Jealousy: Kageyama

Favourite Positions: Sakusa

Sakusa Kiyoomi had never liked mess.

He wasn’t fond of anything sticky, anything uncontrolled, anything that demanded he surrender to chaos.

And sex, by nature, was a little chaotic.

But with you—it wasn’t. With you, it was something else. Something he could control, savor, memorize.

And when you sat on his face?

It became his favorite thing in the world.

You’d asked him, once—quietly, maybe even shyly—if he wanted to try it. You’d been hesitant, even as you knelt over him on the bed, thighs trembling with anticipation. But Sakusa hadn’t hesitated.

He had only looked up at you with those dark, focused eyes and said, “Sit.”

And now?

Now, your thighs were trembling around his head.

His hands were firm around them, fingers digging into your skin, guiding your hips as you rocked against his mouth. His curls were damp with sweat and slick. His jaw worked with slow, punishing precision.

Every time his tongue dragged up between your folds, he flattened it against your clit and flicked—just once, just enough to make your body twitch—and then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Your hands were buried in the sheets behind you, hips tilted forward as he held you steady, held you still, held you open.

"Kiyoomi—" you gasped, but it was barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His mouth was too busy—working you apart, slow and relentless, tongue curling, lips sealing around you with devastating pressure. He sucked you down, drew another sharp moan from your throat, and when you twitched above him, tried to lift off just a little—

His grip tightened.

“Don’t move,” he rasped against you, voice low, strained, and muffled by the heat of your cunt. "I’m not done yet."

Your breath caught.

You could barely hold yourself up. Your legs were shaking violently, muscles screaming, your entire body flushed with heat. You were soaked. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, clinging to his cheeks, smearing against his lips.

And he was loving it.

He groaned into you, hands pulling you down harder, deeper, locking you into place as his tongue fucked into you—slow, deep, precise. He was savoring you.

You sobbed. Loud, wrecked, desperate.

“I—I can’t—Kiyoomi—”

His only response was a low moan, like he was addicted to the taste of you, to the way you sounded. His nose was pressed against your clit, tongue working deeper, messier now, grinding slow and firm until your thighs were twitching with every stroke.

Your vision blurred. The knot in your stomach pulled tighter, tighter, too tight.

And then—

You broke.

You came with a scream, hips jerking, grinding into his face as your orgasm crashed through you in one white-hot wave. Your whole body locked up, the pleasure too intense, too much, almost unbearable.

But Sakusa didn’t stop.

Not even when your thighs started to shake uncontrollably.

Not even when you whimpered, “Please,” so softly it was barely sound.

He shifted the angle of his mouth, focused entirely on your clit now, his tongue flicking rapidly, pressure sharp and steady. His hands held you down as your entire body jolted with overstimulation.

You cried out again, voice cracking, hands flying forward to claw at his hair, at the headboard, anything you could reach.

He was going to make you come again.

And he did.

The second orgasm was worse. Sharper. It tore through you like lightning, and you couldn’t even scream this time—you just gasped, mouth open, eyes wide, legs clamping tight around his head as you sobbed through it.

And still—he didn’t stop.

Your body shook. Collapsed. Melted into his mouth.

Only when your hips bucked too hard—when your voice gave out entirely, when your whole body spasmed in his hold—did he finally relent.

He kissed your inner thigh once, slow and deliberate, then another kiss to your slick, swollen folds, almost reverent. You slumped forward, collapsing onto the bed, shaking.

Sakusa pushed himself up slowly, eyes dark and unreadable, curls stuck to his forehead. His face was soaked. His lips were flushed, chin wet with you, and he looked completely ruined.

And satisfied.

He crawled up beside you, his hand gentle on your hip.

“Still breathing?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You could only nod, barely.

He leaned down and kissed your shoulder, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your spine.

“You’re going to do that again,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a question.

And in that moment, you knew he’d found his favorite position.

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.

waiting for megumi's class to end so they can play ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა

Favourite Positions: Kuroo

Of all the ways Kuroo liked to fuck you, reverse cowgirl had to be his favorite.

Not just because of the way your body looked—though, fuck, he could watch you like this forever. The curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the way your ass bounced each time you dropped down onto his cock. It was hypnotic, the way you moved, rolling your hips slow and deliberate at first, teasing yourself as much as him.

No, what really did it for him was the control. Or, more accurately, the moment you lost it.

"You always start off so cocky," Kuroo mused, voice dark with amusement. His fingers pressed into the flesh of your thighs, stroking, teasing. "Think you’re in charge just ‘cause you’re on top, huh?"

You shot him a look over your shoulder, lips parted, eyes hazy with pleasure. A challenge.

His smirk sharpened.

"Alright, baby, let’s see how long that lasts."

Before you could brace yourself, Kuroo’s hands slid up, gripping your waist, and slammed you down onto his cock. The sudden force had you gasping, your balance breaking as pleasure shot through you like lightning. His grip tightened, holding you still, making you take him deep, making you feel him.

"You good?" he asked, voice low, teasing.

You nodded, already breathless. Already wrecked.

Kuroo chuckled, slow and satisfied. And then he started thrusting up into you.

Hard.

Your hands scrambled for support, nails digging into his knees, a choked cry falling from your lips as he fucked up into you with purpose. There was no rhythm to it, just rough, fast, needy. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the air, your moans turning high-pitched and desperate.

"Yeah, that’s it," he groaned, eyes locked onto the way you shuddered. "Not so cocky now, huh? Feels too fucking good, doesn’t it?"

You tried to say something—tried to hold onto whatever control you thought you had—but all that came out was a whimper, a broken moan of his name.

Kuroo grinned, loving every second of it. Loving the way you completely fell apart for him.

And when he reached between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles—

You shattered.

Your whole body tensed, a cry ripping from your throat as you clenched down around him, dragging him right over the edge with you. He groaned, deep and guttural, burying himself inside you, grinding up as he came.

For a moment, all that was left was heavy breathing, the rise and fall of your bodies pressed together, the warmth between you both.

Then, Kuroo let out a breathless chuckle, trailing lazy fingers up your spine before giving your ass a playful slap.

"See? Told you I’d win."

"Shut up."

Smash, next question

I made this for Twitter btw 😌

Broken Telephone Pt. 5 (Finale)

You’ve finally reached the end of your rope.

With seemingly everyone in the universe knowing, it was only a matter of time before Fushiguro found out too. You had doomsday approaching, but you didn’t know when.

And this was the worst kind of psychological torment.

Now that Gojo was in on it too, this added a whole new layer of terror with him being a whirlwind of unpredictability. You quite literally did not know what to do.

But you did know what you wanted to do.

You burst into one of the common areas, one that you knew where they were. They both jumped at the sound when they turned around to peer at your rage-induced state. You watched your fellow first-years go wide-eyed as they could feel your ferocity ebbing off you in waves, flames of fury practically swirling around you.

”Who. Did. It?” You asked, voice terrifyingly calm, looking is slight satisfaction as you watched your friends (tentative at the moment) squirm and sweat. Itadori stuttered, while Kugisaki only avoided the question. “What are you talking about? Did what?” You walked up to them, not breaking eye contact as you grabbed the sorcerer’s shoulders, grip so tight she couldn’t pull away, eyes boring into her soul.

“I am seconds away from collapsing in on myself like a dying star. If you don’t tell me right now what happened and why, I will do everything in my power to take you down with me.” You actually saw her gulp before Itadori stepped in. Arms up at the ready to prepare for any hellfire you might reign down upon them (though he was genuinely terrified he wouldn’t be able to stop you).

Before Itadori could say anything, Kugisaki finally spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. "Okay, okay, fine! We may have let it slip to Gojo-sensei that you… have a thing for Fushiguro." As Kugisaki and Itadori nervously awaited your response, you felt a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you. Your mind was a whirlwind of frustration, embarrassment, and sheer disbelief at the mess they had dragged you into. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

"Are you kidding me?!" you finally exclaimed, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

Itadori winced, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I-I'm sorry, [Name], we didn't think it would—"

“Oh wow, I’m not surprised! Like you two haven’t run me through the mud five times over!” You snarled. “I said one thing! ONE! And now I’m suddenly being shipped to marriage?!” You had yelled, but just the absolute ridiculousness of the sentence, once it had run through your mind, made you burst out in only slightly insane laughter. Your classmates only looked at you in bewilderment as you wheezed, tears welling up in your eyes as you sighed with the realization.

“I’m gonna have to tell him aren’t I?” The question was mostly asked to yourself, with neither Itadori nor Kugisaki answering.

“Tell who what?” It was his voice that snapped you out of hysterics, head whipping to Fushiguro standing at the open doors, confused and concerned. The three of you made eye-contact before the brightly hair-coloured duo stumbled through their exits with shitty excuses such as ‘I think I hear Jennifer Lawrence calling me’ and ’I need to run to Home Depot’ before scurrying off like rats.

True to form.

“What was that about?” Fushiguro asks, still confused as hell. You huff out a chuckle, before shaking your head. “Who honestly knows with those two?” You ask rhetorically, before meeting the sorcerer’s eyes to find them already staring at you. “I heard yelling. What were you chastising them for this time?” You smile to yourself, mentally preparing for what you have to do. What you needed to do.

For some strange reason, you felt a wave of calm over you. You realized that really, deeply, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It never was.

“They’ve been tormenting me over a secret I have. About you.” At his mentioning, he tilts his head, eyes unreadable. Your smile widens emptily. “I stupidly told Kugisaki I had feelings for you. You can imagine how that went.” You chuckle, devoid of humour. You refused to meet his eyes as you continued.

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything from you. I just figured it’d be less awkward if it came from me instead of Gojo.” You shivered at the thought. “I just knew that I had to tell you to not lose my mind.” You shrugged at the end, before sighing.

“I’m really sorry—“

“Why are you sorry?” His words made your heart stop. Face flushing with heat and surprise, you look up to him finding his face attempting to be neutral, but an extremely strong blush flooding his cheeks. “This isn’t really big news, either. I could sort of tell.” You gasp, somewhat jokingly.

“Was I really that obvious?” You rub your cheeks in embarrassment, “Well, I promise there won’t be anything else like that.” Fushiguro didn’t say anything, only walking up towards you so close you could feel his body heat and smell him. Of course, he smelled amazing. You looked up meekly, not knowing how to react.

“Our profession is one filled with loneliness and pain. It only makes sense that when you share that profession with others you’ll form any and all feelings. You want someone to stand still when you’re in constant motion.” He explains, and you’re not quite sure where you’re going with this until he looks away from you.

“I… Wouldn’t mind standing still with you.” You could tell your eyes shined at his words. Never in a million years would you have expected to hear that.

It wasn’t exactly a confession, but you sure as hell wouldn’t want anything else. His reassurance was like a balm to your frazzled nerves, soothing the turmoil within you and offering a glimmer of hope in the midst of the chaos. And when he confessed his own feelings in his own quiet, understated way, you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotion overwhelm you.

It wasn't the grand declaration of love you had always dreamed of, but it was something real, something genuine, and in that moment, it was more than enough.

As you stood there, basking in the warmth of Fushiguro's presence, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected turn of events. Despite the messiness of it all, despite the chaos and confusion, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to stand still with him, if only for a moment.

You couldn’t believe after this broken telephone, you finally got a message you saw truth in.

Rivalry: Shirabu

"You’re insufferable."

That was the last thing you hissed at Shirabu Kenjirō before the attending physician turned, red-faced and barely breathing through his nose, and barked loud enough to make half the emergency department flinch:

"Both of you—out. Now."

But that wasn’t how the day started.

It started with an argument.

“0.25 milligrams,” you said evenly, eyes flicking from the tablet to the patient. “He’s seventy-two. With a documented history of hepatic impairment. We’re not doing a full dose.”

Shirabu didn’t look up from the vial in his gloved hand. “He’s metabolizing fine, vitals are steady, and the attending’s notes—”

“—don’t override the risk of oversedation,” you cut in, sharper this time. “We need to adjust it. I already cleared it with Pharmacy.”

He glanced at you then, that cool clinical stare that always made your blood boil. “I triple-checked the chart. We’re wasting time.”

“You’re going to put a seventy-two-year-old man into respiratory depression.”

“And you’re going to let him seize while we argue.”

Your mouth opened, ready to fire back—and that’s when it happened.

The patient’s monitor screamed.

A violent shudder rocked through his body, limbs jerking, back arching off the gurney.

“Shit!” you both snapped in unison.

“Code blue!” you shouted into the hallway. “We need Ativan, now!”

The room exploded into motion. Nurses poured in. A crash cart slammed into the doorframe. Someone started chest compressions. And you—helplessly gripping the IV tubing you hadn’t primed—stood frozen beside Shirabu, both of you silent, horror pooling in your throats.

The attending shoved through seconds later, eyes wild. “Get the hell out!”

__

Now.

“You’re done here for today,” the attending had spat, voice blistering. “Go help the nurses. Clean linens, supply runs, sit with waiting patients—I don’t care. You’re both liabilities right now.”

Shame swirled in your gut. Not because you were wrong—no, you were right about the dosage—but because you’d let Shirabu get under your skin. Again. And someone paid for it.

You stormed out of the trauma bay, white coat flaring behind you like a war banner, and Shirabu followed half a step behind, not saying anything yet, which was somehow worse. The moment you passed the threshold into the hallway, you whirled on him.

“You’re unbelievable,” you snapped. “I told you the dose was too high—”

“And I told you I triple-checked the chart,” he said coolly, not even looking at you. “But of course, you think you’re always right.”

“Because I usually am. You never listen to anyone, you just go with your arrogant little gut—”

“My gut?” He turned then, sharply, eyes like frost over steel. “You mean the one that finished top of its class in diagnostics and surgical prep?”

“Oh, congratulations,” you snarled, hands tightening into fists at your sides. “You got a gold star while you ignored the actual patient in front of you.”

"You don't know how to read the room half the time," he snapped. "You’re so busy being morally superior, you forget we’re on a clock. You want to argue philosophy while someone’s bleeding out? Grow up."

You could feel your pulse in your teeth. Heat flooded your face. You weren’t even sure when the two of you had gotten so close—but now he was right in front of you, all sharp lines and cold fire, his jaw tight, breath shallow, his stupidly pretty mouth parted like he had one more insult on the tip of his tongue.

“You’re a condescending prick, you know that?” you hissed. “Always acting like you’re the only one with a functioning brain.”

“And you’re a self-righteous control freak who can’t take being challenged.”

“You don’t challenge, Shirabu. You bulldoze.”

“And you let your emotions run the whole goddamn room.”

You stared at him, breathing hard, chest rising and falling as if you’d just sprinted across the hospital. He was infuriating. Arrogant. Cold. The kind of person who drove you absolutely insane. And yet—

His mouth was moving again, eyes still sharp—but all you could think about was how close he was. How flushed his skin had gotten. How your stomach hadn’t stopped twisting since that patient flatlined. The adrenaline still burned in your chest like a furnace. And how long had it been since anyone had touched you, really touched you—looked at you like more than just a coat with a badge and a clipboard?

When was the last time I had sex?

The thought shot through your brain like a live wire. The frustration, the tension, the sheer exhaustion of existing inside a pressure cooker like this day after day—it all exploded behind your eyes.

Sixteen-hour shift. A missed lunch. A mistake that rattled your bones.

Fuck it.

You grabbed the front of his coat, yanked him forward, and shoved him—hard—into the nearest door. It flew open with a groan, revealing the dim, cramped supply closet, the air inside cold and sterile and completely indifferent to what was about to happen.

You shoved him inside.

He barely had time to stumble backward before you stepped in after him, kicked the door shut with a sharp slam, and crashed your lips to his.

It was a mistake. It was impulsive. It was heaven. A desperate, furious kind of salvation.

Shirabu froze for half a second—just long enough for you to think oh god, what have I done—before he growled low in his throat and kissed you back like he’d been waiting for this, like he had been burning too. His hands found your waist, fingers digging into your hips like he wanted to leave bruises, like he needed to anchor himself to something real.

You gasped when he walked you backward, guiding you with rough, hurried steps until your back hit the shelves. The plastic bins and paper-wrapped gauze rattled with the force of it.

“This,” he rasped against your jaw, breath hot and uneven, “is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, clawing his lab coat open. “I don’t want to hear your voice right now.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to use it.”

You dragged him down again.

The kiss deepened, turned frantic, messy. Teeth. Tongue. Hot breath and sharp nails. The smell of antiseptic and the sting of fluorescent lighting faded into nothing. The only thing you could feel was the press of his mouth, the grind of his body against yours, the heat blooming low and hungry in your belly.

He yanked your scrub top up, pushed it out of the way with impatience, and bit down along your collarbone like he meant to leave a mark. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. You wanted him closer. You wanted him rougher. You wanted to feel anything but the burn of regret and the echo of the code blue.

And you let him.

Because you’d been burning for too long.

And because, for once, Shirabu Kenjirō had finally shut the hell up.

Managerial Duties: Karasuno

The rhythmic sound of volleyballs being packed away and shoes scuffing against the polished gym floor filled the otherwise quiet space. Practice had ended, but cleanup was still in full swing. You, Yachi, and Kiyoko had stayed behind to help, making sure everything was back in place before leaving. The rest of the team was scattered around, gathering equipment and wiping down surfaces, their movements routine after countless practices.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima were putting away the practice net while Asahi and Suga worked on reorganizing the stray volleyballs left rolling across the floor. Daichi had stepped out to check on something, leaving you with the quiet murmur of post-practice exhaustion settling in. Kageyama was off to the side, sipping from his water bottle while keeping an eye on Hinata’s usual spot. The gym carried an air of mild fatigue, a contrast to the high-energy chaos that had occupied it just minutes ago.

That’s when Yachi’s voice cut through the calm. "Where are they?"

You looked up from where you had been wiping down one of the benches, catching the way Yachi’s brows furrowed, her gaze darting around the gym like she had just realized something was missing.

"Who?" you asked, already bracing yourself for the answer.

"Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Hinata. They’re gone."

Your movements slowed as you scanned the gym again, this time with sharper focus. Sure enough, the usual ruckus that followed the three of them like a storm cloud was eerily absent. Your stomach dropped slightly, already knowing that their silence was far more concerning than their noise. It was never a good sign when they were quiet—never.

Kiyoko sighed, finishing her task before speaking. "Can you go find them? They need to be supervised."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Aye aye, captain."

But you knew what she meant. If they were up to something—and they most certainly were—it was better to find them before they actually did whatever half-brained scheme they had cooked up this time. With a nod, you handed your rag to Yachi and stepped out of the gym, making your way toward the clubroom with a sense of impending doom curling in your chest. The halls were eerily quiet, save for the occasional squeak of sneakers against linoleum, and that only furthered your suspicions.

As you got closer, muffled voices reached your ears, their tones a mix of excitement and hushed anticipation. That was never a good sign. You pressed closer, listening as Nishinoya’s voice carried through the door.

"Steady, steady! Just a little more—"

You didn’t hesitate, pushing the door open, and the sight before you made you stop in your tracks.

What the actual hell.

Nishinoya was perched on Tanaka’s shoulders, gripping a bucket of water with both hands while wobbling precariously. Tanaka, legs slightly bent, was visibly struggling to keep steady, his teeth gritted in effort. Off to the side, Hinata was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fists clenched in excitement, watching the process unfold like a kid on Christmas morning.

Your eyes flickered to the bucket, then back to the three of them. "What the hell are you guys doing?"

All three of them froze. Nishinoya’s grip tightened on the bucket, Tanaka swayed slightly, and Hinata turned toward you with an enormous grin, completely oblivious to the growing sense of dread pooling in your gut.

"Oh! Manager! You’re just in time!" Nishinoya chirped, grinning like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar but still thinking he could talk his way out of trouble.

Tanaka groaned under Nishinoya’s weight, his arms tightening around his legs as he tried to keep his balance. "We’re gonna prank Tsukishima!" he declared with absolute confidence, as if this wasn’t one of the worst ideas they had ever come up with.

Hinata, practically vibrating with excitement, threw his hands up like he had just scored the winning point. "I’m the bait!" he announced proudly, beaming at you like you should be impressed.

You blinked at him, not even bothering to hide your disbelief. "That’s not something to be proud of. Why did you guys drag him into this?" You jabbed a finger in Hinata’s direction, because there was no way he had come up with this on his own. He was many things, but this level of reckless planning was usually Nishinoya and Tanaka’s specialty.

Hinata blinked, looking genuinely confused as he tilted his head. "Tsukishima?" he asked, his tone innocent. "Or me?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Never mind. This is a terrible idea."

Nishinoya, ever the stubborn one, pouted. "Come on, it’s perfect! Tsukishima walks in, bam! Instant karma!"

You crossed your arms, eyeing the way Tanaka’s legs were starting to tremble. "Yeah, except karma usually doesn’t involve potential concussions and water damage."

"Okay, but look!" Nishinoya beamed, adjusting his grip. "It’s balancing! We got this!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "No, you don’t—"

Too late. Nishinoya made the final adjustment, and the bucket settled, wobbling slightly before holding steady above the doorway. With a triumphant grin, Nishinoya pumped his fists—only to realize he was still on Tanaka’s shoulders. In a flash, he scrambled down, nearly toppling them both in the process. Tanaka staggered, arms flailing to keep himself upright as Nishinoya hopped off, landing with an eager bounce before spinning toward Hinata. "Alright! We’re good to go!" he whispered excitedly, rubbing his hands together like an evil mastermind.

Hinata gasped. "It worked!"

"It worked!" Nishinoya hissed.

You groaned. "This is still a bad idea."

But they weren’t listening. With a determined nod, Hinata scampered back toward the gym, his voice carrying through the hall. "Tsukishima! Oi, come here for a sec!"

Silence.

Then—

Footsteps, slow and steady, echoed through the hallway. Each step was deliberate, methodical, like the sound of impending doom marching ever closer. Tanaka, Nishinoya, and you turned toward the doorway in perfect synchronization, a creeping sense of dread washing over you like an oncoming storm. The playful anticipation that had been buzzing in the air evaporated, leaving behind only the cold bite of realization.

Daichi appeared in the doorway, and time seemed to slow. The bucket teetered precariously for a split second before tipping forward, a perfect arc of water cascading down in slow motion. The moment it made contact, Daichi’s entire frame stiffened, his breath hitching as the cold liquid soaked through his hair, dripping down his face and pooling in the folds of his jacket. His usually composed expression was eerily blank, too calm, too quiet, which somehow made everything infinitely worse.

Tanaka’s face morphed from exhilaration to pure horror, his eyes so wide they looked ready to pop out of his skull. Nishinoya’s grin faltered, his entire body rigid as his mind struggled to process the disaster that had just unfolded. And you? You could already feel the headache forming, your lips parting slightly in silent resignation.

Hinata, standing just behind Daichi, let out a small, strangled noise. "No, wait! Don’t—!"

Splash.

The air went still. Slowly, you peeked around the doorframe just in time to see Daichi standing there, drenched from head to toe. Water dripped from his hair, his jacket clinging to him in soaked patches. His expression was eerily blank, which was infinitely worse than immediate rage.

Hinata was mid-step, looking like he had seen his life flash before his eyes.

Tanaka and Nishinoya were frozen, as if staying completely still would erase what had just happened.

The silence stretched, unbearably tense.

You exhaled through your nose and turned away. "I told you."

Then, without another word, you walked off, leaving them to their fate.

Behind you, all hell broke loose.

"YOU IDIOTS!" Daichi’s voice roared, shaking the very foundation of the building.

"RUN!" Nishinoya shrieked, bolting toward the hallway with the kind of agility that came only from the fear of divine punishment. His feet barely touched the ground as he shot past you, arms pumping as if sheer speed could somehow make him disappear from Daichi’s wrath.

Hinata scrambled backward, hands raised in surrender. "It wasn’t me, I swear!"

Kageyama, who had been returning from the locker room, took one look at the chaos and deadpanned, "You guys are so dumb."

Asahi groaned, covering his face. "I don’t want to be associated with this."

Back in the gym, you rejoined Yachi and Kiyoko just as Daichi’s furious yelling echoed in the distance.

Kiyoko barely looked up from where she was stacking volleyballs. "They’re idiots."

You sighed, running a hand down your face. "Hundred percent."

Favourite Positions: Tsukishima

Kei has always loved your ass.

Even before you were together, he never could stop himself from sneaking a glimpse and hating how good your ass looked in your uniform as you stormed away from him. The shape, the perkiness, everything about it drove him crazy.

Probably why he loved fucking you from behind.

“Kei…!” Your voice is muffled from the bed, but your pleasure could be heard loud and clear as he piled into you. The room filled with the sound of his hips slapping your ass, with Kei reveling in the recoil with each thrust. “Sorry, I can’t hear you. What?” Kei purposefully evens his voice to sound unbothered, even though he himself is fighting the urge to groan. He loved teasing you like this, and he could tell you loved it too, considering the squeezes you keep giving him. “Keep going!” You managed to squeal out, turning your head to the side. Kei then stops abruptly, just long enough to hear your whimpers and whines before he smacks your ass, grabbing it at its fleshiest. “Is that how we ask?” Kei knew his tone was cocky, and even though that’s what made you hate him in the first place, it was also what made you jump into bed with him. “Please! Fuck me!” The desperation in your voice is something Kei would definitely bring back up later, but that didn’t mean he could wait anymore either. With a growl, he watched you writhe under him as he plowed as deep as he could, and with a shout you were cumming. Kei gives you a second to breathe, his hard cock slipping out of you making you flop onto the bed like an exhausted fish. He wastes no more time though, grabbing your ass all the while jerking himself off with other hand. It’s not long before he finishes too, his hot cum spurting all over your ass and back. The room settles, a musk weighing heavy in the air. There’s only breathing before Kei can’t help himself. “Seems like you needed that.” “Fuck off.”

Favourite Positions: Sugawara

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew he had you.

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

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

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

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

And you did.

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

But Koushi—Koushi wasn’t done.

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

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

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

"I—I can’t—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Koushi—"

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

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

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

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

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

Then—a soft chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. Let’s go for three."

Oh. You were in trouble.