Jealousy - Blog Posts
Jealousy: Suna (NSFW)
The night had no plans. And that was the plan.
Warm lamplight painted the apartment in soft amber hues, flickering gently across a half-finished bottle of wine, socks abandoned near the doorway, and the lazy sprawl of two bodies tangled beneath a fleece blanket on the couch. Outside, the city murmured in the distance—traffic, wind, someone’s music a few blocks away. But here, the only sounds were the low thrum of a playlist you both forgot to turn off and the occasional clink of glass as you sipped.
Suna Rintarou sat at the opposite end of the couch, half-lidded eyes drifting toward the TV screen though he hadn’t looked at it in twenty minutes. One knee bent, the other foot on the floor, hoodie loose around his shoulders, collarbone peeking out where the fabric hung unevenly. His phone rested facedown on the coffee table—abandoned, for once.
You lay curled into the armrest, sipping your wine, cheek pressed into the pillow, watching him with the slow, foggy fondness of someone three glasses deep and completely content.
He looked relaxed. Comfortable. Maybe a little too smug.
"You ever get bored of being effortlessly cool?" you asked, voice low and amused.
Suna didn't even glance at you. “You ever get bored of talking out your ass?”
You smirked into your glass. “Mm. Nope.”
The silence between you was warm. Familiar. Filled with shared breath and the lazy weight of the night.
After a moment, you tapped the side of your glass with your fingernail and looked over at him, eyes half-lidded. “Wanna play something?”
Suna raised an eyebrow without moving. “Like what?”
You shrugged, smiling. “Truth or dare.”
He blinked slowly. “…What is this, a middle schooler’s basement?”
You laughed and kicked him in the thigh with your socked foot, not even hard. Just enough to say shut up.
Suna grunted on impact, shooting you a narrowed glance as his hand caught your ankle under the blanket.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said.
“You love me,” you shot back easily.
He didn’t answer—just let your leg go and leaned forward to set his glass down on the table with a soft clink.
“Fine,” he said, finally. “You first.”
The couch creaked quietly beneath you as you shifted upright, adjusting the blanket to pool at your waist. Your glass was nearly empty now, fingers curling loosely around the stem while your legs curled underneath you. Suna stayed reclined, eyes on you now with that low-burn stare—quiet, unreadable, like he was already trying to guess what you’d ask.
You toyed with the rim of your glass, lips twitching. “Okay. Truth or dare?”
His answer came without hesitation. “Truth.”
Of course. It was always truth with him. He’d rather be caught dead than do something performative, especially under your watchful, goading eye. Suna Rintarou didn’t dance for anyone—but he’d let you look inside, if only a little.
You hummed, pretending to think, even though you’d already decided. “What was your first impression of me?”
He scoffed softly, dropping his head back against the cushion and staring at the ceiling for a beat before turning his gaze lazily toward you again. “Honestly?”
“Obviously.”
“You were annoying.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Wow.”
“In a cute way,” he added with a lazy grin.
You lifted your leg and nudged his thigh again. “You’re cruising for another kick.”
“Worth it,” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.
He set the glass aside again, arm draping along the back of the couch behind you, fingers brushing the fabric near your shoulder.
“My turn,” he said.
You met his gaze, chin raised. “Hit me.”
“Truth or dare?”
You grinned. “Truth.”
Suna’s eyes lingered on your face for a beat too long. Then: “Top three best times you’ve ever had in bed.”
You blinked. Hard.
A short laugh escaped you. “Are you—seriously?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “You asked.”
Your cheeks warmed—not from embarrassment, but from the audacity. He was leaning into the cushion now, head tilted slightly, eyes hooded, watching your reaction like he was tracking the slow spread of heat across your skin.
“Okay,” you said finally, placing your glass on the coffee table. “Fine.”
You sat back and raised three fingers.
“Number one…” you began, grinning. “That night you came home after being gone for four days? Didn’t even make it to the bedroom. You dropped your bag and practically tackled me into the wall.”
Suna made a small, satisfied sound in his throat, but didn’t interrupt.
“Number two: the kitchen. I don’t even remember what started the fight, but you shut me up pretty effectively.”
His lips twitched, the barest hint of smugness there now.
You raised your third finger—and then paused. Let the silence stretch.
“And number three,” you said, tone suddenly breezy, “was probably this one time with my ex.”
Suna didn’t react at first.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
You waited.
Then he turned his head slightly, slow and measured, like processing a minor glitch in a system. His eyes dragged across your face. He looked calm. Relaxed. His arm still hung behind your shoulders.
“You’re putting someone else on that list?” he asked quietly.
You smiled, feigning innocence. “Didn’t think you’d be the jealous type.”
“I’m not,” he replied.
Then he shifted.
His legs uncrossed, knees spreading slightly as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs, eyes still locked on yours.
“I’m competitive.”
You opened your mouth to respond—something flirty, maybe a little smug—but before you could speak, he was already moving.
One hand slid behind your neck, the other gripping the back of your thigh, and he pulled you forward in one fluid motion. Your knees hit either side of his hips as he dragged you into his lap, not rough, but not exactly gentle either. It was purposeful. Controlled.
You gasped softly, wine-blushed hands flying to his shoulders for balance. The heat of his body met yours in a slow burn as his mouth grazed your jaw, barely touching, the edge of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
“Third place,” he murmured. “You serious?”
You opened your mouth to tease him—but he cut you off with a kiss.
It wasn’t soft.
It was deep and slow and toeing the line between affection and punishment, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it belonged there, like he was reclaiming territory he thought he already owned. One of his hands found your lower back, pressing you flush against him, your hips cradled perfectly against the slow, rising hardness beneath his sweats.
He pulled back just enough to murmur, “You said top three, right?”
Your breath hitched.
He tilted his head slightly. “Let’s make it a clean sweep.”
You never made it to the bedroom.
You didn’t even make it to your feet.
Suna laid you back against the couch with a quiet, measured ease, like he was tucking you into something soft instead of preparing to ruin you. The throw pillows shifted behind your shoulders as he moved over you, the heavy drag of his hands along your thighs lighting every nerve with anticipation.
Your shirt was still on. Your panties, around your knees. Everything else was tossed aside: the rules, the game, the ex you’d mentioned like it wouldn’t cost you everything.
His fingers gripped the backs of your knees, pushing your legs apart until you were open—displayed—for him and only him. You felt the chill of the air hit your slick skin, and then the warm press of his palms smoothing up your inner thighs like he was marking them.
You were already wet. Ridiculously so. The kind of wet that made your skin sticky and your mind hazy. He hadn’t even touched you properly and you were half gone.
Suna didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just lowered himself between your legs and settled in like this was his seat.
The first press of his tongue was slow. A long, deliberate drag from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you like he already knew exactly what he was about to do.
You gasped—back arching, fingers twitching against the cushions as his mouth closed around your clit, lips plush and wet, tongue circling until your thighs trembled.
He moaned, low and hungry, like you were a meal he’d waited all day for. And then he began to eat.
It wasn’t messy. It was precise. Calculated. He licked in slow, repeating patterns, pressure building perfectly with every stroke. The couch dipped under his weight as he adjusted, one hand splayed across your stomach to keep you pinned, the other trailing over your thigh with soft, absentminded affection.
Your hips tried to move—tried to chase the friction—but he held you there.
“You taste better when you beg,” he murmured into you, voice deep and quiet like it wasn’t meant to be heard. His lips never left your skin.
You whimpered, hands flying to his hair, gripping the strands like you were trying to ground yourself. You couldn’t.
Your first orgasm crept up before you could stop it—warm and relentless, your stomach tightening as he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit in tight, practiced circles. You shook beneath him, thighs clamping instinctively, voice cracking as you gasped—
“Rin—oh my god—Rin—”
“That’s one,” he murmured.
He didn’t stop.
He pushed two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them up until you let out a sharp, broken moan. You were already pulsing, already drenched, and he was fucking into you with just his fingers and tongue like he had all night to unravel you.
The second orgasm hit harder.
You choked on it, the pleasure sweeping through your body in sharp, dragging waves, so intense your fingers went numb and your vision blurred. You tried to close your legs again. He held them apart, fingertips digging into your thighs like they belonged there.
“I’m not done,” he said simply.
You were crying now—soft, helpless tears slipping down your cheeks, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You didn’t know if you were begging for more or begging him to stop. Your body didn’t care. It wanted everything.
“Rin,” you whimpered. “I can’t—”
“You can.” His tongue flattened against your clit, firm and unrelenting. “I know you can.”
Your third orgasm snapped like a thread pulled taut too long. Your body shook, hips jerking off the couch, mouth open in a soundless cry. Your hands were everywhere—gripping the cushions, his hair, your own thighs—anything.
He finally pulled away, lips and chin slick with you, and looked up through his lashes like he was barely winded. His hand was still working inside you, fingers slow and deep, pressing against that soft spot that had your toes curling.
“Still thinking about him?” he asked softly.
You couldn’t speak.
Suna kissed the inside of your thigh. “Didn’t think so.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, shoving his sweatpants halfway down before sinking back onto the couch—grabbing your hips and hauling you down the cushions like you weighed nothing.
Your back hit the armrest, legs dangling off the edge, and he was lining himself up in seconds.
You felt the press of him at your entrance—thick, hot, already leaking—and then he pushed in.
You moaned—loudly, mouth falling open as he filled you inch by inch. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, the stretch so deep it made your whole body arch.
He stilled, breathing hard through his nose, eyes on your face.
“So tight,” he muttered. “So fucking wet. You’re shaking.”
He pulled out halfway—slammed back in.
You cried out, nails dragging down the armrest as he fucked into you, hard and deep, every thrust sending shockwaves up your spine. The couch rocked. Your body bounced. And all you could do was take it.
He found your clit again—this time with his thumb—and rubbed tight, fast circles that had your fourth orgasm snapping violently through you, your cunt clenching so hard around him he cursed under his breath.
“You gonna come again?” he murmured, hips still snapping into yours. “You gonna give me five?”
You sobbed. “Rin—yes—yes, I can’t—”
“Yeah, you can,” he whispered. “You will.”
The final orgasm came like nothing you’d ever felt.
You screamed—loud, raw, pleasure flooding every part of you. Your entire body went stiff before it collapsed, twitching, legs trembling as you came so hard your ears rang.
Suna groaned deep in his chest, fucking you through it until he came too—hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you as he filled you up with every last drop.
When he stilled, you were ruined.
Sweaty, twitching, wrecked.
He leaned over you, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, your cheek, as your chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
The air smelled like sex and sweat and your perfume still clinging to his hoodie.
You didn’t move.
You couldn’t.
He kissed your shoulder once more, nuzzling into the space just below your ear, then whispered—
“So…”
A pause.
“Did I make the leaderboard?”
Your brain was mush. Your limbs were jelly. Your body was still throbbing.
And all you could do… was nod.
Suna smiled.
“Good.”
Jealousy: Oikawa
Barcelona was always golden in the evening.
Sunlight spilled between buildings like warm syrup, painting the cobblestones in hazy orange light, alive with motion and music and voices raised in too many languages to count. The streets pulsed with energy, and Oikawa moved through it all like he belonged there—because he did.
You walked beside him, fingers laced loosely through his, sunglasses pushed up into your hair as you studied a nearby plaza, smiling at the crowd. You'd only stopped for a quick drink before heading home, but somehow a ten-minute rest turned into lingering.
Which was exactly how it happened.
He came out of nowhere—tall, handsome in that slightly too-smooth way, and a native speaker who clearly wasn’t shy about using his charm. He was friendly, casual, and you—being you—were nothing but warm in return. Oikawa was used to it. You made friends everywhere. Waiters, baristas, strangers on trains. He wasn't usually the jealous type.
Usually.
But today? You were laughing a little too softly. Tilting your head a little too far. And the guy? Oh, he was leaning in like he had a damn chance.
Oikawa didn't say anything right away. He just sipped his drink and watched, sunglasses shielding the slow burn building behind his eyes. Your fingers were still in his, but even that wasn’t grounding him tonight. Not when the guy started complimenting your accent. Not when he gestured toward the nearest bar with an easy smile and said,
"If you're looking for local recommendations, I could show you a few places."
That was when you felt it.
Oikawa's hand tightened slightly around yours, his thumb no longer stroking circles over your skin but now still, firm.
You turned toward him innocently, blinking up at his too-perfect face with a feigned sweetness that you knew drove him insane.
"Tooru," you said, voice syrupy, "he says he can show us some local spots. Isn't that nice?"
Oikawa set his glass down with a clink, but instead of stepping in front of you—he stepped behind. His arms slid smoothly around your waist, his chest pressing flush against your back as he dipped his head low, his lips brushing just below your ear when he spoke.
"You’re playing dangerous games," he whispered, voice like silk and warning all at once. The way his breath fanned across your skin made you shiver, your back unconsciously arching into him. He chuckled against your neck, low and warm, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
The guy took a half-step back, visibly caught off-guard now as his eyes darted between you and the very obviously possessive arms wrapped around your waist.
Oikawa turned his head, resting his chin on your head, and finally spoke aloud—his tone still pleasant, still polite, but tinged with something sharper.
"Oh, you didn’t know?" he said, gaze locking with the man’s. "She’s very much taken. Tragic, I know. Don't worry though, I've lived here for years."
The guy blinked, awkward laugh faltering. "Ah—right. My mistake. Sorry, man. Just being friendly."
"Of course," Oikawa said with a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "Happens all the time." The guy took the hint and left, vanishing into the crowd, and you finally let the smile stretch fully across your face.
"You're so dramatic," you hummed, stepping closer, chest brushing his as you leaned into his space.
Oikawa narrowed his eyes, even as his arms slid around your waist.
"Do I really need to wear a sign?" he muttered.
You batted your lashes. "Maybe. Or just keep doing that thing where your voice gets all cold. It's kind of hot."
His brows lifted.
"You're doing it on purpose."
You grinned. "Maybe."
Oikawa sighed, burying his face in your neck, lips brushing the skin there.
"You're going to be the death of me."
"Mmm. But I’ll make it fun."
Jealousy: Kyotani (Mad Dog)
The bar was crowded—not uncomfortably, but just enough that the air pulsed with low music and the warm scent of whiskey and fryer oil. The lights were low, warm and golden, casting soft shadows over tables cluttered with drinks and peeling coaster edges. Glass clinked softly in the background, a lazy rhythm to the Friday night energy building in waves.
You were leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks, while Kyōtani had ducked away to use the bathroom. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, eyes on the bartender shaking cocktails two seats down.
Which was, in hindsight, the exact moment the universe decided to test your patience.
“Hey there,” came a voice to your left—slurred, low, and too close. You caught the sour tang of beer on his breath before you saw his face.
You didn’t turn immediately. You’d felt it coming—like a storm you could smell in the air.
“I been watchin’ you from across the bar,” the man said, a lazy, drunken confidence in his voice. “You look like you could use some company.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose. “I’m good, thanks.”
He chuckled. “C’mon. Don’t be like that. I’ll buy you a drink, sweetheart.”
You turned your head, offering a cool, unimpressed stare. His eyes were glassy, cheeks blotched red from too much alcohol, and his grin was the kind of smarmy that made your skin crawl.
“You don’t wanna do that,” you said flatly.
The guy blinked. “What? Buy a pretty girl a drink?”
“No.” You shifted your weight, voice firm. “Hit on someone who’s taken.”
He raised a brow, like he thought you were bluffing. “Taken? Don’t see anyone here. You ditched him already?”
You narrowed your eyes. “You need to back off.”
But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Men like that never did.
Instead, he laughed—loudly, like he’d just heard the best joke of the night. “Relax, baby. You’re hot. I’m just tryin’ to show some appreciation.”
You turned back toward the bar, trying to signal the bartender, but the guy didn’t take the hint. You felt him step closer, invading your space. Then his hand brushed your arm—too familiar, too bold.
That was when you felt it.
The air shifted. Like the pressure dropped.
A presence behind you—heavy, hot, and unmistakable.
Kyōtani.
A shadow passed over the drunk guy’s face, but he didn’t turn fast enough.
Kyōtani didn’t speak. He didn’t posture. He didn’t warn.
He just swung.
A blur of movement exploded at your side—a crack, loud and sharp, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. The guy lay sprawled across the scuffed floorboards, groaning, his hand cupping his jaw as shocked silence rippled through the nearby tables.
Kyōtani stood over him, jaw clenched, one hand still curled into a tight fist, his broad chest rising and falling as he stared down at the guy like he was debating whether to throw another punch for good measure.
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.
You just looked down at the groaning man and said, with a shrug and a sip of your half-warm drink, “Told you so.”
Kyōtani turned to you, golden eyes burning with residual fury, scanning your face and arms like he needed confirmation you were untouched. “He touch you?”
“Barely,” you muttered. “He tried.”
Kyōtani grunted low in his throat, gaze snapping back to the guy on the ground. “You’re lucky I stopped at one.”
The bartender said nothing. No one did.
You grabbed your second drink off the bar, rolling your eyes. “Guess I need a new gin and tonic now.”
Kyōtani huffed, throwing a protective arm around your shoulder, steering you away from the scene. “Let’s go. I hate this place anyway.”
“You hate every place.”
“Not true,” he muttered, hand tightening at your waist. “I like the ones where people don’t talk to you.”
You laughed under your breath as the two of you disappeared into the cooler night air, Kyōtani’s hand never leaving you for a second.
And as you walked, he leaned in, voice low and unrepentant.
“Next guy that touches you,” he growled, “I’m breakin’ his ribs.”
You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I know.”
Confessions: Atsumu
You’ve known the Miya twins for as long as you can remember. They were the loudest boys on the playground, all scuffed knees and sunburned cheeks, their laughter carrying across the schoolyard like a war cry. Atsumu, the loudmouth with a cocky grin that drove teachers insane, and Osamu, the quieter one who always seemed two seconds away from dragging his brother out of trouble. You were caught in the middle—sometimes willingly, sometimes not—but you never complained. Being with them was easy. Natural. Like breathing.
“Yer too slow!” Atsumu had whined once, standing at the edge of the sandbox with his hands on his hips while you struggled to keep up. “Then go ahead without me!” you’d huffed, kicking sand in his direction, cheeks flushed and breathless.
But he never did.
No matter how many times you fell behind, no matter how many times Osamu rolled his eyes and threatened to leave you both behind, Atsumu always waited. And somehow, that pattern never changed.
Years passed. Middle school turned into high school. The three of you didn’t hang out as much anymore—between club activities, exams, and life pulling you in different directions, it was harder to find the time. But you still showed up. For them.
You never missed a game, sitting in the stands with Osamu’s mom and cheering as loud as the rest of the Inarizaki fans. You watched Atsumu serve with impossible precision, eyes narrowing with focus before the ball left his hand. You watched Osamu spike with terrifying accuracy, his smirk barely contained afterward. You were proud of them both, proud to see them rise, proud to be part of the crowd that supported them.
“Yer comin’ to the next match, right?” Atsumu asked one afternoon after practice, leaning against the fence with his bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was damp, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead, and his uniform was loose, hanging casually over his broad frame. The sun was dipping lower, casting warm orange hues across the field where a few stragglers still kicked a soccer ball around. You glanced up from your phone, pretending to be nonchalant. “I always do, don’t I?” His grin stretched wide—cocky and confident, just like always—but there was something in his eyes. Something… uncertain. Hidden beneath the bravado. “Just checkin’.” He kicked at the dirt, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement. “Ya don’t gotta, y’know. Betcha got better things to do than watch us all the time.”
Osamu was the one who noticed it first, the subtle shift in Atsumu’s behavior. It was after another win, and the three of you had gone out to grab a bite. Atsumu was unusually quiet, barely picking at his food while you and Osamu bickered over the best dipping sauce for karaage. “Oi,” Osamu had muttered under his breath when you went to the counter to grab more napkins. “What’s with ya?”
“Nothin’,” Atsumu had mumbled, poking at his plate, but Osamu’s eyes had narrowed. “Ya never shut up. Now yer quiet? Somethin’s up.”
“Nothin’s up,” Atsumu insisted, but Osamu didn’t look convinced. He shot his brother a look but didn’t press further. Later that night, as you waved goodbye and promised to see them at the next game, Osamu lingered behind. “He’s actin’ weird,” he muttered, watching Atsumu walk ahead. “Ya notice?”
You had laughed, brushing it off. “When isn’t he weird?”
It wasn’t until you started talking about someone else—Takahiro, a guy from your class—that things started to change. He was smart, funny, and polite in a way that seemed almost too perfect. You didn’t even realize how often you were mentioning him—how your eyes lit up when you talked about how he made you laugh during group projects, how he texted you after class to ask if you understood the material. At first, Atsumu barely reacted. Just a quirk of his brow and a half-hearted, “Huh. Cool.” But then it happened again. And again. And suddenly, Takahiro’s name was slipping into conversations more often than not, and Atsumu noticed. Every. Single. Time.
He didn’t say anything to you about it. But he did talk to Osamu.
“He likes her, don’t he?” Atsumu had muttered one afternoon, his voice low, barely audible as they sat in the back of the gym after practice. His knees were drawn up, elbows resting loosely on them while he picked absentmindedly at the tape around his fingers, pulling at the frayed edges like they held the answers to his problems.
Osamu raised a brow, glancing sideways at his brother. “Who? Takahiro?” His tone was neutral, but the way he looked at Atsumu was anything but.
“Yeah.” Atsumu’s jaw clenched as he peeled another strip of tape from his skin, eyes fixed on the floor. “She’s always talkin’ about him lately. Laughin’ at his dumb jokes. Her face lights up when she talks about him.”
“Since when do ya pay attention to that kinda thing?” Osamu’s tone was teasing, but there was something careful underneath it, something that probed deeper.
“I don’t.” Atsumu’s answer was too fast, too defensive. His fingers stilled against his knee, tape forgotten as he shifted, posture rigid.
Osamu tilted his head, watching his brother closely. “Right.” Silence stretched between them for a beat, thick and unspoken. “So, why do ya care?”
“I don’t.” Atsumu’s voice was quieter this time, almost too quiet. But his jaw was tight, his eyes dark with something Osamu didn’t need to ask about.
Osamu exhaled softly, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Yer full of shit, y’know.” He didn’t push, didn’t ask any more questions. But his words lingered in the air, hanging heavy between them. Atsumu didn’t respond, and Osamu let it go—for now. But the silence that followed spoke louder than anything Atsumu could’ve said.
You started noticing the shift after that. Atsumu was different—quieter around you, shorter with his words. His usual sharp remarks didn’t carry the same playful edge anymore. They were clipped, like he was forcing himself to stay distant. At first, you thought he was just tired. Volleyball took its toll, and with nationals approaching, it wasn’t unusual for the entire team to be running on fumes. But this was different. His usual warmth was gone, replaced by something colder, something heavier that settled in the pit of your stomach. His eyes didn’t linger on you the way they used to, and when they did, there was something in them you couldn’t place. Frustration? Hurt? You weren’t sure, but it left a bad taste in your mouth.
It all came to a head during the next game.
It was an intense match—one where every point mattered, the air thick with anticipation. You were in your usual spot in the stands, cheering louder than most of the crowd, but this time… you weren’t alone. Takahiro was beside you, leaning in close, his shoulder brushing yours as he whispered something in your ear that made you laugh. You didn’t notice the way Atsumu’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp and fleeting, but he saw it. He saw the way you smiled—soft and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners—and it knocked the air out of his lungs.
It burned.
Atsumu’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling a little too tightly around the ball as he lined up his serve. He tried to shake it off, to focus on the game, but your laugh echoed louder than the roar of the crowd in his ears. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, faster, harder, until it drowned out everything else. The whistle blew. He tossed the ball, went through the motions—but his mind wasn’t in it. His focus was shattered, replaced by a tangled mess of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with.
The ball sailed too far.
Out of bounds.
By a mile.
The murmur that rippled through the crowd was deafening in his ears. Atsumu’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his teeth grinding together as he forced himself to breathe through the frustration. He didn’t look at you after that. He couldn’t. But he felt it—your eyes on him, concern etched into your features, even as you turned back to Takahiro. The tension settled like a weight in his chest, suffocating and inescapable.
Throughout the rest of the game, Atsumu was off. His sets were technically perfect, but they lacked their usual precision. His timing was a second too late, his movements a little too forced. The fire that usually burned in his veins, the one that made him relentless on the court, was barely a flicker. And no one noticed but Osamu.
“Get yer head outta yer ass, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu muttered under his breath during a timeout, his voice low enough that only Atsumu could hear. “Yer messin’ up, and I know why.”
Atsumu didn’t respond, eyes locked on the floor, jaw clenched. But Osamu wasn’t done. “If ya don’t fix it, we’re gonna lose. And if we do, it’s on you.”
By some miracle, Inarizaki still scraped by with a win—but barely. Atsumu was the first one off the court when the final whistle blew, not bothering to stick around as the team lined up to thank the crowd. His skin was crawling, frustration boiling beneath the surface as he tore off his sweat-soaked jersey and tossed it into his bag. He needed to clear his head. He needed to breathe.
And you? You noticed.
“Where’s Atsumu?” you asked, concern lacing your voice as you turned to Osamu while everyone congratulated the team. Osamu’s eyes flickered toward the gym, his expression neutral but his tone softer than usual. “Needed some air,” he muttered, his voice quiet but knowing. “Ya know how he gets.” And that was all it took.
Your chest tightened. Something told you this wasn’t just about a bad game.
“Oi, Miya!” Takahiro’s voice broke through the hum of post-game chatter as he stepped forward, flashing a bright smile. “Hell of a match out there. You guys pulled through in the end.” His words were polite, his tone smooth, but the second they left his mouth, the atmosphere shifted.
Ginjima, who was standing nearby, narrowed his eyes, barely masking his distaste as he gave Takahiro a once-over. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, it looked like he was about to say something. "So, ya think—"
But before he could finish, Aran stepped in, his usual easy-going demeanor firming up as he gave Takahiro a curt nod.
“Thanks,” Aran cut in smoothly, his tone polite but clipped just enough to send a message. “Appreciate it.”
Takahiro, oblivious to the silent exchange, just smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “No problem. You guys really pulled through.”
You felt the tension rolling off Ginjima, and even Kita’s usually neutral expression was unreadable as his eyes flickered between Takahiro and the team.
You lingered with the team for a little while longer, standing by Aran as he exchanged a few polite words with Takahiro, who was blissfully unaware of the underlying tension. You nodded along, adding the occasional "yeah" or "for sure" as Takahiro talked about how intense the game had been and how impressed he was by Inarizaki's performance. But your mind was elsewhere.
Atsumu’s absence gnawed at you. The way he’d left the court so quickly, the frustration rolling off of him in waves—it didn’t sit right. Something was wrong, and no matter how much you tried to focus on the conversation happening around you, the pit in your stomach wouldn’t go away.
Eventually, as the crowd began to thin out and the post-game buzz started to fade, Takahiro turned to you with that same easy smile. "We’re all gonna grab something to eat after. You coming?"
You hesitated, your heart tugging you in a different direction. "Hey… I think I’m gonna head home," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m kinda tired."
Takahiro’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. "You sure? We were all gonna hang out for a bit."
“Yeah, I’m sure,” you replied, offering him a quick, reassuring smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright… text me when you get home, yeah?"
“Of course.”
But you had no intention of going home.
As Takahiro rejoined the group, you slipped away, weaving through the crowd without a second glance. Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you back toward the gym, where you knew exactly where Atsumu would be. Something gnawed at your gut, telling you this wasn’t just about a bad game. You could feel it, a weight settling in your chest, making it hard to breathe.
As you got closer to the gym, the familiar sound of volleyballs slamming against the floor echoed through the quiet night. The steady thump reverberated through the empty halls, each hit carrying a frustration that was almost palpable. Your steps slowed as you approached the entrance, the muffled grunts of effort and the sharp sound of rubber meeting wood growing louder with each step.
When you reached the doorway, you stopped, heart hammering in your ears as you took in the sight before you. Atsumu was there, just as you’d known he would be. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his hair damp and sticking to his skin. His jersey was clinging to his back, soaked through, and the gym floor was littered with scattered volleyballs, some rolling lazily across the surface after missed targets. But Atsumu wasn’t slowing down.
His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on an invisible target as he tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, body coiling with raw power. The crack of the ball echoed through the gym as it slammed into the floor, and a grunt of frustration escaped his lips, reverberating off the walls.
You stood there, frozen for a moment, watching him pour every ounce of frustration and anger into each serve. He didn’t notice you. Not yet.
“You're gonna break the damn floor at this rate.”
Your voice echoed across the empty gym, but Atsumu didn’t stop. He tossed another ball into the air, his muscles flexing as he jumped, slamming it with a grunt that reverberated off the walls. The ball ricocheted off the floor and hit the back wall with a loud thud. His breathing was heavy, shoulders rising and falling with each ragged inhale.
“Go home.” His voice was clipped, laced with exhaustion and something sharper. He didn’t turn to look at you, eyes locked on the next ball he was already lining up.
“Atsumu,” you said softly, stepping further into the gym. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothin’ to talk about.” He tossed the ball, and another loud thwack echoed through the gym as the ball hit the floor. “Go home.”
But you didn’t move.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Your voice was firmer this time, crossing your arms as you stood your ground. But then, as Atsumu lined up another ball, ready to serve, you couldn’t take it anymore. Your feet moved before your brain caught up, and you stepped forward, planting yourself right in front of him.
“Atsumu, stop.”
His eyes widened in surprise, the ball still gripped tightly in his hand, but you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, heart pounding as you met his gaze head-on.
“Move,” he muttered, his voice low, but there was no real heat behind it.
“No,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “I’m not moving until you talk to me.”
“Why even bother?” His voice was sharper now, but there was something raw beneath the anger. “Go back to yer boyfriend. Bet he’s waitin’ for ya.”
You blinked, stunned by the venom in his words. “Boyfriend? You mean Takahiro?”
“Yeah, him.” He finally turned, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place—hurt, frustration… jealousy? “Bet he’s real smitten with ya, sittin’ in the stands, watchin’ ya smile at him like that.”
Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Atsumu snapped, his voice rising. “I saw ya. Laughin’ at his jokes, lettin’ him get close. Ya looked real happy. Real fuckin’ happy.”
“That’s what this is about?” Your voice sharpened, anger bubbling to the surface. “You’re pissed because I was talking to Takahiro?”
“Oh, I dunno,” Atsumu drawled, his tone dripping with mock sweetness as he dropped the ball and crossed his arms. “‘Takahiro’s so nice,’” he mimicked, his voice going higher, mimicking yours in an exaggerated, sing-song way. “‘Takahiro helped me with my assignment.’ ‘Takahiro said the funniest thing today.’” He scoffed, his expression darkening as he took a step closer, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to jealousy. “Ya never shut up about him.”
If you weren't pissed before, you sure as hell were now.
Your jaw clenched, heat rushing to your face as your hands balled into fists at your sides. “What the hell is your problem?”
“What’s my problem?” He let out a bitter laugh, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just sick of listenin’ to ya gush about him like he hung the damn moon.”
“Are you serious right now?!” You raised your voice, the frustration bubbling over. “You’re actin’ like a damn child, Atsumu!”
“Maybe I am!” Atsumu’s voice shot up, matching yours as his face flushed with anger. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that made your pulse race. “But at least I’m not the one actin’ blind to what’s right in front of me!”
“Blind to what?!” You threw your hands in the air, voice sharp and cutting as you took a step toward him, closing the space between you until there was barely any room left. Your chest brushed his as you tilted your chin up to meet his fiery gaze. “Why do you even care so much, Atsumu?!”
“Why do I care?!” He was practically towering over you now, his breath hot and ragged as his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with frustration. “Because ya never stop talkin’ about him! ‘Takahiro this, Takahiro that!’ It’s all I ever fuckin’ hear!”
“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t act like you don’t give a damn about me!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t back down, standing your ground even as the tension between you became suffocating.
“I don’t give a damn?!” Atsumu’s voice was louder now, the frustration bleeding into his tone as he stepped even closer, his chest brushing against yours. “You’re the one who’s been actin’ like I’m invisible! Like I’m just—just some guy while yer out there with him!”
“Then why didn’t you say something?!” You screamed, voice echoing through the gym, your frustration boiling over. Your hands were trembling now, knuckles white from how hard you were clenching them at your sides. “Why do you even care so much?!”
“Because I love you!”
The words erupted from him, loud and raw, his voice breaking as the confession echoed through the gym and filled the space between you. His chest heaved, his face flushed from a mix of anger and desperation, and his eyes—wide, vulnerable, and filled with something you hadn’t seen before—were locked onto yours.
You froze, the weight of his words crashing down like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. The world went silent, and for the first time since you’d stepped into that gym, neither of you had anything left to say.
Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you stared at him, his chest still heaving from the force of his confession. The air felt thick, suffocating, as your mind raced to process what he had just said. Seconds stretched on, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t.
Then, without thinking, without giving yourself a chance to second-guess it, you stepped forward. Your eyes locked on his, your expression unreadable, and before he could say another word, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanking him down.
"You’re so fucking stupid," you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.
And then you kissed him.
It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was fierce, fueled by weeks—no, months—of pent-up frustration, confusion, and feelings you had pushed down for far too long. Your lips crashed into his, and Atsumu froze for half a second before he was kissing you back with just as much desperation. His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and the world around you blurred until nothing else existed.
The anger, the yelling, the unspoken words—they all melted away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in the heat of the moment, finally giving in to everything you’d both been too stubborn to admit.
Confessions: Tsukishima
By third year, you'd think you and Tsukishima would've grown out of it—that exhausting little game you two played. Bickering like it was a sport, tension so thick the rest of the team had stopped trying to intervene. Kageyama used to flinch when you raised your voice. Yamaguchi had once tried to play mediator until Tsukishima shut him down with a look. Now everyone just let it happen. It was routine. Expected. Like the sun rising or Hinata yelling.
But even routines fray when they go unchecked.
Practice had been winding down when Yachi leaned in closer, her voice hushed just enough not to carry over the sound of the guys drilling serves. You were both by the bench, pretending to organize water bottles, but really—you were gossiping.
"I mean… he’s cute," she said, trying to hide her smile behind her clipboard. "And he’s nice. The captain of the basketball team asking you out isn’t nothing—you could give it a shot, right?"
You rolled your eyes, glancing toward the court—though your gaze snagged on a tall blond figure for half a second too long. "Yeah. Maybe. He’s handsome, smart, polite."
It was a lie.
You didn’t want nice.
You wanted someone else.
Someone whose voice grated on your nerves, who always had a snide comment for everything you did, who knew exactly how to provoke you and never held back.
You wanted someone who made you feel something.
Now the gym was quiet. Yachi had left twenty minutes ago, and you were the only one left locking up.
Or so you thought.
The doors creaked.
You turned, already annoyed. "I'm about to lock up—"
Tsukishima.
He stood in the doorway like he owned the place, one strap of his bag over his shoulder, golden eyes steady. Annoyingly calm. He didn’t even flinch at your tone.
You rolled your eyes. "Forgot your headphones again? Or do you just enjoy making my job harder?"
He didn’t answer. Not with words.
Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze sharp. Too focused.
Then he said it. Like it wasn’t the most jarring thing to say after a week full of snipes and insults.
“Don’t date him.”
You blinked. “What?”
“I said,”—he stepped closer—“don’t date him.”
You stared, mouth parting. You hated the way your pulse jumped. Hated it more because it was him.
“…Are you serious right now?”
His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed even. “Yeah.”
You laughed. Sharp. Bitter. “What, you get to talk shit to me every day and then play jealous boyfriend when someone else shows interest?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it, Tsukishima?”
Silence.
And then, finally, something cracks in his expression. Not a smile. Not exactly. More like surrender.
“You drive me crazy,” he muttered. “But you’re all I think about.”
That shut you up. Just for a second.
He looked away first. “I’m not asking you to like me back. Just… don’t date him.”
You folded your arms, heartbeat loud in your ears. “That’s a shitty confession.”
He glanced back, and for once, his smirk was small. Almost nervous. "Would you have taken it seriously if I said it any other way?"
You paused.
“…Maybe.”
He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "And Captain of the basketball team? Even you know you could do better. Guy probably thinks a free throw line is romantic."
There was bite in it. Smugness too—the kind that always laced his voice when he thought he had the upper hand. But underneath the jab was something messier, unspoken. Something that sounded too much like 'I care' for either of you to ignore.
But you laughed, and as you stepped past him, you caught a fistful of his collar and yanked him down just enough to crash your lips against his—firm, unrelenting, like every argument you two had ever had boiled down into a single moment.
His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away.
You broke the kiss just as abruptly, brushing past him with heat still prickling at your cheeks.
“Just take me out this Saturday, asshole.”
Jealousy: Atsumu
The celebratory buzz of victory still lingered heavy in the air, blending seamlessly with the steady hum of the dimly lit bar. Neon lights glowed softly overhead, reflecting off half-empty glasses and illuminating faces flushed from laughter and excitement. The MSBY Jackals had just secured another victory, and the night was young—filled with endless possibilities for celebration.
You excused yourself briefly, slipping away to the bathroom to freshen up, confident Atsumu would manage fine for a few minutes without you. After all, he was your boyfriend, and everyone on the team knew it.
But apparently, not everyone in the bar did.
Returning a few moments later, your eyes instantly zeroed in on your boyfriend, who was leaning against the bar, drink in hand, politely nodding at something a pretty brunette was enthusiastically telling him. Her gestures were exaggerated, her smile bright and flirtatious, eyes gleaming with undisguised interest.
Atsumu, ever the people-pleaser, was wearing his usual easy smirk, clearly indulging the conversation while keeping it just polite enough to not be rude. He wasn’t uncomfortable—just looking for the right opportunity to leave without making a scene. You, however, were not nearly as patient.
The sharp twinge of jealousy that shot through your chest was unexpected, hot, and immediate, intensifying further when the girl boldly reached out, her delicate fingers lingering on his bicep as she laughed at something he said. Your eyes narrowed sharply, irritation prickling beneath your skin, making your pulse quicken.
You moved forward before you fully processed it, steps deliberate, chin held high. Without hesitation, you reached Atsumu’s side, sliding your arm firmly through his and pressing yourself close, your chest intentionally brushing against him. You felt him tense slightly in surprise before relaxing instantly when he recognized your touch.
"Hey, babe," you purred softly, voice dripping honey as you leaned up, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath his jawline, lips grazing the warm skin of his neck. Atsumu stiffened again, but this time it was from something entirely different, a shiver rippling down his spine as you let your lips linger just a bit longer than necessary.
Pulling back with a possessive little smile, you turned your attention to the woman whose hand had fallen awkwardly away, eyes wide in stunned silence.
"Oh," you said innocently, tilting your head just slightly. "Who's your new friend, 'Tsumu?"
Atsumu cleared his throat, clearly biting back an amused grin. "Honestly, I didn't catch her name."
The woman laughed awkwardly, cheeks flushing pink as she waved a hand in embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were... together."
"Oh, no worries," you smiled sweetly, your eyes glittering with playful sharpness. "He’s a pretty polite guy, isn’t he? Almost too nice for his own good sometimes." You chuckled lightly, your fingers tracing gentle circles along his arm. Then, as if remembering something, you turned to Atsumu, voice light and casual, "I think I’m done for the night. Wanna head out?"
Atsumu barely hesitated before flashing you a lazy grin. "Yeah, sounds good."
You turned back to the woman, still smiling as she swallowed thickly, her face now a shade darker. "Are you a fan? It's always lovely to meet his fans."
The woman opened her mouth—then closed it, nodding mutely.
"Well, we’re heading out. Hope ya have a great night!" you chirped before steering Atsumu toward the exit, satisfied with how quickly the situation had turned in your favor.
The second she was out of sight, Atsumu glanced down at you, eyebrows raised, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across his lips. "Ya okay there, sweetheart?"
You sighed, lips pursed in annoyance. "I’m fine."
His grin widened knowingly. "Ya sure? Seemed a little territorial back there."
"I was not territorial," you huffed defensively, fingers tightening unconsciously around his arm.
Atsumu chuckled warmly, leaning in until his lips brushed teasingly against your ear, breath warm as he whispered, "Sure felt like it."
Heat spread across your cheeks as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, embarrassment mixing with lingering irritation. "Shut up. You weren’t exactly doing a good job of making her leave."
He laughed, the rich sound rumbling through his chest as he wrapped an arm securely around your waist, guiding you gently toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps ya sleep at night."
Rolling your eyes fondly, you leaned into him, smiling despite yourself. "You're impossible."
"Mhm," he hummed, pressing a teasing kiss to the top of your head, his voice dropping to a low, amused murmur. "But ya love it."
Then, in a lower, rougher tone, he added, "And, not gonna lie, kinda turned me on."
You blinked, heat spreading to your ears now as you gave him a side glance. "Are you serious?"
Atsumu smirked, tugging you just a bit closer as his lips barely grazed the shell of your ear. "Wanna head home and find out?"
The weight of his words settled between you, thick and charged. You exhaled softly, your fingers brushing along the hem of his jacket. "You’re really impossible."
"Mhm," Atsumu hummed, mischief dancing in his golden eyes as he leaned down, lips hovering just over yours. "But I’m yours."
Jealousy: Iwaizumi
Iwaizumi was good at controlling himself.
He had to be—he worked in a gym, surrounded by athletes, lifters, and fitness junkies who all looked like they were carved from stone. He’d seen enough shirtless guys flexing in mirrors to be immune to it.
Or at least, he thought he was immune.
Until today. Until this guy.
Some shredded gym bro with veins popping, abs tight, sweat glistening just right under the gym lights, standing at the bench press and calling for you.
Not him. Not any of the other trainers. You.
“Hey,” the guy said, voice smooth, cocky. “Think you can check my form?”
You—being the professional, non-suspecting menace that you are—nodded immediately. “Sure thing.”
Iwaizumi didn’t react at first. Just kept his eyes on you from across the room, his towel draped over his shoulder, fingers twitching slightly against the water bottle in his hand.
Because he already knew what was coming.
He knew what this guy wanted.
And so did you.
But that didn’t stop you from walking over, from crouching beside the guy, adjusting his grip, your fingers brushing against his forearm, his bicep, your voice sweet and focused.
Iwaizumi exhaled sharply through his nose.
You weren’t even flirting. You were genuinely coaching him. Adjusting his wrist placement, explaining the mechanics of the movement, giving clear, professional advice.
But the guy? He was milking it.
“Oh, like this?” he asked, purposefully getting it wrong again.
You frowned slightly, stepping closer, placing your hands lightly on his arms to guide him. “Not quite. Here, you should feel tension through your chest, not just your shoulders.”
You gave him a quick tap on his tricep, then his pec. “Feel that?”
The guy grinned. “Not really. Maybe I just need a better pump.”
Iwaizumi rolled his neck, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
You, ever the dedicated trainer, didn’t immediately clock the bullshit. Instead, you pressed lightly against his bicep, checking the engagement. “It should activate here—”
The guy flexed slightly, purely for show.
And that’s when Iwaizumi had enough.
He made his way over, casual but not really, and stopped beside you, tilting his head slightly.
“Boss is looking for you,” he said, voice low and impossible to argue with. “I’ll take over.”
You blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, what—”
But he was already guiding you away, firm but careful, not giving you a chance to protest before turning back to the guy.
“Alright, man.” Iwaizumi cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s see that form.”
The guy nodded, picked up the bar—
And immediately, his form was perfect.
Not a single issue.
Iwaizumi just stared. “Huh.”
The guy hesitated, shifting awkwardly. "Uh… well, I just need a spot."
Iwaizumi nodded slowly, expression unreadable. "Oh. Yeah? No problem."
As he stepped into position behind the bench, you decided to check if your boss had actually needed you. You made your way toward the reception desk, leaning over slightly. "Hey, did the boss ask for me?"
The receptionist frowned, shaking their head. "Nope. Haven't seen them call for anyone."
You paused, then huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head to yourself. "It’s alright."
Turning around, you smiled knowingly.
By the time you returned, Iwaizumi was finishing up with the guy. "Yeah, your form is practically perfect now. Looks like that advice really helped."
The dude muttered a quick "Thanks" before grabbing his towel and heading toward the lockers, a little too quickly.
You raised a brow at Iwaizumi. "Boss didn't need me for anything."
He didn’t even flinch. "Huh. Weird."
You stared at him, lips twitching. "Super weird."
His smirk was casual, smug. "Well, he really did improve, didn’t he?"
You hummed, stretching your arms overhead before tilting your head at him, eyes playful. "If only I had someone to improve my form..."
Before you could take another step, his hand was on your waist, firm, warm, pulling you back against him. His other hand slid down, palming your ass with a slow squeeze that made your breath hitch.
He leaned in, voice low and rough. "Just wait until we get home."
Jealousy: Kageyama
The gym was buzzing with the usual chaos of Karasuno’s practice. Balls flying, sneakers squeaking, Hinata screaming.
Kageyama was not paying attention to any of it.
Instead, his eyes were locked onto the far side of the gym, where you were sitting on the bench, laughing your ass off.
At Nishinoya and Tanaka.
Which was unacceptable.
It had been happening for way too long now—every time he glanced over, you were giggling, eyes bright with amusement as those two idiots animatedly told who-knows-what story.
And Kageyama?
Kageyama was seething.
(He wouldn’t call it jealousy—because that would be stupid—but something in his chest felt annoyingly tight every time you laughed at their jokes.)
He tried to focus on practice, he really did, but then—another laugh.
A full, genuine laugh from you, and he felt something snap.
With zero hesitation, Kageyama turned on his heel and glared.
Not just a regular glare.
A death glare.
A "you’re-about-to-lose-your-starter-position" glare.
And it worked instantly.
Tanaka and Nishinoya froze mid-sentence, their bodies stiffening as if they’d just sensed a predator. Slowly—very, very slowly—they turned their heads to see Kageyama staring daggers at them from across the gym.
“What the hell—” Tanaka whispered.
Nishinoya gulped. “Why is he looking at us like that?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“What did we do?”
You, completely unaware, blinked as your two friends immediately folded.
“Uh… haha, anyway, gotta go warm up!” Tanaka said way too loudly, slapping Nishinoya on the back.
“Yeah, yeah! Super important practice stuff!” Nishinoya agreed, standing so fast he nearly tripped over the bench. “We, uh—see ya later!”
Before you could even respond, the two had already bolted back onto the court, shooting each other nervous glances like they had just escaped certain doom.
You frowned, watching them go. Weird.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a familiar tall figure standing near the net.
Oh.
You smiled. So that’s what this was about.
Hopping off the bench, you made your way over to him.
Kageyama pretended not to notice, looking very intently at nothing in particular.
When you stopped right in front of him, tilting your head with an amused grin, he finally gave you a half-second glance.
“You okay there, Tobio?”
“...I’m fine.”
You raised an eyebrow.
A beat of silence.
Then, arms still crossed, his voice grumbled out,
“…What was so funny anyway?”
Your smile grew.
Oh. That was adorable.
Without a second thought, you went up on your tippy-toes and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.
Kageyama went rigid.
His ears turned red instantly.
You pulled back, hands on your hips, grinning up at him.
“Still jealous?” you teased.
Kageyama, glowering at the floor, muttered under his breath,
“…Shut up.”
Jealousy: Osamu
The scent of rich broth and fresh noodles hung thick in the air, filling Osamu’s restaurant with a warmth that, under any other circumstance, he would have appreciated.
But tonight? Tonight, it was the smell of betrayal.
Osamu leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled irritation as you happily slurped down another bite of Atsumu’s ramen.
His twin sat across from you, looking way too pleased with himself, arms folded as he watched you enjoy his so-called cooking.
Osamu hated that look.
It was the same damn smirk Atsumu had worn their whole lives—whenever he managed to piss Osamu off, whenever he got away with something he shouldn’t have, whenever he won by sheer bullshit luck.
And now? Now he was wearing it in Osamu’s own shop.
"Damn, ‘Tsumu," you sighed, tilting the bowl to sip the broth. "This is amazing. I didn’t know you could cook like this!"
Osamu felt a deep, personal offense settle in his bones.
His entire career revolved around food. He had spent years perfecting his recipes, testing flavors, fine-tuning every last detail. He had trained under some of the best chefs, built this restaurant from the ground up.
And now, here you were, gushing over a bowl of glorified college survival food.
Atsumu leaned back, smug. "Told ya. I got talents."
Osamu let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose.
"You put a packet of dried seasoning into hot water," he said flatly.
You blinked. "Yeah, but the broth is really flavorful! What did you put in it, ‘Tsumu?"
Atsumu smirked, tipping his head like he was about to unveil some grand chef's secret. "Oh, ya know, just instinct—"
"It’s instant."
You didn’t even catch the shift in energy, completely oblivious to the deadly stare Osamu was leveling at his twin.
Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Technically, yeah," he admitted, "but I added some stuff—”
“Oh, yeah?” Osamu lifted a brow, arms still crossed tight. “And what’d ya add, exactly?”
Atsumu suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. “Uh. A soft-boiled egg.”
Osamu’s eye twitched.
Silence stretched between them.
Tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
You, utterly unaware, stretched with a satisfied sigh. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”
You leaned down to press a quick kiss to Osamu’s cheek—normally enough to calm him down—but he was too busy staring daggers at his brother to even register it.
The second the door shut behind you, Osamu turned to Atsumu.
“What’s your deal?”
Atsumu blinked, mouth half-full of noodles. “Huh?”
Osamu’s jaw tightened. “Ya woke up today and decided to piss me off?”
“For makin’ ramen?”
"She liked it."
Atsumu stared, then—as if the realization physically smacked him across the face—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, like he was witnessing something life-changing. His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Are ya—jealous?"
Osamu stiffened.
"Shut up."
"No. No way." Atsumu clutched his chest like he had just been blessed with the funniest joke in history. "Yer seriously mad ‘cause she liked my ramen?”
"Ya don’t cook," Osamu shot back, glaring. "That’s my thing."
Atsumu laughed. Full, loud, obnoxious cackles that echoed through the kitchen.
“Oh, ‘Samu,” he wheezed, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "I promise, yer the only chef in my heart."
Osamu grabbed a dishtowel and launched it straight at his face.
Atsumu barely dodged in time, still laughing like a damn hyena.
By the time you returned, Atsumu was half-wheezing into his bowl, Osamu was murdering a pile of green onions with his knife, and the air was thick with something way more intense than sibling rivalry.
You raised an eyebrow. "Uh… did I miss something?"
Atsumu, struggling to breathe through his grin, pointed a dramatic finger at his twin.
Osamu, without looking up, muttered, "He’s banned from my kitchen."
Meian and jealousy‼️‼️‼️ I just love this man so much
oooh good pick hehe... Your wish is my command :p
~~~
Meian walked through the door, casually tossing his bag onto the couch before holding up a glossy calendar with an amused smirk.
“Guess what I brought home?”
You barely looked up from your spot on the couch, lounging in one of his oversized hoodies. “Groceries?”
He huffed a laugh. “Try again.”
When you finally glanced over, your eyes landed on the calendar in his hands—MSBY Jackals 12-Month Exclusive Athlete Calendar. The cover alone was pure chaos: Bokuto flexing dramatically, Hinata grinning mid-spike, Sakusa looking entirely unamused while still managing to look good, and Meian himself, standing dead center with his usual captain’s stance—shirtless.
Your brows shot up.
“Oh, this is amazing.”
Meian chuckled, flipping it open. “Didn’t even know they were makin’ this until they asked me to pose for it.” He turned the pages, showing you a year’s worth of ridiculously chiseled volleyball players. “Thought you might get a kick out of it.”
You grabbed the calendar, flipping through the months with increasing delight.
“Oh my god, look at Bokuto’s arms—wait, they oiled him up for this.” You laughed, tapping the glossy image. “I mean, I get it. If I had muscles like that, I’d want them to shine, too.”
Meian hummed, crossing his arms. “Uh-huh.”
You kept going, completely unaware of the way his jaw was starting to tense.
“Sakusa actually looks incredible here, wow—he must have hated this photoshoot.” You turned another page, eyes widening. “Damn, even Hinata’s looking ripped.”
Meian arched a brow. “...That right?”
“Oh, absolutely,” you grinned. “Seriously, whoever planned this deserves a raise. They captured perfection.”
Meian let out a slow, deliberate exhale through his nose.
“...Captured perfection, huh?”
You nodded, still obliviously flipping pages. “I mean, look at these guys, Shugo. They’re built like—”
You yelped as suddenly, the entire world flipped.
Before you could even react, Meian had hauled you up over his shoulder, calendar completely forgotten as he marched toward the bedroom with zero warning.
“Shugo—what the—PUT ME DOWN.”
“Nope.”
“You are not seriously—”
“Oh, I am.”
His grip was firm, his tone too smug, and you finally realized.
“…You’re jealous.”
He snorted. “Not jealous. Just provin’ a point.”
“A point about what?!”
Meian kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, tossing you onto the mattress effortlessly before climbing over you, his hands braced on either side of your head.
“Since ya like praisin’ the team so much,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, rougher, “I figured I’d remind ya which one of us ya like the most.”
Your breath caught.
For someone who claimed not to be jealous, the heat in his gaze said otherwise.
“Still think they captured perfection?” he asked, his smirk dangerous.
You swallowed, the calendar long forgotten on the floor.
“…I might need a closer look to compare.”
His chuckle was low, pleased.
“Good answer.”
Jealously: Tsukishima
Tsukishima had never been the jealous type.
Or so he liked to believe.
But as he stood a few feet away from you at the museum’s fundraising gala, swirling the last bit of whiskey in his glass, he couldn’t help the slow simmer of irritation building in his chest.
Some guy—some obnoxiously confident guy—was standing way too close to you.
Tsukishima watched as the man leaned in just slightly, flashing a charming grin, his hand gesturing a little too animatedly for whatever mindless conversation he was trying to impress you with. You were polite, nodding at whatever he was saying, but Tsukishima caught the way your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your dress—the telltale sign that you were uncomfortable.
His jaw clenched.
Tsukishima was a logical man. He knew you weren’t interested, knew you were his in every way that mattered—but that didn’t stop the irrational flicker of annoyance coursing through him.
So he drained the rest of his drink, set the glass down on the nearest table, and made his way over.
“Excuse me,” his voice came out smooth, a fraction lower than usual as he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. His hand rested just above your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress in a silent claim. Mine.
You blinked up at him, momentarily surprised, before a small smile tugged at your lips.
The man, however, didn’t seem to take the hint. “Oh, I was just having a great conversation with—”
“She’s not interested.”
There was no venom in Tsukishima’s tone—just a matter-of-fact finality that left no room for argument.
The man blinked, looking between the two of you before finally stepping back with a sheepish laugh. “Ah… right. My mistake.”
He made some excuse to leave, and as soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Tsukishima with an amused look. “Jealous, Kei?”
He scoffed, adjusting his glasses. “You’re delusional.”
“Oh, sure,” you teased, poking at his chest. “That wasn’t possessiveness at all.”
Tsukishima exhaled sharply, but his arm around your waist didn’t loosen. If anything, his grip on you tightened.
“…I just didn’t like how he was looking at you,” he muttered.
Your teasing softened. Tilting your head, you leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“I only look at you, you know.”
Tsukishima’s eyes flickered to yours, something unreadable behind his gaze. Then, as if satisfied with your answer, he let out a small “Tch,” and pulled you even closer.
“…Good.”
hi sorry for bothering, can I ask about (Gun x FEM reader) being couples,gun get jealous about talking his girlfriend about another man with good words and compliment the man with none stop, but it turns out that she actually was talking about an anime character and he gets upset and punish her by sleeping in another room and don't talk to her for a while and compliment about any woman show up on TV for a while, like a spoiled boy, and she regret that she spoiled him so much.
(English is not my language so I don't know if I wrote any mistake sentence.)
Spoiled Jealous Man.
Female Reader.
Requested.
Masterlist.
Request Rules.
"Ah~ He's so handsome.." Another irk mark appeared on Gun's forehead, his girlfriend has been complimenting another man and it has been irritating Gun ever since. He keeps hearing her compliment and fawn over another.
And he can't stand it, Gun was always the center of [Name] attention, her words and her shower of affection. But it just pisses him off whenever he see's her fawn over another man, even if it's a fictional man.
"He's so kind and caring too~ And those eyes, ahh~" Gun wants to murder someone right now, if Goo were here. He probably would have taken it out on him, leading to another fight between the two.
But then something popped inside of Gun mind, he smirked as he looked at his girlfriend fawning over the fictional man she has been obsessing over.
Even though he knew it was kinda childish being jealous over a fictional man, but hey. He can't help it, he has been spoiled with love and affections from [Name]. So, he can't help but act like one.
And now, it was time to act out his plan.
-
"Gun?" [Name] called out but heard no response from her boyfriend, she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "Gun?" She called out one more, she stood up from the couch and walked around the living room and to the kitchen.
But saw no sight of her boyfriend, she hummed and went to their shared bedroom and saw Gun by the balcony, watching the night sky.
"Gun.." She called out and walked up to him but got no response, she raised an eyebrow at his actions. "Gun..? What are you doing? I have been calling out to you for the past minute or so.." [Name] said as she stood beside him.
[Name] stared at him but he didn't look at her, it made her pout and crossed her arms. "Gun? Are you ignoring me?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
He exhaled the smoke from the cigarette as in the corner of his eyes, he could see her pout and it amused him. He was chuckling internally and his resolved didn't falter after seeing her cute pouting face.
"Gun!!" [Name] started to pinch Gun's arm, trying to catch his attention. But got no reaction whatsoever, she pouted once more and tried to catch his attention but once again. No reaction whatsoever from her boyfriend.
She pouted once more and walked away with a huff, Gun chuckled under his breath seeing her reaction.
And this happened throughout the day, whenever [Name] tries to get Gun's attention, he only ignored her in return. It started to get irritating but not as much when Gun started to compliment the women he saw on TV.
"She looks beautiful, her hair looks absolutely amazing."
[Name] huffed under her breath hearing Gun compliment the women on TV once more, it started to get to her but then realized something.
'Wait a second... Gun... Gun only does this whenever he's jealous... wait... of course...' She thought as she came to the conclusion on what she just realized on why Gun was acting this way.
"You're such a baby Gun, you know that right?" [Name] said, placing a kiss on his forehead when she walked past by. Gun froze and felt his heart pound at the contact. He coughed. "I don't know what you are talking about.." Gun said, watching [Name] sat down on the couch with a cup of tea in her hands.
"Perhaps, I spoiled you too much..."
[Name] said, looking back at Gun who only looked back at her with a blank look. "Though, it did work. I never thought you would actually get jealous over a fictional man." [Name] said with a teasing tone.
"I wasn't, I don't know what you are talking about." "Yeah sure, whatever babe."
I loved the Sovieshu x male reader !
Now I want to see them being lovey dovey and reader using his magic to help his boyfriend lessen his work and being a badass whenever someone tries to flirt / mess with his lover
I Won't Let Him Steal You From Me.
Male Reader
Requested
Request Rules.
Masterlist.
Ever since that day when [Name] came back, Sovieshu has been happier than ever. Being able to see his lover everyday and bring back trinkets back from his own world, and just being able to see his face was more than enough to make Sovieshu day much better than ever.
And of course, [Name] would help with Sovieshu works so he could do them much faster so that they can spend time with each other. It was obvious to everyone that the two were deeply in love with each other and will do anything for each other, and today [Name] had promised Sovieshu he will bring him to his world, Sovieshu was scared and excited to say the least. It was a new world after all, he doesn't know anything about [Name] world, but he was excited to know and see the world where his lover lived throughout his life.
"Ready sweetie?" [Name] asked Sovieshu, holding his hand softly, rubbing his thumb over the his knuckle. He smiled at [Name], nodding his head. "Yes, I am ready... though a bit nervous." He said as [Name] chuckled* "It will be alright, I promise. I will be by your side throughout." [Name] said as Sovieshu nodded, he took a deep breath as they went through the portal.
Sovieshu felt dizzy as the world spin around him, everything surge past him. He held [Name] hand tightly before he felt everything stopped, he opened his eyes and saw that they had arrived in [Name] world, they were in the room, he looked around and they were a ton of books on the shelf, a huge window, a nice bed and a desk.
He presumed that this was [Name] room. "We've arrived." [Name] said chuckling a bit seeing Sovieshu expression of dizziness. "Dizzy? Don't worry, I felt dizzy too when I first started transporting through worlds." He said as Sovieshu nodded, [Name] let go of his hand and went to his closet as Sovieshu admired the room.
Sovieshu sat down on [Name] bed, it was comfy. [Name] then came back out of the closet with clothes he usually wore in this world, he then threw another pair of clothing towards Sovieshu who caught them.
"Wear this, so that you won't stand out like a sore thumb. Nobody usually wear those type of clothing here in my world."
He nodded and took off his clothes while [Name] stood there and watched, a small smirk on his face as he watched his boyfriend change clothes. After Sovieshu finishing changed into the clothing his boyfriend gave them, he saw the smirk on [Name] face. Sovieshu chuckled.
"What are you doing?" Sovieshu chuckled as [Name] shook his head and approached him, wrapping his arms around him. Nuzzling his face against the crook of Sovieshu neck. "Nothing, just admiring my handsome boyfriend." [Name] said which cause Sovieshu to chuckle.
After that, [Name] showed Sovieshu show what his world was like. Modern technologies with magic, it was such a different world from his. The way the place looked to the way people dressed and people's job, it was fascinating to Sovieshu.
"[Name]!" The two turned around as [Name] dreaded seeing the person. "Hey... Lorenzo..." [Name] greeted as the guy named Lorenzo stopped right in front of them and chuckled seeing the expression on the H/C haired face.
"What? Not happy to see me?" [Name] rolled his eyes before Lorenzo looked at Sovieshu beside him. "Oh la la, who is this handsome fe-" Sovieshu's eyes widened when he felt [Name] hand on his waist tightened and pulled him closer, glaring at Lorenzo.
"My boyfriend, Sovieshu." He said, making sure to emphasize the boyfriend part to Lorenzo who chuckled and rolled his eyes at [Name] obvious jealousy. "Don't get your panties a twist [Name]." Lorenzo said only pissing [Name] further.
"Well, gotta go. See ya." The blonde left as Sovieshu looked at his boyfriend, [Name] was still pissed seeing Lorenzo which made Sovieshu curious at their relationship. "Who was that?" He asked as they started walking back to [Name] house.
"My ex boyfriend." Sovieshu's eyes widened. "Eh? Your ex?" He said in disbelief as [Name] nodded. "Yeah, he almost was a flirtatious man that couldn't stop flirting with other people. I broke it off." [Name] said as Sovieshu nodded but he a felt a little jealousy.
"Don't worry." He looked at [Name]. "I don't have feelings for him anymore and I'm sure I won't let him steal you from me." Sovieshu heart fluttered as he chuckled, smiling happily at him. "Yeah, he won't."