how much I did.”

You blinked, eyes burning.

“You’re not my responsibility,” he whispered again — but this time softer, reverent. “You’re my person. That’s… different.”

[nonsensespeaking]

CHOCO LOVE

Yes, Horny chocolate

HINATA SHOYO

You gave him the chocolate as a joke.

“Just something sweet!” you said, smiling. “Try it after practice, okay?”

He beamed. “Thank you, YN! That was really thoughtful!”

Cue: 3 hours later.

He's curled up on your living room floor. Hoodie pulled over his head. Face red as a tomato. Knees to his chest. Breathing weirdly.

You peer over the couch. “Sho? Are you okay?”

“…Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“…Y-Yeah.”

Pause.

“You’re literally sweating through your shirt.”

“I’m hot.” “No kidding.”

You walk over and kneel next to him. “Did you overwork yourself again? You always go too hard—”

“I didn’t do anything!” he blurts, then clamps his hand over his mouth. “…Wait. Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“…Shoyo. What’s going on?”

He lets out a groan and flops onto his back, hoodie covering his entire face now. “I can’t tell you. It’s—embarrassing.”

“…Are you dying.”

“…Maybe emotionally.”

You pull the hoodie up just a little. His eyes are wide. Glazed. Face crimson. “Did something happen after you ate the chocolate?”

He blinks. Then sits bolt upright. “WHAT WAS IN THAT CHOCOLATE, Y/N?!”

“Wha—you ate it??”

“Y-Yeah you gave it to me!!” “I didn’t think you’d eat the whole thing!! It was labeled like... love booster or something weird—”

“WHY WOULD YOU GIVE ME A LOVE BOOSTER?!”

You’re both screaming now. He immediately covers his mouth again. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell again.”

Silence.

“…S-So you’re feeling… stuff?”

He stares at the ceiling. His ears turn red. “…My heart’s been racing for an hour, I tried doing sit-ups to calm down, but then I started thinking about you and it made it worse, and then I looked at your hoodie on the couch and I just—”

“Wait, you thought about me—”

“CAN I SLEEP IN THE BATHTUB?”

“…What.”

“I just need to cool down. Please. Just. Don’t look at me for like five hours.”

He scrambles up, dragging your throw pillow with him, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

You’re left in the living room, blinking.

You didn’t even know someone could get horny and shy at the same time.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You handed it to him before training. Just a little wrapped-up chocolate bar. “For good luck,” you said with a smile. He took it with that awkward nod of his. “…Thanks.”

He didn’t think anything of it.

Until 40 minutes into practice—he messes up a serve.

Which. Never. Happens.

Atsumu smirks. “Yo, Tobio. You okay?”

Kageyama scowls. “I’m fine.” But he isn’t.

Because his body feels… off. Warm. Hyperaware. Like every inch of his skin is tuned to high sensitivity. And his thoughts? Not focused on volleyball.

Focused on you.

Later, he finds you alone near the back hall, refilling your water bottle.

His footsteps echo as he walks up, and you turn.

“Hey—oh. Tobio. What’s up?”

He stops a few feet from you. Frozen.

You tilt your head. “Everything okay?”

He says nothing.

Just stares. Hard. Eyes dark. Tense. Flicking from your face… to your mouth… to your neck… back up again.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…No reason.”

“…You sure? You’re kinda—sweating. A lot.”

He jerks his eyes away. “…It’s hot.”

You frown. “You’ve been acting weird since earlier.”

Silence.

Then quietly—his voice low:

“…That chocolate you gave me.”

You blink. “Yeah?”

“…What was in it?”

You straighten. “Wait. Did you eat all of it??”

His jaw clenches. “You told me to.”

“Oh my god—Tobio, I didn’t think you'd—” You cut yourself off.

He’s still staring at you. His eyes are scanning you like he’s trying to figure something out.

Then, barely audible:

“…I’m distracted.” You freeze.

“What?”

“I can’t stop thinking about—” He cuts himself off. His fists are clenched. His ears are red.

“…I keep messing up in practice,” he says, voice tight. “Because I keep thinking about you. And that chocolate. And the fact that I don’t know if this is your fault or mine.”

You stare at him.

He stares back, like he’s one breath away from either kissing you or short-circuiting.

“…Is it bad?” you whisper.

He swallows hard. Then—leans closer.

“I don’t know yet.” His eyes are burning. “I might need another piece to find out.”

TSUKISHIMA KEI

You gave him the chocolate half as a joke, half as a “you need sugar because you’re a grump” gift. He rolled his eyes.

“Are you bribing me now?” You grinned. “Maybe.”

He took it with that classic bored Tsukki expression. Tore off the wrapper. Ate it. Didn’t even blink.

“Thanks,” he said flatly. “Wasn’t bad.”

Two hours later…

He’s shirtless in your apartment kitchen.

Standing near the fridge. Glass of water in one hand. The other shoved into his pocket like he’s trying to physically hold himself together.

“…This is annoying,” he mutters.

You blink at him. “What is?”

“This feeling.”

You freeze.

“…Tsukki, are you okay?”

He exhales sharply. Pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His cheeks are pink. His voice is strained.

“My skin feels hot. My brain is loud. And for some reason, I can’t stop looking at you.”

You stare.

“Tsukishima, did you—wait—did you eat all the chocolate?!”

He glares. “Why the hell did it taste like cinnamon and lust.”

“…WHAT.”

He steps forward. Not fast. But on purpose.

“You thought you could mess with me, huh?” His voice is low now. Dangerous. Curious.

You laugh nervously. “W-wait, it was just a joke gift—Tsukki—”

He cuts you off with intense eye contact. Head tilts slightly. Then—he smirks. The rare kind. The one that sends shivers down your spine.

“…Why don’t we see if it worked?”

You blink. “Wh—”

And then he leans in. REAL close. His breath brushing your jaw. His mouth just a hair from your ear.

“…Don’t worry. I’ll grade your performance later.”

You short-circuit.

KUROO TETSURO

When you gave him the chocolate earlier, it was just playful.

“It’s fancy,” you said. “Imported. Thought you’d like it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unwrapped it with one hand, and popped a piece into his mouth.

Then he licked his thumb slowly—eyes locked on you.

“…Damn, YN. Trying to seduce me?”

You blinked. “What?! No! It’s literally just chocolate.”

He chuckled. That low, rich, sin-in-a-suit kind of laugh.

“Well,” he said, licking his lip. “Too late.”

Fast forward to later that night.

You come home exhausted. Your bag hits the couch. Your hair’s a mess. You're ready to collapse.

You call out: “Tetsu? I’m home!”

No answer.

You find him in the bedroom, hoodie on, hood up, sleeves rolled up, head tilted back against the headboard. He’s breathing hard. Eyes half-lidded. Hair damp at the nape of his neck.

“…Tetsu?” you whisper, walking closer.

He opens his eyes. Panic. Tries to sit up.

“Don’t—don’t come close.”

You frown. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” he rasps. “Just. Uh. Tired.”

You blink. “You’re flushed. And sweating. Did you eat something weird? Are you—”

He won’t meet your eyes. He knows what he did.

But he doesn’t want to bother you. You’re tired. He told himself he could wait it out.

You sit beside him on the bed and slowly rest your hand on his thigh.

“…Tetsu, baby. Are you okay?”

And he YELPS.

Like. Chokes on air.

Eyes wide. Whole body flinching. Knees jerking together like a cartoon character.

“…YN.”

“Yes?”

“Please. Don’t touch me right now. If you do, I’m going to make the worst decision of my life.”

You blink. “Like what?”

He exhales shakily. Hoodie hood still over his head like he’s hiding from God.

“…Like asking you to ruin me right now when you literally just got home from work.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

“…So you did like the chocolate.”

He groans.

“Woman. You spiked it with sex. Of course I did.”

KENMA KOZUME

You sent him the chocolate during his stream. Just a casual “I saw this and thought of you” moment.

He reads your message aloud between matches.

“Thanks, YN. Love you.”

Chat spams: “OOOHHH 😏” “KENMA CONFIRMED WHIPPED” “WE SHIP” “HE SAID LOVE U???”

He doesn’t react. Just munches on the chocolate quietly. For a while.

Then something… shifts.

He gets quiet. Like, even more than usual.

His hoodie is pulled up. He's slouching harder. He keeps tugging his hoodie strings. Pulling the fabric up over his mouth. Flushed cheeks. Hair sticking to his forehead.

The camera catches him swallowing hard. Fidgeting.

Then—suddenly—

Stream ends.

No warning. No “brb.” Just poof.

Your phone vibrates 30 seconds later.

🐱 Kenma: “my whole body is buzzing. why?”

You: “What? Did something happen?”

🐱 Kenma: “…wait.” 🐱 Kenma: “aphrodisiac??” 🐱 Kenma: “YN.” 🐱 Kenma: “is this your way of saying you want me?”

You’re typing a reply when— Ping.

Image received.

You open it.

Kenma. Shirtless. Lying back on his bed. Hair tousled, cheeks red, lips parted. Hoodie still half-on. Collarbones visible. “Fix this.” written across his palm in messy Sharpie.

Your brain bluescreens.

He texts again:

🐱 “i’m not mad. just desperate.” 🐱 “so. what’s your plan?” 🐱 “irl DLC? or do i keep suffering on main.”

BOKUTO KOUTARO

Earlier that day, he beamed when you handed him the chocolate. “CHOCOLATE?! FROM YOU?! THANKS, Y/N!!!” He ate it with zero hesitation. Even licked the wrapper.

You: “Don’t eat the foil—”

Too late.

Fast forward three hours.

He’s fresh out of practice, hair damp from a shower, towel around his neck, face flushed — not from training. He’s lying on the couch in gray sweatpants, breathing uneven, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him.

“Why do I feel like I ran a marathon after training…?”

His body’s hot. His thighs are tense. His fingers are twitching.

He scrolls through his phone. Missed call from Y/N.

He sits up instantly. Then groans. The ache between his legs is painfully obvious now.

You knock on his apartment door, holding some takeout. “Bo? You okay? You sounded kinda off earlier.”

The moment he opens the door, you're hit with warmth — like the air shifted. He looks… messed up. Sweaty. Hair sticking to his forehead. Face flushed. Pupils blown.

“Y/N…” he breathes out. “Hey…”

You frown. “Did you get sick or something?”

He backs up a little, clearly trying to keep his distance — but his sweatpants are doing zero hiding. “I… don’t know. I feel weird. Like… warm? All over?”

You squint at him, and it clicks.

“…You ate the chocolate, didn’t you?”

“Yeah?? It was good!! Wait—why are you looking at me like that?” Then he pauses. Blinks.

Looks down.

Looks back up.

Eyes widen. His voice cracks.

“Y/N… did you make me horny chocolate?!”

Your silence is the answer.

He stumbles back and grabs the couch for support. “I THOUGHT I WAS DYING.”

You set the takeout down. “You're not dying, Bo. You're just–”

“I’M HARD FOR NO REASON.”

You try not to laugh.

Bo starts panicking. “DOES THIS MEAN YOU WANNA–? LIKE–DO THINGS?! IS THIS YOU SAYING YOU LOVE ME?!”

You step closer. His eyes go huge.

You whisper: “If I said yes, would you calm down?”

“NO,” he yells, immediately wrapping his arms around you like a koala. “I’D GET WORSE.”

KEIJI AKAASHI

You gave him the chocolate earlier that day, wrapped neatly with a ribbon. He accepted it with that gentle smile of his. “Thank you, YN. That’s very sweet of you.”

He popped one into his mouth like it was nothing.

1 hour later. Your phone buzzes.

Keiji Akaashi

I feel strange. Warm. Slightly flushed. Was there… something in that chocolate?

You:

😅 what do you mean?

Keiji Akaashi

We should talk. In private.

You show up to his apartment expecting maybe a flustered mess.

But no.

He answers the door in a black turtleneck and slacks, glasses on, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

You: “You look… fine.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he murmurs, letting you in.

You sit across from him. He pours tea. His hands are steady. Too steady. But his ears are red.

Finally, he speaks.

“…I didn’t want to accuse you,” he says, tone smooth but eyes sharp, “but knowing you and your antics…”

He leans forward, just slightly. The look he gives you? Illegal.

“Be honest. You knew what that chocolate would do to me, didn’t you?”

You: “...Not really. I mean—”

“Because ever since I ate it, I’ve been thinking about you. In ways I shouldn’t during meetings. My body’s tense. My mind’s loud. And I can’t focus. At all.”

He says it like he’s scolding you — but his gaze drifts. Down your lips. Your neck.

“You owe me an apology,” he adds, voice a shade lower.

You blink. “An apology?”

He leans in again.

“…Or maybe something better.”

KITA SHINSUKE

It had been a long day.

Kita came in from the fields like he always does—shirt a little damp, hands calloused, face glowing with fresh air and quiet discipline. You handed him his usual lunch, neatly packed like always, but this time...

You added a small chocolate dessert.

"Thought you deserved a treat," you say sweetly.

He blinked at you, then gave a soft smile.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He eats it without a second thought. It melts on his tongue.

Hours later.

You find him standing by the kitchen sink, staring out the window. Silent. Tense. His hand is resting low on the counter like he's grounding himself.

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

“You okay, Shin?”

“…Something’s off,” he murmurs. “Feels like I drank too much sake. Body’s hot. But I haven’t had a drop.”
He swallows. “Can’t think straight. My hands are… restless.”

You kiss the back of his neck. He stiffens.

"Y/N…” His voice cracks just slightly.

You move to stand in front of him. He can’t meet your gaze. He’s flushed. Stiff in more ways than one.

You gently cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks.

“Shin,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You never ask for help… but I can feel what you need.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, eyes finally locking with yours.

“You’re doin’ dangerous things, sugar,” he says softly. His hands hover at your hips, trembling. “I’m tryin’ to be good.”

You smile, kiss him again, this time a little deeper. “You’ve been too good.”

And his restraint shatters, just a little.

His lips find your neck.
His fingers tighten at your waist.
And all that farm-boy discipline?
Gone.

MIYA ATSUMU

You gave him one. Single. Piece.

A sleek little chocolate truffle wrapped in gold foil.

“Ohhh fancy chocolate from YN~? Don’t mind if I do,” Atsumu cooed, grinning as he popped it into his mouth.
“Sweet just like ya,” he added with a wink.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and eat it.”

He did. Smug. Smirking. Clueless.

An hour later.

Your phone starts buzzing.

🐯 atsumu.miya: “YN”
🐯 atsumu.miya: “I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya.”
🐯 atsumu.miya: “Like. Physically. CAN’T.”
🐯 atsumu.miya: “Was that chocolate spiked or are you just naturally evil???”

You laugh—until you hear your doorbell.

You open it to find Atsumu, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, his hair a total mess, face way too flushed for someone who just "happened to be in the area."

"You did somethin’ to me,” he says accusingly, stepping inside like he owns the place. “That chocolate messed me up.”

He slumps on your couch dramatically, pouting. His legs are spread. His hoodie’s halfway zipped. He looks like a chaotic thirst trap.

“I'm so warm. And twitchy. And HARD. And—don’t look at me like that!”

You smirk, sitting beside him. “I didn’t tell you to eat it all.”

He huffs. “Ya knew I would.”

Then he leans in—eyes dark, voice low.

“You did this to me, YN…”
A little whine slips out as his fingers wrap around your wrist.
“Might as well finish what ya started, right?”

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

You hand him the chocolate after practice.

He eyes it suspiciously. Sniffs it.

“What’s in this?” he asks, like you're offering poison.

“Just chocolate,” you say sweetly. You don’t flinch. That should’ve been his first warning.

He eats it.

He regrets it immediately.

An hour later…

Your phone rings.
Caller ID: Kiyoomi 🍃

“Y/N,” he says tightly. “I don’t feel right.”

You’re grinning already. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“My skin’s hot. My head’s fuzzy. My pants are… tight.”
There’s a pause. You can feel his glare through the phone.
“You better pray this wears off. If not… we’re going to have a long night.”

Click.

Another hour later.

There’s a knock at your door.

You open it—and there he is.
Black hoodie. Mask on. Gloves still on his hands like he’s clinging to the last shred of control.
But his hoodie’s halfway unzipped, exposing just enough of his collarbones to make your brain stop functioning.

“What are you wearing?” you ask, a little too amused.

He glares. “Don’t talk.”

You smile sweetly. “Kiyoomi… are you flustered?”

He storms past you. “I’m boiling. And you’re making it worse.”

You follow, barely hiding your giggle. “You didn’t have to come over, you know.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” he mutters, yanking off his gloves. “My body feels like it’s craving you. You did something to me. Admit it.”

You lean close, fingers brushing his collarbone, watching him twitch under your touch.
“So what if I did?”

He exhales hard, barely keeping his hands off you.

“You’re evil,” he mutters.
Then adds, voice dropping lower—
“…but I like it.”

[nonsensespeaking]

timeskip!sakusa x f!reader, fluff, slightly suggestive (morning after) but nothing specific/explicit at all

sakusa kiyoomi, msby's #15 and now olympian, cannot believe his fall from grace. the olympics ended just a few days ago, they threw a huge celebration last night (which he honestly really enjoyed), and by some twist of fate—he's here.

he paces around the living room of his hotel suite for half an hour before finally deciding what he needs to do. he never thought he would resort to this, but he figures that desperate times call for desperate measures.

to his surprise, miya atsumu answers the facetime call after just a few rings.

"omiomi!" atsumu greets, "you seemed to have a lot of fun last—"

"i'm about to ask for your advice and if you speak a word of this to anyone, i will end you." kiyoomi says sternly.

"woah, woah, relax man," atsumu says, putting his free hand up in surrender, "what's up?"

no backing out now, kiyoomi thinks.

"so... the party last night..."

"the party, indeed," atsumu smirks, "is this about a certain someone i saw you leave with last night?"

"yes, we slept together." kiyoomi says as calmly as possible, hoping to manage his friend's reaction (even though kiyoomi himself is freaking out internally).

"let's go!" atsumu fist pumps, "hell yeah, man, congratulations! it's about time! you've been crushing on her for forever; i was so close to just locking you two in a room myself—"

"that's not the point," kiyoomi groans.

don't get him wrong, it was definitely the best night of his life, but how does he explain to atsumu that he didn't want things to go like this? he had a whole timeline in his head—take you out on a few dates, kiss you in front of your apartment door, get you flowers and treats from your favorite bakery, go on a couple more dates, and then get into bed together (maybe on the same day that he properly asks you to be his girlfriend). he didn't want things to start with a drunken hookup.

"kiyoomi, hey, you still there?" atsumu says a lot gentler this time, seeing the worry on his friend's usually stoic face.

"i don't want a one-night stand, but i have no idea what she wants. and i'm... scared that that's what she wants."

atsumu has never heard kiyoomi admit his worries like this, not even when they were first recruited for the olympics and the excitement started transforming into nervousness. he knew that you mattered a lot to kiyoomi, and this just solidifies that.

"i mean, it doesn't have to be a one-night stand. you can just talk when she wakes up."

"that's true, but i—" kiyoomi hesitates. going to atsumu for advice was embarrassing enough, but admitting this next part is even worse. he's finally got the blonde to a more serious spot, and he knows his next admission will just bring back the teasing.

"hey, you're kind of starting to scare me," atsumu sighs, "please just spit it out."

kiyoomi says nothing. instead, he braces himself for what's to come.

kiyoomi turns the phone camera and atsumu sees to the hotel's dining room table overflowing with every single breakfast item on the room service menu. in addition to all that, there are even desserts and several cups of juice and coffee.

there's a beat of silence.

and then suddenly, atsumu is practically dying of laughter, "what the fuck, omiomi? what did you do?"

kiyoomi faces the phone back to him, his face a lot redder than a few minutes ago, "i panicked, okay? i figured—you don't have breakfast with your hookups, right?"

"this is breakfast for at least 10 people!"

"i wanted to make sure i got something she liked!"

"don't you already know what she likes?"

"well, i was worried she might be in the mood for something else!" he groans, rubbing his hand across his face. he moves the phone a bit so atsumu can't see how much he's stressing about this.

"she's going to think it's stupid. i just like her so much and i panicked and i just hope she had a good time last night and i feel like she won't take me seriously with this fucking spread but it's not like i can get rid of it and i have no idea if she'll even want to go out with me now and i—"

"just ask her," atsumu says.

"miya, she's asleep and—"

"did you have a good time last night?" atsumu practically shouts, somehow looking past kiyoomi through the phone screen.

"what—"

"a great time, actually," you say.

kiyoomi turns, seeing you leaning against the bedroom door behind him.

"but, i don't kiss and tell, so you should go back to bed," you make your way to kiyoomi, gently placing a hand on his arm, "'cause it looks like this guy and i have a lot to talk about."

atsumu gives a quick goodbye, winking at kiyoomi before hanging up. kiyoomi sets his phone down and turns to completely face you. your hair's still a little messy, you're wearing his shirt—oh wow, you look good in his shirt—and kiyoomi nearly forgets the situation he's in. before he can begin explaining himself, you speak up.

"yes, i've been up for a while. yes, i heard most of that conversation—i think atsumu forgets how loud he is—and," you move closer, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands find your waist, "yes, i would love to go out with you."

when your words finally register, he feels a stupid grin spread across his face.

"yeah?"

"yeah," you smile up at him, "it's not every day that i get to wake up to a breakfast buffet."

you laugh at the way his cheeks turn pink before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, "did i at least get something you like?"

"well, i like you."

"not what i meant... but i like you, too." he says softly.

"so i've heard," you gently nudge him back so you can look at his face properly, "i believe you like me so much?" you grin.

he groans, "you're never going to let me forget this, huh?"

[nonsensespeaking]

Sakusa never spoke much about his private life while at work. The team knew he had a partner, only because he mentioned it once, and they assumed whoever it was must be similar to him.

So they were shocked when he arrived at the New Year’s party holding hands with you. Your face was adorned with a bright smile and you waved eagerly the second you faced the rest of the attendees.

“This is my fiancé,” Sakusa said, using his free hand to gesture to you as if it wasn’t obvious who he was talking about.

“Hi!” you greeted cheerily.

“If anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself,” he added for no apparent reason other than seeing Atsumu, Bokuto and Hinata’s jaws drop at his unusual display of affection.

You chuckled as if this was completely normal. “It’s so nice to be here, I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“Now get back to the party, thank you.” After finishing his introduction, Sakusa swiped you away so you could both wash your hands in the bathroom.

The silence settled for only a minute, until-

“Pay up, ‘Tsumu. Told you he didn’t make her up.”

masterlist

[nonsensespeaking]

“𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 BREEDING + TS!HAIKYUU MEN

Includes: Ushijima, Sakusa, Bokuto, Kita, Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Atsumu, Daichi, and Semi.

Warnings: This content is intended for mature audiences 18+. It includes explicit sexual themes, such as breeding kink, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, rough sex, unprotected sex (fictional), and power play. Certain characters may incorporate bondage or restraints as part of their kink exploration, with light manipulation and implied non-consensual elements (though everything is consensual within the context). Expect explicit language throughout, so please proceed if you’re comfortable with that.

Real talk. I’m doing this cause I’m bored. It’s not going to be lengthy, I’m lazy. Give me a kiss for feeding you whores🤍

The art in the banner up there are by Loony and etcetera.art

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Ushijima Wakatoshi

Stoic, commanding, and deeply physical. Ushijima doesn’t speak much but when he does, it’s absolute. He sees procreation and intimacy as sacred acts, so if he’s into a breeding kink, it’s deeply rooted in instinct. He wants to fill you. Not just to claim you, but because it feels right, natural. When he’s above you, hips slow but forceful, he’ll murmur things like..

“You’ll take all of it.”

“I want to see you full of me.”

The way your body clenches around him only urges him to press deeper, slower until you’re trembling under the weight of his desire to make you his.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Sakusa Kiyoomi

Clean, calculated, but deeply intense. Sakusa’s breeding kink doesn’t show at the start, but it’s an obsession he develops the more attached he becomes. There’s something about the mess of it, the risk, the ownership. In private, once trust is locked in, he starts fantasizing about it constantly. He’s quiet at first, whispering..

“Would you let me do it? Let me fill you up?”

while his fingers tease you open. He wants you shaking on your knees while he finishes deep inside, then watches as it leaks out slowly. The mess he usually avoids? He worships it when it comes from you.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Bokuto Koutarou

Energetic, possessive, a total praise kink machine. His breeding kink is primal and needy, he wants to make sure everyone knows you’re his. He gets vocal when he’s close, saying things like..

“Gonna fill you up so good baby.”

“Want my cum dripping out of you..”

He’ll go multiple rounds, unable to get enough of the idea of you carrying him. Aftercare includes rubbing your belly, kissing your thighs, and grinning through praise-drunk confessions like..

“You’d look so hot full of my baby.”

Total obsessed boyfriend energy.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Kita Shinsuke

Silent, reverent, and terrifyingly focused. Kita’s not wild, he’s intentional. To him, breeding you is the highest level of connection and commitment. He doesn’t talk much during sex but when he does, it’s firm and final.

“You’ll take what I give you.”

Followed by deep, slow thrusts and prolonged eye contact that melts you. The moment he finishes, his hand presses to your lower stomach like he’s making sure it stays.

“You’ll carry me well..”

He’ll whisper against your skin, almost reverently, as though you’re sacred for letting him do this.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Iwaizumi Hajime

Protective, rough handed, with a secretly possessive streak. Iwaizumi acts like it’s just sex until he’s too deep to pretend. Once his kink surfaces, he owns it.

“You know what I want.”

He growls into your ear as his thrusts go deep and controlled, one hand gripping your hips to keep you still.

“Want you so fucking full, you’ll be dripping for hours.”

And once he’s finished? He stays in. Doesn’t let you move. Presses his body over yours while whispering,

“Stay still. Let it take.”

The dominance and aftercare combo? Unmatched.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Kuroo Tetsurou

Playful, smart, and a little manipulative in bed. Kuroo turns his breeding kink into a game, he teases you with it. He’s dirty talking from the first kiss, saying things like..

“You really want me to fuck a baby into you, huh?”

While smirking against your skin. He’s the type to keep going even after he finishes, pushing it back in with his fingers just to hear you whimper.

“Don’t waste a drop.”

He’ll purr. And when he’s feeling particularly bold, he’ll look you in the eye while saying..

“Bet you’d look so cute knocked up with my kid.” Just to watch you squirm.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Atsumu Miya

Loud, needy, cocky. Atsumu’s got breed-you-on-the-spot energy. He doesn’t wait. As soon as the thought enters his head, he’s saying it.

“Yer gonna take every drop, aren’t ya baby?”

With a breathless whine in your ear. He’ll talk about filling you before the clothes even come off. Loves seeing his cum spill out and gets possessive when it does..might even push it back in with his fingers while saying..

“Not done yet, I gotta make sure it stays.”

He gets off on the fantasy, panting through multiple rounds, making sure you’re completely used and satisfied.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Daichi Sawamura

Stable, comforting, but with an intensely dominant streak. Daichi is the type who plays the long game..sweet, dependable, and loving until that switch flips. Then he’s grabbing your hips, pinning you down, and murmuring..

“Gonna fill you up ‘til you can’t take anymore.”

He praises you through it—

“You take me so well, sweetheart. You were made for this.”

Afterward, he wraps his arms around you, presses a hand to your belly, and whispers..

“All mine.”

The duality of lover and protector makes his kink even more potent.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

𓆩༒︎𓆪 Semi Eita

Passionate, controlled, and secretly very kinky. Semi’s breeding kink is hidden under layers of self-restraint, but when you pull it out of him? He becomes unhinged. He’ll tie your wrists, fuck you until you cry his name, and then pant out..

“You want me to fill you up? Beg for it.”

He thrives on the desperation, the intimacy of knowing he’s the only one who can give you this. After finishing inside you, he’ll hum a low tune while watching it leak out, fingers lazily gathering it up just to push it back in. A twisted sense of romance, and it’s hot.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

[nonsensespeaking]

To loud for Love (Bokuto x Reader)

Summary: You loved Bokuto quietly, from high school to pro league— through heartbreak, through his toxic relationship, through everything. He never noticed. Until one stormy night cracked everything open.

You were always the one who supported him the most.

Words: 8493

You hadn’t meant to stay late that day.

The rain had come out of nowhere — a sudden spring storm that turned the sky dark and made the hallways buzz with static and thunder. Your club meeting had been cancelled last minute, and by the time you realized the buses were already gone, you were soaked from running across the courtyard.

You ducked into the gym for shelter, the one place that still had lights on.

And there he was.

Bokuto Koutarou. The third-year ace. Golden boy of the volleyball team. Loud, reckless, brilliant.

He didn’t notice you at first — no one did. You sat on the bleachers, dripping and trying not to shiver, while the team ran drills. His laugh echoed across the court like sunlight — bright, warm, impossible to ignore.

“ONE MORE! I’m feelin’ it today, Akaashi!”

You saw the setter — calm, cool Akaashi — nod once, his movements sharp and practiced. Another spike. Another perfect hit. Bokuto beamed.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until he caught your eye.

He turned mid-stride, eyes lighting up like someone had just handed him a puppy and a cupcake all at once.

“Hey! You! Are you okay?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you!” He jogged over, towel around his neck, hair a mess, sweat clinging to his jaw. “You look like a drowned cat!”

You let out an embarrassed laugh, brushing your wet hair behind your ear. “Yeah, uh. Got caught in the rain. Just waiting for it to pass.”

“You should’ve come in sooner! We don’t bite.” He grinned. “Well, I don’t. I can’t speak for Konoha.”

“Hey!” someone yelled from the court.

“See?” Bokuto winked. “You hungry? We’ve got snacks.”

You tried to protest, but he was already grabbing his bag and pulling out a crushed convenience store pastry — a chocolate-filled bun, half-smashed but still in its wrapper.

“Here. Emergency sugar. You need it.”

You stared at it, then at him. “You’re just… giving me your snack?”

“Course I am!” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Can’t have anyone passing out in my gym.”

Your gym.

He sat beside you, not caring that you were soaked or that his hair was still damp with sweat. He just was — fully, comfortably, unapologetically there.

You nibbled on the pastry while he talked. About volleyball. About class. About how the school vending machines never stocked his favorite juice. You barely said a word, just nodded and listened.

You thought: How can anyone be this full of life and not burn out?

And then:

How could anyone ever tell him to be less?

___________________________________________________________________________

You walked home together that day. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and he insisted on walking you to your street, even though it was out of his way.

He asked if you liked owls. You said yes — mostly because you knew he did.

“I think I like you,” he said suddenly, then laughed when your eyes went wide. “I mean — not like that! I mean, you’re cool. You listen really well. And you laughed at my ‘cat’ joke.”

You laughed too, trying to hide the twist in your chest.

“Yeah. You’re… pretty easy to like, Bokuto.”

“Really?” he asked, hopeful, eyes wide.

You nodded.

“Cool! You should come watch a real match sometime. When I’m really on fire.”

He threw his arms up dramatically, mimicking a jump serve in the middle of the sidewalk. You smiled through the quiet ache in your chest.

That was the moment.

The exact second your heart decided.

And you knew — whether he ever looked at you like that or not — some part of you would always belong to Bokuto Koutarou.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Catch!”

You barely had time to register the voice before something soft smacked into your chest.

You looked down — a melonpan bun, still in its wrapper.

“Breakfast!” Bokuto called from across the courtyard, grinning like he just solved world hunger. “You skipped it again, didn’t you?”

You laughed. “How do you know that?”

“You always get this pouty look in class when you’re hungry. Super tragic.” He puffed out his cheeks dramatically. “Like this.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already doing that thing — that fluttery, warm squeeze that had become way too familiar lately.

You watched as he bounded over, hair catching the morning sun, eyes crinkling from how hard he smiled.

And just like that, it hit you.

Oh.

I’m in love with him.

The thought stopped you cold.

Not a crush. Not some passing thing.

You were in real, awful, aching love with Bokuto Koutarou.

And he had no idea.

___________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t realize Akaashi was nearby until you felt his presence beside you, quiet and unbothered as always. He stood under the shade of the sakura trees, hands in his pockets, watching Bokuto enthusiastically try to convince a squirrel to come closer.

“You’ve got that look again,” Akaashi said softly.

You blinked. “What look?”

“The kind people get when they’re trying not to fall apart.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Akaashi didn’t press. He just stood there, calm as ever, letting the silence settle between you like snow.

You stared at your shoes.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked finally.

“To most people? Probably not. To me? Yeah.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“It usually doesn’t work that way.”

Bokuto called your name again — waving now, a leaf stuck in his hair from chasing the squirrel. You waved back without thinking, smile automatic, heart aching.

“He’s not trying to hurt you,” Akaashi said gently. “You know that, right?”

You nodded. “He’s just… being him.”

“And you love him for it.”

The words sank into your bones, even though they were already carved there.

“I do,” you whispered.

Akaashi didn’t say anything for a while. Then, softly:

“You’re not alone, you know. Even if he never sees it… I do.”

You turned your head to look at him, surprised.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said, giving you the smallest, most sincere smile. “And for what it’s worth… you’re not too much, either.”

You didn’t know you needed to hear that until he said it.

Bokuto came jogging back toward you, grinning wide, holding up his phone.

“I got a picture of the squirrel!!” he said triumphantly.

You smiled through the ache.

“Of course you did.”

And that was how it was — back then. You, falling in love quietly. Bokuto, shining like the sun. Akaashi, watching the whole thing like a steady moon, always there to catch the shadows you tried to hide.

___________________________________________________________________________

What you did not expect was how much hurt you would get.

It was a barbecue.

The kind of casual, end-of-summer thing where old teammates and mutual friends sprawled across picnic benches and plastic chairs, everyone drinking too much soda and pretending they weren’t all dreading the next chapter.

You hadn’t seen Bokuto in a few weeks — training camp, he said — and you tried not to count the days. But when you spotted his head above the crowd, hair a little longer, eyes as bright as ever, your heart gave the same stupid lurch it always did.

He saw you and lit up.

“Y/N!!”

His hug was full-body, chaotic, perfect. You clung to it for half a second too long, not ready to let go.

And then he pulled back, grinning.

“I want you to meet someone!”

You knew before he said it. You just knew.

“This is Emi! My girlfriend.”

Your stomach twisted, but your face held the smile you’d been practicing your whole life.

She stepped forward — tall, elegant, the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in every room she entered. Her smile was dazzling.

“Y/N, right? Koutarou talks about you all the time. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Her voice was warm. Genuinely so. She didn’t hesitate to hug you — not the fake, half-hearted kind either. She smelled like vanilla and something expensive.

“He told me you used to bring him snacks during practice,” she said, laughing. “That’s so cute. He never shuts up about how much he misses that.”

Your throat closed.

“Yeah,” you said. “He likes the melonpan with the chocolate chips.”

“Ugh, I tried one — way too sweet for me,” she said, scrunching her nose, but still smiling. “But I guess that’s Koutarou, right? Always going over the top.”

Bokuto laughed. “Hey! Over the top is my thing!”

You laughed too, even though something inside you curled up like paper under a flame.

She was sweet. Funny. Perfectly polite.

But something in her eyes — something sharp, a flicker of calculation behind the warmth — made your skin crawl. Like she was seeing through you and cataloguing your place.

Still, she held your hand for a beat too long and said,

“I hope we get to hang out more. You’re important to him.”

And that was it, wasn’t it?

Not “I can’t wait to know you.”

Not “I’m happy to be friends.”

Just a quiet warning wrapped in sugar.

You smiled.

You didn’t say anything.

Because Bokuto was happy. Or at least, he looked it. And what right did you have to ruin that?

You spent the rest of the evening sitting between conversations, laughing at jokes that didn’t reach your eyes, watching the way she looped her arm around his and whispered things in his ear.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That as long as you got to stay in his life, that was enough.

But that night, lying in bed, you replayed her voice again and again.

“You’re important to him.”

And for the first time, you wondered how much longer that would be true.

You thought you could handle it.

You told yourself — over and over again — that it was enough just to be in his life. To hear your name in his laugh, to have him fling an arm around your shoulders like nothing had changed. To have him still text you when something reminded him of you. To have him still care.

But the truth was quieter. Meaner.

Because he wasn’t texting you as much.

Because when he did talk, he talked about her.

Because when he laughed, it wasn’t always with you anymore.

You weren’t losing him, not really.

You were just… being replaced.

And smiling through it.

It wasn’t that Emi was unkind.

She wasn’t.

She remembered your name, asked about your classes, even complimented your shoes once. Every word was soft and golden, like honey dripping from a spoon. Sweet enough to stick.

But it always felt like you were standing just outside the circle. Not exiled — not fully — but not quite in it either.

She was good at that.

And Bokuto? He didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t want to.

He still hugged you tight and ruffled your hair and called you “my favorite melonpan buddy.” But then she’d call his name, and he’d look back — and that look in his eyes, the one that used to land on you like sunlight, would drift away.

And you’d pretend not to notice.

One night, after a group dinner, you stayed back to help clean up. Akaashi was there too — stacking plates in his calm, quiet way, watching you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t say anything at first.

But he did.

“You’re allowed to be hurt, you know.”

Your fingers froze around a glass. “What?”

“You don’t have to act like it doesn’t bother you.”

You swallowed. Your throat burned.

“He’s happy,” you said, voice thin. “That should be enough.”

“Is he?”

That stopped you.

You turned to look at him. Akaashi’s gaze wasn’t judging. Just… knowing.

“She’s nice,” you said weakly.

“She’s polite,” he corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”

The silence sat heavy between you.

“She makes him feel like he has to be less,” you whispered. “And I… I can’t tell him that. What if he thinks I’m jealous? What if I lose him completely?”

Akaashi dried his hands on a towel. Stepped closer.

“You’re already losing pieces of him,” he said gently. “By pretending none of this hurts.”

You stared down at your feet.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

“Then let it hurt,” he said. “At least it’s real.”

That night, you lay in bed staring at your phone.

No new messages.

Just a saved one from weeks ago.

Bokuto: You’re one of my favorite people in the world, you know that?

You closed your eyes.

And let it hurt.

__________________________________________________________________________

Things only got worse from there. The way he started looking at her and not at you, how your heart ached more with each passing day — that hurt the most. But the worst part was the slowly growing, passive-aggressive comments she directed at you. They dripped from her voice, masked in sweetness, but you could hear the underlying bite. It didn’t just make you sad; it made you angry. And, little by little, you began to resent her in a way you never wanted to feel.

But the hardest part of all was how she made Bokuto feel like he was too much. That was the real knife in your chest. The fact that she was changing him in ways you couldn’t undo — that upset you the most.

And then it began

It started small.

A sigh from her when he interrupted her story — not playful, not teasing. Sharp.

A twitch of her jaw when he laughed too loud in a quiet room.

A glance across a crowded gathering that made him shrink a little, shoulders curling inward, voice dipping softer.

He never said anything.

But you noticed.

You always noticed.

You watched it happen in pieces.

At first, you told yourself maybe they were just different. Maybe opposites attract. Maybe she didn’t mean it like that.

But over time, Bokuto changed.

Little things.

He stopped blurting out jokes mid-conversation. Stopped sending long, excited texts about random things like a new owl video or a cool new energy drink flavor. Started asking “Was that annoying?” after telling stories.

That one hurt most.

He never used to ask that.

And you’d smile — reassure him — tell him, “Never. You're the best part of every story.”

But the worry would still linger in his eyes, like he was trying to hold himself back from being too much.

Like someone had made him believe that he was.

You didn’t see the worst of it until one night after a match — he didn’t play well, off his game, shoulders slumped.

She barely looked up from her phone when he walked over.

“Hey,” he said, voice small. “Did you see the—?”

“Yeah. You were kind of all over the place today.”

“Right.” He tried to laugh it off. “I guess I was kinda... too fired up?”

“You always are,” she said flatly. “It gets old, Koutarou.”

He laughed again — but quieter. That kind of laugh people do when they’re pretending it didn’t sting.

You felt it in your bones.

You met his eyes across the room. And even though he smiled at you, it didn’t reach all the way.

And then one day, he stopped smiling at all.

At least, not the same way.

And you couldn’t help but wonder — how much of himself had he given up, just to be loved by someone who only wanted a quieter version of him?

___________________________________________________________________________

The café was warm, cozy — quiet jazz playing, low lighting, soft clatter of cups.

But the silence between them was sharp.

You sat two tables away. Not eavesdropping — not really. But close enough to hear the edges of their conversation.

Bokuto’s back was to you. Her face wasn’t.

She looked bored.

His hands moved as he spoke, excited about something — maybe a new campaign, a match, or a show he’d started watching.

You watched him gesture, eyes lit up, trying to pull her into it.

And then she said it.

Flat. Careless.

“God, Koutarou. Do you ever stop talking?”

He froze.

It was just a second. A beat.

But it was loud.

You saw his hand falter mid-air. Saw the way his eyes dropped to the table. Saw him shrink.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just thought it was cool.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s exhausting sometimes. You’re always on. Like… not everything needs to be a performance.”

And that was it.

That was the moment.

You watched the light drain from his face — like someone had turned down the dimmer on the sun.

You stood up before you knew what you were doing.

You couldn’t stay in your seat.

You couldn’t pretend everything was fine. Not when his whole world had just cracked, and you were sitting idly by, watching it happen.

You stood, your chair scraping against the floor, heart pounding against your ribs. You walked over to their table, not really knowing what you were going to say, just knowing you had to say something.

Bokuto hadn’t noticed you yet — his eyes were still lowered, his shoulders hunched as though trying to make himself smaller, quieter. You knew he didn’t deserve to feel like that.

Emi, on the other hand, noticed immediately. Her gaze flickered over to you, and for a second, there was something cold in her eyes. But she quickly masked it with a tight smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said sweetly, as if nothing had happened. “Did you need something?”

You looked down at Bokuto, who hadn’t looked up at you yet, his hands fidgeting with his drink, tapping nervously on the rim.

Your throat burned.

You could see it now. You could see how uncomfortable he was around her. How she was making him smaller, quieter, less him. And you were done pretending you didn’t see it.

You cleared your throat. “I think... I think Koutarou deserves better than that.”

Her smile dropped for a second, a brief flash of annoyance before she masked it again. “Excuse me?”

You ignored her, speaking directly to Bokuto. “You don’t have to be quiet for anyone. You’re not too much, Koutarou.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise, like he hadn’t expected to hear those words. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I just…” You faltered for a second. “You shouldn’t have to shrink yourself for anyone. Not for her.”

You didn’t care how this came out. Not anymore. Not when you saw how much he was hurting.

Emi’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re out of line.”

You didn’t look at her. Your focus was on Bokuto, whose face was frozen, torn between confusion and something else — something deeper.

“It’s not you, Emi,” you said softly, but firmly. “I’m not saying anything about you. I’m just saying…” You swallowed hard. “Koutarou’s loud. He’s messy. He’s too much. But that’s him. And he deserves someone who can love him just like that.”

The table was silent for a beat. You could hear the background hum of the café, the clink of cups, the soft murmur of conversation. But it all felt like it was happening too far away.

Bokuto was looking at you now, eyes wide, unblinking. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming.

“I don’t…” he started, then trailed off. His voice cracked, and you hated hearing it. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I just… I thought maybe I was doing something wrong.”

Your heart twisted. He thought he was doing something wrong.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you said gently, but your words came out thick with the emotion you’d held in for so long. “You’re you. And you don’t have to change for anyone. Not for her. Not for anyone.”

You wanted to reach out, to hold him, but you didn’t. You didn’t know if it would make it worse.

Emi stood abruptly, a sharp gesture that made the glass in front of her rattle. She threw a glance at you, then at Bokuto.

“I think I’m done here,” she said coolly. “Koutarou, I’ll see you at home. Don’t forget to be on time for practice tomorrow.”

Her words stung, but you didn’t let your face show it. You stood your ground, keeping your gaze locked on Bokuto, hoping he would understand.

She walked away, not sparing another glance at either of you. The door to the café chimed as she left, and the air between you and Bokuto felt heavy, thick with all the things that hadn’t been said.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Finally, Bokuto exhaled, a shaky breath escaping his lips. His voice was small, unsure.

“Did she… really say that?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He stared at his drink, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I don’t… I didn’t even realize it was happening,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “I just thought I was being too much for her...”

You sat down beside him, not saying anything at first, just letting the silence hang there. His words echoed in your mind — too much for her. And you wanted to shout that he wasn’t, but you didn’t. Because maybe he needed to hear it from someone else. From someone who wasn’t so tangled up in everything.

“You’re not too much, Koutarou,” you said softly. “And you don’t ever have to be quiet. Not for her. Not for anyone.”

He sniffed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what to do. I just… want things to be okay. I want to make it work.”

Your heart ached. “Maybe she’s not the one who can let you be who you are.”

There was a long pause, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with something else — vulnerability, regret.

“I don’t know if I can keep pretending this is working. I don’t know what to do.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Whatever happens… I’ll be here, Koutarou. You don’t have to do it alone.”

For the first time in a long while, he looked at you — really looked at you — his eyes filled with something raw and real. Maybe it wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something. Something that felt like a promise.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

___________________________________________________________________________

The rain beat down against your window, the heavy drops tapping rhythmically against the glass, almost like a heartbeat you couldn’t escape. The wind howled through the city streets, making the whole apartment feel like it was shaking in time with the storm. The weather mirrored the chaos in your chest — the tension you hadn’t quite shaken, the ache of everything you hadn’t said yet.

You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. It was one of those nights where the silence of your apartment was louder than the rain outside, and the stillness made it impossible to avoid your thoughts.

Bokuto was on your mind, as he often was.

You thought about his smile, the way it reached all the way to his eyes, how he used to brighten up a room with just his presence. You thought about how much he had changed, how his laugh wasn’t as loud anymore. How she — Emi — had quieted him, made him second-guess himself. You thought about the way he had looked at you earlier, in that café, when you told him he didn’t need to shrink himself for anyone.

You wondered if that would be enough to make him realize that he wasn’t the problem. That it was her.

You sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to push the thoughts away.

But then, the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped. You weren’t expecting anyone. For a moment, you lay there, unsure, until the ring came again, more insistent this time.

You swung your legs off the couch, the wet chill of the floor seeping through your socks as you made your way to the door. Your heart picked up its pace for reasons you couldn’t name.

You opened it, and there, standing in the doorway, soaked to the bone, was Bokuto.

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and his clothes clung to him, dripping with rain. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and for a split second, you didn’t even know what to say.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to get caught in his throat, his chest heaving like he had run all the way here.

“I... I broke up with her,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Emi... We had a huge fight.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The news hit you like a wave, a flood of emotions crashing over you.

Without thinking, you reached out, pulling him inside. His wet clothes left a damp trail across your floor, but you didn’t care. He needed comfort, and you’d never turn him away, especially not now.

You led him to the couch, your hands shaking slightly as you gestured for him to sit. He collapsed into the cushions, running a hand through his drenched hair, still breathing hard.

“She... she said so much,” he began, voice wavering as if he was trying to hold it together, but the dam was breaking. “She told me I was... I was too loud, too much. That I was exhausting. And I—I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t want to be that person for her anymore.”

You sat down next to him, your heart aching at his words. The sound of the storm outside seemed to fade into the background as you focused entirely on him.

“You weren’t too much, Koutarou,” you said softly, trying to steady your voice, but you couldn’t stop the rush of emotion that followed. “You’re not. You’re you, and you never have to apologize for being yourself.”

His eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, you could see the vulnerability in them — the cracks, the fragility he had been hiding so well.

“But she made me feel like I was... I don’t know, like I was too big for her. Like my energy was too much.” His voice faltered as he ran a hand over his face, clearly exhausted, mentally and physically. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I kept telling myself I could, that maybe it was just a phase. But then we fought, and it all came out... and I just—"

He stopped, breathing heavily, his hands trembling now.

You reached out without thinking, pulling him into a tight hug. He froze for a moment, as if surprised, but then his arms wrapped around you desperately. You could feel the dampness of his shirt against your skin, but it didn’t matter.

The storm outside seemed to roar louder, but inside, it was just the two of you.

“You’re not too loud, Koutarou,” you whispered again, your voice thick with emotion. “And you never have to shrink yourself for anyone. Not for her. Not for anyone.”

He tightened his hold on you, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I thought I was the problem,” he said in a broken whisper. “I thought maybe... maybe it was just me. But now I see. Maybe I was just trying to be someone else for her... and I lost myself in it.”

You held him tighter, not knowing what to say. You could feel his tears soaking through your shirt, and you didn’t pull away. He needed you, just as much as you needed to be there for him.

The storm outside began to ease, the wind dying down, but the tension between you two remained. You could feel him slowly unraveling, but there was something else — something in the air. The kind of moment that hangs between two people who are learning to share the weight of each other’s pain.

“I just... I don’t know what to do now,” Bokuto murmured, his voice hoarse. “Everything feels so... empty.”

You gently pulled back, enough to look him in the eye, wiping a tear from his cheek, though you didn’t have any words left. What could you say? Everything will be okay? It wouldn’t be just yet.

But in that moment, you knew one thing for sure: whatever happened, he wouldn’t be alone. Not anymore.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you said quietly, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “I’m here. You’ll figure it out. And I’ll be here.”

He stared at you, his eyes still red but softer now. Slowly, he nodded, his lips trembling like he was trying to find the right words. But for now, words weren’t needed. Not yet.

He leaned back into the couch, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he just let himself be. Just be with you.

The storm outside had calmed. But inside, you both knew the journey was just beginning.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sunlight crept in slowly, slipping through the slats of your blinds, painting the floor with soft gold. The storm had passed sometime during the early hours, leaving behind a hush that clung to the air — like everything was trying to be gentle, not to break the moment.

You were already awake, sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee you didn’t really taste.

From the other room, you heard the creak of the couch, followed by the familiar sound of Bokuto’s voice — groggy, quiet.

“Hey…”

You turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hair still damp from a shower, his eyes softer now, though rimmed with exhaustion.

“Morning,” you said, your smile gentle. “How are you feeling?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, giving a sheepish grin. “Like I went twelve rounds with a hurricane… but thanks for letting me crash here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

You wanted to say, You always have a place here. But the words got stuck behind your teeth.

“Anytime,” you said instead.

He wandered over to sit across from you, hands wrapped around the mug you slid in his direction.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just there, quiet and waiting. You glanced at him while he stared into his coffee, and you wondered if he realized — how close he was to breaking your heart without even meaning to.

He looked better than last night. A little more like himself. But he still didn’t see it. He didn’t see you.

Later that day, you left him at your place to rest while you went to run errands — and that's when he showed up.

Akaashi met you halfway home. He had that unreadable expression he wore when he was holding back exactly how much he knew.

“He’s at your place?” he asked after you filled him in.

You nodded. “Didn’t want to go home. I get it.”

He studied you for a long moment, brows drawing together slightly.

“And you’re okay with that?”

The question hit you in a weird way. Of course you were okay with it. Or maybe you weren’t, but you couldn’t say that out loud.

“I just want him to be okay,” you said softly.

Akaashi tilted his head, and something passed behind his eyes. It was the same look he always gave when he knew more than he let on.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you’ve been in love with him since our third year. Don’t look at me like that. I was paying attention.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come. Not when Akaashi was looking at you like that — not when he was being so frustratingly right.

“Why are you telling me this now?” you asked.

Akaashi shrugged, calm as ever. “Because he’s not going to figure it out on his own. He’s never been good at seeing what’s right in front of him.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“And what am I supposed to do? Just confess while he’s still in pieces?”

“No,” Akaashi said. “But maybe… maybe someone should help him see what’s always been there.”

He didn’t say you. He didn’t need to.

Meanwhile, back at your apartment, Bokuto sat on your couch, staring out the window.

Your blanket was still bunched where you’d been sitting that morning. The place still smelled like your shampoo, like the warmth of something safe. He couldn’t explain it, but being here — being with you — made him feel like he was finally breathing again after holding it in for too long.

His phone buzzed.

Akaashi.

“You’re an idiot.”

Bokuto blinked. Rude.

Before he could respond, another text came through.

“She’s been in love with you for years, Koutarou. Start paying attention.”

The words stared up at him from the screen, his heart skipping a beat.

He sat there frozen, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling very different.

And then he started remembering — the way you’d looked at him in the café, the way you didn’t say anything when Emi had been fake-nice to you, the way you hugged him last night, like it hurt.

He replayed a hundred little moments he hadn’t given weight to before.

Oh.

His chest tightened, not in pain, but in realization. In recognition.

How hadn’t he seen it?

How long had you been right there, loving him quietly while he tried to fix something that was never meant to be fixed?

The door opened, and you stepped back in, pausing when you saw him still sitting there, staring at his phone like it had personally ruined his life.

“Everything okay?” you asked cautiously.

He looked up at you, blinking once, then again.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he really saw you.

___________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect the look on his face when you walked in. Bokuto was still, phone loose in his hand, eyes fixed on you like you’d just said something life-altering — except you hadn’t even spoken yet.

“Koutarou?” you asked again, stepping forward, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked, like he was dragging himself out of a trance.

“Y-Yeah,” he said, voice slightly hoarse. “Yeah, it’s just... Akaashi texted me.”

You raised a brow and gave a small, curious smile. “That explains the look. What did he say? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” Bokuto muttered, more to himself than to you. “Just… something I should’ve seen a long time ago.”

You paused, watching him carefully. There was something different about him. The open hurt from last night had quieted, and in its place was this strange, slow-burning tension — like he was standing on the edge of something and wasn’t sure if he should take the leap.

“He told me something,” Bokuto said, still not quite looking at you. “And I don’t know if it’s true. But if it is… I’ve been really, really stupid.”

Your heart skipped.

You forced your voice to stay even. “What did he tell you?”

He looked up at you, finally meeting your eyes — and this time, there was something raw and real in his gaze. Something unguarded. Curious. A little afraid.

“He said you’ve been in love with me. For a long time.”

The words hit the air like thunder, and all you could do was stare. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a statement, either — it was a door. One you could walk through. Or not.

You took a shaky breath, eyes dropping to the floor.

“He had no right to say that,” you whispered.

“Is it true?”

Silence pressed in around you. The kind that could either hold a confession or crush it.

Your throat felt tight. “Why does it matter now?”

Bokuto stood up slowly, crossing the room. Not in a rush. Not storming. Just… careful.

“Because if it is,” he said gently, “then I owe you an apology. For not seeing it. For not seeing you.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect you to. You were in love with someone else.”

He flinched at that, the guilt hitting him sharper than he expected. “Yeah. I was. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care about you. Or that I don’t now.”

“You cared,” you said, voice low, “but you didn’t choose me.”

That stopped him in his tracks. The truth of it settled heavy in the room.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. And maybe I wasn’t supposed to — not then. But I don’t want to keep being blind, or selfish. I want to understand what I missed. I want to try.”

You looked up at him slowly, trying to read the uncertainty in his face, the softness there. His vulnerability mirrored yours.

“And what if you realize it’s not what you want?”

“Then at least I’ll know. And I won’t be wondering anymore. And neither will you.”

You didn’t realize how long you’d been holding your breath until your lungs started to ache.

This wasn’t a confession. Not yet.

It was a spark. A match struck in the dark, waiting to catch.

“I can’t go through another Emi,” you said quietly. “I can’t watch you chase someone who doesn’t see you. Or someone who doesn’t see me while I stand right here.”

Bokuto nodded, stepping just a little closer — closing the distance to hug you.

“I don’t want another Emi either. I want something real. Something honest. And if you’ve been carrying this all alone for that long…”

He took a breath.

“Maybe it’s time I start carrying it with you.”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. You just nodded, barely, your eyes glossy but warm.

And Bokuto, finally, finally started to see what he’d been missing all along.

___________________________________________________________________________

It had been a few weeks since that night.

Since the storm.

Since the hug that lasted just a little too long, and the conversation that cracked something open in both of you.

Things hadn’t gone back to how they were — not really. There was a new tension now, quiet but undeniable. A closeness laced with awareness. A pause between touches, a flicker of eyes held just a second too long. A silence that felt like it was waiting for something to be said.

And Bokuto had been trying to understand it. To understand you.

At first, he thought he was just sorting through the wreckage of his last relationship — picking through the emotional shrapnel Emi left behind. But the more time he spent with you, the more he started to realize something:

With you, he didn’t feel broken. With you, he felt whole.

It was late — well past midnight — when he found himself outside your apartment again.

No storm this time. Just a quiet city and a heart that wouldn’t let him sleep.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call. Just… knocked.

You opened the door in one of those big, soft t-shirts you always wore to bed, hair messy, eyes still carrying the weight of sleep and surprise.

“Kou?” you blinked, voice scratchy. “It’s late…”

He ran a hand through his hair, awkward. Nervous. But steady.

“I couldn’t sleep. I needed to see you.”

You stared at him for a moment, heart in your throat. And then, silently, you stepped aside to let him in.

Bokuto stepped inside, the soft click of the door behind him sealing the world out. Your apartment smelled like sleep and rain-damp air, quiet enough to hear the hum of the fridge and the faint buzz of city traffic outside.

You stood there for a moment, both of you unsure of what to say — or maybe just trying to hold the moment steady so it wouldn’t collapse under the weight of everything hanging between you.

“Want tea or something?” you offered, voice soft.

He shook his head. “No, I… I didn’t come for tea.”

You nodded, lips pressing together like you were bracing for something. He saw the flicker in your eyes — like you already knew what was coming.

He took a breath. “These past few weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out how I missed it. How I missed you. And I keep thinking about that night — when you held me like that… when you didn’t say anything, but I felt it anyway.”

You turned to face him fully now, the air thick with unspoken things. “Kou…”

“I get it now,” he whispered. “I really do.”

And that was all it took.

He stepped in, slow and careful, like he was afraid of breaking the moment. His hand found yours — warm, grounding — and when you didn’t pull away, when your fingers curled around his like it was instinct, he took another step.

“You’ve been here this whole time,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Loving me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I didn’t see it.”

Your breath hitched, eyes shining. “You always deserved it.”

Something in him broke at that. In the best way.

He cupped your cheek, gentle — reverent — his thumb brushing your skin like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

And then, without another word, he kissed you.

Not a question. Not a maybe.

It was soft, but full — like a confession in motion. Like an apology. Like a promise.

You melted into it before you could stop yourself, hands curling into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer as the months — years — of aching silence finally cracked open between you.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been holding his breath his whole life and had only just now remembered how to exhale.

And when you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, foreheads resting together, he smiled — wide and real and a little teary.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You touched his face, eyes soft. “You’re here now.”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

___________________________________________________________________________

The crowd at the Jackals' home arena was wild tonight.

Fans were decked out in black and white, the team’s logo emblazoned on jerseys and banners, camera flashes going off every time a player moved. It was the kind of energy Bokuto fed off — chaotic, loud, electric.

And you were right there in the front row, wearing his jersey — number 4 — oversized and cozy over your long sleeves, with your face painted in team colors and a handmade sign in your lap that read: “TOO LOUD? NEVER. GO KOU!”

He spotted it during warmups and nearly tripped over his own feet.

Atsumu whistled low as they stretched at the net. “That sign yours?”

Bokuto’s grin stretched wide. “Damn right it is.”

“Man’s in love,” Hinata muttered with a teasing nudge.

“So what?” Bokuto beamed. “Let me be loud about it!”

And when the match started, it was like something clicked into place.

He was on fire. Every spike came with that signature Bokuto flair — yelling, fist-pumping, absolutely hyping the crowd (and himself) up like it was game 7 of a championship, even though it was a regular season match.

But the best part wasn’t the crowd screaming his name, or the scoreboard lighting up after every kill.

It was the way you cheered — standing up every time he hit the court, clapping until your hands stung, eyes following him like he was the only one playing.

And he noticed. Every time.

When he landed a particularly brutal cross shot in the third set and the crowd lost it, he didn’t look to the bench.

He looked straight at you.

You stood up, holding your sign above your head, mouthing the words: “You’re doing amazing.”

He pointed at you, grinning like a man in love and absolutely not trying to hide it.

After the game — a win, obviously — Bokuto bounded off the court with energy to spare, waving to the crowd, but beelining straight for where you stood by the sideline.

He didn’t care about cameras or interviews or Atsumu yelling “bro, media obligations!!” behind him.

He ducked under the barrier, wrapped you in his arms, and kissed you hard — like he needed to say thank you in the only way that mattered.

“You were louder than the whole arena,” he mumbled into your hair.

“I was trying to match your energy,” you teased, breathless from both the kiss and his lingering excitement.

“Impossible,” he grinned, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and bright. “But I love you for trying.”

“You know I love your loud, right?”

He paused, just for a second — then pulled you into a second kiss, slower this time. Sweeter. And whispered:

“That’s why you’re everything.”

__________________________________________________________________________

You hadn’t expected to see her.

It was supposed to be a casual alumni mixer — a volleyball charity gala organized by the V.League. You were there with Bokuto, of course, dressed up, hand in hand, laughing at his bad jokes and proudly wearing the diamond ring he’d put on your finger two years ago.

Everything felt golden. Safe.

Until you turned toward the back of the venue, and there she was.

Emi.

Standing by the bar in a fitted black dress, glass of wine in hand, looking like time had made her sharper — not just in looks, but in attitude. Her eyes locked on you with a glance that could cut glass.

You felt the cold before she even took a step toward you.

“Wow,” she said, voice smooth and brittle, like lacquer cracking under pressure. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Still trailing behind him, huh?”

You blinked. The comment was so casual and so sharp you almost laughed.

“Actually,” you said, holding up your hand just slightly, “I’m his wife.”

She smiled — tight, practiced.

“Oh, right. I heard you two got married. Congrats.”

There was something venomous in her voice that didn’t match the words. You kept your expression calm, your voice steady, the way you always did when people like Emi tried to rattle you.

“Thanks. We’re really happy.”

And then — she leaned in, too close, voice dropping so only you could hear it.

“You think he’s going to stay that happy? You think it’ll last? You were always hanging around, waiting for scraps. Maybe he settled. Ever think of that?”

You felt your stomach twist — not because she got to you. But because once, years ago, she had.

You didn’t flinch now.

You looked her dead in the eyes and said:

“He didn’t settle. He chose me. Every day. And he’s never been happier.”

She scoffed, trying to mask her discomfort behind a bitter smirk.

“You really think he needs someone like you? You’re not even—”

“Hey.”

Bokuto’s voice cut through the tension like a wave of sunlight breaking a storm.

He was suddenly there, stepping between you and Emi, all sharp shoulders in a tailored suit and fierce, protective warmth.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, voice calm but edged with something firm — something that said don’t you dare.

Emi’s confidence cracked just a little.

“I was just saying hello to an old friend.”

“She’s not your friend,” Bokuto said, eyes hard now. “And she doesn’t need to hear anything from you.”

He took your hand — not just held it, but threaded his fingers through yours like a promise. Like a line drawn in the sand.

“We’re good, Emi. Really good. I hope you find that someday.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He just turned back to you, voice softening instantly.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Better now.”

And the two of you walked away — heads high, hands locked, hearts steady — while Emi stood there, quiet for once, watching the love she tried to break still burning brighter than ever.

___________________________________________________________________________

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, muffling the world outside.

Bokuto toed off his shoes with a dramatic sigh, arms already reaching for you the second you stepped past the threshold.

“Come heeere,” he whined playfully, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. “I hated seeing you upset.”

You melted into him with a little laugh. “I wasn’t upset.”

“You were tense. I felt it. I’m emotionally attuned to my wife, thank you very much.”

You snorted as he guided you toward the couch, refusing to let you go. The second you both landed on the cushions, he pulled you into his lap like it was instinct, one hand sliding under your sweatshirt to press warm against your waist.

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, there was just soft light, the hum of the heater, and the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm.

“You okay?” he asked again, this time softer.

You looked up at him — his bedhead messy from running his hands through it all night, tie long since abandoned, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make your heart flutter.

“I’m perfect,” you whispered. “You always make it better.”

He kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheek — and then, without warning, dug his fingers into your sides.

You squeaked.

“Kou! Don’t you dare—”

But he was already grinning wickedly, arms locking you in as he started a full-on tickle attack.

“Oh no,” he said, mock-dramatic, “I do dare. You’ve been brave and beautiful all night and now I have to balance the emotional scale with a little chaos.”

You squirmed and giggled, batting at his chest, trying to wriggle away as he laughed — bright, open, and entirely unbothered by your mock protests.

“Say ‘Bokuto-san is the best husband in the world!’”

“Never!”

“THEN SUFFER.”

You shrieked through your laughter, eyes tearing up from how hard you were laughing, until finally you collapsed against him, breathless and smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered into his chest.

“You love me,” he said, smug and a little breathless himself.

You tilted your head back, met his eyes — warm, soft, molten.

“I really do.”

His smile faltered just a little, shifting into something deeper. The playful shine in his gaze quieted, replaced by something darker, more intent.

He leaned in slowly this time, his voice low.

“Then let me show you.”

And when he kissed you, it was nothing like before.

This kiss was slow, unhurried — all heat and hands and years of love folded into the space between breaths. His palm cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone like you were something sacred. He kissed you like he needed you. Like you were the only thing in the world that could hold him together.

You shifted in his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, deepening it — and he made a sound in his throat, something low and almost reverent.

“I’ll show you,” he whispered again, lips brushing your skin between kisses, “how much I love you. Every day. Every night. Always.”

You nodded, already breathless, already his.

And in that moment, tangled in his arms, the world outside didn’t matter.

Not Emi. Not the past.

Just this: His warmth. Your heart. And the loud, undeniable kind of love that was never too much.

[nonsensespeaking]

Mothman corner 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

[nonsensespeaking]

Creep

Warnings: Creepy/stalker behavior, breeding kink, pussydrunk behavior, cumflation, stomach bulge, subspace, premature ejaculation, orgasms

~

You know it's wrong, so wrong to enjoy the attention of a creep.

At least, that's what people call him. But through the snickers and sidelong glances that surround him, there's something about him that intrigues you, attracts you, something you can't seem to get out of your head.

It starts off small, letting him eye you from across the room and flashing him a small smile. Then you notice he starts to get bolder, more confident in his advances. As the days pass, his presence becomes a constant in your routine. He waits for you after class, catches you alone in elevators, leans in closer during conversations, and even starts to find excuses to touch your arm or shoulder. Each interaction feels like a challenge, a test of boundaries that seems he's all too willing to push.

In the beginning, you almost listen to the unease flickering in the back of your mind, warning that maybe you are playing with fire. But as the tension builds, you find your resolve slowly melting, small touches on your arm turn grazes against your ass and the quick glances evolve into him blatantly checking you out.

So only you can be blamed for the situation you're in right now. Only you can be blamed for letting it get like this.

His hips snapped so fast you can't think, you can breathe. Pleasure courses through your body in electric flesh arrows and you could feel your pussy clench around his length in a futile attempt to adjust for his massive size. How could a creep like him be so big? Jesus, you could feel his mushroom tip press against your cervix every time he slammed into you. Countless loads of cum dripped from where you two were connected onto the white sheets below. At any given time he'd blow his load right into you and without much of a stutter fuck the liquid back into you, until he reached his high again and started the cycle over again.

"Mine," he grunts out, his breath hot against your cheek from the brutal mating press he has you in. The bed shook with every thrust, the head board banging against the wall from the way your cervix was getting absolutely abused. The friction, the way he filled you up so perfectly, his hot skin against yours, it was too much, too overwhelming, and your brain couldn't handle the pleasure. You could feel the euphoria absorb your body, making your toes curl and uncurl from the sheer pleasure.

"G-gonna cum in you again" He says through a moan, peppering kissed along your jaw. "Gonna fill you up, make you feel so so good." He doesn’t slow his movement, instead picking up one of your legs and throwing it over his shoulder so he can reach even deeper. He places his other hand on your belly, rubbing your skin with his thumb.

"You feel me?" He coos, pressing down on your stomach, intensifying the pressure of his cock inside you and making your moans grow even louder.

"I can feel you, I can feel you squeezing me, feel so good, better than my fist." He chuckles and grabs your throat, squeezing it so your brain goes fuzzy with the slight light of oxygen.

His breathing becomes jagged and with a soft whimper followed by a silent "oh-fu", he blows his load into your battered pussy. There is no warning when cums into you, only the slight stutter of his hips that does nothing to deter his brutal pace. You are soaked down there, his sticky cum leaking out of you as he pushes into you over and over again. But you couldn't be bothered to look right now, you couldn’t open your eyes and ignore the colors you were seeing behind your eyelids. Everything was good - so, so, so good. Your skin was buzzing, mind cloudy, and the only thing you could focus on was the throbbing that was taking over your body.

"You gonna cum?" He coos into your ear, punctuating his words with an extra sharp thrust. "Cum for me, please." 

As if on cue, you gasp, and let your orgasm wash over you. He doesn't stop his movements, instead, he fucks you through your orgasm until your crying for him to stop.

"Not gonna stop, gonna fuck you until m' shooting blanks okay?"

SHIGARAKI, YUUTA OKKATSU, L LAWLIET, SHINSO, KENMA, GYUTARO

[nonsensespeaking]

seriously didn't mean it.

“seriously. stop chasing after me you freak,” is what he said after you had given him the 4th lunch for the week. your hands still offered that bento box out when he let out another grunt, hating how stupid you looked, chasing after him. you sighed as you shoved the bento box into his chest. you couldn't help it though. you liked him ever since you laid your eyes on him, almost like love at first sight. an angel sent to earth by Cupid.

“i made this myself. its all of your favorites!” you cheerfully said as he took the bento box in a harsh manner. when you exited the room, he quickly dumped everything out and shoved the box back into his bag. you weren't always the best at giving gifts, but you figured cooking, something you loved, was going to do the trick. you had spent weeks researching the yummiest dishes and complied them together for him.

it was during class. the teacher had placed you behind him, and he was furious. he hated how he was stuck with you every single day, every single hour. it was miserable. you kept bugging him, asking him about his day, about the bento box you had made him, and asked if he would like to eat anything else. he of course, declined. at the end of class, he had given you an empty bento box and left the classroom.

you were at his practice again. he can't stand you anymore, it's almost like if he saw you one more time he would explode in everyone's faces. you were nice to his teammates though. you always brought snacks and drinks for everyone, and made everyone laughed. well everyone except for him. he was stubbornly in the corner trying to get some peace while everyone else was laughing.

the final straw is when you followed him home. he hated how you were constantly trailing behind him everywhere, always talking. god how he wishes how you would just shut up for once. after explaining how awesome the new book you both were reading in class today, he finally snapped. he yelled at you. he confessed how he wished you would shut up and stop bothering him. how he threw away all of those lunches you spent weeks researching and testing to perfect the recipe.

you just stood there shocked and surprised about what he had just said, not processing anything, until it finally gets in your head. he doesn't like you. he thinks you're annoying. that is when you walked off to your own house, not even bothering to listen to him when he called your name.

the next day, you never paid any attention to him. he should feel relieved and relaxed that you weren't talking to him anymore, but he doesn't. he ignored the feeling at first. maybe you were just upset at him because of his outbreak, and then go back to annoying him next week.

except, when next week came, you came into class, silent. no tapping him in the back, no asking for pencils. you had brought your own. to be honest, you were scaring him with the way your giving him the silent treatment. when the bell rang for lunch, you never took out another bento box for him to have, the one reserved for him wasn't in your hands anymore when he looked at you walking away to talk to another friend of yours. maybe it was all normal, which is what he told himself.

by the start of the second week, he was genuinely questioning himself. why did he all of a sudden care when you stopped giving him attention? he was honestly frustrated with himself as he was feeling an emotion he had never felt before. was he possibly, in love with you? no. that's what he tried telling himself until his best friend smacked him back into reality when he saw you talking to another guy. that's when he knew he had to make it right.

the next morning you opened the door to find him waiting. you raised a brow as he handed you a small little trinket for your bag. "i heard that girls like these things.." he said shyly has you took the trinket from his hand. you thanked him, then walked off without waiting for him. an act that stung his heart a little, unlike before.

during lunch time, he had followed you to the secret staircase where you would eat lunch alone while finding different recipes to try and cook, but this time it was awkward with you sitting across from him. you both sat in silence while he tried to think of something to start a conversation. "so why did you start cooking?" he asked as you continued to eat. you never told him, you just stared at him, not willing to tell him that you only cooked because of him.

after school, he asked you to show up to practice again. he used the reason for his teammates missing you to make you show up. you were hesitant, but decided to go since you did miss them.

he kept going like this for weeks. shared lunches, he even asked you to start making lunch for him again, saying that his mom was too busy to make lunch for him. he walked home with you, and occasionally bought small key chains or trinkets for you. you didn't want to admit it, but you were slowly falling for him and his tricks again. not to be labeled as annoying again.

"I seriously don't know what you want from me, but I'm trying not to be annoying to you," you had said when you two were walking home from school. he froze, not realizing how much his words had an impact on you. "sorry, I genuinely didn't mean it. I was just tired that day," he had said quietly as he felt heat rushing to his cheeks. was it the right time to confess? it has only been a few months.

"i'm trying to get over you. so please stop," you said coldly as you started to pull out everything he has given you over the past weeks. he panicked, not wanting to go no contact again,"I like you. I'm sorry I was wrong."

then you both paused. maybe you haven't lost your chances yet.

characters: tsukishima, kenma, iwaizumi (?), suna, ushijima, semi, shirabu, kageyama, any character of your choice!

banner credits: @//toturnbacktime on pinterest, dm for removal <3

note: hello everyone! thank you all for the support!! i'll try and post whenever i can, but I might not at times due to my workload. if you have anything to request, please feel free to, I would love ideas. please interact!! you guys are all so sweet, thank you for reading and I hope you have an amazing day/night <3