#like with haikyuu characters

[osamusriceballs]

Finding Love

Bokuto x fem reader

Words: ~ 1,8 k

Warnings: NSFW (dry humping, sex against a wall)

About: A one night stand with Bokuto <3

A/n: I'm craving more one night stands with the haikyuu boys. Suna next. PERIOD.

"Y/n-"

The way he holds you sends shivers down your body. You're seated on his lap, his muscular thighs between yours, his lips delivering the messiest, hottest, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. Both of his large hands rest on your back, pulling you close, so close to him.

One of your hands rests on his shoulder, while the other finds its way into his spikey hair—messing it up as you involuntarily grab the strands tighter when he intensifies his actions.

"Koutaro..." His name still feels foreign on your tongue, a hazy memory from the introductions exchanged during passionate kisses in his car. His low groan assures you that you pronounced it correctly, and you're rewarded with a particularly hard suck against your throat.

He's hard. Unmistakably so. You subtly shift your weight, while your hand glides down his chest, tracing the outline of his well-defined muscles. He's not just tall, he exudes strength and fitness, making you feel incredibly safe and cherished in his embrace.

Your heart races in your chest, probably due to your excitement. Every move he makes steals your breath, his groans intensifying the sensation of his lips marking your skin.

"Y/n?" He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, a questioning furrow in his brow. He looks so good that it momentarily takes your breath away.

"Yes?" Your reply, and your hand releases his hair, allowing him to adjust his posture and sit back.

"Could we move this to the bedroom?" His question is filled with hesitation, his cheeks tinted with a pink flush while his teeth dig into his lower lip as soon as he finishes speaking.

Both of you know what he just proposed. Your mind races, and his expression shifts as he waits for your response—his gaze now dropping, an endearing shyness in his posture.

"We don't have to if you're not comfortable. I just thought..."

"No! I mean, yes, let's go to the bedroom." You quickly interrupt, eager to ensure that you want it too. You want to continue this, to explore more of him.

His expression changes once more, an enthusiastic grin playing across his features. His hands wander to your ass, and before you can react, he stands up with you still in his arms. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his arousal pressing against your barely covered core—restrained only by the thin layers of your panties and his dress pants.

"I want so much more. To see you, to feel you," he murmurs, while he's walking towards what you presume is the bedroom. "Please, I want it- I want you so much," you gasp, trying to grind against him, the friction adding fuel to your arousal.

A hard kick of his leg opens door, and suddenly, you're pressed against the wall. He's towering over you, his lips finding yours in a feverish kiss full of hunger and need. His lips against yours are intoxicating, plump and soft, with a sweetness and passion that convinces you that you're the only focus of his desire right now. Pressed against the wall, you're barely able to think, only able to feel.

"Do you... want to continue like this? Against the wall?" His words reach your ears as barely more than a breath, his kiss taking all your thoughts away. His words and his sheer strength make your body tremble even more with excitement.

"Yes, Koutaro," you breathe out, your voice full with anticipation. Your hands dig under the fabric of his shirt, meeting the warm expanse of his bare back. His muscles are tense and firm, a clear sign of his physical strength- he probably hits the gym regularly.

"Fuck me, Koutaro, please." The plea slips from your lips, the words coming out breathy and needy. His response is immediate, his hips grinding against you, his cock pressing hardly against your cunt.

"Koutaro. Please," you rasp the words against his lips again, feeling him trembling with excitement suddenly. Your hands wander between your bodies, finally, a little clumsily reaching the button of his pants and fumbling for a few seconds before you open it and reach into his boxers. He breaks the kiss when your fingertips brush against his cock, feeling him hard and throbbing against you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath heavy and ragged, while you keep palming him and exploring his body. His cock is thick, so thick that you're not sure if you could wrap your hand fully around him. But what makes you tremble in anticipation is how long it actually is. His cock definitely matches his physical appearance—broad and tall.

"Your hand feels good, so good, so good," he suddenly thrusts his hips against your hand, and you quickly move your other hand to the hem of his boxers to pull them down. His cock finally springs free, pressing up against your body, and you simply reach down to push your panties to the side and line his cock up at your entrance.

"Fuck," he groans against your skin, his hot breath meeting the shell of your ear, and he finally, finally pushes into you, the head of his cock disappearing between your legs and making your eyes roll back.

"Kou, fuck, Kou," you groan, your head falling back against the wall, not caring about the thump and the loud sound of your head crashing against the wall echoing through the room, along with your lewd moan and his grunts.

His hips slowly push forward, his cock deliciously stretching you out while he sinks deeper into your cunt. He easily slides through your wetness, his hands gripping your ass even tighter, leaving fingerprints on your backside for sure, and you clench around him when he's fully inside of you.

Your lips part as you breathe heavily, your muscles tensing at the sudden feeling of being overwhelmed with emotions. His hips suddenly move back and slam forward, his cock barely leaving your pussy, but the sudden thrust makes you gasp for air. "Oh, please-" you whine, not even sure what you're begging for, but he has you, he thrusts his hips again, and again, harder with every thrust, his movements suddenly even more unrestricted. "Tell me when you want me to stop," he whispers against your ear, and you only moan in response before he starts to thrust faster.

"Oh my god, fuck-" curses and prayers leave your lips endlessly, until you only manage to moan his name when he thrusts his cock into you, again and again. Your mind is hazy, your whole body electrified by his touch, your pussy deliciously clenching around him at every particularly sharp thrust.

"Touch yourself," he groans into your ear, your whole body shuddering at his raspy needy voice. You quickly bring one hand to your chest and start palming yourself, squeezing your tit through your shirt with your hand. A gasp leaves your lips, and suddenly Bokuto's face is right in front of you, his lips connecting with yours hungrily, firmly, with an intensity that makes your whole body burn. Your hand wanders further down while you keep on kissing him, your fingers quickly finding your clit and starting to rub against it feverishly.

"You're so hot, so damn hot," his words make you flush even further, and you reciprocate the kiss with more intensity, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

"Please, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, Kou," you whine, your hips rutting against him and grinding against his broad body. "Can't stop, baby, feels too good, you feel so good," he sounds almost desperate while he's grinding your body against him, the feeling making you see stars, you're so close, so close-

He presses his face against your neck, the sounds of his grunts and moans muffled against your skin, and when his hands grab your thighs almost painfully hard and he thrusts hard again—that's when you finally feel yourself cum, your muscles contracting and your body arching in his hold, your head falling back and your eyes rolling back in your head. "Kou, fuck-" you moan his name, your voice sounding so lewd that you'd be embarrassed, but your name leaves his lips at the same time, his body tensing and you feel a sudden warmth between your legs, his cum filling you up and making your high even more intense.

Your breath comes out erratically from your lips, your chest heaving heavily while your fingers comb through his hair. Most of his hairspray is already on your hands, the strands turning surprisingly soft, and you slightly tug on them after a while, to make him lift his face.

He quickly raises his head at the feeling, and your breath stops for a second when you see his face. He looks so cheerful and happy, his features even softer than you've ever seen before. He presses a quick peck to your lips, the gesture so soft and surprising that you can only stare at him with your jaw slightly dropped.

He finally stumbles back, his arms shaking, but his grip around your thighs still firm, and only two steps later he simply falls back onto the bed, your body resting on top of him. His cock is still half inside of you, slowly turning from hard to soft, but still so warm and welcome.

His hands find your bare back under your shirt, caressing your skin and drawing you closer. Bokuto exudes a soothing warmth, his body like a heater beneath you, and your fingers roam around his chest and play with the hem of his shirt. You did all this, and yet you're both still almost fully clothed- you can't even imagine how much more intense it would be if you're both naked.

"My friend Akaashi—you've seen him before, remember the guy with glasses? That's my best friend," he suddenly breaks the silence, prompting you to lift your gaze to meet his. His sweet smile causes your lips to curl upwards too. "Yes, I remember him. He was very polite." Bokuto's grin widens, and he nods with enthusiasm. "That's him. Akaashi told me that I'm not cut out for one-night stands. That they are all 'devoid of love'. But I believe that love can also start physically like this, don't you think? Because this did feel like the beginning of love." His sincere tone catches you off-guard, your eyebrows arching in surprise.

"I... yes, I think so too." Your response makes him smile even more- and the butterflies won't stop in your stomach.

"So... do you think we could see each other again?"

You feel his cum trickling between your legs, but both of you only focus on each other, not caring about the slowly growing stains on his dark pants. Your eyes are focused on him, his eyes shining with brightness and hope, his focus entirely on you. A comforting warmth washes over you, and you smile widely when you reply and lean closer to press a kiss to his lips.

"Yes. Yes, I think so."

[u3pxx]

[kind of a companion drawing to this] EYES!!!

inspired by these exercises ryoko kui does ... i rip off my shirt to reveal another shirt underneath that says "i ❤️ character design" ASKSKS i might do another one of these for ace attorney characters (again) this is fun

[emmyrosee]

“Oh my god, this guy is soooo hot.”

Immediately in your peripheral, a spiky head of hair instantly whips towards you, golden eyes wide and curios when they stare intently at you. “Who?” Koutaro asks, voice hiked with only the slightest bit of jealousy.

“Oh, just this guy on my Instagram feed,” you say, as if trying to brush it off. Your eyes flick back to koutarou, who’s mentally going through your followers lists to see who you could be talking about.

“Who?” He asks again. You snicker and try to bite it back with a cough.

“Just- just this guy, like he’s sooooo handsome.”

“What guy?” Koutaro has now taken the liberty of crawling towards you, only rather than jealousy and panic, his eyes are now shiny with intrigue. “I want to see the handsome guy!”

You tuck your phone away and cock a brow, “you want to see him?”

He offers you a shrug, “I like handsome men too; why do you think I hung around Kuroo so much in high school?”

“Kuroo’s handsome?”

“You DONT think Kuroo’s handsome?!”

“No, I think Akaashi’s handsome.”

“No, Akaashi’s beautiful.”

For a moment, the man on your phone is forgotten as you stare at each other, brows quirked before breaking down into a fit of shared laughter, your head thunking against his chest while his arms tossed around you, keeping you close. When you both manage to control yourselves, he nudges you again, “come on! I want to see the eye candy!”

You finish your giggles before moving yourself and your phone towards him, but rather than an Instagram post or account, it’s your camera, flipped towards you both. Koutarou’s cheeks dust pink and he strikes a wild smolder at the camera.

“You’re right,” he says, whistling at himself. “That’s one handsome guy. Damn. He’s too handsome-“ he’s now taken the liberty of pushing back slightly to flex his arms and shoulders, “-devilishly good looking; bet he’s got tons of people falling at his feet, he’s so handsome.”

“More handsome than Kuroo?”

Koutarou scoffs and shakes his head, “way, way more handsome than Kuroo.”

With that, he quickly wraps his arms around you and tugs you close to smother you in kisses, wet and noisy along your cheeks and head, and in your fit of laughter and squeals, your thumb slips and takes more than a few pictures, full of laughter and squirms and they’re perfect. You couldn’t have asked for better pictures.

And it’s worth the explanation to Kuroo when Koutarou posts those same pictures hours later, with the caption “say I’m much more handsome than @vlblmngr, not as cute as @a.kaashikeiji”

[taxkha]

Lionheart Edit: I made some small changes to the lighting AND it's on inprnt now

I also like the lineart on it's own

[youwerethedefeated]

Hinata took one look at Kageyama's kingly ass, said "I can fix him", and then HE REALLY DID

[revasserium]

i’m CRAVING a sanji fic rn 🤤🤤

maybe something on showing affection with him? cause i feel like he’s kinda superficial with his affection when first trying to get with u, but then as the relationship progresses the affection becomes so much more.

well ur in luck bc i do have a sanji fic cookin currently but who knows how long it'll take me to actually finish... in the meantime... here are some sanji domestic/affectionate!headcanons bc why not

in the beginning, it would be the grand gestures -- always waking you up with a kiss and coffee (or tea, if you're sick, or just don't feel like coffee that day) and your favorite foods; a bouquet of fresh flowers (do not ask him how he obtains these in the middle of the ocean; he will not tell you and robin remarks loftily one day that you might not like the answer)

in the beginning, he'd tell you he loves you every single hour, lest you forget for even a minute, even though it's only been like... a week and you're not entirely sure what "love" means quite yet

and then, it'd taper off, not because the 'honeymoon phase' is over, but because he'd find other ways to show you -- other ways of tellin you he loves you without telling you in so many words

there's still breakfast, but sometimes instead of coffee or tea, there's a book that you mentioned you'd been wanting to read, there's an origami crane folded out of the napkin with such excruciating care it almost breaks your heart, there's a note written in his sloppy, slanted handwriting that he dreamt of you last night and couldn't figure out if he wanted to wake up to tell you or keep sleeping not to break the fragile dream

and the "i love you"s become something else too -- they become "how did you sleep, love?" and "i knew you'd be craving that" and "c'mon, drink up -- there's more where that came from" and "tell me about your dreams" and "funny, those sound an awful lot like my dreams too".

it'd solidify, this kind of love -- his kind of love -- into something much quieter than anyone might suspect. this kind of love that simmers, the kind of love that curls around you like a hot bath, that draws you in

it's the way he always saves the wishbone whenver he cooks up any kind of bird, how he always waits till everything is done and the kitchen's all cleaned up before pulling you toward the counter, to the tiny little bone with it's winged flanges, him holding one end, the other offered out like a promise (or a wish)

you've pulled so many between you that you've lost count of how many wishes you've made, until you're laughing and complaining that you're running out of things to wish for

"what do you wish for?" you ask one day, when you've tugged and sanji gets the wish, to which he only looks at you and says, "always the same thing, actually. always... just another day with you."

[hinata-boke]

Drawing a randomly generated Haikyuu character (almost) every day until I give up

69. Kita Shinsuke

[tsukk1]

[senfrogs band au] boyfriend guitar lessons 💋🎶

[fluffyartbl0g]

The one piece reread only makes the hardest moments hit even harder,,,, even when you’re rereading it poorly in portugese

Or AKA, i found out today that HINATA SHOYO reads one piece and I haven’t recovered since

[liillyliilly]

I Need A Challenge

ushijima wakatoshi x reader words; 3804 synopsis; she writes a scathing review of ushijima's volleyball skills. how else should he respond if not by inviting her out to dinner?

She was tired of people like him. People who had no reason to be so stereotypically perfect. Everyone knows the type, comically good looking, is a prodigy in their one specific thing, acting so nonchalant that it ends up becoming their token personality trait. It was all so boring to her.

Which is why, as she was taking notes in the most recent Volleyball Nations League game, she wrote down some very harsh words for her analysis of star spiker Ushijima Wakatoshi. It was just the brutally honest truth of the world, she reasoned. Her editor, after reading the article she wrote at the game, almost dropped their jaw in shock at what she had written.

“This is really,” Editor Xhou sucked in some air through his teeth, “This is almost borderline libel material.”

She inspected her nails, shrugging as Xhou kept talking to her.

“I mean, you said that he is, and I quote from your own words, ‘Ushijima is the default setting for a volleyball player, there’s nothing too particularly unique’. You want me to let the paper publish this?” Xhou leans back into his office chair, pushing his glasses up and sighing.

“I write the truth, and the truth is that when Ushijima is on the court, you always know the exact plays he’ll make, the exact moves he’ll execute. The result is consistently the same. The games are too predictable when he plays.” She stands up from the seat opposite to Xhou.

Xhou sets the paper on his desk, checking that she really is okay with the article having her name attached to it.

A thumbs up is the only response she gives to her supervisor.

Xhou stamps the paper with his name, and faxes the documents to the coordinator putting together the sports magazine review for this issue. He wonders if the legal team is going to get involved again, he remembers the last player she reviewed, he was crushed and had to move to Alaska to play in a much smaller league. Xhou fully believes he’s going to get the magazine sued for letting her article fly.

Tendou finishes his squat set, hanging up the weights with a heave. Ushijima finishes his hundredth bicep curl, finally finishing his repetitions of this exercise.

Tendou pokes some fun, “I'm so sad for people without legs, they have to skip leg day.” He muses, trying to see what reaction or comment his best friend will make. Tendou twists and flexes in the full length mirrors lining the gym.

Ushijima only responds with a nod. He checks his phone, only to see that he’s received a little over four hundred notifications and counting. The beeping and noises start to pile up. Tendou peeks over Ushijima’s shoulder and gasps, he steals Ushijima’s phone away and immediately investigates what all the hustle and bustle could be related to.

“You should probably read this article, I think the writer has it out for your throat Wakatoshi.” Tendou grimaces while handing the phone back.

He skims the article, viewing the main talking points and major issues the author brings to light about his play style. His boring, everyday genius playstyle. He’s read criticisms of his volleyball skills before, but this one doesn’t seem too targeted solely about him, just using him as the mechanism to get a broader point across about the lack of challenges in volleyball recently. He chuckles at one of her comments, reading it aloud.

“Monster generation? I need a real challenge from these players, but all they’re giving me is platinum dreams without true passion and anger for the sport. I want them foaming at the mouth with new tricks, but I’m getting the same exact game over and over again.” Tendou cringes as Ushijima reads the words out loud. Ushijima stifles another chuckle.

Ushijima tucks his phone into his pocket, picking up his duffel bag. “I like her. She knows volleyball.”

It wasn’t just her comments, it was also the name of the author that Ushijima liked.

Tendou drops his water bottle in response to Ushijima’s behavior, stunned at the openness of amusement he has for the article and for the investment he has for this particular reporter.

Ushijima’s manager says that she’ll have a cease and desist letter issued to the paper for publishing such a slanderous piece. Ushijima proposes an entirely different solution.

She didn’t expect to be sitting at a restaurant, pencil and paper in hand, waiting for someone she just dragged through the mud to arrive so they could share a meal and an interview.

It was winter, and her reading glasses had fogged up slightly in the difference between the outdoors temperature and the warmth of the restaurant. The main features of the restaurant was the Western Style dining choices and decor, it reminded her almost of a hibachi place, but instead of Japanese food it was just a bunch of American and European dishes.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Ushijima pulls out his chair and settles into it, grabbing his glass of water so he can drink from it.

“High school seemed so long ago, but yes it is nice to see you again Wakatoshi. Sorry for the piece, your name just carries the right amount of importance to get my bigger points across.” She crosses her legs, setting her pencil behind her ear. The waiter comes around and takes their orders. He asks for the salmon, and she gets the house soup.

“No, I totally get it. But the statement about how people just continually eat up the single dish I serve? I thought you would’ve found a better analogy for my consistency on the court.” He just smiles at her, watching her move the pencil from behind her ear to her mouth so she could chew on it a little. One of her tells of when she was deeply thinking about how to respond to something.

Ushijima remembers all the stories she would write back in high school, ranging from sports analysis of Shiratorizawa clubs for her journalism extracurricular to getting paid to write love letters from person to person. She garnered enough money to pay for a new laptop and her entire wishlist of stationery items.

He remembers her lending him a pen once during class, it was a weightier metal pen. The ink was so black he was sure it was made of pure darkness. While he admired the pen she went into a rant talking about the pen itself, the quality of it and how it took forever to be delivered to her. They both got chastised by the teacher for having a side conversation and had to sit outside the classroom. But they ended up talking outside the classroom despite being told not to.

“Like you’d know what a good analogy looks like.” She hides her smirk behind a spoonful of soup. Ushijima appreciates her ability to be unapologetic, her honesty and bluntness matching his own linguistic traits.

They talk for three hours, about volleyball, life after high school, the article she wrote, about friends and the situations they found themselves in. Ushijima talks about Tendou and his chocolatier aspirations, she brings up Semi Eita’s new album that actually sounded truly alternative and unique.

He remembers her having a crush on Semi throughout high school. He didn’t really see why she would sit at their practices sometimes, just sighing wistfully, before freezing and turning flustered when Semi tried to make conversation like a normal person. But when Semi was seen to be a slight habitual complainer, she grew a distaste for him. Ushijima was sure that Semi was her longest crush, clocking in at around two months or so.

Ushijima did enjoy that she came to their practices sometimes, because then he could ask her about her pen collection and she would openly, loudly, and enthusiastically layer on every detail she could fit into her remarks. And she was someone who asked him about his favorite things, primarily volleyball but also about reading the advertisements in the Weekly Shonen Jump Magazine. Or about how good a runner’s high could feel sometimes.

Around her, he could share without fear of being misunderstood. She just accepted what she heard, and then analyzed it, taking her time and asking clarifying questions. He did his best to emulate her mannerisms and tact within their conversations, usually failing, but she didn’t mind.

She did openly declare an aversion for him throughout high school, that genius powerhouses should never be entertained with acknowledgement. What others considered harsh from her was almost like beaming encouragement for him. It was like she was telling him, if he didn’t continually improve and advance then the stagnation would leave him in the dust. A push in the right direction was more accurate of why she would say what she did about him.

He takes the bill from her, puts his gold debit card on the clipboard, and returns it to the waiter before she can even open her purse. Rolling her eyes, she sets some bills on the table and slides it over to him. Glaring at him until he accepts the cash and puts the bills into his wallet.

“Are you dating anyone right now?” Ushijima inquires while they walk down the street to get to the train station. The night air leaves a chill around the two of them. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, and she had her arms folded over her body.

Snow falls from the sky, catching the lights and making streaks of color burst in small flickers like fireflies. The piled up snow in the roads hadn’t yet been plowed thoroughly, and wasn’t sullied with pollution that made it yellow and black. The snow was much more like a blanket.

“Listen, I’m what people consider easy to love but hard to please. Most people say they felt like they were never enough for me when we were dating.” She bites on her bottom lip a little. It’s a confusing feeling to be unnerved by him, and she feels even more uneasy when she realizes that she’s speaking too openly. “I don’t intentionally degrade those I date, I just, I have high expectations. I don’t give many second chances.”

His breath comes out in puffs of white, winter nipping at his nose which makes him feel uncomfortable. He wonders if she’s as cold as him. He knew that she had high expectations, none of the boys at their high school got remotely close to being romantically involved with her. She wanted more than what most people could offer. She wanted someone who was as open as her.

She feels a little guilty about her article now. Maybe she pushed the words a little too much on his bad qualities. Ushijima really wasn’t that bad, he was just dependable and rational, which crafted his playstyle of being an ultimate pillar of strength for a team. Why shouldn’t a team go with the most reliable way of scoring points? Then she shooed the thought. If volleyball wanted to keep being popular, it needed to evolve.

“I liked your article a lot.” He offers, segwaying the conversation, knowing her thoughts better than she knew them. “Power goes far, but even then, there’s ceilings that need to be broken. There’s talents that need to be unearthed, planted, and then allowed to bloom.”

They sit on the bench under the covering for the train station. The screen shows that the train she needs to take will come in around ten minutes.

“Thanks. My editor was worried you were going to sue me for what I wrote.” She laughs a little, rubbing her hands against her thighs to build up some lingering heat in her hands and her body.

He passes her his gloves from his jacket pocket. Making a small hum he waves them in front of her. She accepts and embraces the black fleece covering her fingers.

“Oh, no, there’s no way I’d want you to be sued. But I do want you to add another part to the article.” He blows some air onto his hands, rubbing them together. She raises an eyebrow inquisitively, turning towards him on the bench.

Once he had finished reading her piece on Ushijima’s game, he went through and read all her other articles. He found out her favorite current player was actually Hinata Shouyou, the energetic innovator. She had written about his unique approach, due to natural athleticism. Also about his experience in Brazilian beach volleyball making his defense skills unique in the field of both Japanese volleyball and on a global scale. It was all about Hinata this, Hinata that. But could the ultimate decoy ever compare to the pillar of strength?

“What do you want me to change? I can’t make any promises.”

“Say I’m your number one, because I don’t do last place.” Ushijima lifted her chin up, looking right into her eyes. He inspects her face, the small miniscule motions her features display show that she’s listening, actively listening. “Did I ever mention that you’re the only one that has my attention?”

She really was. The only reporter he cared to give quotes to after big games, the only girl who he ever wondered if there was any possibility to develop a relationship with. He was hooked on every word she wrote, every interview she hosted online. She was in his world, but never overlapped her social circle with his for longer than an hour at best.

She swallows thickly, “I’m sorry to say this, but I really am unimpressed by your playstyle.”

He raises an eyebrow, sliding his hand from her chin to the side of her neck. He can feel the way her pulse is racing under her skin.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Her train arrived. She ducked under his hand and made her way onto the train. Before the sliding door closes, she motions him closer so she doesn't have to yell.

“Then show me your talents. I need a challenger for my first place.”

Tendou lies on his stomach on the floor, Ushijima is reviewing some plays written by his coach. He scans for any play that could show off his left hand spikes, or any play that he could try and improvise a receive if he wasn’t on the front row rotation. The plays are different from what he’s used to. But his coach said that they were all optional, and that Ushijima’s playstyle was perfectly fine as it was. But ‘fine as is’ doesn’t earn him any accolades in her book.

Tendou perks up, “I always felt like fighting had romantic undertones.” He references what Ushijima had told him about how the dinner with his reporter went last week.

“But I don’t want to fight her? I’d hardly call a slight disagreement a fight.” Ushijima sets aside the packet he had been studying.

He opens his phone and refreshes the webpage for the newspaper she worked for. When nothing pops up under her name, he goes to the calendar page to see if she’d be attending an upcoming game he’d be playing in. He sets his phone aside when he realizes she will in fact be in attendance.

“But you do want to fight for her ‘first place’ hottie player ranking.” Tendou kicks his feet in the air, crossing his feet and tapping the top of his head.

Ushijima stands up and goes to check his closet, seeing if he needs to get a tighter jersey for the upcoming game. “She never used the word ‘hottie’ when talking about her favorite player.”

“So you admit that you do want to be her favorite player?”

Ushijima finishes trying on the jersey over his long sleeve compression shirt, the jersey fitted better than he remembered. He tugs on the front of the uniform. Then what Tendou said clicks for him.

Ushijima blinks, “I do want to be her favorite player.” He doesn’t see why he would deny that observation. Being her favorite player would be the ideal situation for him.

Tendou rolls over onto his back and wiggles his pointer fingers in the air, “You want to be more than just her favorite player.” He sings the words in a teasing manner.

“Maybe I do.”

One time, near the end of high school, she was talking during lunch. Her friends were uninterested, wanting to discuss boys or homework instead of her critical worldview analysis. Her table was right next to the table that Ushijima and Tendou were sitting at, their volleyball friends already outside tossing around a ball.

Ushijima listened in, drinking his milk while Tendou ate chicken nuggets. When her voice got quieter, almost to the point of fading out entirely due to her slowly realizing her friends were not as interested in the conversation as she was, Ushijima leaned in subconsciously, trying to catch her words.

Tendou pinched Ushijima, telling him that if he wanted to listen to her, he should ask her to come sit with them. Ushijima froze. So Tendou invited her to come sit with them. Placing her lunch tray down, she ate a carrot, sensing Ushijima’s hesitance and Tendou’s eagerness.

It was Ushijima that spoke first, “Keep going. You remind me of someone. He said almost the same thing, about his worthless pride and not forgetting about it.”

She brightens. Continuing her dissection of the value of pride, she refers to Ushijima as a reference point for pride. Using him in her examples and demonstrations of her illustrative examples. Around the third time she says his family name, he makes another request.

“You can just call me Wakatoshi.”

Tendou drops his chicken nugget, but quickly regains his pace in eating the arms off the dinosaurs.

She says his name, once and then twice. Letting it settle onto her tongue and leave a trace of what a first name basis could mean. Pondering on that instead of her newest philosophy interest is quickly dropped. She only ever calls him by his name from then on.

Needless to say, the next game he plays at, she’s there, with her notepad and pen. Each receive, hit, serve, and toss is carefully recorded on her paper.

He doesn’t do anything too off the typical, but he does try new things his coach had mentioned. Pressuring an opponent’s highest scorer more, trying a few block kills when he’s in the right rotation, scoring some points off the tip of the blockers hands instead of cutting right through their attempts to defend. He’s more tired after this game than his last one. Yet, he had more fun this time around. His teammates seemed thrilled with the results of never having a gap less than five points.

After the game, before he goes to the locker room to debrief with the team and change into regular clothes, he stalks his way over to her. She’s talking to another reporter that had been sitting in the media section, but the other reporter just elbows her lightly when he notices Ushijima making an attempt to approach. The other man slowly walks away, bidding her a farewell.

She’s still sitting on the bench, cheekily covering her notes with her hand, and writing something down. When he takes a place next to her, he spreads his legs a little, expanding his presence and bumping their thighs into each other. She initially retracts from the touch, but relaxes into it.

He’s aware that his body is thinly sheened with sweat. It drips from the hair at his nape down his back and soaks into his player kit. She brings her notepad up to her face, looking at him over the spiral binding of the paper. Trying to hide her comments and analysis of the game, which had been overwhelmingly positive for Ushijima.

“What’s your professional opinion of the game?” He uses a finger to push down her notepad that was covering her nose. A streak of ink and pencil lead was across her cheek and nose. He brought his thumb up and wiped away the markings. At first swipe, nothing moved, so he slid his thumb over again with just a little more pressure.

“It was entertaining in a different sense. Rather than being solely athletic entertainment.” She licks her own thumb and finishes wiping away all the marks that she could feel him trying to get rid of. She misses a sliver on the apple of her cheek but he doesn’t say anything, enjoying the way that it makes her seem less intimidating and more adorable.

“Care to share with the class?”

“Well, when a certain player keeps trying to make eye contact during the game, when he should instead be invested in the game, it does pose some interesting investigative questions.”

At this point, Ushijima slid his hand to her thigh, asking her to explain further, “Such as?”

“When will he get up the nerve to ask her on a date? Will he take her for a ride in that brand new car he got? Does he need glasses from how frequently it seemed he scrutinized the audience in search of her?” She pauses, then continues, “And will he be mad if she writes something about how attentive the setter was during the game?”

“Soon, for the date. Most definitely a long car ride to the mountains. His vision is actually perfectly 20/20, he just wanted to make sure she was having a good time by observing her reactions. No comments for the setter, he’s a rookie, and much less attentive than an older, more experienced player.”

She hums a little in regards to his answers to her inquiries. Soon, she tugs on the back of his hand, the hand that was resting on her thigh. She bites the cap off her pen, waving the pen in the air, close enough to his skin for him to understand the point of what she was communicating.

The pen tickled the skin of his hand, but he liked the way she put one hand under his to make his hand rest flat so she could write her piece on his body. Capping the pen back up, she tucked it behind her ear.

Written on his hand was a series of numbers, along with a small doodle of a volleyball.

Getting up from her spot on the media bench, she leaves him with a short statement.

“I liked your response to my challenge. Keep making the Monster Generation bloom with each game Wakatoshi.” She halts for a moment, then turns back to him, “You can be my number one on those conditions. Blooming the Monsters and responding to my challenges.”

He’d return every challenge she gave him if it meant he could be hers.

[axel-tiredstudent]

Sneak peak! 1 of the 10 characters I've done (so far)

[eg1rlb4thw4t3r]

when they make the sunshine character act like a literal child or a full on dumbass:

[shinybulbasaur]

Rules: Make a poll with five of your all-time favorite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favorite!

I was tagged by @suddenrundown, thanks for the tag! I was so tempted to put "eliot's baseball hair" but I resisted (also polls don't allow strikethroughs. sad). tagging @michinaranja, @vero-niche, @acidmatze and anyone else who wants to play!

[1think1twasvodk4]

are y’all seeing what i’m seeing

my double vision is getting a bit serious

[silvabacca]

Hmmm i feel like i have seen this somewhere before….

.

.

.

Ah yes, this one…

[imaginethathaikyuu]

Em can we please talk about Tsukki. Everyone keeps writing him as a mean dom and it’s killing my soul. Please say it isn’t so 😭😭😭😭

Lowkey hc Tsukki as ace and super sweet on his person… like he just simps and is very soft in private. I just wanna kiss his pretty fingers. but I’d love to hear your takes.

okay like ive beeeeen saying this since day one, popular fanon characterization is NOT satisfying for me.....

tsukishima kei would arguably be the best partner...imo... LIKE i think he'd be an annoying little fucker at first when you don't know each other well. but as you get closer he becomes the softest sweetest kindest bf.

especially as things get more serious, when he can let go of all of his insecurities and finally start feeling equal to you, his curtain of arrogance drops and he can just be himself :]

he is sooo cat coded imo like he's just always There. he will randomly lay next to u and put your hand on his head (instead of asking u to play with his hair) and just sit in silence forever. Annoys u just for the sake of being a Bother. puts cold drink on the back of your neck, pulls ur hoodie strings closed, places ur fav snacks on the highest shelf. but also ties ur shoe for u and remembers ur coffee order and compliments u every day. wait i love him

but also like i get the fun in writing him as big mean dom who fucks like if that is what u like to read i love that for u and honestly i see why some ppl write him as like. a big doodoo meanie like thats a fun path to go down too. that just isnt the tsukishima kei who lives in my house u know what i mean