For What It's Worth (Tsukishima X Reader Pt. 2)

Rivals: Kuroo

Tension crackled in the air like a live wire as you strode through the halls of the Japan Volleyball Association, your heels clicking against the polished floors with sharp precision. Every step carried purpose, controlled and deliberate, but anyone who knew you well enough would recognize the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Clutching the latest stack of paperwork in one hand, you pushed open the glass door to Kuroo Tetsurou’s office with a level of force that was just shy of inappropriate. You were a professional, after all. Barging in wouldn’t do—but making a statement? That was entirely different.

Kuroo was at his desk, leaning back in his chair with an almost bored amusement, as if he had been expecting you. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the defined lines of his forearms, and his tie was slightly loosened, the very picture of a man who thrived in controlled chaos. He barely even blinked when you entered.

“Ah, Legal finally graces me with their presence,” he mused, setting his pen down atop an open document. “Didn’t expect you so soon. Usually, you let the frustration simmer a little longer before storming in.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, pressing the papers down onto his desk with more force than necessary. “I am not signing off on this.”

Kuroo barely glanced at the document before flicking his gaze back up to you, an infuriatingly lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Which part?”

You crossed your arms. “The part where you once again try to push through a sponsorship campaign that violates endorsement regulations, misleads consumers, and—oh—could land the association in serious legal trouble.”

He exhaled dramatically, tapping his fingers against the desk as if deeply inconvenienced. “That’s a lot of negativity, don’t you think? Maybe try looking at the bigger picture.”

You scoffed. “The bigger picture? Kuroo, the bigger picture is that I keep having to drag you back from launching ideas that would get us fined, sued, or—if we’re lucky—just scolded by compliance.”

Kuroo chuckled, stretching his arms above his head before fixing you with a look that bordered on scandalous. “You just love dragging me, don’t you?”

Your jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly, pushing himself up from his chair. The sudden shift in proximity sent a subtle prickle down your spine, but you didn’t move. He reached for the document you’d slammed down, flipping through it leisurely, clearly unbothered. “So what you’re saying is, if I tweak the wording…”

You narrowed your eyes. “If you tweak the wording, I’ll still reject it. It’s not just semantics, Kuroo. It’s about following the rules.”

His lips curled at the edges, sharp and teasing. “I think we both know I prefer to toe the line.”

You let out a sharp exhale, trying to ignore the way your heart beat just a little faster. This was the problem with him. He made everything a game, a cat-and-mouse dance where he got off on pushing boundaries just to see you react.

“I’ll tell you what,” he continued, placing the proposal down and leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll revise the proposal—to your unbearably strict standards—”

“How generous.”

“—if you grab drinks with me after work.”

Your grip tightened around your arms, heat creeping up your neck. “I’d rather spend my evening rewriting Japan’s entire corporate compliance manual.”

Kuroo let out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with uncontained amusement, but there was something else there too—something deliberately slow, measured, almost sultry. He tilted his head slightly, letting his voice drop just a fraction as he said, "That’s a shame. I think you’d find our conversations much more stimulating outside the office."

The deliberate weight behind his words sent a traitorous warmth crawling up your neck, but you forced yourself to keep your expression cool, even as your fingers curled against your arms.

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. “I think you’d find your ideas much more successful if they didn’t regularly violate corporate policy.”

Kuroo grinned, pushing back from the desk, his gaze never leaving yours. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Before you could fire back, the intercom crackled to life, and Kuroo’s secretary’s voice came through, smooth and professional. "Kuroo-san, your next meeting is waiting."

You shot him a sharp glare, your frustration still simmering just beneath the surface. "Fix it," you said, voice clipped, before turning on your heel and making your way toward the door.

Kuroo, however, didn’t move. Instead, he leaned back slightly, watching you leave with a slow, unapologetically amused expression. His gaze lingered—maybe a little too long—lowering slightly as you walked away, the sway of your hips pulling his attention before you disappeared into the hallway.

He exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I’m definitely fixing something."

You straightend your posture, pushing away the lingering heat of irritation (and something else) that settled over you. This wasn’t new. This wasn’t surprising. This was just Kuroo being Kuroo.

And yet, damn him. Damn that insufferable, arrogant smirk and the way your pulse skipped just a little too fast every time he directed that sharp, knowing gaze at you.

This was a game neither of you were willing to lose.

And unfortunately for you, Kuroo Tetsurou played to win. __

You stormed—as professionally as possible—back into your office, dropping the file onto your desk with a little too much force. The sharp slap of paper against wood echoed in the otherwise quiet space, but it wasn’t nearly enough to drown out the infuriating replay of your conversation with Kuroo looping in your head.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, but the words on your screen blurred together. Instead of drafting reports or reviewing contracts, your mind was stuck on the smugness in his voice, the arrogance in his smirk, the way he looked at you like he was perpetually three steps ahead. Every damn interaction with him was exhausting—a battle of wills where he seemed to enjoy watching you get riled up a little too much.

God, he was insufferable.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, willing the irritation out of your body as you sat back in your chair. Focus. You had other things to worry about. Work that didn’t involve him.

You had barely started scrolling through your inbox when the door to your office slammed open.

"What’s this I hear about you rejecting the campaign?"

Your boss’s voice boomed across the room before you even had a chance to react. You immediately straightened, hands folding neatly in front of you, as you turned to meet his hard gaze.

"Kuroo-san’s proposal does not pass policy guidelines, sir," you said smoothly, keeping your tone measured and professional.

Your boss scowled, pacing in front of your desk like you had just personally cost the company millions. His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up—a sign that he had been fielding other problems all day, and now, you were one of them.

"So make it pass!" he snapped. "What did we hire you for?"

You barely resisted the urge to grit your teeth. "Sir, with all due respect, the proposal in its current state violates multiple advertisement clauses. If we move forward with it as is, we risk legal repercussions."

He waved a dismissive hand, clearly uninterested in the specifics. "That’s your job to fix. I want it approved by the end of the day."

"You can't possibly be asking me to rewrite the campaign?" you asked, your voice carefully controlled despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Your boss scoffed, rubbing his temples as if this conversation was an unnecessary burden. "Don't even get me started on that bastard," he muttered, clearly referring to Kuroo. "I'm going to yell at him too. You both will be staying as long as it takes to finish this. No excuses."

Before you could argue, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on your desk. "And I don’t care if you two can’t stand each other. If this campaign doesn’t get approved, it’s both your heads on the line. Figure it out." He straightened, smoothing his tie as he exhaled sharply. "I expect progress by the next meeting. No more of this back and forth." Then, without waiting for your response, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the door wide open behind him.

You sat there for a moment, fingers clenched around the edge of your desk, trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

This wasn't even remotely close to being your fault. If anything, you had been doing your job correctly, stopping Kuroo from pushing through yet another one of his reckless, barely compliant proposals. And now, somehow, you were being punished for it. You had been following protocol, making sure the company didn’t find itself in a legal nightmare, and yet—you were the one getting scolded? Forced to stay late?

Because of him?

Your jaw tightened. Of course, he wouldn’t face the consequences alone. No, you had to be dragged into this mess alongside him, forced to sit in a room with that smirking, insufferable bastard and work together until this campaign was approved.

The mere thought made your blood pressure spike.

You could already picture the look on Kuroo’s face when he found out. That lazy, knowing grin. The cocky tilt of his head. The way he’d draw out every syllable of your name just to see you twitch. He would probably love this—getting to push your buttons for hours, knowing you had no choice but to endure it.

And the worst part? You knew exactly how he’d spin it.

“Oh? Stuck working overtime with me? You really just can’t get enough, huh?”

You let out a long exhale, trying to push away the irritation clawing at your nerves. The last thing you needed was to let Kuroo live rent-free in your mind. But the thought of having to sit across from him, in a room, alone, for hours, was already grating on you.

This night was going to be hell.

Your nails tapped impatiently against the desk as your mind raced. There was no way you were going to let Kuroo think he’d won just because you were forced into this situation. You would get this campaign approved, on your terms, and you would do it without giving him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

Because if this ended with him smugly leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, with that knowing smirk on his lips while he said, “Told ya we make a great team,” you were going to commit a corporate crime.

You straightened, rolling up your sleeves, your determination settling like steel in your spine.

If you had to suffer through this, so did he.

And if Kuroo wanted a fight, he was about to get one.

hi! could i request a managerial duties fic with the fukurodani team?

Hello :D You can!

I wrote this in a silly goofy mood, if you can't tell lolol

Enjoy <33

--

Managerial Duties: Fukurodani

Being a manager for Fukurodani Academy’s boys’ volleyball team was a bit like being the conductor of an orchestra that had no intention of following the sheet music. Between Bokuto’s mood swings, Konoha’s snark, and the constant low hum of chaos that seemed to follow Komi like a shadow, your days were never dull.

But somehow, it worked.

Maybe it was Akaashi’s unshakeable calm, or Washio’s quiet reliability. Maybe it was the way Sarukui knew when to reel Bokuto back with just a look, or how the other two managers—Yukie and Kaori—had learned to tag-team any brewing disaster before it hit critical mass. The team was loud, ridiculous, occasionally impossible, and you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

You’d been with them long enough now that their habits were second nature. You knew who needed water before they asked, who always forgot their kneepads, who preferred warm-ups in silence and who needed to scream themselves into the zone. You’d taped ankles, refereed arguments, restocked first-aid kits, and once used a mop handle to redirect a rogue serve mid-flight.

So naturally, the one time you stepped out of the gym to speak with a teacher, chaos found its way in without you.

The package arrived during warmups. A small cardboard box, scuffed at the corners, with your name written neatly on the top in permanent marker. No return address. No label.

Kaori found it by the entrance and placed it on the bench, assuming you’d handle it when you got back.

But Bokuto saw it.

He was mid-warmup, mid-laugh even, when something square and cardboard caught his eye from across the gym. Like a hawk sighting prey, his eyes zeroed in and he made a beeline for the bench.

Before anyone could react, he was already crouching in front of the package, fingers hovering over the taped seam.

“Bokuto-san, don’t—”

Smack.

Kaori’s hand came down on his faster than lightning, swatting his fingers away just before he could peel back the flap.

Bokuto yelped, more offended at being stopped than anything else, still pointing dramatically at the box like it had personally challenged him to a duel. He cradled his hand with exaggerated care, rubbing it as if he'd just been grievously injured. "Oww, what was that for?" he whined, lower lip jutting out. 

“It’s not yours,” Yukie said immediately, sliding in front of it like a bodyguard.

“Aw c'mon!” Bokuto cried, jogging over. “What if it’s important?! Or fragile?! Or snack-related?! I mean—it was sent to a manager, so it’s stuff for us, right?!”

“Then she’ll open it when she gets back,” Konoha muttered, clearly unimpressed.

“But what if she wants us to open it for her?”

“She doesn’t,” Kaori said flatly.

“You don’t know that!”

“You don’t know that she does,” Akaashi chimed in, walking past with a towel draped over his shoulders. “And opening someone else’s package is literally a crime.”

Bokuto paused, scandalized. “Wait. Really?”

“Federal offense,” Akaashi confirmed, not even stopping.

“Yeah, that’s like... a serious thing,” Sarukui added.

Komi nodded enthusiastically. “You could totally get arrested.”

“Or banned from deliveries for life,” Konoha threw in with a shrug.

“I think that’s made up,” Washio said, but no one contradicted him.

Bokuto groaned. “This system is broken.”

“I bet it’s mysterious,” Komi offered, grinning. “Like something cursed. Or magical. Or both.”

“It’s probably just more athletic tape,” Sarukui said.

“No, no, no,” Bokuto shook his head. “It could be owls.”

“Why would someone send owls to the school gym?” Washio asked.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Bokuto countered.

The entire team was crowded around the bench now, forming a semicircle of ridiculous anticipation. The box sat there, untouched, radiating unearned power.

Kaori had her arms crossed. “No one’s opening it.”

Yukie nodded. “Not unless you want to explain to Coach why you’re committing petty theft.”

“And a federal offense,” Akaashi added as he passed.

Yukie groaned. “Right. And a federal offense.”

Just then, the gym doors opened.

You stepped in, unaware of the tension until twelve pairs of eyes swiveled to you at once.

“What did I miss?” you asked slowly, eyebrows raised.

Everyone pointed.

“Box,” Bokuto said gravely.

“Highly suspicious,” Komi added.

Akaashi sighed. “Please tell them it’s not cursed.”

You blinked at the package. “Oh. That’s just the kneepads my uncle donated.”

Silence.

Bokuto looked devastated. “It’s what?”

“Kneepads.” You opened the box casually, pulling out a neat stack of new gear. “He runs a sports supply store. Said he had extras.”

“You’re telling me,” Bokuto said slowly, “I waited fifteen minutes to NOT see a magical owl?”

“Yes?” you replied, mildly confused.

“…I mean, that’s cool too, I guess,” he muttered, thinking about it for a second. Then, as if deciding he could live with the outcome, he gave a small nod, still pouting a little. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay with this.”

Washio nodded. “I like kneepads.”

You grinned. “Good. Because there’s enough for all of you.”

One by one, you handed the kneepads out, and the team eagerly grabbed their pairs, excitedly comparing colors and sizes before jogging off to try them on over their uniforms. Bokuto was already halfway across the gym, yelling something about testing them with a jump serve.

You turned to find Yukie and Kaori standing off to the side, arms crossed.

“So,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “they were debating what was in the box, and the majority vote was a magical owl?”

Kaori rubbed her face with both hands. “Don’t even ask.”

hello lovely!! I hope ur doing well! I’ve been to gobbling up all your writing recently and I just wanted to say that you’re so talented! Your ability to accurately characterize, well, the characters is so important and it’s just overall fantastic. Please keep up the good work!! <33

I wanted to request Sugawara — possibly taking care of the reader when they’re sick? Or maybe period pains? Either works, I really don’t mind! There’s not a lot of Suga writing on tumblr as a whole (that I’ve been able to find), and I’d like to see you work your magic! Thank youuu!

Hi sweet anon!! 🥹💛 Thank you so much for your kind words — They genuinely mean the world to me. I’m so happy you’re enjoying the writing!! Hopefully this is want you pictured in your head hehe

Enjoy<333

--

Anon Asks: Sugawara

The door creaked open before you could even lift your head from the couch.

"Hey, you should be resting," came Sugawara’s voice—soft, teasing, but edged with concern. The sound of it washed over you like a balm, even as your body rebelled against every small movement.

You grunted in response, curling deeper into the fortress of blankets you'd made for yourself. Every inch of your body ached with a dull, persistent throb. Your head pounded in time with your heartbeat, and your stomach twisted and cramped unpleasantly, making you feel heavy and brittle all at once.

Koushi set the grocery bag down with a soft thud, the rustling of plastic filling the room as he moved around. You cracked one eye open to find him methodically unpacking supplies: herbal teas, a box of your favorite crackers, a heating pad, a fresh bottle of painkillers, and—to your complete and utter dismay—a small bouquet of daisies.

“You didn’t have to,” you croaked, voice hoarse.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, eyebrow arched in a way that immediately made you feel silly for even suggesting it. “You’re right,” he said lightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

You huffed, burrowing deeper into the blanket, trying—and failing—to hide the way your face flushed. Whether it was from embarrassment or overwhelming gratitude, you weren’t sure.

Sugawara padded over, kneeling down so you were eye-level. His hand, warm and slightly calloused from years of volleyball, brushed against your forehead. Gentle, steady.

“Still warm,” he murmured, his brows knitting together in a tiny frown. “Poor thing.”

You cracked a weak smile, the motion tugging at the ache in your temples. “I’m fine, really,” you mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, clearly not believing a word of it.

Without asking, he cracked open one of the heat packs, giving it a firm shake until it warmed to life. He slipped it under the blanket, pressing it against your lower abdomen with slow, careful movements. A soft, involuntary sigh slipped past your lips as the warmth seeped into your cramping muscles.

He smiled at that, eyes crinkling in that boyish, heart-melting way he had.

“There’s my girl,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it over the gentle thrum of the rain starting outside.

Sugawara busied himself preparing tea—the comforting clatter of the kettle, the soft clink of a spoon stirring honey into a mug—all while stealing glances at you every few moments. Watching. Making sure you didn’t strain yourself.

When he returned, he slid onto the couch beside you, coaxing you upright just enough to press the steaming mug into your hands.

“Easy,” he murmured, one hand steadying the cup with you. “Small sips.”

You obeyed, too tired to argue, the warmth from the tea and his touch making the ache behind your eyes begin to loosen.

Once the tea was safely set aside on the coffee table, he didn’t retreat back to his corner. Instead, he carefully pulled you into his arms, arranging you across his lap with an ease that made your heart ache. His hands found your lower back almost immediately, working slow, tender circles into the tense muscles there.

The world outside faded. The rain against the windows softened into a background hum. Your muscles remained sore, but the sharp edges of your pain dulled—replaced by the steady, grounding beat of Koushi’s heart against your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing, the feeling of being wrapped up in something—someone—solid and sure.

Your hands tightened weakly in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, voice cracking from the weight of everything you were too tired to say properly.

He only squeezed you tighter, thumb stroking lazy, soothing patterns across your hip.

“Always,” he murmured.

And as your eyes fluttered closed, your body giving in to the exhaustion at last, you realized: with Koushi here, you could finally let yourself rest.

Truly, completely, safely rest.

Rivalry: Oikawa

Oikawa Tooru was used to attention.

From the moment he stepped onto the court, eyes followed. Girls sighed when he passed by in the hallways, classmates lit up when he so much as looked in their direction. He had charm, he had skill, and he had a smile that could make anyone—anyone—melt.

Except for the manager.

And it drove him insane.

When she became Seijoh’s team manager, Oikawa expected the usual routine. A few flustered glances, maybe a nervous stammer or two when he spoke to her. Instead? She barely gave him the time of day. Her eyes never lingered, her voice stayed firm, and when he flashed one of his award-winning smiles, she only responded with a flat, unimpressed stare.

At first, it was amusing. A fun little challenge. But as weeks passed, that amusement turned to frustration. Why wasn’t she falling for him like everyone else? Why did it feel like the harder he tried, the more indifferent she became? It was unnatural—Oikawa had spent years perfecting the art of attention, the delicate balance of charm and arrogance that made people gravitate toward him. And yet, she stood there, unmoved, like he was just another player on the team.

It gnawed at him. It wasn’t just that she ignored his flirtation—it was that she treated him exactly the same as she treated everyone else. It made him feel… ordinary.

Oikawa made it a point to test her patience.

“Manager-chan, be honest,” Oikawa mused lazily, twirling a volleyball between his fingers, his tone laced with smug amusement. "Do you ever get tired of pretending you’re immune to my charm?"

She didn’t even look up from her clipboard, her fingers flying across the page as she made notes. "Do you ever get tired of being a desperate attention-seeker?"

Iwaizumi choked on his water, while Hanamaki and Matsukawa outright cackled, exchanging wide-eyed looks of glee. Even Kyōtani, who usually ignored their antics, raised an eyebrow, glancing up from his shoe-lacing. Oikawa, however, was left standing there, momentarily stunned by the sheer disrespect.

“That was uncalled for,” he gasped, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded.

She finally spared him a glance, her gaze flat and unimpressed. "So is your existence, and yet, here we are."

The team erupted. Hanamaki practically slid to the floor from laughing too hard, Matsukawa was bent over the bench wheezing, and even Iwaizumi wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head. "She’s got a point, though."

Oikawa scowled, gripping the volleyball just a little too tight. "Unbelievable. I slave away on the court, leading this team, and this is the gratitude I get? A cruel, heartless manager who refuses to appreciate my many, many talents."

"Oh, I appreciate your talents," she responded coolly, flipping to another page in her notebook. "Just not the ones you want me to."

His mouth opened, then closed, irritation flickering behind his eyes. She had played him—so effortlessly, so ruthlessly, and in front of the whole team, no less. He hated how easily she dismissed him, like he was some annoying background noise. It wasn’t just about her brushing off his flirting anymore—he wanted to rattle her, to break through that ridiculous indifference she seemed to have toward him.

And for the first time in a long while, Oikawa didn’t know how to win.

And that was how it started.

Oikawa made it his personal mission to get a reaction out of her. He turned up the charm, exaggerating his requests, leaving his jersey in the most inconvenient places just to force her to interact with him. And through it all, she remained perfectly unbothered.

Which only made things worse.

During practice, Oikawa's patience had started to fray. What once had been playful teasing was now laced with something sharper, something almost mean. He leaned in too close, his voice lower, more clipped. "You work so hard, manager-chan. Doesn’t it ever get exhausting pretending I don’t bother you?"

She barely spared him a glance. "Not nearly as exhausting as listening to you grasp at straws for my attention."

His fingers twitched at his sides, irritation flaring. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the one getting under her skin—not the other way around.. Whenever she’d pass by with the clipboard, he’d throw an arm over her shoulder, lean in just a little too close, and sigh dramatically. "You work so hard, manager-chan. Doesn’t it ever get tiring, pretending you don’t like me?"

"Not as tiring as listening to you talk," she quipped back, shaking him off effortlessly.

That made the rest of the team howl with laughter, much to Oikawa’s dismay.

But the more she dismissed him, the more he found himself noticing her.

How she always had a spare towel ready for anyone who needed it, how her lips twitched when she held back a smile, how she somehow always knew exactly where to be, exactly what needed to be done. The way she’d mutter under her breath when the gym got too chaotic, how she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows when she was in full focus mode.

Even worse, he noticed that she laughed at other people’s jokes. Not his.

It was infuriating.

The way she treated him—like he was just another player, no more important than anyone else—made something coil tight in his chest. It was wrong. He should matter.

As the season went on, their dynamic became something of a spectacle. Matsukawa and Hanamaki kept a running tally on how many times Oikawa failed to get a reaction from her. Even Kyōtani, normally disinterested in team antics, had muttered once, "Why does he even care?"

Practice was no different.

One day, he strolled in late, expecting to slide by unnoticed. Instead, the manager barely glanced up from her clipboard before sighing dramatically.

"And the king has graced us with his presence," she drawled, flipping a page without looking up. "Should we all kneel? Maybe throw some rose petals while we're at it?"

Oikawa's expression twitched. His fingers flexed around the strap of his bag before he forced a scoff. "You wound me, manager-chan. I’d expect at least a little appreciation for my presence."

She finally looked at him, unimpressed. "I’d appreciate it more if you actually showed up on time."

The snickers from the team were immediate. Matsukawa nudged Hanamaki, both grinning like they had front-row seats to the best show in town. Iwaizumi just shook his head, barely hiding his smirk.

Oikawa exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching slightly before he tilted his head, voice dropping just a fraction. "Careful, manager-chan. One of these days, someone’s going to mistake that attitude of yours for something else."

She arched a brow. "Oh? And what’s that?"

"Repressed admiration." His smirk was sharp, eyes locked on hers like he was waiting—daring her to react.

She let a slow smirk creep onto her face. "That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing about you."

Oikawa stiffened for a half-second. It was barely noticeable, but she caught it. And it infuriated him.

Hanamaki snorted. Matsukawa muttered a quiet "brutal" under his breath, and Iwaizumi, ever the opportunist, smirked as he crossed his arms. "Yeah, Oikawa. You expecting a parade or something?"

Oikawa rolled his eyes, adjusting the strap of his bag. "I was—"

"Stretching starts now," she cut him off smoothly, pointing at the mats without even sparing him a second look. "If Iwaizumi yells at you for skipping, I’m certainly not covering for you."

Iwaizumi clapped a hand on Oikawa’s back, grinning. "Yeah, Shittykawa, stretching starts now."

Oikawa groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. "You just like bossing me around."

"Someone has to." She finally looked at him, gaze neutral, unimpressed. Then, before he could respond, she turned and walked off, already shifting her attention to something else, like he wasn’t even worth her time.

He scowled. Why did it feel like he lost that exchange?

The next few weeks were much of the same. The team noticed, amused by the ongoing battle. They weren’t even subtle about it anymore.

"Oikawa, just accept defeat," Matsukawa teased one afternoon, leaning against the gym wall as he watched her deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, clipboard in hand, discussing strategy. She was nodding at something Iwaizumi said, her brow furrowed in concentration, flipping a page in her notes. Oikawa barely heard the words being exchanged, too focused on the way she looked—completely absorbed in the discussion, giving Iwaizumi the full weight of her attention. It was so effortless for her, this back-and-forth, the way she actually cared about his vice-captain’s input, about the game.

His grip on the volleyball tightened. Why did it feel like she never talked to him like that? "She’s immune. It’s kind of inspiring."

Oikawa scoffed, crossing his arms. "I will win. Just wait."

But the truth was, it wasn’t about winning anymore. It wasn’t about charming her or getting a reaction—Oikawa realized, somewhere between watching her scribble notes on the clipboard and catching glimpses of her tying her hair back, that he wanted her attention. He wanted her to look at him the way she looked at the others, wanted to hear her laugh because of him.

And that was unacceptable.

The breaking point finally came after a game.

The team had secured another victory, but the entire time, Oikawa’s mind wasn’t on the match. It wasn’t on his perfectly placed serves, on the points he racked up, or even on the cheers from the crowd.

It was on her.

She had celebrated, high-fiving Kyōtani, clapping Iwaizumi on the back, beaming as she praised the team for their effort. The smile she wore was bright, uninhibited, the kind of happiness he had never seen from her before. She was laughing—actually laughing—carefree and glowing as if this win meant the world to her.

And she hadn’t looked at him once.

He hated it.

Hated how effortless it was for her to shower attention on everyone else, how easily she smiled at them, joked with them, treated them as if they were worth her time. But him? She barely acknowledged his existence, acting as if he was nothing more than a passing nuisance.

His grip on his jersey tightened. Something inside him burned, sharp and unsettled, curling hot in his chest like an ember waiting to catch fire. It wasn’t fair. He had worked harder than anyone for this win, pushed himself beyond exhaustion to make sure they came out on top. And yet, when she smiled, when she laughed—it wasn’t because of him.

And that was the moment Oikawa snapped.

So when he saw her alone in the hallway after the match, clipboard in hand, he didn’t think.

"Why do you act like that?" His voice was tight, laced with frustration that he couldn't contain anymore.

She glanced up, brow raised. "Act like what?"

Oikawa stepped closer, his jaw clenching, heat simmering beneath his skin. "Like I’m nothing. Like I don’t exist. You joke with them, you celebrate with them, but with me? It’s like I could disappear and you wouldn’t even notice."

Her smirk was slow, taunting. "Oh, is that what this is about? You need me to fawn over you like everyone else? Poor Oikawa. Is it finally sinking in that I don’t care about stroking your over-inflated ego?"

His eyes darkened. "That’s not—"

She cut him off, stepping forward so the space between them all but disappeared. "You think I didn't know about you before I joined the team? You think I didn't know you'd try with me? I will not swoon and kiss your feet, Tooru."

Oikawa opened his mouth, but the words tangled. He wanted to refute it, to tell her it wasn’t about that, but the way she was looking at him—bold, unshaken, challenging—knocked the thoughts from his head.

He groaned in frustration, fingers twitching at his sides before he finally gave up fighting it. Before she could say another word, his hands shot up, gripping her waist as he yanked her toward him, lips crashing into hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was messy, desperate, filled with months—years—of unresolved tension. His fingers curled against her hips, pulling her closer, his kiss carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say. It was a demand, a declaration, a fight in its own right.

And the worst part? She kissed him back.

Her fingers curled into his jersey, yanking him closer as if daring him to take it further. He could feel her heartbeat, hammering against his own, and suddenly, nothing else mattered—not the game, not the team, not the rivalry that had defined them for so long.

Just him.

Just her.

When he finally pulled away, both of them breathless, Oikawa rested his forehead against hers, his hands still gripping her waist. He exhaled sharply, lips curving into something between a smirk and disbelief.

"You looked at me just now," he murmured, voice rough.

She huffed a laugh, fingers still tangled in his jersey. "Shut up," she whispered, then pulled him down and kissed him again.

It was just as desperate as before, just as fevered, but this time, there was something else—acceptance. She wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t stopping to argue. She was right there with him, matching his intensity, giving as much as she took. It was infuriating. It was exhilarating. It was everything.

And then—

Footsteps.

A sharp intake of breath.

Both of them froze just as Iwaizumi and Matsukawa turned the corner.

Iwaizumi stopped mid-step. Matsukawa, wide-eyed, blinked once, then twice. The hallway fell into a suffocating silence.

Then, slowly, in perfect synchronization, both of them took a single step backward.

Another.

Without a word, they turned around and walked the other way, as if they had just stumbled into something forbidden.

Matsukawa exhaled as they rounded the corner. "Damn. He really did get her."

Iwaizumi nodded. "Yeah."

A beat of silence.

"I hate him," Iwaizumi muttered.

Matsukawa sighed. "Me too."

Haii this is the first time I ever make a request but I really liked your content <3 can you make like sex w Kiyoomi after his gf (afab) opened up about being insecure about her flat chest? Please 🙏 I don't know how specific I should be, but I imagine him like touching and kissing more in that area after that, or just worshipping her body in general. I hope I'm not too greedy if I also ask for raw lol 😭. Also, I'm taking the opportunity to ask you: do you prefer people to be more specific with their prompts or just leave it up to you to decide? Okay that's all. I hope you're having a great day! :] and sorry if I made a mistake in my writing 🙏 (english isn't my first language). Take care, muah <33

Hiii!! 🥺💕

First of all—thank you so much for sending in your first request, that means so much to me!! And your English is absolutely perfect, don’t worry at all 💗 I totally understood everything you meant!

Also?? Your idea??? So beautiful and gentle and emotional—yes. I adore how you imagined him paying extra attention and offering that soft, grounding kind of reassurance. It fits him so well.

You’re not being greedy at all!! It’s all ready for you lolol 🫶 I hope it makes you feel warm and loved. And to answer your question: I love when people share specific ideas like this!! But I’m also totally happy to run wild with a vague prompt too—whatever’s most comfortable for you!

Thank you again for trusting me with such a tender piece, muah 💋💞 --

There’s a tremble in your voice when you say it, quiet and shy beneath the warmth of his sheets. You’re curled against his side, wearing one of his long-sleeved shirts, sleeves too big, hem hanging just past your thighs. The room is quiet. Gentle. Dimly lit.

“I know it’s stupid, but... sometimes I wish I had more. There.”

Your fingers hover near your chest like they don’t belong to you, like you’re embarrassed for even bringing it up. You don’t look at him when you say it.

But Sakusa looks at you.

More than that—he sees you.

He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t dismiss it with a compliment or try to fix what isn’t broken. He waits. Lets you say it all. And then, after a beat of silence, he shifts.

“Can I show you something?” he asks, voice low, tender. When you nod, he leans in—soft, reverent—and kisses your collarbone first. Then just above your heart. Then lower.

His hands find the hem of his shirt you’re wearing, and when you give him permission, he pulls it off slowly, like unwrapping something fragile.

He kisses the top of your chest, then the dip between, then lower still, mouth brushing over skin with careful intention.

“I like this part of you,” he murmurs. “I always have.”

You shiver. He’s not in any rush. His lips explore everything slowly, reverently, thumbs smoothing over your ribs, fingertips grazing soft skin like he wants to memorize you.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, not like a compliment, but a truth he’s always known.

When he finally presses himself to you, everything is slow. Heated, but gentle. He’s raw tonight, in the most intimate way. There’s nothing rushed or rough about it. Just skin, warmth, the low rasp of your name in his mouth.

And when he looks down at you, eyes half-lidded, breath shaking, he says it again.

“You’re more than enough.”

Over and over again, with every kiss. Every touch. Every slow, deep thrust of his hips. Until the only thing you can feel is the weight of his love and the heat building between you, quiet and unrelenting.

He holds your hands. Nuzzles into your neck. Cradles you like you’re everything.

And you are.

To him, you always have been.

Tensions (Pt. 1)

The sun had been beating down rays of heat all day, but with it now being noon, the heat was at its strongest.

Being that it was the thick of summer, it was a dry day; with the wind that usually downplayed the rising temperature to be nowhere in sight. The rays hit Fushiguro hard, only amplified by the dark jumper he decided to wear that day. Why he had chosen to wear it now of all days is currently lost on him.

He feels beads of sweat roll down the side of his face. Fushiguro swipes his hair out of his field of view, doing his best to ignore the tiring weather conditions, and keep his eye on his opponent.

Him and Itadori had yet to move. They were in a stare down, waiting to see who would make the first attack. And in the three years they’ve been sparing, they both knew that Itadori would move first; Fushiguro was simply waiting.

The wisps that he swiped away had re-entered his view. Fushiguro quickly moves them away, eyes lasering on focus as Itadori decides to start the spar, making quicks strides to him. Itadori goes for a right hook, Fushiguro blocks it easily. Like clockwork he grabs Itadori’s arm and tries to flip him over. Itadori easily breaks free with an attempted kick to his shin, causing Fushiguro to jump back, putting space between them again. Fushiguro goes to a strike his jaw, for Itadori to dodge and attempt to hit him back.

It goes on for some time, with them going back and forth. To be completely honest, the black- hair sorcerer knew that in hand-to-hand combat, Itadori had the upper hand. However, in the time that had passed going from 15 to now 18 years of age, he could say with some confidence he could hold his ground against him.

After a failed punch, Fushiguro had Itadori in a vulnerable position. He could basically see the victory.

“You boys having fun?”

Her light, playful, teasing voice breaks through the cicadas, the heat and more importantly, Fushiguro’s focus. His head whips to see her causally leaning against one of the many trees, one of her legs bent, using the base as leverage. He drinks in her entire form. Arms crossed pushing up her breasts, extenuating the curves and contours of the rest of her body. His eyes trail to how her skirt had slid up the tiniest bit, legs bare since tights were now a hinderance instead of a benefit.

Then just like that, he’s on the dirt trying to breath in the air that suddenly had escaped him, all the while cursing his unconscious ogling.

He just couldn’t help himself. And that’s what frustrated him.

“Ha! I win!” Itadori’s voice is gleeful, before turning to the absolute bane of Fushiguro’s existence.

Kuramoto Sumiko.

He watches the two exchange greetings, causal conversation flowing as though Fushiguro wasn’t on the floor basically cooking in the sun. He sits up and grits his teeth, his annoyance in himself projecting onto her.

“Could you not interrupt us when we’re sparing? You made me lose focus.” He spits, glaring at her. He watches in agitation as Kuramoto’s smile grows condescending. It causes his blood to boil.

“So cold, Fushiguro-kun,” He knew she only used the honorific to piss him off. And God did it work.

“Just because you’re frustrated that you lost, yet again might I add, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me.” He tsks, ignoring her words. Itadori ignores Kuramoto’s passive aggressive statement, offering a hand to help Fushiguro up. He begrudgingly takes it, before unwillingly moving his focus back to her.

In the end it always goes back to her. Whether he liked it or not. (Though it was usually not)

“What are you doing here anyways?” Kuramoto pouts, mocking a sad expression. Fushiguro stops himself from looking at her lips. He refocuses when he hears her dramatic huff.

“You make it seem as though you don’t want to be around me.” Kuramoto’s voice is overly babyish, turning her body to the side and looking away as if what he said actually hurt her. Fushiguro knows better than that though.

It’s because I don’t. The sorcerer thinks bitterly.

You drive me insane. With almost everything you do.

He cuts off his thoughts, almost shaking his head in real time as he watches with pure distaste when her mock sadness turns extremely dramatic with the flip of a switch. Kuramotos’ slightly manic behaviour wasn’t surprising to neither Fushiguro nor Itadori. She’d always been like this; in fact, he’d predicted her personality in the beginning moments of meeting her. Prideful, selfish, loud and a little bit crazy. All perfect traits for a life in sorcery.

Everything Fushiguro wasn’t.

He could say with full confidence that they two were total foils of each other. Like water and oil, the two just didn’t mix.

He thought about it more then he cared to admit.

She places her hand on her heart, making a pained expression. “Oh, how you wound me.” Kuramoto’s closed eyes peek open to view the two boys who were clearly not amused. Well, Itadori was a little; He had always found her antics a little funny.

The had two always got along better than her and Fushiguro for sure. He would be lying if he said he’s never gotten slightly jealous.

Fushiguro sighs tiredly, waiting for the real reason she had come and interrupted their spar. One look at his expression and she smiles.

“Tough crowd.” He only rolls his eyes. “Gojo sent me to get Yuuji. Something about a mission, I think.” Itadori makes a noise of recollection, then one of stress. Kuramoto and Fushiguro, well her more openly, watch in amusement as Itadori’s face shifts through the levels of stress.

“Ah, I completely forgot! ‘Kay, I gotta go! I’ll you see guys later!” He runs off instantly, not even waiting for goodbyes, and she laughs a little. There’s a beat of silence as they watch Itadori become smaller and smaller. It goes once, twice, until they both reach the same thought.

They were left alone with each other.

It doesn’t take long before Kuramoto gets that teasing look in her eye. The look he absolutely despised.

“And then there were two.” He raised his brow, ignoring the feeling of his blood pressure rising and incoming headache.

If he had any say about it, he wouldn’t be staying too long.

“I have to train, so I can’t stay. Excuse me.” Fushiguro starts to walk away when her laugh stops him.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

The question makes him pause. Mostly because he already knew the answer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He came off more aggressive and irritated then he wanted to, but to be fair, it was her.

He just couldn’t control himself.

Kuramoto hums, walking towards him, her steps light and bouncy as she circles around him. Fushiguro’s eyes never leave hers; Just like hers never leave his.

“Well, its just that you’d think after three years, you’d tolerate being around me more.” Fushiguro knew what she were referring to. Over the years he could count the times he’d been alone with her on one hand, and even then, it wasn’t very long.

He didn’t know what’d he’d do if he was given the chance.

Fushiguro doesn’t respond, trying to ignore the growing tension that came from his silence.

The tension that they both knew were there but refused to acknowledge.

Kuramoto laughs lowly, cutting the silence in half as she begin to walk away. His eyes trail her form. “Just some food for thought, Megumi-kun.” His name rolls off her tongue so smoothly, it sends shivers down his spine. He glares at her hard, keeping silent.

“Also, maybe a haircut would improve your chances at sparing. But don’t expect any miracles, okay?” She yells over her shoulder as she exits, and Fushiguro clenches his fists. He doesn’t respond; Then again, he never does.

Because he’s too busy willing his body to not chase after her.

~~~

“She drives me insane.” Fushiguro rants, pacing back and forth the floors of Itadori’s dorm, while the aforementioned watches in concealed amusement.

“C’mon man, she’s not that bad,” Itadori reasons. Fushiguro stops to look at him. “Of course, you would say that; She doesn’t put all her energy into tormenting you.” The pink-haired sorcerer sighs a little.

“Or maybe, you just give her too much to play off of.” Itadori mumbles, and Fushiguro stops.

“What?”

“I’m just saying, you do act a little strongly with her. Downplay it, and she might lay off.” Fushiguro scoffs. As if he hasn’t thought of that before.

He didn’t have the nerve to say he had no control of his emotions around her.

“What part of ‘she drives me insane’ do you not understand?” He watches Itadori sigh again, rubbing the back of his neck as he sets his drink down on the floor.

“Look dude I get it; Having that kind of tension with someone would drive anyone nuts-” Fushiguro almost chokes, effectively cutting off his best friend. That struck a nerve.

“I’m sorry, ‘that kind of tension’? What’s that supposed to mean?” Fushiguro asks, immediately on the offensive. Itadori looks at his best friend blankly. “Uh… The sexual tension you guys have? It’s so thick you could cut it with a knife.” The simple manner in which he says it, causes Fushiguro to spiral even more.

“What?! That’s not even close to what’s going on! She drives me insane because she’s rash, selfish, crazy, annoyingly-”

“Fuckable?” The boys both turn to the source of the crass comment. Kugisaki leaning against the doorframe, her face completely serious. Fushiguro grits his teeth, his ears burning in embarrassment and anger knowing that there was no escape from the subject now.

“Couldn’t help but overhear. Honestly, Fushiguro, you want to screw her so bad it makes you look stupid.” He watches his other best friend, debatable at the moment however, walk into the room and open the mini fridge to get herself a drink. Fushiguro tsks at the comment, looking away from his friends prying eyes.

“Again, the concept of me and her is ridiculous. Never once have I ever thought of her that way.” He hears Kugisaki snort loudly.

“Please. There’s a thin line between love and hate, and you’ve been ready fuck over it since the day you met. You guys should just get it over with. Three years is long enough.” He watches his two friends, clearly amused with his suffering, infuriated. He can’t stop the irritated sound that comes from his throat. Itadori, perhaps feeling pity, gives Fushiguro a sympathetic smile.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Get your mind off things?” Itadori suggests. Fushiguro sighs, but doesn’t disagree. He had been working hard enough as it is, and a day off didn’t sound too bad…

“And there’s my entrance.” The three third years freeze to sound of Kuramoto’s voice. Fushiguro’s heart suddenly began to pound so hard he could feel it in his ears. If she had heard anything, he would never hear the end of it. And if that happened, he truly believed he would snap.

“Kuramoto! Were you outside long?” Itadori asks, standing up to greet you, clearly trying to gage how much you heard the previous conversation. The three anxiously awaited your answer.

“Just got here. I overheard that Megumi-kun,” She makes a point of using his first name in an overly smug but light voice to irritate him. Fushiguro glares but doesn’t say anything.

“Was thinking of a day off?” Itadori and Kugisaki go silent as they watch Fushiguro’s face form a deeper frown then once thought imaginable.

“I fail to see how that involves you in any way.” He says sharply. She only gives a light shrug, smile still plastered on her face. “It’s just that it really messes up my schedule.” Fushiguro’s eyebrows burrow deeper in confusion.

“What?”

“With the mission Gojo-sensei gave us. We leave tonight.” The information bounces around Fushiguro’s head and he still doesn’t process it completely.

“Huh? Gojo never said anything about a mission, though.” Kugisaki finally speaks, and Itadori agrees with a couple nods of his head. Kuramotos’ smile widens.

“It was assigned to just me and Megumi-kun. Something about our styles aligning.” She hums in thought, and all words dry up in Fushiguro’s mouth.

A solo mission… with her…

“Anyways! Make sure to pack the essentials Megumi-kun! It’s supposed to be a few days at the least!” Kuramoto laughs before saying a childish* ‘bye-bye’ *and leaving. It took several minutes and hand waving to get Fushiguro up to speed.

This. This was his own worst nightmare.

~~~

“Do you want to explain yourself?” Fushiguro barges into his office, catching Gojo mid tea sip. He could see his teacher’s smile widening, as he continues drinking his tea, purposefully not sensing Fushiguro’s tone of urgency and anger.

“About what, Megumi? I do a lot of things that need explaining. Depending on what it is, I might give you an answer.” Gojo sets his tea down gently, looking at his student with a grin so wide it was extremely difficult for Fushiguro to not punch him.

Still, he remained calm. Well, enough at least.

“The mission you apparently assigned me and Kuramoto. Why the two of us? You have lots of different sorcerers at your disposal.” Gojo made a sound of surprise.

“Am I hearing tones of resentment? I never thought I’d see the day where the team player doesn’t want to cooperate with someone. Scary.” Fushiguro grits his teeth.

“I- We just don’t work well together.”

“You guys do well enough in group settings. What’s the difference?” The answer dies in Fushiguro’s throat.

The difference is less time actually spent alone. He couldn’t imagine the possibilities of what could happen if there were alone for long periods of time. It was practically unheard of.

And Fushiguro wasn’t keen on experimenting.

“Plus, your techniques compliment each other. You guys theoretically would make a great team, so I put you together. Now you can drop out if you’d like, but I’ve already told the higher ups and the principal you guys were going. That’s not gonna look good for you.” Fushiguro rubs the bridge of his nose.

Why did you tell them I’d go without asking me first? Is the only question on his mind before holding his head up, swallowing his pent-up frustrations with an easy breath. Just like so many times before in his life.

“Where are we going?”

“A small town on the outskirts of Tokyo bordering Kanagawa.” He nods, before taking his leave and going to his dorm to pack his stuff. He fails to see Gojo’s mischievous grin as he takes another sip of his tea.

Helloooo another request because I absolutely love your Favourite position series! Can you write one about Atsumu because you write him so well. Not just him honestly all the characters you write are so accurate and well written. Take your time and thank your for blessing us with your writing!!🩷🩷

Heheh I've had this one cooking for a long time. Thank you for saying I write him well that makes my day since he's like my husband 😩🩷

Enjoy <333

--

Favourite Positions: Atsumu

Atsumu Miya was a performer.

On the court, in front of a camera, with strangers or friends—he knew how to put on a show. He thrived on reaction, on praise, on the high that came from being watched and admired. And in bed, it was no different.

He liked it when you were loud.

When you praised him with gasps and whimpers, when your nails dragged down his back and your voice cracked saying his name. When your legs trembled, when your thighs clenched, when you said—again and again—that no one made you feel like he did.

But one night, in the quiet hush of your shared bedroom, you laughed—soft, teasing—and said something he couldn’t let go.

“You’re good, Tsumu,” you purred, voice sugary sweet, brushing your lips against his ear. “But I don’t think you’ve ever made me scream.”

He went still. Blinked once. And then he smiled.

Not just any smile. That one. The cocky, infuriating, competitive smile he only wore when he took something personally.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” he asked, voice deceptively light.

You shrugged, smirking. “I’m just saying…”

And that was how you found yourself like this.

Laid on your side, one leg lifted and draped over his shoulder, the other pinned beneath his weight. His hand was anchored under your knee, firm and steady, keeping you stretched open for him, keeping you exposed and exactly where he wanted you.

He was already deep inside you, hips grinding in slow, devastating strokes that had your breath stuttering and your mind unraveling. The angle? Perfect. He hit that spot—your spot—over and over, like he had it memorized, like he could find it with his eyes closed.

But what got you most—more than the rhythm, more than the stretch—was the way he watched you.

Eyes locked on your face. Focused. Determined.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t playful. He was proving something.

“Y’re not gonna be able to talk when I’m done,” he muttered, voice thick with effort, lips brushing against your jaw. “Gonna make you scream so loud, the whole fuckin’ neighborhood’s gonna know.”

You gasped, your hand flailing to grip the sheets as his cock hit that spot again, again, again. Every thrust angled perfectly, timed like he was syncing it to the beat of your pulse, to the rhythm of your gasps.

Your voice cracked. “T-Tsumu—”

“Oh, now y’can’t talk?” he chuckled, dark and pleased, hand dragging down to press your belly. “Thought y’had somethin’ smart to say.”

Your leg trembled on his shoulder. Your body jolted, overwhelmed by the way he kept striking that same devastating spot inside you. It was blinding—white-hot heat coiling tighter and tighter, an ache that started deep in your belly and spread like fire under your skin. Every thrust sent sparks shooting through your nerves, your muscles drawn so tight you thought you might snap. You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

The only thing you could feel was him—Atsumu, filling you completely, dragging you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. Your walls fluttered around him, desperate and pulsing, your vision starting to blur at the edges. Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes, pleasure cresting into something dizzying, something raw.

And still, he didn’t let up.

His pace quickened, hips snapping forward with more force, each movement sending a shockwave through your body. The pressure was unbearable, unbearable—and yet, you craved more. You needed more. Your hands clawed uselessly at the bedspread, searching for something, anything, to hold onto.

“Say it,” he growled, voice right by your ear now, his breath hot, cock still driving into you at that perfect, devastating angle. “Say who’s makin’ you scream.”

You barely managed it.

“Atsumu—oh my god, Atsumu—”

You shattered.

Your cry echoed off the walls, louder than you’d ever been before. It ripped from your chest, raw and helpless, your entire body locking up. Back arched, fingers clawing at the sheets, thighs quivering violently as your orgasm tore through you like lightning. Raw. Messy. Loud. It didn’t stop—wave after wave crashing through your limbs, pulsing around him with a force that left you sobbing.

Atsumu groaned, curse muffled into your neck as he fucked you through it, hips stuttering before he came hard, hot and deep inside you, his own orgasm pulled from him with a strangled moan. He rode out every last pulse of it, buried deep, clinging to your thigh like his anchor.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there, your leg still draped over his shoulder, chest heaving against the back of your thigh, his hand still gripping you like he didn’t want to let go. His face nuzzled into the curve of your chest, lips ghosting over the swell of your breast as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses there—gentle and slow, a quiet contrast to the way he’d just wrecked you.

When he finally leaned back to look at you, his smile was smug, but his eyes were warm—staring down at the wrecked mess he made.

“Still think I can’t make you scream?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were too far gone—eyelids fluttering, mouth parted, body twitching with the aftershocks.

And as he looked down at the wrecked mess of you—eyes glassy, hair clinging to your forehead, body limp and trembling—Atsumu realized something.

This position?

Yeah. It was his favorite now.

Favourite Positions: Bokuto

Of all the ways Bokuto loved to fuck you, having your hips dangling off the edge of the bed while he pounded into you from above was by far his favorite.

There was just something about it—how it let him watch you, take in the way your body stretched out beneath him, the way your tits bounced with every hard thrust. How your legs, struggling to stay wrapped around his waist, trembled from the sheer force of him. But more than anything?

It was the way you looked up at him.

Eyes wide, dazed—needy.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so—” Bokuto cut himself off with a groan, grip tightening on your thighs as he slammed into you, his cock driving deep, deeper, until you were arching, gasping, fingers clawing at the sheets.

The angle was almost too much. He could tell by the way you squeezed him, the way you trembled every time he bottomed out, hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body jolt.

“You feel it?” he panted, his abs flexing with every thrust. “Yeah, you do. Fuck—you’re so tight.”

You could barely respond, words lost in broken moans as he set the pace brutal. Skin meeting skin, the slick sounds of your bodies tangling together—his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

His hands left your thighs, one gripping your hip to hold you still, the other sliding down, fingertips ghosting over your stomach before pressing firmly right where he could feel himself inside you.

“Shit,” he groaned, head tilting back, muscles tensing. “I’m so deep in you, baby. Fuck, you take me so well.”

Your back arched at the pressure, the sensation overwhelming, white-hot pleasure spreading through every nerve.

Then, his hand moved lower.

The second his fingers found your clit—rubbing messy, frantic circles—you snapped.

Your whole body locked up, pleasure crashing into you so hard you let out a cry, a high, desperate sound as your walls clenched tight around him. The feeling had Bokuto gritting his teeth, his thrusts turning erratic, chasing his own release as you milked him for everything he had.

One, two, three more thrusts—

Then he was spilling inside you, groaning your name like it was the only thing he knew, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

For a long moment, the only sound was heavy breathing, the heat of your bodies pressed together, sweat slick and satisfied.

Then, Bokuto let out a breathless, giddy laugh, leaning down to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against your parted lips.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, voice still wrecked. “We’re so doing that again.”

Cursed Fate: Chapter 1

"You’re not alone, you know."

Kaito’s eyes flickered open, the memory of that night drifting back into her mind like an unwanted visitor. She was small again—too small—sitting curled up in the corner of a room that wasn’t hers, in a world that still didn’t feel real. Even though she was saved and brought to Jujutsu High, she still felt the cold grip of fear in her chest, like she was being watched.

And, of course, she was. She could always feel them, even now—lingering just beyond her sight, in the shadowy corners of her vision. The forms. The things that had followed her since… since forever.

"They’re still there, aren’t they?" a voice broke through the silence, softer than usual. It was Panda, sitting cross-legged beside her on the floor, much smaller than he was now, his black-and-white fur glowing faintly in the dim light.

Kaito didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Panda always knew when something was wrong, even if she didn’t say a word. She felt his round eyes on her, not prying but patient.

"You don’t have to talk about it," Panda said quietly, leaning back on his paws. "But, you know, I get it."

Kaito’s eyes shifted slightly, her brows furrowing. She doubted that. No one could understand what it was like to always be haunted by… them. The cursed forms that had attached themselves to her. They never left her alone. Not for a second.

But then Panda continued, as if sensing her disbelief. "I’ve got them too, you know."

Kaito’s gaze finally moved toward him, narrowing. 

"What?"

"My siblings," Panda said, tapping his chest lightly with a paw. "They’re not like most people’s brothers and sisters. They’re inside me. I can feel them all the time, just like you can feel…" He trailed off, not pressing further, but Kaito knew what he meant.

"You mean they’re part of you," Kaito muttered, her voice a little sharper than she intended. She didn’t mean to sound rude, but the comparison felt off. Her… whatever they were… didn’t feel like family. They felt like threats. Like she was constantly one bad moment away from losing control.

Panda just shrugged, his easygoing smile never faltering. "Yeah, they are. But they’re still with me, always. It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. I think it’s like that for you too."

Kaito scowled. "It’s not like that." Her fists clenched at her sides, frustration bubbling up. "They’re not… they’re not like siblings."

Panda didn’t flinch at her tone. He just nodded, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Maybe not exactly. But they’re still part of you, right? And that means you’re in charge. No matter how loud they get, you’re the one calling the shots."

Kaito scoffed, but deep down, she wanted to believe him. How could he make it sound so easy? He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, to live with something inside you that you couldn’t control.

But the way he said it—like it wasn’t a curse, but something normal—made her chest feel a little less tight.

"It’s not about them controlling you," Panda added gently. "It’s about you making them part of your strength. You’re stronger than you think, Kaito."

She didn’t answer, but her fists slowly unclenched, the tension in her body easing just slightly. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was about more than control.

"You don’t have to do it alone," Panda said, his voice soft but steady. "You’ve got me, and Yaga-sensei. And hey, I’m your big brother now, so I’ll help you with whatever’s going on in that head of yours."

The words sunk in slowly, their weight sitting with her as she sat in the quiet. Panda, despite being younger than her in terms of creation, always had a way of making her feel safe, even when she didn’t want to admit it.

Kaito exhaled slowly, the heavy knot in her chest loosening just a little. She wasn’t ready to believe everything he said, but it was the first time in a long while that she didn’t feel completely lost.

---

“Kaito!”

The door to her room slammed open with a loud crash. Kaito groaned, already knowing exactly who was responsible before she even opened her eyes. She threw a hand over her face and mumbled into her pillow, "Is it too much to ask for a normal wake-up call?"

Panda’s heavy footsteps stomped into the room, his towering figure making the space feel smaller as he leaned over her bed, his grin as wide as ever. "I tried knocking last time, remember? You threw a book at me."

"I missed on purpose," Kaito grumbled, rolling over to face the wall, making it clear she wasn’t ready to start the day.

Panda flopped onto the edge of her bed, clearly not getting the hint. "Yaga’s sent me to get you. And you know how he gets when someone doesn’t show up on time."

"Yeah, yeah. What’s the grand lecture about this time? Do I need more ‘self-discipline’? Or maybe it’s about how I ‘lack focus’? Really looking forward to hearing that for the hundredth time." Kaito’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but she sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She was used to Yaga’s never-ending lessons about responsibility and discipline—it was practically a tradition by now.

"Actually, no lecture this time," Panda said, leaning in with an exaggerated whisper. "You’ve got a mission."

Kaito’s eyes opened fully, now interested. "A mission? What kind of mission?"

Panda shrugged, still grinning. "Something about cursed objects. Yaga didn’t give me the full details, but he seemed serious about it."

Kaito sighed and dragged herself out of bed, grabbing her jacket off the chair. "Great. If Yaga’s serious about it, then it’s probably not good news."

Panda bounded to the door, waiting for her. "Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine! I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?"

Kaito gave him a withering look as she pulled on her boots. "You know you’re never supposed to say that, right? You’re just begging for something to go wrong."

Panda chuckled, completely unbothered. "What can I say? I like living dangerously."

"Yeah, well, let’s just hope I don’t regret getting out of bed for this," Kaito muttered, more to herself than to Panda, as they made their way to the main hall.

__

By the time Kaito reached the main hall, Panda had disappeared to do whatever it was Panda did when he wasn’t annoying her. She dragged her feet a little as she approached Yaga, already preparing herself for whatever this "mission" was.

"Finally," Yaga said, arms crossed as he watched her approach. "You’re late."

"Technically, Panda’s late," Kaito said, raising a lazy hand as if to make a point. "I blame him for being a terrible alarm clock."

Yaga’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to argue. He waved a hand dismissively. "We don’t have time for your usual excuses, Kaito. This isn’t a lecture. I’m assigning you an important mission."

Kaito raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "No lecture? Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Should I call Gojo to check your temperature?"

Yaga’s expression didn’t waver. "Keep the jokes to a minimum. You’re going to retrieve a cursed object—a finger of Ryomen Sukuna."

Kaito’s sarcastic smirk faded instantly. Sukuna? The King of Curses. She’d heard the stories, knew how dangerous even a piece of him could be. And now Yaga wanted her to go after one of his cursed fingers?

"Wait, wait, wait," Kaito said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. "You’re sending me to get a finger from the King of Curses? Isn’t that like… serious cursed energy business? Don’t you usually send, I don’t know, someone who doesn’t skip morning runs for stuff like that?"

Yaga’s gaze remained steady. "You’ve been training for this, Kaito. You’re more than capable of handling the retrieval. Fushiguro will be accompanying you."

Kaito snorted. "Fushiguro? Great. Can’t wait for him to stare at me with that deadpan face while I’m trying not to die."

"Fushiguro is a capable sorcerer," Yaga said, ignoring her joke. "You’ll work well together."

"Yeah, if I don’t fall asleep mid-conversation," Kaito muttered under her breath, though the knot in her stomach tightened. Sukuna’s finger wasn’t just some random cursed object—they were talking about one of the most dangerous relics in existence. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for something like that.

"So, let me get this straight," Kaito continued, her sarcasm now a thin veil for her growing anxiety. "You want me, your most undisciplined, least reliable student, to go pick up a piece of the literal King of Curses? Do you really think that’s a good idea?"

Yaga’s expression softened, just a fraction. "You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Kaito. I wouldn’t send you if I didn’t think you could handle it."

Kaito shifted her weight, rubbing the back of her neck, but Yaga wasn’t finished.

"You’ve come of age," Yaga said, his tone steady but not without a hint of pride. "You’re sixteen now, and that means you’re officially enrolled in Jujutsu Tech. You’re no longer the kid we took in—you’re a sorcerer in training. It’s time for you to start taking on missions like this."

Sixteen. That word hit Kaito harder than expected, but not in the way Yaga probably intended. Sixteen meant officially a part of Jujutsu Tech. Sixteen meant she was supposed to have things figured out—be someone reliable. Instead, all she could think about was how long she’d been stuck here, training, being told she was getting stronger, but never really feeling it.

She thought back to when Yaga and the others took her in, back when she was just a mess of anger, confusion, and too much cursed energy for her own good. She hadn’t wanted their help then. Hell, she didn’t even like them at first. She’d been dragged into Jujutsu Tech like a problem that no one could fix. And, if she was being honest, she still felt like that sometimes—like the chaotic mess they hadn’t managed to iron out yet.

And now Yaga was saying she wasn’t that kid anymore. Like she’d somehow become this competent sorcerer-in-training overnight just because she’d hit a milestone. As if being sixteen made her any less of a wreck.

Kaito crossed her arms, her voice dropping as she glanced away. "I don’t know… it’s been quiet lately. Too quiet." She didn’t say it outright, but Yaga knew exactly what she meant. Her cursed forms—she hadn’t heard from them in months. And the silence was getting to her.

"I haven’t felt anything from them," she muttered. "No sign, no noise. It’s like they’re waiting for something… I don’t know if I’m ready for this."

Yaga stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. "The silence isn’t a warning, Kaito. It’s a sign that you’re gaining control. They aren’t running the show anymore—you are."

Kaito’s throat tightened. She wanted to believe him, but the silence felt too eerie, too unnatural. "Or it means they’re waiting for the perfect moment to throw me under the bus."

Yaga shook his head. "You’re in control. Don’t let your doubts get the better of you."

Kaito glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her arms still crossed tightly. "I don’t know, Yaga… What if they take over at the worst possible moment?"

Yaga’s hand landed on her shoulder, and she reluctantly met his eyes. "They won’t. You’ve trained hard for this. You’re ready."

Kaito let out a slow breath, the sarcasm slipping from her voice. "If you say so…"

Yaga stepped back, his usual serious expression returning. "You leave in an hour. Fushiguro’s already been briefed. This is a retrieval mission—get in, secure the object, and get out. If things escalate, you know what to do."

Kaito nodded, though the weight of the task still sat heavily in her chest. "Got it."

But as she turned to leave, she couldn’t help herself. "I guess I’ll just let Fushiguro do all the talking. If he doesn’t creep everybody away."

Yaga sighed but didn’t comment.

__

Kaito walked across the sun-dappled training grounds of Jujutsu Tech, the early morning chill still lingering in the air. Her hands were buried deep in her jacket pockets, and though the weather was crisp and clear, her mind felt far from it. The weight of the mission Yaga had just dropped on her made each step feel heavier than the last.

Ahead, under the shade of a large tree, sat Megumi Fushiguro. He was leaning back against the trunk, his usual stoic expression fixed in place, a folder of mission notes open in his lap. Even from a distance, Kaito could tell that nothing had changed about him—his sharp, serious gaze, the way he seemed to hold himself as though he carried the world on his shoulders. He’d always been like that, ever since middle school, though he used to have a rougher edge back then. Kaito had seen the transformation firsthand—the delinquent who ditched class for fights now carried the weight of a sorcerer’s responsibility, his once reckless nature now channeled into something far more disciplined.

She approached him slowly, hands still shoved into her pockets, and smirked as she sat down beside him on the grass, kicking her legs out in front of her.

"You look like someone who actually cares about this mission," she said, her tone light but teasing.

Fushiguro didn’t look up from the papers in his hand. "You’re late."

"Huh, why does everyone say that?" Kaito replied, rolling her eyes with a grin. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a personal vendetta against clocks."

"You'd be late even if you were the one setting the time," Fushiguro muttered, still focused on the pages.

"Always so dramatic," Kaito said, lying back on the grass and folding her arms behind her head. "Anyway, you ready for this mission, or should I give you a pep talk?"

Fushiguro finally looked up from the papers, giving her a long, slow glance before turning his attention back to his notes. "I think I’ll survive without your motivational speeches."

Kaito snorted softly, looking up at the blue sky through the leaves above them. "Yeah, you would. You’d probably outlive all of us with that stone-cold attitude of yours."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, the rustling of leaves in the breeze filling the space between them. Kaito could feel the tension coiled tight in her stomach, but Fushiguro’s calm presence next to her, however serious, was oddly reassuring.

"So," Kaito said, finally breaking the quiet, "Yaga told me we’re dealing with Sukuna’s finger. Gotta say, wasn’t expecting that when I woke up this morning."

Fushiguro’s brows knit together as he closed the folder and rested it on his lap. "It’s not the first time we’ve encountered cursed objects like this, but Sukuna’s fingers are on another level. The cursed energy they radiate has already started to affect the surrounding area."

"Rural, right?" Kaito asked, recalling what little Yaga had mentioned about the mission’s location.

Fushiguro nodded. "It’s been causing disturbances there for days. We need to get in, secure the object, and get out before more curses gather around it."

Kaito exhaled slowly, her breath fogging in the cool air. She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared at the ground. "Right. Just retrieve one of the most dangerous cursed objects in existence. Simple."

Fushiguro glanced at her sideways, his expression neutral but observant. "You’ve been on missions before."

"Yeah, but not like this," Kaito muttered, her fingers absently picking at the grass beneath her. "This is Sukuna we’re talking about. And to make it worse, I haven’t felt anything from… you know… them."

Fushiguro didn’t need her to explain. He knew what she meant—the cursed forms that lived within her. He’d seen glimpses of their destructive potential before, but hearing that they were dormant was… strange. "You mean they’ve been quiet?"

"Too quiet," Kaito said, frowning. "It’s like they’re lying in wait. I don’t like it. Silence like this makes me paranoid."

Fushiguro was quiet for a moment, processing what she’d said. Then, in his usual matter-of-fact tone, he replied, "It’s probably a good thing. If they’re quiet, it means you’ve been keeping them in check."

Kaito chuckled dryly, shaking her head. "That’s a popular opinion. Tends to be the thing most people choose over the possibility of them waiting for the perfect moment to screw me over."

Fushiguro didn’t respond immediately, his dark eyes scanning her face as if assessing whether she believed what she was saying. "You’ll handle it," he said after a pause, his voice steady. "You always do."

Kaito raised an eyebrow, surprised at the hint of reassurance in his words. She’d known Fushiguro for years—first as the delinquent who never seemed to take anything seriously, and now as the no-nonsense sorcerer who could keep his cool in the worst of situations. It was strange, hearing him say something so… supportive.

"Look at you," she said, smirking as she nudged him with her elbow. "Who would’ve thought the kid who used to skip class to pick fights would turn into this? All grown up and serious now."

Fushiguro barely reacted, though Kaito could see the flicker of something—amusement, maybe—in his expression. "People change."

"Yeah, they do," Kaito replied, tilting her head slightly. "But you were way more fun when you had a rebellious streak. Where’s the guy who used to get into trouble?"

Fushiguro gave her a pointed look. "I don’t miss those days, and neither should you."

Kaito laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, okay, Mr. Responsible. But admit it, you miss the days when I used to make fun of you for being a troublemaker."

"I don’t," Fushiguro said flatly, but the faintest hint of a blush tugged at the tips of his ears.

Kaito leaned back on her hands, her eyes tracing the outlines of the clouds above them. "Well, either way, I’m glad you’re coming on this mission with me. I’d rather not face Sukuna’s cursed energy alone, and I’m sure you’ll keep me from doing something stupid."

"I’ll do what I can," Fushiguro replied, though his voice was as neutral as ever. "But we should keep the focus on retrieving the object. The longer we’re there, the more dangerous it gets."

"Ironic," Kaito muttered, thinking about the cursed energy buildup Fushiguro had mentioned. "I haven’t been out to the country in ages, but I’m guessing this won’t be a sightseeing trip."

Fushiguro stood, brushing off his pants as he did. "We’ll head out in an hour. The mission should be straightforward if nothing unexpected happens."

"Yeah, because nothing ever goes wrong on these things," Kaito replied sarcastically, standing up beside him. "But sure, let’s keep it simple. In, grab the finger, out. Easy peasy."

Fushiguro gave her a long, steady look. "Just follow the plan."

Kaito smirked, tossing her hands behind her head. "Oh, you know me—I’m great at sticking to plans. You just better keep up."

"Right," Fushiguro said dryly, but he didn’t seem too concerned. He started toward the gate, and Kaito followed, her steps feeling a little lighter now that she had something to focus on.

As they walked toward the exit, she couldn’t resist one more jab. "So, what is the plan? You let your shikigami do all the work while I stand back and look cool?"

Fushiguro glanced at her, his expression unchanging. "Has anyone ever told you you’re not funny?" Kaito’s expression also didn’t change. 

“Yeah.”

Fushiguro said nothing, though Kaito thought she caught the faintest smirk as they headed off toward the dorms. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d thought. Or maybe that was just her convincing herself.

Broken Telephone Pt. 3

For the most part, you’d gotten over the ‘grocery shopping incident’ as you liked to call it. You’d had a very stern talk with both Kugisaki and Itadori the next day, making sure that they wouldn’t tell this secret of yours to the one person who you’d never want to know. The man of the hour, Fushiguro.

“This kinda feels like you’re threatening us…” Itadori had said, sitting in front of you, unable to look you in the eye. In full intimidation, you had simply raised a brow and said, “And?”

Just like that they dropped it and promised to not mention anything to Fushiguro. Well, Itadori at least, Kugisaki just scoffed but you took it as the best you could get from someone like her.

You could be pretty scary if you wanted to be, especially if it was a topic such as this. You seriously needed to do some damage control, because the more people who heard about this little secret, the greater the chance an unspeakable evil would announce itself. And if it did, you’d be absolutely screwed.

So with the two biggest mouths sewed shut, you didn’t think you had anything to worry about.

But just because they promised to not tell Fushiguro, didn’t mean that they promised to never bring it up again.

*Yeah, you really should’ve read the fine print. *

You’d learn that lesson the hard way almost a week later when the entire situation had once again left your mind.

In hindsight, that was truly your first mistake.

But to be fair, it’s harder to concentrate on your mortifying secret being exposed when you’re getting an ass-kicking of the century by your upperclassman.

It was a day hotter than most, considering you were still in the thick of spring. But that didn’t stop the unblocked sun from beating down enormous amounts of heat on you as you lay on the grass, trying to grasp the escaping breath that had been kicked out of you—courtesy of Maki-san.

“Nice, that’s five to zero. Wanna go for round six?” Maki didn’t seem out of breath in the slightest, doing a little twirl with her staff. And while that would give you enough fight and energy to push you to go another round, that was what pushed you the four other times.

You think it was safe to assume you weren’t going to be winning anytime soon.

“Thanks for the offer, Maki-san, but I think I’ll pass. Maybe I’ll spar with someone who’s more merciful.” You’ve sat upright now, panting shallowly while you wipe the sweat off your face.

“I think you’ve worked her enough Maki. I don’t think you want a reputation of being more cold-blooded than you already are, and to be known for beating up your underclassmen.” You heard Panda-senpai from behind you and you turned to see his extended hand, or rather paw, offering to help you up. You give an appreciative smile as you stand, your legs straining from the pure exhaustion Maki-san put you through. You were definitely going to get her back for this.

Yeah, as if you could.

“It’s not training if you aren’t pushed.” Maki stated defensively, crossing her arms sourly. You decided to not add your input.

You stretch out your tired muscles while looking across the track and field area you were training in, noticing that the others were nowhere to be seen. Others being Fushiguro, Itadori, Kugisaki, and Inumaki-senpai.

“Where are the others?” You ask, and Panda points to a small shaded seating area. You assume they’re getting a break from the sun. Wordlessly, you all head towards the area, finding the students as Panda said, sitting in the shade. You make eye contact, and they wave you over.

“Finished getting beat up by Maki-san?” Kugisaki asks, smug voice enhancing her teasing gaze. You narrow your eyes, debating on whether you want to fight her today. You decide that you’ve fought enough for the day and choose to be passive.

“Yeah pretty much. By the way, how was falling practice with Panda-senpai? Still eating dirt?” Your face mimics hers as you see hers drop, hearing the other members of the group chuckle in the background. You said you wouldn’t fight, but you wouldn’t take her shit sitting down. She tsks and you nudge her playfully, before looking among the group, and noticed immediately that it’s missing a key face.

“Where’s Fushiguro?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You hear Itadori’s voice creep up, face dripping with mischief, knowing eyes boring into you, with Kugisaki joining him almost immediately. On the outside, your face remained passive and calm, as if there wasn’t a hidden meaning to their words, but on the inside, you were considering how much trouble you could get in for murdering your classmates. And whether it’d be really worth it.

The penalties weren’t really that much of a deterrent at this point.

“Yes, that’s why I asked.” You respond plainly, trying to stop the suspicion growing in the second years, the tone in Itadori’s voice most likely letting them know something might be up.

“Salmon roe.” Inumaki responds to your question, making a motion with his hands to help you understand what he means.

“Off to get drinks?” You ask to confirm, and Inumaki nods.

“Kugisaki made him go off alone a little while ago.” Itadori adds, deciding to drop the teasing. You hum in understanding.

“I’ll go over there too. I doubt he got what I wanted.” You were being completely honest when you wanted to go to the vending machine to just get a drink. Of course, Fushiguro alone would be a bonus, but you didn’t like altering your actions simply to get a boy’s attention, you simply found it below your own level of self-respect.

But of course, idiots didn’t see it that way. And you should’ve realized that.

You hear the two idiots in question hum knowingly, and you don’t even have to look to see them smiling at each other smugly.

“Sure…” Their simultaneous response paired with the look they were sharing had you stop dead in your tracks.

“Careful, or I’ll convince Fushiguro to give me your drinks instead.” Your voice is calm, delivered with your usual dryness but mixed in with severe undertones of ‘drop it, you assholes’, but that sure as hell didn’t stop them.

“You can’t get him out of your mind for a second! Even your plans to screw us over involve him!” At this point, you swore you could feel your blood pressure rise.

You realize that Kugisaki is crass and blunt, and you’re willing to accept that, but you really can’t accept her lack of awareness.

It was really too much at this point.

You clench your teeth, knowing now that you’re completely screwed. The second-years weren’t dense, and you knew they’d already be somewhat suspicious at the first comment, but those two Neanderthals just put the final nail in the coffin.

“What’s going on?” You hear Maki ask, looking between you and the other two, slightly cowering at the pure aura of anger now surrounding your form.

Silence fills the area, with the first years not knowing what to say, and second years standing there in basically complete confusion.

And then it happened.

“[Name]’s in love with Fushiguro!” Kugisaki blurts out, and your jaw drops to the floor. Immediately all eyes were on you, causing your already there blush to burn ever redder across your cheeks, giving everyone the confirmation that it was indeed true.

To some extent.

“Wha-what?! I am not! I-I never said-“ You continue to stutter and cut yourself off, the stares of the first and second years being a little too much. You bury your face in your hands as you hope and pray that the world swallows you whole.

No such thing occurred.

“Well, To be fair, [Name] said that she liked him, not loved him.” Itadori, of all people, is the one who comes to your rescue.

Well, kind of.

You snap your head up at his words. “O-oi!“

You go unnoticed by the two loudmouths, who were getting sucked into their own argument.

“Hah? Are you stupid? Of course she loves him. She talks about him all the time, and told me that she even wanted to get screwed by-“

“I never said any of that!” You felt like you wanted to pull your own hair out at this point, stomping your foot like a child and cutting Kugisaki off. Your little outburst manages to snap them out of it.

But you just couldn’t seem to catch a break.

“Is this even new information?” Maki’s words hit you like a freight train, whipping around to look at the now unimpressed second-years.

“Wh-what?”

“I mean, even if you didn’t say anything, it’s pretty damn obvious that you like him.” You swore you could feel your heart stop.

“That-That’s not true! I’ve never shown my feelings for him.” You’re quick to defend yourself, not hearing your own words.

“So you do like him?” You hear Itadori pipe in, making you jump. You don’t even have any time to smack him until Panda decides to add his fifty cents.

“Regardless of whether she’ll admit it, she does. Whenever he’s training, she’ll stare at him so hard you can practically see hearts in her eyes. I’m surprised you guys didn’t know until now.” You know what, you’ll retract your previous statement. Now you want the ground to swallow you whole.

“Can all of you shut up?! I do not stare at him!” You yell, trying to keep the last shred of dignity you have intact, only for it to be completely shattered by the disbelieving eyes of your classmates.

“Bonito flakes.” It’s the tired tone of your upperclassmen that manages to finally push you over the edge.

“Okay, okay, fine!” You snap, the redness running across your cheeks removing any seriousness or intensity you wanted to have. The only thing you’re met with is indifference and amusement as your classmates watch you.

“Believe what you will, whether it’s true or not is irrelevant.” You say through clenched teeth, ignoring Maki’s eye roll and Kugisaki’s scoff. “But just keep this ridiculous theory to yourselves.” You weren’t really talking to the second years at this point, but the only people dumb enough to tell Fushiguro and effectively ruin your life.

You stare down Itadori and Kugisaki. With them looking at each other and then at you. “I don’t care what it is I’ll have to do, but you two are as good as dead if you tell Fushiguro anything.” You hiss, too angry to notice that their eyes are now not looking at you, but behind you.

“Tell me what?”

The voice makes your heart drop all the way down to your feet.

You whip around to an extremely suspicious-looking Fushiguro holding a small bag of drinks. He looked extremely confused, but not awkward. He didn’t hear anything.

You silently thanked all the Gods you could think of. But you weren’t off the hook just yet.

He started to look to the others, searching for someone to fill him in, but they didn’t give him a coherent answer, purposefully avoiding eye contact and mumbling to themselves.

Some friends they are. You make a mental note to curse them out later.

You needed to come up with a reasonable excuse, and quick. Because the more time you let him think on this, the harder it’ll be for him to believe anything half decent.

But being the presence of your crush, (Yeah, you weren’t going to deny it anymore.) your mind draws a fat blank and you just end up dumbly opening and closing your mouth like a gaping fish.

The seconds are agonizingly slow, and the silence among the group is soul-crushingly loud. You knew it must’ve been extremely hard to watch. And maybe it was because it was hard to watch, or she was bored, that Maki decided to help dig you out of the hole you fell into.

More like pushed into and buried, but you digress.

“She was just embarrassed that she lost to me so many times during training. She doesn’t want you to think less of her.” Her tone is light and casual, and you’re almost scared of how convincingly good your senpai sounds. You see the others follow her lead, nodding and adding small agreements. You catch on quickly.

“Uh… yeah, that’s it. I was just a little embarrassed.” You add on, avoiding looking at him so he couldn’t see the redness on your cheeks that you couldn’t seem to get rid of. He raises a brow, and your heart beats faster as you watch him process your excuse. You feel your blood pulse through your ears as you wait for his response.

“Well, Maki-senpai is a formidable opponent and she does push people a little hard.” You hear Maki let out a scoff, but you pay no mind to it. “Plus, you just started training recently. I wouldn’t be too upset about losing to her.” He finishes. You could tell by his face that he wanted to add more, but decided to keep it to himself.

You’d take that any day.

You laugh, trying to edge out the awkwardness and nervousness in your voice before speaking. “Yeah, you’re right. It sounds stupid now. I’d appreciate it if we just forgot about this.” You rub the sides of your arms, still avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Alright. Here.” You hear his bag rustle and it causes you to look up at him. After a couple of seconds, he pulls out your favourite drink. You show your confusion. You didn’t ask him for a drink.

Seeing your expression, he explains himself. “I always see you get this one. Figured you’d want it.” He hands it to you before giving everyone else the drink they requested, acting like five minutes ago never happened. Rowdiness of the group returning to homeostasis.

You stare at the drink with the dumbest smile on your face, not being able to hide it.

You chose to ignore the looks of your classmates.