Haikyuu X Reader - Blog Posts

Managerial Duties: Inarizaki

The gym hummed with the familiar sounds of practice—sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floor, the rhythmic thuds of volleyballs being passed, the sharp whistles from the coaching staff calling out drills. Despite the usual intensity, one corner of the court stood out, where a first-year was repeatedly failing to receive a serve. Every time the ball came hurtling over the net, it ricocheted off his forearms awkwardly or skidded away in an uncontrolled direction. His frustration was palpable, his shoulders tense as he shook his head and muttered under his breath.

You had been watching from the sidelines, arms folded as you observed the way his stance shifted just before contact. His weight was off, and his timing was a fraction too slow—small errors that compounded into one big problem. With a sigh, you stepped forward, motioning for him to pause.

“Try widening your base a little more,” you instructed, tapping your foot against the floor to demonstrate. “If you keep standing so stiff, the ball’s just going to knock you off balance. Loosen up, shift with it, don’t fight it.”

The first-year hesitated before nodding, adjusting his stance as you had suggested. Before he could attempt again, however, a familiar voice cut through the air, dripping with smug amusement.

“She may be the manager,” Atsumu drawled from across the court, his golden eyes glinting with mischief, “but try takin’ advice from an actual player.”

A ripple of laughter followed his words as he sauntered closer, spinning a volleyball between his fingers. His smirk was lazy, self-assured, the kind of expression that made you want to wipe it clean off his face. You slowly turned to face him, leveling him with an unimpressed stare.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had a PhD in receiving,” you shot back, voice laced with dry sarcasm. “By all means, Miya, please educate us lesser beings.”

The gym’s atmosphere shifted instantly. A few players who had been in their own drills slowed, turning their heads with interest. The rest of the team wasn’t going to let this pass unnoticed. Osamu, who had been idly refilling his water bottle, perked up from his spot near the bench, already smirking as he anticipated the banter that was about to unfold.

Atsumu’s grin widened, his cockiness unshaken. “Ain’t about havin’ a PhD. It’s about experience. And last I checked, ya ain’t the one out there servin’ in nationals.”

A slow, knowing smile curled on your lips. "You're right, I'm not. But then again, you spend all your time servin’, while I actually learned how to receive."

The reaction was instant. Aran let out a low whistle, Osamu barked out a laugh, and even Suna's smirk twitched slightly. Atsumu tilted his head, clearly amused, but you caught the flicker of something sharper behind his expression—curiosity.

“Oh yeah?” he mused, tapping the volleyball lightly against his palm. “Then how ‘bout ya prove it?”

The words barely left his mouth before the other players reacted. Suna, who had been casually stretching nearby, sat up straighter, his gaze flicking between you and Atsumu like he had just stumbled upon something far more entertaining than practice. The rest of the team quickly caught on, whispers and murmurs spreading like wildfire.

Atsumu ignored them, eyes locked on you. “C’mon, manager. Think ya can handle one?”

The challenge hung between you like a taut wire, the weight of every gaze in the gym settling on your shoulders. Most of them, you knew, were already betting against you in their heads. Atsumu was known for his ruthless, pinpoint-accurate serves, the kind that left even the best liberos struggling.

But that’s exactly what made this fun.

You exhaled slowly, reaching up to unbutton your team jacket before sliding it off in one smooth motion. A hush fell over the court as you folded it over your arm and set it aside. Without a word, you walked to the opposite side of the court, rolling your shoulders as you moved. Along the way, you grabbed a pair of spare knee pads from the equipment pile, sliding them over your track pants. Then, with practiced ease, you crouched into a libero’s ready stance, feet planted, knees bent, weight balanced perfectly.

“Bring it,” you said simply.

Osamu groaned, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t be stupid. Ya know his serves are hell.”

You didn't talk much, getting into the zone. "I know."

Osamu’s brows lifted. “You know?”

Atsumu’s smirk twitched slightly, something unreadable flickering across his features. “And what exactly do ya know?” But you don't respond.

You didn’t move, didn’t blink—just stared at him, completely unfazed, waiting for him to serve.

You rolled your shoulders, shaking out any stiffness, meeting his gaze. “That your serves are fast. That they’re heavy, deceptive. That if I blink, I’ll miss it. That you’re expecting me to screw this up.” You smirked slightly. “That about sum it up?”

A beat of silence passed before Aran let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Atsumu tilted his head, his usual smugness fading into something else—interest. He bounced the volleyball once against the floor before catching it, eyes gleaming. “Alright, then. Let’s see what ya got.”

Aran crossed his arms, letting out a slow sigh. "This ain’t a smart move."

Osamu clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Hope ya like bruises."

The court stilled as Atsumu took his place at the baseline, rolling his shoulders before tossing the ball in his usual pre-serve routine. The tension was palpable now, a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

Most of them thought you were about to get wrecked.

"Ten bucks on the manager eatin’ dirt," Ginjima muttered, arms crossed as he glanced at the others.

"Nah, I’ll say she gets a hand on it but doesn’t control it," one of the first-years chimed in.

"I got five on Atsumu embarrassing her," another snickered.

"Idiots," Aran sighed. "At least bet somethin’ interesting."

Suna, however, leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a smirk.

“Put me down for a win,” he said, voice calm.

Osamu looked at him like he was insane. “Ya serious?”

Suna’s smirk widened. “Yeah. I’ve got a good feeling.”

Atsumu, unaware of the exchange, exhaled deeply before tossing the ball high into the air. In the split second before he made contact, everything seemed to slow.

Then—

A sharp, deafening crack as his palm connected with the ball, sending it screaming over the net with vicious speed. It was a perfect serve—fast, cutting, barely losing momentum as it hurtled straight toward you. Gasps rang out as everyone braced for the inevitable.

But you were already moving.

Your feet pushed off the ground with practiced precision, body reacting purely on instinct. Time snapped back into motion as you lunged forward, reading the spin in a split second, dropping into a perfect tumble to absorb the impact. The ball met your forearms with a loud thwack, and for a heartbeat, there was only silence.

Then, impossibly, the ball arced upward—clean, controlled, perfect.

It landed precisely where a setter would need it.

The gym erupted.

“What the hell?” Ginjima gawked, eyes wide.

“No way,” one of the first-years breathed.

Osamu just stood there, mouth slightly open before slowly dragging a hand down his face. "Well, damn. I should’ve bet against ‘Tsumu."

Atsumu, still frozen at the baseline, blinked at you in genuine disbelief. His mouth opened, then closed. He tried again, but all that came out was, "How—?"

A pause. His brows furrowed, his brain visibly short-circuiting. "But ya—?"

Silence. A deep inhale, then a third attempt. "There’s no way—"

Nothing coherent followed.

Atsumu looked genuinely betrayed by reality itself, struggling to reconcile what had just happened with everything he knew about volleyball.

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. A sharp, satisfied sound, the kind that made the stunned silence in the gym even more ridiculous. "Oh my god, you look like you just saw a ghost," you teased, shaking your head.

You rolled your shoulders, exhaling slowly as you straightened up. "I played libero in middle school, and I still play casual games." A brief pause, then you nodded toward Suna. "We went to the same middle school. Suna knows."

Every head in the gym turned to Suna, who simply smirked, arms still folded. He let the silence stretch for a moment before tilting his head toward the rest of the team.

“So,” he said smoothly, “who owes me what?”

Before anyone could react further, a new voice cut through the noise. "What’s everyone standing around for?"

The entire team turned to see Kita standing in the doorway, his usual composed expression tinged with mild disapproval. The court immediately fell into silence, the players straightening unconsciously as if caught slacking.

"Uh," Ginjima cleared his throat. "Just—observin’ somethin’ important, Kita."

Kita’s sharp gaze swept over the court before landing on Atsumu, who still hadn't moved from the baseline, then flicked toward you, standing composed and unruffled. "Hm." His eyes narrowed slightly before he simply nodded. "Get back to work."

Without another word, the gym broke back into motion, though murmurs still floated around, disbelief lingering in the air.

With that, you dusted off your hands and turned toward the exit. "Alright, I'll be back."

As soon as you stepped past the gym doors and out of their line of sight, the composure you had held so effortlessly cracked. A sharp, searing ache radiated through your forearms, the sting of the brutal impact catching up to you all at once. You sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to cradle your arms like they had just been run over.

"Holy shit," you hissed under your breath, shaking out your wrists in a futile attempt to lessen the throbbing. Atsumu really didn’t hold back. The ball had practically dented your bones.

You glanced down at your skin, already seeing the faint beginnings of bruises forming beneath the surface. Yep, no way you were getting through the next week without feeling this.

Forcing yourself to walk straight despite the radiating pain, you took a sharp turn down the hallway and made a beeline for the nurse’s office.

"Long sleeves for the next week, it is," you muttered to yourself, resigned to your fate as you pushed the door open, fully ready to drown in an ice pack for the next hour.

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."

Rivalry: Atsumu

It had been years of this.

Years of Atsumu Miya being an unrelenting, aggravating presence in your life.

From the moment you met, he had been insufferable. Smug, fiercely competitive, and persistently irksome, he thrived on pushing every button you had. Every interaction with him was a battle—whether it was a disagreement over training schedules, a critique of his technique, or a casual observation about his erratic setting. He never let anything slide, twisting every word into an argument, every comment into an opportunity to outmaneuver you.

The worst part? You never backed down.

If he provoked, you retaliated. If he smirked, you sneered. He could infuriate you faster than anyone else, and he knew it—and he reveled in it.

And now, in your third year as the Inarizaki team manager, you had mastered the art of tolerating Atsumu Miya—

Until tonight.

Tonight, he’d finally gone too far.

The entire team had long since caught on to your dynamic.

Atsumu didn’t merely annoy you—he made a sport out of it.

If you walked into practice? He was already waiting, arms crossed, a cocky grin stretching across his face as he prepared some quip guaranteed to get under your skin.

“Yer late, manager,” he’d say, despite the fact that you never were.

If you so much as tried to correct something? He’d smirk, feigning surprise. “Oh? Maybe I should just hand ya my setter position, huh?”

And the worst part? The others loved it.

Osamu, Futakuchi, and even Kita occasionally leaned back and observed your fights like a live-action drama, amused by how predictably you two clashed.

“Ya know, at this point, I think ya like the attention,” Atsumu teased one afternoon, casually tossing a volleyball between his hands. “Yer always gettin’ worked up over me.”

You scoffed, arms crossed. “Oh, please. The day I enjoy anything about you is the day hell freezes over.”

Futakuchi nudged Osamu. “Tension’s thick today.”

Osamu smirked. “Give it five minutes. They’ll be yellin’.”

And five minutes later, Atsumu had said exactly the right thing to set you off, and the shouting commenced.

Practice had gone as usual, with only a few sharp remarks exchanged between you and Atsumu before it was over. You were exhausted, your muscles aching from running errands for the team all day, your patience wearing thin. All you wanted was to head home, collapse into bed, and forget that Miya Atsumu existed for a few blessed hours.

The team packed up in the club room, their chatter filling the space as they slung their bags over their shoulders. You barely noticed that Atsumu wasn’t among them as they filed out, too focused on getting the final tasks done so you could lock up and leave.

But when you walked into the gym, your plans crumbled.

Atsumu was still there, alone, setting balls into the air with effortless precision. His expression was intense, brows drawn together in concentration, jaw tight, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The only sounds in the gym were the rhythmic thud of the volleyball meeting his hands and the slight squeak of his sneakers against the polished floor as he adjusted his stance.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. Of course. Of course he couldn’t just leave like a normal person.

His shirt clung to his body, damp with sweat, emphasizing the broad set of his shoulders and the way his forearms flexed every time he made contact with the ball. He moved with precision, power behind every motion, muscles tensing and releasing like a well-oiled machine. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good. Infuriatingly good.

But you didn’t care about that right now.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and sighed. "Seriously, Miya? Go home."

He barely looked at you before responding. "Suck my dick."

You scoffed. "You wish. Now pack up, or I’m locking you in here."

He ignored you, setting another perfect ball into the air. That was the last straw. Marching onto the court, you grabbed the nearest volleyball and chucked it at him. He caught it effortlessly, smirking.

"You gonna help, or just be a pain in my ass?" he taunted.

You turned on your heel and stormed toward the supply closet, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. The overhead light buzzed faintly as you stepped inside, the scent of disinfectant and old volleyballs filling your nose. Without hesitation, you grabbed a laundry basket full of towels and shoved it into Atsumu’s chest the moment you returned.

“You’re gonna help clean up tonight,” you said sharply, your voice edged with exhaustion and frustration.

Atsumu scoffed, letting the weight settle against his chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You stayed late to practice, and I have the keys to the gym. That means you’re packing up before I lock up for the night.”

Atsumu smirked, that lazy, infuriating smirk that made your blood boil. "But you're so much better at those kinds of things, ya know? We all have our strengths."

“Oh? And what's yours?”

He shrugged. “I score points.”

You wanted to strangle him. “I mean off the court, Miya. You brainless egomaniac.”

That smirk widened. "Damn, sweetheart, say it like ya mean it."

Your entire body tensed. If there was one thing—one thing—that set your blood boiling faster than anything, it was that nickname. The way he said it, like it was his own personal joke, a word meant to patronize, to needle at you in a way that no one else dared. It was never affectionate, never playful—not in the way others might say it. No, when Atsumu called you sweetheart, it was dripping with arrogance, a smirk wrapped around syllables meant to get under your skin.

And god, did it work.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, jaw tightening so hard it ached. "Don't. Call. Me. That."

His smirk only grew, as if he had been waiting for that exact reaction. "What? Don't like it? Thought ya might warm up to it by now."

"I'd rather set myself on fire."

Atsumu chuckled, slow and smug, like he'd already won this round. "Now that is dramatic."

You threw a towel at his face, and he caught it effortlessly, his smirk widening. "Temper, temper," he taunted, shaking his head like you were the one being unreasonable. "Y'know, if ya wanted me to get all sweaty cleanin' up, ya coulda just asked nicely." You only roll your eyes in disgust.

“Take those to the supply closet. And don’t start with your usual bullshit, just do what I say for once.”

Atsumu tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something sharp. “Bossy.”

You inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. The way he looked at you—like he thrived on how easily he could rile you up—made your skin prickle. “Miya, I swear to—”

“Fine, fine,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as he slung the towels over his shoulder. His smirk deepened as he eyed you, a flicker of amusement dancing behind those infuriatingly sharp eyes. "Must be exhausting bein’ so uptight all the time. Ya ever tried just... relaxin'? Oh, wait, guess that'd require ya to actually remove that stick from  yer ass."

Your blood boiled instantly, a sharp sting of irritation spreading through your chest. Exhaustion and frustration swirled together into something combustible, something that snapped your already frayed patience. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you fought the urge to throw something harder than a towel at his smug, insufferable face. Without thinking, you stomped past him, heading into the supply closet, letting out a frustrated breath as you grabbed another piece of equipment to throw at him if necessary.

"Maybe if your setting was as reliable as your big mouth, I wouldn’t have to waste my breath on you,” you spat, voice cold and cutting.

Atsumu went rigid. His smirk flattened into something unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, burning eyes—flashed with something dark, something livid.

In an instant, he was storming after you. Before you could react, he followed you into the supply closet, his movements sharp and full of barely restrained anger. The door slammed behind him, the echo bouncing off the walls.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" His voice was low, lethal, his usual teasing edge completely gone.

You whirled around, arms crossing over your chest. "You heard me, Miya. Maybe if you focused on actually being consistent instead of running your mouth, you wouldn't have to work overtime trying to convince people you're the best."

His nostrils flared, jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grinding. "You think I got this far by bein' inconsistent? By bein' a fuckin' joke?"

"I think you got this far because you talk so much shit, people actually start to believe it," you bit back. "But I'm not like the rest of your fangirls, Miya. Your act doesn’t work on me."

Atsumu let out a low, humorless laugh, stepping closer. Too close. "Ya really think you know me, huh?" His voice was dangerous now, quiet and sharp like a blade pressed just beneath your skin. "Yer full of shit."

"And you're full of yourself."

The air was thick, charged with something volatile, something unstable. His hands were curled into fists, his breath coming in sharp exhales. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his fury rolling off in waves.

You scoffed in disgust, shaking your head as a bitter smirk pulled at your lips. "You're pathetic."

Atsumu’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening dangerously, but you were already turning away, reaching for the door handle to get as far away from him as possible.

Then your stomach dropped.

The knob refused to turn.

Atsumu frowned. "The hell are ya doin’?"

You twisted the knob again, harder. Still nothing.

Your throat went dry. "The door is locked."

Atsumu snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure it is." He reached out, confidently twisting the handle—

Nothing.

Atsumu frowned, twisting harder. Still nothing.

Silence.

Then, without missing a beat—

“Yeah, like I didn’t try that,” you deadpanned.

Atsumu’s scowl deepened, his frustration crackling in the air between you. "You’ve gotta be fuckin' kidding me. This is all your fault."

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. "Oh, right, because I totally planned to lock myself in a closet with you of all people."

"Yer mouth sure makes it sound like ya did." His voice was low, edged with something sharp. "Maybe ya just wanted me all to yourself."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Please. If I wanted something all to myself, it sure as hell wouldn’t be you."

Atsumu took a step closer, his presence closing in on you like a storm. "Keep talkin’, princess. Let’s see if ya can keep that smart mouth runnin’ when we’re stuck in here all night."

"Oh, fuck you, Miya," you snapped, stepping forward to meet his glare head-on. "You are without a doubt the most infuriating, self-obsessed asshole I have ever met."

His lips curled into a sneer. "And you’re the most uptight, high-strung pain in the ass I’ve ever met."

"Oh yeah? Well, at least I don’t have to spend every waking second convincing everyone I’m the best. News flash—if you actually were, you wouldn’t have to try so hard."

His eyes darkened, his entire body stiffening at your words. "You wanna talk about trying too hard? How ‘bout ya take a fuckin’ look in the mirror? Always actin’ like ya hate me, but yer always up in my business. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ya like this."

You scoffed, tilting your head in disbelief. "God, you’re delusional."

"And you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite." He was even closer now, his breath hot, his voice tight with rage. "You always act like ya can’t stand me, but here ya are, pushin’ up against me like ya wanna make this somethin’ else."

The worst part?

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Your chests were nearly brushing, your ragged breaths intermingling. Your skin was burning, your hands clenched at your sides, every inch of you wound too tight. The anger, the frustration, the way he always got under your skin—it was all-consuming.

And then, suddenly, neither of you were talking anymore.

Atsumu’s mouth was on yours before you could process it, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was just as furious as your fights. You yanked him down by the collar, fingers tangling into the damp fabric of his shirt, pulling him in hard enough to hurt. He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, pressing you back against the closet shelves as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was years of pent-up aggression and frustration, a battle neither of you wanted to win. Teeth clashed, hands grabbed, nails dug into skin. The heat between you was unbearable, suffocating, and neither of you had the willpower to pull away.

Atsumu nipped at your bottom lip, his breath hot against your mouth as he muttered, "Knew ya wanted me."

Shut up, Miya." You bit back.

And then you kissed him again, drowning out whatever cocky response he had left.

Atsumu wasn’t satisfied with just kissing you. His frustration, his irritation, his hunger bled into every movement as he pushed forward, backing you up until your spine hit the cold surface of the supply closet door. The impact barely registered, not when his hands were gripping at your waist, fingers digging into your sides like he was trying to mark you, claim some kind of dominance even here.

You gasped against his mouth, the moment of vulnerability only spurring him on. His lips left yours for half a second—just long enough for him to smirk. “Told ya,” he murmured, voice husky, breath hot against your skin. “You just needed me to shut ya up properly.”

You barely had time to react before he was kissing you again, harder, more desperate. Your hands found their way to his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck and pulling—a move that ripped a deep, guttural groan from his throat. The sound shot straight down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach, making your breath hitch.

His hands slid down, gripping the backs of your thighs, and without a second of hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his waist. He held you effortlessly, as if supporting your weight meant nothing to him. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, making you shudder. He lingered there, his teeth scraping before his mouth latched onto your skin with deliberate pressure. You barely registered the sensation, too caught up in the heat of the moment, too focused on the way his body pressed against yours. But his smirk against your neck said otherwise—like he knew exactly what he was doing, leaving his mark before trailing his lips back to yours.

The warmth of his touch burned through the thin fabric of your clothes, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made your head spin. His hands started to wander, moving up beneath your shirt, his touch searing—

And then the door burst open.

Atsumu lost his balance. With a startled grunt, he stumbled forward, dragging you with him as you both spilled out of the closet and onto the hard gym floor.

“What the hell?!”

You barely had time to register the situation before a voice rang out above you.

“The fuck are you two doin’ in here?”

Your eyes shot up to see the janitor, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, face twisted in the most unimpressed expression you had ever seen.

Silence.

Neither you nor Atsumu moved. You were still on top of him, his hands still on your thighs, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders. The position was beyond compromising.

The janitor raised an eyebrow. “I ain’t cleanin’ up after this.”

Atsumu let out a breathless chuckle beneath you, his smirk returning full force. “Guess we got caught, huh, sweetheart?”You shoved him off you so hard he hit the floor with a thud, scrambling to your feet, face burning with embarrassment. “Shut up, Miya!”

Unrequited Love: Oikawa

You’d known Oikawa for as long as you could remember. From messy sandbox battles to after-school practices that went late into the evening, he’d always been there—your first friend, your longest friend. The three of you—Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and you—had always been a unit, bound by years of shared childhood, inside jokes, and more than a few arguments.

But right now? Right now, Oikawa was testing every ounce of your patience.

“Hajime said you’ve been holed up in here for hours,” you said as you shoved open his bedroom door without knocking. “What’s your excuse this time?”

Oikawa groaned from the depths of his bed, a mess of blankets and pillows hiding all but the top of his ruffled hair. His room was a disaster zone: clothes scattered everywhere, an abandoned volleyball rolling lazily near the desk, and the faint smell of coffee from the cup Hajime must’ve left here earlier.

“Go away,” Oikawa muttered, voice muffled by his pillow.

“No,” you said firmly, kicking the door shut behind you. “I’m not letting you sulk forever. What happened?”

He rolled onto his back, his face pale and his eyes a little red. “She broke up with me,” he muttered, his voice cracking just enough to make you wince. “She said I was too focused on volleyball. That I didn’t care enough about her.”

Your heart squeezed. You’d seen the writing on the wall. Oikawa was intense about volleyball—obsessed, really. It was one of the things you admired about him, even when it frustrated you. But it was hard to hear him like this, even harder to know that he’d never think about you the way he thought about her.

You crossed your arms, steeling yourself. “Well, she’s not wrong,” you said, your tone blunt. “You’ve got a one-track mind, Tooru. Volleyball this, volleyball that. What did you think would happen?”

His face scrunched up in annoyance, and he reached out to grab a pillow, lobbing it weakly in your direction. “Gee, thanks for the support.”

You dodged it easily, smiling despite yourself. “I’m serious, Tooru. You’ve got to figure this out, or you’re going to keep pushing people away.”

He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You sound like Iwa-chan.”

“Maybe that’s because Hajime and I are the only ones stubborn enough to stick around while you throw yourself headfirst into everything,” you shot back, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Do you even realize how much we’ve put up with over the years?”

He peeked at you from under his arm, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You guys are too stubborn to leave me.”

“Damn right we are,” you said, reaching out to flick his forehead. “But don’t push your luck.”

Silence fell between you, the tension lifting slightly. You leaned back, resting on your hands as you studied him. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and he looked younger somehow, like the kid you used to climb trees with instead of the volleyball star he was now.

“Come on,” you said eventually, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off your pants. “The team’s going out. You can’t stay in here forever.”

“I don’t feel like it,” he muttered, sitting up slowly.

“Tough.” You grabbed his wrist and tugged, ignoring his protests. “Go shower, change, and join us. I’ll wait in the living room to make sure you don’t crawl back into bed.”

He sighed, dragging his feet as he shuffled toward his dresser. “You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re so whiny,” you shot back, grinning. “Go!”

Just as you turned to leave, his voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You glanced back, raising an eyebrow. He stood there, clothes in hand, his expression softer than usual.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re a good friend.”

The words hit harder than they should have, settling like a stone in your chest. But you forced a smile, pushing the ache down where it belonged.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice steady.

You closed the door behind you, leaning against it for just a moment.

Being his friend was enough, you told yourself.

It had to be.

Husbandry: Iwaizumi

It was the dead of night. Your shared bedroom bathed in the night, light speckling from the nightlife in Tokyo. It was perfectly peaceful, and ever since you had found out you were pregnant with Hajime's child, was the perfect condition for you to have a restful sleep. The temperature exactly how you wanted it, the right amount of blanket, and of course, your sleeping husband's chest to rest your head. And yet, you lay wide awake.

You sigh, turning the other way, hoping it would magically put you to sleep. It didn't. All you could focus on was your stomach eating itself in hunger. You hadn't expected your appetite to increase this much so fast, but instead of eating for two you, it was more like a small villiage. You curse yourself, giving into temptation of the beast in your stomach and move to get up. "Hm? Where are you going?" Your husband's voice is rough with sleep as he squints at you. You look at him somewhat sheepily before whispering back, "I'm just getting something to eat, go back to sleep" With a kiss to his forehead. You, thinking that would be all, are shocked when you still feel his hand pulling you back. "Hold on." He grunts as he also moves to get out of bed. You're quick to stop him, "Oh, no you don't have to-"

"Can I not feed my wife and kid?" He asks gently in your ear, giving you a kiss on the side of the head before taking you to the kitchen, heart fluttering in your chest so hard you could feel it.

Can you please do osamu with fav position too? Im on your knees now 🧎🧎🧎

You may rise, fellow simp... I've come 🫡 ------------

Osamu Miya was a man of simple pleasures and needs. So long as had had a roof over his head, some good food to munch on and a bed, he wouldn’t complain.

But for some reason, you were the one thing he could never get enough.

Your legs are wrapped around his hips, Osamu reveling in the way your pussy sucked him whole when he filled you. You were panting in his face, hands clutching at his back for any sort of anchor. He thought you were absolutely delicious like this. Melting at his touch, your eyes drowning in lust, trying to muster up a coherent sentence. Osamu can’t help the groan that rumbles out from his throat, moving his head into the crook of your neck as he leaves kisses and bites all down your neck. “’Samu..!” You squealed at a harsher nip, your pants turning into moans as he licks and suckles at the bite.

“What? I can’t enjoy my meal?” Osamu’s honestly surprised how even his voice sounded, even though he could’ve finished at the way you called his name. He traces his fingers down your chest, circling your nipple before giving it a few flicks. He adored how reactive you were when he did that. You gasp, calling out his name as he continued to fuck you, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping alongside your screams. Your nails claw down his back as you continue to sputter muffled versions of his name. Your orgasm triggers his, and you’re both coming down from a blissful high. You’re both panting, room reeking of sex when you try to get up to get a towel, when you feel Osamu’s hand gripping your arm. Cock still red and hard. “I’m still hungry.”

send requests can be fluff OR smut plz im in a bad block OR SMAU

trussed

⋆ ࣪. kotaro bokuto x reader

-16 and ageless blogs dni

contents Ⳋ bondage, dirty talk, breeding, size difference, established relationship, bokuto’s vocal asf

a/n : im sorry it took a while for me to start writing again, i’ve been rly sick but i wanted to get something done for yall :3

word count: 1.5k

yours and bokuto’s sex life was nothing short of boring. you two basically fucked like rabbits; when you started, you kept going until you couldn’t.

bokuto is a big guy; both of you are aware of that. his height, his muscles, even his dick prove that. you’d always wake up sore but he’d make up for it with his aftercare. no matter how you may complain, you love the way he manhandles you. you’ve been doing some thinking, and you want to try something new.

bokuto fiddled with his keys outside your shared apartment, finally home after a couple hours of practice. you perked up from your seat on the couch, deciding to meet him halfway. you stumbled over to the door to open it before he could, swinging it open and looking up at him with a smile on your face. his gaze immediately softened upon the sight of you.

you wasted no time wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing him, making him laugh. “somebody missed me, huh?” he teased, and you nodded swiftly into the crook of his neck. he sighed, basking in your scent as his arms lazily wrapped around your waist. you pressed your chest against his, peppering kisses along his neck.

he tilted his head to give you more access, a shiver running down his spine. “you’re wastin’ no time, huh?” he said, squeezing your hips. you shook your head, lifting up to meet his half-lidded gaze. “needed you all day,” you pouted, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “yeah?” he piqued, making you hum. “wanna try something new.” you mumbled, your hands running along his torso.

his eyes lit up, his hands gliding down your sides to grip at your ass. “oh really? what might that be?” he asked, and you simply shook your head, grabbing his wrist and leading him to your shared bedroom. he laughed. “damn, you really are needy, huh?” he asked, a rhetorical question making your eyes roll.

as you entered the room, you dropped his wrist and stumbled to the nightstand, pulling out the drawer and dug out a soft rope; one he hadn’t seen before. his heart leaped in his chest. he had an idea of where this was going, making his shorts tight. he placed his hands on his hips, waiting for you to speak.

you turned to face him with it in your hands, your expression obviously flushed. it was a bit embarrassing to say; not that he would judge you, you knew he wouldn’t; but the fact you had to say it out loud makes you a bit awkward. you mumbled something under your breath, and he tilted his head.

“hm? you’re gonna needa speak up, pretty,” he said, his voice a little huskier than before. you stared up at him through your lashes. “want you to tie me up.” he stared at you for a moment, a chuckle escaping from him, rumbling deep within his chest. he took the rope gently from out of your hands, and pushed you down against the mattress. “really? what made you think of this?” he said, his lips finding your skin, his hands holding your hips as he nipped your collarbone. you sighed.

“..like when you manhandle me, kou,” you flushed, a whimper leaving your mouth as his teeth grazed against your sensitive skin. “fuck,” he groaned, “you like when i toss you around? hm?” he hummed against your skin, his golden eyes staring at you. you nod, a grin gracing his features. “good girl,” he purred, making you shiver.

he took the rope in his hands and examined it, looking between it and you. you were sprawled out on the mattress beneath him, his knees placed on both sides of your legs, encasing you between them. “you’ll look so pretty tied up for me, yeah?” he professed, and you meekly nod. he brings his hands to the hem of your shirt, helping you lift it up over your shoulders and tossing it to the side.

he stared down at your bare chest, licking his lips. “can’t ever get over these perfect tits,” he spoke, cupping the fat in his hands. he pressed a kiss against your sternum, his hands finding their way to the hem of your panties. “let’s get these off, hm?” he asked, and you nod, lifting your hips off the bed to help him hike it down your thighs. he groaned. “so fucking wet, and i didn’t even touch you yet, baby,” he cooed, bringing two fingers to glide between your folds. you shudder, a moan leaving your lips. “please,” you mutter, “i just need you to fuck me.”

he chuckled. “you don’t gotta tell me twice, he said, taking the rope and untying of from eachother. he looked down at you, a more serious look toning his face. “if you wanna stop, or if you want me to untie you, you know the word, okay?” he said, and you nod. “i know,” you agreed, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. “need you to help me out here, okay? lift your hands above your head.” he said, his voice soft as you complied, lifting your hands to rest above your head.

he took the rope and wrapped it snug around your wrists, tying it just tight enough for you to not slip out of it. “not too tight? all good?” he asked, wanting affirmation that you’re fully on board with this. “kou,” you sigh, a needy sound escaping your throat, “‘s good, please,” you practically beg, making him laugh. “patience, baby,” he tutted, tying the rope around the post of the headboard. once finished, he looked down at his masterpiece, a heavy breath leaving him.

“wish you could see what i see,” he groaned, “look so fuckin’ pretty all at my will like this,” he cleared his throat, his hands pulling at his waist band, swiftly pulling down his shorts and boxers in one go. he was painfully hard, his erection springing free and against his stomach. “see what you do to me?” he said, pumping his length as he spit down on your cunt. you jumped a bit, your legs spreading open as you panted. “kou,” you whined, your impatience growing more evident, and he nodded.

he aligned his tip with your entrance, bottoming out in one go. you gasp, your eyes shooting wide open as you moaned, making him moan as well. his hands rested on your waist as he leaned down to kiss you, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion. “no matter how much i fuck you, still so tight for me,” he muttered against your lips, making you whimper. he pulled his hips out and slammed them back into you, making you moan loudly.

you always had your hands on him while you two fucked, so the feeling of being at his mercy has you clenching down around him. “oh, you like this, huh?” he teased, starting to drill into you at a steady pace, and you nod. “y-yes, fuck, ‘s so good—!” you whine, your lips puffy as you stare up at him. he nods encouragingly, his thumb coming down to rub circles into your swollen clit. you moan, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“kou, ‘m not gonna last,” you whine, your voice raspy from the amount of moaning you’ve been doing. he laughs. “damn, ‘s that good, huh,” he grinned, his hips picking up in speed, “that’s okay, pretty girl, me either. seeing you like this— fuck, can make me cum on the fuckin’ spot,” he moaned, emphasizing his words with a thrust inbetween each one, and you threw your head back. “oh my god, kou, please— cum inside, want you inside,” you babbled, and he nods, humming “mmhm, mhm,” at your words.

“yeah? want me to fill you up?” he groaned, his hips slamming into you at this point. “yes— fuck! please,” you beg, feeling your orgasm approach. “don’t worry baby, i will. you’re gonna fuckin’ cum with me, understand?” he slapped your clit, making you jolt. “y-yess, fuck, im gonna cum, im cumming—!” you moan, your jaw falling slack as your orgasm washed over you. your ears rang and you saw stars.

the way your walls fluttered around him has his thrusts uncoordinated, “fuckkk, that’s a good girl,” he drawled out, his hips stilling inside you once he helped you work through it, his load spilling into you. he held you against his pelvis, making sure you didn’t waste a drop. you both panted for a minute, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “you okay?” he muttered, his tone gentle, and you nod tiredly.

he reached up to untie your wrists, tossing the rope to the side and kissing your skin in place. “did so good for me,” he praised, making your heart flutter. “maybe we’ll have to do that more often, seeing how much you liked that,” he teased, rubbing circles into your sore skin. you giggle, reaching up to pull him on top of you, him resting dead weight. “i love you,” you sigh, your head resting against his.

he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your chest. “i love you too.”

© marimisses on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

hi ♪

!!! Currently on writing hiatus

ֺ⭑ mari // she.her // (n)sfw blog // 18+

masterlist smau mlist

✘ BASIC DNI. AGELESS AND <16 WILL BE BLOCKED ✘

꩜ i mainly write fem!reader

fandoms i mainly write for …

꩜ jujutsu kaisen

꩜ genshin impact

꩜ haikyuu

꩜ & others if requested!

things i will write …

• smut, fluff, angst, x reader, multi x reader, smau

rules ::

꩜ i will not write male!reader

꩜ banned topics :: piss, scat, vomit, noncon, incest, sh or sa, trauma dumping, ed themes, feet, nsfw of minor characters

current anons : n/a

(if wanting to send an anonymous message, you can sign off with an emoji! you will be added to the list and have a respective tag (if emoji is not taken).)

© marimisses on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.